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dearbraus · 5 months

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Covered in the Colour of You ࿐

— Armin Arlert

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, cisfem reader (use of girl as reference to the reader), reader's hair gets combed through, reader wears a nightgown, post-canon exploration of characters and setting, reader is mentally ill (so is Armin), hunger as a metaphor for desire, love as consumption, love confessions, first times (Armin is a virgin, Reader is not), first kisses, sex on a table, some foreplay, unprotected sex, creampies, ambiguous ending, angst, hurt/some comfort, childhood friends to lovers. ⊹ Run time. 10k ⊹ Note. I don't know how we got here but I'm glad we did. This was meant to be a cute comfort fic to deal with the ending of Attack on Titan but it became so much more, I hope you enjoy.

❝A surprise visit from your childhood friend, Armin Arlert forces you to confront the feelings you've been harbouring for over a decade..❞

The Jägerist’s cries are deafening, they bounce off the clay brick walls of the surrounding houses and slither through your shuttered window panes. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the newly minted Paradis military regiment convenes in the small town square within the rebuilt city of Shiganshina. It took them just under a month to replace the fallen with green boys and girls who were just buzzing at the idea of honouring Eren Jäger and avenging his death. Once Paradis managed to secure the resources– if there were any left– you were certain that the military would erect a bronze statue of Paradis’ “saviour”. For now, they’d bother napping babies and the elderly folk who milled about the area to soak in some of the sun’s sweet warmth.

Today they seemed to be reminding those who’d spare an ear to listen, that traitors would soon shore and with them came treasonous falsehoods. If not for Queen Historia who still harbours some morsel of affection for her old comrades, they’d be as good as dead the moment their ship docked. Word spread quickly, how you weren’t sure, but like wildfire the claim that Armin Arlert had been the one to kill Eren Jäger scorched the plains and further sowed the seeds of instability amongst the population.

The irony of such a ludicrous statement was not lost on you. Armin Arlert couldn’t kill Eren Jäger, they were best friends and all of Shiganshina knew there could not be one without the other. You had known the two almost as long as they had known each other. Shiganshina wasn’t so big in those days, Grisha Jäger was the only doctor and Armin’s father was something of a handyman. They were who you called upon when something was amiss and you’d thank them with a warm meal or something sweet. That was what you did in those days, you showed kindness wherever you could. They were so simple, those days when the walls kept secrets and our minds were shrouded with ignorant bliss. Some mornings when you woke before the sun had yet risen, you wished Paradis could have remained tucked safely beneath the blanket King Fritz had pulled over the island.

What little sense of communal affection remained dwindled with calls to action that erupted from the square.

This morning, the sense of longing that had settled between your lungs weighed heavily as you listened to the shouting. You wished the clock would turn back and the next time you woke, you’d be ten years old and the house you lived in would be your home. It was sort of a sick joke, to be given the keys to the house built upon the rubble of your family's home. Floch handed you the keys as if he had done you this great personal service when it had been Eren, Armin, Mikasa, and their friends who had dug through the wreckage to salvage the home they too had lost. Vagrancy was tiring and what little money you had to your name after years of working for meagre wages that just barely covered your expenses, maybe you should have been grateful to at least collect a few pieces of your life before even if they jagged and misshapen. Something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

It had to be.

There needed to be some reason for you to keep going. Lately, there didn’t seem to be any. Everything felt wrong. The once-cobbled streets were made of smooth even stone that allowed you to bounce around the city with ease, it reminded you of the capital. As a child, you often felt jealous that Wall Sina was home to such niceties while you were made to trip over protruding stones and wade through mud puddles in the wet months. Now though, you’d give anything for a semblance of a distant past that would make Shiganshina home once more. But as you lingered around your old haunts, searching for familiar faces and memories that would ease the pain in your chest, all you’d find was something new and foreign that left you feeling disappointed.

Turning over onto your side you curled inwards, a soft sigh passing your lips as you willed your mind to banish the longing that gnawed at you. The cool breeze that glides through your window leaves goosebumps on the bits of flesh that aren’t being swaddled by your thin white blanket. All the battle cries seemed to have simmered down as the sun inched closer toward the middle of the sky. You might be able to catch the morning market before they pack up their wares for the day if you leave now. Your icebox was pathetically empty, with only a head of rapidly wilting lettuce and milk to occupy the space. Sitting upward with a yawn, you cast a glance toward your dresser. Your clothes hang sloppily over the side of the open drawers. You should probably tidy things up before the hour grows too late.

The sleek, mousy brown floorboards that make up the second story of your house do not creak as you pad across the room—your chest aches, though you’ve grown desensitised to the familiar feeling. Your house used to creak and groan when the wind blew too roughly, and the walls were thin enough that you’d wake to the sound of your mother humming as she prepared breakfast for your family. You tried not to dwell too hard, if anything you should have been relieved. An unexpected storm wouldn’t dare to blow the roof off your house now.

Plucking the soft, brown wool knit cardigan off the lip of your cracked door you slipped the fabric over your body. Your delicate muslin nightgown did little to keep the morning chill away. It did even less to preserve any ounce of modesty. Your bare feet slapped against the stairs as you headed downward, and a soft knock sounded at your door. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body you sighed. It must have been Mrs. Bergmann from next door coming to check on you, make sure you left your house this week, let in some fresh air– function as any other human would, that sort of stuff. She had been widowed long ago, her only son had been one of the many scouts to give his life for a free Paradis. There wasn’t much for her to do aside from checking in on her neighbours. She was a wife, a mother– it was in her nature to nurture all the little lost souls she came across.

“I’m coming Mrs. Bergmann,” You called, your voice echoing around the empty space that would have been your living room, “You don’t need to call in Werner to bust down the door just yet!”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you prepared yourself to open the door. Mrs. Bergmann was well-meaning on the best of days, if a little nosey on the worst. It was better to have someone than no one at all, you remind yourself, pushing back the urge to blanche and roll your eyes at the urgency of her knocking. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hope your hair wasn’t too gnarly after all the tossing and turning you did last night. The door opens with a soft click as you twist the knob open.

Shock blows through you as you blink at the person on the other side. Your eyes frantically open and close, trying to make sense of who stood before you but as your synapses fired off round after round, searching for something, they found nothing.

“Armin?” You timidly ask, your throat twists up and grows dry.

The syllables on your tongue felt wrong. Maybe, the muscles had just forgotten how his name tasted. As a child, his name rolled off your tongue sweetly and constantly. Back then, there had been too many emotions packed inside your small body, you could never make sense of them, all you knew was that they all led back to the man in front of you. Your cheeks warmed at the reminder of the crush you used to harbour, of how you’d write your name and his, silently calling yourself Mrs. Arlert as if she hadn’t already existed in the form of his mother.

Armin’s cheeks grow round with the shy smile he wears, “Hi,” he says. The remnants of his boyhood live in the soft curve of his jaw and the cherub-like softness of his rosy complexion.

“Hi,” you breathlessly whispered as you searched for any other lingering signs of familiarity.

“May I come in?” he asks, his nervous hands smooth imaginary wrinkles in his sage green tie. The breath is selfishly stolen from your lungs by the greedy, monster who lived inside of you. They swallowed back the traces of your youth, you hoped it was enough to placate them because as long as your breath was hitched, no words could come forth.

Armin’s blue eyes curiously peered back at you from beneath his pale blonde lashes. He was still quite pretty, but the edge of maturity that marred his features made your heart flutter in a way it never had. The desperate longing that clawed at your rib cage slowed, pawing instead as its interests morphed into something more amorous. You would have beaten it down if you could, shame prickles your skin as you clear your throat.

“Of course,” you stutter, opening the door to make room for him to enter, “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests this morning.”

His smile is polite, “What about Mrs. Bergmann?” He inquires, his eyes darting around to drink in the interior of your house. It looked just like the one he was raised in but it had been twelve years since he stepped foot in one. The scouts lived in barracks that were carved out of long-since abandoned castles, “You seemed to be expecting her.”

“Ah, not exactly,” you muttered, offering him a seat at your dining table, “She’s just the only visitor I have as of late … So, what brings you by?”

Armin declines the seat, instead pulling out the chair opposite of him for you. You thank him with a small bow of your head. His knuckles brush against your shoulders as he slides his fingertips along the edge of your chair before swinging around to the other side. In a world of boys, Armin Arlert was a gentleman, as he always had been, even at the age of ten when boys took to tugging girls' pigtails for attention. His grandfather would be proud of the young man he’s become. You think Mr. Arlert would have been proud even if all Armin did was survive.

The warm yellow sunlight filters through the windows and turns Armin’s hair a shade of bleach blonde. His skin is tanned, his cheeks rosy. He looks healthy, he’s a bit taller too. His hair was different too now that you took a moment to look at it, only slightly so. The shaved undercut reminded you of the short, stoic captain whose charge Armin was in for years.

Insecurity stirred in your belly. You thought of what you might look like to him being so dishevelled in nothing but a nightgown and cardigan. Unkempt, that is how you must have appeared to him. The bike in your stomach burns at the back of your throat as you cross your legs and tuck as much of your body beneath the table as you can.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, resting his linked hands on the table, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

It’s been over four years, the bitter overly insecure voice in your head hisses, “It has, but you’ve been busy, saving the world and all,” you say instead, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, “Honestly I must confess, I'm a bit surprised, I thought you and the other ambassadors would be meeting with the Queen.”

What you truly mean to say dangles in the air. Armin can feel it, he shifts in his seat— why wasn’t he with someone more important? How did he manage to sneak past the Jägerists predatory gaze? He shouldn’t have been here. The anguish that wrought the shores of Paradis couldn’t be fixed with a measly conversation but surely, it was a start so, why was he here with you?

“She met our boat at the harbour to ensure our safe passage into the city,” he explains, picking at his fingers, “We’re still trying to coordinate with the army but they’ve agreed to allow free reign of Shiganshina so long as we remain unarmed.”

“It would be rather counterintuitive for peace ambassadors to bear arms.”

Armin lets out a small chuckle, smiling a bit to himself.

“But, they’ve already proved their incompetence in thinking trained soldiers need weapons to fight,” you muttered, casting your eyes away from him, “I … My apologies, I shouldn't speak ill of your comrades.”

“They’ve dissolved the Scout Regiment, I’m no longer a soldier and they are not my comrades,” Armin swiftly replies.

He fiddles with his tie again, flattening out the fabric with scar-riddled hands. The last time you saw him, his skin was surprisingly unmarred. Old scars you could have sworn imprinted his skin ceased to exist, something to do with his newfound titan ability, that’s what Eren said when he rolled up his sleeves to expose his own blemish-free body. It seemed unnatural then, for the pieces of personal history to be erased but Armin felt alien enough without you reminding him of how much he had changed.

“Yes, but-”

“How are you doing?” He interrupts, and an apologetic look swims within the depths of his baby blue eyes. His time in the military was a touchy subject, which was to be expected but it didn’t wash away the burn of curiosity that ribbed at your bones, “When I last wrote to Mikasa, she said she hadn’t seen you in some time in spite of being neighbours.”

Pursing your lips, you sigh, “I’m doing well Armin,” it’s a bald-faced lie but the two of you have become so estranged, Armin couldn’t know you the way he once did, not when so much time has washed the imprints you’ve pressed upon each other as it brought in the tide, “How are you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Armin frowns, the dip of his lips making his cheeks round in a way that reminds you that he is only twenty-two, “I haven’t seen you in four years, I … I want to know what your life is like.”

Reaching over the table, Armin takes your hand in his. If he notices the irritated and oozing flesh around your cuticles, he keeps it well hidden. Smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, Armin settles his eyes on yours, taking in the two little lines that have been carved into your skin from how often you furrow your brows. There was no “correct” way to tell someone that you spent most of your afternoons curled up in bed, lying listlessly as you listened to the sounds of the bustling street below. Armin had a penchant for worrying, he’d worry about your well-being when there were far more important issues for him to focus on.

“It’s not so different from before.”

Armin was unconvinced. Eight years ago, after the Scout Regiment took control of the central government, a bit of money was sent your way in addition to your rebuilt childhood home. Though they wouldn’t say it, you believed that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa felt guilty for abandoning you the moment they turned twelve thus becoming eligible to enrol in the Cadet Corps. You had no interest in joining the Scouts, Military Police, or the Garrison but Eren was determined and wherever Eren went so too did Mikasa and Armin. With no family and no friends, you had to fend for yourself. It wasn’t so bad. A woman, you could hardly remember her name now, paid you to care for her youngest child while she and her husband worked, and their older children attended school. She gave you room and board, fed you three square meals, and gave you “hand-me-downs” to wear.

In the chaos of Trost being breeched you became separated and weeks later learned that the family perished. You used what little money you managed to save to pay for board in an inn near Jinae where you worked as a stable hand until your childhood friends and their comrades came bearing gifts. You’d need to find work soon. Now that you were of age, you were sure to find a cushy job as a barmaid at the local tavern.

“You think it is?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip.

Armin nods. His grip tightens and he mutters a low, “Sorry” when you wince from how he accidentally squishes your fingers beneath his.

Shrugging your shoulders you think back to the before much like you did most days, “Paradis is being run by lunatics who worship a dead man,” you blanche, your chest preemptively tightening from your nerves, “That’s not so different to before when this shitty little island was run by lunatics who worshipped the walls.”

Except now, people actually paid mind to the chirping loons. They had access to weapons that could wipe out what was left of humanity and certainly were unafraid to use them. Crossing them would be a very stupid and very dangerous mistake. Bravery was what this island prided itself on, now the most one could muster was a contempt-filled glower that was sent in passing.

“That’s not …” Armin’s voice trailed off. There was that look of guilt again.

“I know.”

Lacing your fingers between his, you squeeze Armin’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, Armin,” you assure, your mouth twisting up into a strange smile. The muscles in your face seemed to ache as though you were contorting your expression, “You know that, right?”

He nods his head, and strands of his pale blonde hair fall against his forehead as he does, “I know,” he whispers with conviction though his hand trembles in yours. You remain unconvinced, guilt rolls off his shoulders in sickening waves.

“It’s not Eren’s fault either.”

You’re unsure why you say it. It was Eren’s fault. It was his name and his image that they fought for. Whatever politics happened behind closed doors did not matter, not when he died knowing that those men and women idolised him and would wage wars in his name. One spoiled fruit rotted away the entire crop and now Paradis was ready to cosign its doom, picking on the weakened and the damned as if this island had not once been just the same.

“Thank you,” Armin mouths, his voice barely audible as he clears his throat and replaces his expression with a friendly smile.

“I guess the trains are different,” you blurt, looking for a way to steer the sinking ship that was this conversation, “I’ll never get used to them, they’re so loud and dark inside.”

“Glad to know our hard work is being appreciated.”

You lift the corners of your lips to smile at him, “It is, the horses are very grateful to no longer be worked to the bone by merchants transporting goods from Maria to Sheena,” you say, nearly forgetting that there no longer was an interior or exterior to name, “Life here is still simple, Armin, there isn’t much to update you on.”

“Still-”

“We can’t all be heroes,” you jest, nudging his foot beneath the table, “So, tell me what is life like for you?”

Armin withdraws his hands from yours, “It’s all I talk about, I don’t want to talk about it with you,” he explains, swallowing thickly, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Rising from your seat you round the corner of the small table to press the palm of your hand between his shoulder blades. The gesture is meant to be comforting but you feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be touching him like this though your body craved the knowledge of what his skin would like against yours. The tips of your fingers graze the edge of his crisp collar, you hastily jerk back, eyes narrowing to inspect the fabric for any unwanted crinkles you may have caused.

“I’ve been such a bad host,” you mutter, “My mother would be so disappointed that I haven’t asked you if you’d like anything to drink.”

“Tea if you have any, please.”

You nod again, you still have some dried chamomile that Mrs.Bergmann gave to you when you confessed to her that you struggled to sleep some days. The tea didn’t help but it was the thought that counted. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your bare legs and you cursed yourself for not excusing yourself to dress before you sat down with Armin. The early spring air wouldn’t warm until the late afternoon most days.

Armin’s gaze is heavy. He watches you flutter about your kitchen with keen intent. His eyes slither up your body in a methodical manner. You’re unsure if he’s leering the way men unabashedly do when they’re three pints in or if he’s searching for any indication that something might be amiss. You hope it’s the latter. It should be the latter, you didn’t feel uncomfortable and Armin wasn’t one to steal eyefuls of others.

“Do you still like it with milk and honey?” you ask, though you’ve already reached into the icebox in search of the milk you knew was in there. Hopefully, it hasn't yet spoiled.

You flinched when you rose to your full height. Armin had materialised behind you. The jug nearly drops from your hand but Armin is quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, overtop of your hand. He guides the jug to the counter and reaches an arm around you to take the teapot off the heat before it can release a shrill squeal.

Pressing your hand to your chest, you murmur a breathless, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Armin chirps.

His eyes bore into yours, he’s inspecting you once more. Whatever he’s in search of, you’re certain he isn’t going to find it. The girl that he once knew was not the same woman that stood before him, nor was he the same boy even if his eyes twinkled just the same. That was growing up. Your stomach grumbled, licking its chops as the wanting returned. Your eyes trickled down Armin’s face until they settled on his cupid's bow. His lips were full and a dusted pink colour. They were nice, you remember wondering what they’d feel like against yours if it’d hurt to kiss him after he’d bitten his lips raw with stress.

The sharp edge of the counter digs into the plush flesh of your hips as you press your body against it. Hunger is as frightening as it is all consuming. You are hungry. Are you hungry for him? You’ve craved and yearned for places and their people, but never their bodies. The one time you allowed a man in your bed it’d been out of curiosity and some twisted need to feel something, anything other than the dull twinge of melancholy that sprouted from the roots it planted in your heart.

Armin placed his hand on your chest where your heart was. The heat of his palm melted through the thin fabric of your nightgown, causing you to instinctively shiver, “Your heart is racing,” he comments, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No.”

“How is Annie?” You nervously ask, searching for a way to stifle the deluded desire that coursed through your veins, “Last I heard from Hitch, she had been freed from her crystal and joined you. That must have been exciting, being able to speak to her after so many years.”

His face crinkles up into a confused expression, “Annie is fine, they’re all fine. Connie and Jean are excited to see their mothers,” he replies slightly, cocking his head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

You shrug your shoulders. Armin doesn’t remove his hand. Your heart skips a beat, you’re sure he feels it.

“Was just curious I guess, since I heard you had feelings for her.”

“Annie and I are friends, nothing more,” his nose crinkles, he seems to want to ask where you hear such a ludicrous rumour but doesn’t. When he wasn’t with the scouts, he was with her crystal, talking as if one day she might answer back.

“Oh.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Armin counters, his long pale lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks, “You’ve always been … quite the catch.”

His voice trails off, he regrets his wording. He didn’t want to liken you to fish or cattle but of all the vast information stored in his brain, there seemed to be nothing on complimenting women. Not that he’s done much of that in his lifetime. There’s never been a need to. Armin wants to compliment you, to tell you how he really feels but it gets clogged in his throat as he struggles to get a read on you.

Shaking your head, you avert your gaze.

It’s not for a lack of trying or wanting. None of the relationships you pursued ever felt right. Their hands didn’t fit within yours the way they were supposed to. Your body was hallowed out in the middle but they couldn’t fill you up. It wasn’t their fault. You’d accept that you were broken, someone who simply wasn’t meant to be loved. It was easy. Until now, when the one person your heart still clung to stood here and dangled himself like a carrot.

“Good, you’re too good for anyone on this island,” his proclamation makes your skin itch. Even if what he said were true, you would have to settle for someone on this island eventually, lest you spend the rest of your life as alone as you are now, “You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

You nearly laugh, though he makes this statement with such earnestness that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“Who then?”

Looking into his eyes made your lungs ache. There was nowhere to escape with how he pinned you in place with his gaze.

“Who’s good enough for me?” You ask, your nails digging into the wood counter as you curl your fists around the lip of it, “You?”

Armin rolls his eyes and the sight alone shocks you, “No, I could never be good enough for you,” a laugh springs forth, crackling past your lips before you’re able to stop it, “Is something funny?”

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment but there's nowhere for him to hide either.

“No … Yes, actually,” you sigh, expelling all the air from your lungs as you muster up the resolve to be truthful, “I have loved for as long as I can remember and I have wanted you even before I even knew what love truly was.”

Your fingers coil around his wrist, intent on wrenching his hand away from your chest but the look in his eyes stops you. Sadness and self-loathing meet in the bright blue pools of his irises. You were born six months before he was but he’s always seemed years ahead of you. There was a certain kind of wisdom that surrounded him, you weren’t sure why. Now though, whatever maturity that shrouded Armin vanished and all that lay beneath was a newborn fawn that teetered on legs far too long for him.

Your nails dig into the cuff of his jacket, crinkling the pristine fabric, “There is not a day that goes by where I haven’t thought of you.”

“I’m no good for you either,” he says with a wet laugh. His eyes shone with welled up tears that had no business blurring his gaze.

“Because you’ve killed people?” You ask, your brows furrowing as you frown, “There are many people who have done worse for less. At least you had a reason.”

“I could never be the man that you need me to be.”

“Not even for an afternoon?” You had always known his future held more than your own, even before he became humanity's saviour. He’d make his peace with Paradis and leave, maybe he’d come back years from now, or maybe he’d plant his roots elsewhere.

His hand trembles as he shakes his head, “No.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he releases a shaky exhale. You bite back the urge to ask him once more why he was here. You were never that close as children, you were close in a way that all of Shiganshina was but never anything more than, at least nothing that would have meant this unannounced visit was appropriate.

“Why?”

“You should live a quiet life,” Armin whispers, his lips nearly grazing yours as they move to form each syllable, “A happy life, after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, “And you don’t?” It’s a stupid question, really, if he believed he did this conversation wouldn’t be happening, “You’ve been through far more than I, you’ve lost so much more.”

“I have even more to atone for.”

His bottom lip quivers as he presses the weight of his body into you. He’s heavier than you could have imagined, and his body is harder too. Somewhere between now and then his lithe frame melded into lean muscle and it serves as another reminder of how much time has passed, how little you two knew of each other now. Trailing your fingertips over his shoulder, you slide your arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Armin shudders in your hold, a meek whimper slipping past his lips as he crushes his body into yours. Your nails press into the sliver of skin that peeks over the lip of his collar.

It's the nape of his neck.

When titans were simply the monsters that hid beneath your bed and plagued your dreams, it was common knowledge that the way to snuff them out was through the nape. It felt oddly vulnerable for your hand to roam over the smooth expanse of skin, though even as a titan shifter it was no weak spot, it may well have been with the way his body shook in your arms.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to live or to love,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “You get to love now, you get to be loved. Armin, you’re allowed to have things and to want things even after all that has happened.”

Armin sniffles, pressing his nose in your hair. The scent of the lavender soap you’ve used for as long as you could remember still clings to your hair. You wonder if he remembers if that is why he burrows his face deeper until the tip of his nose and his lips brush against the skin of your neck.

Wanting was hard.

So little felt tangible and on the off chance it was, it remained just out of reach. Like a tease, that brushed your fingertips as you outstretched your arm before pulling away or a glimpse of the sun before an array of clouds moved in from across the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something. Whatever it was you felt for Armin simmered lowly on a back burner until now, longing did not serve survival. Still, you wanted him but not in the way magpies coveted shiny trinkets but in the way the stars longed for the moon. It was a constant, all consuming yearning that made your stomach twist inward at the strange sensation.

“I don’t even …” Armin trails off, his voice wet with emotion, “I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to desire something.”

Leaning back, Armin allows enough space for him to look at your face. His cheeks are pink, blotchy, and shiny with half dried tears that pooled atop the apples of his cheeks. Cupping your face with the palm of your hand, he smiles sadly at you.

“But, all I have wanted for years was to know what it is like to kiss you.”

Your body burns, not with embarrassment but something else.

“Is that all?” You ask.

The corners of Armin’s mouth twitch upward, “Maybe not but I let go of those dreams long ago.”

“You kept this one, why?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe or … ?” Armin says, scrunching his brows together as he trails off, “You’ve always been here, you’ve been a constant in this ever changing world so I suppose I hoped there’d be a day where I could …”

“Kiss me?”

Armin bashfully nods, biting his lip a bit.

The shiny metal kettle of water grows cold in the length of time you and Armin spend silently staring at each other. He assesses you, slowly, looking for any signs that your affection for him remained buried in the past. You spoke in the past tense, and your words were too easily misconstrued. Your hands slip to cup the underside of his jaw. All this waiting, all this thinking was maddening when you knew exactly what you wanted. His face replaced those of all the men you kissed, his body manifested in the throngs of taverns like an apparition to taunt you. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted anything else in this world.

His skin was warm to the touch, you’re sure yours is too. You feel warm like you’ve been dipped in melted candle wax. A bit of stubble tickles the palm of your hands and it makes you giggle. His hair is so fair, you didn’t even notice. Armin’s shoulders tense as you lean in, insecurity claws at your throat but you’ve already taken the leap. You were too far gone now to change your mind. Gently grazing your lips across his, you give Armin a chance to back away but he only leans in closer, his calloused thumbs bite into the soft edge of your jawline as he instinctively squeezes you.

Armin’s lips are slightly chapped and scabbed over in a way that tells you he still nervously chews them when he’s worried. He’s inexperienced, that you were expecting, not that you were particularly tactful with how you clumsily melded your mouth against his. Though, he didn’t seem to mind as he eagerly attempted to mimic each movement. The thread of want that coiled around your stomach roared, begging for your attention as pulled away.

The small noise of disappointment that gathers in the back of Armin’s throat does not fall deaf upon your ears. But, you feel ravenous. If you didn’t slither away now, you’d consume him, bones and all, before he’d even had the chance to register that you sunk your teeth into his sternum. You feel ravenous. It makes your skin itch. Your fingers twitched, they desperately wished to burrow themselves into his flesh to feel how his heart thrummed for you.

Through lidded eyes, Armin peers at you, “Just like I thought,” he says, his cheeks somehow deepening in colour.

“What do you mean?”

“One kiss and I’m gone,” he explains but that doesn’t smooth the confused furrow from between your brows, “I want more, I don’t know how I’m meant to live on knowing what it’s like to kiss and never being able to again.”

Your nose scrunches as you frown, “Say who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that I’d never kiss you again?” You ask, smoothing your thumb along the length of his stubbly jaw, “Because, I never said that.”

“I just thought-”

Looping your arms around his neck you sigh, “Stop thinking so much,” you whine, allowing yourself to relish in the knowledge that he too wanted more, “Sometimes things are far simpler than you make them out to be.”

Armin bashfully dips his chin for a moment, his heat filled gaze cast away which offers you some reprieve. Only for a short moment, though. He faces you once more in an instant. You can see it swimming in the pools of his irises, the want, the hunger. It’s something you never imagined to be reflected back to you, least of all from Armin. It thrills you all the same, your skin prickling with electricity that crackles to life when he reaches for your hips.

It’s gentlemanly, how he rests his hands respectively over your body with a feather light touch that may flee should you move too quickly. You want more though, you wish he’d take claim to you the way you the way your cunt ached for.

“Are they?”

You nod, fearing your voice would somehow betray you.

He too nods, far more thoughtful than you were, “You know, I loved you too, never had any doubts of what it was,” he muses, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, “It never faded either even when I lost and confused about what came next.”

His admission makes you bristle, your ears perking up in search of any misspoken syllables that may have deluded you. There were none. There was no mistaking what Armin had confessed. It doesn’t feel real. You’d pinch yourself if Armin’s watchful gaze was pointed anywhere but you. That alone was proof enough that this was very real, Armin just confessed his love for you.

“And you?” Armin asks.

“Huh?”

Your heart pounds, screaming over the sound of Armin’s voice. You suck in a shaky breath and will your heart to calm down. In all your years of wanting, of yearning, you never imagined what it would be like to have your feelings reciprocated. You assumed neither of you would live long enough for anything to come to fruition. But you could hope now, right?

“Did your feelings for me ever fade?”

“No … no, never,” admitting out loud that you pined after a boy for nearly two decades would have made you feel pathetic if it wasn’t Armin who pulled the truth from where it coiled around your ribs, “Even if I wanted them too, they never would. You’re it for me, you’re the only person I was made to love.”

You didn’t fancy yourself a dreamer. At least, not after everything was said and done. There wasn’t much to dream up, but if you were to dream or indulge you’d tell him that there could never be anyone else because your souls were tied together. It was a terribly selfish thought but it was true enough that you felt inexplicably tied to Armin. Even if this day passed and you never saw him again, your heart would remain his until you both returned to earth.

Armin kisses you before you’re able to backpedal on any of your words, almost shyly, but still eager enough that his need rolls off his body in waves and crashes into you. His nails press through the thin material of your nightgown to nip at your hips. You’re reminded of just how strong he has become in all your years apart when you feel his muscles ripple through his forearms.

“Armin,” you sharply whisper between the desperate press of his mouth to yours, “I want you.”

It’s an unfinished thought. There are too many words that could come next and not enough actions to convey what it is you want. Threading your fingers through carefully styled hair, you tug at the strands. Armin keens into your mouth, one of his hands shooting out to grasp the edge of the counter you were pressed against. Having braced himself, he’s careful not to put too much of his weight onto you as his body melts into yours.

“I’m right here,” he says, with a slight laugh.

Resting your forehead against his, you sigh, “I want you,” you repeat, untangling your fingers from his hair to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. You flick it open, slowly testing the waters. There’s a sparse patch of flaxen hair that leads your gaze past his collarbones, “I want to be close to you, close with you…”

Your whisper, wanton words did little to clarify what you meant, Armin’s confused stare was fixed on your swollen, kiss bitten lips. Popping open another button, you glare at his tie. It constricts the fabric of his shirt from spilling open any further. Pulling the tongue of the tie out from where it’s neatly tucked in his waistband, you tug on it until you’re nose to nose. You swallow thickly, your gaze trailing down the expanse of his neck. The muscles strained beneath the skin as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Oh … Oh.”

The red in his cheeks deepened. He looked a bit like a tomato but it was rather endearing.

“...Yeah?”

He nods a bit too quickly, “Yeah,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip, “I want this, I want this with you.”

Tentatively, Armin rests his hands on your shoulder and thumbs at the worn wool of your well loved cardigan. The fabric is slowly peeling away from your body, slipping down your biceps to pool in the crook of your elbows. Your heart flutters, it’s a strange sensation and for a moment you wonder if it’s healthy. It can’t be, not with how your stomach lurches alongside your heart. Unfurling your fists from his tie, you straighten your arms and allow your cardigan to unceremoniously fall to the floor.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your fingers skimming the delicate neckline of your nightgown. You weren’t yet so overcome with lust that you forgot yourself or Armin’s apparent lack of experience.

His hands replace yours, “Yes,” his skin is clammy but so is yours, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathers along your jugular feels disgusting when laid overtop of goosebumps but you can’t will either away, “You’re special to me … there isn’t anyone else I would want to do this with.”

“You’re not just saying this because you want to die with no regrets?”

You cringe at the crippling edge of insecurity that creeps over you, mentally slapping your hand in shame. Bad! You silently scold. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. In spite of all that happened, the future was never promised, you both knew that much. There was no shame in wanting to taste all life had to offer just in case. It was human nature.

“I’m going to live a very long life,” Armin says with a confident smile. Such sureness would usually make you roll your eyes in annoyance but Armin doesn’t say it to be boastful– even if he had, he’d have earned it– he says it matter of fact, he will live a long life in spite of everything, “And so are you, there’s no need to think in half measures filled with worries because we’re going to live long beautiful lives filled with everything we could ever want.”

It’s a pretty picture he paints but you can’t help but whisper, “We are?”

Smoothing his calloused thumbs along the column of your throat, Armin exhales, “Yes, we are,” you almost believe him, his optimism was just that convincing, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Armin tugs on the loop that keeps your nightgown tied closed, not minding that the two of you still stand in your kitchenette and it’s his first time. He gently guides the thin cotton fabric open to expose your chest but doesn’t move to pull the cloth from your body. In turn, you push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the floor with your cardigan. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his lithe abdomen.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, walking backwards at your behest, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His brows shoot into his hairline when he bumps into the edge of your table, “I never pegged you to be such a flatterer, Mister Arlert,” you tease, pushing his chest until he takes the hint to hop onto the tabletop, “You tell all the girls that?”

It’s easy to wear a smile and play the part of a bashful lovestruck young lady. It’s only half a performance. There were parts of you that have long since been buried amongst the past lives you lived. They seemed to come back to you with each puff of breath that passed your lips. You slip in and out of you were and you could become. It’s frightening and thrilling. You like the rush you get when he smiles back at you. It’s megawatt bright and wide enough to take up most of his face. You wonder if he feels it too, the pieces that come together like a puzzle. He must, that’s why he smiles and allows himself to indulge in the perilous depths of wanting that lap at your bellies.

“No,” he playfully rolls his eyes, his fingers splaying out as he presses his palms flat against the table, “Only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Your stomach somersaults, you could get used to the feeling, the flirting, being desired earnestly.

You’ve been desired before but those men didn’t desire you, but rather the idea of you, your house, even your cunt, but never really you. They never filled you with empty promises, their intentions quite clear from the first shared mug of ale. It never bothered you before but now it does. You wish you didn’t fall for their promise of something good when the real thing was so much better now that you had it in your grasp.

The tip of his shoe just barely grazes the floor as he swings his leg back and forth, stepping into the space between his spread legs, you graze your fingertip along the length of his thigh. The metal of his belt glints in the warm morning light. You should probably bring him upstairs, to your bedroom. You worry if you do, you’ll lose the nerves that have steeled over to service the aching monster in your belly. Tomorrow he might think you crass, perhaps he would even sooner when the haze of desire faded and he was left with the weight of his indulgence.

“May I?

“Yes, please,” Armin breathes, shuddering a bit when you place your hand on the buckle.

His hips twitch upward, seeking the warm touch of your hand. Daring to cast your gaze downward, you rake your eyes over his growing bulge. His belt clinks open and you suck in a nervous breath. You’re about to ask if you can unbutton his dress pants when he whispers another small plea, his breath heavy.

A few strands of hair slip over the edge of your shoulder, Armin tucks them behind your ear with a pleased smile. His cock springs forth when you pull the waistband of his underwear downward. The wispy trail of hair that disappears beneath his shirt is a shade darker, but just as fine as the hair on his head. Your mouth waters at the sight of his rosy tip, precum oozes when you gently squeeze the base of his cock. Slowly pumping your hand up and down his length, you glance at Armin.

His bottom lip is squished between his teeth, hiding the sweet little sounds that travel up his throat. You strain your ears to listen, your eyes boring into his. He blinks but holds your gaze. He frees his bottom lip and allows his jaw to hang open when he realises that you’re listening to his sounds. Armin doesn’t have to be quiet, he can loudly indulge in his pleasures so he does. Softly moaning your name with a goofy, lovestruck expression on his face even as he jerks his hips up to match your rhythm.

“Does that feel good?” you ask, internally cringing as you wrack your brain for something to say. You wonder if you should stay silent, but words may be more comforting.

Armin’s head bobs as he nods a bit too quickly, “Yes,” he moans as he digs his nails into the splintered wood of your table.

He uses his other hand to curl his fingers around your wrist, the one that wasn’t languidly working his cock. Armin squeezes your wrist too roughly like he forgets himself and his own strength, your brows crinkle in pain but it’s easily masked as a look of concentration. You don’t mind though, the pain reminds you that you’re alive, that this was real and not just the machinations of an overactive imagination. Armin shudders when you use your thumb to spread some of the precum gathered along the head of his cock down the shaft, allowing your hand to slide more smoothly.

Your name is sweet on his tongue, the syllables roll off it in a way that makes you think it belongs there. Like Armin was meant to say your name like this for the rest of eternity.

“I want to touch you too,” he pants, between wanton whimpers. The smooth silver of skin that he clings to isn’t enough, “I want you to feel good too.”

It’s difficult to say no to Armin when he asks so sweetly, “Okay,” you say, bringing your linked hands up to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand, “Lay back for me, okay?”

Armin does as you ask without question like a dutiful dog obeys its owner. You hitch your legs over the edge of the table and settle atop of his thighs. Hiking the hem of your nightgown upward, you guide Armin’s hand between your legs to where your bare, wet pussy clenches in anticipation. Your cunt aches with need and your chest squeezes at the slight brush of his calloused fingers across your folds.

“Touch me here.”

“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to rub against your throbbing clit, a shiver rolls through your spine.

Cupping your hand over his, you encourage him to make a few small circles, “Mhm, just like that,” you shudder, your breath halting when the table creaks beneath your shared weight, “It feels good, Armin.”

Seeming satisfied with himself and the way his name melted past your lips, he replicates your movement. You feel feverish with need as the urge to burrow yourself within his sternum consumes you. It melds with the pinpricks of pleasure that dance inside your belly as your muscles tense. It’s a terrible fate– to be ensnared by Armin Arlert. You don’t believe his promises, no matter how saccharine. It’s devilish for him to touch you, you’ve decided. Like with your kisses, how were you meant to go on without Armin ever touching you like this again? But, you’ve learned to manage your expectations. Dreams were called dreams because they were never meant to be anything more than something to wish on as a child. Even if he did still love you, there was too much distance between what became of your life and what became of his.

Pleasure burns your belly. It singes your insecurities but doesn’t snuff them out in their entirety. It’s just enough to chase them away and leave nothing but bliss in their wake. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Your chest heaves with haggard breaths, and your nightgown slips open to reveal the supple skin of your chest and your breasts to Armin. His gaze is respectful as he drinks in the sight. He moans to himself and marvels, it’s quite endearing. You like it, you don’t feel dirty or ashamed for your wanton ways, how could you when Armin drinks you in like you’re a perfectly crafted mountainside that has been crafted just for his admiration?

“Armin,” you sigh, “I need you inside of me.”

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slide the head between your dripping folds. Armin’s body wracks and his shoulders shake as he quivers with need. He moans your name once more, and you commit the sound to memory, for those cold and lonely nights that never seem to end. Your shoulders tense when you press the tip to your hole. It’s been a while, the stretch burns a bit. But, it’s nice. Your eyes roll back into your head and you curse under your breath.

Armin slopes his hand around the nape of your neck, “Can I kiss you?” he all but moans, “I want to kiss you again.”

His rosy cheeks grow round when he offers you a bashful smile. You kiss him, your tongue and teeth clicking against one another as you sloppily move your mouth alongside his. You’ve never been much of a multitasker. It’s hard to focus on much else aside from the mind numbing pleasure that distracts you. He hasn’t stopped rolling your clit between his fingers and as he swallows up your moans with desperate, fevered kisses, you wonder if he’s enjoying how much of a mess he’s made of you.

Your heart throbs in a funny sort of manner when you sink all the way down the length of his cock. The feeling of fullness spreads to the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. You hate how complete you feel, the fact that a small part of you wishes you could bottle the utter feeling of contentedness that warms you. The hunger and longing that lives inside of you never felt satiated, not once in the decade since it burrowed behind your lungs. Now though, they purr happily like a fat cat who’s had its fair share of the cream.

The taste of salt dabbles on your tongue, “Why are you crying?” Armin asks, his voice laced with concern, “Is something wrong, does it hurt?”

Swiping your fingers across the top of your cheekbones you confirm that those are your tears and not his. They spill past your lash line and there is nothing you can do to stop them. You don’t feel sad, even with the mess in your head you know that much. You sputter for a moment, desperately searching his face for an answer but nothing comes.

“I’m just so happy,” you say though you’re unsure where those words come from but they flow freely before you can stop them just like your tears, “I like being this close to you, I want to stay this close to you.”

Forever.

That’s the word that should complete your sentence. You keep it clutched to your chest where it’ll remain safe so long as you’re vigilant.

You knock your hips forward to silence whatever endeared sentiment Armin is about to form. His brows press together in concentration. He’s nearing his end, you can feel it in the way he throbs inside of you. Your tears are gently wiped by rough hands, you hardly register them. It’s difficult to focus on much as he plays with your clit and dutifully matches each flick of your hips. He’s a quick learner, he always has been. You wonder if he’s storing your reactions and sounds for later so that if there was a next time, he’d do exactly what you’d like without instruction. The end nears for you too, it lingers amongst the obnoxious groans from your table as you rock your hips. The sounds of skin bare slapping marry your shared, debauched whines. They’ll haunt your walls tomorrow and the next.

They haunt you right now.

You didn’t think you were capable of feeling so serene, but you do. You’re untouchable as you chase your release. It lays in the palm of Armin’s hands. You’ll eat straight from them if you have to. The coil in your stomach tightens for a moment and your breathing becomes staggered. Armin is no better, he sputters small half breaths between needy whines of your name. His forehead rests on your shoulder, and his sweat dabbled hair sticks to you. Strands of your hair cling to the nape of your neck too. The cool breeze that slithers across your house makes your heated skin break out with goosebumps. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could bother you now.

“I love you,” Armin whispers into your skin as he cums, holding your body close to his.

A few more tears well up as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs shake and you struggle to bring your arms around his torso. His tight embrace makes up for it as they lay limply by your side. Your flush skin is peppered with affectionate kisses and his nose is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You feel loved, you haven’t felt it in a while but it felt similar to this. The earnest way he embraces you without a second thought is imbued with love. Lifting your tired arms, you curl them around his body. Your nails dig into the hardened flesh of his back. They leave a few crescent moons to join the myriad of battle scars and freckles that have returned to him.

‘“I love you too.”

You wish you could say it was true for the moment but it’s not. It was true because you did love him, you loved him in a way you weren’t sure you were capable of loving anyone else. If Ymir the Founder had left her people with anyone before erasing herself and her titan kin from existence, you think it might have been eternal love. The kind that wasn’t possible of fading, even when you didn’t understand why.

Hours pass and you find yourself in your bed once more, on the edge of waking and sleep you register the lack of sunlight. You don’t remember exactly how you made your way upstairs but you do remember two strong arms holding you close as you allowed slumber to cradle your tired mind in its embrace. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your blanket is tucked snugly beneath your chin.

There’s a letter on your bedside table and a glass of water. You make out the letters of your name and the promise of return but you choose not to read any further. Laying in silence you wonder if she’s still out there, your creator, the founder. If she was, you hoped she would listen to your pleas. You were strong, but you weren’t strong enough to spend the rest of your life waiting on a lost life whose remains had long since returned to the dirt and earth.

You prayed that the Jägerist’s stupidity would fall deaf to Queen Historia’s ears and that when you awoke next, there’d still be a head of blond hair next to you with long pretty eyelashes and rosy cheeks that told all his secrets.

He was too far entangled in your rib cage. You were far too comfortably curled around his aorta. Armin may be able to withstand it but you weren’t. After all this time, you really hoped you could be happy. Even with all the strangeness that came from estrangement, you felt more alive with Armin than you had in all the years of living in Shiganshina. It was a shell of its former self, with the ghosts of yesterday's past filling all the nooks and crannies. You too easily allowed yourself to become one of them, the ghosts but you didn’t half to be a ghost, you could want things just the same as Armin could.

And you wanted him to come back to you so the two of you could experience that future he was talking about.

Mr. Arlert did not raise a liar or a man who’d break promises. Your chances were good. You could be happy. All the lost parts of you could return and maybe you’d feel whole again, and maybe you’d welcome the warmth of the sun on your skin the same way you welcomed Armin back into your life.

You deserved some ounce of happiness too.

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert smut #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #armin x reader #armin smut #armin x you

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

I've Got You - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

joel miller masterlist

She and Joel are partners in business. Nothing more. But they’ll both have to come to terms with this lie they’ve been telling themselves when something unspeakable happens.

warnings | 18+ angst, very dark themes (near SA, canon-typical violence), smut

Joel was difficult to talk to, so it was a good thing she didn’t have much to say. She figured that’s why they worked so well together.

She had been in the Boston QZ since she was a teenager, since the beginning of all this really. Had set up a solid business in smuggling, finding it easy to go out into the open since she had nothing to lose, all her family gone in the first few days of the outbreak. It had hardened her, being on her own for so long, so when she found out she had competition from two newcomers, she was quick to make Joel’s and Tess’ acquaintance, knife in hand. If it hadn’t been for Tess’ diplomatic nature, she’s certain her and Joel would have killed each other then and there, two loose cannons butting heads. But, they had worked it out, merging their “business” and soon enough, they were the predominant smugglers of Boston, exerting a wide and powerful influence when they needed to.

Tess handled the deals, while she and Joel handled the actual runs. They could both go days without speaking, trailing each other along the crumbling highways, filling their packs with salvaged goods to take back. She didn’t know much about him, just that he had lost something big, just like her, just like most folks still alive. But they were comfortable with each other, an unwavering trust that had developed over months of successful jobs.

They were wrapping up another successful trip, about two day’s out from the QZ. They’d stop at Bill and Frank’s tomorrow, get a trade in before heading back. Night was starting to slip over the woods and they had set up camp in a thicket of trees. She took the first watch while Joel hunched into the side of his sleeping bag, trying to get some sleep. She blames it on herself, really, for letting her guard down when she should’ve been on alert. But they had never run into trouble in this area, and, to be quite honest, she was fucking exhausted after five days on the road. Even sitting up, hands around her shins, she was starting to fade in and out of sleep.

That didn’t last long though, when suddenly she was being yanked up and back by her hair. Her shriek was cut off quick by a knife being pressed flat against her throat. She could feel the man’s beard scratching against the side of her face as he held her up against him. There were two others, one of whom had his gun trained on Joel who had been startled awake by the sound. Hunters, from the looks of them.

Joel had sat up, holding his palms out, his eyes darting between the mouth of the gun and her. The man with the gun spoke first.

“Don’t want no trouble, pal.” She could see the muscles in Joel’s cheek tick as he sized the man up.

“Doesn’t look that way to me, pal.” The man holding her up chuckled.

“Now, now, no need to get all worked up. Just gonna want some of whatever you got in those packs.” He paused for a moment, bringing his other hand to caress down the side of her body. She shuddered under his sickening touch. “And maybe a little turn with your girl here.”

Joel was on his feet fast at that, but the other two men moved quick to grab hold of him. He struggled in their grip but the one punched him, hard, in the stomach, forcing him to double over.

She writhed under the man’s grip but he pressed the blade firmer into her throat.

“Easy, little bird. Why don’t you and I go have some alone time, huh? And if you’re real nice to me, I’ll think about not blowing your boyfriend’s brains out? That sound good to you?” She huffs as he jostles her in his grip, keeping a sneer across her face even though she nods. What the fuck else can she do?

“Be right back, gentlemen. Don’t y’all go nowhere.” He hoists her around, shoving her forward until they’re deeper into the woods, the glow of their camping lantern just a speck amongst the trees. He throws her down to the ground, quick to straddle her hips, pressing a knee into each of her wrists to keep her prone underneath him. There’s a rushing in her ears and her whole body’s shaking as he wrenches her jeans and underwear down her thighs. The man grunts behind her.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t ya? Think I ought to leave you with a little souvenir of our time together, huh?” She has no clue what he means, his voice sounding muffled as her mind continues to go hazy. But then there’s a searing pain in her low back and she realizes he’s carving something into her skin. She lets out a broken scream but he cuts her off by shoving a wad of cloth into her mouth. It’s agonizing until it’s not anymore, until her body goes slack under his hold. She realizes he’s carving letters into her skin. He’s carving initials. He finishes his work, she hears him throw the knife down beside them. He whistles low.

“Even prettier, little bird. Giving me something real nice to look at while I fuck you.” She feels frozen, numb, only startling slightly at the sound of gunshots in the distance. Her mind offers up a single thought like a mote of dust floating in the dim light. Joel. She picks up the fight again, as best she can, squirming under his hold, but he grabs a hold of her hair, forcing her head back.

“Watch it, little bird. Or I won’t be so sweet to you no more.” He drops her head, her face smearing in the rotting leaves of the forest floor.

She can hear him undoing his belt in the gloom and she braces herself for what’s coming, her whole body tensing. But just then, another gunshot rings out, and she feels the man above her go slack, falling off to the side. Her wrists ache where he had been pressing them into the dirt. She heaves, huge rolling gasps leaving her shuddering ribcage as she tries to press herself up.

She hears her name being called through the rushing in her ears, feels a pair of hands gently pulling her jeans back up her legs. And then she sees Joel in the corner of her blurry vision, leaning down to search her face. She lets out a bone-rattling sob of his name and he gathers her up in his arms, sitting down on the ground and pulling her into him. There’s blood spattered across his shirt, but she doesn’t care, digging her face into his chest. He still smells like him.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe now. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything else happen to you. I’ve got you.”

…

Somehow, they manage to get to Bill and Frank’s the next day. Joel had overpowered the men last night, killing them all handily by the time he got to her. She hadn’t spoken since he’d found her, mutely walking alongside him, keeping her eyes on the road. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

When they met the two men at the fence, they both looked taken aback by her demeanor. Bill later told Joel he thought she looked like a spooked horse, wild eyes not quite making contact, jerky, stiff movements. Frank immediately took her under his arm, guiding her into the house to tend to her bruised wrists. The couple always had a soft spot for her, had been working with her long before Joel came around, and they treated her like a daughter. Joel and Bill were left standing there, staring each other down. Bill asked him what happened but all Joel could do was shake his head, a deep sigh rumbling through his chest as he scrubbed harshly at his jaw.

Bill offered him a shower and a clean set of clothes, which he gladly accepted, watching the rust-colored water swirl around the drain. All cleaned up, he ran into Frank in the hallway as he was coming out of the bathroom.

“She’s sleeping. I gave her some painkillers, to get her some rest, at least. She told me what happened.” Joel shifts in his boots, looking down at the floor, trying to hold onto whatever restraint he has left, to not crumple in front of Frank.

Frank brings his hand to Joel’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you, for what you did, Joel. For her.” Joel clears his throat.

“Didn’t do enough– should’ve– I should’ve–” Frank cuts him off with another squeeze to his shoulder.

“You did what you could. Listen, Bill won’t ever admit it. But that girl? She’s like family to us. Thank you for saving her. You did. You saved her.” All Joel can do is nod, trying to not let the thick feeling in his throat roll into tears.

…

The sun has already set. As always, Bill and Frank had cooked a mind-boggling meal, but she didn’t join them for dinner. Frank had taken a plate up to her before they sat down, and when he came back downstairs he told them that she was awake, that she was feeling ok.

After dinner, Joel excused himself as the couple settled at the piano together, telling them he wanted to turn in early. The room they had set him up in was across the hall from where she was and before he could think better of it, he was lightly knocking on her door.

She called for him to come in, and when he saw her, he was shocked at how much relief he felt in seeing her again. She was sitting on the side of the bed in a worn-looking t-shirt and sweatpants that Frank must have given her. She glanced quickly at him before looking down at her feet.

“Are you alright?” He’s taken aback from her question, softly shutting the door before turning back to look at her.

“You’re asking me if I’m alright?” She just shrugs, still not looking up at him.

“Frank sort of whisked me away this morning. Haven’t seen you since then, just wondering.” Joel tentatively sits down next to her, resting his forearms on his thighs, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“I’m fine. Are you alright?” She shakes her head.

“Don’t– don’t start treating me different, Joel.” “Not treating you different, I–”

“Yes you are, you’re treating me like I’m broken.” She scoffs before continuing, “I’m not that fragile. Thought you knew that by now. Christ, nothing even happened. You killed that-that bastard before he could really do anything.” Her breath shudders as she exhales.

“I know you’re not broken. And you’re certainly not fragile. Made of tougher stuff than most.” She shakes her head at that but he stops her.

“Hey. I also know that you’re a fucking human being. And you and I both know that even though nothing happened, something still did. Before I– before I could get to you.” It’s his turn to sigh now, wringing his hands that rest over his knees.

“Don’t, Joel. You did what you could, that’s enough.” He scoffs.

“Yeah, I did what I could. But it kills me that I didn’t do it quicker. When I saw him– on top of you, I– god, I– I’d rather die than see you hurt, do you get that?” Her head whips up to look at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“What?” He swallows hard, already regretting the words he just said, the dangerous confession he just gave to her.

“Look, I– I shouldn’t have said that, I should go,” he goes to stand but her hand reaches out to hold onto his and he freezes in place. His heart clenches when he looks at the mottled bruises long her wrist.

She turns to face him on the bed, cautiously raising her other hand to let her palm slide over his cheek. It comes out as a whisper when she says his name and something in Joel breaks.

He knows it’s rash, and maybe just plain stupid, but he still surges forward and when they kiss it’s not gentle or sweet, it’s desperate, it’s two people holding onto each other because it’s all they have. They move quickly, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap as she cards her fingers through his hair and when they kiss, they kiss ugly. All tongues and teeth and gasping breaths between. His fingers dig into her hips as she starts to press down onto his growing length. He pulls away, looking into her blown out eyes.

“I want you, Joel.” Afraid of what he might say in reply, he dives back in for her mouth, slowly starting to shift them until he’s laying her out on the bed with his legs slotted between her thighs.

He keeps his weight off her, seeing her slight wince with each movement, not wanting to hurt or overwhelm her. But she pulls him down by his shoulder blades, pressing him against her.

“Please, I just– I need to feel you, please.” He pauses, breathing heavily as he looks into her eyes, just nodding.

“You’ve got me, darlin’. I’m right here.” He shifts a bit closer to her, coming down onto his forearms as he kisses along her jaw, down her neck and across her collarbone. She sighs underneath him.

He feels her hands fumbling at the hem of his shirt and he leans back to shrug it off over his head. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to do the same with her own, and when he’s met with the sight of her bare chest, his breath catches in his throat. She reaches out for him but he’s still frozen in place, taking her in. He lets his hands slide up her sides, fingertips grazing over her nipples in a way that makes her shiver. He murmurs the only word he can think to before meeting her in another kiss.

“Beautiful.”

They press skin to skin now and the feeling, the warmth makes Joel shudder. He feels like he can’t get enough of her, the way she’s running her palms up and down the planes of his back, the little sounds she makes as he kisses her. She takes one of his hands and brings it to the waist of her sweatpants. His fingers halt there as he looks up to her, asking without saying anything, she just nods.

He slips his fingers under the band, skimming down to her folds. He groans at the pooling wetness there. She’s keening into his hand as he strokes her, dipping into her entrance before swirling her arousal around her clit.

“You’re perfect, baby. S’fucking perfect. Does that feel good?” She just nods, gasping his name when his fingers dip inside her again.

“J-Joel, please. Wanna feel you. W-want you inside me.” His head spins at her words and stops what he’s doing, splaying his palm across the soft swell of her stomach.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” He hangs his head, letting his forehead rest below her sternum, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, making sure this is real.

“Christ, ok. Ok, darlin’. I’ve got you.” He presses up off the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down along with his boxers. He thinks he might melt under her gaze, the way she takes in the sight of him.

He kneels at the end of the bed, bringing his hands to the waistband of her pants, looking up to her one more time, one more confirmation before he gently slides her pants and underwear off her legs. He sighs at the sight of her, bare beneath him, before framing her head with his forearms, laying over her and pressing in for a kiss. He guides the head of his cock through her folds and they both groan at the contact. She draws her knee up to his hip, spreading herself out for him just a bit more.

“You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?” She nods, brushing his hair back away from his eyes before settling her hand on his cheek. He turns his head and lays a kiss in the middle of her palm before he starts to press into her. She gasps and he freezes immediately, but then she keens.

“D-don’t stop, please. Want you to keep going.” He huffs, pressing a bit deeper, taking in the way her back arches into him. Her nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder where she’s wrapped her arm.

Finally, his hips settle against hers, and they both sigh at the feeling of him being fully sheathed in her. Joel’s afraid that if he moves, this will be over before it’s even started. He dips his nose into her neck, smelling the soap Frank gave her to clean up with, but also just smelling her. Her heel digs a little into his low back, he looks up at her.

“You can move, baby.” Joel holds back a whimper at her words. He shifts his hips back, finding a slow roll back into her that has them both moaning. It’s a slow, deep pace they find, pushing and pulling against each other, lips smearing in barely-coherent kisses.

He feels the pleasure pulling tight, ready to snap, but he needs to get her there first. He brings his fingers down, circling her clit a bit harshly. She whines at the contact and he can feel her pulse around him.

“Just let go, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me, please.” She lets out a broken cry of his name before coming undone, and it’s enough to send Joel over the edge as well, quickly pulling out and painting her stomach with his spend. He’s panting as he leans in for a chaste kiss, pulling back to take in her flushed figure, the softly heaving swells of her body. He whispers that he’ll be right back, moving over to the attached bathroom to find a towel to clean her up with. He sits back on the bed, daubing away the mess he made. She’s smiling softly around a “thank you.”

He passes her her t-shirt to slip back on while he tugs his boxers back up his legs before they both get under the covers, immediately tangling up in each other. There’s nothing to say, it’s unspoken what has just passed between them. Joel knows that from now on, he’s hers, and she’s his.

Her breathing evens out before his, falling asleep in his arms. He lets his palm wander up her shirt, gently skating down her back. He pauses at the gauze bandage that sits at the base of her spine. He had seen what that man had done to her, the letters gruesomely carved into her skin. It made him wish he hadn’t just shot the man, that he had kept him alive to make him suffer, only giving him the mercy of death when he was begging for it.

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller one shot #fanfic

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whysojiminimnida · 11 months

Text

Remember When I Said Taehyung Might Not Be As Gay As We Thought?

Don't judge a man by his milfy wardrobe, he looks goooood.

It was... awhile ago. Maybe as far back as 2021 although I do not feel like link-searching it. It's in the archives if I didn't kill it.

Granted, there was a lot going on, then. There's still a lot going on and until now I had no desire to ever - EVER - return to this hellsite. Because Taekookers are fucking weird, yo. And some of y'all got a lil bit up in my shit too as I (fuzzily) recall. Which: it's whatever. I'm extremely unsocial, don't even answer my own DMs. And it's not personal, so I get it. I don't need or want to defend myself, but I will protect people I care about. With my absence, if necessary.

OT: I also totally kicked the big C while I've been out so that was nice. Yoongi the cat is pleased that his noms will continue uninterrupted. I will be in wigs for at least another year. It's all good. Oh LOOK at what we have here. Don't come at me for publishing this, I will explain.

I got it from actual media days ago, okay, and also: there was no expectation of real privacy. Keep reading. Or don't, I'm not telling you what to do.

ANYWAY. I had to come back, mainly to say TAENNIE IS REAL I TOLD Y'ALL IDK WHY NOBODY EVER BELIEVES ME BUT HERE WE ARE. I'm gloating. Honestly, it's so rude, I'd apologize if I cared. But I am rude and snorfling into my cheerios about this. Tae just made me so damn happy, is all.

LET THE MAN BE BI OR HETEROFLEXIBLE OR EVEN STRAIGHT IDC. Jennie clearly makes him happy. Look at his "I'm going to Paris to see my girlfriend" face!

And in that very specific jewelry look, no less. Foundrae. Again. Still. Hm.

Here's what I can tell you based on my limited third hand no sources no receipts this is probably utter bullshit usual disclaimer: It's a soft open, kids. This whole "oopsie we just so happened to get caught taking a lil walk in public with our managers in tow during which date at least one of us signed several autographs, what a surprise" is in fact a soft open for what will likely be a public confirmation PRETTY DAMN SOON. It might happen before I get this thing published, actually, depending on when I get it up. If it's before May 22 at noon my time, no idea. If after, well. Guess we'll see. Jennie's supposed to show up at the screening of HBO's The Idol that day, screening at the Grand Lumiere at 10:30 CEST. One wonders if she will arrive alone, or bring a plus one. It's a big ask, and if he does it they're probably getting married, that's how big a deal it would be. So I'm not holding my breath, but.

This seems like a reasonable prospect for a plus-one viewing. Might not be the only one but... Jennie's IN IT so.

I'M NOT SAYING THIS IS GONNA HAPPEN. I think it would be a fucking POWER move if it did, but I also do not necessarily expect that it will. It COULD. It... MIGHT. It might not. Either way they're a thing, I'm telling you. They are, have been, a thing. For awhile. And it is apparently quite serious - like up to and including talk of engagement serious.

Remember when a bunch of folk thought that one gummy bear dude was going to jail for "hacking" Jennie's phone only there's been no actual movement on any "investigation"? Yeah. Trickle truthing, they call it. Give 'em a little bit, let them deny it and yell and chew on it for awhile before you give 'em a little more. But c'mon, nobody's wearing half the love-themed couple pieces at Foundrae for no damn reason.

Seriously they got the whole collection almost and both have been seen wearing them almost exclusively. For a year.See airport pic above.

Look, I don't have inside info on Taehyung. I do not. I ain't hang with his friends and I don't know him personally. Never met the guy. But I know a PR move when I see one and this is exactly that.

We all know how toxic stan culture can be. Some ToadlicKKers (and a few of us house elves) are certifiably bonkers, if stan twitter is anything to go by. And the guys, the company, they expect a whole meltdown. They know this is not gonna make half their fans happy. I mean the tkkers have a point in that it looks like they wanted to be seen. BECAUSE IT'S A SOFT OPEN. What Taejen/Taennie/Jenhyung and the companies also know is that based on historic shipper behavior, this is gonna come back on Jimin, Jungkook, maybe Rose' and Lisa. And by extension, the other members. Maybe not as much due to their respective distance, but still. I bet by the time I finish this it will have already started.

Oh look there it is. Fuck those bitches, really.

Good LORDT. I'm not adding the audio, if y'all are that hungry for psycho hose beast Jimin hate hie thee to stan twt.

But, totally off-topic kinda...

... wouldn't it be cool if Jennie, who speaks great English, was hanging out with Troye Sivan and was like "so you know my boyfriend tells me that his bffs..." I'M JUST SAYING NETWORKING IS COOL AND FRIENDS OF FRIENDS GET THINGS DONE OKAY.

You know that girl has the scoop. If Tae knows it, she knows it. Oh heeeeyyy Troye.

Also OT: I love that Taekook have been hanging out a little more lately. It's refreshing. I genuinely think having Jennie in his life has been good for Tae in several ways. And you know, I'm kinda surprised Taennie has lasted this long. I didn't honestly think they would. It warms my decrepit, sad old heart a bit. Turns out I have a lot more to say so IDK IDK, if I feel okay about it I might be back. Right now I'm just waiting for the official Taennie nod and the continued total meltdown.

#oh shit here we go again #taennie #stan twt #cannes #taehyung #kim taehyung #jennie #meanwhile the jeon parks continue unabated but that's another thing #tae in paris #random troye sivan #cannes 2023 #yoongi the cat not the man #why the hell am i even here

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one-idea · 2 months

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As I just watched 325 where Ace and Blackbeard fight. I can’t help but think of other ways it could have gone.

What if Ace didn’t leave the Moby dick alone? What if members of the Spade pirates followed?

Maybe Ace takes off on his own but Masked Deuce, Skull, and Mihar follow. They were his commanders. Maybe Deuce never liked Teach to start with. The man has bad vibes even when he’s actively tricking the Whitebeard crew. (If Luffy can pick up on the rancid vibes I refuse to believe other people didn’t pick up on them) add in the fact he just murdered a crew mate, and they all know Ace. Ace will take this as his responsibility. He’s going to go after teach there is not stopping him.

Maybe they go with him.

Maybe they see him leave. Deuce asked why no one’s going after him and is told that as second division commander Teach is Ace’s responsibility. So Deuce Mihar and Skull decided to follow on their own.

When they catch up depends on how you want the final battle to play out. There are two options.

1) they catch up before Ace reaches Blackbeard.

You get an argument of Ace anting them to turn back. He’s still underestimating Teach. He doesn’t know what his new devil fruit does.

It ends with them reminding Ace that they are there because they’re his friends and they care about him and want to help. They can deal with what ever consequences come from leaving the Moby later.

When they catch up to Blackbeard. Maybe they go to fight Blackbeard’s crew while Ace handles Teach.

That is until Teach shows off his devil fruit and the three have to book it to the forest. They don’t know what the fruit does but Blackbeard’s crew is fleeing from it.

Pause because idea 2 is that they trail him and end up on Banaro island right before Ace does. Maybe it was easier to track Blackbeard than Ace and the best him there. They are talking to/helping the town folk when Blackbeard shows off his power.

Either way both ideas meld here

Once out of range maybe Skull recognizes it. He has a weird hodgepodge of knowledge about pirates and I can see him knowing somethings about devil fruits.

Once Blackbeard is done showing off. They three race back to Ace. It takes them some time but they get there just in time to see Ace take a big hit.

Maybe between Skulls sword, Mihar’s gun and all threes quick thinking they are able to pull Ace out of there.

Ace is furious. He hates running. But the others know they are out matched. They were able to do some damage. (Over the years with Whitebeard they have gotten stronger) but maybe Blackbeard’s crew had also come to back him up. They were out numbered and Ace was already hurt.

Ace fights every step of the way. “You don’t understand! I can’t let him get away!”

“Ace we’ll get him I promise but we need help.” Deuce tries to reason. Blackbeard is a bigger threat than any of them thought. They will need Pop’s help for this.

“No you don’t understand. He’s going after Luffy!” And the world freezes for a second. (I’d like to think in either option the Spades missed Teach’s little attempt to get Ace to join him) they all know of Luffy. Ace little brother who he adores. He talks everyone’s ear off about the kid. So the fact that Teach was going after him was beyond low.

It’s a race now to Water 7. (They say the fight took place three days before the Strawhat’s new bounties dropped) so they are all still resting at Water 7. Garp may not have even shown up yet.

It’s a race between the two crews. Blackbeard to kill Luffy for his Warlord position, and Ace who desperately trying to warn/save his brother.

Maybe they have contacted the rest of the Whitebeard pirates and filled them in and they are on their way to.

This is a fluid idea. But I always thought it was unfair for Ace to be on this quest alone. I understand why, but like the boy deserves his friends.

Also I don’t think the Spades could beat Teach on their own. I think they are just enough to pull Ace out of the fight. He’s kicking and screaming but he’s safe.

Part 2 of this nonsense

#one piece #portagas d. ace #one piece ace #fire fist ace #masked deuce #spade pirates #acedeuce #the spades save ace

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padfootdaredmetoo · 10 months

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Hi again! Here's the second Henry Sherlock X Peaky idea I had if you wanted! It would be a Sister Holmes X Tommy Shelby where reader is Tom's secretary and has just stated dating him but hasn't told her family yet because she hasn't seen them in a while. Then maybe one day a girl (badly disguised as a boy) is caught snooping around the betting shop and as Arthur takes her to Tom's office for questioning the reader immediately clocks it as her little sister who a agreed to spy for Sherlock. Then reader finds him and is berating him for putting Enola in danger while Sherlock is mad about her ruining their cover because he's investigating Tom for a case and as their arguing the reader says she knows Tom didn't do it because he was with her at the time (maybe she reveals the hickies) and Sherlock just freezes and goes into big bro mode while the Shelby family is trying to figure out what's going on because for once they didn't commit this crime and they haven't heard about the readers family yet. And yeah! That was the other idea😂 idk which to send in so you can choose which you'd rather do! Feel free to change anything about them too! I just desire some Sherlock x Peaky goodness 😂 ❤️❤️ also I hope those weren't too long I just didn't know how to explain them shortly!

Have a great night/day/time! ❤️❤️ and remember: GO YOU!!

Hey Love,

Hope you enjoy this and thank you for waiting so long! Was away on vacation (realized I didn't post that I was away.) Thanks again for these requests! they were so fun!!!

Warnings: Mention of child trafficking/conflict between family / peaky blinders-related themes

You were tired after being up all night. The conditions were nothing to complain about though. You lay in bed thinking about the chaos that surrounded your boss, and your relationship to him. You knew he wasn’t always a good man. But just like the morning sun streaming through your curtains, your mind was hazy.

This feeling was not something you had experienced before. Complete ease. You were relaxed when he was around, and you even enjoyed being around his family. The feeling was addictive and considering the family you were born into it wasn't a mystery how you had ended up with such an appetite.

While the Shelby family could match your folks for chaos, they had a consuming warmth about them that was foreign to you.

You thought long and hard on your way to the betting shop. This emotion could be a result of lovemaking, you knew enough about brain chemistry to know that there was a scientific side to these things. But why were you so happy the rest of the time? Why were you becoming so attached to him and his family?

You got to the betting shop and were thankful to see tea brewing in the kitchen upstairs. You poured a cup and grabbed a muffin from the counter before settling in at your desk.

Your mind was finally distracted from trying to sort out your feelings. Relief flooded you as you tied your hair out of the way and dug into the various file folders. You were doing your favorite, well, second favorite thing. Analyzing data for patterns. This particular situation was close to your heart you wanted to find the evidence as quickly as possible.

You were so consumed with compiling evidence that you didn't even notice that something had kicked up in the betting shop until Arthur had dragged the commotion to the front of your desk.

He held a girl dressed in boy's clothes by the collar of her shirt. The girl was young with a face that resembled yours a great deal. Your stomach dropped and you weren't sure if you wanted to shout at him to take his hands off of her or die of embarrassment.

Your own appearance was embarrassing enough, your hair was tied up in a scarf, and your thick-rimmed reading glasses probably only made your eyes look even wider than they were.

“Enola?!” You hissed. Your whole nervous system kicked into high gear. She could have been killed. Arthur could have killed your baby sister.

You stood up and Arthur was smart enough to release his grip on her.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” She looked up at you with sad eyes, a trick that had been abused many times over the years of broken dolls and colored pencil scribbles on the pages of your books.

“Arthur?! What on earth-” Polly shouted from upstairs.

“Eh - Looks like it's being handled,” Arthur called back, giving you a wink. His face told you that he knew exactly what emotion you were feeling. Older sibling to older sibling, he was going to let you handle your sister. Rather than the alternative, which would have been to put her in the cellar till Thomas got back.

Your stomach dropped.

“Enola what the fuck.” Your voice was low and she gave up on looking sad.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and you fought the urge to slap her. She gave you a meaningful look and slowly said “It’s family business”

Arthur snorted slightly. Polly was coming down the stairs.

“I called Thomas. Now what is going-” She started but you cut her off.

“Enola, why are you here, I trust them with family business.”

“Well, you shouldn't.” She snorted and you hated the arrogance that was radiating off of the girl. This attitude and performance lead you to the conclusion that Sherlock must have sent her. She was always hungry for his approval.

“What does Sherlock want with them?” You asked firmly. Her eyes widened slightly but she brushed it off.

“How long have you worked here?” She said giving you a cold look.

“I’m the one interrogating you.” You reminded her. “Now where is Sherlock? I’ll just ask him myself.”

Just then as if summoned he came through the doorway with Thomas. Your temper flared up and you gripped the edge of your desk to steady yourself.

“Could have just called me.” You said trying to keep the anger out of your voice.

“You can’t really be trusted on this one.” He said in his usual unbothered tone. You knew that this mess was clearly for an ongoing case and that because you were employed here you couldn't be involved. But it hurt non the less.

“Right.” You said narrowing your eyes. “Get it over with. Now.” You demanded, unsure if Arthur took a step closer toward you in an effort to show solidarity or if it was in case you ended up being a threat to the family.

“Well, I’ve been employed by a family to investigate the Shelby family here. Yesterday it became an active murder investigation..”

You watched an expression cross Thomas’s face and you wondered if he lied about that part of his life being packed away. You caught a look of confusion on Polly’s face that quickly turned into a stony mask. She didn't know what this was about, but she’d turn on you if it was necessary.

“What family and when?” You said sharply. You felt Thomas’s cold eyes stay locked on you.

“Harris, I placed the time of death around 8pm.” He bit back.

“We were at dinner, I can account for his whereabouts for the whole evening. Before you accuse me of lying, I’ve been looking through all their books and paperwork.” You picked up the papers you had been collecting your findings on. You almost wanted to laugh at your luck, for once you had the upper hand.

“Your employer didn't take too kindly to us after we refused an offer they made regarding the children at the orphanage.” Sherlock’s face paled slightly. “I’ve got more than enough evidence through the paperwork here to put them away for life. Human trafficking.”

You both entered a famous Holmes staring contest and he knew that he’d messed up. You weren't expecting him to look so angry though. Sure when you were children he would get mad like this. You hoped he was angry at the horrible crimes being committed but something in your stomach said otherwise.

You wanted to break and look to Thomas. You suddenly became aware yet again that your hair was messy and you were still wearing your glasses. You normally always took them off when someone was approaching. Your cheeks got slightly pink at the thought of him judging you.

“The real question is what will we do to bring them down,” Polly said trying to break up the tension.

“Why this?” Sherlock’s voice cut like a knife as he gestured to the room.

“We can discuss this later.” He didn't budge and you were grateful that Polly started to pull Enola up the stairs.

“Come let's get you some tea and a snack,” She said quietly. Polly shot Arthur a look over her shoulder. He gave you a reluctant look but followed her out of the room.

Thomas stayed against the wall looking as relaxed and bored as he always did when in the company of outsiders.

“Why them?”Sherlock repeated once he realized Thomas wouldn't be leaving, and you realized it was the same question that had been nagging you all morning.

“They make me happy. He makes me happy.” You said quickly.

“They are criminals.”

“These are hard-working people. You snoop around if you like, but you won't find anything criminal here.” You knew this because you handled the transition of the business yourself.

“I don't like it.” He said firmly and the emotion he was giving off finally made sense. He wasn't one-upping you, he was trying to protect you.

“You wouldn't like it if it was anyone else either.” You said with a small smile finally understanding. “I’m sure we can help each other with this?” You gestured to the paperwork.

“Of course.” He nodded and came to stand next to you. Just like that things fell into their usual flow, you explaining a pattern and him trying to prove you wrong to help narrow it down. You and him went back and forth at a rapid pace and within a few moments, he was in agreement with you. Just then you heard Enola speak.

“Did I miss all the good stuff?” She asked Thomas and you looked up, breaking your concentration. He gave her a small smile. Once seeing his friendly nature you went back to pulling the last of the stolen documents you hadn't examined yet.

“I think they have most of it sorted,” Thomas responded.

“Damn.” Enola sighed. “Was it cool? I bet it was cool.”

“Very.” Thomas’s response caught you off guard.

“Sorry about your shop - and everything.” She said in an uncharacteristically shy voice.

“It’s alright. Feel free to stop by anytime.” You watched Enola’s face light up at his words. While they were legal on paper, you knew this was a dangerous place and probably always would be. Was Sherlock's world any different? As long as the family kept her safe she would be fine you reassured yourself.

“Thanks.” She held out her hand to him.

“Enola.”

“Thomas.”

They chatted and your heart got a little bit softer the more they spoke.

“This is enough to take to the inspector.” Sherlock finally said officially letting you win in his own way.

Your eyes snapped up and looked to Thomas, he was listening to something Enola was explaining. He gave you a nod before looking back at your little sister.

“Excellent - erm Thanks.” You said not sure how to proceed with things. “I know they have a rough history. But so do we.”

“You and Enola are my responsibility. I’ll be around.” He gave you a long look before standing up. He shook hands with Thomas and you walked him and Enola to the front door. You said your goodbyes and watched them hail a cab.

Once they were on their way you took a few deep breaths before going back into the shop. You took your hair down and tucked your glasses into the pocket of your sweater.

After another moment you went back inside to apologize.

You came back in and heard their voices from the bottom of the stairs. It sounded like they were filling John in on what he had missed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was like watching a machine or something.” Thomas said and you weren't sure how you felt about his words. You were a receptionist on paper, you could have done many things with your life. But this job was invisible. No one bothered you, no one compared you to either of your big brothers. It was comfortable. When Thomas asked you to take a look at things you were simply going to give him your findings so he could bring those bastards down. You didn't want credit or publicity. You certainly didn't want him to see you as that nerdy girl with glasses who had so often been belittled.

“Machine or not, she’s one of them. She’s handled everything! She could take us down any moment - you just can’t-” Polly hissed and you felt her words cut through you like hot knives.

“I’ll handle it.” Thomas cut her off darkly and you felt like you had been dunked into cold water.

“Tom - at least hear her out. Not like they treated her nicely. Maybe she’s different?” Arthur said in a pleading tone but there was no response.

You knocked on the door frame to announce your presence. Sharp eyes landed on you and you took a breath trying to look composed.

“Walk me home?” You asked Thomas and he looked at you for a long moment as if he was studying something strange in a museum. He gave you a nod and took your arm.

He didn't say a word the whole way back. You felt his eyes land on you periodically and each time your heart rate sped up. These were last looks and you could feel parts of you start o spin out of control.

You opened the door to your flat with shaking hands. Once you pushed it open the stuffy air made it even harder to breathe. He shut the door and locked it, the sound making your chest constrict even tighter. You felt like you were being suffocated, but now wasn't the time to show such emotions.

“Why did you help us?” The question was simple and you were relieved he was going to hear you out, even if he just had the patience for a fraction of the story, it would lessen the burden on your chest significantly.

“You needed help. You wanted to be better.” It was hard to get your voice up above a whisper. Your mind flashed to all the times you wondered about him and his family and why they would be converting their business over to be completely legal in the first place. They would reach much farther opportunities being shady. What was in it for them? But there was always something shining in Thomas’s eyes that answered your question. Pride. He didn't care about making more money at this point. He cared about his family being respected after a hard life of being dismissed and shit on.

You remembered the various balls and social events you had been forced into at Mycrofts side. All the men that had tried to take your hand in marriage. All from grand wealthy families that had started much like Thomas had. It was unavoidable. You thought about how your life would have been as a wife instead of a gangster's girlfriend.

“You could have turned us in any time. Given your bothers the tip-off”

Brothers plural. So he knew Mycroft too. Fuck.

“Why would I?” You mumbled feeling defeated. “They care about themselves. Well, not Sherlock, he cares in his own way. Enola is just a kid still. Mycroft only cares about himself.”

“He hasn't pressured you for information on us?”

“We would have to talk for him to do that. As far as he knows I’m a “worthless spinster living within the dregs of society.” You mocked his voice feeling frustrated. If his existence was the thing to fuck this up for you, you would find a way to make him pay for it.

“Why didn't you tell me about your family?” He was still as cold as you expected him to be but there was a slight toe of hurt in his voice.

“Well, there's the Holmes family that everyone sees and then the other side. I just - I really like it here. Your family is - more - they like me. They seem to enjoy having me around. It’s not a big competition all the time. And then you -” Your voice cut and tears started to become unavoidable.

“Well, nothing bad has happened.” he shrugged. “Mycroft certainly doesn't know we're together.” He said with a smile. You wanted to know how he knew that.

“Everything was destroyed anyway. It would be my word against yours, and as you can see no one listens to me anyway.”

“I do.” He said and pulled you against him into a tight hug.

_________________

He proposes shortly after.

Mycroft finds out and needs to be taken to the hospital because he thinks he's having a heart attack

Sherlock randomly shows up at Arrow House while You are shopping with Enola. Examining the whole house while Tommy smokes and follows him. Eventually, Sherlock agrees that this is a fine house for you to run. That if Thomas fucks up in any way that Sherlock would kill him and that Sherlock was sure he wouldn't get caught. They shake on it.

They end up working together occasionally. Enola becoming very attached to Esme & Polly. Sherlock eventually becoming fond of the family and occasionally accepting a dinner invitation when he had time.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #Holmes Sister #enola holmes

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newleaf92 · 1 month

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Favorite Lines from Hazbin Hotel songs Part Two:

Poison—this song broke my heart as Angel Dust is one of my favorites, and seeing what he had to deal with from Val was devastating.

“I shoulda known it when I looked into your red hot eyes.”

“Addicted to this feelin’ I can’t help but swallow up your poison.”

“I got so good at tellin’ you what you wanna hear.”

“Poison, I'm drownin' in poison. I'm fillin' up my glass but it's always hollow full of poison, I'm sick of the poison. Wish I had somethin' to live for tomorrow.”

Loser, Baby

“You’ve lost your way. You think your life is wrecked. Well, let me just say you’re correct.”

“You’re a fucked up little whiny bitch. You’re a loser just like me.”

“You’re a power bottom at rock bottom, but you got company.”

“I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak.”

“And you think that makes you unique.”

“Baby that’s fine by me.”

“I’m a loser, honey. A schmoozer and a dummy. But at least I know I’m not alone.”

“It’s time to lose your self loathing. Excuse yourself, let hope in,baby. Play your card, be who you are.”

Hell’s Greatest Dad

“Looks like you could some help from the big boss (😈)of Hell himself.”

“With a punch from a pentagram.”

“I’ll rig the game for you because I’m the ref(😈)

“Champagne fountains, caviar mountains. That’s just a start.”

“I’m your guy, your day to day, your chum, your steadfast hotelier.”

“I’m truly honored that we built such a bond.”

“It’s a little funny. You could almost call me dad (👹😈)

(😡👿🎻)

“There’s no substitute for pure angelic power! Who just so happens to also be your blood.”

“Can you butt out of my song? (Your song?! I started this!”)

More Than Anything

“Now you’re the only thing worth fighting for.”

“I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything.”

“So in the end, it’s the view I had of you that showed me dreams can be worth fighting for.”

“I’ve been dying to find out who you are.”

“All that I’m hop in’, now that my eyes are open, is that we can start again. Not be pulled apart again.”

“Cause in the end, you are part of who I am. I’ll support your dreams no matter what’s in store.”

“I’m grateful your my daughter/father.”

Welcome to Heaven

“Welcome to Heaven, oh-oh!” (🎤🫦)

“Where the virtuous reside 24/7, oh-oh!” (🎤🫦)

“Welcome to Heaven, oh-oh!” (🎤🫦)

“Check out our sick decor, the spirit’s leaven, oh!” (🎤😏🫦)

“And everyone is hot!” (🎤🫦🤤🫠)

You Didn’t Know

“Checked all the boxes that you said would prove a person deserves a second chance. Now we turn our backs, no second glance.”

“It’s not fair, Sera.”

“That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways. Turn the page, escape infernal blaze.”

“What are we even talking about? Some crack whore who fucked up already?”

“There’s no question to be posed. He’s unholy, case closed.”

“A man only lives once. I’ll see you in one month. Gotta say I wait can’t to come down and exterminate you.”

“Well, I don’t need your condescension. I’m not a child to protect!”

“Was I too naive to expect you to heed the morals you’re purveying?”

“That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying.”

“If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie.”

“When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again.”

Out for Love

“I see you’re driven by your detestation.”

“You need a different type of motivation.”

“Think of who you care about. Protect them and be out for love.”

“Fuel yourself with the fear of losin’ that somebody who’s your reason to live. Harness your heart and you can’t help choosin’ to fight with all you can give.”

Ready for This

“And though I kinda feel unsteady, now I gotta be ready for this.”

“Not to mention the camaraderie. Yes sure, you’ll form life-changing friendships with folks along the way.”

“Oh, don’t be put off by their snarlin’, that’s enthusiasm, darlin’!”

“Don’t worry, honey, that’s their thing. Keep singing.”

“When Adam brings the battle here, I must appear like I’m ready for this.”

“Surprised? Why, I knew she could do it all along.”

“Stick with her and you’ll be on the winning side.”

More than Anything-Reprise

“And in the end, if it’s only me you saved, there’s something I’ve been dying to say.”

“Need you to know I love you more than anything.”

Finale

“I know I could have done better, better than letting you down.”

“You can do this, now I know it! For your story has just begun.”

“The stage is wrecked, the crowd is gone, but, by god, Charlie! The show it must go on.”

“With more sinners than you can dream.”

“It starts with you. You know it’s true. Fulfill your destiny!”

“With a bit of bravado, maybe tomorrow, we’ll be atop the heap.”

“Nature abhors a power vacuum. It leaves room for you and me. The power of hell belongs to the Vees.”

“I’m hungry for freedom, like never before!”

“Once I figure out how to unclip my wings, guess who will be pulling all the strings?”

“And then tomorrow, it will be a fuckin’ happy day in Hell!”

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alpaca-clouds · 5 months

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The World-Ending Threats Are Easier in Fantasy

I talked with a friend about this last night and I thought I could share this with you. We talked about Baldur's Gate and DnD campaigns, as well as fantasy in general and the tendency of a lot of fantasy to deal with world ending threats. And I thought I would share, because it is an interesting topic.

Spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3

In a lot of fantasy stories there are potential world ending threats. Sure, often enough the world is not literally gonna end, but it would cease to be the same world we know it to be. In Baldur's Gate 3 the villains basically plan for world domination. Or at least Sword Coast domination. But it is bad enough I would argue. Which is why in a good playthrough you got to stop them at all costs. So, in the end you defeat them, one by one. And then you go up to the big evil netherbrain and you kill that thing, too, after which the world is gonna be saved once more.

And themes like this are fairly common in fantasy. How many fantasy stories do you know in which the bad guy wants to rule over the world or reshape it entirely. Sure, it is fairly rare that the villain outright wants to destroy it - that is usually only something that "force of nature" villains want to do - but the fate of the world is kinda always on the line and of course the world tends to be saved by our fearless heroes.

For the longest time this went so far into that power fantasy aspect of it, that we never actually did consider how it would feal for those fearless heroes to have the fate of the world on their shoulders. Only fairly recently fantasy has turned more to dealing with the trauma our heroes would face during their quest to save the world, while having to kill and seeing their friends killed. In fact we are so used to heroes being impervious to trauma, that there are still a lot of people who will get very cranky when presented with a fantasy world where trauma does actually affect the heroes. (I just will remind you of how angry the nerds became to see traumatized Luke in The Last Jedi.)

But even so... the fantasy apocalypse is a lot nicer than the real world apocalypse, isn't it?

I mean that seriously. Because especially our younger generations do not know a world before the apocalypse. I am a millenial and I fairly well remember that moment when I was just 16 and realized how fucked the world was. Like, literally, I remember the exact day and time at which I realized that climate change was real and was going to fuck us all over. But at least I do remember a time before that. I do remember having normal winters and mild summers. Gen Z often doesn't.

And here is the thing: The real world apocalypse is not as easy to stop as the fantasy apocalypse. In the fantasy apocalypse it is fairly easy to stop it. Sure, the questline might be convoluted, but in the end it is "destroy magical item in vulcano" or "blow this one bad guy up". Once the main baddy has been defeated usually their troops will just give up - or remember they had better things to do.

But this doesn't really work in the real world. I cannot just go, assassinate Netanjahu and stop the genocide of Palestinians. And I cannot just take some magical item, throw it into mount Etna and stop climate change. And I also cannot throw Elon Musk into a portal and stop capitalism like that.

And sure, I do not have to deal with goblins, dragons, orks at the same time. Great. But... Like... We are all still getting traumatized, right? Like, we all get traumatized and especially between marginalized left-wing folks I do not know a lot of people who did not witness at least one violent encounter with evil goons (police).

And we are all traumatized. Losing a house in a wildfire is traumatizing. Seeing loved ones die of a pandemic the politicians are not taking seriously is traumatizing. Being in constant survival mode because you are too poor for anything else, is traumatizing as well. Most current workplaces are also traumatizing in their own little ways. School is traumatizing for so many of us. We are all getting traumatized by the world being fucked up.

To be perfectly honest with you: I would rather pick up a fight with a dragon, a netherbrain or whatever. Because a dragon or a netherbrain at least gives me something concrete to do. Because a dragon I can slay. Capitalism I can't. No matter how much I protest, I cannot kill capitalism - and I cannot stop climate change. And even if we did a revolution... It might work, yes, but really... slaying a dragon would be so much easier.

This is of course the entire function of fantasy as escapism. Because fantasy allows us a world where the end might be stopped fairly easy. When I DM a DnD campaign and let my players stop the end of the world, it is so we all can have the catharthis of this ending.

I just... wished that the real world would make it a bit easier.

Sorry for rambling. But yeah, it was something we talked about yesterday and I thought I might share.

#capitalism #climate change #global warming #apocalypse #end of the world #fantasy #escapism #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dungeons & dragons #anarchism #anti capitalism

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purity-town · 4 months

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No update today...because I just graduated from college!!! It's been a wild weekend with my graduation ceremony and moving apartments and all that, but from here on out I'm officially free!

We're also just past the third anniversary of Purity Town! I had started working on the comic towards the end of my first semester at college, during one of the lowest points of my life -- so suffice to say, I'm so glad to see how far we've come since then, and many thanks to everyone for sticking around for so long and making this such a fun experience to work on!

And with all that, after ages, I've finally got ask responses all typed up under the cut!

And thank you for reading!!!!! Seriously, it makes me so so so happy to see people enjoying this comic so much -- I'm getting to draw things and get excited about my lore ideas and present NPC interpretations and OCs and it's wonderful that other people are just as hyped about it. I adore Chris and Andrew a lot and I'm glad other people do too!

Haha, yep! The Dryad gets to see That Guy again after 450 years, the townsfolk get to see the equivalent of a mythical fairy show up to bless their town, and Andrew has to deal with the Literal Actual Dryad in town and up in his business. Everyone will be happy about this and there's no way it will end messily!

I've definitely thought about it! Particularly having her being Andrew's maternal grandmother, and then working elements reminiscent of that into Andrew's mother's design -- I even have a general idea for how she looks based on that, though I don't have anything to show for it as I haven't tried properly drawing her out.

I think there are several interesting hooks that could come of it, depending on how you spin it. Big problem with all of that being that, at least off the top of my head, there's hardly any in-game lore surrounding the nymph -- she's just someone (some creature? a type of creature? a unique being?) that exists.

I did see a note on the wiki pointing out the similarities between the Dryad and the Nymph's designs, but I'm not totally convinced that's intended; they just happen to both be showing a lot of skin. The definition of "Dryad" including the word "Nymph" nudges me towards them being related, but I'm still just...not sure. Maybe Nymphs (or Nymph, singular) are a handful of Dryads who were not outright killed in the war but instead mutated beyond recognition by the eldritch powers they fought against? Much to think about; I'm open to ideas if anyone has opinions on the matter!

Here you go! And a sta.sh link again in case of Tumblr-image-quality-shenanigans.

Thank you!!! The Aether is an incredibly fun location to draw in general; it's so strange and magical and gives me an excuse to add stars and sparkles everywhere. Add in the Shimmer and it's just- such a delight, haha. It's rainbows and starlight and it was really interesting translating the in-game side view we get of the Shimmer pond to the top view in the comic.

Thank you :) This was quite the semester, and working around other folks' schedules for groupwork and sudden project requirements changes and so on and so forth left me with a busy and unpredictable schedule. But I was able to wrap up the semester with solid finals and a great GPA, so it worked out in the end -- and now I'll finally be settling into a more regular work schedule. No more all-nighters (hopefully)!!

I’ll admit that I haven’t really thought about this much. If anything, I’ll probably handwave it a bit to be more general -- main reason being that there are plenty of reasons for someone to be on edge during a Blood Moon, and that can be an interesting thing to explore without making it into a “haha menstruation” joke.

(Also, considering the Zoologist transforms during a Blood Moon regardless of moon phase, I think the idea of the moon warping the mind and that being amplified during Blood Moons in general is a more interesting take. But even if you remove that element, Blood Moons are scary and characters being snappy or on-edge is reasonable given the circumstances.)

I don’t have a good response to this bit, but please know that it made me laugh quite a lot.

First off -- I’m so sorry for taking so long to answer this ask; I hope you’ve gotten good info elsewhere in the meantime but I’ll add what advice I can give! Here are some general tips below -- some may be more useful than others depending on your situation and approach to drawing, but I hope it helps in some way or another!

Start small. Purity Town started as a 2-page mini-comic, and then expanded into a 10-page chapter as I got used to the comic-making process and decided whether I wanted to stick with the project or not. Purity Town ended up snowballing into a larger narrative comic rather than the "small comic snippets accompanying a more typical fanfic" as I had originally been thinking of, but starting small helped me ease into it nonetheless. By the time that I had finished the first chapter, I had gained enough experience working with comics to feel comfortable/confident enough to continue on to chapter 2, and things just kept rolling from there.

Pace yourself. I'm quite slow at drawing, so I generally do my best to set aside time every Saturday just to work on the comic, as well as working on it whenever I feel like it over the week. This keeps me from burnout (and repetitive strain injuries). Importantly, having a set update schedule also helps me remember to actually work on updates, as leaving me to my own devices = never getting anything done (see: how long it took to answer this ask). However, many folks do just fine updating entirely on their own time, so take this one with a grain of salt and figure out what works best for you!

Plan ahead. This applies more to making longer, narrative-focused comics. Because comic-making is so time consuming, every page should count. You don't need to have the entire thing written out before you begin (see again: burnout; it's also nice to have some level of flexibility with the story to see it grow alongside your skills), but planning out at least the current story "segment" is a big help. I like to script out the current chapter, starting with a pile of out-of-context dialogue snippets and overarching chapter ideas and boiling it down to a proper dialogue script with notes for panel ideas. It helps a lot with figuring out how long the chapter will end up being and lets me freely move events around until I'm happy with how they fit together, rather than doing it all on the fly.

Do what you can to save time. If you're a digital artist especially, look into what tools your art program of choice has to help make your illustration process smoother, like paint filling tools or vector lines. If you want to re-use backgrounds or character art, then do so! It's okay! Do whatever makes you enjoy what you're doing and happy with the end result!

Stay organized. This was touched on in a number of the other points, but it's so important that I'm giving it its own slot. I make liberal use of folders and layers -- personally, I use three layers for lineart and every layer has at most two colors. Text gets its own folder and special effects have color-coded labels. My layers are always organized in the same way and I keep often-reused materials (like the lineart for Chris' staff) in separate files for easy access. Of course, the specifics are dependent on how you draw, but this has made a world of difference for me personally.

It's okay to experiment and change things. Figure out what works for you -- some folks do comics entirely as sketches or lineart without coloring, you'll see book-style vs. scrolling/vertical webcomics, and all that. It's okay to swap things up if you find that something isn't working out. Don't get too caught up in everything being "perfect," just experiment and see what makes you happy.

(Side note, but if anyone here specifically uses Clip Studio Paint and wants to talk about platform-specific details like brushes or using certain tools, feel free to send me a message on Tumblr/Discord about it. I am by no means a master of Clip Studio, but I am at least familiar with the particular tools I frequently use and can give info on them!)

Based on personal experience, a random cave halfway down to Hell. 90% chance that it’s completely enclosed and filled with random monsters, haha. Luckily the Dryad was there to stop him!

#purity town #not an update #pt asks

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duhragonball · 8 months

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Dragon Ball Super Movie 2: Super Hero (2/5)

This line might just encapsulate the entire movie. "Yeah, sorry, folks. They made me the star of the movie this time, so it probably won't be as good. Why are you all cheering? Did Goku walk by or something?"

Last time, we set up the main villains of the story. Now, it's six months later, and we find Piccolo sparring with Pan near his house. Yeah, Piccolo has a house now. I remember when they revealed the house in an early promotion for the movie, and everyone was nuts about it. Piccolo has a house! What's inside? Look, he has a mailbox! What kind of mail does he get? What a time to be alive.

So Pan is three years old, according to this movie, so I think the idea here is that this is set just before the 25th Budokai and the finale of Dragon Ball Z. So Super Hero represents a turning point for the franchise. Up to now, every story told under the Dragon Ball Super brand has been set during the ten-year-gap between DBZ Episodes 288 and 289. But now we're at the end, which means the next movie, anime, or manga arc has to make a big decision:

A) Set the story after the 25th Budokai, and work around Goku's decision to train Uub at his home village.

B) Ignore the "End of Z" continuity altogether and just keep trucking along like it doesn't matter.

C) Just keep telling stories in the small time interval between Super Hero and the 25th Budokai and hope no one calls attention to it.

D) Jump back to the beginning of the ten-year-gap and tell stories out of chronological order.

I think A or B is the most likely option, since they wouldn't have jumped this far forward in time for Super Hero if they were worried about staying inside the ten-year-gap. I also suspect that they'll try to respect the "End of Z" lore, if only because they've mentioned Uub a few times in the DBS anime, and Uub actually had a cameo appearance in the manga.

But no matter what happens, Things Are Going To Be Very Different. In theory, Toei/Shueisha can do just about anything with the franchise now. They could kill Bulma, or give Majin Buu a whole new transformation. I guess they could try to steer the storyline towards the events depicted in Dragon Ball GT, but I'm pretty sure that ship sailed when they turned the Pilaf Gang into children. The point is that anything is on the table.

But back to the matter at hand. Pan's whole deal now is that she trains with Piccolo at his house every morning, then runs off to attend preschool until 1pm. Piccolo thinks she's showing great promise as a martial artist, even more than Gohan did when Piccolo first trained him, and Gohan was a year older back then. Pan thinks that qualifies her to learn how to shoot energy blasts like Goten and Trunks, but Piccolo says she has to master the fundamentals first, which means Pan has to learn how to fly, among other things.

This is Pan's character arc for the movie. She's not a major player in this story, but she still has an obstacle to overcome, and by the end of the movie, she succeeds. This is a big leap forward from the Pan we saw in GT, who remained static through the entire series. I guess she sort of learned a life lesson in the TV Special, but she was 110 in that story, so I think the implication is that GT Pan was a bossy twerp for a full century, which isn't exactly satisfying.

The weird thing is that we saw Pan fly all the time when she was a baby. In the DBS anime Baby Pan flew out into space, and she'd float around the house and such. I guess she forgot how to do it, or it got harder as she grew up and gained some weight.

Pan asks if it's true that her dad (Gohan) could be even stronger than her grandfather (Goku) if he tried. Piccolo says that used to be true but he isn't so sure anymore. Pan says she's never seen Gohan in action, and Piccolo explains that he hasn't had to fight, but if the need arises, Gohan will fight when necessary. Then he sends her off to preschool. A short time later, he gets a phone call from Pan's mom, Videl.

Okay, so let's unpack all of this. Piccolo has a cell phone, but he just leaves it in his house while he's training outside, because his Namekian hearing can pick up the ringtone from hundreds of yards away. Also, he holds it like a weirdo, dangling it from his fingers like he found it at a crime scene. Also, the case looks like a cartoon character. This is Penenko, an in-world fictional character that seems to be very popular. Its like a cross between a penguin and a cat, and it has a green tie like Yogi Bear, which I think is a classy touch.

As for Videl, she needs Piccolo to swing by the preschool this afternoon to pick up Pan. This is because Videl teaches a combat sports class, and they're having a tournament today, so she can't make it. As for Gohan, he's too busy working on a scientific presentation, and he hasn't come out of his study in days. Piccolo is annoyed with this, but he agrees to pick Pan up. Videl offers to buy him lunch, but he reminds her he doesn't eat food, so Videl considers buying him a Penenko plushie instead. Piccolo doesn't want one, though, because he already has a pile of them in his house. Presumably those plushies represent a whole bunch of past favors he's done for Gohan and Videl.

Okay, more importantly, let's talk about Videl. This is her only appearance in the movie, save for a still image in the closing credits where she comes home to find the house has been damaged. Still, this conversation tells us a lot about what Videl's been doing ever since she and Gohan got out of school. She's teaching a "combat sports class". This makes sense to me, as she must have given up the vigilante work around the time she was pregnant with Pan. But teaching students how to fight would be easier for her, since she could set her own schedule and arrange for the students to train independently when she's not available. It's the perfect career for the new mom with a talent for whippin' ass.

The thing is, Videl's not just any martial artist. She knows basic ki techniques, but besides that, she's the daughter of a world famous celebrity buttkicker, and she earned a reputation of her own as a crimefighter. So this can't just be any old "combat sports" class. I mean, they're participating in a tournament for goodness sakes.

So this is my Videl headcanon: She's teaching people to fight crime. And not just any crime, but the rocket-launcher-weilding maniacs she used to fight when she was in high school. Videl stepped away from that life to focus on her family, but she's still got one foot in that world. It started as a self-defense class for women, and then she decided she could show them more advanced techniques, until eventually she had a cool stable of badasses.

The tournament she's talking about isn't some fun little romp, although to her it would be, and it's barely beneath Piccolo's notice. But to everyone else, it's some kind of hardcore mixed-martial-arts event. Videl brings her students in and they're all wearing kick-ass uniforms to represent their school. What kind of uniforms? Here's a hint:

GTH. That's the name of Videl's dojo. The Go To Hell Combat Club, so-named because you have to go to hell to learn the combat style of Mr. Satan's daughter. Imagine going to some indy wrestling show and instead of wrestlers out comes a bunch of MMA guys all dressed like Pan from this movie. It probably looks cooler on grown adults, which is why Pan likes to wear it.

So what's Videl wearing when she leads her squad to the competition? Oh, we already know the answer to that question, because we saw her return home from the tournament.

I mean, it makes so much sense when you think about it. remember, we saw Videl wearing regular clothes when she called Piccolo. She must have changed into her Battle of Gods red-devil dress specifically for the tournament. She might have a different outfit for fighting, but this is what she wears when she's in the corner for her students. She's like a sexy ECW manager, which explains the red leather dress, black tights and white go-go boots. She's so over-the-top with this thing that it makes the Great Saiyawoman outfit look dull by comparison, because she's trying to get over this image of smash-mouth combat supremacy. It's the same reason Mr. Satan wears the cape.

This is a weird tangent, I know, but for so many years I've heard fans lament the way Videl was depicted in Dragon Ball Super, and they're absolutely right, but I'm a "yes and" kind of guy when it comes to this stuff. There's nothing wrong with having Videl be a housewife as long as it doesn't preclude some other, cooler lore from happening off-screen. And Super Hero seems to be holding out an olive branch to the fans. Yes, Videl has a life outside the home. She teaches martial arts, so she clearly hasn't given up fighting altogether. How and how much she fights is left to the viewers imagination, and I can imagine a lot.

Anyway, I need to commission some art of the GTH school looking cool. Videl's in the center of the group with a riding crop or something. Gohan's in the background with a snack tray. He made Chex Mix for the whole class because he's a sweetie.

Back to business, Piccolo decides to head for Gohan's house and confront him over this. He knows Gohan won't answer the door, so he just flies to the window of his study and scrapes the glass with his fingernail to get his attention. This fucking rules.

Gohan's working on a study of a newly discovered ant species that glows yellow when threatened, like a Super Saiyan. Piccolo isn't even a little impressed, but he agrees to pick Pan up from preschool anyway. He asks why Gohan never trains anymore, and Gohan gives the stock answer about how nothing bad will happen, and even if it does, Goku and Vegeta will surely deal with it. I mean, that is what happened in the last movie, but they cut it pretty close in Resurrection F. Piccolo uses his clothes-altering powers to make Gohan wear his old training outfit, but that's about all he does.

I don't really understand this constant back-and-forth about whether or not Gohan trains enough in DBS. Obviously, Gohan let himself go in Res F, and then Gohan asked Piccolo to train him again to get him back in fighting shape. Then they made it look like he'd slacked off again leading up to the Tournament of Power, except he did really, really well in that arc. And now it's like he's slacking off a third time.

I mean, there's time for that. We're talking about a five or six year period here. It just seems odd to me that no one mentions we've been through this cycle before. I think the disconnect is that Gohan trains, just not often enough to satisfy the likes of Piccolo or Vegeta. He'll stop training for months or years at a time, so that he can concentrate on his biology career, and then he whips himself into shape when he has the time. This movie pretty much confirms that pattern, but each time it comes up, the characters always act like we haven't been here before.

Gohan offers him another Penenko plushie as thanks for picking up Pan, and Piccolo insists that he never liked them. I think it is very likely that Gohan and Videl do this to him on purpose. I mean, Videl knew this tournament was coming up, and she could have made other arrangements, but this way Piccolo feels obligated to be involved with their family. If they just invited him over to things, he'd probably decline, but this way he feels like they need him and he can act all put-upon, but he still gets to spend more time with Pan and such. Also they might be trying to fix Piccolo up with Pan's teacher, but we'll get to that later.

So now Piccolo just has to get in as much training as he can until 1pm, right? Wrong, because as soon as he sits down to meditate, some new guy shows up and attacks him. He refuses to identify himself, but the Red Ribbon pack on his uniform pretty much gives it away. Plus, this guy has no ki signature, so he must be an android or cyborg like Gero's creations.

So they fight, and it doesn't go well for Piccolo. At one point he asks why he can see words appear whenever he gets his. I thought this was a cute fourth-wall-breaking joke, but in fact this new guy has a holographic projector that makes the comic book sound effects appear behind him.

The mysterious attacker only refers to himself as a super hero, and after he blows up the butte Piccolo is on, he flies back to his base, thinking Piccolo is vaporized. But Piccolo escaped unseen, and he decides to trail this guy and find out who he's working for.

This leads Piccolo to a secret base inside what I believe is a crater. It looks like the crater is full of lakewater, but it's actually a holographic illusion. Piccolo finds a goon in his size and swipes his uniform.

Inside, he finds the bad guy command center, where the new android reports to Magenta and Hedo. Piccolo learns that his name is Gamma, and there's actually two of them. Hedo already watched Gamma 2's attack on Piccolo via a remote feed from 2's eyes, and his only feedback is that 2 should have done a cool pose after killing Piccolo. Gamma 1 is more concerned that Piccolo might have survived because 2 was too sloppy to check for a body.

Sure enough, 1 reviews the footage and discovers evidence that Piccolo escaped. And since Magenta insisted that the Gamma's wear RR patches on their costumes, there's a real risk that Gamma 2 tipped their hand to the enemy. Gamma 2 isn't worried, though, because he still overpowered Piccolo, and the end goal is to defeat Dragon Team, so if this escalates the conflict, then so much the better.

And that pretty much sums up the Gammas' characters. They both play the superhero role they were designed to resemble, but 1 is more cautious and responsible, while 2 is more carefree and funloving. Earlier in the film, we see pictures of Hedo at some sort of autograph signing, and there's a character who looks almost exactly like the Gammas there, so I assume he designed his androids to look just like that character. Hedo doesn't seem too concerned with originality.

Carmine agrees with Gamma 1's concern. Their enemies have the combined power of Goku, Vegeta and Majin Buu, not to mention Mr. Satan. Apparently, the Red Ribbon Army still isn't clear on how powerful he is. If they find out about the Red Ribbon too soon, it could jeopardize everything, no matter how powerful the Gammas might be.

Hedo disagrees. Once he collects enough combat data from 1 and 2, he can simply upgrade them and create even more Gammas until they have enough power to tip the scales.

Apparently, Hedo doesn't think it would take very long to get more Gamma's manufactured, which is why they have these two booths already set up. This makes me wonder if Gamma 3 and 4 are already in there, just waiting for Hedo to activate them.

As for Magenta, all he wants to talk about is Hedo's other project-- Cell Max. This leads to a heated discussion over the value of the project.

Basically, Magenta considers Cell to be Gero's greatest creation, and while the RPC has Gero's notes on how to make Cell, they were too complex for anyone to reproduce the experiement. This isn't much of a surprise, since Gero never finished Cell the first time. When Gero learned that it would take decades to complete the work, he turned it over to his computer and moved on to working on his other plans. That computer never finished, because Krillin and Trunks destroyed it and the embryonic Cell back in DBZ Episode 145. However Magenta got the data on Cell, it must have been sent to him before then, but it would have only represented the earliest stages of the project. No wonder his own scientists couldn't get very far with it.

The only reason Magenta even considers it worth pursuing is because a completed Cell showed up to menace the world. Magenta thinks that Gero must have pulled it off somehow. What he doesn't know is that this Cell came from an alternate future where Gero's computer had time to complete the project. So Magenta knows what the finished Cell is capable of, but he doesn't have a complete recipe to make a new one.

But Dr. Hedo is even smarter than Gero, which is why Magneta hired him. The Gammas are fine machines and all, but what Magenta was really hoping for was that Hedo could take the notes on Cell and figure out how to build a new and improved model. And to his credit, Hedo was able to do that, but not completely. He created Cell Max's body and made him far more powerful than the original Cell, but he's still not done because his brain takes a long time to develop. I don't know if this is like a programming thing or Cell Max needs time for his brain matter to grow complex enough to support his mission.

At any rate, Magenta just wants to turn Cell Max loose right now, because he's so high on the prospect of unleashing such a powerful weapon. But Hedo warns him that they won't be able to control Cell Max the way he is now. If they activate him now, Cell Max might easily run wild and destroy the world, which defeats the purpose of using him in the first place.

Hedo's argument is that they don't even need Cell Max, so instead of wasting time on him, they should focus on the Gammas, who are more than powerful enough to carry out Magenta's plans. They can defeat Dragon Team, then the rest of the world will fall to the Red Ribbon Army, and then Magenta can reveal Cell Max to show off his power to the world. Magneta seems to buy into that idea, at least for now.

The thing is, we really don't know how long it would take for Hedo to finish Cell Max. It took Gero's computer decades to finish the original Cell, so maybe most of that time was spent developing his brain, and yet that Cell never did follow his programming completely. So maybe Cell Max would be uncontrollable too, no matter how much Hedo tinkered with him.

Then again, Hedo built the Gammas in just six months, so he's demonstrably smarter than Gero ever was. It's possible that he could finish Cell Max's brain in a matter of weeks and make him fully obedient. He just doesn't want to spend the time because it's busy work and Max doesn't look like a super hero, so he's not very motivated to complete the project. It kind of makes you wonder what Hedo could have accomplished if he'd given it his full attention.

Needless to say, all of this freaks Piccolo out, so he excuses himself and finds a quiet spot to make a phone call to Bulma. She tells him Vegeta has been away for three weeks now, training on Beerus' planet. And Goku went along with him, so they're both unavailable. Piccolo asks her if she can use that device Whis gave her to call him, and she says she'll see if she can reach them that way.

I just want to pause here to admire Bulma's yellow jumpsuit. This is definitely one of her hottest looks, perhaps because it's so workmanlike and unsexy. She just makes it look cool because she's Bulma. She just got done welding a quantum computer to a ham radio or something.

In the meantime, Piccolo leaves the RR base to go to Korin's Tower and get some senzu beans. He's still in the mindset that Goku and Vegeta will be the ones to take care of things, but he has to do as much as he can in the meantime to improve their chances.

As he flies through the holographic lake, we get a nice exterior shot of the base. So yeah, it does look like a couple of craters, although I'm not sure what the use was in disguising the inside when you can see all this stuff built up around the outside. I guess they have some sort of phony mining operation set up if anyone snoops around.

And that'll about do it for now. I've still got a couple of image spots for this post, so let's show off the photos on Gohan's desk. Pretty cool.

And here's a cool shot of Cell, since he came up in conversation.

#dragon ball #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #dragon ball super #dragon ball super super hero #piccolo #pan #son pan #gohan #videl #magenta #carmine #dr hedo #gamma 1 #gamma 2 #gth 4-life

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frodo-with-glasses · 6 months

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The Ring and Invisibility

Indulge me for a second as I contemplate this little piece of Ring Lore that I've often overlooked: "And if [a mortal] often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the Dark Power that rules the Rings."

I've read a fair bit of debate, on this site and others, about just what the Ring's powers are and what it can do. Some claim that the Ring just enhances the "power" that its bearer already has; for instance, the reason it makes hobbits invisible is because they're already nearly undetectable to the Big Folk—the book is rather coy about whether or not this is a "magical" ability, because of course the hobbits wouldn't consider it magical if it's normal to them—and the Ring merely amplifies this power. By this logic, the movies making Isildur turn invisible when he put the Ring on is actually an error, because the race of Man doesn't naturally have the "power" of being undetectable.

However! In this paragraph, Gandalf isn't talking about a Hobbit, but a mortal (as opposed to the Elven smiths who first forged the Great Rings). He isn't even talking about the One Ring specifically, but one of the Great Rings in general. To me, this implies that anyone who possesses any Ring of Power can use it to "make himself invisible", with the catch 22 being that this is especially perilous for mortals because they're not strong enough to deal with Prolonged Exposure to Invisibility Spells.

(To back up the point, we have this passage from later in the chapter: "For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain. He leaped into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and then the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows." This would imply that the orcs didn't see him until the Ring fell off; which suggests to me that Isildur was, in fact, invisible.)

This adds to the side effect we're already well familiar with: the "stretching". To an immortal elf, continuing to exist indefinitely would be no problem. They were doing that anyway. But it's terribly strenuous on mortals, whose bodies have a shelf life. Likewise, the peril of turning invisible too many times seems to only apply to mortals; perhaps an elf could use a Great Ring to turn invisible as often as they want and suffer no ill side effects.

(Sort of like how most people can eat as much cheese as they want no problem, while I can only have a little bit of dairy or I'll risk a major sinus headache. But that's neither here nor there.)

Frodo's conversation with Galadriel will delve more deeply into the clairvoyant and controlling powers of the Ring, so I'll table that discussion until we reach Lothlorien. But as a writer myself—who's trying to build her own fictional world and magic system—I find it's a fun and useful exercise to pluck a single rule out of the magic system and think about the logical extremes and plot possibilities that can come out of it. The invisibility rule is a fantastic example; there are so many different ways you could play with it, if the story had allowed for it.

Could the old elven smiths make themselves invisible with their Rings? Would they suffer the same compounding side effects, or not? Can Galadriel make herself invisible? Can Gandalf? For the One Ring, just putting it on will turn anyone but Tom Bombadil invisible; if that power is accessible to Galadriel and Gandalf, I'd have to assume they have the power to toggle it on and off, because they're wearing their Rings all the time. If being more easily detected by the Enemy when invisible wasn't such a problem, how might that ability have been used to their advantage in the story?

How many times does a mortal have to turn himself invisible to get stuck that way? Is the change gradual, or sudden? Even with all the times Gollum used the Ring, he still was very visible; Gandalf calls him "thin and tough", as if stubbornness alone overcame the fading effects. Frodo is more than once described as being "slightly translucent" or "like a clear glass", but that probably has more to do with the wound he received on Weathertop than it has anything to do with the Ring. Obviously the Ringwraiths are the final product of this hideous process—existing, but having no visible form or shape—but what do the in-between stages look like? Can you imagine what the story would be like if the invisibility laid hold of its victims sooner, and Gollum was partially invisible?? It's simultaneously cool and horrifying. And to think Frodo himself was almost a wraith, a ghost, an apparition, shuffling formlessly around the halls of Bag End...chills, man. Chills.

Obviously I don't claim to be an expert on this topic. I'm no Tolkien scholar, just an enthusiastic fan. So if any truly eggheaded Tolkien nerds out there would care to share their insight in the notes, please do so! I'm always eager to learn more. And if I misunderstood the Professor's choice of words here, feel free to correct me. This line just caught my eye, and I figured it'd be fun to dig into it.

I don't know how to end this essay. Uh. Don't do rings, kids. Your face will get stuck that way.

#my writing #lord of the rings #lotr #rambles and conjecture

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pinkflipphonez · 3 months

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Hello! Really love your content so far and it makes me so incredibly happy seeing more people reimagining Alfred and Matthew as nonwhite compared to it being controversial 8years ago.

Ever since I joined the fandom I always had the (at the time) unpopular opinion that the NA bros were from mixed heritages (White/Indigenous), which as an American non-white Latino with Indigenous roots made the most sense to me especially considering that even in the manga they don't really represent the government, but the people themselves and both countries (especially the US) are so diverse it absolutely baffled me that they were just plain white boys. I always imagined them being mixed, but never quite fitting in with either groups.

I am sorry if I overstep on this next bit, please feel free to correct me on anything I say, I've just had a long time to think about this and how other countries would react, which is gonna put England/France into a bad light but...they were straight up horrific to the Natives. Even France.

I know you mentioned how in Hetalia, the personifications get along with their overseers/colonizers and that they wouldn't be okay with this, and I think I may have to *slightly* disagree.

I think when it comes to Nations and how they view their fellow personifications, how they look won't matter as much compared to how they act or culture wise. I can see that while the two heavily resemble Native features, when they were taken in by their colonizers they were raised to hold to those same European values that still do plague the country today. I can imagine Arthur making sure that Alfred ignores his Indigenous roots and that he's raised as a proper British colony, speaking and writing in English only, being raised as a proper Christian etc. Forced to assimilate, which has been done to so many people that come from different cultures from the time America was colonized to even now in some places. They may not look completely white, but by god will he makes sure they act like they do.

I don't think he would have ever been okay with his people being killed, tortured, having their cultures and languages erased or even enslaved, because he does not represent the cruel ideas the government has, but the people itself...which also do include the people that *ARE* okay with this. A constant battle Alfred has to deal with, which ends up with him making not the best choices.

Things aren't perfect even today, there's still so many issues that's happening where Indigenous folks are still fighting for basic rights to water, working roads, etc. But at the current time, more Americans these days (especially the much younger generations that were taught/look up about the atrocities that our government has committed, especially now that the Native voices have platforms to speak on), are much more aware. I see the brothers trying to reclaim their roots, and start what will be centuries long reparations on what their people have done to the Indigenous community. Which honestly, reconnecting with cultures after being forced to assimilate to American culture is something big thats happening here all across the United States with Latino-Americans embracing their heritage, African-Americans who were descendents of those stolen from their homeland reconnecting with their culture, Indigenous people bringing their languages and foods back to light.

It's honestly just a very difficult journey I think they would have as they have to deal with Nationhood, but forgetting who they came from and having to give themselves up to a certain group. Again, never fitting in completely with one or the other.

Again, I'm so incredibly sorry if this is overstepping in anyway or if some things don't make sense. It's such a complicated subject that really can't be summed up super easily and I did want to go longer but I felt like this was long enough already @_@

Firstly, you are not overstepping in the slightest! I am legitimately so content and kind of misty-eyed to see so many other native fans of the show both interact within the fandom and give their own interpretation on both canon and OC characters. It was never this wholesome and community-oriented when I first joined the fandom and I'm glad I stuck around to see the tide change.

Secondly, your interpretation of France and England's involvement in Canada and America's assimilation is... very accurate, and while it's something I've fought about with myself in my plotting of Alfred's life (because I don't want to hate them lol), they most definitely did have a hand in his disconnection. However, as much as I agree they are influenced by both their natives and settlers, I do think they very much hold their own reservations and opinions on the social climate around them as any individual human being would.

While American society and most American presidents were anti-indigenous and pro-slavery, there were also vigilant indigenous activists and abolitionists; there were men and women who defended and engrained themselves with native communities and there were men and women who fought mercilessly to free enslaved people. I believe Alfred was one of those people. Alfred noticed the wrong within the society around him and despised it-- but alongside his overseers and the people surrounding him, his thought process was in the minority.

I don't see Alfred participating in the genocide, assimilation, or enslavement of indigenous or Black people-- and it is not because I wish to sanitize this true history, but because I earnestly do not see Alfred being so cruel (as he was someone who also thought himself a better person than his brutal fatherly figure). I do think he did try to feel indifferent most of the time to... well, assimilate, but I also like to think he was infuriated, enraged, while at the same time having convictions on where his help is best suited as a native man with the privileges and appearance of a white man (I hc that he very consciously slaughtered slave-owners and triple k members, especially during the civil war, but I realize that may be a heavy hc to have).

I appreciate you bringing up the increase of younger folks in America beginning their decolonization/reconnection journeys because that is absolutely what I feel Al and Matt are going through actively, but I like to think they began their reconnection journey much earlier, during the rise of AIM in the 1970s. I see them being the biggest activists for all their native communities and they help in every possible way they can. Not only because they want to reconnect and amend their mistakes, but because they altruistically care for their people.

Their hobbies absolutely include remodeling the homes of elders and delivering food to them. They are very much for the landback movement and will call out anti-indigenous sentiment without hesitation. I also think Alfred separates himself from his governmental supervisors in current day and will challenge them now compared to when he stayed relatively compliant as a young nation.

I still have SO MANY theories about Alfred and Matt's origins and experiences with assimilation that I am working out, but I want to carefully plot it all out so as to not trivialize legitimate indigenous trauma, especially as a reconnector. All I can say is that if the land I stand on had a personification, it would be an indigenous being, no question.

#hetalia #hws america /#indigeneity /#assimilation /#if given the chance I will try being more elaborate but #this is a little bit of my thoughts on n8v al + matt if you squint #thank you anon I really do like talking about n8v al #kikitalkz

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maxwell-grant · 3 months

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I can probably guess, but how would those individuals getting the Death Note make things worse?

Well,

While she probably should have the book over Light, Emilia is far more ambitious and dangerous that he could be even without the notebook. She's sort of this embodiment of a child's imagination/rebellion in that she's this rebellious firecracker that can do basically anything and has very little respect for grown-ups and very little tolerance for injustice, but she's also egotistical and stubborn and has very little breaks and a very stunted sense of morality, among many other flaws. She's not really that bad, she's a trickster with a big heart trying to make the best of a fiercely opinionated brain and a lease in life she was never supposed to have, she grows for the better but, she did think about cutting off an angel's wings just to see what happened (she later saved the angel by beating Popeye with food poisoning). She held the world hostage with a shrinking spell to try and force the U.S President into ending war forever. Her first appearence had her win a fight by carving out a scorpion's eyeballs with a barbecue spit. Again, she's not evil, but she tends to rejects concepts like "nuance", "social filter" and "not getting to do what she wants right now". She absolutely would have a list planned for the occasion, and there would be a lot of politicians and big shot important folks in there. I'm starting to reconsider my stance on whether she should have the book or not.

The Golden Amazon actually is just straight up evil though. In the first book, she destroys most of England and attempts to rule the world by replacing humanity with synthetic beings, by the second she's leading a secret society of superwomen from the Amazon, and in the following books, while she became an "anti-hero" in the loosest sense possible, that's more so because she succeeds in taking over things and so now has to defend her matriarchy from aliens and saboteurs (I think the books might have retconned some details as they went along but she seems to be either defending Earth so she can rule it or already being it's ruler). She is the Dominatrix of the Solar System, the greatest scientist who ever lived, a cruel, ice cold murder expert superhuman who pretty much doesn't need the Death Note in any way, she really really doesn't need any kind of help in killing/torturing people. The real danger here is her learning about the existence of the shinigami and the shinigami world and deciding she doesn't like death gods in on her territory (existence itself) and deciding to do something about it.

The Black Bat, I mean, Tony Quinn is kind of a piece of shit. He's a scarred and miserable District Attorney turned vigilante serial killer who brands the corpses of the criminals he kills, and unlike The Spider he's not exactly dealing with apocalyptic extreme circumstances to make this behavior less insane, he's just fighting mobsters. Passing the Death Note from the son of a cop, into the hands of a disgraced District Attorney who already decided to go out at night to murder crime with guns and has associates at hand to help him do it is just, well it's not exactly a step up from the threat Light Yagami posed.

El Sombra, look, Djego tried, he truly did. He did a lot of good. If you gave him the Death Note, he'd use it exclusively to kill Nazis and he'd mean it, because that's all he ever did, if you handed him the book during the events of El Sombra and Gods of Manhattan he could have done a lot of good with it. It's just, Pax Omega happened, and what became of him is absolutely not someone who you want to hand something like the Death Note to. He failed, and he failed where it mattered most, and his reward for failure was becoming version 2.0 of everything he hated most and nearly dooming the entire planet. Even if he could have used it to kill Hitler and every member of Untergang, there was no happy ending to the tale of El Sombra. He just failed too profoundly for that to be possible.

The Whisperer, see The Black Bat's deal but times ten, or really just read that editor note above introducing him. The Whisperer is "Wildcat" James Gordon, a handsome young dandy Police Commissioner who, once elected, turned out to be a total maniac asshole (famously burned down an illegal casino as Commissioner, didn't even put on a disguise to do it) and who fights crime by transforming himself into an unrecognizably older persona so he can murder people with impunity. I feel like I don't have to elaborate much here, what's wrong with this guy is fairly brutally self-evident.

The Blue Morpho, because, well how long you've got? Even if you've never watched The Venture Bros and don't know all the horrible things he's done personally, I feel like "cartoon supervillain moonlighting as a dark violent pulp hero in order to kill all the other supervillains in town standing in his way" is fairly self-explanatory. Mr Fitzcarraldo here offed his world's Legion of Doom in one blow pretty much by accident. He's not really out to kill for killing's sake, he just wants to get one guy really badly, but he doesn't really care who he has to get rid of to do that, or even just killing people to solve minor dumb inconveniences like avoiding paying taxi fare or being annoyed by a henchman. He might have the biggest on-screen body count in a show that has Brock Samson in it and only became deadlier as The Blue Morpho, that's no small feat.

Hugo Danner, because there is not a single aspect of Hugo Danner's life that didn't suck and that he didn't find a way to make worse. Hugo Danner was every bad/evil/stupid take on Superman published years before the genuine article. Hugo Danner is the Garth Ennis Superman pisstake that Garth Ennis loved the character too much to actually do. Hugo Danner enlisted in WW1 and only realized he could have ended it single-handedly after he'd already slaughtered thousands and thousands of poor infantrymen with his bare hands and the war ended, and promptly hated himself for being such a colossal idiot. He could not conceive of solutions that didn't envolve "squeezing continents into submission" and punishing all the people too stupid and scared to love him the way he thought he deserved. He hated himself too much to even kickstart plans to create a master race. He got himself killed by cursing the skies and being struck by a lightning bolt on the final page. There's not a lot that the Death Note could have done to save his life from being a shit show, but all he ever did was perpetrate that shit show on others so, yeah, good riddance Danner you stupid bastard.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #golden amazon #boneca emilia #hugo danner #the whisperer #the black bat #blue morpho #venture bros

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tarnishedinquirer · 1 month

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Case: The Groveside Cave

I stopped at a ruined church and got some supplies, then continued down the path.

Note: Profile merchant later

Seems Godrick had his soldiers out in force. They were all over the road. Looking for me? Shouldn't assume.

Sure enough, caught one of them off guard while he was looking at a wrecked cart and some dead noble. Can the unalive really die, or do they just get tired of getting back up again? Not relevant, just curiosity. Dead nob held a bunch of kukris, a great weapon for causing bleeding. Associate of Varré, perhaps? Can't jump to conclusions.

You think maybe the trail of debris and soldiers leading to the cave has something to do with the wrecked cart? Master detective at work here.

The cave was dark, but after the first bend, I found signs of habitation. Small candles like this wouldn't shed enough light to be seen from outside, even if they were all lit. Which they weren't.

Someone lived here, and didn't want anyone else to know.

Living wolves and dead soldiers. Soldiers would have no reason to keep this cave hidden, and wolves don't have fingers. Neither one set out the candles. But the way the wolves curl up next to the fire tells me that the wolves had a master who could start campfires and set out candles.

There we go. It's almost sad the way the wolf curled up next to its master's corpse, but there's no room for sentimentality here. The wolves would be at my heels soon as they caught my scent, so I made sure to strike first. A bit of the old Carian magic made quick work of them, and they never even figured out where the swords were coming from.

The corpse was half-naked, skinny as a rail. At first I thought its neck was too long, but on closer examination, that was an optical illusion. Instead, its shoulders were too low. Plain damn weird. The pot they were carrying was also weird, the voice telling me it'd mend itself and return to me if I put stuff in it. Didn't have anything to put in it, but useful information.

There were more of them in the back, and a couple wolves I missed. Same pattern though. Wolves mourning the long-necked dead, staring warily at the soldiers' corpses. One of the dead had a bundle of runes, the other some glowing rocks. These guys were clearly hard-up.

Scratch that. Wolves can have hands.

In the back of the cave I found what the voice called a "Beastman of Farum Azula." I'll deal with that when I get to my closing questions. I walked in on him butchering a dead soldier, and I woulda left him to it but he seemed to resent the interruption and I suddenly found myself unable to leave. It felt like the same magic that brought me back, so I guess having to stand my ground is part of the price.

They say any fight you walk away from is a good one and, well, you shoulda seen the other guy. I wish I coulda gotten a better look at him, but he just dissolved into runes as soon as he was dead. The only thing left behind was a talisman that he had been wearing around his belt.

Voice told me that it depicted a dragon but I don't see it. Looks like a continent to me. Said they ruled in a prehistoric era before the Erdtree, that big shiny tree that dominates the entire landscape. That gives me a lot of new information to work with, such as the fact that this land wasn't always dominated by that tree, but none of it seems directly relevant to this particular case. Time will tell how it fits into the bigger picture.

There it is. The last bit of evidence I needed. A cache of weapons. Pitted and worn, but still sturdy, all under a tent with the sigil scratched out, and surrounded by the bones of a hundred kills.

Conclusion: This is a pretty open and shut case. The long-necked folk had taken refuge in this cave, forged some sort of pact with the beastman and his pet wolves. But they got greedy and raided a wagon carrying weapons. While the wolves were out, the soldiers descended and made short work of the long-necks, but weren't prepared for what happened when master returned.

A few questions remain:

Where were the weapons originally headed? Either the tomb or the ruins. Either way, doesn't matter.

Who or what is Farum Azula?

What's the connection between beastmen and dragons?

What were the long-necks fleeing?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #elden ring tarnished #in character #in character post #in character blog #let's play #farum azula #beastmen #dragons #godrick

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braindead94 · 7 months

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Little blue lady and the big black cat 18+

Werecat!Andres x Cop!Reader

Happy Spooky Month! Today is werecat Andres Galan for Spooky month and it's a frisky night tonight! Hope Ya'll enjoy!

TW: Gun Violence, blood, Magic, magical violence, Minors DNI, reader is a cop, horrible spanish spelling (on my part)

A happy sigh left your smiling lips as you sat back in your seat. The patrol today turned out to be a nice one, even if it was in LA. Nothing wrong living here, but as a cop… well, the media just loves to bash on the boys in blue and the public has a thing or two to add to that.

You looked at the moving imagery of the people and buildings outside of your moving vehicle, your partner bobbing his head in the tune of the song from the radio.

You and Buddy just diddly bop by some neighborhoods, met up with some kids playing basketball (and shot some hoops with them), met up with some friendly veterans who (kinda) took over a bench overlooking a playground, and help a man moving his stuff out of his ex apartment (mostly to make sure she wouldn’t make any false accusations on him, the poor man has been through enough already).

Then got a noise complaint from a part that was being too loud with raunchy music that turned out to be a Quinseanera party for a lovely 15 year old girl who invited almost everyone in her neighborhood (except for that one lady, which you two quickly learned why, cranky old bitch). The parents were super nice enough to give you two some delicious pastries and some soft tacos for the road.

“Feeling good?” Asked Buddy as he glanced around with an aloof attitude. “Feeling full. Man, that family is super chill and are great cooks. I’m kinda tempted to just patrol past their streets again if they are handing out some free food again.” He laughed as he said “Well, I asked around the family and they are the proud owners of a family restaurant that has been here for a long time.” “Pleeeaase tell me you got the restaurant's name?” He gave you a smirk with a nod, earning himself a high-five from you before continuing on to keep a look out at the streets.

You glanced outside too as you sat straighter, just to be safe. This part of the city was not the safest to be around, even for the police. Normally, those activities involve some gang violence, something about stepping onto their turf or some bullshit that these punks got into their heads. Lately though, it has gotten worse. Now the little gangs are disappearing as the bigger threat, the bigger fish that eat the little fish, wipe them all with very little effort.

Now there are signs of drug dealings, mini fight clubs and even sex trafficking; and the people are starting to get affected by them. Weirdly enough, some of the markings on the victim's body had animal marks, so your lab concluded that they have been using animals to kill them off. Really big cats.

Though it is becoming clear (or allegedly) that the main gang belonged to the notorious leader, Andres Galan, or as many mexican folks would call him “El Gran Leon”. Based on what pictures you've seen of him (which you admit that he is very attractive, but that was your secret to keep), from news blogs and from the evidence room, he does resemble a little bit like a lion. Or somewhat a regal feline animal. Or just a fat cat.

How he evaded their countless times of arrests, you never know. Only relying on one rumor that when the first, and only, guy to slap handcuffs on him, Galan snapped his body in two. Looking back at the mob boss, you doubt that he has the strength to pick up even a tall child above his head unless he was a secret powerlifter.

Regardless, he was still dangerous and had a warrant on him for years before you joined the police force. You and Buddy kept silent as you dove on peacefully when you came upon a secret strip club that was closed this time of night.

“Hey, what’s that?” Looking up, you saw what he was pointing at.

A black fancy looking car parked inside of a dark alleyway, and just stepping out was the man in question was none other than Andres Galan followed by one burly man. The Mexican boss walked up and into a hidden door with a stripper logo, turned off, and the man stood beside the door with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Buddy stopped right there, both of you staring at this bizarre chance of an opportunity before you looked at each other in a comical fashion. Quickly, he parked it close to the sidewalk (almost on top of it) as you called it into the station.

The reception turned out to be bad, you furrowed your eyebrows at the not fun coincidence of it all before Buddy ready his gun at your side. “I’m not getting a clear call from them. We shouldn’t go in if this gets out of hand.”

“No, this man has somehow evaded our arrests and has gotten a lot of good people hurt and killed. He needs to be taken down now.” You sighed as he jumped out and moved quietly to the brick wall of the building while rechecking if you have all of your gear in your belt. You followed suit, also drawing your gun out.

He peeked around the corner, and you stood stiff, ready for anything. Your partner motioned ‘lets go’ and you followed closely behind him. The muscular man was whistling a tune when he cocked his gun at him. “Put your hands behind your head, and don't make any sudden moves.” The man just looked down at him, seemingly unbothered but slowly complied.

You trained your gun on him while Buddy took out the cuffs with ease and tightened the metal bands on him. “Y/n, you go in and scope out the place. See if you can find Galan and stop him from whatever he’s doing.”

“You two are making a big mistake. You might want to skip out on making arrests tonight.” Said the man with a shaved head with a smirk that was held in a secret. Your eyebrows furrowed down at his words, your gut bubbling with worry. ‘How is he this calm?’ You wondered. “The biggest mistake I’ve made today was eating too many soft tacos. Now, I’m going to read you your rights and you are going to follow my every order. Understand?” Buddy commanded in his deadpan voice that demanded attention.

The man smirk then showed his teeth, his tongue sticking out to lick the crooked canines. “Of course, officer. Anything you say.” He said with a hot and eager voice. An uncomfortable tingle slithered up your spine when you heard his voice as you entered the club.

It was a lot smaller than the other strip clubs you’ve seen, but a hella nicer than others. More fancy with plush furniture, blackened marble tables and an elegant stage with poles erected from the floor to the ceiling. Even the air didn’t smell like sex or drugs, it smelled like… flowery spices or something warm. It almost made you want to take off your bulletproof vest, but you ignore it. The whole establishment showed wealth and the guise of a gentleman's club, and luckily has no patrons.

But no Andres, however there was a short, curvy woman who stood frozen near a closed door. She looked tired, frightened with some of her make-up still caked on her sudden face and a blue, fluffy robe clutched around her body. Her golden curls rain down on her shoulders beautifully, covering her ears as well. She stared at you, her body shaking like a leaves on a tree in the wind.

You immediately lowered your gun and made yourself look friendly but kept your distance. Just in case. “Hey hun, I’m sorry for startling you. But I’m here for Andres Galan, do you know where he is?” The woman only stares back at you. Her eyes almost threw you off, they were the brightest color of purple you’ve ever seen. Not humanly possible, but you pushed it aside as contacts.

“A-are you going to arrest him?” her voice was shaken, her body swaying towards the door. You nodded as you explained “Yes, he has an arrest on him for a while and needs to be taken in for his crimes. I understand you have a job to do, ma’am, but there are better clubs that have better and kinder bosses and staff without having to entertain crime lords like him.”

She frowned, making her face look unpleasant and sour. There was a slight buzzing sound coming from her and her robe moved a bit. “My boss treats me and the girls just right. I don’t need anyone else, or any other places!” You apologize, trying to keep her calm with a lower and softer tone with her.

“Just-please, ma’am. I need to find him and take him in. He has done a lot of harm and had people killed. He has traffic drugs, sex traffic and that’s only the scratch on top of the iceberg. You don’t have to go anywhere, but you need to leave tonight.” She paused, the windows of her eyes showing you a great debate in her mind.

“So, you’re going in and just… arrest him in handcuffs? Just like that?” You frowned, puzzled at her how sudden her voice became stronger. The way she's looking at you with unknown hatred and distrust, it didn’t sit right with you. ‘What type of question is that?’ “Yes, I will. I don’t want you to get hurt, so I need you to go somewhere safe.” ‘Shit, is she loyal to him? Perhaps he’s her favorite customer-’ She cut off your thinking process as she pointed at the door she was near. Her eyes clear with a decision made, but also with her body slumped in relief.

“He’s in there, waiting for me. Good luck tying him down, sweetie.” She said with a mockingly sweet tone before she walked off fast on her high heels. Your eyes just followed her as she sauntered away into a staff only door, taken aback of her change of attitude. ‘What is her problem? Should I get this place looked into?’

You refocused to the door and schooled your face to remain neutral, cocking your gun at the ready, finger off the trigger and your body stiff with anticipation. ‘Deep breath, in…and out…. okay.’

You barged in, no knocking or any warning and came face to face with Andres, the big so-called ‘lion’. Still wearing his gray suit and his cream shirt still buttoned up standing near a desk with a notebook and pencil. The room was dark like the outside, but had pink furniture, the bed with see-through curtains, a cozy chair and the desk he was at.

Andres turned sharply; his dark eyes boring into yours as you raised the gun at him as his wavy dark with silver hair swept away in the air. Your eyes quickly darted around the room and saw that he was the only one inside.

“Andres Galan, you have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent as I read you your rights. Failing to comply will result in physical harm.” You gave him the same command that Buddy did to the first man as you stood firm, followed up with his rights being told to him.

The tall, portly (and hot, holy fuck! Why is he this good looking?) man just raised a thick eyebrow at you, smiling through his mustache and stubble beard as if he heard a good joke. Nodding his head while gesturing at your uniform, he starts talking in a baritone voice. “I see you girls have amped up your costumes. Gun looks real too-”

He stopped as he sniffed the air, then frowned. His nose sniffed again as his big eyes looked at your tool of weapon in your still hands, then to your name tag on your heavy vest. You ignored his comment and stalked closer to him. “I will not repeat myself; put your hands behind you.”

Andris placed his notebook on the desk with a “Ah, I see. I don’t suppose I could buy your silence of seeing me tonight?” Your scowling face told him off. “Well then,” Then the Latino held his hands in front of him, his smile returning, but with a dark twist in his lips and a hunger in his dark eyes. “Take me away, Officer Y/n. I’m all yours.”

That same feeling from the first guy returned, but much stronger when you cuffed Galan's hands from behind. Once the taller man was secured, you radio Buddy on your walkie talkie with a firm hand on the mob boss jacket. Probably the closest you’ll ever feel actual expensive silk for a while. “Officer Bently, do you copy?”

Static was your reply, and the feeling grew as the milliseconds ticked by. “Officer Bently, do you copy?” You asked again but didn’t get anything but static again. “Shit.” You muttered as you made Galan sit down on the pink armchair, acting along with your directions. “Anything wrong, Senora Y/n?” You turned to look at him, sitting back and relaxed (as relaxed as one could with both hands cuffed behind his back) and looking up at you, like a cat looking innocently after knocking something off the table.

You glanced at him to stay silent, then almost froze how his gaze looked. His handsome, plumb face, his dark eyes, that damn smile just oozes mischievous.

Something isn’t right.

“Bently, I need you to answer me now.” Your voice was harsher with begging, worry laced in with your tone. It was only that one guy that Andris was with, right? Was there more in the car? Static filled in the blanks until it was cut off by Buddys voice, which sounded frantic as he shouted “Y/N! You need to get out!”

Your hand reached for your gun as you moved to the door. “Bently! Talk to me-” But your radio was cut off too short, leaving you standing near the door with your hand on your holster. Your heart beating fast, the all too familiar feeling of fear coursed through your veins along with powerlessness.

You hated that feeling.

Taking out your phone turned out to have the same results, no reception and no chance of calling backup. “Looks like you need to get your phone plan rechecked, Senorita Cerda.” Your back straightens out as you turn around with your blood heated that shoves aside the uncomfortable feeling. “Despite what I look like, I actually know how to speak Spanish. So lay off the insults and maybe your ride to jail won't be in broken arms, anciano.”

He just let out a laugh, still relaxed even after your threat, and that made your anger grow more. However, now was not the time to get mad and Buddy needed help. But you can’t leave Andries alone.

You spotted the pink phone and made for it, ready to dial 911. Just as you were finished dialing it in, you looked at your suspect and froze.

He was still looking at you with those damn, hooded eyes and that smirk on his plump face. Still sitting with his hands folded in his lap, watching your every move-

…….His hands were supposed to be cuffed behind his back.

You stormed in front of him as you grabbed the second handcuffs. “Nice magic trick, gatito, but the next time you pull that again, you’ll come in with broken wrists.” You said, just before he grabbed your hand in a tight hold. “Ah, so you have heard of me. This will make this much more interesting.” He said with his Spanish accent before he pushed you away.

You almost flew back to the wall, nearly stumbling with surprise just how strong he is, he didn’t even look like he used his whole strength to do that. ‘He’s just bigger and taller than you. Not like you have arrested anyone his size before.’ You think as your hands reach for your gun holster, but you froze again when you look, REALLY look at him.

The tall man slowly stood up, almost taller than you first saw him and started walking towards you slowly. You eyed his suit, how it clings to him as if it was too small for him. How the buttons on his shirt was straining against his chest (Holy FUCK does it detail his pecs nicely). His pants were straining against his hips and-

You avoided looking down.

This isn’t right. His clothes fit him when you first saw him. How did it change? You looked back at him and he almost chuckled at your questioning look. “Worried about my attire? There’s no need to be, I have plenty of others back home.” He said with a deep rumble in his voice.

“Stay back, or I will open fire.” You threaten as you draw your weapon. He stopped but didn’t back up, just eyes at your gun again and sighed in a tired tone while smoothing his hair back with his eyes closed. Like he was disappointed. “Y/n, it would be wise of you to not draw your weapons at me. You’ll end up getting harmed.”

His eyes opened back on you and a shiver jolted up your spin.

Andres' eyes changed into feline pupils, with glowing bright green eyes and black surrounding the green instead of whites. There was a sound of a button snapping off his shirt. You looked and saw his chest wider than before with dark hair growing on his skin. The sleeves ripping, bulging with muscles, controuting longer as well as his legs. He walked up to you again, like a cat stalking a prey.

Or like a lion.

Snapping out of your stupor stare, you aimed your gun at him, but his large hand, much larger now, grabbed hold of it. You shrek as you manage to withdraw your hand in time, and watch with growing horror as his fingers bend the metal. The magazine was dropped to the ground first before the end was bent out of shape. You saw with fear as his nails grew longer, sharper and darker.

Looking back at him, you backed away when you saw how his face changed too. Shit, you had to tilt your head back, for he grew taller again. More angler with black hair-no, fur sprouted on his skin. His hair grew too, darker that framed around his head and shoulders, like a mane. Andres smiled that only a cat could make, and his teeth looked SHARP.

“Well, what would you do now, mi Querido cerdito? You were speaking so boldly, so fierce,” He said, his voice deeper, rougher like gravel in honey. Your back hit the wall and your hands palmed at it like a lifeline, pushing at it if it could part open for you to escape. “But now you are so silent. What's wrong, cat got your tongue?” He chuckled, his laugh rumbled in his chest, which was still growing out of his suit.

He finally stood in front of you, laing a hand on the wall next to your head. You could hear how his bones are changing into something else, something monstrous. Still changing and not yet done!

A claw grazed under your chin, and you shivered as it trailed up and down your throat. His eyes never left yours, boring into yours with fiery intent; so much of a primal lust that no man or woman could make. “What pretty eyes you have there, with such lovely lips to match. I can’t wait to hear you squeal.” Your heart stilled that second.

Your hands immediately shot to your taser with practice ease and you shot him in the stomach. The taller man-creature, snarl in pain and stumbles back, giving you a wider area to escape.

You dashed out of the room and straight for the door, going past your record speed. Grasping at the door handle, you twisted it but it wouldn’t budge.

Panic mixed in with fear as you tried to twist it again, only to pull at it, then kicking the door in hopes for any results. But the accursed metal door didn’t budge.

You hear more growling from the room along with more ripping and snapping. Sounds unnatural that only a horror movie could depict Something in your mind warning you that he was almost done, soon he’s ready to get out and hunt for you.

Looking around and spotting a few other doors, you dashed to one farthest away from where Andres was and went inside, closing and locking it. Looking around, you noted it was the same built as it is in the first one and you set out to barricade the door with the desk.

Then backed up with pepper spray in your trembling hand and in the other, your phone. You tried calling your captain. Nothing, just static. Then to your chief. More static. Sweat was trickling down your skin as you looked through your contacts for help until you heard heavy footsteps outside the room.

‘Fuck…. He’s out.’ You looked at the pink door, praying that Andres wouldn’t look for you. That he grew bored of you and went after… oh God, you couldn’t dream of having him hunting down another soul. Fuck! Is that what happened to Buddy?!

You were about to try another contact, another life line that hopefully would rescue you from this nightmare-

A long, hard scratch was made outside of your door.

You stood still, holding your phone. Looking at the door.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in.” Came a dark, husker voice with the crime lord's voice from behind the door. You backed up again until the back of your knees hit the bed. In your haze of dismay, you dropped your phone and almost along with your spray too. ‘This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening-’ You repeated in your head, tears starting to flow down your cheeks.

“If you come out now, I promise I won't harm a single hair on your little chin.” He said with a mocking, sweet tone that only made his voice sound more terrifying. You did nothing. “I can hear your heartbeat, Y/n.” There was another scratch on the door. It bends under the pressure, followed by a low growl. “It sounds sweet, like a bird confined in a cage. I can smell the fear in your blood, it smells so heavenly. There is no way out for you, and no cell to call from. It will only get worse if you continue to defy me. Open the door and let me in, bonito cobre.”

It took everything to yelled-no, screamed “FUCK OFF!!!” at the door. Following behind that was a low growl mixed with a elation laugh, as if he was dared for a challenge. “Then I’ll crush this door down,” The door bent again, but more closely to a breaking point. “And I’ll catch you,” He growled again, but much more deeper. More husker. And much more deadly, ready to create malignant destruction. “And I’ll make you beg for your life, little cerdita.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare move.

The door splintered as black claws punctured into it and ripped it away. In a blind panic kicked in with muscle memory of escape from your training, you dashed and slid on the floor under a dark mass that almost blocked your way like a baseball player. You stumbled up and turned to see your attacker, then completely fell down in horror.

The hulking thing-fuck, no…. a cat-lion-werelion, turned around to face you. God he was fucking TALLER then the last time you saw him. His whole body was wide as he was tall, with muscles covered in black fur, a tail swished gently behind him as his hinds legs moved towards you. You looked up, up, up at him and almost stopped moving.

His face, now very much like a lion, was grinning. Some gray fur was sprouting from his fluffy chin and around his cheeks and ears. Even his mane had some silver in it too. And his green eyes……. They bore into your frightened eyes, piercing like a dagger into a flying fish.

He growled in amusement as he knelt down on all fours, stalking you closer until he was nearly close to your trembling body. Like a lion stalking its prey, with his tail swaying behind him. “Well, what now, copper? Do you still want to try to cuff me again, or are you ready to lay down and be a good, little pig.”

You glanced around the wide room, looking for anything in desperation for-wait! The staff room! A possible escape!

You shot your arm out and dosed his nose with the pepper. He hissed like an injured cat pricking its claw on a cactus and you sprinted to it, practically throwing your body against the door. You tried to turn the knob but it wouldn’t budge. You swore as you screamed for help, calling for the dancer whom you saw.

A muffled voice called out from behind the wooden door. “Just give up, bitch! It will be sooooo much easier to let him have at it, TRUST me. Make sure you use lots of lube!” “Please! He’s going to kill me!” “Ehhh, wouldn’t be the first time he spilt blood like this. Probably the main reason why he always asks for fairies to do him off. We are more capable of handling that fucking meat he’s packing.”

‘Fairies?!’ You think in that frantic state before giving up and throwing your body against the door again and again. There were some shouts of ‘Stop it’ and ‘We just paid off the paint in this joint!’ until a big hand slammed against your back, shoving your body against the door.

Before you could do anything, his face appeared on your shoulder with a bite that nearly pierced through your vest. You screamed loudly when you felt his teeth almost tearing into your skin. The hand, fuck-it was wider then your back, pushed your body harder onto the wood as his mighty jaws slowly clinch onto your shoulder harder, but never completed his bite. You cried as you begged him to stop while your hands tried to reach behind you.

Andres released your shoulder, leaving a bit of drool on your bulletproof vest (holy crap, his teeth can rip into it!) and shirt before he nosed into your hair. Smelling it before he whispered into your ear with a rumble in his voice, his body rumbled as he spoke. “Now, here’s what is going to happen, querida. If you continue to fight against me, I will not be kind.”

You felt claws digging into your sides, nearly breaking your skin. “I will fuck your brains out with no regard for your wellbeing. You’ll be found in a dumpster, unrecognizable, all torn to pieces like a used sex doll. Or,” The werelion licked at the bite while the claws eased up on your sides. “If you comply, if you let me have you for tonight, I’ll be gentle.”

Your tears flowed down your cheeks as you blinked your eyes shut. Only to open them when his nose nuzzled into your face. “I can make you feel good, make it worth your while. You must be tired from your hazardise job, I can ease your tension. Then I’ll let you live on to protect those poor civilians you work so hard to protect. I’ll even tell Elvio to ease up on your partner.” You became *painfully* aware just how fucked you are, caged in by him. Your face was shoved against the wall, how you could FEEL him slouching over you, like a hulking wall of muscel and fur.

“Maybe I could even make you cum harder than anyone else has ever had, stuffed your little cunt until it overflows over my cock.” ‘ Oh Jesus have mercy.’ You think as your face turns red, trying to ignore how his voice with his stupid, hot spanish accent, what his promise made your insides feel.

Maybe…… maybe you could survive this. Just for one night. Just…fuck the monster and hopefully he keeps his word and lets you and Buddy live.

You let out a whimper, trying to convey words into sentences. “O-o-okay-” His huge, furry head leaned against yours as his hand pressed harder again. “Hmm? Please speak up, darling. I didn’t quite catch that.” He asked with mockery in his deep voice and a smirk on his lips before it kissed your cheek.

You gasped in as much air as you could and shouted “Okay! Just-Please call him off Bently and-GAH!” You screamed as he backed up and flipped you on your back to the wall.

“All in good time, pequeno cerdo. But first, lets us get rid of this infernal vest of yours.” With only the tip of his claws and with one hand still around your neck, tore through your bulletproof vest. Your armor, your only shield becomes shredded like aluminum while ruining your shirt and bra. You shrek as your arms went to stop him in vain but Andres just held your hands and raised them over your head.

His dark eyes, the green just glowing with lust as he stared down at your breasts, how it moves when you're gasping for air, the slight plump of your stomach that almost overtook your abs, and how the muscles of your arms bulge out to break free. He saw a few fading bruises and little scars all over your body, reminding him of how dangerous your job really is besides patrolling the city and eating donuts.

Just look at you, your tear-stained face that still showed teeth at him, your wide eyes never leaving his own or his body. Full of fear, God, such delightful fear, but inside that fright sight of yours was a need. To protect your partner? Most likely. The need to take him down for his crimes? Absolutely. To fuck him? No, not possible what you really wanted.

He couldn’t lie to himself; you are just another cop just doing your job to protect these people like him and he had or shouldn’t be having these feelings for good cops. Yet, a hidden part of him just wanted to hold you in his clawed hands and never let you go, but that would compilated things later on. In fact, he should kill you off and let a corrupt cop take your place. That’s what a crime lord would do.

But he isn’t like most petty criminals, no. He’s a powerful one. A monster hidden among Humans.

Well, this monster is just drooling at how appetizingly helpless you look in his hands.

His nose nuzzles between your breasts, smelling your sweat. If you had the power to phase through walls, you would have done so to get away from his face so close to you. “Oh Y/n,” His voice purrs as he licks his way up to your neck. You cringe at the rough sandpaper like texture scraping up your skin-shit, you can’t ignore how good it feels. “I’m going to completely ruin you forever.” His face nuzzles into your neck, smelling the bite he left on your skin. “Tonight, I’ll make you mine.”

Those words should not have turned you on as it should. “G-g-great, but about my part-” You were cut off again with a yelp as he picked you up (with ONE HAND) and you were hugged against his soft, furry chest. The feeling of his padded fingers on your butt was the only warning you’ve got before he tore apart your pants and shoes too. Not even the underwear was spared.

You blinked as you're now naked in the arms of a tall werelion, who is a criminal boss in a stripper club. With a possibility to die by him, if he decided to go back on his word. You sent a silent prayer in hopes for survival as you gripped onto tufts of his fur (shit, they are super soft).

A clawed hand held you closer to his chest and you heard him purr again as you felt him moving. You glanced up and your blood turned cold when you saw him looking down at you with hunger in his eyes. “Now, let's retire and fulfill that deal, estimada cobre.”

#alfred molina #fanfic #minors dni #ao3 fanfic #Andres Galan #Matador tv #Spooky month #Werecat #lycanthrope #halloween 2023

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