#feel the need to make a dialogue tree of arguments

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 4. Sharing [C1]

Pairing: Turpin x Fem!Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Turpin's House

A/N: Time for my fav Rickman character to take the spotlight - I realise it might be a little frustrating to not have each long fic as a whole but I'm working with set prompts (like everyone else 😅) so we will be jumping a bit between the stories but I hope - since it's such a short time between parts - that you'll manage, darlings 🙈❤ Anyway, we are gonna have another slightly darker story going but I do promise we will have a HEA even if it'll be a bit of a roller coaster getting there. I'm such a sucker for Angst and Hurt in my fics that I just can't resist - especially when Turpin is so perfect for this 🙈🤭❤ I don't know how long this one will be though, might be 2 parts, might be 5, we'll have to see 😂 Anyway, I hope December is starting well for you and let's get to the story! 😍👏

IMPORTANT: My plans for this story go in the darker shades! I cannot make any promises as I write as I go for this event but I feel like Turpin's story needs some darkness, amidst the fluff and joy of Christmas I want to incorporate some harsher, darker themes as well - he's a dark and complex character after all so I'm just giving a possible heads up here at the very beginning. No promises, but many possibilities 🙈

Tags/TW’s: Emotional Hurt/Harm, Fear, Physical Grabbing/Hurt, Emotional Hurt/No Comfort (yet), Harsh Dialogue, Hating Christmas vs Loving Christmas, Pettiness, Longing, Fear Of Abandonment, Lacking Communication (not miscommunication)

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 1.6k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

You were tensing all over. Every muscle was as stiff as the logs in the hearth, crackling within the flames yet their warmth didn’t quite reach you. He glared at you. His cold grey eyes lacked the usual warmth he held for you. To be quite blunt, you hadn’t thought he’d be so opposed to the whole idea — but, there you were, in the middle of an argument you hadn’t imagined would ever occur.

You looked down, avoiding his harsh gaze. “I thought you’d be pleased,” you said quietly. “Pleased?” “Yes, Richard. I thought—” “You thought wrong. Christmas is a foolish holiday, worth nothing to me. The opposite, in fact.” You bit your lip, the coldness of his words too hurtful when you adored the holiday with all your heart and he'd never spoken in such a manner to you previously.

You glanced toward the tree you had only half decorated when he came home. Everything else in the house was done, the garlands and curtains, the mistletoe in the hallway arch and the new green candle sticks, the little Santa village atop the mantel you had sprinkled with flour to replicate snow, and the little decorations dotted on most flat surfaces — angels and reindeer, miniature trees and Christmas flowers. Some things you’d bought at the market but quite a bit of it you’d found in the attic — why did he have all those beautiful decorations if he wasn’t fond of the holiday?

“I’m sorry, Richard…” you whispered and he sighed deeply, it made you shiver unpleasantly. “It’s-, it’s my favourite holiday.” “You are my wife now, living under my roof, and there will be no holiday cheer or infernal carols. Take it all down,” he snarled coldly before leaving the room with rapid steps, his boot-clad feet stomping harshly. But it’s Christmas… You thought while hugging yourself, staving off the hurt of him speaking so harshly to you. Dismissing you, your feelings, all of it with not so much as a chance for you to ask why. “I won’t let you take away Christmas,” you whispered to the empty room.

***

You woke up in the guest room, having neglected to sleep in your bed — next to your husband. You hadn’t done what he asked yesterday, all the decorations remained where you had put them, and as you made your way down to the drawing room you were met by the half-done Christmas tree. He’s not taking Christmas from me. I won’t allow it. Never had you gone against his wishes before, not since you married the man during the early summer of that very year. He had truly not asked anything extraordinary of you, though. Not many wishes to go against, truth be told.

You finished decorating the tree, placing all the gifts you had hidden away in the attic previously under its branches weighed down by far too many decorations. Had he not been so cold toward you, so disrespectful of your love of Christmas, you wouldn’t have gone all out. Now, well, now you did. The tree was nearly tacky in its sparkling, glittery, golden galore.

“There, last one,” you said and stood back to look at your work. “He can be a grump everywhere else, but I’m celebrating Christmas. No matter if he likes it or not.” “You ought not do such a thing, me lady,” came the voice of the maid. It startled you. “It’s Christmas, Miss Lowel. I’m going to celebrate it.” “Yes, me lady, but do not say I didn’t warn you.” “Warning heard, and ignored.” “You are most brave, me lady.” “What’s he going to do? Throw his wife out on the street?” you laughed at your own words, he was some sort of a gentleman after all. Miss Lowel, however, only lowered her eyes and left the room. Would he?

***

Richard never came home that evening. You sat in the drawing room, surrounded by the cosy decorations while reading a book in the warmth of the fireplace, when the clock struck ten. “Where is he?” you murmured and snapped your book shut. “Is he working late again?” You sighed and got up, heading toward the bathroom to clean up before it was time to sleep.

As you brushed your hair you wondered if you should sleep in your shared bedroom or take the guest room again. You decided on the latter, not wanting to share a bed with someone angry — your grandmother always said it was bad to share a bed with anger. She meant one should always talk and solve things before going to bed, but, same difference. You didn’t quite want to admit to the strange sensation of worry and longing that had begun to unfurl within you, doubts about whether you’d made the right choice slithered in as the night enveloped the world. You fell asleep nonetheless, half shivering under the heavy cover lacking your husband’s warmth.

“You disobey me,” Richard snarled and you jolted awake. Sitting upright with the cover pooling around your waist, your nightshirt did little to ward off the sudden chill of the cold room. “Richard?” you asked, half disoriented by the sudden awakening. He glared at you from beside the bed, with barely any light in the room his eyes looked like pits. “You disobey me, in my own house ,” he snarled and grabbed your upper arm, jerking you close with a too-firm grip.

Your heart jumped into a gallop within your chest, your body stiffening while your hand reached out to try and remove his fingers squeezing your biceps too harshly. “I told you to take it down ,” he seethed. “Richard, stop, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered while pushing at his hand. He bent forward, your noses nearly touching, and your breath seemed lodged in your throat. His harsh features appeared set in stone, his mouth barely a line with his lips so tightly sealed and his jaw clenched. He had never looked at you like that, pure anger and something far more dreadful creeping underneath it — something that pulled at your heart fiercely. 

“Take, it, down,” he said, nearly punching out each word. “N-no,” you whimpered, cinching your eyes shut. “I will not, it’s Christmas.” “It is my house,” he snarled and jerked at your arm, drawing a winching sound out of you. “It-, it’s mine too,” you whispered while tears began to roll down your cheeks. Fear, hurt and pain spurring the reaction you tried to quench. “You have nothing of yours,” he declared with frost in his thunderous roll of a voice. “ Nothing is yours.” “We share this marriage,” you said quietly, barely able to get the words out. “We share our life, and our home,” you continued and dared look up at him as he stood bent over you, each part of him seemingly held taunt. “Sharing,” he seethed, “is not what we do, wife . I own everything, including you.”

His hand released you with another jerk, forcing you to fall backwards while he straightened to his full, imposing height. Your heart ached and hammered, your cheeks wet with tears while your body quivered, your hands trembling. The way he spoke had fear streaking through your veins, your exchange with Miss Lowel still fresh in your mind — would he throw you out on the street over Christmas decorations? The hurt pushed hot anger through you, the fear like oil atop a fire.

“You do not own me,” you said, fisting your hand while glaring up at him. “I do not own you either. Marriage isn’t ownership, it’s sharing.” He smirked at you, but there was something devilish about it. Something dangerous. “Sharing?” he said. “In the same manner you thought to take all the freedom to remind me of the most horrendous of holidays? Sharing, as in taking the liberty to completely alter my one sanctuary without so much as a word with me beforehand? Sharing seems to be all, about, you,” he seethed while his hands fisted and his shoulders stiffened.

As he turned harder, colder, your heart ached and your shoulders slumped. Your bottom lip trembled, your tears flowed with more intensity as his words sank in, stabbing at you from all directions with the declaration of how selfish you had been. You had assumed he’d be happy, had assumed you could celebrate in a manner you saw fit, you even assumed he loved the holiday like all else did. It was Christmas, who didn’t love the most jolly of holidays?

Have I-, have I hurt him? The thought made your chest ache, for as you looked closer now that your eyes were more adjusted to the little light coming from the hallway you saw less of the anger he radiated and more of the hurt he was endeavouring to hide underneath it. You had, indeed, caused him emotional harm. It was written in his eyes as the dark pits turned to grey clouds. I hurt him…

“Richard, I’m—” “I shall return after Christmas.” “What?” “You shall have all your holiday cheer, wife , but none of me,” he snarled but the anger now sounded far more like pain. “Merry Christmas,” he continued with a seething sneer that just barely allowed the hurt to be heard, and then he stormed out of the room while you tried to grasp the fact he was leaving you until Christmas would be over, and it was only the fourth of December.

“Richard! Wait!” you called out, stumbling out of bed, your foot snagging on the cover, sending you plummeting into the lush carpet below with a thud and a hiss as your forehead slammed into the hard wood below while his footsteps receded down the stairs beyond the hallway. “Richard,” you said while scrambling to get up, “wait!”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Uffh, such a cliffhanger there 👀 I'm trying to preserve my sanity so I'm not endeavouring to write 5k+ fics or the like each day - I hope you understand 🙈❤

I do think I'll be doing some short one-part fics too during this Rickmas but I'm taking it day by day so we'll see what happens - tomorrow I'll be continuing our Brandon story though! The prompt is perfect for it! 😍👏 Also, want to say an extra thank you to all who's shown they're here, reading my writing - it means so much and I'm really grateful ❤

Q: Do you tend to read more Christmas/winter stories during the holidays? (fanfiction or original works) A: I have never really followed the seasons in my reading beyond Rickmas - I'm a complete mood reader so it really doesn't matter what's going on around me, what I'm in the mood to read I'll read 😂

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[Dec:2023]

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[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Daryl Dixon Is the King of Cunnilingus

Alpha!Daryl Dixon x omega!reader

Daryl loves giving head

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), no dialogue, references to dry humping

WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Daryl’s experience in sexual encounters paled in comparison to his partners’. Rick had been having sex since high school and he was sure that their omega had her fair share of partners. He was insecure in both his abilities and his appearance but there was one thing he could do that never failed to make his omega scream and thrash below him.

He was incredible at eating her out.

The first time he had gone down on her was a couple days before the farm fell. The tension had been insane between them, their pheromones going haywire with need and lust. But there wasn’t time for her to be knotted by either alpha, let alone both of them.

So Daryl had taken what he could, an odd make-out session, the occasional grope or even one glorious afternoon where he dry humped her against a tree when they were supposed to be finding herbs for Maggie. 

But one night, by pure coincidence, they were alone and more importantly, safe. Rick had been distracted by another argument with Lori and Shane so Daryl and Y/N sat in their shared tent alone. They sat side by side on one of the sleeping bags, her plump thigh pressed to his own as she read a book Glenn found on one of his runs while Daryl was cleaning his crossbow.

The domesticity of just sitting together quietly made his chest burn with affection and love. Every so often, his blue eyes would flick up to her face, quickly tracing the soft curve of her jaw before he forced himself to look back at what he was doing. If he thought he could have gotten away with it, the alpha would have stared at her forever. 

A chuckle interrupted his routine, forcing him to look up sooner than he would have liked. Y/N was smiling at him, eyes sparkling with embarrassment. She asked him why he kept staring at her, if there was something on her face. Flushing, he shook his head, grumbling something she couldn’t catch.

He tried to look away but her soft hand on his jaw stopped him. She guided his face back to her own. Her eyes briefly dropped to his chapped lips and he immediately knew what she wanted. It started off just as a kiss, light pecks like nervous teens.

But suddenly, she was on her back, the archer hovering over her as their teeth clacked together. His slim body was fit between her voluptuous thighs, his hips rolling desperately into her own. His inner alpha screamed at him to just rip her clothes off and take the omega, claim her before Rick had a chance to. But with an almost feral growl, he pulled himself away from her now swollen lips.

Her hands were pressed firmly to his muscular back, trying to keep him in place, not willing to let him get away just yet. He could feel the burning heat from her core against his barely contained cock and it was driving him crazy. He knew he had to stop now, he needed the lead alpha’s permission to mate her.

As if she could read his mind, Y/N shook her head. She insisted that they didn’t have to have sex, in fact they couldn’t but there was something that they could do. With a gentle touch, she helped him undress his shirt, getting a growl when she went for his pants so she left them alone. And then allowed him to carefully strip away her own clothes, leaving her in a tattered bra and panties that definitely didn’t match. 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat at finally seeing her half naked. She was far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Flustered at his gaze, she tried to cover herself by crossing her arms over her large stomach, but Daryl stopped her, insisting that she was the prettiest person he had ever seen. 

He helped her down once more, cradling her body with incredible care but he didn’t follow. He sat back on his haunches, eyes fixated on the growing wet spot between her legs. His senses were filled with the smell of fresh wildflowers and lust. His eyes fluttered shut as he unconsciously leaned forward, trying to drink down the tantalising scent. 

She swore as his large nose bumped against her covered slit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her veins. Her hands shot to his cropped hair, taking his mouth even closer to where she needed him. He mouthed at her cunt while his thick arms wrapped around her thighs to make sure she couldn’t run away.

Her hips bucked as his front teeth scraped against her throbbing clit. He groaned when another wave of her scent hit him, positively drowning him. He nipped at the small bundle of nerves, needing to get the same reaction again. Her warmth surrounded him like a blanket, making him struggle to breathe but he truly didn’t care.

A large hand slipped beside his head so that his calloused fingertips could pull her soaked panties to the side. For only a moment, the alpha pulled away. He admired the way her lips shimmered with slick, the clear liquid coating the dark curls on her mound like condensation on a cold glass of water. And he was thirsty.

The rounded tip of his nose rubbed tight circles against her clit as his wide tongue licked at her dripping entrance. Y/N wanted to curl in on herself to escape from his cruel mouth but he only held on tighter. He frantically lapped her up, his mind consumed by blind instinct. He wanted to bathe in her, have her swallow him whole.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip in a vain attempt to quiet her moans. Her nerves were alight with a pleasure she had never experienced before, even better than when Rick fingered her on a run. Her stomach began to tense with the familiar ache of her climax and Daryl was showing no signs of slowing down.

The tent began to reek of wild flowers and minty chocolate as well as the thick smell of sex. They would have to air it out later but Y/N wasn’t able to form any coherent thoughts, her mind was going blank, only filled with her alpha. Daryl shuffled his pants down his legs making him sigh in relief as his throbbing cock was freed from the coarse denim of his jeans.

He groaned lewdly into her cunt as his cock made contact with the slippery material of the sleeping bag beneath him. She was whimpering now, the high pitched sound resonating through her chest. His hips rolled in time with hers, needing to cum just as badly.

She chanted his name and he went wild. His tongue thrust in and out of her quickly, licking up everything she had to offer him. She jolted when the tip of his tongue hit that particularly sensitive place inside of her so he readjusted his head so he could hit it with every thrust. 

Her back arched as she finally snapped, forming an almost perfect semi-circle. The air around them exploded with her scent, soaking into the fibers of the tent itself. The sudden burst of perfume was overwhelming to the archer’s sensitive nose but it only served to fuel his orgasm. His moans came out as more of a rumble as he spilled his hot seed onto the bedding.

Slowly, she melted, coming down from her high. Daryl emerged from between her thighs, feeling quite pleased with himself. Her body still trembled below him in a way he had never seen before, it was like she had been struck by lightning. He laid delicate kisses to the soft flesh of her legs as he caught his breath.

Sweat coated her brow but in the dimmed light of the setting sun, Daryl thought she looked heavenly. She chuckled breathlessly and cupped his scruffy cheek, wiping away some of the slick that still coated his lips. It was far too soon to say ‘I love you’ yet but in that moment, they both felt it and for the first time in his life, Daryl wasn’t scared.

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[sednonamoris]

working for the knife

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: You and John return to camp, where an unexpected crisis awaits.

Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical injuries/aftermath of torture, references to gun violence, arguments, toxic family dynamics (Dutch being Dutch), lots and lots of dialogue, brief overtures of Christianity

Word count: 2,128

A/N: just a quick one before we get into the whirlwind chain of events that takes the gang from clemens point to shady belle… 👀❤️‍🔥

Series masterlist • AO3

—

You and John drag your feet the rest of the way to camp, and still your week’s-end arrival comes too soon. Out on the open road it’s so easy to feel like you’re the only two people in the world. You catch yourself staring at him with a lovestruck look enough that it should be embarrassing. It would be, if you didn’t catch him staring back just as often.

“What?” you ask this time with that sappy smile that hasn’t left your face.

“Nothin’,” John shrugs past a matching grin, but the creases at the corners of his eyes say that he loves you.

You love him too.

Always. Forever. You haven’t talked about what that night in the storm meant - not really - but mostly because there’s no need. The only thing that was ever waiting for the two of you were twin graves; together to the very end. As far as you’re concerned that hasn’t changed, and so there’s nothing to say. You’ve always understood one another’s silences, anyhow.

A companionable one stretches between you now, nearing camp on that wide dirt road that leads to Rhodes. The sun is a vivid orange, hung low in the early evening sky. It paints the lush landscape in a warm glow and colors the rich brown dirt beneath your horse’s hooves almost red. Creeping vines hang from tree branches bathed in gold. The crickets have started their choruses, ushering in the long shadows and pigmented sunset to come. This place is beautiful, you have to admit. Too humid, still, but beautiful.

As you admire it, movement catches your eye near the turn-off for camp; a horse and rider. You shade your eyes to see better. That big painted bay can only mean it’s Arthur, but something strikes you strange. He isn’t upright in the saddle, and his horse is flagging.

“John, somethin’ ain’t right,” you say.

The carefree mood dies in an instant. He pulls out his binoculars and clicks them in to get a closer look, cursing at what he sees.

That’s all it takes for you to spur your horses on, cantering up beside Arthur’s slumped form and cursing all over again. It’s not pretty. Dressed in nothing but his longjohns and a stolen bandolier, Arthur is half-conscious and hunched over like he’s got cracked ribs. Broken, maybe. And that says nothing about the bullet holes in his leg and shoulder. His skin is sallow and fevered. Eyes bleary. Blood is crusted across his hands and clothes.

“Jesus, Morgan, what happened to you?!” John says.

Arthur only groans in response.

You spare a furtive glance toward the road - empty, thankfully - and snag his horse’s reins. John tells you he’s going to track Arthur’s trail back a ways to make sure that whoever did this didn’t follow. If he finds them, they won't be following anyone for much longer.

Without further delay you take Arthur the rest of the way to camp, wincing in sympathy with every jostle and jerk of his saddle.

“Aw, shit,” Karen says from her post on watch when she sees you pass by. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles to follow you up.

Arthur falls from his saddle when you make it to the edge of camp, boneless, and you curse and jump down to get him. “I need some goddamn help here!”

Everyone comes running.

Karen and Mary-Beth and Dutch are the first to arrive, murmuring Arthur’s name in disbelief.

“I told you it was a set-up, Dutch,” Arthur wheezes from where he lies prone, eyes blinking sightless. “They got me, but I got away.”

“Miss Grimshaw, I need help!” Dutch shouts over Pearson’s wide-eyed apologies. “Swanson!”

More bodies rush in.

“Help me get him up,” you say, hoisting him upright in spite of his protests. Dutch takes his other side and Pearson supports his back.

“Let’s get him to bed…”

“Has anyone told Abigail?”

“Clear a path!”

The crowd moves with you, ready to catch him should he fall. He limps heavy between you and Dutch, feet stumbling and breath whinging past his cracked lips.

“You are safe now, Arthur,” Dutch promises as you set him down on his cot. It’s hard to tell which of them he’s comforting. “You’re safe now.”

Arthur laughs a wheezing laugh past his broken ribs and smiles stupidly at the tent canvas above him. “That’s pretty, Dutch. That’s real pretty.”

Your own chest constricts. This fever has him bad. You’ve seen folk die from less.

Dutch asks Ms. Grimshaw to sit with him while Reverend Swanson administers the morphine. Mary-Beth fetches Jack away so Abigail can stay by his side. Her eyes shine glassy with tears. You ask if they need you to hold him down while they cut away the bad flesh from his leg and shoulder, but they usher you away.

“What the hell happened?” you ask Dutch. He paces in front of his tent. “John and I been gone barely two weeks.”

“Where is he?” he asks instead.

“Scouting. Wanted to make sure Arthur wasn’t followed by whoever did this to him. What did he mean about a set-up?”

Dutch explains Pearson’s lead and his meeting with Colm and his boys. How Arthur was supposed to meet him and Micah back at the crossroads when things went south, but he never showed and they couldn’t stick around.

“And you never thought to look when he didn’t show up a few days later?” Having to run you can understand, but leaving one of your own behind? That’s never been the Van der Linde way. If it was, so many of you would be rotting in jailhouses right now.

“We might’ve,” Dutch says with a pointed stare, “if we weren’t missing two of our best guns. I got mouths to feed here, Ghost. Folk to protect. You should know that.”

“You think I don’t? John and I were out makin’ sure you could feed them!” you say. “I got us hundreds more on those horses than that fence would’ve. How was I s’posed to know you and Micah were back here trying to get Arthur killed in the meantime?”

Dutch stops his pacing all at once. His voice gets low and velvet-soft and dangerous. “Everything I do, I do to keep us all alive. Do you understand me?”

His change in demeanor alone is usually enough to have you begging his forgiveness, but nothing about this is usual. Arthur might die - your brother might die - because no one bothered to look for him. Family first, you’ve always been told. No one helps us but we damn well help each other. Dutch taught you that from the time you first joined up, some lost kid without a cause. He made you who you are, gave you that cause and that purpose you lacked in the family he collected over years and hardships, and now he throws it all back in your face.

“Sure,” you say venomously. “Sure. You’d better take this.”

You shove the camp’s share of cash into his chest and walk away. If he calls after you, you can’t hear it over the rush of blood and anger in your ears.

—

By the time John rides back into camp night has fully fallen. The stars shine in a blue-black sky, and the moon gazes, sly and wane, on your camp full of criminals. He slips silently past the flap of your tent and starts kicking his boots off.

“How is he?” he asks.

“Alive,” you say, seated on the edge of your cot. “At least for now. You find anyone?”

“Not a soul. He say who it was?”

“Colm.”

John’s brows lift in surprise. “Colm?”

You fill him in on the details while he strips down to his underthings and joins you on the cot, sitting close enough that his shoulders brush against yours. You lean into the contact and let your voice break when you explain your confrontation with Dutch. He reaches an arm around you to pull you close. The steady beat of his heart soothes the fresh ache in your chest.

“He didn’t mean all that,” he tells you. “Arthur’s like a son to him. He was just… lashin’ out. Tough to be that scared.”

“Okay,” you say, because that’s what you want to believe. “Okay.”

You hold him tighter.

—

That first week is rough, but Arthur recovers. The whole of camp - with very few exceptions - take turns at his bedside. On your watches you try to cheer him up any way that you can. You even break out your impression of John, which has been a sure way to get Arthur going since you were kids. He cusses you out for making him laugh with his ribs, but the smile on his face is infectious.

You send up a prayer to a silent God when you learn his wounds aren’t.

—

The girls tell you what you missed at camp while you were away. Javier sang. Grimshaw yelled. Dutch made pretty speeches. Bill made a fool of himself. Nothing much. They smile coyly when you insist that nothing much happened on your trip, either. John blushes as he passes by and they laugh.

Sean fills you in on what happened leading up to the O’Driscoll incident, gap-toothed grinning while he reminisces about the smell of burning tobacco fields. Them Grays never knew what hit ‘em, he tells you, preening. Even made off with their payroll. You have to hand it to the kid, he’s got spunk. Nevermind the fact that Hosea says he had to step on his toes in warning more than once during his game of cribbage with the Braithwaites.

Having played both families against the other, this feud business is little more than a waiting game now. Gold is about the only reason you can think to stick around, and Hosea says he’s close. He’s always had a nose for these things.

So you wait.

You busy yourself with chores around camp, careful to be present and helpful after your argument with Dutch. Neither of you apologizes, but when he nods at you chopping wood just a few days later you know things are alright. They always are, in the end.

You only ask Arthur about what happened with him and the O’Driscoll boys after he takes his first weak, wobbling steps to one of the logs along the shoreline. He sits down unassisted - just barely - and sighs. Tells you it’s a long story. Squints his eyes up at the gulls flying overhead and the shimmer of the early morning water. Sunrise reflected in blue-grey-greens.

You tell him you’ve got all day.

“Pearson called it peace,” he says after a long pause, “and Dutch, he kept goin’ on about Annabelle and his daddy and some kind of payback.”

“And you told them you’re not in the revenge business.”

He snorts his affirmation. “Whole lotta good that did. You know it really did seem like Colm was gonna stand down ‘til he brought her up again? Turns out he was after me, anyway, so peace weren’t much of an option all along. Still…”

He lets the unfinished thought hang between you.

“I’m convinced he loves them more now than he ever did when they were alive,” you say softly, shaking your head. “It’s easier, sometimes, when they’re gone. Death has made a lot of normal people into saints or martyrs - somethin’ more, now that they’re past all the annoying and betraying and disappointing us alive folk can’t seem to help.”

When your parents were alive you must have fought with them sometimes, but the few memories left to you are of golden summertimes learning to swim, grooming horses, wrapped in a loving embrace. Alive, Jenny must have annoyed you some. Dead you can’t help but miss her endless talking, always something clever to say. And the Callander boys. A meaner pair of bastards never walked this earth, but what wouldn’t you give to see their faces ‘round the fire one last time? A laughing, smiling bunch of killers.

People say only the good die young, but after seeing so much of death you’re convinced it’s about the only way people can be good.

“You might be right,” Arthur runs a hand down his face. “But either way it ain’t an excuse to keep this useless fight up. The law is after us all just the same. Dutch should know that as much as anyone.”

You shrug, and sigh. “Dutch ain’t the kind of man you can change. Some people lead and other people follow, and I reckon you and I will follow him to the very end.”

Whatever that end may be.

Arthur frowns, but he doesn’t disagree. The rest of the morning passes in thoughtful silence.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #ghost story #fran writes #ch. 24

[thesherrinfordfacility]

re: your hard truth meta, you're absolutely iconic for that. i feel like a lot of the season seemed to foreshadow that they're on two entirely different planes as far as what it means to care for someone, especially when a LOT of the flashback scenes we were shown seemed to included him constantly rejecting aziraphale's attempts at authentic communication: in the 1800s one, he straight up yells at aziraphale to be the one to say something that would keep that girl from ending her life, when aziraphale was already trying to do that on his own (never mind that aziraphale already miracled the vial empty & could have done the same with the glass). post-job, he laughs at aziraphale's assumption that he'll be cast out for lying when aziraphale is Visibly distraught about it. and then with maggie and nina, as they said in the final episode, az & crowley were doing what they'd always done with each other: throwing darts at the wall until something seems to stick. so then when crowley's finally put in a position to open an honest dialogue about their relationship and where he wants it to go, and is visibly anxious about it, aziraphale brushes it aside in favor of sharing his Good News, because that's what he's learned their relationship to vulnerability is. imo, crowley has had the time he needs to understand that heavenly/hellish interference isn't even necessary ("every time i think of something strategically cruel, they do it themselves and Worse"), and he expects aziraphale to reach the same level after like. One year of silence from heaven, because he figures that if he could do it on his own with no support system or anybody in his corner, so should aziraphale. meanwhile, aziraphale spent his ENTIRE existence with one purpose, being repeatedly manipulated into quashing his doubts and not raising questions, and then when he finally did the Right Thing for himself (stopping the apocalypse), heaven stopped talking to him entirely. of COURSE he would want to go back. he was cut off and lonely and couldn't go to crowley about it because he knew from experience that he would be brushed off. and of COURSE crowley wouldn't understand that, and like with maggie and nina was just trying to make Something happen However he could, regardless of how ethical it was, and would lash out in the most anti-heaven way he could think of: a temptation. like, my guy had a WEALTH of logical arguments about why heaven wasn't the place where real change could happen based on their lives together and the fact that aziraphale was about to be ERASED FROM EXISTENCE AND THE MEMORY OF EXISTENCE BY THE ARCHANGELS before the metatron showed up, but all he was thinking about was his trauma and he reacted to the shadow of a rejection that was centuries old. in trying to express their love for each other they just ended up treating each other like An Angel and A Demon again and it fuuucking kills me.

god i hope this makes sense, i am very tired. tl;dr i loved that meta

@rollforjackass, bestie, fucking *CHEF'S KISS* ✨💓 yes this is perfect part 2 to my meta and im so grateful you paid attention to the other parts where they fail each other time and time again and just sweep it under the rug... yes you get me!!!✨

aziraphale is as culpable as crowley, but i genuinely think he's trying... crowley feels like he's so wrapped up in his own pain and hurt (again, valid) that he can't see wood for the trees, and certainly not aziraphale's perspective 💀

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy #ask

[mslanna]

Disclosed Desires

Chapter 4 of A Mortifying Ordeal now up on AO3

95% smut. You can skip when he vanishes his clothes.

I have no idea how I got through that dinner. The food was delicious, like utterly out of my budget and Raphael just sat there like a statue of Adonis only looking better and alive. Has the world ever seen eyes so brown? Probably not because it didn't implode and gods know I was so close.

Also, that voice. Once he realised The Purr had me in a stranglehold, he defaulted to it. Kept quizzing me about Baldur's Gate 3, too. Embarrassing and the one thing that saved the chair I sat on. I'm bad at meta, won't lie, so trying to explain things to him was pretty excruciating.

He kept insisting on me having a favourite way to play dialogues and such being a sign of me remembering and trying to be who I was before. Looking at that sopping soft guy who hid a complete devil under that face, was close to making me believe. No other reason anybody's pursue me with such fervour. But then I also have a favourite way to play Dragon Age 2 and I'm certainly no Hawke.

The thought of Varric turning up and trying to convince me to return to Kirkwall stuck around for almost half a minute. Mind you, he wouldn't have such convincing arguments for making me want to be Hawke and return.

Raphael, though? He's truly impossible, not gonna lie. I have to admire his staunch belief that I am in fact his Tav!Tav. Almost enough to make me doubt myself.

And gods do I wanna be them. He woos with the fierceness of a thousand suns, looking about as hot. Doesn't help if he's in his human form, guy is on fire! And not backing off. I am be as red as his devil skin when we arrive back at my room. Godsdamned, it is shabby. I am shabby. And he doesn't even care.

Also, he's utterly gorgeous. Tall. I have A Thing for tall guys, might be a reason none of my guys was under 2 meters. And in devil form Raphael is even taller. And so big. Need I say I wanna be all over him? Probably not, I am thirsty. I am horny and I want to cry so bad.

Poor sod deserves better. Deserves his actual real Tav. I know they'd love him so good. Kiss every inch of that man. Empty him like the last capri sun on the planet. Damn, they lucky. And I just have a finger under my chin and stare up into those damning eyes. Needs a licence for those, he does.

"Having second thoughts?"

Gah, I hate the soft insecurity in his voice. "Not about the – the thing itself no." Honesty, I whack myself internally. Honesty served me well so far. Gotta keep it up. "I wanna bang you so bad. 'til we both see stars and worse."

"But?"

"I know you think I'm your Tav. And man do I wish I was." I take his hand that holds my chin between mine. "But I'm not and you – you deserve better," I sigh. Can't hold his gaze either.

Waiting for him to react is the worst. My flight or flight instinct kicks in hard and my heart at least listens and pumps like mad. Thanks body.

Raphael is silent way too long. Probably having second thoughts himself and third thoughts and fourth thoughts, too. He's a crafty one. What am I even thinking? He got better things to do with his life than me. Which is why I can't let the Tav angle go. It's my one and only chance to get my hands on him. I am corrupt down to the bone. Or at least down to the cunt.

Doesn't help I had a taste already after amarettini and espresso. How he tastes so good, flavoured with almond and coffee. It's a small miracle we ended up in my room again and not in jail for public fornication. Coulda climbed him like a tree there and then.

"I appreciate your concern," he finally says. "It is very – consistent for you to put me and my feelings before yourself despite your obvious state. Please know that I acknowledge your worry, though I do not share it. Of course it is up to you, if you want to proceed. I will accept your withdrawal, much as it pains me. But you don't have to do anything more than let your gut guide you. Trust me."

How did he make so many words for before getting to the point. I get lost in his voice immediately and barely surface for the final 'trust me'.

"I do." Gods it is the most stupid thing ever. But I trust him. And I want to believe him, not only because his voice is utterly gorgeous but also because he says things I am desperate to hear. I want to believe so bad.

"Then, with that out of the way, you should ignore your misgivings for now. "

Wish it was that easy. Like, in theory it is, people making their own decisions, being their own people and you having to accept that. But it is hard to watch somebody you love, of fuck, I'm up in delulu-land further than the maps chart it. Still, it is hard to watch him throw himself uselessly at the nearest lump that looks like his Tav.

He must read my hesitation all wrong (unsurprising) because he takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. Damn demon devil. The way his index finger pokes into my palm is outrageously suggestive for it being mere hands. Good lord, sir what those fingers do?

"Maybe it will help bringing your memories back." He straightens with that predatory smile and my inhibitions don't even pretend to put up a fight.

"You fucked?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"You know that Tav fucking Haarlep and you fucking Haarlep in Tav's form isn't really you two fucking, yes?"

"Well," he grins like a wolf, "maybe it is time then to do the real thing."

In a swoosh of hellfire. Raphael transforms and also, sheds all of his clothes. I freeze except for my mouth that manages to go completely dry and water at the same time. Raphael's smile turns sharps as a knife as he points downwards. "Kneel."

Oh. Oh, hot damn, I will. I so will. But first – I cannot not touch him. His chest is broad and inviting and the skin is hot and all those ridges swirling everywhere. Gods strike me down if he didn't shudder when I placed my hand on him. He's burning under my fingers that move down his sides, up his arms and head. I can't reach very high on the horns but it doesn't matter. They feel alive under my palms, rugged.

The smile spreading on my face threatens to split it in half. Raphael is a sight. A whole banquet. More than I can hope to ever eat and most likely more than my mouth can hold. My hands round back over his shoulders, feathering over the collarbones. So many delicious ridges. I wanna bite them all. Nibble and munch until my jaw tires.

"Something you like?" His tone is only half mocking. "I am not used to having my orders disobeyed."

My eyes hitch on his mouth, that moves temptingly as he speaks. "Kiss me." I don't think. And when his hands alight on my sides, I jump at him, wrap myself around him any way possible and strain towards his lips.

Raphael laughs, low, and I feel it hum through my body. He takes it slow, lips tantalisingly out of reach until they meet mine ever so softly. I moan. He tastes so good. And as soon as his tongue demands tribute, I open up and swallow it whole.

Bad in bed whatever. He can kiss. If I didn't cling to him like a desperate koala, I would have melted into a puddle on the floor. As things are. My with feet hooked at the small of his back my legs can go as wobbly as they want. I am secure against him, ruining my pants and trousers too. Totes worth it.

He pries me off way too soon. The coronas in his black hole eyes burst with fire. "On your knees," he repeats and the low rumble is in itself enough to send me to the floor.

Not quickly, mind you. Can't pass on the chance to kiss all them ridges. And that is obviously allowed. My hand vanguards between his legs and damn. He's big. He's full of bumps and ridges I can't wait to pommel my insides with. But first – the chest. Only a little hair remains, but I'll take it.

As long as my head is on a slow descent, I can nibble on the red skin wherever. Don't care if my moans are louder than his. I'm in heaven. His problem now. Then I reach the happy trail and boy does it make me happy. I want to slurp it up, swoosh down and suck up the whole devil cock first.

Taking time is so hard, but then, so is he. Oh how delicious to arrive at a full on erection. My fingers mover over the pronounced ridges, feeling for future pleasure as I lean in. He's got a little crown of bumps just under the tip that looks absolutely delish.

A hand slips under my chin and raises my head. "Look at me."

Oh hot damn, if that's how he wants to play it. I lock my eyes to his and slip my lips over the very tip of his cock ever so slowly. He's so very still I can feel the tremble of his muscles tense to keep in place. I press the tip of my tongue against his tip, move it slowly, keep his eyes caught. This is a battle of wills he won't win.

Listen, I may be a little out of practice but I know my stuff. And he's signalling like nobody's business. Gods, he tastes so good, little burning flecks of precum on my tongue and the way he shivers when my tongue laps it up.

My head moves on without breaking eye contact. His cock slips in easy and deep and my tongue can't get on to those ridges fast enough. I'm sucking him like a lollipop. Every inch is to be explored, tasted, caressed. Rumbling sounds fall over me from above and only entice me to go down deeper. I want all of him inside of me and if this is how it happens, I will swallow.

His hands tangle in my hair. Gotta hand it to a guy who can find purchase in a pix cut. Not that it'll help him any. I help myself liberally to all of his cock abolishing my gagging reflex on the spot. Ain't nobody got no time for that.

I suck him in as deep as I can and then some because I am greedy. I want all of him and that's what I'll have and if it kills me. I don't care. I suck him in hard, deep and hungry. My teeth hitch on the ridges. My hands tighten on his balls and I wanna wring him dry, crush him like a lemon in the squeezer. Mine now. All mine.

Raphael's hands close on over my scalp. I am rabid. Clawed fingers press in tightly. I feel the nails pierce my skin as I go all in. The pain is familiar and exquisite. Unlike the fire erupting into my mouth, running down my throat like whiskey and chili.

I gulp it down as if I hadn't just feasted on the finest Mediterranean food. Gotta keep going. The cock is easier to take now that it softens and damned if I won't gurgle it down to the hilt. I'm almost offended when he pulls me up and definitely too short when he bends to kiss me.

Doesn't deter Raphael the least. He's big (oh yeah) and strong and just stands me on the bed so we can smooch good. He's sucking his taste from my mouth as if I stole it. Well, I'll gladly give him all I got. Also, I'm having an advantage because my hands run over hot skin (oh those swirling ridges!) and I'm still dressed.

His fingers bunch the fabric of my shirt and his tail wraps around my right ankle. Oh that's driving me wild. I'd be moaning all over the place if my mouth wasn't busy exploring every inch of devil it can reach. Little tugs of the tail in reaction to what goes on further up. Enough to turn my knees into pudding.

Raphael pushes me back a little, running a hand down the button tab. A knowing smirk plays over his lips. I wanna kiss that away. I wanna drink it up until it fills my whole existence. And he knows. Raphael tilts his head a little. "Open up."

Oh there is good reason that line isn't in the game spoken by him. I'd open up my legs wide no questions asked. Unfortunately, he's still looking at my shirt. Reluctantly I take my hands back to myself. If that's what he wants, he can have it. Gods, this guy can have everything. (Doesn't he know it.)

I hold his gaze and open the first button. Very slowly. I can see the fire flare up in his eyes. I can also feel his adventurous little tail move up my leg. The next button and another upwards slide wraps the tail around my knee. Raphael's grin a threat and a treat. Sweet hells. I can't even slow down any further because I started at least possible speed.

My fingers play with the next button and the tip of his tail dances against the inside of my thigh. Swallowing hard, I open the button and let the caress of skin snaking around my thigh wash over me. Two buttons left to go.

The second to last button brings him up against my cunt. The tail has no problems slipping between my folds; I'm wet as a waterfall.

I open the last button and nothing happens. I cock my head in a question and Raphael motions to brush the shirt of my shoulders. With a dry mouth I do and as soon as the fabric crests my shoulders, he moves in. His tail is hot, smooth and prehensile. I drop the worst moan ever as my knees give in, shirt hanging forgotten at half-mast.

Raphael catches me. Shirt forgotten he buries his face against mine again, tongue digging deep as his tail. My hands are on his chest again, gripping and grappling. Raphael pulls me close. His left bunches my shirt behind my back, trapping my hands as he bears down for another kiss. I'm flush against him, and my mans is working up an erection again already.

My cunt rises like a neon invitation. I arch perfectly against his chest, diabolical alchemy, I'm sure. Can't think further with my cunt full of tail and moth full of tongue – both slithering and slipping and demanding.

Clawed hands move down my sides, leaving red trails of fire. His fingers close in on my pussy and while I am all for that, he is in his cambion form. Pain is fine in moderation but there is some things I am not ready for yet.

"Before you can even think of putting any of those in down there, we gotta file of the claws," I gasp. In retaliation, I get his index finger into my mouth I suck down hard and accept the middle finger that follows.

His left still presses me against him, tail working up my cunt and fingers down my throat I hang on by that thread. I'm overflowing. I still need more. And he's generous. Boy is he giving. I may not be stuffed, but I am not empty either. My walls clench taking what they can and my mouth is muffled by fingers and want as he bends me backwards.

I fall freely and unworried. Hit the mattress soft enough. Barely registers through my horny haze as I rut at him like the last freak alive. He tastes so good. I wanna suck his mouth dry as well. Doing my best. Getting paid in hungry growls. Oh we feasting tonight.

Then he goes down. Not even slow. Skips all the in-between steps (it's fine, nothing to see there) to breathe hot air over my clit. And before I finished gasping out a hopeful moan, his tongue descended and I am deceased.

Doesn't matter if he'll come two thrusts in. I'm fucked already, writhing like a snake on silk sheets, getting nowhere but deeper into desire. Devil down there hums, send that reverberation into my bones through my sogging wet pussy. I'm so far gone, I can't even wish for him to finish me off.

Raphael's mouth works my clit as if I won't ever need it again, hungry tongue making short work of my arousal. I clench around the tip of his tail, riding on waves of ecstasy. Best night of my life.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 fanfiction #mel writes fanfic #sleazy second-hand car dealer #A Mortifying Ordeal #chapter 4

[inspiteallthedanger]

Have you thought about that moment in Get Back where Paul says ''Good try that, Johnny'', and George says something immediately after to John, addressing him ''John'' pointedly? Like very pointedly. I mean it might have been discussed on Tumblr, but I just rewatched it on Youtube (it's in the beginning of a short video there called ''George's admiring Eric Clapton & Billy Preston'') and that moment always makes me smile and wonder. It's just a tiny second of interraction between the tree of them but a mess of so many possible feelings. It definitely sounds like George is either mocking Paul or in otherwise responding to the fact that Paul said ''JohnnY''. Like he's acknowledging that that petname sounds affectionate and is annoyed by that fact. It's also interesting to me that apparently it DID sound special/affectionate, it wasn't common for people to call John that, if George payed attention to it. It's like.. George's reaction in a way for me confirms Paul's affection which is why the moment makes me smile mostly. But also... they're not teenagers anymore but George is annoyed/jealous? That Paul likes John? That John's ass is kissed by Paul? That they were an annoying petname-calling team like that still? I mean it's kinda hilarious but also like our weird fanfictions are not so far from the truths. Sorry for that long rant over one second of Get Back, what do you think? :D

Hello. This is interesting, isn't it? My following response is assuming that this dialogue is presented in Get Back as it was (more or less) said in real life. Which, we know might not be the case. So, for a start, I’m ignoring the visuals in this. But, anyway, with that aside:

I do totally agree that George's 'John' does seem a pointed moment in response to Paul's ‘Johnny’. And yes! I think Paul's trying to create some sort of short-hand/intimacy with John there too. I think, overall, George is trying to win John over to his way of thinking in his on-going argument with Paul. I think it’s pointed because he’s sort of saying “Oh, no you don’t, Paul. You don’t get to win by pulling on your weird ass relationship with John.”

I’m not sure, entirely, why he’s annoyed. Because I don’t think it’s wildly unusual for Paul to call him Johnny in that context.

I wonder if it’s possible George's annoyed because Paul says it was good. Then sort of pauses and only calls out John as being good, and George takes that to mean Paul thinks George wasn't good? I can’t remember what they’ve just finished playing, so assuming they’ve all just done a song, that could be part of it?

But overall, I think he’s annoyed because he's trying to win the argument that he's been having with Paul since the start of the sessions i.e. how they should go about crafting these songs. So, he's mostly disagreeing with Paul that the take was good.

I do think this is part of George's on-going issues with the whole idea of the project. Specifically, he's talking here about why he can't do what Paul wants him to do: stop and fix each wrong note as they go (by which George thinks Paul thinks he should just automatically know how the song ought to go), or allowing them to play through it and figure it out once they have the overall shape.

I'm not sure if George is just very insecure during these sessions or what, but it's a clear through line from this chat to "You need Clapton for that" where John says, "We need Harrison". And likely why John jokes they should just bring him in when George leaves.

None of the Beatles were good at just jamming - when they tried it, apparently it was often terrible. Paul's dismissive, "That's jazz, man," is meant to say, "So what if Eric does that? Doesn't make him better than us, or what you do." Anyway, I think this is all part of them trying to get John to weigh in on one of their sides. Which is interesting, because by all accounts that isn’t what he ever did. Let alone by this time in their relationship.

Anyway, none of this takes away from anything you’ve put here. I just think it’s more about them more directly fighting for John’s approval/agreement. Which John is resolutely not about to do...

It’s also funny/sad that George thinks that Paul and John still likely have that bond. I mean, they do but the very timid sort of way Paul says ‘Johnny’ sort of suggested that he’s not even sure of his place with John currently. Like, he’s trying to get John engaged and in doing so is excluding George. The dynamics are wild and painful to behold!

#beth rambles

[windblume-wishes]

Sumeru Trailer Analysis- My Thoughts

This is just an analysis of the latest Sumeru trailer, if you feel the need to add or correct me please do so in a kind manner. Hostility will not be tolerated to either myself or onto others.

“Everything in this world runs in a loop”, that saying is true, in a certain point of view. Time is much like a wheel, it goes around in a continuous loop, events repeating themselves in one way or another. In the book Tuck Everlasting written by Natalie Babbit, the opening words say something similar:

“Time is like a wheel. Turning and turning - never stopping. And the woods are the center; the hub of the wheel. It began the first week of summer, a strange and breathless time when accident, or fate, bring lives together. When people are led to do things, they've never done before. On this summer's day, not so very long ago, the wheel set lives in motion in mysterious ways.”

Time is very much like a loop, as Nahida says in her dialogue, it sets events into motion in mysterious ways, as it does normally for the Traveler. Fate binds lives together, that is as true as words can get, as we continue our journey as the traveler, fate has bound us to countless people in the the nations we previously traversed. As the saying from Tuck Everlasting goes, as the wheel turns and turns, so does time, the loop continues.

I truly believe that in the case of the traveler, or rather us, we are simply a part of something much bigger in this chapter. The mentions of time, dreams, and loops, when you put it into a new light, I think of potential time loops and events repeating themselves as they played out many years ago.

“As for the truth, that’s for you to find out.”

What do we need to find out? What is the truth? Is there a massive lie we have all been fed over the course of the story and now we learn the truth? My bets say yes, there will be a dark truth revealed to us and we need to uncover it. What it will be, I have a few ideas in mind but I’ll keep my lips zipped for good measure.

There is definitely something suspicious going on in Sumeru, those Dendro earpieces that prevent dreams from seeping their way into the minds of its locals seems like something of suspicion, is the truth hidden in those? Is that a clue?

Perhaps this has a clue, Dainslief mentions this in the Teyvat Story Chapter and it’s rather interesting.

According to Dain, 

“The God of Wisdom's enemy is wisdom itself, and the oasis of knowledge is a mirage in the desert of ignorance. In the city of scholars there is a push for folly, yet the God of Wisdom makes no argument against it.”

What if the tree we see is the “Tree of Life”?

What if the burning tree we see in the trailer is merely a vision of something that has happened in the past? What if it’s a vision of the future? I’m not entirely sure as of now, as there is little to no information about it. However, that does not mean some research cannot be done in the meantime.

The Tree of Life is mentioned in many forms of religion, it’s mentioned in the Bible and the Quran as a symbol of where the fruit of Knowledge and Immortality. Both share a similar story of the tree being where God or Allah, tells Adam and Eve they cannot eat the fruit of the tree, as the story goes, they disobey.

In the Quran, Allah sends Adam and Even to Earth, where they must live and learn to repent from their mistakes. However, Allah assures them that while on Earth they will have guidance. Thus, the Tree of Immortality in the Quran represents repenting and learning from one’s mistakes, as well as God’s mercy.

Now what I find interesting is that the Tree of Life symbolizes immortality but also Knowledge and what is Sumeru focused on? Knowledge. Sumeru prides itself on knowledge and wisdom so the tree that symbols immortality and knowledge being present does not seem far off to me in the slightest.

“Maybe I could offer you a bit of knowledge, and in return you can tell me your story. How ‘bout it?”

The Moon and the Sun

“In the end, I’m just the moon, the real sun is long gone…”

The Hindu texts state that the Moon is lit and nourished by the Sun, and that it is Moon where the divine nectar of immortality resides. In Puranas, Soma is sometimes also used to refer to Vishnu, Shiva (as Somanatha), Yama and Kubera.

I also found that; Chandra (Sanskrit: चन्द्र, romanized: Candra, lit. 'shining or moon'), also known as Soma (Sanskrit: सोम), is the Hindu god of the Moon, and is associated with the night, plants and vegetation. He is one of the Navagraha (nine planets of Hinduism) and Dikpala (guardians of the directions).

The moon, in Hindu mythology is associated with with the night, plants and vegetation. Plants and vegetation, and Sumeru’s element is Dendro, or plants and the vegetation which matches perfectly with Nahida’s voice line in the trailer.

That is when I knew I had to dig deeper, there is so much that could be tied into this.

The origin of Soma is traced back to the Hindu Vedic texts, where is he is the personification of a drink made from a plant with the same name. Scholars state that the plant had an important role in Vedic civilization and thus, the deity was one of the most important gods of the pantheon. In these Vedic texts, Soma is praised as the lord of plants and forests; the king of rivers and earth; and the father of the gods.

Is “Kusanali” or Nahida, supposed to represent Soma? I’m beginning to believe so, however there is definitely more to Nahida than what meets the eye, there is more meaning behind her and her character. That being said, we may just all have to wait and see in 3.0 what more there is about this mysterious new archon.

Cyno Fighting Al Haitham?

This may be just for the trailer, but something does tell me there is significance behind these two fighting in the desert. Dehya also makes an appearance during this particular scene, however she seems to be who stops their quarrel in the sands.

What could be the reason behind their fighting? Al Haitham seems to be rather fierce in his fighting towards Cyno, perhaps a disagreement arose between them, or perhaps one said something that offended the other? I am not sure, then again, this could be just the trailer and it has no real significance but it will be something to keep in mind for the upcoming chapter.

Cyno’s Design

Cyno has been a character of interest for quite some time now, almost instantly he caught the eye of many fans around the world and since then he’s only made one other appearance, the Genshin Impact Webtoon. Cyno’s design is complex and holds a unique beauty with meaning etched within it.

According to the Genshin Impact Wiki, Cyno's clothes appear to be inspired by traditional outfits that were worn during the Ancient Egyptian civilization. His headpiece resembles the head of Anubis, a jackal-headed deity, also known as the God of the mummification. The kilt-like garment Cyno wears is reminiscent of the Shendyt, which was a popular men's clothing, usually depicted on Ancient Egyptian commoners, rulers and even deities.

As it states, it’s heavily based on Anubis, the God of Mummification in Egyptian mythology. Coincidentally, the English prefix cyno is derived from the Ancient Greek κύων kúōn, "dog," which could be a reference to Anubis-like headdress. This is pure speculation, however that is not to say truth is not present behind it.

Now, who exactly was Anubis? What else does he do? The answer lies here, Anubis was a jackal-headed deity who presided over the embalming process and accompanied dead kings in the afterworld. When kings were being judged by Osiris, Anubis placed their hearts on one side of a scale and a feather (representing Maat) on the other.

Some may ask, “If Cyno is taking a design similar to Anubis, would he be evil?” No, heavens no, Anubis was not evil. Few things were as significant in this goal as the rituals maintaining the cycle of life, death, and afterlife. Therefore, Anubis was not evil but rather one of the most important gods who kept evil out of Egypt. In short, Anubis was a protector and it seems that Cyno may be one too.

Who is Nilou?

According to an article, she’s described as someone who “went off the beaten path,” pursuing the art form of dance despite living in a region that emphasizes wisdom and rationality. So far, that’s the only official information on her. The leaks, however, reveal a bit more about her combat and playstyle. First, Nilou is rumored to be a 5-Star Hydro Sword user. (Read here)

I will say this much, as much as I love her lovely design, I cannot help but feel as if it is slightly inappropriate and stereotyping one’s culture. I may not have an ounce of said ethnicity in me, but that cannot excuse how unfortunate it is that she was designed in such a historically inaccurate costume. It really disappoints me, I’m sure others will understand why I feel so as well, it is not rocket science but it seems that going the correct way is the “wrong way” according to HoYo at this point. Redesigning her is not an option at this point as they have released her fully, I do have high hopes in getting an event exclusive outfit that is a bit more accurate and appropriate. However, that is yet to be seen.

Overall, I am excited for this upcoming chapter, there is so much I’d like to learn more of and research more in depth later on. This was just a start of a project I plan on writing more of down the road if the time does so come. Who knows, dear travelers, I may end up doing more analysis posts for upcoming nations and their trailers.

Thank you,

- Windblume

#windblume rambles #genshin impact #windblume writes #sumeru #Genshin impact analysis #analysis #genshin impact sumeru #genshin impact kusanali #genshin impact traveler #genshin impact spoilers #spoilers

[f-oighear]

4, 7, 12, 17 and 25 for the Writer Ask Game 💘

Heyyyyy!

Thanks a lot for the ask 😊 Picking BC excerpts for you hehe. It's going to be a veryyyy long one so. Thankful for the cut feature. Here we go!

4. with dialogue i'm proud of

I can think of this moment in Your World where Nebra is joining the Bulls for dinner and there is a big, intimidating wall of text. I swear nothing has ever felt like an extended family dinner with several conversations happening at the same time than this:

“Take more vegetables!” “Say, captain! Can I go back on missions again?” “What about some time off?” “Keep your damn carrots!” “No. Not until you stop using ultimate magic every time you head out.” “Henry! Any progress on your magic, my man?” “Who put sugar in the salt shaker again? I’ll kill them.” “But it’s fun!” “I fucking hate carrots!” “It’s Luck.” “I-I’m not on call duty tonight…” “Carrots don’t like you either.” “LUCK.” “Where?” “Carrots like me.” “Which of my friends is on call duty tonight? Magna?”“Listen, we’re very grateful you learned ultimate magic during the war, but now it’s peace, so don’t use it to catch bandits.” “Carrots do not have feelings.” "You’re gonna accidently kill someone one day." “What about Raque? I miss the sand.” “I… think… it’s… going… great…” “I won’t! But let me go back on a mission… not a dungeon mission! A real mission!” “What’re you talking about? Nah, not me. Ask Vanessa.” “No one misses the sand.” “Nero said it, so it’s true.” “You don’t miss the sand– hang on sweetie, I heard my name. Yes?” “A watermelon, maybe, would have feelings.” “Water.” “Not me, uh… Nacht maybe?” “What’re ya using it for?” “Where’s Nacht?” “Who’s gonna deal with the body and hide it when you kill a civilian? Good ol’ me.” “How about going to the Underwater Temple too?” “Is anyone going to pass me the goddamn water?” “You’re kidding?” “I…stack…rocks…or…trees…” “Last time we went, we almost died.” “Captain, I think you’d need to tell the Wizard King about it.” “Th-There you go.” “We always almost die anyway. It’s a formality.” “Carrots must have feelings like the rest of us.” “D-Don’t say that when we’re eating them!” “Yeah yeah. I’ll see.” “Well I, for one, don’t want to die!” Besides a vague argument about carrots, Nebra was lost. So, she focused on the food.

7. that i nursed in a daydream before finally writing

ALRIGHT SO. One thing about me: I'm no visual writer. I don't see the scenes before I write them. I tend to hear them more (which is why my earlier works have very little description and more dialogue). And when I'm very lucky, I get a sentence that comes back again and again. BUT. There is a scene I saw clearly and kept going back to so I could describe it and it's very SPOILERY for the Soulmate AU. It's in I'll Follow:

“Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t want Noelle or anyone else to overhear.” They were so engulfed in their conversation that they didn’t notice how the room had gone silent around them. There was no music anymore, they had been dancing to the silence. Nozel kept his hand in Vanessa’s as he turned to look at what everyone was watching. The man was making his way through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting a glass of champagne that Nozel knew the man wasn’t going to drink, cheerily greeting all the noble guests they couldn’t not invite that seemed to be attracted to him like moths to light. Nozel’s hand went down to rest at his side, his hold on Vanessa’s hand loosening, and Nozel turned to the table right behind them, where Asta and Noelle had been sitting, happily chatting before the man’s entry. Now they were both staring at the man. Noelle’s face was white as a sheet, her eyes wide in terror. She looked petrified. Even with how far Nozel was, he could see her trembling. He wasn’t feeling better. But he had to protect Noelle. He had to protect his siblings. I can’t fail again. Not now. Nozel made his way back to the table, Vanessa’s hand still in his (he wouldn’t, couldn’t let go), her trailing behind him, and looked at Asta, who was trying to get Noelle’s attention but failing. Nozel wanted to ask him to look out for her. The magicless boy didn’t need him to ask, though. He draped an arm over his wife’s shoulders; he didn’t look calm, Noelle’s facial expression being enough for him to understand that what was happening was grave, but Asta certainly was calmer than Nozel. Their eyes met for a split second. Nozel couldn’t say a thing. He simply shook his head. I’m so sorry, Asta, Noelle, all of this is my fault. Then the man noticed them. All of them. And he smiled.

12. that has a particularly good bit of characterization

Ahhhh Nebra from the Soulmate AU, my beloved. I think. The Most Awkward Silva Dinner In A Century takes the cake. While Noelle's pov in Stargazers is triumphant, Nebra's side in Your World is so ugughhug. There is so much happening on Nebra's side and I hate that Noelle's the one paying for it again but this scene means so much to me and uhghgughh.

“So what if he’s a peasant?” Noelle retorted angrily, “That doesn’t change a thing!” “It changes everything!” Nebra shrieked back, her voice breaking. If he wasn’t a peasant I wouldn’t have to suffer like that. If he wasn’t a peasant, it would all be so much easier. If he wasn't a peasant, maybe I would've— “How dumb can you get!?” “Nebra.” Nozel tried to interject weakly. “So now suddenly you tell me I belong to that family and I don’t get to choose who I want to spend my life with? Didn’t you send me to another squad? Didn’t you shove me out? Didn’t you tell me repeatedly you didn’t want me as your sister? Which one is it? Pick one, it’s getting confusing now.” “You were never expelled from the family,” Nozel said. He was so calm about it. How could he be this calm? Did he not understand? Am I the only one here who gets it? Why am I the only one who understands? Why is everyone against me? “Might as well have been,” Noelle answered harshly. That would have been a good idea. Why hadn’t Nozel done that? After all… what had Noelle ever done for them? Nothing. What had Noelle ever sacrificed for them? I sacrificed everything. “You are a Silva and you need to start acting like one,” Nebra said harshly. “This is ridiculous. Is this your rebellious phase? At seventeen, aren’t you supposed to have grown out of that kind of behaviour?” Nebra glared down at Noelle. She would go through. She would break her. She would make her understand just how much she despises her. Now, suffer as much as I do. “So that’s how it is, uh?” Nebra continued. “You become a somewhat decent magic knight and suddenly you think you can do whatever you want? That’s not how it works. You are a royal. We don’t get to choose our partner. Why would you get to choose? Do you think you’ll get a free pass because you’re not in the Silver Eagles? Remember why you didn’t even join the family squad? Because you’re the shame of the family.” “Nebra, that’s enough.” Nozel said. I haven’t even started, Nozel. Noelle stood up and Nebra flinched. The angle was right. Noelle was smaller than Nebra– always had been, always would be– but something had changed, something that Nebra didn’t quite like. Her eyes are different. That look… “I’m done being called that,” Noelle said harshly. “I have always done everything to prove my worth to you, to our royal peers, to everyone…” Your worth? Oh yes, because you’re worth something… precious little Noelle that looks so much like mother. Can’t let anything happen to her, right? Sent to another squad… free of the burden of expectations by being the worst Silva to ever walk the earth. What about my worth? What about everything I gave up on? What about the burden that you are? What about how hard it was on the first daughter? I lost my mother and suddenly everyone expected me to become her? How can anyone compare to her? You were worth nothing so I had to be everything you couldn’t, wouldn’t be; while all you did was whine and cry and be useless. Don’t get me started on worth. You are nothing. “…I’ve proven my worth as a Magic Knight these past year and—” “Oh, you’re proving your worth now?” Hurt her. Be scathing. Make sure it stings. “By shagging a peasant?” Nebra stopped. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the peasant’s words. Be nice. “Nebra!” Nozel shouted. Shut up, Nozel. You don’t get to say a word. You traitor. You've done it twice now. You left me all alone. “How does it feel?” to give in Stop. Don’t insult her. “Is it exotic?” to finally be free Stop. Don't hurt her. …but what if I'm hurting? Then I strike back. “How does he—” “That’s ENOUGH!” Nozel shouted, slamming both his hands on the table, making plates, glasses and cutlery tremble.

17. from an unpublished WIP

Alright. I currently have a Nozessa WIP that is my main WIP besides the Angstpril WIPs. I don't know when I'll be done with it, but let me treat you to some Nozessa because it's been forever since I've written them!

From this-fic-doesn't-have-a-title-yet:

Making the batter had proved the easiest part. Vanessa had started to get a hang of cooking, and she had realized that, just as Nozel had always claimed, following the recipe did work wonders for baking. The cooking book was open next to the bowl and even if some pages were sticky with egg white, it was constantly glanced at. Well, mostly by Nozel. Baking was taking Vanessa’s mind off her recent realization, but as she worked alongside Nozel, she did find herself staring at his handsome face about as much as she was paying attention to the cooking book. That seemed a bit counterproductive. “How much is ‘a splash’?” Nozel said, squinting at the book. Vanessa raised an eyebrow and went to check the book, tracing her finger over the mention of a splash of rum. Well, she didn’t know how much a splash was, but if there was something she wanted to see again, it was tipsy Nozel Silva. “That should be about…” Vanessa grinned, tipping the bottle over. “This much.” Nozel grabbed her wrist rapidly, but not rapidly enough and the sudden grab only poured more than what Vanessa had intended. Vanessa could only burst out in laughter as Nozel, pale as a sheet, guided her hand and the bottle back to the table. Nozel stared at the bottle like it was some sort of bomb about to explode, but surely he knew it was too late. He stayed staring at the bottle an awfully long time until Vanessa decided to say something. “My, do you want to hold my hand so bad, handsome? We’re not done making that batter yet.” Nozel blinked, then quickly let go. Vanessa could hardly repress her giggle. She didn’t know if he had gotten used to the teasing or if he had let down his guard, but he seemed easier to fluster these days. The soft blush on his cheek was… cute. His cheeks beet red, Nozel pointed at the mix angrily. “That is definitely not a splash,” Nozel said. “You poured half the bottle.” “No, it’s…” Vanessa shook the bottle. She had poured more than half the bottle, but there was no need for Nozel to know that. “Barely one gla— don’t throw away the batter!” Nozel raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face completely still and expressionless as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, bowl in his hands, and stated with his usual seriousness, “It’ll be uneatable.” “We can’t know unless we finish making them… come on! Pull out a pan!”

25. that i consider a favorite

I love getting several 'your favorite' asks because hahaha I have many favorites. The Actor AU/Theatre AU is soooo self-indulgent I almost wrote it in French. I've decided that if I ever publish it, I'll include both Racine's original verses and a rough translation because, if I've never admitted it, I am absolutely in love with Racine's verses.

Anyway, I love this AU, and I love Late, in the rehearsal room:

“Yami said your family specializes in classical plays?” Asta said. “My family doesn’t exactly specialize in it,” Noelle said, turning a page from her book. “The Silver Eagles don’t play anything but Ancient tragedies or classical plays… and among the classical plays, they mostly play tragedies.” “Why?” Noelle looked down. Why? was a good question. Because it was a tradition. Because her mother, Acier Silva, a giant who played tragic heroine roles so vividly and so perfectly had made it impossible for the Silvas to be seen as anything else than perfect classical tragedy actors. Because Noelle’s father only wanted classical plays to be played. Because they were beautiful. Because they were magnificent. Because they had torn heroes who had to choose between love and power and always chose power. Because these were, for Niccolo Silva, the only plays he called ‘drama’ ; everything else was just street acting, mere vaudeville or cheap harlequin. Lower people’s entertainment. The Plebe’s Amusement. Noelle took a deep breath then said, “They just do.”

#asks-fo #black clover #bcsau #wip #bcsau spoilers #that one nozessa wip #writing asks

[gothamsfinestdummy]

If you go and say “I love Jonker, fight me,” hope that Batman himself comes to save you because dear lord do so many people hate him

#the joker #batman #not to say that every person who dislikes or hates joker would beat you up #there are just a lot of people out there who just hate this character to the core #and that’s okay #but let joker fans like joker #and honestly I completely understand the hate in some areas because of the dudebro joker fans that have this really edgy demeanor #and philosophy #trust me I know one #and it’s uncomfortable #but yes be prepared for the hate #coming from personal experience #highly recommend reading Dracze’s post that I reblogged a little bit ago if you feel guilty about liking J or #feel the need to make a dialogue tree of arguments #because you don’t and it’s okay to like joker even if he is a terrible person #because that’s the POINT #he’s a VILLAIN #so it’s weird to me that some people hate him because he’s done horrible things #but ANYWAYS #yeah #hope everyone is doing well and if you’re not it’ll all be okay

[thespoonisvictory]

Since we’ve been talking about writing dialogue for dsmp characters a lot, I figured I would throw my two cents into how I write my favorite characters (or, more accurately, the ones I write the most for.)

As a general rule, the way I write dialogue is a mix of cc’s habits and c! characterization, rather than one or the other. Most of the time that mixes fairly well however: cc!Quackity talks fast and retorts quickly in arguments, and c!Quackity is a politician and businessman who’s good at arguing and being persuasive. 

Wilbur: Wilbur is probably the person I regularly see the most ooc writing for, which is probably fair, because he’s quite hard to get right. It’s been discussed before, but the biggest issue is writing him too far into one category: he’s a cartoonish villain, a conniving politician, a perfect big brother. but in reality, he’s all of these (in some facet), but none of that makes him sound like Wilbur.

c!Wilbur tends to search for the repeat himself for emphasis, speak very dramatically, and likes to search for the perfect word/phrase and stick to it. Like “I want to be your vassal” or “this is my sunrise” or “my little champion.” He also likes his literary references, although that’s a bit harder to pin down.

He has to be likable, you have to understand why people would follow him, because words are his power. Think the contrast between his writing of the Decree of Independence and him yelling “suck it green boy!” He should be funny “my opponent is talking shit”, dramatic “as we gaze over the swaths of these redwood trees”, and heartfelt “Tommy your life is worth more than the revolution!”, all at appropriate moments.

The fundamental thing is that he should be passionate, and enthralling to listen to. His strength as a character comes from his ability to have the perfect words for whatever he wants to achieve, and it’s crucial to getting that right, imo.

Niki: Niki is character much less defined by her dialogue, but there are still important tenets to follow.

For one, she’s generally soft spoken, but can easily have a cruel, angry, or heartbroken tone nonetheless. She speaks with a lot of emphasis, like every word is important, and is much more outwardly emotional than Wilbur. This is contrasted against emotional outbursts, where she’s loud, as well as messy and inconsistent with the information she presents, such as in her most recent lore, or on Doomsday.

Her vocabulary is generally simple but effective (no flowery metaphors), think “We need to get L’manburg back”, “I’ve started baking again”, etc etc. She’s not usually dominant over conversations like, say, Wilbur Tommy or Techno are.

Techno: the biggest misconception for this character is writing him to be more eloquent than he is. about 90% of the time he is chronically unserious, and prefers short quips or jokes to lengthy monologues or meaningful dialogue, instead conveying more through actions. Developing his relationship with Phil, for example, while there are occasional bits of sincerity “For you, the world”, it should be mostly sarcasm and bits.

He’s not monotonous, but he’s not going to pour his heart out or be particularly earnest most of the time.

When he does have the floor and decides to be serious, that is rarely ever in the form of dialogue, and more often in the form of a speech he’s giving more for the audience than anyone else, with elaborate metaphors. He’s almost never vulnerable unless he’s decidedly gotten the upper hand physically, and he usually only expresses extreme emotion through anger.

Phil: Phil swears! Also, he’s actually the more monotonous one compared to Techno, and stays very calm: think his conversation with Ghostbur on doomsday. He generally doesn’t repeat himself or stumble over words, and sounds very confident when he speaks, much like Techno, leaving no room for doubt.

He speaks a bit like the wise old mentor archetype, with more flavor, “m8”, and “motherfucker” thrown in, but that doesn’t mean his words will always be grounded in reality just his perception of it.

Tubbo: He’s a character that speaks a lot like Niki, except with (usually) much more repressed emotions! He speaks very matter of fact, with simple metaphors “This is checkmate, I suggest you resign”, and is a foil to Tommy in that way, and is extremely quotable, with a shocking amount of wisdom and weight: “it has damages, but everything has damages, or “I could’ve saved you.” “But you didn’t.”

Basically: mans packs a punch with his dialogues, even if he’s usually dancing around the heart of what he’s feeling

#wilbur soot #nihachu #technoblade #philza #tubbo #dream smp

[mmikmmik2]

I've seen a lot of comments about particular Infinity Train cars that are along the lines of "what lesson is this possibly teaching?" I can empathize with the feeling (especially when it comes to the Docent - seriously, One-One, get rid of that thing). But I think even asking that question about cars themselves is a misunderstanding.

I don't think any cars are actually designed with a specific lesson in mind. Seriously, not a one. Some denizens may be trying to pass along certain advice, and some cars may be designed in a way that tends to lend itself to a certain lesson, but that doesn't mean One/One-One made them with the idea of "this will teach passengers to [value X specific thing/change their behavior in Y way/whatever]" Cars provide challenges or experiences, or ask passengers to make choices, which can help passengers learn about themselves or work on their problems. But it's up to passengers to treat the cars as a learning experience.

I mean, look at the way One talks about the train.

One: No. It is mathematics, Amelia. My algorithms are designed to account for a statistical probability that anything can happen on the train. [...] It depends, of course. But even if the odds are highly improbable, given enough time, yes. Anything. But once these two arrive at their seat, it is up to them to sort things out. Amelia: And if they don't? One: Then they die here.

And how One-One describes it to new passengers:

Glad-One: And this is a train where you sort out your problems! How about that number on your hand, huh? Pretty cool and green! Sad-One: Every passenger has one. Glad-One: The numbers are made by the train based on your life, in order to help you have the most personalized experience we can offer! If you wanna go home, get your number down to zero, and poof! Away you go! [...] But always remember, there are lots of denizens along the way to help you on your journey. Don't be afraid to reach out!

The emphasis is on passenger responsibility to get their numbers down, personalization occurring through numbers, and the assistance offered is through the (independent, free-will-having) denizens. Neither One nor One-One describe the train itself as having an active role, and One-One doesn't tell passengers that the cars are for them, nor does he instruct them to learn from the cars.

Some of One-One's dialogue in the Train Documentary shorts also supports this argument. I don't think we're supposed to take the exact events of the shorts super literally as "canon", but they're made by the IT crew and I don't see any reason to think they're mischaracterizing One-One. In them, One-One mostly gushes about what he finds interesting or exciting about each car, but sometimes he talks about how he expects them to serve passengers.

From The Green Car:

Glad-One: The train is filled with all sorts of things that can help you learn about yourself and grow as a person! For train-xample, you could see a fun car full of talking hats, or a horribly dangerous car full of acid slime! [...] Glad-One: What do you know! Even the simplest car comes with Earth-shattering revelations, because each car on this train is like a pocket universe where anything can happen!

From The Hill Car:

Glad-One: We're here to show you all the places on the train that might help you on your journey of self-discovery. Every train car holds a special kind of wonder. Looking out on these peaceful hills, a song fills my heart. Sad-One: It's more of a dirge. Glad-One: You can learn a lot about yourself just by being one with nature. Yes sir, alone with your thoughts. In silence. It's the best way to get down to your core.

From The Wedding Cake Car:

Glad-One: This train provides challenges. But they won't be hard for you passengers, if you're properly prepared. [...] You don't know how long you'll be here. And you're gonna need a lot of energy, in the form of snacks! Sad-One: Personal growth can be exhausting. Glad-One: So this is a perfect place to stock up! After a long trek through the knitting otter car, nothing is more refreshing than a great big frosting flower!

One-One and One both use the phrase "anything can happen". It sounds like the idea isn't that every car will help someone, the idea is that any car could help someone under the right circumstances, and with enough time, the possibility that the right person will be in the right car at the right time will become a near-certainty.

And when he does mention a specific way cars can help passengers, he suggests the wedding cake car could be pragmatically useful, and that the hill car could help passengers connect with nature and therefore learn about themselves... which is an experience that could lead to a person to a lesson, based on what they themselves are bringing to the car.

Min-Gi and Ryan experienced the pig baby car as a lesson in finding a balance between following directions and acting with enthusiasm, but someone else might experience it as a lesson in paying attention to your target audience's feedback, or as a chance to emotionally reconnect with their past by preparing a dish that's meaningful to them. Lake and Jesse experienced the family tree car as a lesson in finding a balance between ignoring people who have no intention of helping or listening and cooperating with people who do, but someone else might learn a lesson about choosing to start a family of your own instead of staying with a toxic family, or about the pointlessness of grudges, or the value of staying on task and going straight to the door instead of detouring down a tree for no reason.

I don't believe cars are designed to help passengers grow in specific ways. I believe they're designed to be open-ended and challenging and thought-provoking in lots of different ways, to help passengers help themselves grow.

#infinity train #the train itself #one-one #one one #the spaghetti theory of cars #as in: one-one is throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #ts virgil #demon slayer au #nitwiwd #nothing in this world i wouldnt do #my writing #writing #bthb #ts roman #kny fusion #am i forgetting tags? #im really fond of this one #i hope you guys like it :)

[baeddel]

is Caliban and the witch worth reading?

i've never read it. i've had the good fortune to have discussed it with three good friends who have, however. cc @canmom @epee-prisme @matador

i think it's worth reading. anything is worth reading. but is it a better use of your time than reading Lazarillo or Religio Medici or Tsurezuregusa? i apparently did not think so.

here is my best argument against reading Caliban and the Witch. Caliban and the Witch is Federici's big book where she proves her theories about primitive accumulation and reproductive labour by putting them to use in an analysis of the origins of capitalism. it is thus a test of a theory using history. but all of the history she uses is wrong. she inflates figures up to orders of ten, she neglects relevant facts and includes false ones. insofar as it is history it is bad history; so insofar as it attempts to prove its theory through history, it fails to prove it. now you are reading for the theory alone, which, while not proved by this book, might still be correct. but if you are reading for the theory alone, why read Caliban and the Witch when the theory has been laid out just as well elsewhere? you should instead read Fortunati's Arcane of Reproduction (1981) and Federici's Revolution at Point Zero (2012). between the 151 pages in Fortunati's book and the 148 pages in Federici's book you'll have to read 299 pages. since the first section of the Revolution... covers much of the same material as the Arcane... you could skip the first 65 pages and read only 234 pages all together. that commits you to between 15 and 80 more pages than you'd need to read to finish the Caliban... (all page numbers exclude covers, acknowledgements, etc.), all covering the theory in more detail and unburdened by factual inaccuracies.

you might want to read for other reasons, although those reasons still might not persuade us. you might read for Federici's wit, but the author of Lazarillo is more witty. you might read for Federici's clever rhetoric, but Thomas Browne's rhetoric is more clever. you might read for Federici's moving arguments, but Yoshida Kenkō's arguments are more moving. is there no reason to ever read Caliban and the Witch? lets not go too far.

here is my best argument for reading Caliban and the Witch. it is, first of all, better to read bad history than good history. when you feel comfortable in the hands of a scrupulous historian you will accept whatever they say. when you know the historian is unscrupulous and expect them to lie you will accept nothing they say. in the first case you will relax as you read and let yourself be impressed by the facts; in the second case you will investigate every claim and scrutinize every argument. we are lazy readers of good history and vigilant readers of bad history. even worse, after you have finished a good history you will set it aside and feel satisfied that you have learned something; yet soon you will forget it, and you have really learned nothing. while you read a bad history you will 'read around the subject', you will confront it with other sources, and you will feel proud and tell your friends whenever you defeat one of its false claims; after you finish you will seek out good criticisms and perhaps write your own. you will never forget this bad book and how you got the better of its scandals.

second of all, the task of reading the Caliban will be to extract the theory from the false facts. the task of reading the Arcane and the Revolution will be to scrutinize this theory which is naked in those texts. it is much easier to discover the underlying theoretical structure of a text than it is to scrutinize it. in the first case you need only the Caliban itself. but to scrutinize the Arcane and the Revolution you will have to be aware of Marx's theory of value and what he means by production, of the various conditions enjoyed by women in various societies, and of competing theories like Roswitha Sholz's value-dissociation. so while you may only need to read 15 more pages to finish the Arcane and the Revolution, in reality you may need to read a few thousand pages before you feel satisfied, whereas with the Caliban you will feel satisfied after only 219 pages.

we admit these are crummy arguments. instead of reading bad histories it would be better to become a vigilant reader of good histories; and you should of course not read only to understand one book but to understand the things it discusses. let me make my real best argument, then. what if we were to read the Caliban not as an academic history, and then find that it is a bad one, but as the same kind of "useful history for life" that Nietzsche liked to write? if you wanted to know something about the history of Chrsitian morality you would be very poorly served by reading the Genealogy of Morals. Christian morality was not first developed by slaves, so it couldn't really be a 'slave revolt' against the morality of slavemasters. but if you feel you have defeated the Genealogy with only this fact you will have fundamentally misunderstood that book and everyone will say so. in the same way that in Plato's dialogues there are not just arguments but characters and situations, and in the Zhuangzi there are not just ideas but "striking images" "the darkness of the Northern Ocean, the bird Peng, the cicada and the dove, the giant gourd and the useless tree" which, for Møllgaard (2005), adds up to a "speculative rhetoric" ("borrow[ing] the term coined by Pascal Quignard") which the arguments about language and understanding cannot be extricated from, in the Caliban we find witches burned at the stake, women in bridles, the trossfrau platoons of sex workers marching after soldiers, heretics living communally on the outskirts of society, and so forth, a speculative rhetoric made up of some things which happened often, some things which happened rarely, and some things which Federici made up. as academic history we find it to be false and dismiss it trivially. but it was ultimately not the inflated figures that made it so useful to communist trans women (we virtually all read and loved it even though it is expedient now to pretend otherwise). perhaps we have not yet begun to really read Caliban, or we have forgotten how to read it. so you should read it, not alongside serious histories about the witch trials and early capitalism, but alongside Nietzsche's On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life (1874) and books about hermeneutics. you must begin a new reading of Caliban and the Witch, the coordinates of which we do not already have on hand.

[spookyceph]

Dust to Dust Pt. V

<<Prev | Next>>

Summary: Tomura reconsiders his dialogue options

Words: 1,151

CW: Brief discussion of death/funerals, argument, swearing

He didn’t plan on bringing anything up during the game. Not really. So, when the question slips out Tomura’s just as startled as they are.

“What do you want done with your bodies if you die?”

Spinner turns on the sofa to face Tomura, the scales that line his mouth twisted somewhere between anger and disbelief. “You have a real gift for bringing a room down, you know that? And it has nothing to do with that dead guy’s hand stuck to your face.”

Used to Spinner’s prickly reactions whenever talk turned personal by now, Tomura shrugs the scorn off. “It’s just a question.”

“Yeah, a kinda intense one,” Twice chimes in from where he sits cross-legged on the floor between them. He peels the bottom part of his mask up to shove another pizza-flavored potato chip into his mouth before adding, “Bury me with my ass sticking out of the ground so the world can kiss it.”

Tomura reaches up to scratch a few more tally marks into his neck. Great. Another round of dragging simple answers out of people. Maybe he just shouldn’t bother. Let Sensei or Kurogiri wade through this shit. It’s not like he had to do any of it.

Words flow from his mouth like it has a mind of its own. “I’m responsible for all of you, so I need to know.”

“What, you expecting us to get killed off?” Spinner’s hair bristles, patches of darker green mottling his face and throat. “You think we’re so weak you already have to plan our funerals?”

A retort, jagged and brittle as broken glass, rushes to the tip of Tomura’s tongue. He swallows it. Because he knows it’s a shard that’s been chipped off his own wounded pride. Nobody reacts the way he wants them to and he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. Honesty feels like the logical choice, yet his questions do nothing except cause avoidance or anger.

Maybe he should act more like someone who is good at getting people to do their bidding. Kurogiri? No…Tomura doesn’t have the presence or refinement needed to coax and politely bully someone in turns. Magne? He could never pull off her combination of disarming and perceptive. Dabi? Connections click in his brain. Tomura had still been ready to kill him that first time they’d talked after being introduced. Yet Dabi had not only managed to diffuse that anger by being both casual and direct, he’d gotten Tomura to see him in an entirely different way. A way that had wound up with them sharing a bed…but still. The basic strategy has to be applicable elsewhere.

Spinner startles when Tomura takes the controller out of his grip, sets it aside on the sofa along with his own, and, careful to keep his pinkies raised, takes the other man’s hands in his own. Physical touch, got it. Direct eye contact through Father’s fingers, yes, good. A smile or soft expression…well, two out of three isn’t bad.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice rasps, unlike Dabi’s, which seems to come from deep inside his chest and makes it feel like Tomura was the only person in the world. But whatever, he’ll work with what he has.

Spinner’s scales cycle through a dizzying array of shades and patterns, from speckles of brown to blotches dark enough to look purple over his neck and forehead, then back to a smooth mint-green. His widened eyes flick down to their joined hands before jumping up to meet Tomura’s gaze. “What are you—who-who said—why would I-I-I—” He coughs and swallows as if he swallowed one of Twice’s chips the wrong way. “Who’s upset? I never said I was upset. What makes you think I’m upset?”

“It’s a leader’s job to take care of the people who follow them.” Not that he’s much of a leader, but he’s fairly sure he can be passable if he just grinds some more levels and unlocks more skill trees. “Through good and bad times. To the very end.”

Tomura’s not a poet or a motivational speaker, but his words hit a nerve. Complexion returned to normal, Spinner meets his eyes straight on. He presses his lips tighter together, brow creasing, and takes a breath to reply.

“Now kiss,” Twice interrupts, leaning towards them on the edge of his figurative seat.

That does it. Spinner jerks his hands out of Tomura’s grasp, coming who knows how close to Decaying himself.

“Fuck off, Jin!” He glares over at Tomura. “You didn’t have to get all mushy on me. You wanna know about funeral arrangements? Fine, whatever. Just scatter my ashes in Hosu City somewhere and melt my swords into a plaque or something. Satisfied?” Not waiting for an answer, he hawks a sound of disgust and springs up from the sofa. He stomps out of the room without looking back.

Itching lips pursed, Tomura stares down at his empty hands a moment. At a loss, he finally meets Twice’s worried stare.

“Was it wrong of me to ask?”

“Kinda blunt maybe. The only thing you did wrong was not smooch him when you had the chance, chickenshit.”

Tomura squints, jaw jutted forward, but detects no sarcasm. His expression behind Father softens into bemusement. “Do you really think I should have?”

“Well…not without setting the mood a little more maybe.”

Huh. Tomura stores the info away for later. “Did my question upset you?”

“No. Hell yes, you heartless bastard.”

“Can I ask why?”

Letting his gaze drift to the ceiling, Twice continues to munch chips while he considers. Finally, he wipes the artificial pizza flavoring coating his fingers on the front of his costume. “It’s not really the question. It’s what it forces us to think about.”

“Funeral arrangements?”

“Losing what we’ve found here.”

Shock crashes Tomura’s mind into a blank screen. Slowly, it reloads, playing him a slideshow of memories in the meantime. Toga and Magne blending different shades of eyeshadow on each other with a kit they’d lifted from a department store. Compress effortlessly practicing sleight of hand tricks while chitchatting with Kurogiri behind the bar. Dabi bumming a cigarette off of Twice while they sat out on the fire escape. Spinner crowing triumphantly during one of their own late-night sessions the first time he’d beaten Tomura at a fighting game.

“I see,” he says once he recovers. “I’ll be more careful when I talk to the others.”

“You’d better be. Just, you know, ease into the subject a little more. Especially with Toga. She’s the youngest, remember. I’ll strangle you with my measuring tape if you make her cry!”

He nods, then motions to the abandoned controllers on the sofa. “Want to play?”

Twice is scrambling up, scattering chip crumbs, in a heartbeat. “I’m not as good as you or Spinner. Fucking NEETs.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s just nice to have someone to share with.”

#oh hey look #I did a thing #bnha #shigaraki #shigaraki fic #shigaraki tomura #twice #spinner #bubaigawara jin #shuichi iguchi

[sharkmobster]

more funtime found family au stuff but this time focusing on funtime freddy and michael's relationship. it's incredibly rambly and turns into off-kilter dialogue but i gotta get this off my chest.

tw mentioned child abuse/death

• doesn't actually like michael (at first) even tho i draw them hanging around each other a lot

• bon bon is the only reason he does loaf around him. (bon bon and bonnet being the only ones who like Michael in the beginning.) They're attached to each other so it's inevitable that they would hang around mikey.

• ft freddy plays really mean spirited jokes on michael bc he's not allowed to harm him. he has to get real creative. (ft freddy has a lot of anger inside of him. people write him off as being dumb and goofy but really that's just a mask that he put up so he didn't scare people away. of course the funtimes know how he is, knows who he is right to his core bc they're all connected on a deeper/technological level.)

• (slaps funtime freddy. this bear can fit so much trauma and abandonment issues in him!)

• can be incredibly vindictive when he wants to be and takes out a lot of his agression on Michael. michael shares the afton name (bc he sure as hell doesn't look like william in my au lol) and that alone is enough for ft freddy to bully him.

• (the funtimes blame william for abandoning them so ft freddy takes it especially personal when his ankle biter comes around to "liberate" them. and on some deeper level freddy is just terrified that michael will abandon them all, just like willy did. he never voices this of course. opting to show his apprehension and fear in a more destructive way, pushing Michael further away.)

• canon ft freddy: sinister but still goofy and knows how to have a good time

my ft freddy: goofy and repressed anger issues, doesn't know how to enjoy himself without causing someone some kinda pain.

• michael gets fed up with being terrorized eventually and confronts him, and ft freddy drops the silly act for a bit just ready to blow up at him. (he can't even place why he's still so angry at michael when really he's been nothing but hospitable and accomodating to their wants and needs but fuck he's just so wound up he doesn't know what to do) michael compares him to william during the argument (cruel and vindictive just like william wanted) and ft freddy nearly rings his neck, absolutely seething but bon bon doesnt let that happen of course. (idk if this is confirmed canon but bon bon was designed to placate freddy. he raises his voice even slightly and bon bon's petting his face, stopping him from getting even more agressive)

• ft freddy shuts down after the confrontation ends (emotionally, anyway) and the blow out itself is completely anti climatic, nobody getting hurt. he ends up isolating himself from the others with bon bon hovering around like a concerned mother hen. Baby and the others give him space but michael (after he cools down anyways) won't leave him alone.

• See the thing is: Michael understands. Michael understands more than anyone what it's like to feel so deeply, what it's like to hate and hate and to keep hating until that rage is your whole life. It's suffocating. and he had to deal with that all on his own, choking on his own grief and rage without anyone to guide him. (his brother is dead bc of him and he carries that with him everywhere he goes, in everything he does.)

• They're living in the countryside of France at this point in time, far off from any wandering eyes, a thick forest surrounding their home. Freddy has a few hiding spots that he scouted out within the first few days of staying there. And that's where Michael finds him, hiding out in a small alcove by the a creek, throwing rocks at the trees (and sometimes wildlife).

• freddy doesn't aknowledge him, ignoring him like a child would and bon bon frets nervously between them, not wanting another fight to break out. Michael tells them that he's not here to fight anymore, he just wants to talk. you like to talk, don't you? and freddy doesn't say anything, running his fingers through the dirt, absentmindedly.

• michael asks bon bon to leave so that they can have a private convo and bon bon freaks out like absolutely not, he might hurt you and michael asks freddy directly like "are you going to hurt me?" freddy still isn't talkative, and he's rigid when he shakes his head no after a bit of silence. Bon Bon asks if he's alright with him leaving and freddy just shrugs, still staring at nothing in the distance. bon bon hesitates for a few moments before finally leaving, telling Michael to call out to him if he's in danger but michael rushes him along.

• it's just them now, nothing but the sounds of nature around them. michael asks how he's feeling and freddy shrugs again. Michael strikes up a one sided conversation, stepping closer and closer to him over time not really getting any kinda response out of him but eventually, during his rambling, freddy finally looks at him and says "Y-You just don't get-get it." and then goes back to the silent treatment.

• Michael's quiet, having made his way up to standing right next to freddy (he's only a tiny bit taller than him when he's just sitting like that). he nods his head, considering something for a while until finally he goes "Did I ever tell you about what it was like? Ya know. Being William Afton's golden child?" freddy doesn't say anything but he pauses from drawing circles in the dirt, tilts his head just a fraction to let mikey know he's listening.

• michael stares at the creek. "He wasn't the most outwardly loving father. Wasn't really the nicest one, either. But, I wanted his approval so bad, I'd do anything for it." Freddy slowly turns his head to watch him carefully. that's got his attention. "I did a bunch of stupid shit back then, all cause I wanted to be noticed by him. But all that attention went to my little-" and michael draws in a sudden breath, pained. stays silent for a moment, working up the courage to speak. "I did something awful to my brother. All for my father. And it's an awful thing to say but his death didn't matter. Pops didnt bat an eye and Mom was too far gone by that point after Elizabeth...." he looks back in the direction of the cottage. "Well.... you know what happened to Elizabeth." Freddy's stare is hard and unyielding. "He's gone now and I was the only one who cared enough. His fuckin' abuser cared more for his passing than his own father did."

• "He threw me into the basement. Did you know that?" Michael bounces from one foot to another, anxiety written into his very bones. he's lost in his rambling now, having never spoken these words out loud to anyone. "I killed his son and he locked me away in the dark for three years." Freddy fully turns to give Michael his undivided attention, stock still, hanging off of his every word. "I got out. Eventually. I ran away and lived on the streets for years until someone got a hold of me. Told me my old man was missing, presumed dead. Got a pretty penny from the fazbear business he co-owned with Mr. Emily. Things were going good, I guess. I was overwhelmed for the most part, didn't do anything other than bounce around from hotels every few days. In some way, I felt like he was still out there, watching me. I just kept running. And then i found out about you." He glances at freddy and looks away quickly when he finds an unblinking visage staring back. "Found out about all of you. Locked away in a storage facility for over 30 years. In the dark. All alone." an incredibly long silence stretches out between them, freddy fidgeting, hyperaware of every noise going on around them.

• "You think I don't get it. But I do. I think I understand you more than anyone could." Michael's staring back at him, raw emotion across his face, eyes soft with empathy and that's what makes Freddy turn away from him. Suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't want to fight with you. Not you. Not Ballora, or Foxy, or Eli-" He visibly winces, but regains his composure. "...I just... need you to understand that I want to help."

• Freddy's never been so quiet, and it's such an odd sight. Michael's not sure if he should say anything else or if he should leave the bear alone. the bear speaks up, finally "W-We could've kill-killed you."

• "That was always a possibility, yeah. I woulda deserved it." Freddy's not sure if he likes the way Michael talks about himself sometimes. "I needed to get you guys out of there, though. That was more important than whatever could've happened to me." Michael huffs. "Besides, if I hadn't bailed you guys out then I would've never gone to Paris. Ballora has good taste in real estate, I think." and despite everything, freddy lets out a sudden breath that could've been mistaken for a sensible chuckle. Michael smiles anyway.

• Things settle down afterwards, though there's no bite to Freddy's jokes now. They're not as close as Michael wants, Freddy still keeping his distance, keeping his walls up but it's something.

• Freddy starts watching horror movies with him late into the night and until dawn. Doesn't let Michael sleep in afterwards and he might just regret this but it makes Freddy happy. Things go back to normal in the cottage, as normal as things can be for a motley troupe like them anyways. Michael starts laughing at his jokes more.

#funtime freddy #michael afton #ft freddy #fnaf #sorry for the long winded ramblings but i love these two and wanna develop them in thr au #long post #robot talks #funtime found family au

[mimisempai]

You are making every day a little less ordinary

Summary:

During one of their usual lunches in the TVA cafeteria, Casey, curious about his friend's datinf life, wonders what a date between Mobius and Loki is like. Loki remembers and recounts his most memorable dates.

Or

5 times where Mobius surprises Loki and once where Loki returns the favor

Notes:

Tumblr request : 5+1 about their dates with one being a picinic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32863855

3042 words - Rating G

"Hey Loki, mind if I ask you a question?"

Casey and Loki were eating lunch in the TVA cafeteria, as they regularly did. Loki was still surprised at how Casey had somehow grown fond of him, where many people kept their distance. Which he couldn't blame them for, given his past.

So he was enjoying these moments with Casey.

"Since when do you need to ask?"

Casey looked a little hesitant, "well, it's a little bit of a personal question."

"Go on and shoot." Loki replied, curious as to what the man was going to ask him.

"Ahem... you and Mobius are together."

"I think that's obvious, since we don't hide it."

"Yeah, yeah, and so considering it's been over a year, um... I guess... you guys have dated already... and uh... I have a hard time imagining what you and Mobius can do on a date." Casey paused, his cheeks on fire before continuing, "No, forget it. I should never have asked you something like that."

Loki shook his head and laughed, "No, no, I have no problem talking about this. You're talking to someone who didn't even know what a date was until a few months ago..."

Loki straightened up a bit in his chair and continued talking, "Looking back, I'd say our first date took place here."

"Here?"

1.

After their return from Pompeii, Loki had fallen asleep in the middle of their research. Mobius had woken him up and taken him to the cafeteria. Thinking back, even if at that moment they were not together, for Loki it was still a first date.

There were only them in the cafeteria, the light was rather dim, which had given even more of an impression of intimacy and in addition there was the close way they were sitting, their legs touching.

Loki remembered perfectly all the details of that moment.

Those few minutes of respite, where they had gotten to know each other, or rather where Loki had gotten to know Mobius.

"By the way, at your desk, that magazine?"

"Yeah. The one on jet skis?"

"Yes. Why do you have that?"

"Because they're awesome."

There was something touching about Mobius as he spoke of his passion, a passion he had never practiced.

"So, why read about them?"

"It just helps remind me of what we're fighting for."

"I mean, you really believe in all this stuff, don't you?"

"I don't get hung up on, "Believe, not believe." I just accept what is."

He was surprised by what followed, not by the content, because it was clear that Mobius really believed in the cause he was working for, but he was surprised that Mobius did not feel attacked, that they both left the dialogue open, without judgment.

"Actually it's exactly the same thing. Because if you think too hard about where any of us came from, who we truly are, it sounds kinda ridiculous. Existence is chaos. Nothing makes any sense, so we try to make some sense of it. And I'm just lucky that the chaos I emerged into gave me all this... My own glorious purpose."

Mobius' arguments, in the context in which Mobius lived, had held up surprisingly well.

They had not agreed, but they respected each other's opinions. If not for the context, of Loki in captivity of sorts, and the lie upon which the TVA had been built, the evening could almost have ended in "My place or yours." Because undoubtedly they had gotten closer at that point.

So yes, it was indeed for Loki their first date and that's what he told Casey.

**********

"Honestly Loki, I have to say that this is an original first date, but ultimately a true reflection of your couple." reacted Casey with a wink before continuing, "but now I'm curious what your other dates were like, if there were any at all."

Loki laughed softly, "Oh there were, many. Mobius, knowing that the concept of a date was totally unknown to me, redoubled his creativity and used this pretext to make me live all sorts of unknown experiences."

"You don't want me to feel sorry for you, do you?"

Loki smiled again, "Oh no, I have nothing to complain about at all. I'll tell you the most memorable ones for me. One of them was a picnic."

"Oh?" Casey's eyes sparkled with interest, as he settled down to listen to Loki's tale.

2.

Loki was reading on the couch when Mobius hugged him from behind, kissing the top of his head.

Then Mobius had said in his ear, "Sweetheart, don't be scared, I'm going to blindfold you, because I'd like to take you somewhere and keep it a surprise until the end."

Loki trusted Mobius completely so it was easy for him to agree.

"I'm really curious though."

Once the blindfold was tied, he felt the light caress of a kiss on his lips and Mobius took his hand.

He let himself be guided.

He heard the typical sound of a timedoor appearing, and then letting himself be pulled by Mobius' hand, he recognized the usual sensation that accompanied the crossing of the door.

He felt a difference in the ground under his feet, like grass perhaps.

Deprived of sight, his other senses were alert, so he also felt the warmth of the sun on his face and the smell of flowers reached his nostrils, while he heard birds chirping around them.

Mobius was now holding him by the elbow and guiding him gently.

"You still okay, sweetheart?"

Loki simply nodded, a smile on his face because he could feel the excitement in his lover's voice.

After a while, Mobius stopped him, and made him sit slowly on the floor, on something soft. Then Mobius gently removed the blindfold.

Loki's eyes adjusted to the radiant light even though they were in shadow, and he took in the sight.

77_Frigga... the little planet Mobius had already taken him to when Loki had told him he missed the starry skies of Asgard.

Loki looked around, he was sitting on a blanket spread on the ground, under a tree that while providing shade, did not deprive them of the beautiful light. They were in a field of flowers, the same paradisiacal vision as on their first visit here. Mobius sat next to him and clearly waited for his reaction.

Loki leaned in and put his lips to Mobius', letting him know in a slow, passionate kiss how much he enjoyed his surprise.

Mobius turned to a basket that Loki hadn't noticed and began to pull out everything needed for a perfect picnic.

"Did you pack all this?" Mobius nodded his head and Loki kissed him gently again.

They enjoyed the meal peacefully, chatting about everything and anything. Once the leftovers were put away, Loki lay down on his back, his head on Mobius' lap

"Thanks love, that was amazing."

Mobius, a little embarrassed, leaned over and kissed him tenderly.

They had finished the afternoon while enjoying the heavenly surroundings and each other's presence.

**********

Loki lost in his memories, was brought out of his reverie by Casey's whisper of admiration, "Aww, Mobius is really dedicated, you know you are lucky right?"

"Don't worry Casey, I'm totally aware of how lucky I am."

This reminded him, another original date, another surprise from Mobius that he was quick to tell Casey about

3.

Sounds from the kitchen woke Loki from his sleep. He stretched, shivering because the sheet had slipped down to his waist.

"You're awake."

Loki looked up to find Mobius smiling at him, standing by the bedroom door, dressed in just sweatpants and a t-shirt, his longer hair still disheveled and a budding beard. A perfect view to start the day, in Loki's opinion.

What caught his eye was the tray in his hands.

Mobius moved closer, carefully perching himself on the bed and balancing the tray on his lap.

"I wanted to surprise you." Mobius smiled, offering the tray to Loki and laughing affectionately as he watched him contort himself to sit up. "Breakfast in bed or let's call it a breakfast date. I thought it would be a nice change, since it's our day off."

Loki's mouth suddenly watered between what he saw and what he smelled.

Usually they had a light breakfast, but on days off, getting up later, breakfast also served as lunch.

On the tray was a plate of bacon and eggs, buttered toast, a small pile of pancakes covered in syrup, a large glass of orange juice, and an assortment of fresh fruit.

"Oh Love, you spoil me." said Loki, a piece of pancake already in his mouth.

Mobius shakes his head with a small laugh. "I always want to spoil you."

Loki leaned forward to capture Mobius' lips in a sweet kiss. Mobius took the opportunity to sneak his hand through Loki's hair and pulled him to him while being careful not to flip the tray.

When they separated, Loki was out of breath.

"Let's eat."

Mobius sat next to Loki, the tray resting on their knees. They ate breakfast, talking, feeding each other.

Later, Loki hummed over one last incredibly delicious bite, his head resting on Mobius' shoulder.

Definitely, this dating concept was quite interesting.

*********

"Okay Loki, thanks to you, now I'm hungry." Casey paused for a moment and then resumed staring Loki up and down, "But I wonder where you put it all..."

Loki replied with a mischievous smile, " Workout, Casey, workout..." His impish look left no doubt as to what kind of workout he was referring to.

Casey pretended to cover his ears. "I don't want to hear about it!"

Loki chuckled, "Too bad you won't hear about another memorable date of ours."

Casey, calmed down, too interested in what was next.

4.

"Uh, wow, that's... that's gorgeous." said Loki, looking around their living room.

The entire room was bathed in a soft glow from a multitude of small candles, scattered here and there.

"Do you like it?" the voice of Mobius whispered in his ear as his lover took off his jacket, before hugging him from behind.

"Hmm." Loki nodded in the embrace.

"I figured we both needed a little break, are you hungry?"

"I'm starving." replied Loki turning his head to drop a kiss on Mobius' cheek.

His lover directed him to the table that Loki had not noticed, perfectly set, bathed in soft light, and garnished with two steaming plates and glasses of fresh wine.

Mobius gallantly pulled out the chair for him to sit on and took a seat opposite him.

They began to eat, discussing their day, their work, and all the while hardly letting go of each other's hands that were entwined on the table.

Then after the dessert, Mobius got up, took the remote control of the music system and a soft music invaded the atmosphere. Under the eyes of Loki, he approached him and offered his hand, « May I have this dance, sweetheart?"

Loki nodded, smiling softly, and took the outstretched hand. Mobius immediately wrapped his arms around him and they began to sway to the soft notes coming from the speakers.

Loki sighed with contentment, his face buried in Mobius' neck.

They must have looked like the epitome of sap and fluff, but at that moment, Loki didn't care. This was them, here, in the privacy of their lives. Their happiness.

They continued to sway for long moments, so absorbed in each other's presence that they didn't notice that the music had stopped.

**********

"Loki... you know I just feel like I'm listening to a digest of all the romcoms out there?"

"Romcom?"

"Romantic comedy.Haha I know something you don't."

Casey laughed cheerfully at Loki.

"Very funny, but do you know what karaoke is?"

"Yep... I'll remind you, since the fish thing, I've been catching up, and I'm learning every day. So what about karaoke?" Casey frowned for a moment and then exclaimed, "No! Karaoke? Who? Mobius or you? Or both?"

Loki chuckled at Casey's excitement.

"Mobius came up with the idea for the date, but I did the singing.

"Tell me about it!"

5.

"Mobius..."

Loki stood on the stage of the small bar, and pointed to his lover leaning at the bar, "Mobius, my partner, brought me here because he dreams of hearing me sing in my native language for him. No one will be able to say I don't like to satisfy my beloved." He blew a fingertip kiss to Mobius under the whistling and wolf howls of the customers. He waved to the DJ and the music started to play. He began to sing in Asgardian, the words and notes flowing naturally on his tongue.

So many people around me without a meaning or a goal

It's always someone left

Tell me, why does it always be like that

Someone from up above must have seen me

And yet thought that it's his turn,

my turn to meet someone who knows what I need

it seems like my lonely days

For its always gone

As he sang this, he began to walk towards Mobius, his eyes in his. He saw the understanding in Mobius' eyes, who, understanding perfectly all languages, grasped perfectly the meaning of the song for Loki and him.

For I have the heaven around the corner

My own angel in a bed

As if all the heavens tiny stars

Sang for me, sang for you

In a wonderful refrain

You are the heaven

around the corner for me

When he reached the end of the song, Mobius' eyes were filled with emotion.

As soon as the last note came out of his mouth, Loki hugged Mobius and kissed him, ignoring the cheers and applause of the customers.

When they separated to catch their breath, Mobius asked him, his forehead against his, in a joking tone, « Am I your own angel?"

Loki grasped his head in his hands and replied seriously, his mouth against his, "You are Mobius. You are the angel that brought me out of my darkness. You saved me from myself." Then he captured his lover's lips again, putting into the kiss all what Mobius meant to him.

**********

"Loki, I think I'll be fine, I think I've had my fill of sweets for the day, if not for the next month. If I get diabetes, you'll be responsible for it."

Loki laughed again and shrugged, "Hey! You're the one who wanted it."

"Well, at least you have a lot of work to do to be on the same level as him, because apart from the karaoke, he still made the most effort."

Loki smiled cheekily, "Hm, I think I made up for it with our one-year anniversary date, but since you don't want any more sweetness... I'll shut up."

Casey pointed his fingers at him, "Ah no Mr. God of Mischief, you're not getting away with this!"

Loki surrendered and began his last tale.

+1

This time it was Loki who had surprised Mobius by blindfolding him and leading him through a timedoor.

When they reached their destination, he slowly untied the blindfold, "You can open your eyes, love."

Mobius opened his eyes and gasped. Then he laughed softly.

Loki hugged him from behind and whispered in his ear, "Happy Anniversary my love. It was here a year ago that I started to fall in love with you."

They were in the TVA cafeteria. Alone, because Loki had made sure of that.

A table, THE table was elegantly set.

Mobius let himself be guided by Loki, who said softly, "I know it's unconventional, that we weren't a couple yet, not at all, but-"

He could not continue, Mobius had closed his mouth with a tender kiss.

Pulling back, he placed a finger on Loki's lips and replied, "Don't justify yourself.First of all, since when are we conventional?" he raised an eyebrow before continuing, "Secondly, you weren't the only one who was already feeling something at that moment sweetheart."

It was he who pulled Loki to the table.

They sat there, almost the same way they had that day, their knees touching in a familiar way. But this time the rest of their bodies were close. They shared the meal, interspersed with renewed oaths, smiles and casual conversation. Just savoring the joy of being together.

Mobius noticed, however, that the closer they got to the end of the meal, the more excited Loki seemed, almost as if he couldn't wait for the dinner to end. So much that once the last bite of dessert was swallowed, he stood up and bounced over to Mobius and held out his hand.

"Our night is not over, I have one more surprise. Can I put the blindfold back on you?"

Amused and intrigued by Loki's excitement, Mobius nodded.

Loki tied the blindfold behind his head, placed a kiss on his forehead and took his hand.

He felt them pass through a timedoor again, then suddenly felt a great warmth around him. He recognized Loki's magic that passed over him, and suddenly felt warm sand under his naked feet.

The blindfold came off and he let his eyes adjust to the light.

For the second time that evening, he gasped, and then almost cried with emotion at the sight before him.

He realized he was in a bathing suit when Loki made him put on a life jacket. Then his lover gently pushed him towards the jetski that was waiting for him at the end of the pontoon. "Go my love, go..."

He moved forward a few steps and then turned back to Loki who was looking at him with a loving smile. "And you? Don't you want to come?"

"You deserve to have your first round alone, don't worry, I'll be there."

Winking at him, Loki pointed to two lounge chairs under an umbrella.

"Go my love."

Loki went backwards to settle on the deckchair and with a cocktail in hand, he did not leave the eyes of his lover who listened to the instructions of the instructor before finally making his first ride of jet-ski.

Long minutes later, he saw Mobius coming towards him, a bright smile on his face, he whispered again, "Happy Anniversary my love."

________

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

Song used for the karaoke date : Himlen runt hörnet by Lisa Nilsson

Whole series of oneshot here : X

#lokius fics #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #moki #wowki #established relationship #domestic fluff #5 + 1 things #time husbands #timefrost