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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 7 months

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so I saw your requests are open. It seems that Astarion believes- at least in the beginning- that his purpose is to give pleasure. He does it to survive, he does it to gain Tavs trust and affection... what if Tav takes it upon herself to pleasure him. I HC Astarion is more dominant as he regains his autonomy, after centuries of having no say or control hiw would he react to Tav gently kissing him, asking him to let her make him feel good for a change. He's spent all this time giving, he deserves to receive for once. Expecting nothing in return.

Yaaas, let's go. I think I may have made this a lil fluffier than what you had in mind but hopefully it works! Playful/Sweet Tav! This is set before he admits his feelings but still in act 2 so he's like close!

TW: They bang and it's graphic under the cut with some mentions of his backstory, which is fucked up. But yeah, sexing is occurring. 18+ That's it. Pretty sweet outside of his backstory.

Astarion was aware the sex could be enjoyable, despite the centuries of the act being used against him. There had been glimmers of genuine pleasure through it all, mostly poisoned by the knowledge of what happened to all of his conquests when the job was finished after, but still. They were there.

Enough for Astarion to be somewhat prepared for the loveliness of being with you. When he had made the choice to seduce you, he had done it assuming that sex would be mediocre at best, and unpleasant at worst.

But no. Instead it just felt... wonderful. A word that Astarion was not used to associating with the deed. Though he supposed it made sense. He did like you after all, even outside of the protection he could get out of you. You were intelligent enough to make for good conversation; you were fun, mischievous even. Enough to match up with his own bitchy little quips. But you were also... sweet. Caring even, though it seemed you had a habit of giving that care to the least deserving mortals in the realm.

Not that that was a bad thing. He had been more than ready to use that kind nature against. It was so easy to worm his way into your heart. And the sex was good? Astarion's luck was almost certainly on the edge of running out, but he'd happily take advantage of the streak while he could.

You were just... so submissive. So ready for him to take the lead. Astarion had developed many personas in bed over the centuries, cultivating them for whatever situation he may need. But they were always tools, it had little or nothing to do with what he wanted. Just what he could use to lure them back to their deaths.

In all honesty, he had tried to do the exact same with you, and he would have too if he hadn't lost control on that first night. But then you had to bare your neck to him, the siren song of your blood screaming at him to bite. And then he just... lost control.

Was it the best sex of Astarion's life? Yes. Was he about to tell you that? No.

And it kept being good. Even on the nights he didn't drink from you, he liked it. Borderline loved it, if he was emotionally capable of associating that word with you. And he wanted to enjoy it while he could. He knew deep down that this was temporary, for more reasons than one. Soon enough he simply wouldn't need you anymore. After you defeated the demon for Raphael, Astarion would have some idea of Cazador's plans, and maybe enough to figure out a way to secure his freedom for good. And unless you planned on killing the man yourself, he... wouldn't have any reason to keep the facade going. Not to mention the obvious fact that you could wake up from your lust-induced stupor and break things off at any moment. Astarion wasn't looking forward to either outcome. But how else would this end? It's not like the two of you could set off into the sunset together, like some inane fairytale.

... right?

Astarion wasn't quite sure anymore. And he certainly wasn't going to figure it out any time soon. It was easier just to push the whole thing out of his mind. Especially now, when the two of you finally had a private room at the Last Light Inn, thank the gods. One more night of calm before they rushed into a temple full of horrors.

It was hard to hide his excitement as he pushed you onto the bed, his fangs already sharpening in anticipation. He wanted you to be marked head to toe by the end of the night, bites, bruises, anything and everything to remind you that you were his.

At least for tonight.

"Wait, wait!" You laughed as Astarion crawled over you, wasting no time in trying to claw your clothes off.

But the ask was enough to make him pause, a flash of worry running through his when he asked, "What's wrong? Did I- are you okay?"

You shook your head at him with a smile, your legs suddenly wrapping tightly around his waist "Nothing sweetheart, I'm fine. But..."

The next thing Astarion knew you were always flipping him over, so fast that he couldn't help but be impressed. He always underestimated just how strong you were. You grinned down at him as you sat atop his thighs, your hands rubbing over his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, "But I think it's my turn to spoil you for a change."

Astarion furrowed his brow, sincerely confused for a moment. And maybe even a little self-conscious, "Why? I mean-do you not like how-"

"You're very good darling," You gently interrupted with a laugh, your hands already working to pull his shirt over his head, laughed as you sat atop his thighs, doing the work to unbutton his shirt, "Best I've ever had, sincerely. But don't you think that things have been a bit one-sided?"

He hadn't, not for a moment, but he sure as hells wasn't going to complain. Not when he had a gorgeous woman on top of him, one who was already doing the work of taking his cock out.

"Let me take care of you for once," You murmured as you started to stroke his length, pre-come already dribbling at the tip, "Anything you want is yours tonight. Just say the word."

Astarion blinked up at you, momentarily at a loss before regaining his usual confidence. Or at least some of it, "Taking your clothes off would be a fantastic start."

You laughed as you did just that, light and airy while you tore your shirt over your head. Astarion didn't waste any time in surging forward, latching his mouth around your nipple with a groan.

He wrapped his arms around your bare back, pulling you closer as you moaned.

"I'm supposed to be pleasing you," You panted as you slipped your skirt down your thighs, tossing it to the side as he suckled on your chest, "Remember?"

"Pleasing you pleases me," Astarion popped off with a chuckle, looking up at you with dark eyes, "Lovely thing that you are."

You softly smiled down at him before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. And then you were squirming away from him. Ducking out of his arms and lap.

He just hadn't expected you to sink to your knees in front of the bed. You rubbed at his thighs, so close to him that he could feel the heat of your breath against his length.

"Can I?" You asked coyly, the question sweet enough to make him shiver. He would never get tired of that, you always asking for permission for the smallest little things.

Astarion sat up with a smile and a nod, tangling his fingers in your hair as he said, "Of course my sweet, go right ahead."

And off you went. You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling on it like the little minx you were. You looked beautiful down there, your hair in disarray as you swallowed around his cock; more than happy to let him take the lead and force your head to take him fully down your throat.

You were drooling around him, staring up at him with your big wet eyes as you worked your tongue around him. It felt wonderful, amazing even. But it wasn't enough. As lovely as your throat was, it was only his second favorite place to store his cock.

"Get up here my love," Astarion ordered, his voice rough and his mind too preoccupied to notice his own slip. He tightened the hand in your hair, easing you off of his cock with a groan, "As wonderful as your mouth is, I want to be inside you."

You grinned up at him before gracefully standing, your breasts on full display, pretty enough to make Astarion's mouth water. You pushed him back first onto the bed before crawling over him again, the heat of your wet cunt so close to his sensitive cock. You gripped the base of it before rubbing the head over your folds, whimpering as you used him to circle your own clit.

It felt amazing, and it looked even better. But Astarion was nearly out of patience. He gripped your hips, his nails just on the edge of piercing your skin as he growled at you, "Are you trying to kill me darling?"

"Just the opposite," You breathily laughed as you finally started to sink down onto his cock, brokenly moaning all the while, "J-Just want to make you feel good."

You were so wet, tight and perfect around him. And the noises you were making, all of your little whimpers and whines. They would be haunting his dreams for years to come. But it still wasn't enough. Despite how lovely it was to have you bouncing in his lap, he couldn't help but thrust up inside of you, matching your movements in tandem.

You gasped as he really started to fuck into you, hard and deep enough to bring tears to your eyes. You were clutching at his chest, hard enough to make him bleed. Not that he cared. How could he when he had you like this? Desperate and needy as you pussy leaked slick onto him, so soaked that Astarion knew that you had to be close.

It had been a long instilled habit of Astarion to be sure his partner always reached their peak first. It was nearly ingrained in his DNA at this point, a pattern that he had no intention of breaking anytime soon.

But then you were leaning in to kiss him, something that shouldn't have caught him off guard, yet it did.

The press of your lips to his felt so soft, so sweet, nothing like the way he was savagely fucking into you. It was gentle, loving even. And before Astarion knew it he was coming, his end abrupt and explosive. It felt like fireworks bursting behind his eyes; he barely even had the wherewithal to move his hand to rub at your clit. But he managed, and soon enough you were crying out above him, your pussy clenching hard around his still leaking cock.

You were still kissing him in that same tender way, softly licking into his mouth as warmth overtook him. He felt... good. Too good even. Enough so where he barely knew what to do with himself.

You pulled away first, but you didn't go far. Thank the gods, Astarion wasn't... he didn't know if he could handle being apart from you at the moment. You rested your forehead against his, smiling down at him with a smitten look, one that made his heart clench.

"Did you like that?" You asked softly, wincing slightly as you pulled off of his cock, "Because I sure did."

I love you.

The thought came sudden and unbidden, screaming into the front of his mind without his consent. He didn't-he wasn't-why had that come into his head at all?

Astarion tried to stomp the wayward thought down as he gave you a strained smile.

"I loved it," He answered sincerely, the truth of his feelings far too close to the truth of his idiotic heart, "I-thank you darling. You really are amazing, aren't you?"

"Such a charmer," You sighed as you laid down next to him, reaching out to tangle your fingers together, "I really never stood a chance against you, did I?"

That was almost enough to make Astarion break out in hysterical laughter.

But instead he squeezed your hand, his eyes turned to the ceiling while a conflicted smile graced his face, "No. You never did."

He could only hope that continued to be true.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #four more to go!!!!!!!!!!#is this a sad ending?#I don't think so #unknown #nervous little guy #queued post

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vivwritescrappythings · 4 months

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Just Love Me and Eat

Vampire!Eddie Munson x Reader

You watched Eddie die, so this must be some nightmare in your room.

tw: blood, biting, i think its gender neutral?

also just really loved Bones and All and the concept of cannibalism/vampirism as love so made this lil guy

Word Count: 2k

Part two

masterlist

—

Your room was dark, the curtains pulled shut and the lights off. It had been a month since Eddie died and you didn’t have the energy to pantomime life without him. You had no sense of what time it was, every day simply becoming another day where he was gone and you were left unmoored. If it wasn’t for the sound of birds chirping and kids playing outside, you wouldn’t have guessed time was passing at all.

You didn’t sleep, you hardly ate. Nancy and Robin brought you food like offerings, using their keys to enter your apartment and leaving simple meals outside your bedroom door with soft knocks on the wood. Their little tupperwares were probably the only things keeping you alive–you knew Eddie would be upset if you wasted food on his account.

The Hellfire shirt Wayne had given you was soft and well-worn, but it hardly smelled like Eddie anymore. The familiar scent of tobacco and leather and the incense that he used to try to cover the stink of weed was fading, soon you wouldn’t be able to detect it at all under the sharp tang of your sweat.

Curled up in your comforter, you kept thinking about how it should’ve been you instead. Eddie would have known how to keep living, he would’ve been able to move on. You? You were just surviving.

Sleep threatened the edges of your vision, you’d been staring at the fuzzy polaroid photo you had propped on your nightstand. It was of you and Eddie at some party, he was smiling broadly at the camera with you tugged neatly to his side. Both of you held solo cups, your head rested on his shoulder like it was meant to be there.

It was your last good memory of him, before Chrissy Cunningham died and everything you ever knew fell to pieces.

—

Your dreamless sleep was interrupted by something tapping at your window. At first you thought—prayed—you were hallucinating it. Maybe it was just a lack of sleep accumulating to finally make you hear things. But it insisted, the knocking at your second-floor window was incessant enough that it managed to pull you from your bed.

The quilt came with you as you carefully crossed the room to your window, trepidation making you bite your lip before you finally pulled back the curtain. It was a quick motion, ripping off the band-aid with the expectation of seeing a woodpecker or a squirrel or something normal on the other side.

What you didn’t expect to see was your dead boyfriend in the moonlight.

You nearly screamed, your eyes widening into dinner plates as you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. It must’ve been a dream, or a nightmare. In your effort to get away from the window you tripped over discarded shoes on the floor and fell back onto your butt. Panicked, delirious tears roll down your cheeks as you start to roughly pinch the skin on your exposed thigh.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” you mumbled to yourself as you hyperventilated through the tears. It couldn’t be Eddie, Eddie was dead. He was in The Upside Down. You were never getting him back.

It was too late when you realized your window was unlocked, not-Eddie placing a palm flat against the glass to push it up. It was slow, you were too stunned to get up and try to close it. You were just outright sobbing on the floor of your bedroom, angry welts across your leg from where you’d been pinching at it almost hard enough to draw blood.

This Eddie looked different… he looked off. His eyes weren’t brown anymore: they were too bright, almost looking like a cat’s eyes in a photograph. Your window was fully open now, not-Eddie pitching himself through with a grace you’d never seen before.

“Did you miss me, baby?” he asked, his voice sounding the same as it used to. Your heart twisted, breaking into a million pieces—you’d dreamt of Eddie before, but never like this. His clothes were ripped and dirty, his battle vest in shreds along with the shirt beneath it. You could see the gnarled, twisting scars on his arms and his neck and parts of his torso through the shirt—everything the demobats had done to him.

He took in the state of your bedroom, appraising it with the careful eye of someone who had been there many times before. You kept crying into your hand, not able to catch your breath. Your head was spinning, part of you wanting to wake up from the dream as the rest wanted to stay asleep—you wanted to soak up time with any shred of Eddie you could have.

Not-Eddie took a few careful steps toward you, his not-so-white Reeboks softly hitting the ground as he crouched in front of you. He had his Hellfire shirt on under his shredded battle vest and leather jacket, blood and dirt and foggy black stains clinging to the fabric. The one Wayne had given you was an extra, something found in the back of Eddie’s closet.

“You… you’re dead,” you finally croaked, your voice cracking and raspy from disuse. The breath you took rattled in your lungs, the scent of earth and blood and something vaguely like tobacco filling your nose. “I watched you… the bats…”

It was rushing all back to you, the way you screamed when all the bats fell around Eddie. You and Dustin ran to him, watching him die in your arms. Steve carried you out of the Upside Down kicking and screaming.

Not-Eddie tutted at you, his yellow eyes roving over your form. They paused at your neck, at the hem of the Hellfire shirt against your thighs. Something inside you kept telling you to get off the floor and run, but you remained rooted to the spot.

“You really think some silly little bats could keep me away from you?” Not-Eddie asked, his head tilting. “Nothing could keep me from you. Nothing.”

His hands were freezing when they wrapped under your knees to drag you closer. Fat tears rolled down your face, stinging at your eyes and hot against your cheeks.

“This can’t be happening.”

Not-Eddie chuckled, his smile revealing perfectly white teeth. His canines and outermost incisors in the top row of his teeth were elongated, looking like fangs more than anything else. Your mind stuttered, frantically trying to keep up.

His hands were still on the backs of your knees, his gaudy costume rings cold against your skin. His calloused fingers pressed at the popliteal veins at the backs of your legs. If anything he seemed to be preoccupied with rolling them under his fingertips, tracing along them.

“Guess they weren’t normal bats, baby,” he muttered, rolling from crouching on his feet to kneeling between your legs.

Your breath hitched as he bent over you, one dirt-crusted hand pressing against the floorboards near your head. His long curls fell down around you, curtaining your dark bedroom from your view as your breaths became shallow. He was so close to your Eddie that you almost found yourself convinced.

He leaned down, nosing at your neck. Hot breaths huffed at the curve between your neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he growled in a low voice, a large hand pressing to your sternum to pin you to the floor. He was so strong, it was like he had placed a weight on your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you whined, your voice pathetic and soft. You stared up at the ceiling, your hands loosely tugging at his leather jacket. “I shouldn’t have let Harrington drag me away, should’ve stayed.”

He shushed you, pressing his nose to your skin and inhaling deeply. “S’okay, baby. You’ll make it up to me,” he mumbled, his voice seeming only partially present in the conversation. Not-Eddie’s lips pressed to your throat.

“Your heart is beating so fast… smells so good,” he groaned, licking up the side of your throat for a moment. “I’m starving, baby. You gonna help me?”

His voice was dripping with soft affection, like someone talking to a skittish wild animal. “Eddie…” you whined, your instincts screaming that something was wrong.

“Shh shh,” he mumbled, placing open mouthed kisses over your pulse point. His voice was broken, a desperation in it that you understood and recognized. “It’s okay... I just gotta eat, I’m so hungry. Haven’t eaten anything… wanted to see you first.”

Your head was spinning, the realization that this is your Eddie snapping into place like a sudden, infallible truth. Your heart was still pounding against your ribs like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. For the first time you felt like prey as Eddie kept you cornered against the floor. But he was still gentle, not taking what he easily could have.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears clouding your eyes. He was different, more monster than man, but this was Eddie. Your Eddie.

“Love you so much,” he said, his teeth scraping against your delicate skin. The words sounded like a prayer, like they’d been ripped from his chest. He seemed stuck, his muscles clenching as he traced his tongue and teeth along the thick vein in your throat. “Missed you.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Eat, Eddie. S’okay,” you mumbled despite your instincts screaming at you to get him off of you.

“I know you’re hungry, let me help.” You tilted your head, pressing your throat to his teeth. A lamb to the slaughter. He stiffened at the action, fighting to keep himself under control. “Don’t want you to be hungry. Not anymore.”

The sound he made was like he got punched in the stomach. Eddie groaned, his fingers pressing into the floorboard hard enough to make the wood split. Your brow pinched, concern running through you. He still hadn’t taken action, not yet.

Your fingers threaded into the soft curls at the nape of Eddie’s neck, pulling his head closer. “You won’t hurt me, Eds. Just love me and eat.”

He grunted, the ghost of a nod coming from him as his nose bumped your neck. The pain of Eddie’s teeth sinking into your neck made you whimper. His hand moved from your sternum to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. The sting faded to warmth, Eddie’s lips pressed firmly against your throat as he suckled at you.

After a while you could hardly keep your hand in his hair, so dizzy and tired that the back of your knuckles smacked against the floor. You felt like you were melting into it, vision doubling as your eyes crossed. Your breaths were shallow and slow. It was hard to think, your mind not able to even tell what time it was or how long it had been.

But your exhaustion was enough, Eddie pulled away. He lapped at the remaining blood on your skin for a moment before sitting back completely. You looked up at him with dizzy eyes, vaguely categorizing the way blood was smeared across his full lips and down his chin.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, gathering your loose limbs from where you’d sprawled on the floor. He seemed more himself now, his actions considerate and his voice back to its normal cadence. He lifted you in a smooth motion, carrying you to bed with a tenderness you remembered from him. He was so much stronger now.

After situating you on the covers, he removed his jacket and toed off his shoes. His body settled behind yours, making the mattress dip as he pulled your spine to his chest. You were fighting with every blink, trying to keep your eyes open for as long as possible. If this was a dream you didn’t want Eddie to disappear.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, I swear,” he said into your hair, his large hands smoothing along your waist and your bicep. The reassurance was enough for you to drift off, the blood loss pulling you toward unconsciousness. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

#stranger things #eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #kas!eddie #vampire #bones and all movie #gn!reader

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ourmondobongo · 4 months

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JJK 251 delivered one of the most intense fights till now, and honestly, I can't wait to see it animated! (if I'm still alive 10 years from now, that is lol).

That said, I need to write a little about this chapter because it has been eating me out since Thursday, and the HQ scan release is MAGNIFICENT. So let’s go!

Yuta used Cleave on Sukuna!

But, alas, he wasn’t the one to eat Sukuna’s finger. It was prolly Rika.

I don’t think anyone would think it makes sense that Yuta - second only to Gojo, the strongest modern sorcerer - could be the one to eat the King of Curse’s finger. While he IS powerful, it is still so risky to think he could ingest a piece of Sukuna’s soul and keep it inside himself for God knows how long.

Also, if a human had eaten one of his fingers, it seems a bit unlikely Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed somehow, as the cursed object holds a part of his very soul.

On the other hand, Rika hasn’t fully manifested. It seems an odd thing since this battle is even more dangerous and important than all previous battles Yuta had since his 2vs1 with Geto. Which may be just a wild speculation, but that has me thinking that maybe - just maybe - he hasn’t allowed her to fully manifest because she ate the finger. Like with the finger bearers at the beginning of the manga, Sukuna would know it is there, and he could target Rika more fiercely. Perhaps get to even retrieve it.

But this is speculation only - and I hope we will be sure of it in the next chapters.

It’s good to remember tho that it was Rika who ate Uro’s arm, not Yuta. And I doubt Yuta himself could have also eaten Hana’s and Inumaki’s arms…

Yuta was right in thinking that Sukuna would be surprised at being hit by his own technique.

However, something pretty nice happening here is that Sukuna looks pleased at tasting his own technique.

You know, we are well aware by now that Sukuna is a hedonist to the fullest. So I’m actually pleased that, rather than being really pissed off for getting a taste of his own medicine, he really experienced this little moment in a way that couldn’t show better how a being can be more self centered lol

I mean, his smile as he says ‘I see. Quite the meal.’ or "Oh, I get it. You ate it." feels like he is amused at tasting some of the power his own technique holds. I can hear Suwabe-san making it sound like he is having a foodgasm. And Yuta’s face turning worried is a sign that he oughta move to his next attack against the King of Hedonism ASAP.

Yuji and Yuta’s hand-to-hand-fight with Sukuna is beautiful, my god.

Sukuna is a good +4m tall muscle-built four-armed TITAN GIANT. Yuta and mostly Yuji are making him bend, making him bleed, making him blind by spitting blood on his cursed eyes, and FUCK - THIS FIGHT IS GOLD!!

Details I gotta highlight:

This is the second time Yuji survives Cleave at point blank, showing how much his endurance is up in such a crucial moment.

It was so smart of him to spit blood on Sukuna’s face. Reminds a little how his lil brother Kechizu spat his cursed blood on him back in s01 times.

Yuji’s determination to save defeat Sukuna and save Megumi with ‘heal up, heal up, HEAL UP’ makes me wanna chomp on wood T_T (C’mon baby, you can do it!)

Count on Sukuna to keep looking amused as he is being wrecked to the bones lmao. But also, this means he is thinking, analyzing, plotting, and soon preparing to counterattack.

The way Rika grabs him by the leg and throws him at Yuji’s soul shaking kick IS PERFECT.

The beating is so well delivered that, in fact, Sukuna is pushed to a deadly gamble.

I love when Sukuna gambles. He does it so many times throughout the story that I don’t think anyone can actually be surprised to see him doing this again in this chapter.

And I really mean it, cause not even our MCs are surprised. They had a solid plan of what to do once they had pushed Sukuna to the point they wanted: aka, releasing the HWC to try using Space Dismantle while tanking Jacob’s Ladder.

In less than a blink, Sukuna is 3/4 immobilized.

Rika, half manifested, gets his upper arms while Yuji goes for the lower right.

Yuta, though, goes straight to his guts, and bravely shoves his hand inside his belly mouth while Sukuna's only free arm goes straight to his head.

The cost for such a risky attack? A Cleave delivered directly on his bloody head.

But Yuta’s RCT doesn’t fail him. And he also still gets to rip out the Cursed Tongue - leaving Sukuna to have only one way to chant curses now. Confirming their suspicions that the King needs to use hand signs and chants or both to use “Space Dismantle”, which is an opening they can take an important advantage of to both use the domain's sure hit and reach Megumi.

This page made me scream!

The sight of Sukuna’s cheek exploding is bloody horrible.

Yuta tanking another slash attack shook me.

But Yuta coming up at the fucking King of Curses absolutely confident he can face him off FEARLESSLY is even more gobsmacking. I love my son!

ALSO: DID YUTA REALLY USE DISMANTLE ON SUKUNA’S ARM RIGHT HERE????

Also, the fact that Sukuna’s output is low to that point is both a sign that 1) his deadly efficiency is truly getting compromised by the biggest jjk team jump this manga had to this day, 2) Yuta and Yuji really leveled up to an impressive stage!

I don’t think we have ever seen Sukuna getting so overwhelmed and shocked.

Yuta’s next sword attack happens simultaneously with Yuji’s blood manipulation attack, and Sukuna loses his free hand while he realizes Yuji in fact just used his spitted blood to blow half his face off, rendering unable to speak.

A little thought I want to share though is that, while it has been long hinted that Yuji is able to use Blood Manipulation in any form after eating his brothers and training with both Choso and Noritoshi, I still have a little doubt whether the piercing blood attack in chapter 247 really comes from Yuji or not.

From the pov in 247, PB comes from somewhere really high and far from where Sukuna is. And in chapter 244, we see Mei Mei and Momo observing the battle from a tall building not too far away. I could see Choso being taken somewhere safe up to and despite being heavily wounded, still trying to help his lil brother. But also, I can picture Yuji rushing up some of the destroyed buildings to locate Sukuna and Higuruma, and desperately PB Sukuna to buy some time until he gets there.

I mean, if it had been really Yuji, I half expected Sukuna to have a lil flashback not only of the moment Yuji spat on him, but also from when he was attacked back in 247. That would solidify the fact he shockingly realized Yuji is using BM. So I will wait for a clear confirmation...

This talk is pretty interesting and important.

We discovered through Yuki’s search that:

Even when souls mix to some degree, they don’t become one single soul.

Choso can’t feel the OG soul of the human whose (his) body belongs to, and that’s why he asks if Yuji and Sukuna aren’t a special case. A fair question that made me think Choso could actually give back his body to the guy if he knew the poor man was trapped inside.

Yuji explains that CE plays an important role in the case of cursed objects and non-sorcerers then. Yet, no matter how deep a living soul may sink, it won’t merge or disappear in such cases.

Choso proposes another special case: since Yuji said, “in general level things are unmergeable”, what if Megumi and Sukuna are different tho? What if that could happen to them?

Yuji proceeds to say he added the “general” thing cause he had dealt with Mahito. Also, uniting souls transform them into other separate being. So as long as a soul CT like Mahito’s is NOT at play, then the merging of souls can’t happen.

And trusting fully in Yuki’s search, Yuji promises he will shake Megumi’s soul awake.

And after learning all of this, I wished for real that Yuki had not died so prematurely. The fact she was a former Star Plasma Vessel, that she could hear the voices of the souls Tengen had absorbed throughout the millennium, and that she had now Maki, Yuji/Sukuna, Choso and Mahito to deepen her research on souls and find a “scientific way” for how to break free from CE, BUT she never could do it… is a PAIN. We can’t undo what GG did, tho, so let's move on to the next topic.

Angel’s technique is special.

But it has a well defined role in the story: one that is NOT what some ppl think.

In an incarnated body, there is the mix of one’s technique + the personality + cursed object. So, since Angel’s CT can eradicate CTs, they can erase Sukuna. As they all want to save Megumi, tho, they will need to do the same thing Hana tried back in chapter 213: using the attack to FIRST weaken the connection between Sukuna and Megumi so Megumi’s chances of surviving the brain damage are better, and THEN move on to finish off the King of Curses.

And here I want to point out how absurd it is for anyone to expect a MINOR side character to end the history of the final MAIN antagonist of this series. Because, truly, unless you are being really disingenuous or purposefully kidding yourself just to hate and badmouth JJK, one cannot be serious over Hana EVER standing a chance against Sukuna. Even more with one of her arms torn off by the King himself.

And that’s why Yuta - the one second only to Gojo - is the one side-handling this freaking final battle.

Sukuna is damn right roughen and wrecked.

Yuji has one of his arms, Rika has two arms + a bite on his shoulder, his free arm is handless, his main mouth is half blown, and his belly mouth is tongueless and dripping blood.

There is a seriousness to his features that is different though. I mean he is the king of smiles, but he is deadly serious right here...

He KNOWS what is coming. He has chosen to gamble his endurance power against Yutangel’s Max Jacob’s ladder. So he is definitely mentally preparing to receive one of the hardest blows on his unstable (connected to Megumi) form.

And then Sukuna takes it.

His reaction is highly different from last time though, and it’s kinda obvious why. In chapter 213, he had just barely taken over Megumi’s body as well as he was at 15 fingers. Here he is in his incarnated true form, 19 fingers + his very mummified head in.

That said, the way he only growls/grunts/gasps tanking a DE’s sure hit from someone with a CE around the same as his own is impressive. Not only that, but also another crystal clear hint that he is the fucking King of JJK for a reason. You can’t break him easily. You can’t beat him conventionally. You can’t kill him until his last drop of CE is gone, until his brain is incapacitated, until his self-serving wish to keep existing - even if meaninglessly - is obliterated together with his cursed soul. As long as he holds the overwhelming power to exist, he will keep existing.

Knowing the enemy is NOT down yet, Rika chomps her mouth on Sukuna’s shoulder again as she holds his arms again while Yuta butchers his lower right arm in half, buying the time Yuji needs to fuel the special punch that he hopes will shake Megumi’s soul awake from the depths of this nearly unkillable monster. And if my eyes are not deceiving me, I think that - by the shape of Sukuna’s tattoo - Yuji hits him in the middle of his chest. Right over his heart.

Megumi’s breakdown deserves an analysis of its own.

But, yeah, IT HURTS.

As Yuji is shaken by Megumi’s state, though, the inevitable happens.

Sukuna, following his gamble of tanking and surviving JL to throw the WCD, does exactly that. The chants come on the page on a background a little similar to how his DE first appeared in animation. It’s eerie, cursed, and we know shit will happen on the next page…

Using what seems to be the arm Yuta had slashed in half (or is it the hand Rika was holding before), Sukuna strikes ALL his enemies with a seemingly WCD.

Way too close to him, Yuta takes the bruntest of it - the slash rips/slants his abdomen (letting we peek what is probably his liver), his back and his ring fingered hand (strongest way of connection with Rika) is severed from his wrist. Rika is slashed all over her face, the lower jaw which had bitten onto Sukuna’s shoulder is cut off and falling, her monstrous hands all cut and bloodied when they release Sukuna. Yuji is slashed on his forehead, across his face, and by the blood trajectory, from his collarbone down to abdomen.

There is NO WAY THO that Yuji is dying like that, though.

So before we find out how Yuji - and prolly Yuta too - will survive this attack, it is important to notice here that Sukuna does not say “Dismantle” when he unleashes this attack on them. And, YES, chants ARE important in JJK. (I know a lot of ppl will complain about this, especially since “Gojo died with this attack!”, but I’m just saying what is drawn in the manga.)

Sukuna is back to his menacingly smiling aura as Yuta’s domain starts crumbling on top of him.

But while he is RCTing his injuries and tasting what seems to finally be the end of this cursed battle day, he is struck by the sneakiest signature attack of the modern era.

Maki Zenin, the demon with zero cursed energy, pierces his heart - and soul - with her Split Soul katana.

If I said I haven't screamed at this whole sequence, I would be a liar. This was absolutely INCREDIBLE!

Now I hope GG won't switch the pov back to Hakari x Uraume, but I feel like he might as well do again T_T

Anyway, I just had to write all this to say how PERFECT Gege is weaving Gojo's pupils battle against the greatest King of Curses!!

#jjk 251 #jjk meta #or kind of lol #i just needed to get this out somewhere or it would bug my mind until next chapter #which will happen in TWO WEEKS T_T #ryomen sukuna #yuta okkotsu #itadori yuuji #maki zenin

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

nsfw where y/n accidentally eats an aphrodisiac but zoro doesn't understand what's going on and he just wants to train in peace (but in the end he gives in please)

ahh so sorry this took forever, ty ty for your patience 😊💛 i do love disrupting zoro's peace with nonsense & i had fun writing it; i hope you enjoy <3

2.7k words, fem reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+, mdni; a bit of angst, there's some fluff if you pretend that zoro not choking her is fluff, smut shenanigans; feat. zoro being a lil mean (he's a petty bitch when he's jealous im sry), reader being dense and pouty and ridiculous, a wild sanji appears! other cute things like: pussy slapping, oral (f receiving), fingering, yk the vibes.

the last thing you remember, is a small, obnoxious voice in the back of your head saying don’t do it; but the thing is, once you’re told not to do something, you feel that much more inclined to see it all through. it’s sound logic in your opinion, one that you employ whenever — and, more importantly, wherever — you can.

except this time around, you fuck up in a slightly irreparable way.

from an outdated catalog, you order what you assume is an herbal tea to help with sea sickness among other various ailments. and while you can’t exactly pronounce or read most of the names on the ingredients list, you assume that it will be remotely harmless. it’s tea, after all. so, imagine your surprise — once the water is boiled, once the bag has been steeped, once the hot liquid settles in your stomach — when it feels like everything has stared to slow down around you. something shifts inside of you, suddenly it feels as if your body’s been transformed into a gelatinous thing, your organs bouncing against one another, your legs nearly give out when you try to stand up.

naturally, you feel a little off.

it starts again with a small itch underneath your skin; no matter what you do, no matter where you scratch, the itch remains — spreading all over your body, making you wholly too sensitive to touch, which is a fucking shame as your crew mates are always touching one another in some way. you’re not exempt from that, although today you do your best to keep your distance, finding it rather difficult to let anyone’s touch linger for longer than a moment. in the middle of the day, during your quest to avoid your crew mates, you run into sanji — or collide more like — and he reaches out to steady you, as if it’s a regular occurrence for him. which, it is, but that’s not the damn point right now.

you’re in the middle of a crisis.

he grips your shoulders firmly, lips set into a straight line as he checks you over; once he’s satisfied, his playfulness comes back. “where are you running off to?” you choke out a small laugh, one that makes you look less panicked and more like your usual self. he has absolutely no idea that you really do need to run away from him, and you maybe feel a little bad that you’re lying to him — however, in your defense, you’re certain that if you don’t find a way to alleviate that bothersome ache in between your legs, you’ll riot. now, normally, that extreme way of thinking would be cause for concern, but given the circumstances, you’ll forgive yourself for this transgression.

sanji raises a brow at the way you can’t seem to stop fidgeting, your snap your fingers quietly, almost as if you’re trying to ground yourself. he’s unsure why you would feel the need to do that, but he doesn’t press the issue. “i haven’t seen you all day.” his words are harmless, you know that, but he carefully drizzles them onto your skin — slow-moving, honeyed, potentially life-ruining — and they bring an inescapable heat to your body. your self-preservation is practically nonexistent right now; and you know that if you’re not careful, you’ll cross a line and may not survive in the end.

you’re sure this must be some punishment for a crime you committed in a previous life, because it makes absolutely no sense why his hands sliding down your arms makes you want to—

“nowhere,” you blurt out suddenly, cheeks deeply flushed as you shimmy out of his hold, “i’ll… talk to you later.” your words are rushed and jumbled, but you’re beyond caring; you work your legs as fast as you can, hoping sanji won’t think to follow after you. if you had better sense, you wouldn’t have drank the tea without properly investigating it first; but you’re foolish, so very, damn foolish.

something hot rolls over you, making it difficult to think straight; without realizing, your feet take you to the very last person you should be around right now.

everyone knows that when zoro’s training, he’s not to be bothered unless absolutely necessary; yet there you are, disrupting his focus. typical. you pop up behind him breathless, throat dry, chest heaving as if you can’t quite catch your breath — everything about you is clumsy and loud, so he sighs when he turns around to face you.

“what is it?”

you blink slowly and absently lick your lips; his question lingers in the air and circles around you — a solemn vulture, ready to tend to the dead. while normally a lush, vibrant place, your mind goes blank. zoro narrows his eye at you and your newfound silence. it’s suspicious, really — you’re a chatterbox, one that he constantly tells to shut up, albeit this is mostly done out of affection from him — so he’s unsure if this is a trick on your part, but he refuses to participate.

“make it quick, i need to get back to training.”

despite knowing that he really does want you to hurry up, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. not out of fear of upsetting him, but because you’re not sure how he’d react to you telling him the truth. clenching your teeth, you consider your options, rocking a bit on your heels as you look around; again, he thinks you’re being strange and refuses to beat around the damn bush any longer.

“spit it out,” he says gruffly, annoyance buzzing around inside of him. he’s trying to remain as patient as he can, but you’re taking too long and if he lets you have your way, he’ll be standing there all day waiting.

“okay, okay,” you squeak, voice lowering as if you’re afraid of someone hearing you, “there’s something wrong with me.” the words tumble out of your mouth faster than you can manage, making you stutter over them, further confusing the thick-skulled swordsman before you. his frown deepens, and he prompts you to repeat yourself. slowly.

it's his turn to blink at you stupidly. “why would you drink it without knowing what it would do—”

you let out a strangled noise, frustration piling onto your chest the more you talk about this. “i get it, i messed up, can you just help me out?” the flush hasn’t left your cheeks if anything it burns so badly that you refuse to keep eye contact. because the longer you stand near him, the more you struggle with keeping your hands to yourself; the longer he looks at you, the more you want him to see all of you. with a sigh, you explain all of the things that happened to you — in detail, since he insisted and you’re too wound up to fight him on it — which leads him to understand that the tea you drank contained an aphrodisiac of sorts.

why else would the idiot cook even seem remotely interesting to you if that wasn’t the case?

it’s not out of jealousy, he tells himself as he places his swords down carefully; but maybe a part of him likes that you came to him instead of anyone else. he refuses to give it a name and won’t think about this any harder than he already has; he has a feeling that if he lets it fester, it’ll turn him into a lovesick fool — like sanji — and there’s no coming back from that.

somewhere in between his sly smiles and teasing comments, zoro’s presses you against the wall, mouth every bit as sinful as it is disrespectful when he drops a playful kiss on your lips. he’s testing the waters — to see how much you can take before you implode; unfortunately, his experiment is short-lived, you’re already pulling him back, annoyed with his games. you almost tell him to fuck off, but you need him — and you refuse to keep on suffering like this by yourself. your lips are on his rather quickly, soft and eager, tongue flicking against his bottom lip before slipping inside of his mouth.

kissing zoro is a risky endeavor; it’s all-consuming, dizzying, and electrifying at the same damn time. if anyone were to ask you what year or century it was, you wouldn’t have an answer for them. not one that makes any sense, at least. when he slips a hand into your shorts, you turn into putty. your panties soaked, arousal clinging to your skin when he pulls the fabric aside. you should feel mortified at the startled cry you let out when he strokes down your slit, fingers thick and rough, hips rolling forward as you try to tell him to hurry it up. he chuckles at your impatience, which only makes him want to tease you more, but he understands that you’re in a precarious situation — one he’s set on solving right away.

“i know,” he says against your ear, goosebumps prancing along your arms when his fingers rub circles on your pussy, “don’t worry, i’ve got you.” you want to ask him what he means by that, but by the time the question forms in your head and travels to your mouth, zoro’s pulled off your shorts and panties before boldly thrusting his fingers inside of you. with trembling legs, you cling onto his shoulders, press your face against his chest as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your tight hole. the moan you let out is loud enough to rouse the dead —which only encourages zoro to pump his thick fingers faster. he enjoys the way you can’t stop whimpering, and the way that you squeeze around his fingers; that level of desperation arouses him, but he ignores the growing bulge in his pants to take care of you first.

something tells you to keep your voice down, but with how fast zoro’s fingers are fucking you, it’s damn near impossible. and when you place a hand over your mouth to silence yourself, he slaps your pussy in retaliation. you stare at him incredulously, stumbling over your words, hating the way your hips bucked from the force of the slap. zoro, in turn, gives you a dark look, one that fizzles out whatever smartass remark you were ready to give him.

you’re not sure what possesses you, but when he thrusts his fingers back inside of your pussy, thumb rubbing firm circles around your throbbing clit, your head spins, making you say something ridiculous. “s-sanji would’ve nev—” he swallows the rest of your words when he kisses you roughly, teeth tugging on your plump lip. his tongue is commanding, stroking yours with such familiarity that you have to remind yourself that this is real. the kiss is more sensual than necessary, making you forget your point altogether. he knows the only reason why you mentioned the cook is to rile him up, and while it did work, he refuses to let any it fuel his jealousy. he has things to do today, after all.

“if you wanted the damn cook so bad, why did you come to me?” his voice is gravelly and husky, a dangerous combination for you given your current state. you want to tell him that you don’t want sanji, that you want him, but you’re also quite childish and petty at the most inconvenient times. you know, you know, you know. you’ll work on it one day. possibly. he doesn’t expect an answer out of you, especially when he drags his tongue down the length of your neck, nipping and biting your soft skin. you know that once he’s through with you, you won’t be able to face the others for a while.

by the time he inserts a third finger, your skin is littered with dark red marks and his hand is coated in your slick arousal; it trickles slowly with some of your wetness spilling onto his wrist. and since he’s so damn chivalrous, he holds you steady as you thrash against him, hips bucking wildly as you moan his name loudly. you’d forgotten that you were committed to keeping quiet, but with zoro you tend to be louder than necessary. he loves it though; his smirk is proof enough. he pulls his fingers away, much to your disappointment; you pout, grab onto his arms, and ask him why. grinning slyly, he tells you to watch your mouth and kneels before you.

zoro grabs your leg and drapes it over his shoulder, his tongue running flat along your slit, giving your pussy a long lick before dipping inside. you thread your fingers through his short, messy hair, grab the strands roughly, moaning louder, breath coming out in shallow puffs as he devours your pussy. you’ve never known zoro to be a messy eater in general, but the way he messily slurps and licks, flicking his tongue against your clit hard, making you tense and shriek. you’re sure everyone’s heard you by now, but you’ve lost the capacity to care — not while zoro’s eating your pussy like it’s the only meal he’ll consume for a long time. he should probably ease up, and almost considers it until he remembers that you brought up sanji and what he wouldn’t or would do with you.

he slips a finger inside of your needy hole as his tongue circles around your clit. you know you won’t last longer at this rate — it’s a miracle you lasted this long anyway — but he starts sucking on your clit hard and you lose the remainder of your sanity. the orgasm claims most of your life, and your voice is incredibly hoarse by the end of it. zoro works you through the orgasm, finger pumping in and out swiftly, his tongue flicking your clit repeatedly, which only prolongs things. your wetness drips onto his chin, some of it landing on the floor. you’re so embarrassed by it all — by the shameless way you rode his face, by how needy he makes you feel without even trying — and you’d hide your face if zoro wasn’t so busy ruining your life.

“zoro,” you say softly, feeling weak but you still manage to yank on his hair hard enough to catch his attention. when he finally does pull back, he takes a breath and licks your arousal from his lips. he knows that sooner or later he’ll have to take care of his erection — it presses against the front of his pants painfully, and it takes everything in him to just walk away from you — but he’s not done training and he’s wasted enough time as is. you know you shouldn’t ask for more, but the desire to seek him out later grows stronger by the minute. you watch him for a moment, admire the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, until you remember that you’re half-naked and that anyone can come in and see you like that.

your embarrassment nearly triples as you trip over yourself trying to get dressed again; your hands shake and your legs can barely hold you up, but you can’t let him see just how much he affects you. you whisper a soft, thank you before taking off. you still feel his lips and hands on your body, and you feel like you’re being burned alive. despite finally finding relief, a different ache plagues you, crawls around your lower abdomen and throbs so much that you decide to sleep the rest of the day away.

with his back turned, he can pretend that he’s composed, even though he’s everything but — he knows there’s no way he can go back to training after he had his fingers and mouth in your cunt. if he were the poetic sort, he’d say it was the highlight of his month, but thankfully he’s not. still, it doesn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder, watching the way you scurry off, hips swaying, ass even more appealing the longer he stares at it. when you’re finally out of sight, he lets out a defeated sigh, internally berating himself for getting too carried away. if he had more discipline, he’d have been able to resist you more — or, that’s the lie he’s going to tell himself until he starts believing it.

#fic request #one piece imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro smut #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro is a menace 2 society *sues him*

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defectivevillain · 1 year

Text

this broken design, ch5

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here! [this won’t make much sense, otherwise]

[ao3 version]

notes: I privated my ao3 account so that only registered users can see it... since all the ai stuff has been going on and I'd rather be safe than sorry.... I'm not sure how many ppl follow with the series here on Tumblr, but I figured I'd post it here too, in case any of you don’t have an ao3 account... [I posted this a bit ago on ao3, so apologies for the tardiness]

the gif above is so funny. the lil head tilt is killing me, idk.

warnings: panic attack, self harm (digging nails into skin), franklyn having zero boundaries

You’re in Hannibal’s home again. You really need to have more self-preservation—you’re practically a gift-wrapped murder victim here. Although, he hasn’t killed you yet. Maybe you’ll be fine. Perhaps you aren’t as rude as you thought you were. The thought amuses you.

Inexplicably, as you’re speaking with Hannibal, he asks you to accompany him to the opera. The request is so unexpected that it takes you several moments to realize you heard him correctly. Hannibal stares at you expectantly and you take a deep breath.

“You realize I don’t know the first thing about opera,” you remark apprehensively. “Surely there are far better choices than me.” Doesn’t he have acquaintances that are more suited for this type of outing? You’re certain you would look extremely out of place amidst the typical visitors. Surely, Hannibal knows that he will put his reputation at risk by bringing you along. You try to convey those sentiments in the eye contact you’re currently maintaining with the man, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded in the slightest.

“You are my friend and I want to spend time with you,” Hannibal states easily. You envy his ability to be so straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. “Is that really so strange?”

“I suppose not,” you frown. Fond of breaking doctor-patient boundaries, are we, Dr. Lecter? You dispel the thought. Admittedly, from the first moment you interacted with Hannibal, you knew he would be more than a psychiatrist. You’re happy to consider him a close friend now.

“Are you amenable?” Hannibal then asks, just before you can zone out and lose focus.

“When is it?” You ask, despite knowing that you don’t have much going on this week anyway.

“Tomorrow night,” Hannibal answers. You raise an eyebrow.

“Rather late notice,” you say, if only to make him sweat a bit. Of course, Hannibal’s perfectly crafted mask remains in place. “Did your date cancel on you?” Hannibal’s eyebrows furrow and he crosses his arms over his chest. You decide to take pity on him and stop messing around.

“I’m just kidding,” you interject with a grin. It’s kind of fun to see how much you can push Hannibal around. You get the feeling that no one really questions him. It’s amusing to see him scramble for an explanation, even though the effort is perfectly rehearsed. “I think I’m free; I’d love to go. You just may have to deal with my complete ignorance when it comes to opera music.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Hannibal smiles. Is he playing along? You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting that. It’s nice to know that Hannibal can take a joke.

“Anyway, thank you for inviting me into your home again; I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal says with a shake of his head, as if the very thought is ludicrous.

“I invited you.” Hannibal then excuses himself for a moment and you take the opportunity to look around his kitchen. You suppress the extremely compelling urge to look through his drawers—you know what you’ll find and you’re certain you don’t want to see it. Instead, you let your eyes rove over the polished cabinets and clean counters. Just before you can lose interest, your gaze falls on the rolodex. Interest peaking, you decide to walk towards it.

It appears the rolodex holds business cards of people Hannibal has met. You idly flip through the rolodex, needing something to occupy your restless hands. A few of the names are (unsurprisingly) ones you recognize. It takes you a few moments of observation to realize just what purpose this rolodex serves. It appears this is a list of potential murder victims. Flipping through the various business cards, you don’t see a common denominator. “Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude,” Hannibal had told you once. On second thought, these business cards are probably people that Hannibal has determined to be rude. You go through the names with renewed interest. A few of them are rather fancy. One even looks remarkably close to yours. You move to the next one before a breath catches in your chest and you find yourself returning to the one that caught your eye.

The business card is extremely similar to yours—same color and font. You squint at it, heart racing in your chest as you look at the name written on it. It must be another government agent, surely. You all have similar, standard-issue business cards. You just hope it isn’t any of your acquaintances. You’re expecting to see anyone from Jack Crawford to Alana Bloom. You close your eyes for a moment, before finally giving in and reading the name. It’s… It’s your name.

You stare at the card in disbelief. Where did Hannibal get your business card? It has your name, phone number, email address… It even has your office location at headquarters. You swallow past the trepidation building in your core. You can’t quite stop the choked laugh that escapes your lips. You let your guard down. You had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. You let your guard down and, now, your name rests amidst the names of current and future Ripper victims.

“Is everything alright?” The timing could not be worse. Hannibal walks in as you’re looking at the rolodex and you quickly turn around, trying to shield it from his view. You’re not sure what expression is on your face, but it must be suitably harrowed, because his face twists in concern—mock concern, your mind supplies. “You look rather shaken.”

“Yes, of course,” you answer. It takes every ounce of practice you’ve accumulated to keep the fear from your voice. You sound slightly flat, but you’re convinced that you’ve mostly concealed your true feelings. “Apologies, Dr. Lecter. I think I’d better get going.”

You can tell that Hannibal is suspicious, but you don’t give him the chance to ask you about it—instead deigning to murmur a quick goodbye and walk out to your car. You’re infinitely grateful that you had the foresight to drive yourself. You’re not sure that you would’ve had the energy to maintain your composure in Hannibal’s company.

You wait until you’re a sufficient distance from Hannibal’s home to sag in your seat and sigh heavily. You’d been growing too big of an ego. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. The two of you are friends and you foolishly assumed that your friendship gave you immunity. Clearly, that isn’t the case. You need to remember yourself, remember that the composed dinner host you often sit across from is a practiced killer. One false move and you’re dead. Once you get home, you spend the remainder of the evening in an anxious and paranoid haze. It takes you a while to fall asleep that night and, when you do, the Ripper follows you into your dreams.

The next morning, you receive a text from Hannibal—which includes the details of the opera and what time he plans to pick you up. It takes you several moments to ground yourself in reality and remember that Hannibal isn’t aware of your knowledge that he’s the Ripper. Once you collect your composure, you insist that you can drive yourself—but he waves off the suggestion and maintains that he’ll drive. Admittedly, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t have the slightest clue what to wear. You’ve never really been to an opera performance before, and you can only imagine what the people in attendance will be wearing. You have no idea where to begin searching for an outfit. Your closet isn’t exactly the best.

Eventually, you swallow your pride and text Hannibal. He knows you’re not sophisticated, you think to yourself. Asking him for help isn’t that embarrassing. In fact, you’d rather ask and lose a bit of dignity than try to puzzle it out on your own [and fail miserably.] Hannibal is quick to respond—almost as if he had been expecting the question—and says that he’ll bring clothes for you. You immediately have several objections to that, but they fall on determined ears. You regret asking, now.

A few hours later, there’s a quiet knock on your door. You open the door to find Hannibal waiting on your doorstep, folded clothing in hand. You shake your head in exasperation and let him in. “Thank you,” you say, taking the clothes he’s extending out to you. You still feel the need to try to argue one more time. “I could’ve found something on my own.”

Hannibal looks you up and down, in a manner that makes you feel extremely self conscious. You aren’t exactly wearing the fanciest clothing right now, but that’s only because you knew you’d be changing. “Doubtful,” Hannibal remarks. You glare at him, only to find his lips twisted in that slightly amused smirk. You roll your eyes.

“I’m going to change,” You then realize that this is the first time that Hannibal has been in your home. He’s driven you many times, but he’s never gotten out of the car before. “Feel free to explore, I guess.” You’re struck with the sudden mundane feeling of shame, as you recognize how much less luxurious your home is. Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he starts to walk around and look at things. Meanwhile, you head to the bathroom.

Once you place the clothes on the bathroom counter, you’re once again realizing that you’re out of your depth. The outfit he’s given you is extremely lavish: an extravagant suit with dress pants. Upon further examination, you realize that he even gave you an undershirt. You push aside all the strange, conflicting feelings you have about sharing clothes with your psychiatrist. Unsurprisingly, the clothes smell very strongly of Hannibal’s cologne. It takes all of your resistance not to cough once you put them on. You’re not very fond of fragrances to begin with, since they often give you headaches. But, you know you have no right to complain. It was extremely generous of Hannibal to lend you clothing, and you don’t plan to disrespect the gesture by complaining about his cologne. You put on the rest of the clothing and assess yourself in the mirror. You look rather good, you have to admit. Of course, it’s all due to Hannibal’s clothing. You take a moment to brush your teeth again before walking back out into the main area of the house, where Hannibal seems to be looking at your decorations with a keen eye. He turns around upon hearing you enter and, for a long moment, the two of you stare at each other in silence.

Inexplicably, Hannibal breaks the distance between you and reaches out. Your heart is racing in your chest but you manage to remain still. He fiddles with your collar for a moment before stepping back, apparently satisfied with his work. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Better?” You ask sardonically.

“Much,” Hannibal remarks. “Shall we?” He holds out an arm and you scoff. Hannibal freezes and you do, too. Shit. You hadn’t meant to scoff aloud. You compensate by putting your hand on his arm and he sends you a smile that is almost… fond. You immediately disregard that notion.

The drive to the opera house is enjoyable. Hannibal is one of the few people that you feel comfortable enough to share silence with. You don’t feel the need to constantly fill the air and, so, you spend most of the ride staring out the window and looking at the trees. Before long, Hannibal is pulling into a parking space and the two of you are ascending the stairs leading to the opera house. The building is rather grand, with beautiful towering pillars and elegant statues decorating the path to the entrance. When you enter, you’re unsurprised to see Hannibal’s mask slide neatly into place.

Evidently, Hannibal has been here before, because he navigates the opera house with practiced ease. There are several people that greet him upon his entrance, and he smiles and sends them a courteous wave. You idly wonder if he truly likes any of these people, or if he merely tolerates them. As you continue to walk in, you’re brutally aware of the gazes searing into your back. You’re sure that Hannibal will be the talk of the town soon enough—you get the feeling he never brings people to these kinds of events. Indeed, he seems the type to want to appreciate art in solitude. You debate asking him once more if he’s okay with being seen with you here. Within a few moments, you’re finally in the area where the performance is scheduled to occur. Hannibal leads you to your seats—which are in one of the balconies—and you can’t suppress your thoughts any longer. Thankfully, it seems no one else has found their seats in your section just yet.

“You realize how this looks, right?” You finally ask. Hannibal sends a curious glance at you and you refuse to acknowledge how handsome he looks right now. You avert your eyes for a moment, instead watching as the people below file into their seats. “Everyone thinks that I’m… you know.” Hannibal continues to stare at you with a blank expression. Damn it, is he really going to make you explain it? You try to push past your embarrassment and remain professional. “I think they’re under the impression that we’re… dating.”

“The thought makes you uncomfortable,” Hannibal states, crossing one leg over the other. That must be why he chose these seats—he probably needs the legroom. The people below are milling about, talking with one another. You’re grateful that these seats are isolated from everyone else—there’s no expectation for you to talk to anyone.

“No, it doesn’t,” you clarify, wondering how he justified that leap in logic. “Besides, if anyone’s reputation is going to be at risk, it’ll be yours.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Hannibal says, something akin to amusement on his face. You’re not sure what he’s finding so amusing—you don’t think your statement was far-fetched or unreasonable. From the moment you walked in, you noticed quite a few people staring at Hannibal and you. They seemed to be making their own conclusions about the two of you; you just wanted to warn him. “I am not worried about my reputation.”

“You think your reputation won’t be affected?” You squint at him, trying to watch for a reaction. “...Or you just don’t care?” Your companion is silent for a moment.

“I was under the impression that I was the psychiatrist here,” Hannibal then remarks lightly. He sends you a look and you feel a momentary inkling of shame.

“Sorry,” you grimace. Hannibal’s lips quirk at the sides—a sign that he isn’t truly upset about your sudden psychoanalysis. You feel the need to justify your reaction regardless. “It’s easy to slip into the criminal profiling mindset sometimes,”

You spend the next several minutes having lighthearted conversation. It’s rather nice. The theater slowly begins to fill up until, finally, the lights dim and someone appears on the stage. To your surprise, the performance is rather enjoyable. You must be rather horrible at hiding your preconceptions, because Hannibal sends you a knowing look after the first song. You pretend not to notice the smugness radiating off the man, and instead focus on the singer. They’re quite talented, unsurprisingly. You’re not quite sure how much the tickets were, but judging from your surroundings, you’d guess they were rather expensive.

You take advantage of the brief intermission in the middle of the program to use the facilities. Once you’re finished, you move to go back into the theatre. However, there’s suddenly a hand grabbing your shoulder and you’re forcefully guided into a deserted hallway. You chance a glance over your shoulder, only to find a far too familiar patient of Dr. Lecter’s: Franklyn Froideveaux.

“Franklyn,” you remark, feeling extremely apprehensive once you recognize him. The man is wearing a three-piece suit again, but this time it’s eerily similar to something Hannibal might wear. You frown at the thought. Franklyn’s obsession with Dr. Lecter is really rather creepy. If Hannibal weren’t such a capable killer, perhaps you’d be worried for him.

“I saw you with Dr. Lecter,” Franklyn states matter-of-factly. He crowds you against the wall and you have to lean back against it to avoid touching him. The look in the man’s eyes is unnerving. It sends a shiver down your spine. There’s nothing in his irises except madness.

“Yes,” you respond, once you realize that Franklyn is awaiting an answer. You don’t tell him that Hannibal invited you, but he seems to come to that conclusion on his own.

“What did he do?” Franklyn asks. “Did he hold the car door open for you? What cologne does he wear? I have a few ideas but I can’t decide between them.” You feel your head begin to ache at his persistent badgering. You’re deeply unsettled by him.

“What’s it like being friends with Dr. Lecter?” He continues. Franklyn doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, as he continues rattling off questions. “Is he a good friend? Do you two spend time together?”

“Um-” You try to say, only for Franklyn to stop mid-tirade. His eyes quickly lock on the suit you’re wearing and you grit your teeth. This is easily one of the most uncomfortable interactions you’ve ever had, and it isn’t even over yet. You flinch as he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s Dr. Lecter’s clothing,” Franklyn remarks, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you wince. His grip is beginning to hurt; you think you may have bruises later. “You’re wearing his clothing.”

“No, I’m not,” you try to argue.

“Yes, you are,” Franklyn asserts, not indicating that he’s hearing you or even seeing you. His eyes are glazed and it almost seems as if he’s looking directly through you. “He lent you his clothes. Why? What does he see in you?”

Ouch. That hurts for a microsecond, before you then realize that Franklyn’s opinion bears absolutely no relevance to your life. You want to speak on those thoughts, but there’s a crazed look in the man’s eyes and you decide to stay silent. Franklyn seems to take your silence as an argument itself, though, because his hand tightens on your shoulder rather painfully. You try to shove him off, but the man’s grip is unyielding.

A familiar voice calls your name from further down the hallway. You squint, only to find Hannibal walking towards the two of you. There’s an inexplicable expression on his face, and you can’t even begin to dissect it.

“Hannibal,” you breathe, unable to hide the relief you feel at his presence. Franklyn finally releases his grip on you and you reach a hand up to massage your shoulder. The man’s attention is off of you now, thankfully.

“I presumed you to be lost, but I see that notion is incorrect,” Hannibal says, his gaze flitting about your face as if looking for any sign of distress. He then looks at Franklyn, disinterest and boredom evident in his expression. Of course, Franklyn doesn’t care to notice it. He sees what he wants to see, you think to yourself. “What is going on here? Franklyn?”

Franklyn looks to you expectantly, as if waiting for you to lie for him. You instead remain silent. You know that, right now, telling the truth will unnecessarily escalate the situation. Besides, your exhaustion is starting to catch up with you and you can’t find the energy to continue the conversation.

“We were just having a friendly conversation.” Franklyn answers. Hannibal looks to you for confirmation and you avert your eyes. Meanwhile, Franklyn seems to be falling over himself in an attempt to secure Hannibal’s attention. “Dr. Lecter, it’s so nice to see you here,” Franklyn says, his voice a far cry from the manic lunacy from before. The sudden change is rather dizzying. This man is suffocating to be around. “You know, I thought this might be your kind of place. I was just speaking to your friend here…”

You place a hand on your temple, beginning to get a migraine from the sheer burst of emotions surrounding Franklyn. Your skills in criminal profiling typically allow you to get a sense of other people’s feelings. At worst, you can get a trace of what they feel. Right now, however, you feel every emotion Franklyn is exuding, and it’s enough to make your vision grainy and fuzzy. He continues prattling on, but all you can sense is the horrible flood of obsession, jealousy, and a visceral desire so palpable that it makes you nauseous.

You put a hand to the wall behind you, feeling the need to brace yourself against something. Everything in the background falls to a dull buzzing rhythm—Franklyn’s giddy conversation with Hannibal, the muted sound of the performance that you can hear through the walls. You close your eyes and beg for the torture to stop. Maybe Franklyn will take pity on you and walk away. Maybe Hannibal will lose his patience and walk away, too—you wouldn’t be surprised.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your forearm. You vaguely register—through swirling vision—Hannibal leading you further down the abandoned hallway until he stops and pushes you into an armchair. Despite the overwhelming emotionality that Franklyn practically assaulted you with, you manage to scrounge up a rather large amount of guilt.

“Sorry,” you choke out to Hannibal. Your breathing is still a bit rough and your clothes feel incredibly constricting. You roll up the sleeves of your jacket—well, Hannibal’s jacket—and try to stammer out the rest of your apology. “Feel free to go back inside; I just need a moment.”

You place a hand over your aching temple and another on the arm of the chair. Selfishly, you think that you could use Hannibal’s support, but you don’t want to occupy his attention when the performance is still happening. You close your eyes and try to pretend that your ears aren’t buzzing. You wait to hear his footsteps as he retreats; you wait to hear an acquiescence. A few seconds pass. Instead, there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Dr. Lecter,” you choke out, your eyes beginning to burn. You wipe at them furiously, despite knowing that the effort is futile. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Hannibal says. You can’t see the expression on his face through your blurred vision—you just pray that it isn’t annoyance or irritation.

“I’ll be fine,” you maintain through gritted teeth. You think you hear Hannibal sigh at that, but it could easily be your imagination. The man looks down at you before pressing a cool hand to your forehead. Despite knowing that he’ll withdraw his hand in a few moments, you can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I’m sure,” Hannibal remarks, pulling you up to your feet and steadying you as your balance wavers. He places your hand on his arm and the two of you walk back in the direction you came. To your surprise, when you reach the door to the theater, Hannibal pivots and leads you towards the exit. You shake your head in disbelief as humiliation, shame, and guilt battle for prominence in your chest. Before long, Hannibal has led the two of you into his car. The moment you’re in his car, you bury your head in your hands.

Everything in your vision feels harsher and sharper. You begin to dig your nails into your palms unconsciously, hoping for some means to establish yourself in reality. You don’t realize you’re doing it until Hannibal reaches out and pries your hands apart. Your hands are trembling ever so slightly and you ball them into fists.

You’re not sure how much time you spend trying to regain your composure in the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car. Dignity is a foreign concept. You’re sure the embarrassment will catch up to you later—perhaps when you’re home and have some time to think.

At some point, Hannibal begins driving. Thankfully, the roads aren’t bumpy and the ride is rather smooth. He’s entirely silent and you feel the beginnings of remorse prickling along your skin. Hannibal never asked you to explain your interaction with Franklyn, but you feel that he deserves to know what happened.

“You realize Franklyn’s in love with you, right?” You blurt out, before quickly turning your head to look out the window and avoid Hannibal’s gaze. Truthfully, you had hoped to lead into that a little bit more. Somehow, that statement was what came from your lips.

“Yes.” Hannibal responds, his eyes still locked on the road. You take the afforded opportunity to look at him, confident in the notion that you aren’t being observed right back. Hannibal seems… entirely unruffled. Then again, he always looks unbothered. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to notice when something bothers him.

“He asked me what cologne you wear,” you decide to start with. You describe how you had tried to make your way back to the theater, only to be stopped by Hannibal’s patient and led off into a secluded hallway. “Franklyn knew that I was wearing your clothes; he also wanted to know what it’s like to be friends with you.”

“What did you say?” Hannibal asks, his attention still focused on the road.

“Nothing; he didn’t let me get a word in edgewise,” you admit. You run a finger along the smooth fabric of your shirt sleeve. Unbeknownst to you, the sleeve had started to roll up on its own; you take a moment to fix that before continuing to speak. “He’s so… suffocating.”

“It seemed his presence was harming you,” Hannibal remarks bluntly. You nod in agreement. At first, the interaction was merely uncomfortable. However, once Hannibal appeared, Franklyn’s emotions hit you with full force.

“I could feel everything,” you break off for a moment. “The love, the obsession, the jealousy, the envy… It was overwhelming. That man is the darkest person I’ve ever met.”

“He isn’t a killer,” Hannibal points out. That’s true—you’ve seen your fair share of killers, with minds so dark that you couldn’t hope to find an escape. Even so, those criminals were… straightforward. Franklyn, on the other hand, is a paradox.

“I know,” you acknowledge. “Franklyn is extremely neurotic, though—arguably the worst I’ve ever seen. It’s stifling. He has debilitating control issues and a crippling urge to prove himself. He’s often a victim of his own envy and jealousy. His self-concept is… I can’t even begin to describe it.” Yet, there’s a thinly-veiled hunger in Hannibal’s eyes—he wants to hear what you have to say. You inhale slowly. Again, you feel as if you owe him for absolutely ruining his night. Besides, you’re sure that he already knows all this information anyway. Franklyn is his patient, after all.

“Franklyn is sort of… a shapeshifter, for lack of a better term. He’ll adjust and change himself to fit the situation best. When he’s in love, he’s dangerously obsessed. His unconventional actions are reassuring to him, though, because they give him a modicum of control—a control that he cannot possess over anything else.” You have a lot more that you could divulge on the matter, but you decide to stop there. Again, you’re convinced that Hannibal already knows all of that.

“I see why you’re Jack’s best profiler,” Hannibal says, finally looking away from the road to look at you. His eyes are glittering in the darkness. You roll your eyes at the unnecessary compliment, too tired to start an argument. To your surprise, when you look out the window, you realize that he’s driving down your street. That car ride had passed rather fast and within a few seconds, Hannibal is pulling into your driveway.

“We’re here,” you announce unnecessarily, grabbing the door handle and stepping out of the vehicle. To your surprise, Hannibal also gets out of the car. You squint at him in confusion, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You’re not quite sure what he’s playing at, but you’re too exhausted to figure it out. Instead of inquiring about his sudden interest in following you inside, you simply allow him to do so before closing the door behind him.

“Do you want your clothes back now?” You ask, unable to come up with any other explanation for his presence in your home. It’s not that you mind his intrusion—not at all, actually—but you’d feel more comfortable for a legitimate reason for his presence.

“If that’s acceptable,” Hannibal answers, breaking you out of your thoughts. His eyes are fixed on something on one of your bookshelves. You shake your head at his strange fascination with your living room decorations.

“Sure, I’ll go change; mind waiting here?” He assures you that he doesn’t mind waiting. You shut the door behind you in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. There are dark circles under your eyes and you look a little frazzled. Otherwise, you don’t look bad. Amazingly, you managed not to ruin Hannibal’s clothing—a feat you’re rather proud of yourself for. You settle for changing into a simple long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. As you change, you neatly fold Hannibal’s clothing into a pile. Once you’re done, you glance at your reflection one more time. You take a half-step backwards but, before you move to leave, your eyes catch on something below your collar. You squint and lean closer to the mirror, convinced that you’re seeing things. Somehow, though, you’re not. After a moment’s hesitation, you pull your shirt collar to the side, only to find harsh marks on your collarbone and shoulder. They’re almost in the shape of a handprint and it doesn’t take much detective work to realize who they’re from—Franklyn.

That realization is not very welcome, and you decide not to think about it right now. Remembering that Hannibal is waiting on you, you grab the folded pile of clothes and walk back out to the living room. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is looking around with a scrutinizing gaze. You walk up to him and hold out the clothes, but his back is turned. You eventually just decide to place them on the entryway table—he’ll have to see them on the way out.

“Thank you for inviting me, it was very fun,” you smile. Hannibal turns around, seemingly just noticing your presence. Just what is he looking for in your humble living room? He certainly won’t find anything of value. Furthermore, your decoration skills are nowhere near his. You can’t find a reasonable explanation for his behavior and, eventually, you have to give up on trying to rationalize it.

“I’m glad you found the night enjoyable,” he answers diplomatically. You raise an eyebrow at the stiff response. Perhaps your little… episode… had annoyed him more than you initially thought. Another apology certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your experience too much,” you wince, sheepishly shoving your hands in your pockets. Hannibal shakes his head, before taking a step closer to you.

“On the contrary, I found the performance more enjoyable with your company,” he asserts. Hannibal still looks as handsome as he did when he first appeared on your doorstep this evening—not a hair out of place. You swallow hard, before roughly shoving the thought aside—now is not the time. “I apologize for Franklyn.” Your eyebrows furrow. Why is he apologizing?

“You can’t control his actions,” you say, waving his concern off. “No harm done.” At that, Hannibal’s expression darkens. He takes another step closer, until the two of you are standing face to face. For a while, there is nothing but tense, uncomfortable silence.

“I disagree,” Hannibal says darkly, his hand resting lightly on your collarbone. Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing away the collar of your shirt to look at your shoulder. He frowns and you realize that he’s looking at the marks Franklyn left behind. If you had thought his prior expression to be dark, the look on his face now is nothing short of murderous. You feel your breath stalling in your chest, as you ground yourself in the realization that you’re standing in front of a killer with absolutely nothing to protect you. Hannibal moves to cup your cheek with a tenderness you thought him to be incapable of. His touch makes your skin feel licked with flames. Each breath you take feels labored and harsh. You swear you see Hannibal’s gaze fall to your lips for a brief moment, but you put it down to your imagination. It’s kind of late and you’re tired—you’re probably just seeing things. For a long moment, neither of you move or speak.

“Good night,” Hannibal says, a strangely determined expression on his face. His gaze keeps moving to your collarbone and you idly wish you had concealed the marks better. His hand falls from your face and he stares at you for a long moment, as if regretting your parting. You make sure to remind him of the pile of folded clothes, which he takes into his arms before turning around to leave.

“Good night, Hannibal,” you respond, opening the door for him. You watch as he enters his car and drives away. Despite the knowledge that he’s already out of sight, you feel the urge to wait a few more minutes before looking away. Finally, you close the front door and fall back against it, your mind reeling.

chapter six

#defectivevillain #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc

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deconstructthesoup · 5 months

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Some Adventure Time characters in D&D, 'cause why not:

Finn: I think he would start out as a Champion fighter, but then eventually switch to a College of Valor bard---fitting his more musical side while also keeping in line with his desire to be a hero and not making it all about violence---and maybe take a few levels of a Monster Slayer ranger for good measure. That last one is mostly due to the growth he goes through in Hall of Egress and him learning from Huntress Wizard, but I think it works. Also, he's still obviously a human.

Jake: Astral Self monk, Swashbuckler rogue. His whole deal as a stretchy, half-alien dog is very difficult to translate into D&D terms, but I think it'd make sense for him to be a changeling and a werewolf, keeping the whole canine aspect while also adding in the shapeshifting and the, uh... well, the whole "we have a kid who is definitely from somewhere else but we're keeping him anyway" thing.

Bonnie: I think her whole deal speaks to her being a textbook Alchemist artificer, and her princess nature, long lifespan, and a somewhat loose grasp on the concept of morality absolutely reminds me of high elves (no shade meant to PB, I love her and her emotional growth). However, just making her a high elf isn't enough---the fact that she was literally born from a mutagenic gum formed in the wreckage of a ruined world can easily translate to her also being a Reborn. Fitting, for a mad scientist.

Marceline: She's quite clearly a bard, and I think College of Spirits suits her the best---she's got a lot of connections to ghosts and undead things in AT canon, after all, and seeing as she survived an apocalypse, I think it's fitting that her college of choice would be one that's all about singing the songs of the departed. And, well... tiefling vampires are probably a thing in D&D, so. Yep.

BMO: He's an Inquisitor rogue and a lil' autognome. 'Nuff said.

Flame Princess: Circle of Wildfire druid, for reasons that are kind of obvious. And a Fire genasi. For reasons that are... also obvious.

Huntress Wizard: Um... a Hunter ranger. Probably an Eladrin due to the forest-like appearance, though I have no idea what her season is.

The Ice King/The Ice Thing/Simon: So, the Ice King, to me, is an eeeeeeeexcellent portrayal of a Great Old One warlock---specifically, a Pact of the Talisman warlock---gone horribly wrong. While the crown might not seem very classic GOO at first, the fact that using it literally gambles away your sanity is pretty in-line with the risks of that patron.

Gunther, pre-fusing with the crown, is really just a Great Old One on his own, albeit one that's been stuffed into a safe and squishy container. After fusing with the crown, and likely losing his memories of his time as Orgalorg for good, I think he probably became a Storm Sorcerer, as what powered his ice magic was now (almost) irremovable.

And Simon... honestly, between his nerdiness and his low constitution, he's just your classic wizard, really. Probably Chronomancy, due to his penchant for bouncing through time and multiverses.

Betty/Magic Betty/Golbetty: Order of Scribes wizard, who eventually became a Wild Magic sorcerer, who eventually became the Greatest Great Old One that there ever is. And yes, that makes Magic Man a Wild Magic sorcerer, because of course he is.

#dnd #adventure time #finn the human #jake the dog #princess bubblegum #bonnibel bubblegum #marceline abadeer #bmo #flame princess #huntress wizard #the ice king #simon petrikov #betty grof

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pumpkinsy0 · 2 months

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fuck it quick the outsiders x lord of the flies au i think it would be interesting

if u never read lord of the flies, basically, these boys are stranded on this island after a plane crash, they have to survive on this island, some boys get this sense of power and basically abuse it, some kids die yada yada yada, theyre saved at the end SO

•curly, pony, and johnny are the littleuns (if u dont know who the littleuns is they r basically the younger boys of the group who rlly dont understand whats going on, 16 to below is part of littleuns ill explain y soda isnt in this group later)

•literally EVERYONE ELSE tim, darry, etc etc, r the biguns

•NOW why soda is in the biguns and not the littleuns is bc darry just, needs someone close to him that kinda keeps him centered in reality, not to say pony DOESNT do that but he feels like thats too much to bare onto pony so darry would just keep that all kept in, but soda would notice and spend a lot of time w darry, so much time in fact that hes just always w the biguns a lot so hes just part of that group

•so EVERYONE is mentally terrible rn and pretty sensitive, but ESPECIALLY curly, pony, and johnny, thats also another reason y soda isnt rlly part of their group, he just comes off as more grown than them and so hes allowed to help make decisions w the biguns

-curlys REALLY easy to agitate/annoy, he says and does some pretty irrational things, spending a lot of time w pony cause ponys trynna get that guy to THINK

-ponys wayyyy more quiet bc hes more in his head and hes lowkey kinda losin it, he’s hallucinating just a tinnnyyyyy eanssyyyyyy weanssyyyyyy lil bit, maybe he ate some bad berries and nobody knew for a bit and hes havin a bit of a bad trip

-johnnys pretty much just mute, he speaks a lil bit but rlly not a lot, he feels like theyre all doomed, like he has a bit of hope but overrall hes just so done and so scared, but thats not to say he isnt trying to help or anything he knows how to make fires n stuff give my boy his props

•NOW W THE REST OF THE GANG (darry, two, steve, soda, tim, dallas, tim) like i said, theyre all mentally fucked rn but they r more so hiding it

•with them they are the ones who make the decisions like who gets food, who gets what shelter, yada yada yada, like those kind of big decisions, and for a while everything WAS good, but as time went on, they all just got more and more into fights and theure just NOT a community anymore and they kinda split off i to their own rival groups

•and it sucks bc curly, pony, and johnny r in the middle of it all, they r like the kids of divorced parents</333

•well to b more specific, pony and johnny r in the middle of it, curly “picked a side” but rlly hes just losing his marbles and doesnt rlly understand anything

but yea lord of the flies au to experiment w how everyone would react to a place w no laws and such :P

#curly shepard #ponyboy curtis #tim shepard #darry curtis #darrel curtis #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #johnny cade #steve randle

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resident-idiot-simp · 2 months

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Sorry it took so long to respond I was out all day and normally I would be asleep by now but due to a family emergency involving a sibling (they will be fine) I am ✨AWAKE✨. Please forgive the inevitable crimes against grammar I’m about to commit I am severely sleep deprived :D

Okay so the reason wendigos aren’t able to hybridise is because humans turn into them through specific methods ie eating human flesh. they are human turned creatures. Same rules apply for vampires, werewolves, Zombies, Ghosts and any other similar type of monster, they are around but they aren’t hybrids. There are also no Moth Man, Bigfoot or Loch Ness Hybrids.

Magic left the world a LONG time ago and no one (Human) remembers why. This caused a mass extinction event with most creatures that were solely magical being wiped out. The ones that survived either became Cryptids and barely functioned with the scraps of magic left behind or they became mundane…

The reason the fae left in the first place is because a bunch of humans tried to take magic from the Fae and actually succeeded for like five seconds before a bunch of them died from the sheer amount of power. This BIG NO NO altered the nature of magic into something humans could actually use unfortunately it also hurt the Fae badly so they had to poq for a while to recover. They took the magic with them but not before cursing the surviving thieves and their descendants to never be able to experience magic again (this led to some unintended consequences).

The reason there are no Fae hybrids is a little more sinister (angst potential incoming). Every now and then a little bit of magic would leak back into the world and keep things running just enough so that when the Fae returned it wasn’t a complete shit show (just mostly one) and after some initial conflict and a bunch of new border agreements things settled down (British hybrids can pick which royal house they follow (fae or human) whilst still maintaining citizenship (guess which Soap picked lol)) and with magic being reintroduced (in the 1800’s btw) the world slowly started to change. Within a generation hybrids began appearing, within another three Mythics started showing up too. With each successive generation the hybrids got stronger and as the magic around the world continued to grow more and more animals began looking weird. Rabbits with antlers, Giant Sea Snakes and Octopi, Lions with golden coats. But no dragons or phenox or unicorns or purely magical beings appeared instead what they had where hybrids that become a little less human every generation.

TLDR the OG mythical creatures went extinct and magic is trying its best to bring them back the normal hybrids just didn’t have enough juice in them to meet the requirements. Anything that didn’t go (fully) extinct like the Fae or are human turned creature won’t hybridise.

Technically Ghost hybridisation shouldn’t have worked but because he “died” such a specific and traumatising way near a canine mythic who’s magic he absorbed over months the magic got a lil confused (Ghost is the only Black dog hybrid the as the rest are actual dogs and not extinct ( does that mean Ghost is the strongest Black dog? Maybe…(yes it does))).

If you want angst you could say that if a hybrid uses to much of their magic they run the risk of becoming more creature then man. I don’t think they’d loose their intelligence and they’d still be the same “person” but they definitely wouldn’t be human.

Since magic returned vampires can walk in the sun, wendigos became intelligent (took one look at the military and went ✨no✨) werewolves become more aware (lol) and don’t need the moon to shift and Ghosts are still classed as citizens.

Ooh What if magic is radiation from the asteroid that took out the dinosaurs????

You're fine I hope everyone's okay and I'd be a hypocrite because I too do not understand the English language.

Ok that makes sense yeah.

FAE LORE FAE LORE!!! I LOVE IT! I love that the lore and angst of humans trying to take something not made for them is very fitting. There is a ton of potential for angst and I love that Soap is like nahhh fae all the way. (He is correct)

I Love that explanation of mythics It seems very fitting for the universe. The world needs them in some way shape or form so it corrects itself.

Great explanation for Ghost and the fact that singles him out making him the most powerful is perfect. I mean look at that man.

AAAHHHH ANGST!!!! I LOVE THAT! It limits them and makes them of not super op. It also explains how some of the actual mythical creatures can survive in the human world now. (Wendigos my beloved)

OMG DINOSAUR LORE?! YES! (what if kidding kinda If all the dinosaurs didn't die) Hahaha unless

(I answered this on my phone so I couldn't answer each paragraph because it wasn't clear sorry)

#call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #ghoap #simon ghost riley #hybrid au

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Ghosts

Summary: A phone call from a stranger with news about a man from a life you had left behind a long time ago, brings back many memories, making you travel from France to New York City for one last time. Only for a promise made twenty years ago to wait for you once you are back home.

Pairing: John Wick x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: !! spoilers for John Wick Chapter 4 !! do not read this if you don't want to be spoiled for the movie (this is an attempt on a fix it fic lmao), guns, death, angst, fluff

A/N: yeah I know it's been 84 years but here I am with my silly little John Wick fic, trying to make sense of the movie I watched two days ago. Summary is a lil vague cause spoilers

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for new fic updates

You jumped awake, uncertain what it was that woke you up.

Groaning your eyes found the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table, showing you that it was just after 3 am. Was it a nightmare? You had those, even though not as frequently as before. Out of instinct you reached under your bed, finding the familiar shape of your gun still in place.

You hadn’t actually used a gun in almost twenty years, yet knowing it was there gave you a sense of safety, your mind wandering to the last time you had used it.

The night you died.

The night you left your old life.

The night he killed you.

Your life had been planned out for you before you even took your first breath. You were the future head of the Ruska Roma, your fathers pride and joy.

You never had a choice in that matter.

You learned hundreds of ways to kill a person, had material art lessons daily followed by lessons learning every single detail about the high table and your family's enemies, making you a killing machine before you even turned thirteen years old.

It was on your thirteenth birthday that you met John Wick for the first time.

He was older than you, at least ten years, but there was something in his eyes that seemed familiar to you. It was the same look you saw every day when you looked into the mirror. Sadness, Anger, Emptiness.

He spent a year working exclusively for your father, doing his dirty work, before he disappeared like a ghost into the night.

Almost twelve years would pass before you and John would meet again.

He became a friend, if you had friends in the world you had been born into. Maybe even your only friend. And so much more. He trained you, his reputation proceeding him, his name only whispered in the underground as if he would appear out of thin air if you dared to speak out his name.

Spending time with John became an escape to the ever lingering pressure all around you, your personal challenge becoming to make him crack the facade he put on, for just a tiny glimpse at the man behind the myth.

It was when your father announced your engagement to another future member of the high table, catching you totally off guard, that gave you finally the strength to plan your way out.

You knew survival was almost impossible.

So you had to die.

And who better to help you make your death believable than the boogeyman himself?

Shaking your head out of the memory of John, blinking away the many pictures of his soft smile as you woke up in his arms day after day before you disappeared you sighed.

It had been almost twenty years since you last saw him, since he promised once he got out for good he would find you, but sometimes you still found yourself thinking about him. He had been your best friend and so much more. The first man you kissed, the first man you slept with.

Your phone buzzed and you reached for it, your eyes frowning at the foreign number.

“Hello?” you said.

A sigh was heard on the other end of the line.

“This is… My name is Winston and I am calling for Jonathan Wick….”

Getting to New York undetected must have been the single most anxious task of your life. You hadn’t been back here since you kissed your former life goodbye.

But it was John.

And Winston, who you learned was the Manager of the New York Continental Hotel, assured you that your safety would be assured if you chose to travel to John’s funeral.

“John and I may have had our issues, but he made me promise to keep an eye on you if anything would ever happen to him,” he had told you.

It was from him that you learned that even though you hadn’t talked or seen John since that night, John had very much kept up with you and your life. To make sure you were always safe.

You learned that he got out too before because he fell in love, got married to the woman he loved before she died from a long illness, the aftermath of that sucking him back into the underworld where he fought for his freedom before he eventually found it and died on the steps of the Sacré-Cœur in Paris.

Only two hours away from the small town you had called home for the last couple of years.

You weren’t prepared how much the news of his death would hurt.

While learning that he got out for another woman hurt when you first learned about it, in the end you were happy he got to experience love and life apart from the underworld.

Sure, he could have died without you knowing it since you lost contact. But knowing that he still cared about you even after all these years, made you so fucking sad and happy at the same time.

Winston and someone who named himself the Bowery King (you did not ask any questions) had left you alone at the graveyard, a trusted security detail from Winston staying behind as you stood under the umbrella facing John Wick’s grave.

Loving husband it read beneath his name.

It brought a small smile to your lips.

When you were younger you always pictured him when you dreamed of getting married. But that was all it was.

A dream.

John Wick was the first man you loved, maybe the only man you really loved.

“I hope you found your peace, Jonathan,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over his gravestone, before you set down a single rose on his stone and on Helen’s. His wife’s.

You blinked away the tears.

“Thank you for keeping me safe,” you said with a sad smile on your lips before you slowly turned around and walked back to your car.

It was early morning when the car drove through the tiny town of La Mare just on the coast of France.

Was it totally insane taking a risky twenty four hour trip to New York City for a funeral of a man you hadn’t talked to in twenty years?

Yes.

But you would do it again.

You thanked the driver with a tired smile, watching him drive away as you searched for your keys in your purse.

You had stayed to have a drink with Winston and meet with a lawyer from whom you learned that John had put you in his last will, making you the sole heir to everything he owned in case his wife died before him.

After you had been driven back to the private airstrip where you took the private jet you had arrived with back to europe.

You just wanted to lay down and cry, the rollercoaster of feelings you had gone through since your phone call with Winston just two days ago still not really setting in.

You unlocked the door, letting your bag fall down in the hallway as you shut the door behind you, leaning with your back against the door, taking a deep breath.

This was so fucking silly.

Why were you so heartbroken about a man you had said goodbye to before?

You got out of your shoes, walking down the long hallway towards the kitchen half asleep. You blamed it on that you did not hear the noise until you were walking through the door, stopping in your tracks at the man currently fighting with your coffee maker.

Instinct set in and you silently walked to the table closest to you, intent on grabbing your gun when you found it gone.

“If you’re looking for your gun, it’s right here,” your head turned towards the man who had now turned around, his head nodding towards your big kitchen Island where your gun was laying.

Your eyes flew from him to the gun, before you looked at him again, your lips parting in a gasp.

“John?” you whispered in disbelief.

Slowly he walked towards you, limped really, before he came to a stop in front of you.

He was older, his dark hair longer than the last time you had seen him. He was wearing sweatpants and a white shirt and you could see the bandages beneath it from where he must be hurt.

“I told you I would find you once I got out for good,” he said carefully, but you just kept looking at him like he was a ghost. A ghost from your past.

“Hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.”

“I... I was at your funeral,” you whispered.

“I was at yours too,” he said.

“You got married,” you said. He nodded.

“But now you’re here.”

“But now I’m here.”

You took a step towards him, carefully reaching out, your hand coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart.

“It’s been a long time,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other,” you said. He nodded.

“You wanna have breakfast and tell me all about it?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

#my fic #John Wick #John Wick x fem. reader #Keanu Reeves #John Wick Chapter 4 spoilers #spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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fumifooms · 4 months

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Hello! Anon Asker again here. Recently got through the latest volume on Kindle with the Dungeon Master arc.

(Spoilers ahead for others...?) Now that we got most of the characters' backstories, I feel the earlier black magic ritual they did for Falin makes a lot more sense.

Marcille is desperate to keep the people she loves alive given her sense of loss and persisting dread about outliving everyone she knows.

Laios (apart from loving his sister) has lingering guilt from having left Falin behind before, exacerbated by her sacrifice and the way she always puts him first.

Then there's Senshi and Chilchuck who have on more than one occasion shown a distaste for magic.

Yet Senshi didn't fight it much and stood by them, because he himself is not a stranger to loss, especially when it comes to loved ones who have sacrificed for others so that one might survive.

But Chilchuck I'm not so sure. He was the most vocal in how against black/ancient magic he was, but also didn't really stop it. Maybe we can attribute it to his own abandonment issues by his wife, or just that he could imagine what it might be like if it was one of his daughters (as we saw in a small chapter art where he had a nightmare of his daughters dead). But I wanted to hear your take on this if in case you do.

Sorry for taking so long to get back to this ask! It’s a layered topic so I procrastinated on polishing my answer.

I think this is super interesting! Especially because we’re coming at this from totally different angles, since reading the manga I never thought that using dark magic didn’t make sense considering the situation or was weird. You’re coming at this at an angle of what personal reasons would make a character do this, while I looked at it in an angle of what social reasons would make a character let it happen. Post gonna be a lil long so I put it under cut! Tldr with your angle though, I think you’ve pretty much got it spot on and I don’t have much to add, I think your take it’s very interesting, and true.

So, why not do dark magic?

Throughout the whole manga, very early on too, we see our characters testing their society’s perception on morality in ways that we see that the moral wall was pretty baseless in the first place, mainly the disgust towards eating monsters for instance. Or sometimes, the morality of characters is lacking to our standards, having a perception we’d see as twisted, like in the kobold extra. Like Marcille talks about in the barometz/direwolves chapter, eating something "filthy" will make you filthy too and that’s why Marcille was innately so opposed to eating monsters. We also see it with the orcs’ chapter for example, Kui tackles a lot of difficult themes with nuance like racism, both the orcs and the elves have their perspective and their big faults in their part in their conflict, but in the end who’s right and who’s wrong isn’t spelled out for the readers. The point is that morality in the manga isn’t set in stone, it’s something that as the reader you draw the line on yourself, and we see that our characters aren’t infallible moral compasses either. The use of magic, too, is left up in the air on how good and moral it is to use, "unnatural" vs efficent vs cheap cop-out vs harmless or harmful.

So for me, when Marcille explained dark magic, how it works and why it’s forbidden, ‘yeah there’s probably a hidden catch in there’ I thought but I was super on board with it. To me, not using dark magic because it’s different and less known would be like not wanting to eat monsters for the same reason: more born out of fear and ignorance than reasonable and rational.

So we’re coming at this from different angles like I said, while you focused on character motivations for being fine with such an unholy act of magic I thought of it in an ambiguous morality and consequences way. So instead of "why should/would they do it?" to me it’s "why not?". And to me it’s a bit like "Well, no one should steal! But if the person really needs to for food, well I could let it go" for the characters’ thought process, though of course the instinctive revulsion and the stakes are much higher. They have all worked really hard to get there, and if there’s a chance it’ll go well then they would try it. Senshi and Chilchuck are much more reticent than the others like you said, but they’re able in the end to either rationalize doing it enough, or just prefer to listen to the directives and see how it goes by taking a more passive role. Not unlike how peer pressure can get you to participate in something you don’t want to do. But to me it’s a lot about growing accustomed to the unknown, hearing about it from Marcille who researches dark magic instead of the half-foot anecdotes about "dark elves" and "dark magic" used to nefarious ends. Which, presumably dark elves don’t even exist, we don’t know exactly what the half-foot definition of dark elves is, it’s a misconception and it’s a boogeyman, which is part of my point.

Where does Chilchuck’s distaste of magic come from? Elves. But by then Marcille, by being an elf herself and being trustworthy and friendly thus far, has started to chip away at these preconceived notions. Maybe what he heard wasn’t foolproof, after all. Under pressure and stakes like they were, people with even an usually very rigid morality may bend a little, steal, etc. To me, even if Chilchuck brought it up later, still very uneasy with it, it didn’t mean that him doing it was unrealistic or weird. People do things half-heartedly or unsure on if it’s the right thing to do sometimes, especially under pressure. Their will wavered while Laios and Marcille’s didn’t, and ultimately that’s what decided what they would do. What’s the other option? Marcille and Laios weren’t going to back down, so what, fight them so they don’t do it? Otherwise they’ll do it anyways with or without you, and then is there even a point to putting up a fight about it or even leaving? You can see the raationalization being done in real time, if you reverse engineer it.

Ironically enough I think this scene set after they do it depicts it perfectky: Chil lays out why he doesn’t like the thought of it, she responds on why dark magic being bad is up for debate, and he goes to argue but ultimately chooses not to and goes along with the group.

But yes it’s an interesting topic! Marcille researches positive uses for ancient magic so of course she’d be ready to use it to revive Falin, Laios has normalized reviving and magic a lot and overly relies on it, and Senshi doesn’t want to do it, but it’s because of his ideal- because of his instinctive recoil at anything that is magical or "unnatural"… Except for the golems. Because of how he sees himself as part of a larger ecosystem and cycle of life that humans shouldn’t have control over, that should know how to sustainably live with nature without getting greedy or cocky… Except for when he idealized Anne the kelpie as his best friend that even though is a monster would never hurt him. He tends to pull away from others socially needlessly, not letting himself grow too close to people or a community, too. Point is, Senshi has his pitfalls and isn’t as inflexible as we might think, and not everything he does is rational or even consistent with his own beliefs under his normal circumstances, though I do think he’s the one who was/should be the most opposed to the reviving character wise.

And I said that Chilchuck’s reason for not liking dark magic is rooted in superstitions and elves and history- and that’s certainly true but it isn’t the full story either. While Senshi’s preoccupied about morals and his world view, Chilchuck is SCARED of it, he thinks of the CONSEQUENCES, not the act itself (though it also def doesn’t charm him either). And not just the direct consequences of what a dark magic resurrection means either, it comes up a lot that Chilchuck is worried for others and for himself, about careers or the law and generally the future, and tends to micromanage them or be on their case because of it. Made a lil compilation below, notice the trend, he’s very focused on what others will do if they learn that they did dark magic, he’s focused on hiding that they did, not grappling with the morality of it as much. He’s very worried about the legality of it. He sees it as a crime but not something that shatters his worldview y’know. And even after Marcille did it and uncovered that she researched dark magic, he still trusts her and her judgement, is only wary of her a but for a bit before going right back to being thick as thieves together.

I was gonna talk about racism as a plot point and through arcs in the series here but I think I made my point without it, so that’ll be a topic for another day. But yeah… Spoilers for the last volume stop here and skip to the last paragraph if you still haven’t read ut all (bless your Kindle reader soul, good luck waiting for the next chapters). Is the winged lion bad? He’s harmful, certainly, but he’s not evil, and at its base it’s an entity without a sense of morality. Dunmeshi tackles morality in a really interesting, typical of seinens way, and unity is another big theme, as much as racism is a narrative tool and plot point the lesson is that putting efforts into befriending people you don’t understand is good. And with some, like the winged lion, that’s not gonna pay off, but everyone deserves to be understood regardless. Narratively that’s why Laios is the character he is, and why we get to learn about Kabru, the orcs, the canaries, Thistle, even the demon, and see it under new lights. Kui is big on critical race theory and sociopolitical issues used in/for storytelling, and it shows. During canon Chilchuck is growing closer to an elf coworker and tentatively giving her his trust, which pays off, and that is enough to make him reconsider wether dark magic is that bad, and think of how much risk he’s willing to get into for the party. Whew got sidetracked by the narrative genius of Dunmeshi and Kui but, the point is that in the story, characters changing their mind on issues and having their viewpoints challenged is very much common and important.

Sooo yeah! As I said I do enjoy your perspective as well, I’d never thought of it that way so it was interesting. Hopefully this is an insightful post and not just a load of nothing that wasn’t relevant to your question haha. But yeah, while reading I truly approached it from a "why not" angle, instead of a "why yes". They don’t like the method but they do want Falin to live, which makes it easier to dirty their hands for. Wash your hands of it and don’t think about it too much afterwards. (Top 10 reasons why it’ll backfire! none of them will surprise you 🌟)

#Ask #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #meta #analysis #i don’t think i’ll tag specific characters for this one #🫶 Ty for the ask srry for not being normal #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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One is horny and one is tomfoolery you say? Hour 19 has been plaguing my mind and it’s not even out yet. I just know it’s the horny one. Let me have at it, please, just a lil snippet, I’ve been listening to deftones all night

ah, well, if you've been listening to deftones all night... i'm legally required to provide the snippet, right? that's how that works, i think.

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes.

This conversation is going surprisingly well.

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?”

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message.

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder.

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have flutter shut.

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours.

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?”

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.”

His voice is strained, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been rewarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle?

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced.

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent.

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.”

#thank u ily <3 #vol2eddie <3 #twenty four hours #someone call 911 they're actually opening up and being vulnerable for longer than a few minutes !#the shower is a fun place #it's always in the shower #isn't it?#ALRIGHT now back to ghost stories <3

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ominousvibez · 5 months

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So I originally published this post a little bit ago about how important it felt to me that Arin should remain without an element in Dragons Rising, because it would be such an interesting character arc to explore. But I also published that super late at night and it was more a train of thought, not something fully written, but I want to expand on this more.

Arin should not have an element, and here’s why.

(Runtime: 3:29:09) (JK I’ve just been watching hbomberguy vids for the last week)

When we’re first introduced to Arin as a character, he’s shown to be a huge ninja fan. He carried around Lloyd’s mask for God knows how long, too afraid to wash it in fear of damaging it. He wears it as a mask, too, when he tries to be just like the heroes he looks up to (which is a lil’ gross buddy). He propped the ninja up as these great heroes, and his optimism generally bounced nicely off Sora’s more pessimistic view of the world.

Arin grew up with the stories of the ninja, so it makes sense that he would try to emulate his heroes. And when he meets Lloyd, and starts training to be a ninja, well, it’s kinda his dream come true.

Other people have compared Arin’s character to that of a longtime Ninjago Fan IRL, too. He knows the lore, he knows the stories, he knows about the ninja. Sora, on the other hand, is the opposite, and a good representation of the new fans in the audience. She didn’t know these brightly color-coded ninjas existed until the Merge, after she ran away from everything she knew in Imperium, and she’s just trying to survive with her silly bestie Arin.

But then, Sora unlocks her elemental ability over technology—a new elemental ability, unlike anything seen before in Ninjago—and the story really begins.

Throughout the first season, it focuses a lot on Sora’s struggle with mastering her new abilities. At first she thinks it’s something that only their dragon baby Riyu can activate with her, but then starts to think that all her efforts lead to suffering, before finally coming full-circle and accepting them as her own, eventually unlocking her true potential in the climax of the second half of Season 1. BendoBricks on Youtube has a much better breakdown of her character arc, which I’d really recommend, cause I’m not here to focus on her.

No, I want to focus on Arin.

Arin—the long-time Ninjago fan’s self-insert baby boy who I would gladly kill for—is a great character, and despite being the POV character at the beginning of the first season, does fall to the wayside a bit when focus goes onto Sora and her character arc. Which is fine, don’t get me wrong—because Arin falling a bit to the side feels like it’s being done on purpose.

Imagine this. You’re a fan of this group of superheroes in your world, and you spend your days wishing you’d be like them. Or maybe you’d daydream about your parents selling you to these superheroes, or something. And something really bad happens, the world completely changes, and then you’re on your own, and those superheroes vanished.

You make friends in this new world, and you share these stories with your new friends! It’s great. And then one of those heroes comes back, and wants to train you and your friend to be heroes, too, as your friend has a superpower. Doesn’t that sound absolutely amazing!

You’re a prodigy, too—you’ve trained and taught yourself the techniques these heroes used, and they’re all impressed. But your friend has a superpower.

And you don’t.

This is the situation Arin is in. Everyone around him has an elemental ability. Sora, Riyu, Lloyd, Kai, Nya, Zane—everyone he basically associates with daily has this amazing power (or is a cute lil’ dragon). And he doesn’t have anything. Even though he’s taught himself how to use Spinjitzu, and has managed to unlock a technique where he can transfer that spinning energy to an item, he doesn’t technically have an elemental ability. It’s less impressive compared to other characters, especially the ninja, who have known Spinjitzu for like thirteen years. It’s impressive he’s learned it on his own, unlocked the key for it by himself, but in comparison, he doesn’t have a lot to set him apart from the other ninja other than the fact that he doesn’t have an element.

In my opinion, this would be a much more interesting route for them to take his character. Staying without an element.

Of course, it could later be found out that Arin’s a new elemental master of, like, momentum, or something like that, to explain how he picked up Spinjitzu so quickly and can transfer it to objects, but I think that would be the lazy way out.

Arin’s character acts as an amazing foil to Sora through Season 1. He’s a ninja fanboy, she kinda doesn’t care. He’s energetic, optimistic. She’s cautious and a bit pessimistic. Arin later gains oni-like horns on his ninja gi, and Sora is associated heavily with dragons (which I’ve heard is quite a duality in the lore, idk I haven’t seen the later seasons yet).

Sora is an elemental master, and Arin… isn’t.

Bits of a new character arc can be seen through S1 for Arin. In the last few episodes of the series, while Sora masters her element, Arin withdraws a bit from it all. In Episode 10, following the first battle in Imperium, he sits by himself, away from the others, and dejectedly tells Lloyd, “If you have all of them, you don’t need me anymore”, before it cuts to not just Kai, Zane, and Nya; but also, Sora and Riyu. Their conversation was less about Arin’s lack of an elemental ability, and more of Arin’s fear of losing others; they have a similar conversation in episode 20, where Arin laments his object Spinjitzu only being accessible when he’s literally scared to shit and how frustrating it is, and Lloyd comments on how all of the ninja had moments when they were scared, but they acted through the fear.

I feel like both of those scenes happening in the mid-season and season finale happen interestingly. For once, they center Arin by himself; he’s sitting aside by the wall, messing with a shuriken in ep 10, and he’s throwing the shuriken and trying to activate his object Spinjitzu in ep 20; but they both put him on the sidelines, away from others.

(Okay I know in ep 20 Sora is also by herself with her mech, but Arin is still aside, so my point still stands.)

The opportunity of a character like Arin not ever developing an elemental ability like the other ninja feels like something almost too good to waste. Before Nya became the Water Ninja (and when she was actually allowed to be a character and not just The Girl), Nya had interesting moments, such as developing Samurai X as a way to be a part of the team without actually being a ninja.

I think the ideal character arc for Arin would work similarly to Sora’s, but flipped, if that makes sense. Perhaps having him attempt to unlock an elemental ability, running out of luck with everything, and getting frustrated at his lack of worth, despite his skills with Spinjitzu, would be an interesting way to go for his character. Eventually he would learn that he doesn’t need to have a cool elemental ability to be a ninja; he’s just fine as he is. And maybe that can be what’s holding him back from truly developing his object Spinjitzu is that fear that he’s not worthy enough to be a ninja. He turns his lack of elemental power into his strength.

The DR writers have a cool arc they could give him, and I think they ought to go for it. I’m sure more about Arin will be revealed in S2, and he’ll have his character arc then. I just hope that the writers don’t take the easy way out, and give Arin a much more interesting character arc than the same “omg I have an elemental ability I gotta learn” that Ninjago has done multiple times already.

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago dr #arin ninjago #ninjago arin #analysis #ninjago analysis #i just really love him okay.#i will protect him i want to see him grow healthy #i want to tell my friends and family about him #i hope this makes more sense than my first post L M A O #ominouswrites

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