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writteninkat · 3 years

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Opened Curtains | Bakugou x Reader

summary: You forget to close your curtains, allowing Katsuki to see right through your glass balcony doors; your LED lights on color red and the silhouette of you knuckles deep inside your cunt as you spread your legs farther apart.

f!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: ass slapping, choking

a/n: all i want is college student katsuki who's 6'2 and can and will abuse my kitty the way i want it abused is that so difficult to be given >:(

College is tiring. Very fucking tiring. You're buried in books all day and if you aren't, you're running all over the campus to try to get to your next class as quickly as possible without spilling the contents inside your outdated starbucks coffee cup.

With this much stress, you need some way to vent out all your frustrations to. And no, it can't be any of your friends because they're busy dealing with their own problems. So you turn to the next most logical solution you can think of.

You turn your LED lights red as your back touches the soft mattress of your bed. You push your shirt up, exposing your breasts as you squeeze one with your hand as your other palm snakes down your cunt, pressing two fingers against your underwear.

You push your underwear down, spreading your legs apart as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your thoughts flying back to Katsuki Bakugou.

The third year in the hero course in your psychology class that always sits at the very back right corner of the lecture hall. He always has a frown pulled and if you didn't know him at all, you wouldn't be touching yourself to the thought of him right now.

You two had been paired to multiple project for this class ever since the year started and he's saved your ass multiple times from being ran into by other empty-minded hero course students who are too proud to get off their high horse.

You recall the feeling of his beefy arms around your body, calloused hands on your waist as he pulls you towards him, saving you from the crash.

"Watch where you're going, dumbass." He'd say everytime, his voice deep and rough, as the scent of sweetly burnt caramel wafts through the air.

A soft mewl leaves your lips as your fingers press harder against your clit, your circles going rougher as you imagine how he'd have his way with you.

He'd press a finger inside you- so you do so yourself, furrowing your brows. Your finger is too slender, too thin compared to his. You add in another finger, letting out a breath of satisfaction as you imagine him on top of you, a smug smirk across his lips as he watches you unravel underneath him.

You squeeze your breasts, flicking a finger at your nipple, pretending it's his hand around your boob. You tug and pull at the bud, your legs pulling apart from each other on their own as you fuck yourself with your fingers, completely unaware of the open curtains you forgot to close before your nightly affair.

Katsuki sighs in irritation, holding his head with both of his hands as he closed his eyes. He's been typing away in his laptop ever since he woke up. He's only had one meal, he had to skip training and to top it all off, he didn't get to see that cute girl from his psychology class today since it was a saturday.

He gets up, deciding to walk out to his balcony in hope of seeing you. After saving you from one of his classmates roughhousing, he's been noticing you wherever he went.

When his friends came over one night, Mina pointed out that his dorm was right across her friends'- Y/n L/n.

It became part of Katsuki's morning routine to watch you water your small plants at your balcony before getting ready for the day. Katsuki walks out with a cup of coffee, hoping to keep himself awake. He looks into your balcony in hopes of seeing you stressed out as well, working on your own paper for finals.

Instead, his eyes see the dark red light illuminating inside your bedroom. As he furrows his brows and squints his eyes, he sees your silhouette laying on the bed with your legs propped upwards.

Katsuki smiles softly, pulling out his phone to remind you to stop lazying around and continue your paper. He watches as white light mixes in with the red light, listening as your phone rings.

Your toes curl and your legs open even more as you reach over to check who's calling. The sight of Katsuki's name across your phone has you nearing your orgasm faster than ever.

What did he need? Was my part incomplete? Was I wrong with my information? Were my sources too vague?

Too many thoughts ran through your head in anxiety and along with the anticipation of your orgasm, your mind clouds as you answer the call, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" You ask, out of breath as you move your hips, your orgasm closer than ever.

"Hey idiot- you don't sound so well. Are you sick?/" Katsuki asks, his deep voice causing a whine to slip through your lips.

"I'm f-fine. I'm fine." You hiss, maneuvering your fingers to reach your g-spot, huffing in irritation when you don't reach it.

"You don't sound 'fine'. Honestly you need to take better care of yourself."

Your mouth forms an O as you close your mouth, focusing on his voice, imagining him right on top of you as he thrusts his length inside.

"You're clamping down on me, slut. You like my cock that much?" Katsuki growls, pounding into you as random bables leave your mouth. The way his hips moved in such fluid motions, the way his length entered your soaking cavern- it all felt too much of a daze for you.

"Fuck you're close, aren't ya?" He quickens his pace as your thighs begin to tremble. "Cum for me, slut. Wanna hear you say my name as you cum all over my cum, Y/n."

You nod, biting on your lip, arching your back as your orgasm washes over you, your thighs trembling. "Say my name!" Katsuki yells.

"Oh fuck- fuck, Katsuki!" You whine, feeling him continue snapping his hips, your orgasm going on much longer than usual. "Y/n!" He yells back.

"Fuck Suki, you feel so good." You moan loudly, allowing your body to grow limp under him. "I do, don't I, Y/n?"

You nod. "Y/n? Y/n."

"Y/n." You're brought back to reality with your hand covered in your juices and your phone still pressed against your ear. Your eyes widen, pulling your phone away to check whatever was happening.

Your call with Katsuki has been going on for about seven minutes. He's already silent on the other end, causing you to end the call immediately and throw your phone across your room.

You hear your heart pounding tremendously against your chest as you look at your phone as if it had just insulted both your parents.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! You basically just told Katsuki you were getting off to the thought of him, you fucking dumbass! You yell at yourself mentally, grabbing at your head as you buried yourself in between your two pillows.

Well at least the year will end soon. I won't be seeing him anymore. Right? You sigh to yourself, jumping when you hear a knock on your door. You quickly push yourself off the bed, dashing for your bathrobe. You tie it around your waist, washing off the slippery slick your fingers are coated with before heading for the door.

You think of washing off the uncomfortable slippery sensation in between your thighs after blowing off whoever friend or classmate you have behind the door, probably about to invite you to some lame group study.

You pull the door open, feeling the pressure and stress you just vented out come dropping themselves on your shoulders yet again. There stans Katsuki Bakugou in all his glory.

Black tank top that hugged his torso quite well, showing off his built chest, broad shoulders and greek god-sculpted arms. You chew on the inside of your lip, blinking away any kind of sexual fantasy your mind is creating at this moment.

"Need anything, Bakugou?" You ask, hoping he'll buy the lie that everything he had heard was all in his head. He steps into your apartment, chest all over your face as he looks down at you with glowing red eyes. His caramel scent has you feeling as though you had just puffed ten times and are now on cloud 9.

He isn't mad, is he? Well he probably is. He most definitely is.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that, Y/n. Do you need anything from me?" He tilts his head to the side, taking another step forward causing you to take a step back, the door accidentally slipping from your fingers, closing behind the blond.

You swallow thickly, "Look, Bakugou," You look to the side, crossing your arms together. "I'm sorry with what you heard, I won't come near you again I swear-"

He pushes you against the wall, trapping you between his body and the wall. He leans down at you, your face inches apart as he keeps his eyes trained on your lips.

"You fucking yourself definitely is the last fucking straw for me." He smirks, his lips ghosting over yours. You clench your fists, the tension heavy in the air. "Throwing yourself at those dumbass extras and having to force me to save you- how much do you want me, Y/n?"

"I didn't throw myself at those-"

"Answer my question." He looks up at your eyes, his lids dropping halfway down into a lazy gaze.

There's just no point of hiding it now.

"So much. So fucking much Baku-" He cuts you off, pressing his lips onto yours in a searing kiss. Your arms immediately fly up on his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer as you feel his arms snake around your waist.

"Seeing your fingers knuckle deep inside you and hearing you moan my name- fuck you're a vixen." He growls, untying the knot of your robe, causing it to go undone. His hands begin assaulting your breasts, knead and massaging them and his thumbs flick on your nipples. You moan into the kiss, tongue finally tasting him for the first time.

He runs his hands down your waist, pulling you up causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you to your bed, carefully setting you on the soft mattress, making sure he doesn't break the kiss.

He pulls away, one hand wrapped loosely around your throat as the other teasingly presses against your lips. Without a word, you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out as you licked at his fingers.

He pushes two of them inside your wet hole, watching as you suck on them ever so religiously. He squeezes your neck, earning a soft mewl from you. You grins mischievously, taking out his saliva covered fingers.

"Got myself a little freak, do I?" He chuckles, pressing two fingers inside your wet cunt. The sudden action has you gasping, your eyes blowing wide as well as your back arched.

He begins thrusting his fingers in and out before scissoring your hole open, his tongue assaulting yours messily, allowing saliva to drip down the corners of his mouth as he sucks on your tongue.

You moan against his lips, eyes rolled back as you feel a sudden wave of orgasm hit you. You open your eyes widely, looking at Katsuki who merely chuckles deeply. He shoves his used hand into the pocket of his sweatpants, ripping the packet of foil open with his teeth before slipping the condom on himself.

He aligns himself to your gaping hole, looking down at you, as if asking for consent. You nod your head, taking one of his hand to return it back to its rightful place; your throat.

He lets out a breathy laugh, pushing himself inside you slowly, allowing you to get used to his size. You moan loudly at every inch he pushes in, the burn of him stretching you wide open despite being prepped has your insides tingling.

"Move- fuck Katsuki, just move already." You hiss, moaning loudly when you feel his hand squeeze around your waist. "Don't fucking give me that attitude, slut. You're calling me master tonight. Got it?"

When you don't answer, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely balls deep inside you. "I said," He grits his teeth, leaning over at you. "Got it?"

"Yes," You nod, "Master."

He begins moving his hips, his thrusts fluid-like and smooth. If it weren't for your cunt squeezing around him, you'd think you were too loose. Your mouth falls open as he squeezes the sides of your neck, the tips of his thumb and middle finger digging onto your neck. You moan loudly at the thought of his handprint around your neck by tomorrow.

His other hand grips on your waist roughly, pulling you towards him everytime he thrusts inside you. His eyes stay set on the way your tits bounced everytime he thrusted inside you, flaring something inside him.

He switches the two of you around, now both of his hands and gripping either sides of your waist. "Fuck that's it. Ride your master respectfully." He snarls, watching as you hump yourself on his cock, your expression pushing him into his own high.

You feel sudden warmth inside the condom, looking down at Katsuki whose face is flushed. "Did you just-"

"Shut the fuck up."

He flips the two of you once more, pulling out to take off the condom. He ties it closed, looking around for the trash can before throwing it at the bin, easily scoring. He takes another packet of foil from the pockets of his sweats, looking down at you the whole time he put the condom on.

"I'll make you cum just as quick." He manhandles your body, flipping you around, your face pressed against the pillows as he pulls your hips up in the air. He enters your wet hole, easily slipping in with how slick you are inside.

He thrusts in you, immediately snappy and deep causing you to moan loudly. You try to get up only for Katsuki to push you back down as he takes your wrists, pinning them on your back.

He continues to use your tight cunt as his own, using one hand to slap your ass, watching as it jiggles. "Use- oh fuck, use your quirk on me, master!" You moan loudly. Your words snap something inside Katsuki.

He brings his hand up, slapping your ass harshly as he lets his quirk go off a little, burning your soft skin a pretty pink hand mark. He feels you tighten around him at this, allowing him to continue. He slaps your other cheek the same way, pushing you into a babling, tearing mess.

"I'm close! So fucking close!" You moan, feeling Katsuki's thrusts become sloppier, much faster than before. This has you reaching your orgasm much faster. You clamp fown on him as he continues to thrust inside you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

Your body lays limp on the mattress, the action earning a snickering chuckle from Katsuki. "We're not done yet, princess. Unless until I cum, we don't stop." He growls into your ear, moving once more inside you.

Feeling him fucking into you again right after you came has you seeing stars. He flips you around, his cock still inside you as he grabs fistfuls of your breasts. He kneads and massages them as he pounds into your cunt roughly, your legs opening even wider on their own.

"God you're such a cockslut." He pants, pressing his lips onto yours. He trails kisses and soft sucks down your neck, sinking his teeth on your shoulder before lapping his tongue over it.

"Aaaaahhhh- fuck I'm gonna cum again!" You whine, feeling your legs tremble the same way they did before your first orgasm that night. Katsuki runs his hand past your tummy and down your cunt, thumb massaging your clit, stimulating you even more.

"Fuck, master- I'm cumming!" He pinches your clit at the very last moment. You dig your nails down the skin of his back as your orgasm reaches much more intense heights as your legs shake uncontrollably at Katsuki's sides. The blond drowns your noisy babbling, massaging circles on your clit to help you ride out your orgasm.

He lets out a groan before you feel warmth once more inside your hole. All the stress and tension that's built-up this week all go down the drain. You barely even feel Katsuki pull out before your lids are growing heavier every second until you're letting darkness lull you to sleep.

You wake up, your body aching all over but you don't feel any type of uncomfortable stickiness in between your thighs or inside you.

You turn to your right, eyes widening at the sleeping Katsuki beside you, the blanket covering only up to his lower back, giving you outcomes of your activities last night. Although the scratch marks on his skin looked bad, you remember just how tight he gripped your hips and neck as well as the bite he give you last night and immediately know you looked way worse.

You move to get over the bed, only for a hand to snake around your waist, pulling you towards his sleepy body. "Five minutes." He mutters, breath fanning against your nape as you feel his chest press up against your back.

"Bakugou-"

"Katsuki." He mutters, "Call me Katsuki."

You push down the butterflies going insane in your stomach, "Okay, Katsuki. I have to make breakfast before I begin digesting myself."

You hear him sigh, letting your waist go making you chuckle. You stand up, quickly grabbing a large shirt to completely cover your barely clothed state before walking towards the door.

"Really? No good morning kisses? Damn if I knew dating you wouldn't give me the privilege of those cheesy couple shit I would have sat you down to talk first." He grumbles, catching you off guard. "You wanna- you wanna date?"

Katsuki looks at you with a raised brow, cheeks flushing lightly. "What, you don't? So what you just wanna be fuck buddies-" You cut off his grumbling with a kiss on his lips. It isn't anything sexual or rough- just a really wamr and soft good morning kiss.

You pull away softly, looking right at him with a smile. "Good morning boyfriend." The way his ears and cheeks flush don't go unnoticed as he looks away, "Mornin'."

You giggle at him, giving him one last kiss on his forehead before walking away to your kitchen. "How do you like your eggs?" You yell, grabbing a pancake mix and a tray of eggs. "Fertilized." You hear him yell back, making you roll your eyes.

He walks into the kitchen in all his half-naked glory, his torso definitely sculpted by gods as sunlight causes him to glow- like, literally he looks like he's glowing.

"Leave the cooking to me." He whispers, hands loose on your waist as he kisses your ear. With no complaints, you walk over to the refrigerator to grab a bowl of strawberries. You sit on the kitchen counter, biting on the fruit as you watch him mix the pancake batter.

"By the way- you mentioned it last night but how did you know I was umm... Touching myself?" You ask. Katsuki turns around, biting on your strawberry.

"You should really consider closing your curtains before doing that." He motions at your glass balcony doors whose curtains are still wide open.

You flush in embarrassment, thankful Katsuki- no wait, your boyfriend has turned his back at you so he couldn't see how bad your blush was.

As much as you wanted to say God I wish I closed those curtains, you really can't bring yourself to.

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#bakugou fanfiction #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #bakugou bios #bakugou imagine #bakugou smut #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #my hero smut #boku no hero smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou x fem!reader

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mimiwrites2000 · 3 years

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Fire and Rain

First Aruani Snippet! thank you all for submitting prompts!

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie

Words count: 2212

Summary:

Fire

Igniting from within herself

Rain

Pouring, cold on her skin

And just like any other human, she has a limit as well.

She cries, on their bed, alone.

Until the door creaks open, and he walks in.

Annie is facing a new feeling that she never experienced before, jealousy, and her insecurities only fuel it.

However, Armin knows exactly how to blow these insecurities away.

And so he does.

Unfamiliar.

Foreign.

The shiny-new novelty of it is shocking, unexpected.

And yet there she is. No denying can change it, no distractions can tame it.

The fire inside her unbearably massive, flames dancing to the drums in her chest, beating with every breath she takes, pouring more fuel on it, breathing rage into it.

She doesn’t want it to extinguish.

The fire seethes and scathes, boiling inside of her, threatening to spill out of her, burning down their bed, their room, their whole house, out the door and all around the neighborhood.

She wants the whole world to hear her screaming pain, she wants it to burn and crumble and shred into pieces.

Just like her.

Her insides screamed until their throats bleed. When no sounds came out, their fury trekked to their hands, legs, fuming and thrashing everything into dust, destroying everything with their wild rage.

And the fire burgeons, devouring her whole, until she is swallowed in red, an angry orange, and straying, out-of-their-place golden sparks.

Those golden sparks that glimmer in shades of red.

Matching the red spark in her eyes.

The pouring, salty rain, spilling out her eyes, unhurriedly putting the fire down. Cold tears that went down her cheeks, onto their pillow, left nothing but a confined fire underneath a wet, burnt land. The smell of rain drops with the char pungent to her nose, unbearably painful to breathe, impossible to breathe.

Her jaw clenches, teeth rubbing against each other, turning into soft heaps of bones in her mouth.

Her chest heaves as more tears squeeze their way out her eyes, down her face, glistening under the moonlight that filters through their window. Blue waterfalls, grey ribbons of silk. The moon comforts her, draining all colors from the world, layering it in a blanket of greys, making every living creature scurry into their caverns, hiding spots, ceasing life for a few hours. Falling into a mourning, silent choir.

She squeezes her eyes shut, she can’t bear it, she can’t, she can’t she can’t.

But she did.

For a few, agonizingly long months, she did.

She kept it all inside, decaying under its pressure, but here she is, in their bed, alone.

I’ll stay late,

He said,

you’re tired, go rest.

He said,

I'll follow once I'm done.

He concluded, before going into a dim lit office, closing the door behind. She only had a glimpse of who waited for him in that room.

She waited, in their bed.

The trance of getting home, undressing, showring, eating, all but a forgotten blur.

Cold, their home was cold, the warmth sucked out of it, while outside, the heat of summer frayed the grass into long, feeble golden sticks.

She’s too pretty, Annie thought, I can’t compare to her.

Long, dark hair, black obsidian eyes, tall, her skirt tight, highlighting the curve of her wide hips, curvy body. Intelligent, her smartness over throwing Annie's with no doubt. Her speeches, words, resonated in the halls of the conferences, long after she said them, their effect lingering in everyone’s mind.

She is everything Annie isn’t.

Annie buries herself deeper into the blankets, worrying that she might've lost him, that she stole him from her.

Then the door creaks open, a second of silence, apprehension, before it closes with a soft click. Another second of silence, then the sound of boots thudding on the carpeted floor, ruffles of clothes being taken off.

The sheets lift up, a warm body slides next to her. She brings the blankets closer to her face, squeezing her eyelids shut.

Then, slowly, warm hands wrap around her, his face at the back of her neck.

“I know you are awake,” he whispers, in her ear.

She doesn’t shift.

The fire in her battles with the rain, conquering each other, until they swayed, in harmony. Flames that danced to the rhythm of the rain drops. Tik tik tik, and the water does what it’s not supposed to do. Broadening the fire, encouraging it into a massive figure of infernal beauty.

His hands soft on her body, goes up, to her shoulders, wrapping around them, before reaching her cheeks, caressing them-

He halts, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, his voice panicked, worried, he leans backwards, inspecting her from behind the blanket, “are you hurt? Is something hurting you?”

She doesn’t reply, her throat too tight to speak.

He calls her name, once, twice, when she doesn’t respond, he gets out of bed, walks to her side, and sits on the floor, his sight on level with her closed eyes.

He calls her name.

Her eyes flutter open.

Red.

A blue orb in a middle of a light red. He opens his mouth to ask about how long she has been crying, but nothing comes out.

He rests his hand on her shoulder, squeezing a bit.

Tell me

His eyes say

You can tell me

So she sniffs, tries to clear her throat, lifting her chin up.

She speaks, but he shakes his head; her voice slurry, alphabets sprawled all over the place.

He motions with his fingers; wait, gets up, goes out, a minute passes, and he’s back with a glass of water.

Cold, she thought, as she straightens in their bed, pulling the sheets closer to her chest. She takes the glass from him, nodding, not meeting his eyes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, silently watching her, as she takes tiny sips of the water, bit by bit, making it last for as long as she can, stretching a mere glass of water onto an excruciatingly slow seconds of a dreadful wait.

He’s patient, he has always been patient with her, giving her the time she needs.

When the water is drained to its last droplets, and there’s no escape, she speaks.

"How was your meeting?" She asks, she hates the hoarseness in her voice, she tries to clear her throat, but it only itches more.

Armin raises an eyebrow.

"How was it?" She asks again.

He sighs, finding no other solution but to answer her: "It went ok, too many paper work, which I despise."

"I could've stayed late and helped you, you know," her hand goes up to rub her arm.

"You were so exhausted, you've already done extra work today, besides, the new assistant was there and she was a great help, so it was ok."

Annie tenses, of course she was a great help.

"I never thought you would ever need an assistant," she says, and she tries so hard to not spit out the words.

"Neither did I," he amuses, "but, well, she showed up and honestly, she does know what she's doing, so I said, why not?"

"Because I could've stayed late with you instead of her," she lets out in one go, her words overlapping each other.

Armin furrows his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling.

When he doesn't reply, she repeats: "I could've stayed with you, I can be your assistant, I don't care if it's extra work. I could've stayed late with you."

She's looking around the room, watching everything except his eyes.

The dots connect in his mind.

A new assistant, staying late at work…

"Annie..." He calls out, the wrinkles in his forehead curving upwards as his eyebrows rise.

You're jealous, he thinks, but doesn't say out loud.

He sighs, crawls onto bed. Annie curls on herself, turning her head away from him.

He sits in front of her, thinking from where to start. He would've never thought, in a million years, that Annie would be jealous.

It’s ridiculous… how could she ever think about…

He scrutinizes her. Vulnerable, insecure, hugging herself, avoiding his eyes.

If anything, he knows that Annie isn’t a woman of word.

With that in mind, he starts by kissing her knee, despite the blanket covering it. She swivels her head to him, confused.

His kisses go up, kissing her thighs. He murmurs against the fabric: "Annie..."

Her name on his tongue, low and careful, each syllable pronounced with fragile-cautiousness, a desperate need to call her out, feel her name tingling on his tongue.

"You're the only one who would ever have my nights," he says.

He kisses her stomach, "to have my mornings," another kiss, "my afternoons, my evenings."

She's silent, watching him.

He goes up, kissing her clothed chest, "You're the only one I want to wake up by her side," he kisses her collarbone, his voice dropping a few notches.

He feels Annie swallowing.

He shuffles closer to her, kissing her neck, he whispers: "you're the only one who will ever touch me," one of his hands resting on her waist, while the other propped him up.

He kisses the spot underneath her chin, the skin soft on his lips, he says: "You're the only one I want to laugh with," another kiss, "cry with," a third kiss, "smile with."

He closes his eyes, his raw, genuine feelings pouring with every word, every touch.

"You're the only one I want to be with,"

He's kissing her face, her eyebrows, her cheekbones, the corner of her lips, her forehead, tasting salt from her tears. He doesn't know when she started crying, but he knows that she's hurt, vulnerable, and that is all he needs to know.

He wraps his arms around her, bringing her closer to him.

Hugging her tighter, never letting go.

Until he feels her arms wrapping around him, hugging him back, that's when he pushes his weight onto her, toppling her balance, landing on top of her.

She gasps, and he swallows the sound as he kisses her, lips on lips, tasting more salt, pressing his lips harder onto her. He kisses her with incomparable delicacy, touches soft on her body. Her lips warm, her cheeks cold.

He cups her face, wiping the tears, her skin glimmers where tears once were, leaving two silvery traces, meandering down her cheeks. He kisses them, slow, one by one, drawing it with his lips, until she relaxes against him.

Then hands happen, and they're on each other, skin on skin, in the quiet of the night.

He breathes her name out through it all, engraving it on the folds of her mind, for it to stay there for as long as she lived.

He wants her to hear his heart beating to the rhythm of her name on his tongue, each time he says it, his heart pulsating life through him, into his veins, into his hands that caress all over her body, memorizing every dip of her skin, every ridge of a bone. Her chest heaving under him, erratic breathing, and yet, she doesn't utter a word.

She lets him show her his words, blowing life into them, show her that he is only for her.

He gladly does.

He tells her that she's the only one who makes him feel this way, as he kisses down her neck, he tells her that she's the only one to touch him like she does. He whispers that he can't imagine anyone else doing what she does to him, that no one can make him feel the way that she does.

Then the first word slips out of her mouth, mixed with a sob.

It's his name.

Armin Armin Armin

She repeats his name, over and over, other words getting lost in moans and cries, and he savors it all.

After he made sweet love to her, once, twice. Gentle and soft. He kisses her neck, but she stops him, and he takes it as a sign.

He engulfs her in his arms, carrying her to the bathroom, where he runs the bath. Steam emits from the bath as she slowly tip toes into the warm water, he follows suit, sitting behind her, her back pressed onto his chest.

He washes her hair, her body, compliments falling off his tongue, gorgeous, pretty, an angel. She turns her head, rose dusting her cheeks.

When she wants to return the favor, he only pushes her hands, telling her that he got himself covered, so she sits on the stool by the bathtub, watching him rinse himself under the spray of the shower, his hair slick and wet, his shoulders broad, arms sculpted with muscle.

He acts like he doesn’t notice her stare.

He steps out the shower, then wraps her in a towel, before wrapping himself.

Not long after, he covers her in their blanket, tucking himself beside her, hugging her bare frame to his chest.

He kisses her forehead, tells her that he loves her, and he did for so long, and will never cease to a stop.

Because she is the spring in these emotions, and the thought of her on his mind had kept him going for years, and to have her in his arms… would be enough to live the rest of his life with his eyes on no one but her.

She smiles, planting a kiss on his bare chest, tangling their legs together.

He chuckles, and her heart flutters at the sound.

He rests his chin on her head, pulling her even closer to him, and like a mantra on his tongue, he whispers her name until sleep takes over him.

#Aruani Snippets #aruani #armin x annie #armin arlert #annie leonhart #aot #snk #writing #fanfiction #snk fanfiction

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neonponders · 3 years

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👀 👀 👀 👀 Oh jesus oh lord. Deeper Than Skin is finished so I’ll enable another wip.

@ghostofjellyfishforgotten I hope you don’t mind me using your tags on this vampire!Billy / blood donor!Steve post as inspiration! Your brain is just too big for me not to pass up an opportunity to write vampire shenanigans.

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve didn’t judge people who worked as donors—

Fine, as an adult with a better awareness and compassion, Steve didn’t judge donors. He might’ve said some shitty things to Jonathan Byers when he worked to make his family extra money.

Honestly? Steve admired that. Jonathan being underage and having the guts to figure out how to get into the donation clinic, and then to let…

Steve knew he was a coward in a lot of ways. He knew it when he called Jonathan a queer who enjoyed leeches sucking on him. He knew it when he lost to the punches Byers threw. For a skinny, half empty blood bag, the guy could really hit. And Steve knew it when he almost ran away from Nancy and Jonathan fighting off the rogue vampire who kidnapped little Will Byers.

But Steve didn’t run away.

Just like he didn’t run away from the couch he sat on with his mother while his father explained…a situation that left Steve digging deeper and deeper into the gap between fear and bravery. Maybe call it disassociation. Or confused shock.

“You what?”

Harrington senior never took well to being interrupted. But he sighed from across the coffee table and reiterated, “The family is in debt.”

“No. You. You’re in debt. This is your problem.”

The man certainly didn’t take well to having his own mistakes shoved under his nose. “This isn’t for debate. This is the way things are and need to be.”

“No,” Steve repeated like a broken record clinging onto its song. “This is your fault. Who’s made me work minimum wage jobs to teach me a lesson? Who’s refused to pay for me to go to community college? Who hasn’t let me work in their company? And who made the shitty gambles with your company’s stocks? You shoved me out, so it’s definitely not my problem—”

“The contract has already been signed.”

Now his mother shifted her posture on the couch beside him. “Excuse me?”

Steve’s father moved his blunt nails over the armrest of his wingback, fidgeting. At least something put fear into the old bastard’s heart.

“There’s nothing I could do. The market has been evolving ever since vampires gained their rights and opened up their decades and centuries old bonds—”

“Vampire legislation passed over a century ago,” Mrs. Harrington purred. Sometimes the worst anger was the quiet kind. “You have no excuse. You lost the game, and you sold our son. Is that what we’re to believe?”

“That’s not possible,” Steve intercepted. “Slavery isn’t a thing anymore. Even I picked that up in history. And I would have to be there to sign the contract! It’s my—”

“Steve,” his father silenced. “When enough money is involved, anything is bought. And you’re not like anyone else.”

Mrs. Harrington fumed, “Do not talk to him like he’s a prize pony!”

“Except to a wealthy vampire, he is.”

Steve could only sit in weighted silence for a moment. He always joked to himself that he’d be disowned one of these days. For being a disappointment. For all of his bad grades. For giving his friends alcohol and cigarettes. For only being able to get jobs that required no qualifications or experience level at all. For discovering he liked kissing boys at the grimy music venues Robin took him to. Maybe living at home for too long. Or leaving the smell of burnt pancakes in the air too often because he always struggled with the first one—

“Vampire?” he croaked. For some reason it hadn’t dawned to him until now but…shit.

Holy shit.

Steve wasn’t being sold off to be some billionaire’s secretary for life. He was being…truly sold. Like…goodbye, Steve, who likes spring nights and summer mornings. His favorite food is breakfast and he wishes he kept with the music lessons his mom paid for instead of being peer pressured into sports. Whose best friend was Robin Buckley because she was brave and funny and stuck with him during his ironic and a little bit terrifying queer awakening…

Hello, Donor 0235. Blood type O. Allergic to nickel and checks off all vaccination requirements.

“Steve’s not wrong,” his mother echoed like a voice deep in a cave, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “He is the one to sign the contract. Not you.”

“He is still classified as our dependent and on our insurance,” his father refused.

“So being an adult means nothing in this country?”

“They have our family records, Annette!” he exclaimed. “There is a dual government in this country even if nobody below upper-middle class sees it. The human government had to cede a great deal because the vampire population is massive. And they’ve kept track of all the Sanguis families! Name changes, and two World Wars did nothing to save us—”

“The what?” Steve all but whispered.

His mother rotated her hips to face him. “We only have legends about how it happened. Paleolithic gods making deals, vampires crossbreeding humans to make a certain kind of blood donor, human evolution after symbiotic deals were struck—but that doesn’t matter. The point is that there are people in this world with abilities that preserve themselves against vampires. That’s why you healed in less than two days after that silly fight by the movie theatre.”

His father intercepted, “The genes skipped your mother but fell to you.”

Steve’s eyes widened as his mother confirmed, “To protect us, girls have been promoted in the family tree for generations. Through marriage, their names could change, and make them harder to track.”

Steve countered toward his father, “So this really isn’t your place to sign my life away. Like five times over.”

“I quite agree,” his mother turned back to the man she’d married. The man who was supposed to protect her and her children with his name and promising, growing business.

At least Steve wasn’t the only failure in the family.

His father massaged his forehead and defended, “As I said. Humans’ government is far easier to corrupt our way into forgiving any debt. The vampires, however, are inconsolable. The bastard would have my business, the cars, our house, and taken his time discovering Steve on his own if I hadn’t—”

Steve took after his father, but he was his mother’s son as they both stood up from the couch, furious that this man had thrown his own kid under a vampire’s bus—

“Get out of the house, Steve.”

His head whipped around at her. “I-What?”

“Get out of the house,” she seethed, but not at him. “I don’t care where or what you do. Go.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice but he hadn’t managed to grab his car keys or his shoes before the house and his ribcage trembled with his parents’ arguing. He went in his socks outside and put the shoes on in his car.

Then…he didn’t know where to go. Running the hell away seemed like the obvious solution, but if vampires really had such a network, what was the point? And if he left, what would happen to his mom?

Steve drove on autopilot to the video rental store. Robin. All he had was Robin, who took the lollipop out of her mouth when the bell on the door twittered. “Hey, dingus, it’s your day off—Steve?”

He couldn’t really remember driving. That probably should have raised more red flags than he already had, but for now, the black and neon carpeting of the Family Video was blurring and swirling…

“I’m gonna throw up,” he heard himself say.

And Robin in that distant, echoing cave his mother had spoken from, “Outside! STEVE!”

#harringrove #vampire!billy #blood donor!steve #sanguis #neonponders #pondermoniums #ghostofjellyfishforgotten

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thetalee · 3 years

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Gather around, all ye, and read as I go the maybe controversial path and point out exactly where and how Chimney Han Fucked Up.

At the end of season 4, Maddie admits to be Not Well. She’s clearly suffering from Post Partum Depression. She quits her job, which while understandable, was probably not the best long term solution. Because suffering from depression myself, there is one thing I have learned, and that is Isolation is the Illness’ Friend. She was burnt out, I understand.

Come season 5, she’s going to a therapist. That’s good! I had assumed, I think everyone had assumed, that they (Maddie and Chimney) would tell more people about the full extent of the issues going on. Except, then comes the scene with Hen, where it’s made explicitly clear that this wasn’t the case. That’s bad!

Maddie wanted to hide it behind closed doors, ashamed of what she believed to be her failings, and Chimney acquiesced to that without actually stopping to consider things. And that’s where he first Fucked Up. Because then comes the black out, and Chimney being on shift for days on end, and Maddie stuck alone at the apartment with a baby and no one to help.

That’s where Chimney Fucked Up further.

“So did you expect him to not come into work or-” No. See, he had available to him two places of support for Maddie. There were the Lees, who we know had already been helping with Jee in the previous season, but apparently ceased to exist for this one. And then there’s Karen.

Either one of them would’ve, could’ve, should’ve taken her in while Chimney was stuck at work. Taking care of a baby is hard. Taking care of a baby while your own mind is constantly berating you is even harder. At any point, Karen or Mrs Lee could have easily served as a counterpoint to whatever thoughts Maddie was having. At any point they could’ve given the kid a bath while Maddie went to the roof to scream, or taken the kid on a stroll while Maddie enjoyed a bubble bath of her own.

Having Maddie stay with Karen or the Lees would have broken that isolation, which only serves to bolster depression. They would have given her a break from what seemed to be the 24/7 parenting she seemed to be doing. They would have served as an outside, experienced counter to the intrusive thoughts circling her head.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, the severity of the problem was hidden away and Chimney didn’t make any arrangements for his mentally ill partner to be taken care of. The problem was hidden away, and the people that would’ve checked on her didn’t know they had to. The problem was hidden away, and it festered, and then Maddie broke.

And Chimney, the one not suffering from the mental illness, could have at any time stepped up to one of his Several mother friends and said, “hey we need help.” But that didn’t happen.

And that’s where Chimney Han Fucked Up.

(And 5x04 is all about him realizing this Exact Thing)

tl;dr: Chimney allowed and helped Maddie hide her PPD from all the friends that would’ve happily and easily stepped in and relieved some of the burden, which almost directly resulted to her packing bags and fleeing in the belief it was better for him and the baby.

Anyways here’s a clip from a show that handled it far better in my opinion:

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#911 #911 fox #s5 #spoilers

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ramyeonpng · 2 years

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The thing about being told to find the silver lining in things is that

I’m good at it. Heck, I’m fantastic at it. I spent two and a half decades being so good at looking at silver linings to things that my abusive mother was able to take over my finances, manipulate me out of the education I wanted, be aggressive towards me all she wanted, and I could still find little, happy things to move me forward in this situation. I’m resilient. I’m optimistic. I can take something terrible and make the best at it.

That was the problem.

When you don’t see the bigger picture that this resilience, optimism and ability to rework shittiness, sometimes it further keeps you in a situation longer before you ask for help. You adopt this sense of hyperindependence and misplaced agentic hope that if you simply tried hard enough, this would be okay. You tolerate more abusive behaviour. It gets worse.

People later ask you why you didn’t ask for help sooner, as if it was your fault to not have asked for help, after a lifetime of being praised for being resilient enough to solve any problem. Even if that problem was to hide the fact that abuse was going on.

So, I’m not knocking the gifts of resilience, optimism and creativity. They’re amazing. A whole goddamn pandemic came and flood came and went and yet I somehow carried on with completing my PhD as if nothing had happened. I had to make do. I’m good at making do. Growing up in an abusive situation was fodder for this kind of strength.

But a pandemic (I hope) comes to an end. That flood? It took some time for my landlord to rip out the walls and replace them so mold wouldn’t grow, and it took some time to drain my abode as my croutons floated towards me as breakfast that day (”because the flooding was worse elsewhere in the city and you were lower priority”), but it was a single event with an end point.

The abuse I encountered was not a single event. If I went back today, maybe the extremeness of my actions of being estranged would have changed my mom for a hot second, but it doesn’t rewire a lifetime of behaviours engrained in her repertoire. In her absence of understanding that she needs help to manage her stress and emotions and placing “stress-relief” on simply controlling what I can and cannot do to a damaging extent, it’s not going to change significantly enough that I feel safe going back. My resilience in an ongoing situation is not a strength; it was a factor in keeping me within a situation where I deserved so much better.

This is also how I came to have the words to describe why I hated when therapists and department heads would simply respond to each action of racism as “you’re resilient, reframe it and move on”. When I was in the thick of it, and when racism had implications on a) being cut off from work opportunities, b) being cut off from mentorship opportunities, and c) ongoing daily harassment, the ability to pretend that everything was okay kept me in place. When I internalized it as something I could change if I simply tried my best to look the other way, I burnt out, because there is no end point. The harder I tried, the more consistently I was rejected. When I was in the thick of it, I could not just “be more resilient”; resilience was merely perseveration in a task that did not fit me.

It was headbutting against a door that had a 0.01% chance for opening for me when it opened at a 90% for everyone else, and hearing everyone else say “yeah rejection is hard but you just gotta keep trying” as if you fundamentally lacked the “success ingredients” to succeed. Everyone else, from their point of view, simply thought of me as a complainer, as someone who didn’t try as hard, without seeing where we each stood. I internalized these thoughts, wondering why I couldn’t work longer hours, think more creative thoughts, just simply be more resilient. That was the most damaging part.

I share this because this is not a bleeding wound but a scar. I left. Leaving a space where resilience is seen as the solution to an ongoing inequality and a mechanism for maintaining the inequality was important. I entered a more diverse space where my voice was heard and my talents nurtured. Yet, that in itself can be privilege, that I was able to leave one space and enter another and have it welcome me. For some, the whole floor is lava; there is no escape. I share this because when it is a scar and not a bleeding wound, I can now look back and draw a silver lining. I choose to because I now have the emotional resources to do so, and doing so does not force me to continue being in this space and thinking it’s okay. I can look back and think about the important lessons I’ve learned about handling boundaries and how these terrible experiences made me at least be aware that I could just as likely be damaging to those I mentor if I do not continually learn and be humble about what I know vs. what I do not know.

These are silver linings, lessons learned, only with enough space in between and from a safe space.

#resilience #long posts

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers (DT17 Season 2 Retrospective): The Most Dangerous Game Night! (Paid for by WeirdKev27)

Welcome all you happy people! As some of you will recall I do a lot of duck based retrospectives on this blog: Ride of the Three Cablleros! which took a look at all the Cabs major American adventures, Shadow Into Light, my Weblena colored look at Lena Sabrewing’s journey from abused teenager to magical protector, and the Della arc which I dind’t give a cool name but covered since Shadow Into Light read right into it’s final chapter and ended up perfectly synching up with the final month of the series. And of course i’m still working my way through the life and times of Scrooge McDuck with a plan to finish the main story in September barring any delays, sickness that sorta thing.

So it shouldn’t be at all a shock that having covered all of season 3 when it came out and covered the two season 1 arcs i’d be taking a look at Season 2′s three story arcs. So I probably would’ve covered them anyway.. but Kev, one of my patreons and the guy who commissioned Shadow Into Light AND Ride of the Three Cablleros, had expressed interest in doing the Glomgold arc from season 2 as it centers around his favorite character, Zan Owlson. He also wanted to do Della’s arc in time for mothers day, and was all too happy to combine both, and politely agreed to my request to do the Louie arc as well. To help soften the blow, I also suggested since he’s a patreon of mine on patreon.com/popculturebuffet he use his second review (You get one guaranteed review a month with 5 and he’s a 10 dollar backer so he gets two, and he’s earmarked marked one for House of Mouse through the end of the year) to help soften the blow a bit, which means some weeks i’ll be doubling up on this one. He agreed and it’s thanks to him that all of this happened so thanks bud. It’s also thanks to him I have money in the first place and I wouldn’t be here without him.

As for why I insisted on the Louie arc it wasn’t out of greed but out of pragmatism. I covered the Della arc purely on my own time, and gladly did so. But back then I also kept making the mistake of shoving retrospectives back again and again and again and that’s why there’s a rather nasty gap in my New X-Men retrospective I think severely harmed it , and a similar one for life and times which wounded it. I don’t mind taking smaller gaps of say a month when needed, but I learned from the experience I can’t just delay things constantly out of convince and expect it to work.

Not only that but the Lena and Della arcs only interact in the very last part. With these arc? While they don’t really touch at first and run parallel much like season 1′s arcs did, they start intersecting heavily as soon as Della gets back. Raiders of the Doomsday Vault! touches on both Della’s recent return and Glomgold’s bet with Scrooge, Happy Birthday Doofus Drake! has the A-Plot centered around Louie’s plot and the B-Plot centered around Della bonding with Huey as part of hers. And the final four is one one long, sustained arc, finishing up all three in the process. So yeah it was a package deal and as such this will be my third largest retrospective at 17 parts including the prologue. (As i’ll also be covering Della’s four issues in the IDW Comic released back in season 1). For the record my largest will be my Tom Lucitor Retrospective as 24 (in part due to doing the eclipsa arc for the same reasons as Dellas), and ride of the three cablleros at 20 is in a close second. This is going to be a long ride that will take most of summer, so buckle up, get your Louie Inc signs, Glomgold’ posters to jump through and black licorice gum ready and join me won’t you under the cut as we start this fantastic adventure together.

We open season 2 with all but one of our heroes proudly posing as they enter a temple. Scrooge even has his treasure of the lost lamp outfit on. Louie.. just looks tired and bored. One of the things I love about these reviews is that I haven’t watched most of the episodes since they first aired. Sure i’ve revisited some of my favorites like Dangerous Chemistry and the 87 Cent Solution, but I haven’t really DONE a full died in wool episode by episode rewatch of the series. I’ve got SO MUCH I haven’t watched, haven’t rewatched and haven’t even started, that I really DON’T have the time for it outside of my job. So it is VERY nice to get a chance to do so once in a while with it.

As such knowing Louie’s real motive this episode it makes this scene hit diffrently. On first airing Ducktales was back after a short hiatus, our heroes are operating at full speed and daringly charting through a temple: Dewey and Webby have become tighter than ever and easily stop a pit trap and Scrooge and Huey easily solve an arrow puzzle. But while at first glance Louie is just fed up because as he puts it later “I’m just loveably lazy”, knowing he’s really just burnt out, scared he’s going to die or worse like he likely thinks his Mom did because he’s not good enough.. it’s really tearjerking. Here’s an 11 year old who at his core feels he doesn’t belong in his family and just wants a friggin break from the dangerous shit they do. It hits even harder as a fan of the venture bros but i’ll save that for later. Point is he’s telling Scrooge he’s burnt out.

So then this happens...

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It really is almost the exact same joke, but diffrent enough since for one, Family Guy’s is driven by the refrenece (And god how I miss how their refrence humor used to have an actual purpose), where as here it’s to set up something else and hints for later: Louie having parsed how most adventures to at this point. While Scrooge is right in pointing out how every adventure is unique.. Louie’s not wrong that there is a small pattern to it: The Whoah! , The “Wait, What?” and the Aggggh!. Scrooge scoffs.. but Louie is proven correct as Dewey Whoas, a mechanisim trggers (Wait what?”) And everyone screams as they run from a giant wheel.

Back at home though it’s even more apparent poor Louie is miserable while his family is just jazzed. I can’t BLAME THEM, but I can’t blame him either for being, tired, worn out and just wanting ONE minute where they aren’t adventuering. There are some nice touches though as Scrooge runs off and finds a map in the idol: We see Duckworth removing the Scrooge as a Prospector painting based on Carl Bark’s painting of him from the foyer and instead replacing it with the painting of Scrooge, Donald and Della. It’s a nice little acknowledgment of how things have changed.. from Scrooge being alone and running from a painful past to having accepted it and gone back to being a family man. We also get Beakley just casually picking up Louie to vacum.

In the Triplet’s room.. which by the way why do they all share one room? In universe I mean, I mean is it saving on the power bill or does scrooge have the other rooms filled. Only four bedrooms are occupied: the boys, webby’s , Beakly’s (Which we never see but implicitly exists), and Scrooge’s himself. While the mansion isn’t LIMITLESS, it has to have more rooms than that. Is the rest just storage?

Out of universe though I do get why and i’ts why I let this concept of sharing a room when you have enough for everyone in the first place slide: it allows the boys to interact more easily outside of adventures by having all three in the same location. This episode is a good example of that as it kicks off Louie’s plan admirably: Louie is burnt out while Huey is excited.. and in another hint of Louie’s true gift he casually notices part of Dewey’s woodchuck uniform he was looking after is undone, simply making a quip about a sewing patch. He gets the idea for a scheme from there: to finally get his break by convincing Huey he’s slipping and exploiting his brother’s tendency for manic episodes.. which as someone with those I highly don’t approve and is far and away one of the more questionable things Louie’s done. And this is in an arc that includes him nearly wiping out all of existence.

Still it gets Huey on board but Scrooge and the wonder twins are a harder sell. Dewey and Webby are so jazzed on frinedship their even speaking in unions “This Needs to stop!” “I’ve tried but they really do enjoy harmonizing”

Louie insists the adventuring is driving them apart and making them less close.. and while Scrooge insits it brings them closer together he ends up proving his point when Louie fakes not knowing which triplet is which.. and Scrooge GENUINELY struggles with which one’s Huey and Which ones Dewey. Dewey’s face is at the top of the page.. and utterly and completely priceless.

And while I thought it was the same impressive face from night on Kilmotor hill turns out, nerp their uniquely hilaroius

Same mood though. But I do love this callback: almost a YEAR later, and Scrooge STILL is like...

But while movie night and make your own pizza night, which i’m pleased as punch to find isn’t just something my family does, don’t do anything one thing does... GAME NIGHT. Cue a glorious minute of David Tennant goofily shouting Game Night to everyone in the mansion. Seriously getting him was one of the series masterstrokes. The man has only done a few roles in voicework but damn is he a natural. Not eveyrone can adapt to it this fast. While I love Walton Goggins, it clearly took him a few episodes of invincible to get really comfortable with it. It’s why I have such respect for Voice Actors in general: I’ts not an easy job, it takes a lot of skill, and it can be often thankless. It’s also why i’ve made a concentrated effort ot more know of them by voice simply because they’ve earned that much.

Anyways Beakly pops Louie’s bubble that htis is not going to be relaxing for a very obvious reason: Scrooge is relentless against his enmies and game night makes YOU the enemy. He quickly has them pair off into teams, taking Donald right off the bat.

We also get one of the best jokes in the entire series “If you loose your out of the will” “(Genuinely suprised) I was in the will?”

It’s almost entriely in Tony’s delivery there. The surprise is just perfectly delivered. It’s also oddly touching as despite a decade’s estrangement and Donald understandably thinking he wasn’t in it in anymore, Scrooge NEVER removed Donald from it . Sure he’s thretaning it over game night but he clearly takes this ungodly seriously. Duckworth leaves to go do ghost stuff.. which is code for make up a flimsy excuse to run the fuck away. To make matters worse she’s stuck with Launchpad as a partner. Louie is left with Huey and immieditly regrets sending his brother into a panicy spiral as he’s already set up a creepy scheduling board.

So i’m going to go ahead and cover the Webby and Dewey Plot, and the acompanying Donald and Scrooge antics now to save us some time. I’ll come back to it at the climax of Louie’s plot obviously and to the episodes credit the pacing is exceptional, weaving in and out of both plots , Louie struggling to keep the whole shrinking plot a secret and the rest of the families game night, excelently, it’s just with my brain i’ts harder to do that in a recap so...

Game Night: Crush Your Enmies and See Them Driven Before You Scrooge goes to the Conan of Sumeria/Melissa School of Game Nighting. Or in short...

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Why HASN’T there been a Conan musical? So he and Donald dominate the first round, Charades, with Scrooge easily guessing almost EVERYHTING Donald mimes. As Webby puts it “When you’ve been around donald for 30 years you get good at non-verbal commuincation”. Granted they have a commuincation breakdown that results in this magic.

So Webby understandably assumes that given their best friends and Scrooge and Donald, while reconciled, hate each other, that they have an advantage. She is wrong. Not the first time: she also assumed she and Lena were just friends. It happens. you get a few wrong everyone does. Instead we get a great bit of Dewey utterly failing to guess it’s Scrooge despite Webby being obvious because Dewey’s brain is a riddle for the ages.

Jenga dosen’t really go great for either so they go solo for SCROOGEPOLY. Because of COURSE Scrooge created monopoly in this version. I simletaniously love and hate how eveyr piece is a top hat. I love it because it’s a hilarously quick gag.. but also hate it because one of Monopoly’s biggest draws is having so many diffrent peices. I mean some like the sports car make sense but then you have a dog for some reason and an ironing board. I mean I love that dog, he’s a good boy but I don’t understand why he’s in this. If anyone knows the weird old timey reasoning for either of these let me know in the replies or my asks.

This isn’t bad stuff mind, it’s just not really deep in stuff for me to make fun of. Apart from Donald ending up in jail... again. At least it’s not as bad as say goblin jail or that time he had to carve pinocchio’s nose into a shiv to surivive whale jail.

Louie: “How Long Before That’s Not Enough?”

Okay I kid, the subplot is good.. but that’s th epotatoes.. this is the potatoes iwth cheese.. look I love meat but potatoes don’t get enough love. They just don’t and you can do all kinds of delicious things to them. It’s why a good third of side dishes at most restaurants are potato based.

But yeah rolling it back a bit Louie is confident that even with the this will be mildly relaxing.. then Gyro bursts in thorugh the double doors proudly announcing his invention and pries himself in, ignoring Louie’s desperate attempts to shut him out.

Gyro is.. different in this episode. He’s peppy and while he’s mildly condescnding to the Gyropludians, more no that in a second, he’s far more enthuastic and freindly to everyone else and less of the awkward ballbag he’d been last season and would be again this season.

This feels like an ATTEMPTED course correct. See a lot of people, if understandably didn’t like how Gyro was in season 1. Fan of the original him from the comics and show iddn’t like the nice, friendly weirdo suddenly being a sour, condesencindg weirdo. Me I was FINE with the change from unintentional mad scientist to intentional one... I just feel they overdid it on the asshole as season 1 went on. In The Great Dime Chase he’s fine, he’s egosticial, angry and kind of a pill.. but he also clearly cares for his creations, rightfully hates the board for constantly doubting him, and is frustrated his creations keep going rouge. It was a nice balance.

The balance got thrown off entirely however once Fenton entered the scene. The crew just leaned WAY to hard into hwo much of a shitweasel he was to fenton: giving him an office in the bathroom with a cool quip, trying to beat him up (even if his rage over Fenton’s dumbassery was warranted that was not), and finally trying to take the gizmoduck armor back not out of any real concerns but because he’s worried he’ll loose his job... his job iwth the man who freely tolerates his creations going insane and really dosen’t care about his own colateral let alone Gyro’s. It came off as disngenous and that he simply didn’t trust FENTON with it and wanted and excuse to take the armor Fenton had clearly earned. He also pit manny and bulb against each other for a job which just felt out of character even for him to possibly fire one of his children which felt horribly out of character. Toniing this down was a good thing.. I just feel they overcorrected. They tried making him the 80′s version with a slight ego here, and when that didn’t work they just downplayed him for the rest of the season. He’s still around, in fact we’ll be seeing him again soon enough, and he still gets some great jokes... he’s just not really focused on at all. But they managed to fix their fix in season 3: they did have Gyro be a dick to Fenton again but gave proper context, had him apologize and framed it less as a funny joke and more as him being abusive because he was abused himself and breaking the cycle. He also kept the supporting role but kept the shadiness in it, with the earpiece bit from “Louie’s Eleven” being a highlight.

Gyro has a new device that can pick up tiny sounds and has found a tiny civilization in the ducks house, dubbing them Gyropudlians because he apparnetly likes Gullivers Travels. I do not really know what that’s about, nor have I seen any of the movies. Not even the jack black one made on a dare to see if they could actually sell a movie on the concept “This old story but as a jack black comedy”. And it went horribly wrong because they actually did get it greenlit and someone out there actually watched it. Not me... and I watched the Wrong MIssy entirely of my own volition. I’m not immune from making eye staining mistakes. This just wasn’t one of them.

Gyro ends up getting shrunk down because he naturally attached a shrink ray to it because...

So Louie shrugs it off correctly figuring out the arc of that sort of story: Gyro becomes a god, he learns a life lesson that sort of thing. Also I do applaud them for making the lost tribe not horribly racist.. that is a hard line to walk. They just make them generic instead which.. still better than racist. “Not Racist” isn’t a very high bar to clear but given this version went out of it’s way to be inclusive while the original show.. what’s a good metaphor for this.. hrmmm... these rakes are all the racism in the original show i’ve encoungered so far and probably will in the future, and i’m sideshow bob.

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Eventually though the Gyropudlians decide to decalre war on the giants because unknowingly the Ducks have been destroying their civilizations time and time again.. mostly louie but donald clearly peed a civiliztion to death..and i’m not grasping at straws there he left the bathroom and the other two possiblities for the floating city are too horrible to comprehend. Or it was just the sink and i’m a bastard... i’m probably a bastard.

So they blast the shrink ray around the kitchen and get Launchpad, so now he’s a part of this cliche. Beakly finds them.. is highly supscious, and Huey’s lie is.. not convincing... but this gets her out of game night with her overcompeitive boss so she takes the out and gets the fuck out and is not seen for the rest of the episode.. probably for several days. Look she does a lot around the house no one’s going to question if she comes back after a mysteirous absence with someone elses blood on her apron and several thousnd ddollars in brazilian cocaine. The sweetest cocaine of all. Scrooge is just used to it by now.

Anyways things continue to escalate as The Gyropuldians, Launchpad and Gyro launch an assault on the tower of infinity, aka the jenga tower and knock it over. The Good news is launchpad surivives and we get a great bit of the brothers hugging then awkarly and half assedly explaning it to cover. the bad news is the Gyropudlians considered it an act of war and have trained some flies to man the microphone shrink ray dealie.

It’s here we get the best scene of the episode: Huey is naturally worried.. even more so after he sees Louie’s response to the unfolding chaos: Curling up in a fetal position and rocking back in forth muttering to himself this was supposed to be a fun night in. Huey finally has had enough of this and wants to knwo wha tthe hell this is all about, shooting down Louie attempting to deflect it with his usual lazy schtick. Even at his laziest he’d pride self preservation over doing nothing. This is something worse. And while Huey is furious his rage is coming out of concern. While Huey prides himself on his brain... he has the biggest heart of the three. He’s the most empathetic and the one most willing to reach out to the others when they need him. Not that hte others lack it, Dewey was the one to welcome Webby into the group the most after all, it’s just Huey displays it the most. So his anger comes off entirely as genuine worry at Louie acting out of character and trying to avoid doing what eveyrone else does. And his response.. is heartbreaking...

“BECAUSE I’MMom was great at adventuring, and she still got hurt. I'm only good at talking my way out of it. How long before that's not enough? NOT GOOD AT IT OKAY?!”

Bobby Monihan.. really dosen’t get enough credit for this show. When he gets to really do something big with Louie he goes for it and he uttelry dominates the scnee here. Danny Pudi is no slouch mind.. but Monihan REALLy gets to show what he can do. His reasoning for his worries is also just as well delivered and heartbreaking.

“Mom was great at adventuring, and she still got hurt. I'm only good at talking my way out of it. How long before that's not enough?“

It just.. stings a lot. To find that Louie’s exaustion wasn’t out of self intrest.. but just out of fear. That he won’t be good enough at best and that he’ll end up like his mom: lost or dead never to be seen again as far as he figures. As a third of this arc will bear out, tha’ts not even remotely true, but out of the three Louie is the most pragmatic so while he says hurt.. he thinks she’s dead. And if she, someone as capable as scrooge or as close as someone whose not him can be, could end up dead... he’s living on borrowed time.

This is where the Venture bros comparison really comes out to me... because they had a similar if more spread out storyline in season 5, with bookish brother Dean, Huey if he lacked autisim but gained 80 dozen more issues, found out he and his brother Hank, aka Dewey in his teens, were clones because his dad is really bad at keeping his sons alive because he’s also bad at everything else including science, parenting, being emotinally open, making a cocktail that isn’t a crime against nature, sex, and not treating hank like garbage, which should fall under shitty parenting but I love my empty headed boy.

So why bring this up? Well besides self indulgance because I love both shows iwth a signifgant portion of my heart and frank flat out admitted to being a venture bros fan, and having Beakly take some cues from Brock, I love the accidental parallels here: both are arcs about a boy adventuer coming to grips with their mortality. Both withdraw, both are heavily depressed and both feel there’s no real light at the end of the tunnel for htem anymore.

And both.. are drawn out of it the same way.. by a concerned brother pulling them out of their misery and self doubt:

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It’s the same here... Huey helps Louie through it, understanding how he feels.. and like Hank did for Dean, proving to Louie he’s not alone. He points out that yes Della did get hurt.. but it’s because she went in alone. He’s got his family.. they won’t let him get lost or die.. because their not alone. The reason they can do all this stuff is because their together. Their all amazing alone.. but together their unstoppable. And i’ts fine Louie’s afraid.. but he can’t let that fear kill everyone he cares about.

So our boys run upstairs, but are a second too late as the gyro pudlians shrink the other four down, and the duo’s attempt to grow them just makes one of the gyropudlians giant instead. With things at their grimmist.. Louie finds his TRUE talent, looks at the situation. and takes charge. In the span of two minutes he completely turns the tide: he has launchpad crash his way out, which he does by pure accident because of course he does he’s nature’s perfect Himbo. He next has Donald and scrooge take on some guards to give Dewey and Webby some room and has Huey take out the giant with his sewing. His final part is to have Dewey and Webby work their way up to the ray gun.. which is a probelma s both have lost all confidence due to realizing they have nothing in common and can’t fathom how their friends. Scrooge’s reply? Of course their not.. THEIR FAMILY. It was then that a thousand debbigail shippers cried out and were silenced... I know I was one of them. I couldn’t speak for about a minute. It was awful.

And yeah.. I had been shipping Dewey and Webby up to this point, but it was becoming increasingly obvious they were being treated like brother and sister and then this happened. And in hindsight i’m glad I jumepd the hell off as they turne dout ot be blood related so I dodged a bullet there an found better ships for both. So no harm no F.O.W.L. clone accidental incest.

Realizing this the two find their second wind and save the day. OUr heroes are restored and things are good.

The next day, Louie faces the music with Scrooge and is terrified, not helped by Scrooge being dead serious... but his worries are for naught. Scrooge instead only has one thing to say

“You saw all the angles”

Something the crew conciously did was have each of the kids mimic one of Scrooge’s tennants, something that was heavily implied before but made fully explicit here: Dewey is toughter than the toughies, Huey is Smarter than the smarties... and Louie is the oft forgotten Sharper than the sharpies. Scrooge even lampshades how that part of his motto is often left out. And of course as frank made clear post series, Webby made her way into the family Square.

But back to the sharpie thing, I like this because it defines what that truly means, as it often comes off as similar to the smartie bit hence i’ts exclusion: It’s the ablitliyt to think quickly, strategize, a strategic, critical mind that can come up with a gambit in an instant and use everyone to the best of their abillity. It’s why for an example, Scott Summers is one of my faviorite x-men. Because while his eye laser things are impressive it’s this kind of cleverness and tactical insight, seeing all the pieces on the board and easily manuvering them, friend and foe, that makes him so awesome. And as scrooge muses it could make Louie even richer than he is. And in a truly touching gesture, Scrooge gives Louie the idol, confident in his Nephew’s potetial. His mother reached hers... he only needs time. So with that Louie’s arc truly begins and he hangs a shingle on the triplets door. Louie inc is born.

Final Thoughts: This episode caught me by suprise: I remember it being decent.. but damn if it wasn’t amazing on the rewatch, with the knowledge of Louie’s weakness helping but really it’s just a funny, tightly paced half hour of television. It has great jokes, a great emtoinal arc and in general is jsut well.. great. I didn’t see this poteitial the first time because I was more hung up on fethry finally appearing, the cabs finally appearing.. all the things in the distance after this ep. But this ep is just damn good and I wish i’d put it on my best of list. Top shelf stuff.

Next time on Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers: The second arc starts up as FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD returns as an amensiac south african fisherman and it’s up to Webby and Louie to unravel his past to figure out why he’s acting like this and if this is another one of his insane schemes. We also meet Zan Owlson buisnesswoman of the year and person about to go through some undeserved shit at the hands of a stupid man. Later Today: We return to Amity Park for more Danny Phantom and meet his second most intresting enemy as an innocent fuckup turns a spoiled brat into one of most dangerous enemies. Also PUPPIES and Tucker being the worst.

Wednsday: We grab onto some more ducktales as Donald returns to Ducktales 87. And judging by the content warning so does racisim.

If you liked this review stop my patreon RIGHT HERE. Seriously please do: you’ll find exclusive reviews, and if you join you’ll get acess to my discord, get to pick a short for my shortstravganzas, and help me reach my strech goals. And at my next one at 20, just 5 dollars away, ALL READERS will get a darkwing duck review a month and reivews of the two ducktales movie as well as the Danny Phantom TV Movie the ultimate enemy!

See you at the next rainbow!

#ducktales #season 2 arcs #louie duck #huey duck #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #gyro gearloose #bentina beakley #launchpad mcquack #duckworth #the most dangerous game night!#della duck

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xiakha · 3 years

Text

FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #13 - Oneirophrenia

The Scions did not return to the Crystarium alone. Well, the bally whole world also had to get back from the outing to Scree and Amity, and the residents of the Crystarium were no different, but there was another rumor.

Something else stalked those returning to the Crystarium. Whispers of something on the edges, a shape at the corner of the eye, an errant rustle in the stillness. The two day's travel was condensed into a day of forced marching. With the Light returned and so many of the Crystarium outside its protective walls, the chance that irreparable damage could be done to its personnel was too much of a risk.

But whatever it was followed them, somehow, across the sea despite each ferry being checked and triple checked for both stragglers and unwanted hitchhikers.

Was it paranoia because the grand scheme went awry? Was it simply exhaustion from sleepless days imbuing and doing hard labor?

It wasn't a sin eater. Even Lightwardens, as intelligent as they may have been, could not resist the lure of so much living aether to sup. They would have been attacked while organizing for the lift back down or while on the shore waiting for the ferry.

Ghost was the word passed around. An old concept from before the Flood when there was enough darkness to half see apparitions in. It enjoyed a new heyday with the return of the Night, but a ghost in the brightness, that strange contradiction, was in a way perhaps even more unnerving. Everyone needed to rest. In the confines of the Crystarium, so guarded for a full century without a breach in the walls, rest would come easier.

At least, for those not burdened with the truth. For those that didn't have a bellglass in their heads, the sands dropping one by one. If they tarried too long, never mind a breach in the walls, the Lightwarden, or worse, would be born within those walls. The Flood would complete its ruin, and the Calamity that the Exarch and so many others had worked centuries to prevent would happen anyway.

So rather than rest, they poured themselves into research.

Without the coming and going of the night, the constant brightness made days feel like bells. How long had it been since she had gotten any shuteye? She looked at Thancred, resting his head on his chin, hands crossed but still holding onto a mothbitten scroll. The man was hardly an academic, but the skills had come back to him after some practice. Alphinaud by her side, splayed across the table, a priceless ancient tome for a pillow. Urianger had left to peruse the archive in the Ocular, how long ago? Was it a bell? Three bells? A day? Her tea had long gone cold and the biscuits were all eaten. She looked at the pile of books in their reshelve pile. They had raided half the Cabinet of Curiosity and Moren would undoubtedly throw a fit whenever he would next check up on him. The next day? What day was it. Y'shtola was aware of the feeling of needing to remember a bellglass. They were working against time... for what?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the gate to the forbidden section that she and the Scions had inhabited for at least a day. Perhaps three.

"Alisaie, is that you? Have you brought us poor trapped souls more tea?"

Silence.

Alisaie didn't have the patience to sit and scour tomes. She and Ryne were running over all of Nordvandt to look for solutions. Y'shtola tried to focus. Perhaps they could be back from the Inn at Journey's Head by now.

But Alisaie was not very good at being silent, especially when addressed. Nor did she usually carry something heavy enough to drag behind her. The scrape and clang of metal on metal steps made Y'shtola glance at the two men at the same table with her aethersight, not turning her head from the stairs. No they didn't seem to rouse despite the sound. Was she dreaming? Was this a dream?

The thoughts of the ghost returned to her. Didn't they say it looked like a knight? Didn't it whisper something? "Run.." "Where..." and "Stolen..." were the repeated sentiments, reportedly.

Y'shtola prepared for the worst. She raised the tome she had been reading from defensively and wished she had brought her staff down here.

As the figure came into view, her mind's eye was overwhelmed with brilliant light.

Y'shtola turned and threw an arm up in an attempt to shield from the light instinctively before remembering that her sight didn't work that way. She willed herself to shut off her aethersight and was shocked to see even then some Light leaking into her head.

It was certainly in the shape of a knight, she recognized the armor to be of Ishgardian make, not in a remote way similar to the armored knights of the First. It dragged behind a large block of steel that could maybe pass for a greatsword. This was the ghost all right. And Y'shtola put a few things together quickly, even as sleep deprived as she was.

"Why, you must be Fray."

"Shtola..."

Despite her present circumstances, she clicked her tongue in irritation, "You know better than to call me that," Even if this was a dream, she had standards. She lowered the book and placed it back on the table. Shtola, stolen, ah.

"Where..."

It occurred to her that there was something wrong. Fray was dressed in black armor, Xiao had told her. Not the gleaming white, dripping with astral aether here in front of her.

"Shtola... run..."

Y'shtola pinched herself. Definitely not dreaming here.

"Absolutely not. Besides where shall we run? Shall we run to the ends of Nordvandt and have you destroy the First from there? Shall we run back to the Source and wreak all sorts of ruin there? Jumpstart the next Calamity there and now? I think not."

"Where..."

For that, she had no response. The Warrior of Light was a bomb now. No different from the firekin that traversed Vylbrand, mayhap with but a little more self control. Y'shtola questioned for a moment how much control the bombs had to contain their explosions. Or was it all down to one errant slip?

"...Where is Xiao? Well, let's go bring you back to her, shall we?"

* * *

Her hand went numb. As if with the cold, but Fray's gauntlet wasn't cold. Jolts of fuzzy pain went up her arm like she had fallen asleep in an awkward pose and had compressed it under her body. She tried not to think about what her hand must look like.

As luck would have it, it was past clock midnight, meaning the rest of the Crystarium was largely asleep. Few people would see her escorting the ghost trailing and dripping with light aether to the Pendants. And even then, the Sorceress from Rak'tika aiding a ghost? Better her than them. She kept her aethersight on and gripped her mostly unfeeling hand harder to avoid looking back at what was a small sun in her mind's eye. The amount of aether cast strange shadows in the Musica Universalis.

The Manager of the Pendants of course was awake, but if he was surprised by the ghost that Y'shtola led by the hand, the Elf did not show it.

"You'll be headed to Mistress Longbao's room, I presume?"

Y'shtola nodded, now aware that her arm was completely numb to the elbow and somehow the numbness radiated to the small of her back. The manager went ahead to unlock the door and ushered the two, and the sword, in. Discretion was perhaps his greatest strength.

Xiao was in bed, seemingly slumbering, her expression troubled. Y'shtola, Ryne, and Alisaie had stripped her from her armor to her smallclothes and wiped the raw light aether from her body before doing another sealing of the Light and covering her with a blanket. The rags were burnt afterwards but Y'shtola remembered how stiff and brittle the cloth became. She wondered what was happening within the Warrior of Light.

"Shtola... Where..." The voice came from both Fray and Xiao simultaneously.

Letting go of Fray's gauntlet, Y'shtola kneeled by the bed and grasped Xiao's hand, entwining her fingers delicately and kissing the coarse, battleworn knuckles. Xiao did not squeeze back, but the troubled expression lessened. Her hand was still warm, warmer than Y'shtola's as usual, And if anything, the numbing that holding on to Fray's (or the thing that resembled Fray, Y'shtola there was none of the snide eloquence that Xiao had previously described) hand caused lessened.

Y'shtola still couldn't look at her directly with her aethersight, however. She was still far too bright, brimming with Light.

"Urianger found poetry in the Oculuar. Did you know they wrote poems and songs about us? The Warrior of Light and her Sweet? Apparently I die in your arms and you follow not long after. Very tragic. Very touching."

She placed her head on Xiao's chest, listening to her breathing, still deep, not shallow or pained. She didn't let go of Xiao's hand.

"Unfortunately I do not aim to be immortalized in sappy poetry anytime soon, so no dying in my arms, you hear?" Y'shtola said to Xiao's slumbering form.

She must have stayed there for quite a while, fingers locked with the other Miqo'te, for when she awoke again the specter of Fray had disappeared, whether it wandered off or returned to whence it came, she could not tell. Despite the awkward position in which she slept, she was refreshed, at least in the mind. Her back and knees were killing her.

Xiao also looked much more at peace, her brow was light and her mouth seemed curled in a slight smile. Y'shtola extracted her hand, all feeling returned, and left quietly. She needed more tea and biscuits and another tome to devour.

The bellglass in her head was righted and the sands began to slip once more.

#ffxiv #FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #story #wordvomit #horny'shtola #misc fic

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doomstypewriter · 4 years

Note

ooh for the short requests how about moceit very obviously being together but some or all of the others being oblivious about it which leads to like exceedingly ridiculous situations and/or misunderstandings until the eventual reveal/realisation?

Hi, Anon! Thanks for the request.

I hope you like what I came up with.

CW: Mentions of blood, (mentions of sex and swearing coming from Remus, and other things to be expected from him), mentions of harassment (but not really, it’s just Roman and Virgil misunderstanding everything). That’s all I believe, please tell me if you find anything else.

If you see a typo, by all means, do roast me.

Genre: Mostly comedy. Contains a lot of dialogue.

A bam sound burst through the room.

“Oh my-!” Virgil jumped in his place “Princey, for once in your life can you not make sudden noises?!”

Roman twirled the gavel in his hand as if it was a sword while looking at his left apologetically.

“Yeah...sorry. Ehem”, he cleared his voice, “I-We have brought you here today because we are in crisis!”

On the sofa sat Logan and Remus, one with his back straight, prim and propper, the other half lying down, resting his crossed feet on the backrest while filing his nails. Logan leant towards Virgil, who stood in the middle of the living room by Roman’s side.

“What has happened now?” he asked.

“Why are you asking him?” answered Roman.

“Well, I am expecting you to be ridiculous on a regular basis and waste my time, but seeing that Virgil is concerned I wish to clarify whatever may be causing him to worry”.

Roman let out a sound of indignation.

“Not now”, Virgil raised a hand towards the prince. “There’s something dark going on between Janus and Patton”.

“I don’t see how Janus is getting accepted quite smoothly by Thomas and Patton is the metaphorical embodiment of sunshine half of the time. They also seem to be working together very well, in fact, despite some initial disagreements, Janus has only made my job easier”.

“The bananaconda keeps on abducting Patton for hours! Last week he disappeared the entire day and when I saw him he was covered in blood!” shouted Roman.

“Well, that is certainly most distressing”.

“Oh, yeah? That’s not even the beginning! This Friday Janus shoved him against a wall and whispered something so horrible he almost fell, thank goodness I was there to save him!”

“Hi, why am I here?” Remus pointed at his face while staring at them.

“We need intel on him, you are the one who annoys him the most” answered Virgil between his teeth.

“Ha! You must be desperate. But, really, this is stupid--”

“Roman, go on” Virgil interrupted.

“He has put skin in Patton’s room, and he has somehow made him follow him everywhere. Patton made him pasta!”

Logan frowned at that last statement and then opened his eyes very wide.

“Like, we know Patton is very nice, but it just doesn’t make sense for him to be so close to Janus if he’s plotting something” added Virgil.

“Well, of course that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t think this is caused by whatever you suspect is happening. I believe your bias towards Janus has blinded you to the obvious logical conclusion that…”

In the blink of an eye, Roman rushed to Logan and held him by the shoulders.

“Even if on Wednesday night I saw he stole his cat hoodie? You gave that to Patton! How can you be so calm? Don’t you see what this means?!”

From the other side of the sofa came a hysterical laugh. Remus stuck his metal file on the cushion and tore up a hole in it.

“You are such a virgin you that you wouldn’t be able to distinguish sexual tension even if you fell right into the hot butt sauce! HAHAHAHA”.

“Oh, shut up with your--” Virgil snapped in distaste, but, suddenly froze in place with the realisation. “Roman…”

“That gavel is mine, also, are you seriously holding a meeting without us?”

The smooth voice of Janus made everyone in the room fall silent, except for Remus, who laughed even harder. Patton tagged along just a step behind, contently holding the gloved hand.

“Actually, Virgil and Roman were completely misconstruing the nature of your interactions with Patton. Thus, asked us to come here to discuss what they thought was you, perhaps, ‘harassing’ him”.

“What?”

Patton and Janus looked at each other in confusion.

“These two are so stupid the got us together, ha! They even brought me! And started to tell us in all detail how they’d been cockblocking you because they can’t read the cues!” Remus managed to say in between laughs.

“What? No! He was bullying him! He shoved him against a wall…” that last comment earned a gasp from Patton, who then went ahead and blushed lightly, Roman got quiet real quick and turned to look at Virgil. “Oh my god!”

“Yup, I was going to say it, but, yeah”.

Roman turned around again and pointed back and forth to Janus and Patton.

“No! You two? But what about the blood?! I saw Patton covered in it!”

“Blood? Roman, you know I get dizzy when I think about that stuff”.

Almost instantly, Janus squeezed Patton’s hand and rubbed the skin with his thumb. Both Virgil and Roman did not know how to respond to the soft display of intimacy they were being confronted with. Specially right when they had just begun to realise the real variety of their fellow sides’ relationship.

“Relax, dear, I think he’s talking about when we had the accident bathing Rachel”.

“Oh… oh! No, sorry kiddo! That must have scared you!”

At this point in the conversation, Roman was even more confused than before.

“Rachel, who’s Rachel?”

“That would be his pet snake”, said Virgil.

“Yes. She’s really sweet! But she got burnt by accident when her heater broke. Jan needed help bathing her, and I didn’t screw the betadine bottle all the way, then I hit it with my elbow and it made a mess all over our clothes” Patton laughed somewhat embarrassed.

Before Roman could object to what had just been said, Logan stood up from the sofa and adjusted his glasses the way he always did when he was about to give information.

“It is common practice for snake owners to bathe their reptiles in a water-betadine solution to disinfect wounds. When snakes are healing they also shed at some point, which would explain the ‘skin’ you mentioned when talking earlier. That, alongside the other incidents and Patton’s usual clumsiness, made me realise you had misunderstood what you saw. Besides, betadine stains and dry blood can look somewhat alike on contrasting colours such as the ones Patton wears, so the mistake was made clear”.

“So…”

“They’re fucking!” Remus exclaimed happily as he sank back.

“It’s more like we’re dating, but, essentially, yes, we’re together. Also, Roman, I would like my gavel back”.

Check out this post if you want to send a request!

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70ships-moved · 3 years

Text

untitled | honeymoon suite

very brief summary: patrick can’t sleep. his solution? interview your boyfriend.

pairing: malcolm (oc) / patrick (s/i) | honeymoon suite

words: 2088 (yikes!)

notes: this is the very first fic i wrote about malcolm and it turned a year old like two months ago (wow! i didn’t even know that until now), i didn’t want to change or edit too much because this holds a special place in my non existent heart :), written in the pov of my s/i (first person)

Today I found a magazine with one of my idols (and celebrity crushes) on the cover in my nightstand drawer stashed away like a porno magazine. I remember the exact day I bought it too. I was at a bookstore and I saw it in the checkout area and the moment I saw who was on the cover, I made a mad dash for the checkout area. I did contemplate it though; the magazine was like twelve bucks which is stupid for something no one really buys but skims through and puts back. (When was the last time you bought a magazine? Man, wait until you hear about the internet.) But for who was on the cover, I was more than willing to pay the stupid twelve dollars.

Like any child that picks up a book, I looked at the pictures and read some of the interview. My only takeaway from the interview was that he liked this Bolognese recipe he found- or made himself. I didn’t read it all. He puts bacon bits in it, and he says it’s even good when cold. I took this magazine with me to school almost every day. I really liked the guy, okay? I’d show it to my best and only friend at school at the time who hated my obsession with him. It was weird because she was one of those friends who would always get an ugly boyfriend and would force you to compliment him- no matter how ugly you thought he was but proceeded to get mad at you when you were being honest about his looks. I could handle her opinions about this man I claimed to love but have never met in my life.

Four years later and I finally read the interview. It was a good read. The interviewer had nothing but nice things to say about him, mainly because he was and still is a sweetheart. And he only had nice things to say about the people he talked about. After reading the interview, I had something other than his good looks to admire. As far as I know, there isn’t a hateful bone in his body. When talking about his controversial relationship with his ex (long story short, the public wasn’t buying it), he said he only knew the girl he fell in love with and that’s saying something for a relationship that felt like it only lasted a week.

It inspired me to conduct my own interview with someone who I love just as much, my partner Malcolm. I’ve interviewed other people before rather awkwardly but this is Malcolm we’re talking about. He has walls. We all do. He's a bit on the reserved side but with the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen these walls come down. These demolished walls are my favorite part of him. I even went out of the way and got a recording device from a buddy who works in film. I like being extra.

It’s about 2 am. There’s this thing my body does where I just have to wake up at this time. It’s every day too. When this happens, I wake Malcolm up. He encourages me to do so because it is incredibly difficult for me to go back to sleep once awake. Also, it’s kind of boring being awake all by yourself. In these hours, I learned how to call from a private number (*67, for prank call purposes), learned useless but interesting facts about space and how sex can be one hell of a sleeping pill. Tonight, I wanted to do something different.

We’re sat in the kitchen area of the suite. The only thing separating us is the kitchen island. My recording device sits in the middle of us. Are you ready? “Mhm.” Great, I start with an over-the-top introduction of him. Ladies, guys, and people who don’t care what’s between their thighs, it’s two in the fucking morning and I can’t sleep but the man I’m sitting across from makes it all worth it. He’s got great hair and even great taste in men. He’s dating me! The man, the myth, future astronaut, and legend: Malcolm Hall! I feel like a podcast host. It’s a good feeling. “You’re so annoying.” That’s why he loves me.

I have a list of questions I wrote down in less than five minutes. They’re nothing special and I want this to be fun and not so serious. This man constantly throws himself at his work- spending endless hours at a desk. Serious is his middle name. When he’s not in his office, he’s at the bar talking to you about a film he saw with a margarita in front of him or playing blackjack with you and your coworkers. Maybe he’s in suite 505 kicking it with yours truly, telling me about his day while I struggle to put a face mask on his moving face. How are you doing? He chuckles. That fucking chuckle. “Tired. But I’m with you, so I can’t complain. How are you?” I’m not so tired but I can’t complain. You’re here.

I see you’re well-dressed for our interview. A bit too casual but you look good regardless. “Fuck off.” He says this in a whisper but it’s almost too quiet, it almost looks like he’s mouthing it. He’s in a bathrobe, his hair tossed from sleep; strands of it falling into his face. His face is resting in his palm as he looks at me with a tired smile, his eyes struggling to stay open. This is all unintentional, but I think this is extremely sexy of him. These small things have such a tremendous effect on me. They light the pit in my stomach and make me squirm in my seat a little. I’m messing. You look great as always. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.” I know. If I ever die in my sleep, I want to be in the best damn pair of silk pajamas there is.

The coffee machine makes a noise indicating that it’s done brewing his cup of caffeine. That’s a nice coffee maker. When did you get it? I’m going off-script. “This thing?” He taps the machine like the hood of a car. “It came with the room. The interior design people take care of that. I just run the place, so I don’t really know when it got here. But I do know that the other machines were really fucking old.” Oh, interesting. “Not really. You know, I was expecting you to give me much harder questions.” Really? Well, it’s important to expect the unexpected. “Now you’re scaring me.” Good. Part of me can’t tell if he knows I’m teasing him.

I’m not a coffee drinker like him but if it tasted as good as it smelt, then I could be. It’s a hazelnut blend. He mixes it with half-and-half and three scoops of sugar. His sips are slow and cautious. He seems to have bad luck with hot objects. He burnt his hand in a waffle iron one time and a dozen more times while preparing dinner. Maybe a hot object, liquid, or thing is the reason for the tape on his right hand. What happened to your hand? He looks up at me through his mug. “Masturbation incident.” By the way, I am madly in love with this man.

Do you remember when we met? This is a weird transition because it was on my list of questions and my timing couldn’t be any worse considering moments ago, I asked a question and the answer I received was masturbation. The question makes him smile though. He either remembers or he’s pretending to remember. “Yeah. Of course I do.” He takes both my hands, gliding his thumbs across my knuckles. I want dates, times, names, everything. “I don’t remember the exact date, but I believe it was March.” He’s correct. “It was at the hair salon and I booked an appointment with you.” He’s correct again. I cut his hair for free now- well, unless he’s pissed me off. Then, I charge him ten bucks. Twenty if I’m really upset.

Do you remember what time you showed up for your appointment? “Late. Very late.” He came in about two and a half hours late. I was pissed. “You were pissed.” He apologized profusely, and I still cut his hair. I remember it being soft and full. It still is. That's just one of the perks of having a hairstylist as a boyfriend. “I remember when you washed my hair. It’s my favorite part of you doing my hair.” I remember that too. The shampoo had a minty menthol smell. When it was on your head, it added a cooling factor and when you inhaled it, your lungs felt like winter. Basically, vapor rub for your hair.

He got lost in the way I massaged his scalp, his eyes closed and smiling. I can still hear his Yorkshire accent telling me “Tha’ feels good.” After I washed it, I blew it out and started cutting it. That’s when I told him his hair was soft. “Looking back on it, you kept your hands in my hair way too long.” It’s part of the job. “That’s what they all say.” He takes a long sip from his mug, his eyes not leaving mine. “Your hair was...interesting as well.” Interesting, in the way he’s using it, is slang for saying you don’t know whether you should like something because you’ve never seen it before. Back in the day, I’d dye my hair all types of colors. Shit, I thought I looked good.

“The Smiths played on the stereo and your singing was terrible.” That’s a lie. I’m not Morrissey but I try to stay on key. “I’m kidding. But when you moved around the shop, you were always swaying to the music. You were fun to watch.” He winks at me and my face heats up at the memory. I danced like no one was watching. “We talked and talked and next thing I knew, I was asking you out on a date.” The first date was meant to be memorable but due to one incident, I feel like our date was memorable for the wrong reasons. “We went bowling. I’ll never forget it.” I know why. “You slipped and fell in the aisle.” I was so embarrassed. Is that the only thing you remember? Whenever we talk about it, you always bring it up. “That’s how I break the ice. ‘My boyfriend and I went bowling and he fell in the aisle. It was our first date. It's nice to meet you.'"

I’m a little tired now, my eyes a bit heavy and my voice softening. He answered the first date question I had prepared, so I decided to move on to my last one. Have you ever been in love? “Yes. I’d say so. Are you or have you ever been in love?” I’m supposed to be asking the questions, but I answer anyway. Yeah. I am right now. It’s a funny feeling because I’ve never been in love before. “Really? Who with?” You. My eyes can’t take the weight and close. “Good answer.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

It’s a few minutes to 4 now. Our interview is done, and we’re ready for bed. We don’t go straight to sleep though. I listen to him talk some more with my head on his chest, his little chest hairs tickling my cheek. I begin to absently trace patterns across his chest. He says it tickles. His hand goes up my shirt, moving his hand up and down my back almost in a soothing rhythm. Sometimes, he stops, and I think he’s asleep, but I get the feeling that he realizes that I sensed he’s stopped and keeps going until I’m asleep. The hum of his chest when he speaks, combined with his hand and heartbeat is enough for me to call it a night.

His skin radiates a warmth that can’t be duplicated. His hands have a pattern like no other, each touch raising the hairs on my body. Despite it being hours since he’s showered, I can smell the scent of my cherry soap on him. This moment is something I never knew I needed and if it were to be taken away, I would be devastated. I close my eyes. I cannot think of any other place I’d rather be than here.

#puck.docx #💒 | honeymoon suite #self shipping #self shipping community #me getting ready to post this on my blog where ppl can read it: god i hope no one reads this #PLEASE i'm so embarrassed abt my love for this man that lives in my head #who pays NO bills i may add #a year later and i still can't come up with a title smh #ah and the person on the magazine was tom hiddleston who i still love to this day 😌#but fr i think this fic serves as a good introduction to this ship #it saves me the time of having to explain everything or at least that's what i think

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raselafsaofia · 3 years

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I was suddenly jolted to consciousness out of my sleep this morning with these ideas screaming at me from the foreground of my conscious mind. The ideas that I have been looking at and considering suddenly were aligning to a single thought.

It began with the memory of what Dane Mitchell said to me last year. He said that there are three cultures present in the work. "The Pakeha world, the Maori culture, and my Samoan culture". I was thrown by his comment, whilst it was true I had not thought of, nor acknowledge this as least not in the way he pointed them out. This threeness threw the equation to an uncomfortable place.

I woke up with a sudden realisation that whilst I have not yet made anything I have been unconsciously trying to resolve this issue of three. This subconscious conversation that has been going on beneath the surface of my awareness were so loud and clear in my head this morning as I was waking up that it jolted me. I was troubled by this abrupt alignment of thought as I needed to fix this. This trouble or problem of three. Two I am fine with. Three is harder.

I was listening to Caroline McHugh's Ted talk yesterday on 'The Art of Being yourself' where she introduces two ideas which intrigued me. She talked about 'Interiority'. Interiority is her madeup word, she talked about the human ego living in two modes either inferiority, or superiority. She introduced interiority as a middle ground where one's ego can live in as a preferred alternative as superiority and inferiority two opposite ends of the scale are negative and toxic. This introduction of this seemingly third space took me back to Homi Bharbas introduction of the 'third space' or the hybryd space' in his book The Location of Culture.

The second thing Caroline McHugh said that caught my attention was when she said she was a 'womanist' not a feminist. I love this, though I don't yet know what this has to do with my work, still I wanted to tug that somewhere in here so I don't forget it.

The alignment that came to me this morning was triggered by this talk of Caroline McHughs. This interiority as a probable 'third space'. The existence of three cultures in my work as Dane Mitchell pointed out, and the equation being moved from a binary space to a complex politically charged space was not what I desired. In fact in my interview for my BFA entry where Noel Ivanoff was present I particularly pointed out that one place I did not want my work to exist was in the 'political' setting as far as Art goes.

However as these thought were firing up the aligning of these ideas, a statement Henry Symond made a few years ago now in one of his lectures came back to me. In his introduction statement he said 'everything is political from the things we buy to the food we eat'. This brought a sudden connection of my process to politics and it bugged me. I hate politics.

This 'hate of politics' alarmed me as I was waking up. This uncomfortable disturbing feeling in the pit of my stomach forced me to look at the idea of a binary equation. I like the nature of a binary resolution. The two opinions, the negative and positive, the left and right, the up or down. The introduction of a third voice, a third space, though it may be a comfortable solution to the tension that two opposing ideas can cause. I find it easier to work in this tension and creating my own third space hence the title of my show in 2020 're-tension', a three culture tension is not so easy to resolve.

The point of all this, was this. I woke up with this clear determination to push my thoughts and ideas and my making process past these binaries. And back to a place of origin. This is in a way, a form of displacing the third space as there is three cultures to consider. However in the politics of nations a nation is globally represented by its government. Its government speak as a singular voice of representation, this could be considered as a form of resolving the duality if this nations identity. Whilst this throws up alot of issues it is an option that is presented if I consider why and how I came to be in country in terms of its political history as a nation in the world among other nations.

Going back to this place of origin or birth place of emerging is where I want to speak from. I love Homi Bharbas third space. This new place that is created and was born out of colonial times. He himself was having to enter a place where binary definitions did not fit or give acknowlegdement to the real impact of colonialism or the plight of immigrants (as he had move to London to study). As they; foreigners enter a culture outside of their own. A place where the displacements forces readaptations of traditions thus creating new forms of identity born out of the need to survive and thrive in a new home of arrival.

These ideas caused me to think about the Treaty of Waitangi. The treaty is to me a binary document. It creates and declares NZ to be a nation made up of 2 nations, everyone else who comes into NZ remains a secondary foreigner the Crown being the primary of course.

This triggered this thoughts that for the past few months I have been trying to resolve. This idea of being home yet a forever a foreigner. Everywhere I go in this land, I am constantly reminded of this status, of being a foreigner. This 'fireigner' identity. This 'home but not my land' place where I find myself in, also led to the need to resolve another politically created narrative.

Samoa was ruled by NZ. In 1962 Samoa was granted its independence, whilst NZ was in Samoa its colonial rule of Samoa gave way to the Mau movement, which was using passive resistance to oppose colonial rule and occupation of Samoa by NZ forces. And it led to the death and killing of one of Samoas prominent chiefs.

The day of his death in history is known as

Black Saturday, one NZ policemen and 11 Samoans were killed.

The NZ government after Samoa was granted its independence a 'Treaty of

Friendship' was signed between Samoa and NZ whereby Samoa was granted a quota where Samoans can immigrate to live and work permanently in NZ.

This treaty or agreement is the gate I entered NZ through.

This coming into a place where tension already exists and through a agreement that is politically manufactured where, I legally have a place yet in a national level am not really welcomed. This tension is what I woke up this morning, aware that I was trying resolve it. I wanted to push my ideas either forward to a contemporary space where the narrative it creates is in a manufactured or industrialised zone. To speak into the now of my existence in the land or to go back.

The going back to a place of origin. This idea that everything came from somewhere else. In the Christian understanding, humans originated from God. The human spirit existed with God before it embodied human flesh. This thought and idea of 'things having come from somewhere else, and that things had a life before' was so prominent in my thoughts this morning so much so that before I opened my eyes I was already fully charged.

While taking physics in high school. I was told that matter cannot be destroyed. It can only be changed in terms of its state. E.g wood when burnt turns to ashes, but ashes is a different atomic structure from wood, as well as in all decomposition when things die they turn back to soil therefore everything techniqually still exist but only in an altered state.

This chain of thought happened in my sleep. It was like I had been plugged into something whilst sleeping and I woke up with my brain completely conscious of the place I wanted to explore. The 'life before' the history of pre-existence' of an object or materials. I want to take a step back and look at the materials I use and consider what life they lived before this. This pre-encounter existence was so exciting that I sat up and started writing.

This jumbled up mass of entangled thoughts is so exciting yet so huge, so complex that it brought me back to my usual place of beginnings. 'The ideas are again too big, too conceptual, too in the air with no place to land let alone begin' zone.

One thing I can say though, this was such an exciting chain of thought that I am all fired up to go. This led to, what I now need to resolve, which is 'where am I going and what am I making?' What does all of this mean and with regards to what I am going to make? Where to from here?

Of course now I need to stop. Pause, take one simple part and begin with that. As the vast ocean that these ideas represent is too vague unattainable and are 'pie in the sky' unless I can connect them to the work. Which means already I need to edit, strip back somethings and simplify. But before I get to that.

There is one thing I know I need to look at and its this. The idea of a third voice, the voice of the foreigner, what is that? How does that look or what does it sound like? This is just a side thought.

I had mentioned Caroline McHugh's 'womanist' comment. I like this idea. The idea of the voice of a woman, not a female but a woman. The identity of a woman, as an art maker, a nurturer of families, of identities whilst she herself is an identity. This role or existence is charged with a different set of metaphors. The Maya Angelous 'Phenominally Phenominal Woman' and exploration of a woman as concept perhaps and her place in the work. And

taking this back to a relevant place in regards to where I am, or where I was placed after the 2020 show. The end of year show, connects to this chain of thoughts as it brings me back to the very basic yet profound place of 'woman's work'. The handmade craft, and the gendered allocation of such a practice. This handicraft, instead of handcrafted, and the unspoken yet present disrespect directed at this way of making is a tension I would really like to delve into this year.

I want to look at perhaps exploring the value systems of materials, and making processes. The handmade which is the handicraft versus the artisans, the handmade versus the handicraft, the manufactured versus the natural, the organic versus the raw, the found and the grown. Whilst these are presented as tensions and binaries at the moment, they are put only in this way to highlight and as a form of note-to-self to remind myself of the ideas I need to remember and keep in the forefront of my consideration once I start making.

A final thought. My interest at this point is purely not so much to consider an identity of sorts with regards to my place and role as a foreigner, my only desire is to find a way of discussing and voicing my ideas that are purely my own, informed by my place of origin and speaking into/from my now space of existence. I want to come to a place where a singular material or two can be utilised to speak as a representation of a single voice, my own.

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ankhlesbian · 4 years

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FEFemslash Feb - Day 15 - Warmth/Bloom

Game: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Marianne/Hilda

Title: sweet on you

Rating/Length: G, ~2.5k words

AO3 Link: Here

Hilda finds out that Marianne's never received any chocolates on Valentine's Day, and can't help but decide that's her problem to fix. Except, turns out making chocolate is harder than Hilda anticipated...

It was almost the 14th of Pegasus Moon. Hilda, as a whole, really, really liked Pegasus Moon. It had her birthday in it, the weather was chilly and perfect for cozy afternoon naps, and there was usually snow! Snow, which meant that not much at all could be done for fear of slipping or freezing to death. And snow wasn’t a half-bad view from her balcony, either. There was lots to love.

However, there was one major problem. Valentine’s Day. A day of confessions and gift-giving, which meant that Hilda was hounded by the hordes of guys who thought she’d care about them. It took a lot of effort to turn down all those confessions. And all the candy she got during them was usually cheap, bought from the same couple of merchants who peddled the stuff specifically at this time of year.

Not to mention she was expected to give people chocolates to be polite. She hadn’t bothered to do anything last year, and Claude had yet to let it go. Him and the rest of the Golden Deer were getting nothing this year, too. That’d show him!

“He was just looking for something to complain about,” complained Hilda to her stalwart companion in shoveling manure, Marianne.

“It does sound pretty bothersome,” Marianne, ever the sweetheart, knew better than to disagree. Although…

“What do you think about Valentine’s Day?”

Marianne blinked slowly. “Ah, I’ve never really celebrated it… It’s probably better that way…” She had half a smile at that, a sad smile that wasn’t fooling anybody. Hilda knew Marianne had a sweet tooth. Hilda knew Marianne was cute. Why wasn’t she getting any confessions? It was unthinkable.

“Hm.” Was all she said, and then she got back on track. “Anyways, have you seen all the homework the Professor assigned us this week? Where’s their respect for the holiday season?”

....

Later that night, Hilda found herself awake, staring up at her ceiling listlessly. She tossed. She turned. She chugged the glass of water she kept beside her bed. In the end, she groaned and dramatically flung open her door.

There was a problem nagging at her. Marianne and her lack of Valentine's candy. There was only one solution. Hilda would have to take things into her own hands. Literally. No, she wouldn’t stoop to the levels of buying disgusting ugly pre-made chocolates. There was a whole five days left until Valentine’s Day. Plenty of time to master truffle-making. She would do this the right way. Marianne deserved it. This was everyone else’s fault for not appreciating her enough.

The kitchens were open late into the night, and as long as you were polite, no one cared if you were underfoot. Hilda had both napped and snatched snacks from there before. How hard could making chocolates be?

Hilda perused the available ingredients carefully. She’d need milk. And chocolate… powder? Paste? Whatever provided that distinct chocolate flavor. There was also a basket of peaches lying around. Marianne liked peaches, right? Marianne also liked flowers, and Hilda had seen plenty of edible flowers on the decorative desserts they’d fed her back at home.

The kitchens had plenty of flowers, some sitting in vases for freshness and others dried. Hilda would just experiment. It’d make the truffles prettier, give them a unique touch. She had it all planned out, could see the final product in her mind’s eye. Heart-shaped chocolates with an oozy peach center, topped with a tiny little flower, maybe even adorned with just petals in cute swirls, lovingly placed with the same gentle touch she made her jewelry with.

Hilda lit up one of the stoves and got to work.

....

Three hours later, Hilda was booted from the Monastery kitchens. There was chocolate goo in her hair and splattered all over her face. Her hands were blistered and burned. She reeked of burnt grass. At least five pots were now permanently ruined. This is why Hilda didn’t like doing things. Put in so much effort, and what’d she get? A bad hair day, stained clothes, and nothing to show for it.

After a shower, it was nearly three in the morning by the time she went to bed. She’d have to resort to the library tomorrow.

But first, she had to make it through class. Claude (because it could only be Claude), woke her up by heartily banging on her door.

“Rise and shine, Hilda! Don’t want Teach to come and break down your door!”

Hilda stumbled out of bed, pillow in hand. She opened her door, threw the pillow at Claude, and slammed the door back shut.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re making me tired, and I haven’t even seen you yet” she complained. When she emerged, fifteen minutes later with hair brushed and a clean uniform put on, Claude was waiting expectantly. He handed the pillow back and looked her up and down.

“Someone had a late night, I take it.”

“Don’t tell me it’s that obvious.” She poked at one eye, where there should’ve been some helpful make-up. If she gave away the surprise, it’d all be over.

“Not really. You’d need to find someone pretty observant. Like, say, anyone with eyes.”

“This is your fault, you know.” Claude was the one who had gone and implanted all these thoughts about participating in her head.

Claude rolled his eyes, hands folded behind his head as they walked to class.

“Of course it is. I’ll just go ahead and apologize for the selfish, heinous act of wanting my dear friend to not be late to class.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” muttered Hilda darkly. Claude may or may not actually blab to Marianne if she told him what she’d been up to, but he would most definitely use this as evidence she did have effort to spare. The Goddess only knew what she’d get roped into then.

For now, she had to power through class.

…

Hilda startled awake. “Claude! I swear—”

“Ah! I’m sorry Hilda, I-I thought you’d want to know that class was over.”

Hilda squinted up at Marianne, vision blurry from where her eyes had been pressed into her arm while she napped. She rubbed at her forehead with a hand.

“No, no, you’re right. Thanks.” She did a quick scan for Claude. No one could know what she was about to do. He was talking to Lysithea, and Ignatz was holding out a bow to the Professor. That was both sharp-eyed Golden Deer taken care of.

“H-hilda. Your hands…”

Hilda glanced down. Oh. “Training accident!”

“You… you hate training…”

“And this is why! Look what happens when I train!”

Marianne bit her lip. “Would you, um, I’m not very good at it yet, but, I could heal them for you. As thanks for helping me with chores.”

Hilda blinked. “You can already do burns?”

“I might mess them up. I-it’s probably a bad idea after all.”

“No! Think of my poor, poor, aching hands. You can’t leave them like this.”

Hilda was useless with magic. But Marianne acquiesced, lowering her gaze to where Hilda obediently held out her hands, palms up.

Marianne placed her hands on top of Hilda’s, her palm braced by Hilda’s fingers and her own cold fingers tickling Hilda’s palm, just barely touching them. And then they began to glow, light gathering, heavy and tangible, like the heat that radiated from a fire. It slowly burned brighter and brighter, Marianne’s fingers warming with it. It tingled, though Hilda wasn't even sure if anything was actually happening yet.

The glow faded. Hilda flexed her hands, surprised to feel no lingering stiffness.

“Hey, they’re fully healed!”

Marianne went to move away, shaking her head. “Ah, Professor Manuela would’ve been faster at it, though…”

Hilda humphed, clenching her fingers around Marianne’s hands to hold her in place. Her hands were back to being cool, and a little clammy. She could feel them absorbing the warmth from her own skin.

“It doesn’t matter. You did a great job! And you were right here. Much less effort than going all the way to infirmary!”

Looking up into Marianne’s eyes to pass on the seriousness of her point, Hilda suddenly felt the urge to… to… to stand right up and kiss Marianne. She was in deeper than she thought.

“Well, I’ve got to head out now. Bye!”

And so Hilda scooched her chair away from her desk with one quick movement and fled.

She peered cautiously around the corner into the library. Linhardt was at a table in the corner, snoozing away. The rest of the coast was clear. She strolled in, acting as casual as possible, whistling a little fun tune. Linhardt wouldn’t wake up for anything less than the building catching on fire, so it was fine.

Half the spines of the books didn’t even have titles on them, and the Goddess only knew how this place was organized. Hida resorted to grabbing random books off the shelves and flipping through the pages as swiftly as possible. The longer she was in here, the higher the risk of being spotted.

Entreaty on the Political His— next. On the Biodiversity of Faerghus Mount— next. Hemodemographics: Crests and Blood Types. No wonder Linhardt was asleep. Was everything in here useless drivel? Did the Monastery not care at all about cooking delicious food? She couldn’t just ask any of the kitchen staff because they all hated her now. Maybe—

“Hilda? What are you doing here?”

Hilda froze, book in hand mid-way on the journey back to its shelf. She turned around, holding up the book with a smile.

“Oh, just looking for this!”

Annette cocked her head, eyes scanning the book’s cover. “The Ins and Outs of Cultural Diplomacy?”

“Homework assignment.”

“And you’re doing it?”

Hilda sighed. Annette was too smooth. “Look, I just want a stupid cookbook, okay? Are there any here?”

Annette looked confused, but then her eyes lit up. “You’re making someone a Valentine’s treat!” She was practically bouncing. “That’s so sweet of you!”

Annette elbowed past Hilda, heading for the back wall of the library. There, she rolled over a ladder and climbed up.

“What are you making? There’s a couple different guides up here.”

Hilda trailed after her. “Chocolates.”

Annette plucked a select few thin books from the highest shelf and climbed down, handing them to Hilda with a smile.

“You know, chocolates can be pretty tough for beginners. If you need help, Mercie’s an expert on this kind of thing.”

And so Hilda found herself carrying a stack of recipes and knocking on Mercedes’ door.

…

For all her supposed kindness, Mercedes was a cruel, cruel taskmaster in the kitchen. With a serene smile on her face, she watched maliciously as she forced Hilda to go through the labors of truffle-making. For three days straight they had been meeting up immediately after class, not parting ways until it was time for bed. Mercedes would heal up any burns or cuts Hilda managed to accumulate, part of the pact of secrecy Hilda had sworn her to. Sure, she’d love an excuse for Marianne to hold her hands again, but no one would believe Hilda had been training that many days in a row.

This was her last chance to get things perfect. All or nothing. It was for the best, because even Mercedes sweet-talking the chefs wouldn’t be enough for them to let Hilda back in tomorrow. It wasn’t her fault this was so different from jewelry making. Oh, it was similar. But the differences would slip Hilda’s mind, and boom. Burnt chocolate boiling and bubbling and exploding everywhere.

It was midnight when Hilda finished the last touch. A baker’s dozen of chocolates, some shaped like hearts, some shaped like flowers. Peach, strawberry, noa fruit, caramel. Alternating colors of blue and pink and white marking the truffles with swirls and elaborate designs. And sprigs of lavender here and there.

Hilda split the thirteenth chocolate in half, handing a piece over to Mercedes. They bit into them at the same time. All Hilda could really taste was sweet at this point. She’d eaten more chocolate in the last three days than she had in the entire last 18 years of her life.

“Absolutely delicious! I can tell that whoever you’re making these for is truly special to you.”

Hilda felt her face turning red. “Yeah, yeah. She is. I owe you one, Mercedes.”

Mercedes had also procured a cute box for her from the market, since Hilda was too paranoid to be seen out there.

She carefully packed up the chocolates, wanting to find the perfect arrangement but knowing that if she kept handling them they’d just melt.

“Good luck!” Mercedes called as Hilda marched back to her room. Tomorrow, she’d hand these over and confess. All or nothing.

…

She cornered Marianne after class. The other girl seemed more on edge than usual, wringing her hands together and refusing to meet Hilda’s gaze. Hilda frowned.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry. You’re mad at me.”

“I am?”

“You’ve been avoiding me… ever since I tried to heal your hands. I shouldn’t have experimented on you.”

Hilda couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Marianne, this has nothing to do with that! You did a swell job, we’ve been over this. I would never avoid you on purpose.”

Marianne frowned. “But… you ran away after class every time. I haven’t seen you around at all…”

This was it. “Well. I had something I was working on. In secret. It’s Valentine’s Day, y’know?”

Marianne glanced up, then her gaze went right back to the ground. “I, um, didn’t you say you hated today?”

Hilda gave her a little grin. “Yeah, when it was me receiving a bunch of nonsense confessions. But now I’m gonna do the confessing.”

“Th-then I should get going. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

Hilda took a breath, pulling the box out from behind her back. “You are the way. You’re cute, and thoughtful, and good with animals, and you put up with me. And you deserve the world. So, these are for you.”

Marianne’s eyes widened. “I… are you sure?”

Hilda huffed. “I spent three days learning how to cook these. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

Marianne chuckled, and there. There was what Hilda had been longing to see. That adorable smile that lit up her whole face, wiping away the exhaustion she usually carried. Marianne accepted the box, holding it gingerly, gingerly, opening it with utmost care.

“They’re so pretty.”

Hilda preened, just a little. “Of course they are. I don’t half-ass everything.”

She watched with rapt attention as Marianne examined each and every truffle. “We should eat these together.” Marianne declared, sliding the lid back on. “S-somewhere with a view.”

Hilda beamed. “The Goddess Tower is probably crawling with couples right now. But I’m sure we can find somewhere.”

It was the 14th of Pegasus Moon. Hilda, as a whole, really, really liked Pegasus Moon. It had her birthday in it, the weather was chilly and perfect for cozy afternoon naps, there was usually snow, and it had Valentine’s Day in it! There was lots to love.

#marihilda #hildanne #hildianne #femslash february #hilda valentine goneril #marianne von edmund #fe16 #fe3h #it writes

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iamalivenow · 5 years

Text

There's-

Claudia has to turn away, take a deep breath. An even deeper than that breath. Everything feels like it's on fire, metaphorically. Even though her head hurts and her chest hurts and she's probably having a prolonged panic attack. Which is fine. It's fine. Everything's fine. She's- she's still alive and Soren is still alive somewhere and so are Callum and Ezran probably and everything's okay. The battlefield is clearing out and she's mostly alone, Just her and her-

There's-

Okay so maybe everything isn't fine. This isn't just Soren paralyzed, this is way worse. Some of it seeps into her boots and she takes a few more steps back. The smell isn't that bad- but she guesses she's used to being around dead things. Most of them don't look like this but-

She coughs. She can fix this- she can fix anything. Broken is just another word for delayed solution. Dead is just another word for inconvenienced. She's got this- she's totally got it. It's not a-

There's-

Okay so. What remains of her father is splattered over the rocky earth, and she's all alone and she has to pull herself together and fix it. By pulling her dad together. Literally. Piece by piece. She's sweating, stress mostly, probably, hair plastered to her forehead. Weird how no one wrote any spells about making goo into a person again.

But she's got this, she's totally got it.

Just find something big enough to work as a reconstituting agent. Or at least something to put all of the bits back, for now.

One step at a time, just like dad always taught her.

She's in Xadia. Even the dirt is magic. The Sunfire staff is light in her grasp. She would know, she's been white knuckling it for the past two days.

One tiny baby step at a time.

She can start with not puking. That would be so good. Great, even. Think, Claudia, what's good for fixing bones, for fixing skin. If she can just fix the bulk of him, she can remake the organs. She's got this. She's totally completely one hundred percent got this.

“Okay.” Her voice sounds rough and she clears her throat. “Time to find some dirt.”

…

She finds a cave after a while, and the big bear thing that was living in the cave.

She's fine, by the way. She's still fine. Her hands won't stop shaking but that's to be expected with all of the magic she's using. Her clothes are gross, but that's a given too, what with all of the... parts of her dad she's been working with. Things stain. She'll get it out once he's back. One step at a time.

Her hair is turning whiter again. What used to be one single streak is spreading, further and further along. She thinks maybe there is some magic in her after all. That humans just have to worker harder to get it out, to pay a price while they do.

The big bear thing she puts to sleep after almost getting clawed to death. She'll wake it back up when dad's more himself.

And right around then is when the bug shows up.

It stares at her, covered in viscera, and at the big sleeping bear thing, and settles by Viren. It barely looks hurt and she has no idea how her dad could be in pieces and the bug not even bruised.

She hates it.

She really hates that thing.

“What are you.” She hisses out, eyes still dark from the sleep spell, and prods it with the end of her staff.

“Tired.” It tells her and she almost passes out right there and then. Really. A girl can only take so much and this bug is absolutely pushing it. Her hands itch in that... bad way they do sometimes. She swallows again. It's not like dad wouldn't believe that it got hurt irreparably right? It was a tall mountain.

Is it- is it smiling at her-

“How didn't you-”

“Don't fret the details.” It's voice is deep. Creepy deep. She grips the staff even tighter, nails digging into her palm. “I just need a moment and I'll be out of your hair.”

“Don't even think about getting into it.” She straightens herself up and walks out of the cave.

It's not that she hates bugs- bugs can be really cool sometimes. Really useful. It's just this one. This big purple glow worm thing.

Ugh.

Something is warm and wet on her face. She doesn't have time for it but it's there and the back of throat burns and her eyes burn and everything still feels like its kind of on fire.

She could leave, she thinks, and hates herself for it. She could turn away and find Soren and apologize and just leave. Her chest feels tight and it feels like her stomach is dropping into her feet. It's like it was with Soren but maybe ten times worse, because it was just Soren then. Now it's dad and Soren and the stupid worm and she has to do what she has to do. She has to save her dad- she has to- she has to because. Because she has to do what has to be done.

She feels sick.

She sits on the rocky floor at the base of a mountain. Head on her knees, holding onto her robes because her palms are sweating and the staff at her side.

She's never been this scared before.

…

When she comes back a day later with the rest of her spell components the worm is gone.

For a moment she thinks all of her problems are solved. That would be so great, if all her problems just solved themselves.

But then it comes crawling down the cave wall and she frowns.

“I thought you'd get out of my hair already.” She starts setting her tools around her dad, poking at the black and blue skin. It still has give, this can still work-

“You got out of mine.”

“You have hair?”

“Debatably.” Its voice is jovial and that just makes her hands itch again. “You don't have to like me, you know.”

“Good. I don't.”

It laughs, maybe chuckles instead, tilting it's head from side to side.

“Honesty is dangerous.” It tells her. It scurries down onto the cave floor and looks through her ingredients. “You would be of better use to your father if you could lie.”

“I can lie.” She says defensively, and pulls away the jar of scales before the bug has a chance to climb onto it. “I'm just not going to waste my many talents on a bug.” That gets another laugh. It would be so easy to lift her foot up and stomp down. So, so easy.

“You're angry.” It says and with out asking crawls up her robes instead. “At me or at him?”

Both, she almost says, but swallows the word. She stops it from climbing up higher with her staff, and it dangles off the end of it like a snake. Hissing would be preferable to chittering though.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It doesn't.” It nods. “Because you're going to do what has to be done anyway.” She's fine. She's okay. She's good. She's. She's- her throat burns again.

It's not fair. None of this is fair. Why is she the one in charge, why does she have to be the one to fix dad, why does Soren get to leave?

“I'm fine.”

“Hm.” It lets itself off of the staff and falls the short distance to the floor. “I'll be taking that side. You don't mind horrifically do you?”

“No.” She lies like it wants her to. “For what?”

“You're fixing your father's body. I'll be fixing mine.”

“You seem fine too me.”

“Sure.” It moves away from her, and up the wall again, all the way to the ceiling. “But I could always be better.”

…

Two days later, dad's awake.

He's bruised still, and half her hair is snow white, but dad's awake. She starts a fire while dad ignores her to run his hands over the bug's creepy glowy cocoon. She doesn't know what he wants out of it, what he's going to get out if it. What kind of ugly moth is going to come crawling out? She could ask, but the way dad looks, she's pretty sure he doesn't know.

Now that dad's okay though, her clothes are gross and she's still tired- exhausted all the way down into her bones.

“I'm going to sleep.” She says and Viren finally turns away from it.

“Anything you need. I'm so proud of you, Claudia.” He comes up and hugs her and she's almost frozen. But she isn't- instead her arms around his shoulders and she ignores him when he winces. She's crying again.

Dad hugs her back.

She remembers what feels like a million years ago now. She had done her first spell, started a firestorm in the backyard of their small summer house. She had singed her hands pretty badly, but Soren had yelled and jumped around and picked her up and brought her all the way to dad. And Viren had looked at her burnt hands and pulled her into the tightest hug and told her he was proud of her then too.

She cried then because her hands hurt, and she had felt bad, she thinks, for the beetles she had crushed to make the flame go bright and fast and radiant.

The stupid ugly light show behind her bathes all of the walls in blue.

The beetles had been hard to crush, the shells that held the phosphor were tightly packed for her eight year old hands.

A cocoon seems way easier to break.

#writing #full fic #long post #the dragon prince #tdp #claudia

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