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jjkeremika · 2 months

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Goofy (pt3)

levi ackerman x reader (fem!reader), levi x you

description: your friends embarrassed levi. he wants to embarrass you

inspiration (anonymous;requested): “captain levi making goofy reader get off on his new boot as punishment for fucking something up under his watch. especially because he heard their little jokes and he wants her to be embarrassed”)

(Goofy (pt1): you think levi’s too serious. he thinks you’re too goofy; Goofy (pt2): levi fucks some sense in you)

warning/disclaimer: armin/sasha/you/ymir/historia friend group; lewd language; masturbation; object grinding; shaming/derogatory; edging; punishment; light hair tug; power dynamic; NSFW/MDNI

“we’re all ready for the mission, right? you guys know the plan?” armin asked while stacking a wooden box into the wagon, hoisting it from historia’s and ymir’s dual grip.

“well, we’re not done stacking yet, so,” sasha added, dangling and kicking her feet off the edge of the wagon, “doesn’t sound that ready to me,” she sang, eying armin playfully.

“some of us aren’t helping,” ymir muttered, lightly kicking sasha’s side.

armin sighed, paired with a deep breath and an arm stretch, “i meant the strategy.”

sasha slapped ymir’s leg. ymir hopped away from the cart. “not all help is manual labor. entertainment and company are so important these days,” she said knowingly, leaning back onto her palms.

you and ymir made eye contact and chuckled. “oh. maybe you should stop helping then,” ymir added as she picked up another box from the ground. sasha reached to smack armin’s leg as he snorted and laughed.

“i still can’t believe we’re on levi’s squad this time,” historia squealed in hushed excitement, glancing around to make sure the captain wasn’t around. “all of us!”

her squeal cut through yours, sasha’s, and ymir’s laughter, drawing all of your attention. ymir carried the box and handed it off to armin. you pulled out the ropes and clips from a separate stack of crates.

“do you think that’s related to—” armin blurted out, his cheeks immediately pinking up as he glanced at you. he stopped himself as ymir put the box down and leaned onto it as she laughed.

“armin, too soon!” historia gasped, trying to hold her composure but her pink cheeks gave her away. “her throats still sore.”

nobody said anything, everyone looking at the ground with suppressed smiles and shifting bodies.

“related to our amazing skills?” sasha finished his question, pulled an apple out of her pocket. “obviously.”

“who knew you had such a dirty mind, tori,” ymir said, clicking her tongue, shaking her head, “nobody else went there.”

you laughed, winced from the healing tears in the tissue. “way to doubt our skills and make us feel bad,” sasha added, taking a bite.

“i, uh, i thought armin was referring to—” she stammered, glancing around at all of her friends suppressing a smile into a frown.

“wow. now she’s blaming armin,” sasha sighed, exaggerating her tone.

ymir rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “he can’t even say clitoris, tori.”

historia looked to you and you shook your head, flattened your lips into a straight line.

“i can’t believe you just said that. way to bring up literal throat fucking while we’re working,” ymir said it with a straight face and shook her head and licked her lips, returned to picking up the box and moving towards the carriage.

“maybe you should stop helping,” sasha mused, punctuating her suggestion with another bite of her apple and a loud munch.

historia chortled and turned around, helping you untangle the ropes.

“i was only going to say his new boots,” armin said quietly. “i think hes proud of them. eren told me the heel leaves a mark for days.”

sasha and ymir immediately looked to you then burst into laughter. sasha gasped excitedly. you laughed despite your sore throat, dropping the rope, wheezing more than anything else.

“that’s sexy,” ymir and sasha shouted in unison and pointed at each other, laughing loudly. historia covered her mouth to quiet herself.

“oo, lucky eren,” you added.

“well,” historia chirped with a wide grin, bordering a more amused smirk, “three inches can be a lot for some people.”

sasha grabbed her stomach with laughter, ymir hit the crate. even armin was laughing harder than you’ve seen before, light pink cheeks like he might be starting to get it, catching on.

“i meeeaaaannn,” sasha elongated, raising her palms, bending her elbows, and shrugging, completely oblivious to the apple juice sliding down her wrist. “we know he likes to wear the boots.”

his voice cut through the open air, even echoed enough for nearby birds to fly away. his volume traveled faster than he walked, sauntering like none of you were ever worth his time. “hey!” the five of you turned to sight of him approaching, still a good distance away. “shut the fuck up!”

ymir, sasha, and you all looked between each other with suppressed smiles and suggestive eyes before breaking into another fit of laughter, the tension and adrenaline increasing your heart rate.

“hurry up and knock it off!” he demanded, his tone cutting through the laughter, the tension dissipating into dangerous territory.

the four of them silently went back to work, and you dared to look at levi with an amused smile, smirked and bit your lip when you noticed the pink sheen highlighting his cheeks, the flaring of his nostrils, the heaving of his chest as he glared at you with a curled lip and clenched fists.

there were tiny bits of quiet, suppressed laughter and amusing eye contact while the rest of the crates were stacked.

armin spoke first, so softly and unsurely, while the five of you tied and chained the crates to the carriage. “do you think if we speak again…” he pointed to his throat, suppressed his smile into a poorly-hidden straight face, dared to look at you while he said it. “he’s gonna do that to us?”

sasha’s hand clapped over her mouth as she laughed.

“aw,” ymir said between repressed chuckles. she walked over to armin, patted his back. “baby made his first funny joke.” he didn’t totally understand the joke, but everyone laughed when he said it the first time.

“no,” sasha eyed you when she followed, not even hiding the bemused smirk anymore, successfully controlling her volume, “we never said ‘aye aye, captain.’”

ymir snickered, put her arm around you. “yeah,” she continued casually, sighing in fake sorrow, “we’re just not goofy enough.”

*************

the five of you were relaxing at the cafeteria, exhausted from the manual labor, for once on the quieter side (still littered with a few jokes about how it was good for you to be on vocal rest), when the doors to the room slammed against the walls.

you felt the force of the air from across the room. all eyes turned to the smaller figure in the doorway, but captain levi was looking for one group in particular.

he stormed over almost immediately, knowing what table your friends sat at by heart, and the heat radiating off of him was enough to raise the temperature in the room, enough to make the room’s blood boil.

“which one of you fucked up?” his voice was level, but if you chipped away you could hear the frustration and anger and restraint. “which one of you tied the back?”

“um, a ‘hello’ wou—“ ymir started while you agreed simultaneously, “yeah, serio—“

“i don’t have time for your fucking jokes today.” he leaned his palms against the table, glared at each of you like you were nothing but sacks of meat. you both fell silent. “your carriage fell apart. your cargo was loose. your cargo fucking fell out before the team even reached the wall!”

he pointed at each of you while he spoke. “best part?” his eyes were flaring, setting fire to anyone who dared to make eye contact. “into the fucking river.”

armin and historia sat with their heads down, ymir rolled her eyes but bit her tongue. sasha was starting to feel the pressure of what they’d done.

“two months of supplies in the river.” he was seething, it was seeping into his eerily calm tone. “back right. who secured it?”

everyone tried to subtly look to you, keeping their hands clasped in their laps, but levi was impeccable at reading body language.

he glared at you, a scoff mixed with distaste and expectation. “captain goofy, huh?” he crossed his arms and you pretended not to notice the folding of his sleeve, exposing the muscle underneath. “of course it was fucking you.”

worst part?

it was actually you this time.

“you.” he pointed at you. you dug your fingernails into your thigh to avoid visible shaking. “you’re coming with me.”

he spat out the words, snarling like he might bite. you thought about him pulling your hair again.

“considering you’ll probably kill me if i don’t…” you mumbled, standing up rolling your eyes despite the jolt down your spine, your brain sending orders that your body helplessly obeys.

levi was already stomping away, the heels of his pristine boots smacking against the wooden floor, his cool rage quacking the earth.

historia whispered before you walked away. “he’ll kill you if you do.”

“yeah, honestly, nice knowing you,” ymir added, waving her hand like a careless farewell.

as you neared the door, levi having stopped to ensure you were following, you heard sasha not-so-quietly whisper, “he’s gonna kick her with the three inches.”

“eren’s quaking,” ymir immediately responded, cackling. armin hid his face behind his palms, historia stifled a laugh, and you failed to suppress a smug smile.

the captain ignored you, storming off noticeably faster and harder. you rubbed your throat and swallowed the building saliva to cool the itch as you followed the captain into his office.

levi sat in the office chair. “close the door behind you,” he ordered sternly. you carelessly pushed the door, a tiny part of you hoping the door didn’t actually close, that the lock didn’t click. for the bit.

you moved to sit down when he commanded, “stand,” with the soft click of the door. you kept your eyes on levi, who was taking controlled breaths.

he stared at you, more anger than anything else. he said nothing for minutes, scrutinized you with clasped hands and narrowed eyes, drawn brows and a disappointed scowl.

your heart was racing, you could feel the pulse in your wrists, in your neck, running up and down your thighs. the adrenaline of being reprimanded, the same relentless feeling as yesterday, the same rage and sexual frustration in his eyes.

the tension was unbearable, almost suffocating, settling heavily on your bones. you scanned his face amidst constant eye contact, looking for the slightest tell, the tiniest curve of his lip and vein in his neck.

you took in the sight of the captain in his office chair, his clutter-free desk neatly stacked with numerous papers, multiple different pens for different purposes.

levi stayed silent. your mind started to wander, thought of what your friends would say. it was actually hard to read his body language. you could picture her face and sasha’s laughter when she said it. why? because it’s so small?

you breathily laughed, the smile taking over your face, before you returned to looking at levi’s visibly frustrated expression and bit your bottom lip.

he locked his jaw. maybe you’d get to lick it today. “where do you think you stand in the corp?” his calm tone was misleading, laced with insidious undertones desperate to reach out and touch you.

you exhaled breathily, pointing to the floor. “uh, right here?”

his lip curled and he blinked twice before standing up and pointing in front of him. “here.” you hesitated, debated what to say. “im your captain. you do as i say.”

your legs started moving before your jaw could, quietly sauntering over. you were stood in front of him, looking down slightly. his stare was still hard, still debating with himself. you thought of kissing him this time.

“on your knees,” he ordered, his expression not faltering but his pupils widened, different from yesterday. “on the boot.”

his lip curled in response to your questioning face, but you complied anyway, your sore knees reminiscing on the last time.

you looked up at him with wide, dark eyes, taking in the sight of him towering over with all the light in the room. “hop.”

“what?”

“bounce. hop. move,” he repeated coldly. “do not fucking disobey me today.” he held up the top sheet of paper, the report of all the supplies lost, the request for replacements for a team with waning support.

you felt the blood rush through your body, heard it pounding in your ears, felt it appearing on your cheeks and settling in your crotch. the fluster in your gut was amplified by the explicit knowledge that you’ve fucked up. you’ve embarrassed the squad. you’ve embarrassed him.

his hand wrapping in your recovering hair brought you back to reality, where you were frozen, the rumble in your chest fighting for the air space in your lungs. “now.”

you rocked your hips instead, followed the friction against your clothed clit and repeated the cycle. you maintained eye contact with levi. “aye, aye, captain.”

you swore you saw his mouth flicker, his eyes gleam with a brighter light. he watched you carefully, scanning over your eyes and your mischievous smile and your hips rocking against the nice shiny boot.

the grip in your hair tightened as your hips sped up. the heat on your cheeks stayed despite the blood centered in your lower abdomen, despite the fire in your pelvis.

“keep going, baby,” he almost purred, turning his head away from the sight of you grinding down in the boots you were so obsessed with to the fucked up situation you warned them about.

“wh-what are you doing?” you rasped, awkwardly already a little breathless from the simple friction. you were peering over the desk, trying to see what was taking his attention off you.

he scoffed with a tiny smirk, shook his head lightly, “fixing your mistake.” he signed a page with one hand, flipped it with the same, kept the other held firmly on your scalp, in your hair.

you felt the heat rush to your cheeks, felt the unsettling turmoil in your abdomen, as the embarrassment flushed over, swirled with the sparks up your spine.

“don’t slow down,” levi added with a long stare, watching as you immediately obeyed, the liquid near your crotch starting to show on the thinner fabric of your thighs.

your hands wrapped around his calves, your eyelids closed. you leaned into the feeling, let the overwhelming heat add to the burning need to continue.

each time he turned back to the paper you started softly moaning a little more, moved your hips a little faster and more centered, rocked against his ankle.

“you gonna tell your friends about this?” he huffed, his cheeks bright pink. he watched your cheeks redden as your brain slowly processed what he said. “how fucking desperate you are that you’ll rub yourself on my fucking boot? how you love my three inch heel?”

he laughed. “do you think they’re listening now? that they already fucking know? outside the fucking door watching and listening to you grind my new shiny riding boots?”

you continued, his words sending shivers along your nerves. “i’ve heard the way you speak of me. i’ve heard the fucking jokes you make.” he chortled, shook his head, but your eyes were closed. “what do you think your friends are talking about now? what fucking jokes do you think they’re making now?”

you were quiet, too focused on the unbelievable sensation building, on his hand on your head tightening its grip, on the shakiness of your thighs and the intense need to both follow and stop.

he tugged on your hair, the sharp pain numbed out by the lag in brain function. you whimpered as he pulled you off coarse, as he pressed his ankle against you. “well?”

“wh-whole new mhm… meaning to riding boots,” you answered obediently, regaining your rhythm. “i better tie you in a better knot,” you kept going despite being out of breath, staring willingly at him.

he smirked as he lightly kicked you off, and you slid off balance onto the floor, right on your elbows and hip. you didn’t really care about the sharp pain in your elbows as he stared down at you.

levi picked his boot up, put the heel against your other thigh and pushed you onto your ass. he stood before you as you sat onto your palms. “then go tell them what they’ll think of every time you see these boots,” he muttered, returning to his desk.

#yes excellent idea anon EXCELLENT idea #short kings anthem #is this good #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader smut #levi smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #attack on titan levi smut #attack on titan levi #jjkeremika #i have to tag myself bc i wrote it lmao #levi ackerman x y/n #levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot levi #glad you like goofy !

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metamironadipirona · 10 months

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that one evanescence fallen redraw thing but with clone high joan of arc idk

#clone high #clonehigh #clone high joan of arc #clone high joan #joan of arc clone high #what am i supposed to put here #i never posted here before help #is this good

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skoulsons · 11 months

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Tommy takes Polaroids of Joel and Ellie.

It’s not often, in fact it’s more rare than anything, but the chance to capture sweet moments between them makes Tommy’s heart full, especially seeing the gentleness in how Joel treats her and the way he smiles when she looks at him.

He knows they appreciate them, too.

The first one was when they fell asleep on the couch together. They weren’t even in Jackson one week at this point, Tommy taking regular stops to their house to make sure they were settling in well. Maria cooked a casserole for them, Tommy offering to walk it down to their place in her stead.

He entered the house to the two of them tucked tightly under an old quilt, Joel’s light snores filling the room. His feet were propped up on the coffee table as his left arm was draped loosely around Ellie’s shoulders, his right under the quilt. Ellie was against his side, her head against his chest and her knees bent, curled ip beside him.

Tommy didn’t know they even had a Polaroid or where on earth they got it from, but it was there, on a nearby side table practically begging to be used. The second the flash went off, Joel groaned and swore, Ellie exclaiming something along the lines of what the fuck, Tommy before pressing her face further into Joel’s chest to try and wipe the white lights dotting her vision.

Tommy let the photo settle before rushing out the door, leaving it beside the Polaroid on the nearby side table.

Once they framed it, Ellie kept it; the frame residing right next to her on her bedside table.

The second time was at the stables. Tommy had invited Ellie down to help out with them and she begged Joel to join them. Reluctantly, he did, his reluctance slowly fading as he watched her beaming smile reconnecting with Shimmer.

Shimmer was bigger now, big enough now to hold a human. Tommy watched on as Joel helped her up, his hands hooked beneath her boot before moving to her shins to steady her balance. His hand lingered on her calf as she adjusted herself atop Shimmer, gently petting her mane.

Tommy took it then. He wasn’t paying attention to expressions much, but to his delight, Joel had one of the widest grins Tommy had seen in years.

They framed that one, too. Joel claimed it, the picture sitting proudly on top of his dresser.

The third time was after the baby was born. But this time, Tommy didn’t take it. Maria did.

Maybe it was a bad idea to take a Polaroid in the same room as a newborn, but she was sleeping, so they said it was fine.

The baby was just over a day old, Maria up and healthy as the baby was passed around. Joel was more or less a wreck having yet another baby girl in the family, but he was overjoyed over it.

Tommy handed the little one to Joel, him taking her in his arms with the utmost care he could manage. She was so small, memories of holding Sarah in his arms rushed back to him.

He held her in the crook of his left elbow. He brought his right hand up, lightly rubbing the knuckle of his first finger over her cheeks, the same he tends to do with Ellie. The little one reached out and grasped his first finger, holding it tightly as he eyes peered at him, awestruck.

Quite the grip you got there, sweet girl, he whispered, smiling as he moved his head finger back and forth above her tummy.

Uncle Joel, Ellie said, smiling at the child. It has a nice ring to it.

Tommy stood beside them, relishing in the look Joel had toward his niece. That soft, reserved smile that he doesn’t show often. The creases at the corners of his eyes as he whispers gentle hi’s to her.

Tommy brought his hand up to Joel’s shoulder and squeezed tight, the action saying everything they’re not sure what to express in a moment like this.

That was the framed picture. Tommy’s hand on Joel’s shoulder, an emotional, brotherly smile plastered on his face as he watched his brother cradle a baby like not a day had passed. Joel’s finger still held onto by the little one, his smile as wide as the sea as he watched his niece. And Ellie, pressed up against Joel’s side, one of the baby’s feet fitted gently in Ellie’s palm, watching Joel’s smile with her own, nearly as wide as his.

It sits on their kitchen countertop, that way they each see it every day. A sweet, perfect memory captured. A moment when time stood still, the four of them wrapped up in the deep, unconditional love for each other.

#THIS ISNT MARIA ERASURE #brain just #joel tommy ellie joel tommy ellie joel tommy ellie #anyway.#is this good #who KNOWS hope u all enjoyed #I wrote that fic the other day #its pinned if you haven’t seen it I’d love if you read it!!!!!#w the Polaroid pic I put in #I’ve been thinking about Polaroids a lot since then #so.#the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie williams #tommy miller #L writes #L fics

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swans-chirping-in-the-distance · 4 days

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I posted this a while ago but I feel like reposting it. A oneshot I made a while ago.

verum de militibus

Sophie Foster looked good in red.

She had been told this on multiple occasions. Her friends had told her while she was still insecure, making her day a little bit better. Her family had told her to make sure she always felt loved and appreciated. Her boyfriend had told her both before they got together and after. And she had once loved it herself. Red made her feel strong, powerful, and pretty. She had liked red.

But now she hated it.

Because red was the color of loss, and she'd lost too many people.

Lately, it had been hard to fall asleep. It always had been, but the nightmares were even worse. She had been through so much- kidnapping, death, murder. People had died in her arms or to her hand. She watched the people she loved, time and time again, fall for the Neverseen's manipulations and tricks, and she had fallen for them herself.

Sophie was bruised, and not just physically. Her mind haunted her everywhere she went.

People's last words, last screams. The real-life nightmares she'd seen. The people who have killed, and the people she killed. She had to stop the guilt from eating her alive. And when worst came to worst, when the screams and tears and failure and all of her past pain had gotten the worst it could get, she started re-feeling things. She felt every one of her scars layering again and again. She felt the all-too familiar ache of doubt, that she'd never be good enough, that they'd never win. The feeling of belonging had been ripped away so long ago Sophie couldn't tell if it ever even existed.

People congratulated her and told her she did what had to be done. But those words got lost in the empty void that was her head. Her happiness faded quickly. At times, it was even hard to breathe.

And red brought it all together.

Red was the color of Mr. Forkle's blood before he died in her arms.

Red was the color of Kenric's hair before it turned to ash.

Red was the last thing that everyone who fought in the Final Battle saw before they lost themselves inside.

Sophie Foster looked good in red.

But she would never wear it again.

#is this good #i still love this fic #its on my wattpad so my wattpad moots know whats up #title means “the truth about soldiers” i think #i know some latin but i always get stuck on word orders and cases #i think bus might me future???#i used google translate and made some tweaks negl #anyways. i love this oneshot. sm.#with me recent poetry rampage it seemed fitting #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #sophie foster #twilomiwb

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eattheteabag · 1 year

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#is this good #i immediately thought of him #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc itwv #etc etc #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt

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1ts-izzy · 7 months

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can you please, PLEASE do a part 2 of “I wish you still liked me” (if not it’s ok lol)

Of course! Sorry this took so long to do! Part one here!

A good few months had passed since Finney and Donna had started dating. Robin was feeling worse than ever, his heart still crushed into a thousand tiny pieces.

Robin was jealous, and he had been the second Finney started to look at Donna with the same affection Finney used to look at him with. Back before Robin made that one fatal mistake that ruined his relationship with Finney forever.

Finney and Donna seem perfect for each other. It just isn't fair. Robin thought, staring at the two from across the classroom.

One day during the third period Robin walked into the boys' bathroom, his knuckles bleeding from the previous beating he just given Moose that morning. Robin had gone over to the sink, washing off the dried blood.

He turned around when he heard the door open, seeing Finney run in and hide in one of the bathroom stalls. Robin didn't say anything, instead focusing on washing the blood off of his knuckles.

Seconds later Matty, Matt, and Buzz came in.

"Hey Robin, have you seen Finney anywhere? Swear he came in here..." Matt asked Robin, standing confidently.

"Stay the fuck away from Finn, otherwise you'll have me to deal with. Got it, dipshit?" Robin said, walking back over to the sink to finish washing off the blood.

The three boys nodded, leaving as fast as they could. Finney then came out of the stall, still slightly shaking.

"Thank you..." Finney whispered, standing there awkwardly whilst staring at Robin with... affection? The same look he used to give Robin before Robin messed up everything.

"I'm sorry, Finn. I shouldn't have run that day." Robin said softly, staring into Finney's eyes, "I was scared... and I'm so sorry."

Finney smiled at Robin, whilst Robin felt happier for the first time in months.

"Me and Donna broke up. We thought we'd be better off as friends..." Finney trailed off, "Want me to help with your knuckles?"

Robin nodded, grinning at his friend.

#make up ur own ending #(i didnt know how to end it)#is this good #this is so bad honestly #anyway if u see this comment how ur day has been <33 #the black phone #finney blake #tbp finney #robin arellano #oneshot #tbp #tbp finney blake #tbp robin #tbp robin arellano #finney blake x robin arellano #finbin #finney x robin #i love robin!!#rinney

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segasys · 3 months

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Hi! I was curious about your Monk Headcanons, idk if you have any fact about them :o

Thanks for reading and have a nice day/night!

ive said a bit about him here. i feel like i dont got much to add for her but i could just say some little stuff.

she reminds me of laffy taffy, very bright and yummy. now im thinking that he may try to make jokes like the ones you would find in the back of the rappers.

he is some form of aroace, or just not interested in romantic relationships in general [doesnt have to mean shes aro]. his best friend is nightcat/nox and shes in a qpr with saint.

she and survivor also like to cook, theyre taught by gourmand.

originally i wanted to make her like the runt of the litter and kinda follow what people typically come up for her. but i like what ive done for my monk, i dont believe we should say friendly = weak, strong = harmful.

#is this good #sorry #chatters #rw headcanons #rw monk

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bunnybatty · 1 month

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This might be the first time I’ve really ached to see someone again and idk how to feel about it

#AAAAA #I wanna see him again already please #I miss him #is this good

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prawnwar · 1 year

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pixar by girls rituals if it was for tumblrinas: i always giggle at silly jokes show me another post ill reblog fucking anything

#meowmeowtalks #girls rituals #devi mccallion #is this good

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butdaddyiloathehim · 3 months

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'pretty'

i seem to always find myself googling synonyms. as if the word that appeared in my mind is not enough. i was writing, and the word 'prettiest' came to mind. you see, 'pretty' is a pretty word, and 'prettiest' even more so, you cannot be prettier than prettiest, so why should any word compare? but so many words are used too much. we call skies pretty, we call people pretty, we call flowers pretty. so much is pretty, that pretty begins to not feel enough. someone calls me pretty and i believe they're joking, because how could i be pretty? but i wonder if words could feel, would 'pretty' feel enough? when olivia rodrigo said 'pretty isn't pretty enough', i think that everyone felt that strike a part of their soul, be it freshly grown or buried six feet under, somewhere deep inside, nobody ever feels pretty enough. so there i decided that 'prettiest' was pretty enough. because sometimes, there isn't a synonym that works. for her, 'prettiest' is the closest i can get.

#idk what this is #do words have feelings #pretty #pretty isnt pretty #not superlatives not even being enough though #is this good #doubting myself #is this about a word or is it about my deep self-hatred #i guess we'll never know #gonna go listen to little things by 1d

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nycteres · 6 months

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Ira Deorum

WIP Prologue for longer fic | Fandom: BG3 | CW: Mildly implied child neglect.

Trying to actually write my dumb little BG3 Protag fanfic. 😭 Idk how far I'll get but i needed a place to store this that was easier than google docs lmao.

Bards and poets alike - the egocentric windbags that they are - have often said, ‘Home is the first grave’.

Aphrodite walks down a dirt and clay road - one she hoped she’d never have to set foot on again - and tries to put the saying out of her mind.

Red road dust licks at her heels. It’s clumped along the straps of her sandals, adding new grit with every step for the last several miles. The hem of her skirt is similarly soiled, clay and linen tangled together, swishing around her ankles sad and deflated.

Half-buried before she’s even reached the doorstep.

By the time the farmhouse comes into view, her tail drags across the ground. It carves little furrows, kicking up more dirt; covering the vibrant purple of her skin with a layer of rusty brown. It hooks on stones and pebbles and she lets it. A yoke she must drag forward. Feeling less like a Tiefling and more like a workhorse with every step.

No one greets her, not when the steps groan loudly at her weight. Not even when the door swings open on tired hinges, with a protesting creak.

Her mother stands in the kitchen, in the same spot she always has, as if she’d never left it in all those years. Sorting beans with quick hands and a tired air.

“Oh,” She startles when seeing her. Bringing a hand up to her chest and letting loose a dramatic sigh. “You gave me a fright there, we weren’t expecting you till tomorrow.”

“I walk fast,” Aphrodite says, doing what she must. Laying her pack down on a nearby chair and folding her mother into a hug.

She’s just a small as she was last time. Fitting neatly into the space at Aphrodite’s shoulder, hands creased and rough as they fiddle with her blouse, fastidiously tugging at garments that are still well in their place.

Her mother’s complexion is of a similar color, if faded by time and sun. Not an eye catching, violent purple, that Aphrodite takes pain to contrast against fine silks and glittering metals.

Her coloration is almost dun. A muddy violet, chapped and wind worn, one that looks dull even against Aphrodite’s third best traveling cloak. The one made of sensible, dark brown wool. The kind that wont offend her parents with its excess. It’s only concessions to her tastes being the scarlet flowers one of the acrobats in her caravan had embroidered around the hood.

Everything in the farmhouse is muted and weathered. The hug is too, even if Aphrodite lingers out of the vague sense that this is what she owes, as a daughter. Whether she wants to give it or not.

They break away after long enough has passed. Counting the beats in her head until she can unwind her mothers arms, step out of their reach with pity and gentleness and relief.

“In any case, we’re always glad to have you.” Her mother says, going back to her beans with a gentle pat to her shoulder. “I could always use the help. You know how they are.”

“Hard to forget.” She says, sunny; with a drawling trill to her undertone.

Aphrodite’s sarcasm is deftly ignored. The shelled beans falling into the container in little stuttered taps, like rain on a tin roof. Echoes that fill the awkward silence.

“It’s worse than any of the others I’ve had.” Her mother offers. “You’re welcome to try if you feel that confident. He’ll be in the bedroom. It’s a task getting him to come out some days.”

“Really?” She can’t help but needle a bit. “A seasoned veteran like you, done in by a single child?”

“I said it to that priest so he could write it down for me in our letter. And I’ll say to you again now. He’s an odd one. There’s something off about that boy.”

Aphrodite hums, a soothing two tone sound she uses on particularly uppity clients. Falling into the usual song and dance, an worn groove of Deflect, De-escalate and Disengage.

“Why don’t you show me where he is? I’ll see what I can do while you finish up.”

Her mother shoots her a particularly nasty and tired look. One that says that Aphrodite knows exactly where the bedrooms are located and should need no guide.

She doesn't back down, but rolls her eyes. Leaning against the solid oak dining table. One of the few pieces of furniture that doesn't look like it’s old enough to have seen the second sundering. The one that she sent them money for, when their last table broke.

“It’s five steps down the hall, it’s not going to kill you.” She cajoles with a nasty and tired look of her own. “He’s - what? - three, he’d probably be more worried if a stranger came in without him knowing who they are.”

She gets her way in the end. Even if the acquiescence comes with a disgusted sigh. Her guide stomping down the hallway with ill grace.

The door to the third bedroom is thrown open with little fanfare. When Aphrodite steps through, it’s like swimming against a current of Déjà vu. Old memories superimposed against the current floor plan.

It looks different now than when she was last here. Housing one child instead of several. None of the triplets’ effects randomly clutter the floor. There aren’t lutes and lyres and badly whittled flutes to serve as a tripping hazard to unwary visitors. But parts of it are still same in the end.

Faded curtains, a rickety pallet bed. An endless pile of mended blankets to ward off the chill.

“I’m afraid I offended him by trying to get him into a change of clothes this morning. He’s refused to come out since then.” Her mother - their mother - gives another deep exhale. A new kind of weariness in her tone, surprising after eight children. But maybe it shouldn’t be, if one considers what little time she had actually spent with them.

“You’re welcome to try your hand at it,” She offers with a shake of her head, heading back to the kitchen. Not remembering or not caring that she had asked for an introduction.

Aphrodite shuts the door quietly behind her. Cutting off escape routes. Intimately familiar with which hiding spots a small child might favor.

She doesn’t find him in the chest of drawers, or behind the shabby little dresser in the corner. But the creak of a floorboard alerts her to her quarry. Taking pains to move slowly, she steps closer to the bed, sinks to her knees and shuffles under it as best as she can.

He’s wedged against the wall, pillbugged into a stiff little shape. Horns dusted with all the cobwebs that accumulate near the edge of the baseboards, where no one ever sweeps.

“Hello there,” She greets him, taking pains to keep her voice soft and pleasant.

Her brother doesn’t respond. Watching, waiting. With black sclera and bright pupils, a blazing orange that hearkened back to the eternal fires of Nessus.

Not even the shadows can hide the ridiculous coloration of the rest of him. As pink as she is purple, contrasting sharply against the cream linens and homey ginghams that cover their home.

“Well,” She says dryly, not bothered yet by his lack of response. “At least you got some of my good looks.”

“Fate has preserved you from looking like father, in any case,” Aphrodite whispers conspiratorially, knowing children love nothing more than being included in a good gossip session. “Cherry red is very passé I’m afraid.”

He doesn’t respond. But she can see his nails digging gouges into the wood. Still, tense, quiet.

Aphrodite switches tracks. It's the mark of a good conman, knowing when tailor your approach to the current audience.

“My name’s Aphrodite. I’m one of your sisters. Why don’t you come with me, and we can get you something to eat.”

She holds out her hand, dusty with the filth that accumulates underneath a bed. Prepared to wait for as long as it takes.

Which is a while, in the end. A long, expectant silence. Broken only by the roosters crowing outside.

“I promise I won’t make you change clothes.” She whispers conspiratorially. Playing her trump card.

Basking in the success of the moment. When that little hand folds into hers, and lets itself be shuffled out from underneath the bed, cobwebs and all.

His name is Adrammael. A name that is as predictably long and awkward as all of his other sibling’s names. To speak nothing of her own.

Their parents don’t even have the grace to remember which one of them came up with it.

“It’s practically child abuse to make you write that out, when you start learning your letters.” She says to him one evening. When they both sit inside the run, warming themselves in the sun.

“You look more like a Dram to me.” Aphrodite decides with firm certainty.

If Dram has any opinions on the subject, he doesn’t care to share them. Preoccupied with burying his face into one of the chickens that he’s coerced into sitting in his lap. Making one of those odd guttural, humming noises he seems so fond of, muffled by a mouthful of feathers.

Aphrodite would rather swallow a particularly hot coal than admit to her mother being right about anything, but in the privacy of her mind, she is forced to admit. There really is something off about that boy.

Dram takes to her easily enough despite that.

She takes to him too, despite the myriad of difficulties that have stopped their parents from doing the same.

Chief among them being that he doesn’t speak yet. No matter what sort of threat or bribe he’s faced with.

Dram does not speak, even though he’s of the age to. But to everyone’s annoyance - even hers - he has no problem with screaming. He screams when he’s angry and when he’s upset and when they make him wear certain articles of clothing.

He’ll run away if the dinner contains certain vegetables he’s not too fond of. Crawl under the table to hide when they have visitors. Press his hands to his ears and start up a slew of truly concerning vocalizations if he’s forced into a situation that isn’t to his liking.

He’s a terrible handful of a child - despite having practically raised her seven other siblings, possessing more than enough experience with kids of his age - and there are times where Aphrodite fantasizes about going back to her old caravan. Letting her parents sort this one out by themselves. Learn the consequences of not using any kind of protection for once in their lives.

It’s a beautiful fantasy. If one that falls apart pretty quickly.

Crumbling to pieces a little more every time she wakes up and finds him in her room yet again. Waiting to follow her around the house from dawn to dusk. Trailing after her skirts with a solemn stare that seems out of place on his round, little face.

The thrill of it wears down sooner than she thought. Banished completely when she gets him to sound out a word or two after trying for weeks on end. Realizing that it’s not that he can’t, but that he doesn’t want to.

The way he doesn’t want to try yams and the way he doesn’t want to be around their father any more than she does. Scurrying under furniture when he enters the room. The tip of his tail poking out from his hiding places like an over sized rat.

It doesn’t help that her parent’s fall back into old routines easily enough.

Aphrodite’s here after all. No need to look after your own child once the free labor has arrived.

A resentment that grows and festers. Bubbling over when she sees him scoot a stool next to the cabinets one afternoon. Clambering up to the counter in the stumbling, uncoordinated way children of that size navigate the world.

Clumsy, but practiced enough to manage on his own.

A child who had learned to get into the pantry to feed itself, since her parents were still in bed and she hadn’t thought to offer him lunch yet.

Aphrodite watches him gnaw on slightly stale bread. Letting a solid century of grievances darken her thoughts and spur on her pettiness.

Home may be the first grave, but she's not very inclined to bury the hatchet alongside herself.

“Dram,” She says carefully, setting him down from the counter. Reaching for that foreign power that perches on the back of her mind and delights in her rash decisions.

“How would you like to go on a trip with me?”

Dram doesn’t say anything. Keeps working on his snack with single-minded determination.

But his hand winds itself into the fabrics of her skirt easily enough. Tail twining around hers, more at ease with Aphrodite than he is with anyone else. Despite how little time she’s spent with him in comparison to their parents. Barely six weeks, by the time she thinks to start scheming.

“I think you’ll have fun.” Aphrodite pats his head, knowing he won’t mind too much in the end.

“I certainly won’t. Considering how I’ll have to give up most of my social life.”

She sighs dramatically - heartfelt and whiny - in a way she feels that befits someone going through great sacrifice. Letting it all out before she’s forced to move on more actionable concerns.

“But first, we need to eliminate the chance of any surprises of this kind happening again.” Aphrodite relishes the thought. Urging him towards the run. Letting him play with the chickens while she drafts an amendment to a particularly tricky contract, and tries to puzzle out the worth of a foreign body part.

Fae did have an unsettling lust for such things. One which she planned to exploit in her favor.

#oc: dram #oc: aphrodite #my writing #txt.wav #is this good #who knows #but its here #and thats enough

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biomegasin · 8 months

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#is this good #and do you like Yes #Youtube

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yayaneedshercoffee · 1 year

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Chapter 4 | Common Ground

"Sorry, what?" Was all you could manage to say at this instant. Your heart beat practically rising. Fuck, you didn't think anyone would care to notice what happened back there.

"I don't like repeating myself." He says so coldly, taking a step towards you, gear already touching yours.

"I-I couldn't get a clear shot at the time, the dust from the tanks clouded my vision to shoot so I crouched down. Waiting for your call on air support." You mustered up to say. Fuck. Hopefully he's dumb enough to believe it-

"Bullshit Reaper." Shit.

"Ghost, what part do you not understand that I couldn't see so I ended up waiting for cover like a sane person would-" you couldn't finish your sentence because ghost was practically walking against you, as you were being pushed backwards, towards the fire from the pilots cockpit. You feel your back becoming more uncomfortably hot.

"If you think for one second I would believe that shitty attempt of a lie then you have one thing coming for you. I don't tolerate liars Reaper, and I certainly don't tolerate little entitled brats who could very easily screw up a mission at any point." Your back was seriously in close proximity with the fire, now you had to hold onto his shoulders in hopes to get further distance between you and the flames behind you.

"ENTITLED?! GHOST WTF IS YOUR PROBLEM BACK OFF ME ALREADY!" You yell looking up at him,but he doesn't move. Your grip on his firm shoulders, claws at him, like a cats grip, digging inside his clothes.

"Ghost knock it off already and quit your shit, I'll burn if you keep this up!!" You look him in his eyes pleading for him to actually stop the crap. But, his eyes, they showed no sign of remorse, in fact, it was just pure rage.

"Then burn for me." He let out so coldly.

Your eyes widened at his. Who would be sane enough to say that to a teammate, had he really been this pissed off at me to actually want me dead? Your heart filled with just bitterness and hurt at the thought.

"GHOST!" Soap yells from behind him, jogging towards us. Oh my, There's A God!!! "Ghost, what the fuck are you doing?! Are you mad mate?!" Soap pulls ghost away, causing me to do the same, but I let go of my grip on Ghost and found my own footing. Soap, I owe you one for this.

"He's fucking insane Soap, get him away from me!!!" You scream, letting Soap know that whatever went down, he knows he can't trust either of you to be alone together.

"Alright I get it, but we have to move now!! The last building needs to be swept through, now get ahold of yourselves!!" Soap announces before Ghost backed away, leaving the decimated aircraft, Soap followed behind him. I stood there for a bit to compose myself yet again. What the fucking he'll just happened? Did my teammate seriously threaten to have me killed?

Oh he's a dead man once this is over.

You all gather outside the third building, Ghost taking lead , of course he did, why wouldn't he? You stayed towards the back because you seriously didn't want another encounter like what took place at the aircraft. On the count of 3 you all quietly sweep the third building through a garage door opening. This building looked to be a medium sized warehouse. Hell, if there wasn't a missile in here, then this world wouldn't have made sense. What you're looking for had to be in here, you felt it deep inside.

The lights flickered on, and whoever had their night vision goggles on felt blinded and gave out short yelps. Causing them to feel stunned a bit, I yell out "goggles o-"

"Goggles off gentleman!" Ghost spoke over me. Fucking Brit. We storm inside, immediately greeted with a small fleet of Hassan's men, easily picking them off one by one.

The last 3 men were on a flight of stairs, and just as ghost positioned himself to take fire, you thought to yourself, 'oh, this is my chance to shut his egotistical ass up.' You rolled out from behind him, who was taking cover from a huge crate, rolled towards his left side, and instantly taking down all three men, watching them flop and rolling down the flight of stars.

You gain your footing, standing straight back up, the room was quiet, making you let out a "Clear!" To the men following behind you guys. But you didn't hear anything, in fact, it felt like the room was just you in it.

You look back and see Soap, along with the rest of what's left of both squads, watching you in 'Awe'. Man, if you haven't made an impression before, you sure did now. Soap immediately had a prideful smile on his lips, and he knows why you did it. Giving you a nod of approval, you turn your attention towards the man you had just one up'd on.

Immediately, Ghost is also standing up, but he didn't seem entirely upset, you check his eyes, have they narrowed? No, he seems, wait, amused? What-

He's already walking towards me, as I continue to make eye contact, bracing myself in case the worst was yet to pass, he walks right behind me, giving me a small, "touché" comment as he continued walking.

What the actual fuck-

"Lieutenants, there's containers large enough to hold potential missiles on the right side of the building just further down." Soap says sternly. Your attention was immediately brought in the direction Soap just said, and already following behind him to where the containers where.

There was 3, all lined up side by side. You grab one of the handles to one of them, immediately eager to open to see what's inside, and hell. There they were.

"Soap, come check this out, intel was telling the truth" you called him over, now as he entered, he saw a lever, and gave you a reassuring 'let's check to be sure' kind of face, which you agreed by a nod of approval. As Soap was yanking it downward, you hear heavy machinery taking place inside the container, as you and Soap walk backwards from the opening, everyone's eyes fixated on the top of the crate, which sent real fear in everyone's bodies.

Ballistic Missiles. What the fuck. You weren't told they'd be this kind of Missiles, hell, you weren't told anything besides 'they possess American missiles', but this, this was an intelligence failure within the American government. Someone in good ties with America took advantage of this and sought out this loophole, in turn supplying them to Hassan. Now who exactly could have done this?

You remember what General Shepherd said to you that morning in his office, where Captain Price would investigate with his own team as to who would be supplying Iran with American Ballistic Missiles. All you and the men can do now for that is just wait until word gets back.

"These things can launch up to 100 kilos any direction" a squad member from behind commented.

"Tsk. At least 100 kilos." Ghost replied back. He turned sideways to face the men and had ordered them to radio Laswell.

"How did Iran get their hands on this!" Soap barks out as he moved from the front of the container, power walking his way down the sides of it, a crate happens to be along side the sides, and he props his sniper along the crate, and climbs up.

"General Shepherd never mentioned it being Ballistic Missiles. We can only wait until more intel comes in from a separate task force to gain even more intel." You exclaimed, you soon followed towards the sides where Soap was at. "L.T, take a look at this." Soap says much more softly than he previous comment, and in turn made me look up to where he's at, watching him shift towards the side so you can get a clear picture as to what he was referring to. Sure enough, the American flag was plaque big and pretty for anyone to see.

"Copy. Send traffic" you heard from Ghosts walkie, now heading in both of yours spots, as he then replies, "Confirming intel suspicion, Hassan has American Missiles, Ballistic Missiles." There was a second of silence, until another person answered soon after. "Ghost, this Good Eagle Actual, repeat that last." This was General Shepherd.

"I say again, Hassan's got American, Ballistic Missiles, he owns 3 here in this warehouse." Ghost replies ever so quickly.

Wow, for a man who hates repeating himself, he sure spends no time questioning his orders, like a good boy.

You three don't break eye contact with one another. Hell, this mission just got more complicated. With Hassan still out there, we can only hope our next set of intel is solid enough for capturing both Hassan and more Missiles. Until then, Laswell orders you all through coms that mission is complete, they are sending aircrafts our way, picking up both the squads and the missiles.

Now it's time to make a life at base. This should be good.

On your way towards the aircraft's, you spot Soap ahead of you, along with Ghost, having their own conversation. Well, Soaps doing all the talking, Ghost is just giving a few short answers every now and then. Gosh, how can a upbeat person like MacTavish be so friendly with an emotionally closed off guy like Ghost.

You look down at your feet, wondering about earlier, in the wreckage of that aircraft, how downright terrified you felt. This was the most you've felt absolutely horrified in such a long time. It felt like a wave of pain washed over you thinking about it. What made you get on his last nerves so quickly, making him threatening to burn you, and then soon later have a completely calmer demeanor. God, he needs to get medically tested for being a candidate for bi-polar.

Catching yourself from dozing off on thoughts, you entire the aircraft, where soap motions with his hand for you to come sit back next to him and ghost. Ghost wasn't looking at you, he was staring at the floor beside his feet, and as you walked closer, you sit down, finding the comfort of what the seat can offer to you, and lay back a bit. Looking at Ghost, you can see he's lost in thought, not even taking notice to you even being next to him. Strange, you'd think you'd get a reaction since earlier it's been fucking hell to deal with one another.

You sit up straight, tapping his left shoulder. Finally he's out of his trance, and slowly leans his head to face yours, his eyes barely visible. You let out a sigh, "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Like, actually." You start off, his head doesn't move an inch to show any sign of change. "I messed up back there for letting my guard down. I'll admit that. Something came over me that really took all of my attention away from the problem at hand." Your voice, sounding so sincere, softly enough that ghost can make out what your lips were saying, good thing he's able to read lips, otherwise, you'd been fucked.

"Though I'm not sorry for being a pain in the ass, because you genuinely deserve getting put in your place." You continued, now his gaze shifted from a neutral to a serious one. Fuck, did I mess up that wholesome moment?

He groans. At first you thought he said something, but then it registered as a sound in your brain. He looks at your face up and down before giving a response back, "Dolls like you shouldn't boss men like me around. But I'll let it slide tonight, you actually one up'd me, that, I'll respect."

That single sentence sent some signal deep inside you. Something you thought you lost contact with, but you can't figure it out yet. What was that, Spark ?But immediately putting your brain back into the conversation, you decide to answer back, "Well, what would happen if this, Doll, were to put you in your place yet again?" You teased off your tongue, now you're really playing with fire. It doesn't take much seconds from your response for him to say back, "Then I'll personally see to it that you'll get what's coming for you."

"I'd like to witness that L.T." You answered back. Eyes locked on his. This was getting interesting. But you stopped with the playful banter, you needed to feel composed completely.

"So, are we good, for now at least?" You asked, wondering if the air has really cleared between you two. His body shifts to face you a little bit, grabbing your full attention, this has you stif to the bones, unable to move.

"It would appear so." He replies. To that, you call tonight a somewhat win, however, you still need to assert your importance around base, and tonight was barely the beginning.

~Time Reads: 2:37 AM~

Shifting from sitting straight up, you find yourself laying more into the seat. Man, exhaustion finally creeped up on you, and from all the adrenaline and energy you had conserved for this mission, it all evaporated into thin air, causing you to slumber away in the aircraft, on a steady trip back to base.

#simon riley fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley #soap and ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #mission life #is this good

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