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madamedevien · 3 years

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Infernal Heat

Hey! It’s been a while - I really miss you guys. Anyway, I know that a lot of you were keeping up to date with my Mammon x GN! Reader fic...while I’m updating it regularly on my AO3, I thought that I’d post the chapters that I’ve got here as well. I’m planning for it to be a 4 chapter fic, but let’s see how that goes! Warnings in tags (both here and AO3) - monster fucking comes into play much more come Chapter 3 and 4. The biggest thanks to @mawwart for their inspiration and @popcherrypop for reading over what I had all those months ago and actually helping me find direction. I’ve got a bigger/cheesier spiel on AO3, but anyway. Fingers crossed that the ‘Keep Reading’ line shows up here...

Chapter 1: Embers

The Great Mammon had woken up in a mood. He'd felt this creeping up for days now and he wished that it would just come and go already. It was hella distracting to have a constant tug of warmth and want in your gut, y'know? And it was annoying to feel the incessant need to primp and to add to the nest of pillows, blankets, sentimental and decorative items that now overtook most of his bed. But he was due a heat cycle. Annoyingly, he felt that it was probably going to settle in properly on that particular day and he'd been wrangled into going shopping by you. And for whatever reason he'd agreed. Not because he had a crush on you or anything. Damn, he couldn't even remember what you two were meant to be shopping for, that's how addled his mind was. Mammon really just wanted to stay put and perfect his nest. Maybe show it off to you. Although he wasn't sure if you'd appreciate the fact that he'd stolen a few items of yours while on laundry duty to tuck into said nest. Or that he wanted to maybe do something kind of nasty to a piece of your clothing. If not you.

But would you want to? To see his nest? To lay in it, lay with him, to mate with him? He wanted you to. So very, very badly. He didn’t feel like he deserved you but, oh, to say that he wanted you was a vast understatement. Fuck.

He groaned and threw one of his tanned arms over his eyes. The silveret realised that he was going to have to partially dislodge his beautiful nest to pull out Goldie (he couldn't go shopping without her - the very thought was offensive!) and that he was going to have to get rid of his raging boner before he faced you.

So into a cold shower he trudged, loudly cursing the whole time.

---

Longest shopping trip in fucking history.

It seemed like you were in need of freakin' everything imaginable. He wasn't to know that you were actually just taking your time because it'd been a while since the two of you had some time to yourselves. The demon had been acting strangely around you the past few days, although he was completely oblivious to just how weird it’d been for you.

And today, the Avatar of Greed just wasn't engaging. Questions went unanswered, as if he hadn't heard even when clearly looking at you, no boasting or sulking occurred, no bets or harebrained schemes hatched...he didn't even take you up on your offer of Hell Sauce Noodles! The demon was completely disinterested in all of this - the only thing he was interested in was you. He was also trying very very hard not to let his thoughts slip into anything inappropriate. Which was probably the single most difficult thing he’d had to do in all of his many years. Mammon wanted to take your hand and lace your fingers together; to shamelessly nuzzle your cheek in front of everyone on Silent Avenue. The thought made his heart swell. Better yet, if you were mated, he could kiss you in front of the whole crowd before publicly mounting you and-

Damn, it was hard to keep lewd thoughts at bay. He could feel his cheeks burning and looked away when your concerned expression turned to him.

On the trek home (finally!), he fell into a lazy pace behind you and Mammon couldn’t help it as you walked together. His cerulean gaze raked over the beautiful curve in your neck - the space was perfect. In his mind, he could see how perfectly his head would fit and how the mark he could leave there would only accentuate the beauty of your skin. It’d be a gorgeous brand that would loudly proclaim to all, ‘I am mated to THE Great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and Second of the Seven; don’t you dare even think to touch me’. The very notion only caused the flush of heat over his skin to worsen and his breath to hitch; he wanted to tear into his flesh to relieve himself of the insufferable and fiery itch.

The same thoughts washed over his brain again and again like some cruel tide, even once you'd passed through the doors of the House of Lamentation.

It took only a scant moment. He didn’t even think. The silver haired demon was aware that he was losing his mind due to his damned biology, but he didn’t realise that he was so far gone that he would do something so stupid. It was only your screech that alerted him to the fact that he had pulled you tight to his chest, that he was actually in the process of sinking sharp fangs into your supple skin. The sudden realisation made him tear off of you in surprise.

Beel had been the first to burst through a doorway and into the corridor. The redhead stopped dead in his tracks and stared wide-eyed at the two of you; you with your hand clamped over the section of your neck that had been bitten, and Mammon an arm’s length away from with a look of abject horror painted over his handsome features. Stupid Mammon, indeed. The next to burst in was Lucifer, who looked ready for a proper melee. The sound that had come from you had genuinely startled the older brother, not that he’d admit that if asked. As his garnet gaze took in the scene before him, his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Mammon…” Lucifer’s voice was dangerously low. Mammon shook his head urgently in response, “Nonono, Luci, it didn’t - I mean, yeah, it is what it looks like an’ I didn’t mean ta, but it...it’s not deep enough. Y’know?” The second brother sounded desperate. Mammon anxiously twisted his rings around his tanned fingers and had to fight back the tears that threatened the edges of his vision. He could have hurt you. “Oh, I think you’ll find that it’s more than deep enough.” Lucifer stalked toward you and put his hand on top of the one you were using to cover your wound. “Let me see how much damage the fool inflicted on you”. Mammon could see the frown that pulled at your mouth as you revealed the bite mark to his brother. No proper damage - the indents might linger, but no blood had been drawn; no skin had been broken.

“It was more from the surprise than pain, Lucifer. I just wasn’t expecting someone to bite me, you know? That’s the kind of thing that I’d expect more from a very hungry Beel.” Your attempt to lighten the mood only made the Avatar of Pride’s expression sour further - but Beel muttered a small, “Fair”. Lucifer sounded positively glacial when he spoke again. “Beelzebub, please take our brother to his room." The Avatar of Gluttony nodded solemnly, gently taking the second eldest’s shoulder. Mammon stared miserably at the floor, guilt clearly written on his flushed face although he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t trust himself to. Not after such a stupid stunt. As the other two made their way up the stairs, Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

This wouldn’t be pleasant.

It was no surprise to Mammon that Lucifer texted him shortly after the whole ordeal. He was just thankful that Lucifer hadn’t decided to come up to his room and literally tear into him after biting you. Of all the people to bite in the entire Devildom, it just had to be you didn’t it? Lucifer: Mammon. I have strictly instructed the household that you are not to be disturbed until I have given the all clear. You will stay in your room and I will bring you provisions at regular intervals. If you need anything, you will let me know. Are we clear? Mammon: Yes. Lucifer: Good. He waited, hopeful that Lucifer would provide an update on you. After an eon of waiting (which was actually all of seven minutes) he decided to ask. Mammon: Are they okay?

Lucifer: They are. And they will continue to be so long as you stay in your room and do not venture out. Ensure that you lock your door and remember to take your pheromone blockers as well or the whole house will reek of your mating scent. What were brothers for, if not a good motivational speech? --- Chapter 2: Flames Even with Lucifer’s reminder, Mammon had forgotten to take the pheromone blockers and to lock the door. He’d been far too distracted; worrying about your state of health, whether he’d damaged your relationship beyond repair, still trying to keep the lewd thoughts at bay, his instincts fretting over the piece of nest that had been dismantled earlier… It was a lot to be preoccupied with, okay? Without the pheromone blockers, the corridor outside of Mammon’s room was thick with the sweet perfume of a demonic male in heat. It was rich and cloying, the kind of scent that would cling to one’s clothes much to the annoyance of the other residents (Asmodeus excluded). Mammon, however, didn’t care. He was too busy now attempting to cool the heat in the pit of his stomach and to regain some clarity of mind. An attempt at sleep had been made once his nest had been repaired and Goldie tucked into her rightful place, the lights turned down low and his clothes discarded to some far corner so that he could crawl into the nest in a comfortable state...but how could he sleep when obscene images of you kept popping into his head? At first, he had tried to keep some semblance of his mind. The demon didn’t like to lose control during his heats. If he could keep his mind, he would keep to his more humanoid forms - and that was what he wanted. Because if you did, by chance, happen upon him...well. He didn’t want to scare you. Before he allowed himself to spiral into the anxiety of your imagined reaction, he reached for his ridiculously large bottle of lube. If he was going to dwell on the thought of anything, it was going to be how good he knew you’d feel… --- Mammon wouldn’t have been able to say how much time had passed. He had brought himself to orgasm more times than he could count - but it only seemed to just take off the edge. A demon’s heat was never an easy thing, but why was this time around so damn difficult? Satan would have been able to answer that with ease, the smug bastard; if a demon chooses a mate they will, naturally, be most inclined to couple with said mate for optimal breeding. To not couple with a chosen mate could make a heat worse - but to withhold coupling at all? Well, it would be a foolish endeavour. The Avatar of Greed hadn’t realised just how he was slipping ; wings and horns had appeared without him even registering and his fangs had dropped to a predatory length (which he only noticed when he had apparently attempted to put a mating mark on a pillow covered in one of your stolen shirts that he’d been desperately rutting against, much to his embarrassment). His breathing was rough. Mammon was equal parts exhausted and invigorated. He wanted nothing more than to let his knees fall out from under him so that sleep would hopefully take him - he wanted to stalk down the hall and into your room and fuck you senseless. And if Lucifer found out? Well, Mammon would love to see him try to pry you from his arms. The very thought made him snarl, his grip on his cock tightening. It was enraging to even think that his brother would dare, a thought that had him so preoccupied that he didn’t hear the door click open. His blue eyes slipped over to you and the wet sound of him furiously fucking his fist stopped abruptly. It was impossible to tell which one of you was redder. This was not what he had been expecting. “Uh-” A rasp of your name interrupted you. “Didn’t Lucifer tell you not to come?” He watched as you nodded dumbly, “Yes”. Heavy breath was the only noise to pass between you several beats. The demon in front of you was wondering whether this was fate; you weren’t running, you looked interested and, fuck, you smelled so good. You smelled aroused and it made him growl; “C’mere then”. The way that you slammed the door and scampered toward him practically had him preening in pleasure. Just as eager, Mammon scrambled over to meet you, flustered yet excited, and hauled you up close to him. He bumped your foreheads together. From here it was easy to see how incredibly blown his pupils were, to feel how desperately ragged his breathing was. You were dangerously close. “Now, see here, I'm gonna give ya one chance to go. ‘Cause if I kiss ya, I’m not gonna be able to stop. I won’t be able to let ya go. You’ll be stuck with me for the whole fuckin’ ride, ya hear?” Holy shit, his voice was so strained. “Then kiss me, you dummy.” No repeat was necessary. Mammon threaded his fingers into your hair, hesitating for only the briefest moment before pressing his lips to yours. When you responded in kind his fervour, his deep rooted greed, quickly followed. He’d wanted to kiss you from day one and not a moment had gone by since without him imagining it. This felt so incredibly right. But he couldn’t ignore the heat curling in his gut. He needed you, wanted you. And as far as he could tell, despite the dark whispers in the back of his mind saying otherwise, you seemed to feel the same.The way that you returned his greedy kisses, how your fingers had twisted sharply in his hair, how you didn’t seem to mind the messy clicking of his elongated fangs against your blunt teeth as he tried to figure out how best to navigate your mouth in this form - how could he deny that he was wanted? Mammon's only regret when looking back on this evening with you would be not savouring your body laid bare for him for the first time. His mind was too heat-addled to appreciate it; he was unable to slowly peel off your layers and to have the sentiment returned in kind as he had previously fantasised about. In his mind’s eye, he had a whole big romantic gesture planned if you had decided to sleep with him. Previously, he had imagined how he would make love to you and treasure every moment of it...but alas… Your clothes were quickly stripped from you, sharp fangs nipping at new skin as it was exposed. There was no delicate treatment here and he paid no heed to the sound of torn material. When he next plundered your mouth, it was far smoother than the first time - he was a fast learner, after all. The only complaint that he had about kissing you was that it muffled those beautiful noises of yours. When he broke the seal of your mouths it was to gently toss you back toward the top of the bed, deeper into his nest and into the comfort of a ridiculous amount of pillows - to properly secure you into his nest. To see you like that felt...good. It felt right. It was clear that was exactly where you belonged. The very image had him growling in satisfaction as he took the opportunity to crawl over your body, his fingers gripping at the meat of your thighs and hips as if ensuring that you were truly there with him. Thankfully, his nails had not yet turned into talons or they would have pierced through you with ease at the way that he handled your flesh. Mammon had to take a deep breath when he looked at you this time. He needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt you while doing this - it was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was unusual for the Avatar of Greed to put the needs of others before his own...but you weren’t just some ‘other’. You were you. His very own treasure, his very own mate. Reluctantly, a hand left your body to fish for something buried within the nest. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” He coated his fingers generously in lube, desperate to ensure that he would cause as little pain as possible, “Just fuckin’ perfect”. Two fingers slipped into you as Mammon spoke, his tone low and hoarse. Never had he imagined just how difficult it would be to hold himself back like this, nor could he have been prepared for just how much desire he felt in that moment. The sensation of your hot core wrapped around his fingers had him shamelessly rutting against your thigh, a poor attempt at taking the edge off of his lust. A human really had no business wrecking him like this. His heat cycles were normally pretty boring - desperate rutting for a day or two and then back to normal life. You had no right to set his skin aflame like this, no right to have him feel like he could cum just from the noise you made once he had three fingers fucking into your heat. The way his blood was rushing in his ears was deafening...and he wanted more. It didn’t take too long for it all to get too much. Even all of the dark hickies that he had furiously littered your neck, chest and shoulders with weren’t enough to distract him from the wet sound of his fingers preparing you or the stunning sounds he managed to pull from you when he got the angle of his hand just right. Mammon would never admit it, but he kind of missed his target. The point of removing his hand from you had been to slip himself right in. Instead, as he kissed you he rolled his slick cock against your sex...which, to be fair, had felt better than your thigh. And if the sound that you’d made in response was anything to go by, you thought so too. He liked that noise. A lot. So he rolled his hips against you again, groaning in response to you. Ever eager to please, the greedy demon found a rhythm that you both seemed to enjoy in the interim. “Ya like that, huh?” Mammon wasn’t sure where the cockiness in his tone was coming from when internally he felt so nervous. It was those very nerves that quickly had his hand moving to guide his cock to your entrance and thrusting into you before you could retort. Mammon didn’t realise it would silence both of you. By no means was he a virgin. The Great Mammon would have it known that he was a proper Casanova type, thank you very much. He just didn’t realise how different it would feel coupling with someone that he truly and deeply loved. The heat causing that deep need to breed the closest thing with a pulse didn’t help things, of course. It was...incredible, for lack of a better word. Divine. Mammon choked on an Infernal curse once seated completely in you and had to literally bite his tongue to keep an anchor on his self-control. All of that hard earned control was thrown out the window when his name passed your lips. There was no hesitation in how his hips pistoned, fucking into you relentlessly. His hands manoeuvred to cradle the back of your knees and he pushed your legs back to allow him more access to your body, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. The noises that left him were snaps and snarls of Infernal praise, not that he realised. The only thought on Mammon’s mind was his primal objective of breeding you until neither of you could move ; it didn’t matter whether you could actually fall pregnant or not. No logic or worry clouded his mind with these thoughts. All he could focus on was filling you with his seed until he couldn’t any more, the thought of your stomach tender and round because of his affections toward his mate... Mammon’s first orgasm came with an embarrassing quickness. When he spilled inside of you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your chest, he was quickly filled with a relief and warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since his heat had set in, there was true clarity in his mind. While his natural instincts weren’t completely quelled, it was enough for him to actually think with something other than his adamantly pulsing dick. His relief quickly fell to mortification, the shadows of which were clear on his features when he pulled back to look at you. His cheeks were tinted red both from exertion and embarrassment ; he hadn’t paid enough attention to get you to climax. He was quick to stutter out your name, mouth tripping on the words that were trying to get out of his mouth as his sluggishly content brain tried to supply words just beyond reach. “What, isn’t The Great Mammon going to make me cum?” Your sass fanned the flames in his loins. A playful snarl was made in response, “Oh sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum so fuckin’ hard you black out. You won’t be able to feel your legs by the time I’m done with you”. And so The Great Mammon set to work. --- Mammon hummed contentedly as you lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck hours later. This was perfection. Strong fingers stroked your thighs as he enjoyed the sensation of you wrapped around his hips, the pleasure of you sat on his lap while cuddled up together in your nest. The demon toyed with the thought of pushing his hips up just to make you gasp from the overstimulation, but decided against it. Although he was loath to admit it, you needed rest - because Mammon had been good to his word, ensuring that you both had more than your fair share of orgasms. But this was good. The fire in his gut had died down to crackling embers, although he knew it would flare up again soon - but you would be there to help ease him through it. And you even seemed to like helping him out. What was the phrase… ‘mutually beneficial’? Somethin’ like that. His eyes fluttered open when he heard your chuckle. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew how freakin’ stunning you were when you smiled like that. “What?” When your eyes met his, he was pouting frowning. The laugh that you let out only made his brow furrow more, “I said what. What’s got ya laughin’ like that, huh? You should be out like a freakin’ light by now”. It wasn’t until you replied that he realised how obvious it was, “I didn’t know that demons could purr”. Mammon squawked loudly and attempted to divert your attention - he sounded like a damn motor! It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t even able to control the way he was going off… It was embarrassing. “Well, yeah, y’know, sometimes. We’re incredible ‘n mysterious creatures us demons, y’know! Demons are capable of things that your human mind couldn’t even comprehend! Anyway, ’s not like ’s all the time or anythin’ like that…” He tried to occupy himself and forget about the heat radiating from his face by playing with your hair - but he could feel you smiling against the crook of his neck. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” The incredible and mysterious demon sounded more like a petulant child (well, a purring and petulant child). “So, when do you normally purr?” “I dunno. When we’re happy, I guess?” “Does that mean I haven’t made you happy before?” The way that he spluttered was definitely worth teasing him. “Who said that ya haven’t made me happy?! ‘N besides, this is different!” Even Mammon couldn’t deny that he was now pouting, but he tried to focus on the feeling of your fingers running along his shoulders. It was nice; soothing, even. Until he felt a sharp tug on the back of his neck. “Ouch! You gotta be more gentle than that!” The look of surprise on your face made him want to curl in on himself. “Mammon - are those feathers?” “Phffft,” The greedy demon rolled his eyes and tried to deflect your query, “Shaddap. You dunno what you’re talking ‘bout”. When your mouth opened again, he did take the opportunity to thrust sharply into you. At the gasp, he lurched forward with a passionate kiss. Simply to shut you up, of course. No hidden agenda. His pleased purring melted into a deep rumbling, the fire in his belly stoking itself back to life. It was impossible for him not to roll you over to allow him to bask in more of your shared passion. The laughter that ensued, laughter that he was sure was aimed at him, only made his heart swell as much as his cock.

#obey me #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date #deVien writes #deVien writes for asmo #Infernal Heat #Smut #mammon x gn! reader #mammon x gender neutral reader #Gender neutral reader #Mating cycles #Heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #Feral Mammon #Monster fucking #Well gradual monster fucking #Insecure Mammon #Kind of a breeding kink but that's more instincts

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wordsnstuff · 3 years

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Guide to Drafting

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Planning v. Discovery

The first thing you must decide when you embark on the journey of drafting a story is how you’re going to get it done. Typically, there are two groups you can fit into, though most writers are somewhere in between. There are writers who plan meticulously before they begin writing to create a very clean first draft, or there are discovery writers (otherwise known as “pantsers”) who find more success in choosing a premise and then using a zero draft to explore the idea before gluing down any details. You are most likely someone who falls between those two methods. Some initial planning to feel familiar with your idea before you do some of the planning through the writing itself. Having some semblance of a method will help you narrow down your own process, which is immensely important if you want to get any substantial project near completion.

Consistency

Drafting is a difficult process because it’s either the revisitation of ideas you’ve already had, or the generations of ideas in quick succession. If you want to have a draft in a reasonable amount of time, you must develop a consistency in your writing. I won’t say that it must be a strict routine because time management can be a luxury, but you must make the consistent effort to write, and keep it in the forefront of your mind. Even if you don’t write every day, it should be something you try to make time for every day.

Know What You’re Trying to Accomplish

To get a draft done, you need to set expectations for yourself and they must be realistic. That doesn’t mean they have to be easy, or an amount of work you’ve been able to accomplish in the past. Considering how much time you dedicate to writing and your skillset, it should be a goal within reality. In addition, you must accept that you cannot create a masterpiece in one draft. For each version of your story that you write, you must have a focused goal, such as maintaining consistent characterization, making the plot concise and engaging, or making the prose more fluid and efficient. If you have a specific and attainable goal that you can accomplish in a reasonable amount of time with a fair amount of precision, each draft will be better than the last.

Designate Work to Phases

As mentioned in the last section, it maximizes your time and effort to have specific and attainable goals for each draft. This doesn’t mean that you rewrite the draft each time (though that is very common amongst writers), but that you designate tasks to draft versions. I find it very helpful in clearing my mind and soothing my perfectionist anxiety to make a “schedule”, outlining what I’ll accomplish in each version following the zero draft. For example, my draft schedules usually end up something like this:

Zero Draft: Main plot line, basic characterization, key world building

First Draft: Finalize Timeline, research for world building, structure

Second Draft: (Rewrite) Plot Development Fine Tuning

Subplot development

Foreshadowing

Build up to climaxes

Tone & Pace

Third Draft: (Intermittent Rewrites) Character Development Fine Tuning

Backstory

Subtextual Development

Making sure motivations are clear

Relationships between characters

Reinforcing character arcs

Checking dialogue

Fourth Draft: (Give to Beta Readers) World Building & Prose

Descriptions & Flow

Finalize settings

Checking grammar & punctuation

Reader Immersion

Fifth Draft: Incorporate Beta Reader Feedback

Write for Yourself First

In what some call the “zero-draft”, there are no rules. This draft is purely for your eyes. It’s you telling yourself the story for the first time. So, you don’t have to write in chronological order, or know the right word you’re looking for, or take a break every time you run into a problem. The purpose of the zero draft is to get a rough idea of as much of the story as you can and avoid getting snagged on minor details. This part is important. A lot of writers like to outline meticulously before they begin drafting and if that works for you, that’s great, but the majority of writers who attempt that get stuck in the planning phase, or burnt out on their story before a word of it exists. The easiest way to avoid those two situations is to do a zero draft, which can be as long or short as you want if it provides a skeleton for you to add meat to later.

Common Struggles

~ How do you estimate the number of words/chapters?... That depends on the genre, mostly. However, that’s usually something you decide in the second draft and beyond, and it can vary because of factors you haven’t got locked down until the plot and character arcs are firm or final. This is also something you’ll probably do a lot of tinkering with, and receive feedback on, especially from beta-readers, who can advise you on where natural breaks could occur from their perspective.

~ Why, after planning everything out, do I always struggle to write the draft?... 99% of the time, it’s because you’ve either burned yourself out, or accumulated too much pressure. When you put that much effort and time into a story, you can either slip into a headspace where you feel little excitement about it because you’ve already done all of the problem solving and had all of the revelations. It’s usually beneficial at this stage to take a step back (even if you’re not burnt out) and give your story some space, so that once you come back to it, you’re enthusiastic enough to fully realize your vision. If instead you’re struggling to write because you feel a lot of pressure to do justice for a story you’ve put so much love into already, take a step back, remember that the first draft is just for you, and work on letting go of the idea that the zero draft is meant to serve any purpose beside simply existing.

~ How do I come up with the necessary scenes to move the story forward between major plot points?... Most writing problems can be solved by asking yourself the right questions. When you’re trying to figure out what your reader needs to see next in order to effectively set up the next major event, ask yourself “What would happen between event A and event B that would add context or make event B more impactful?”. Treat it like a real situation and try to map out all of the tiny, notable moments that would take place between the major plot points, and then assess those moments on the basis of how impactful they would be to the coming scenes, and whether they can add context, set the tone, or aide in the rising action.

~ How do I balance sticking to the draft and following my own creative instinct in the moment?... This is a judgement call. Sometimes you’ll realize that maybe you should have just stuck to the outline, but remember that you can always go back, rewrite, test things out, etc. Always save every version of every scene, just in case, and go wild. Don’t be afraid to take detours just to explore. The writing process is anything but linear.

~ How do I maintain momentum in my writing progress when I constantly have distractions or other responsibilities that take priority?... Work at it. There’s no magic trick or piece of advice I could say that gets rid of your personal responsibilities. Write when you can, don’t make excuses on top of the reasons you have no control over, and remember that you create your own deadlines and expectations. Be kind to yourself, do what you can, and don’t spend potential writing time punishing yourself because there isn’t as much as you’d like.

~ How should I designate space (words/pages) to specific scenes/description/conversations, etc?... Trust your instinct and remember you can always cut/add later. In the earlier drafts, I’d advise you try to create as much material as possible to work with, and in the later drafts, be ruthless when determining what is necessary and adds value, and what doesn’t.

~ How do I finish a draft if I regularly lose motivation or interest in my projects?... Accept the fact that motivation is fickle, and that no writer in history has ever maintained “inspiration” for any project from the beginning to the end. There are going to be days where you’re like “ugh this is not what I want to do right now”, probably more than there are days where you’re stoked to work on your project, but that’s reality. If your goal is to finish a draft, you must recognize that writing is work, and nobody wants to work all the time. Try to supplement the lack of motivation by setting a positive and enjoyable routine so that, even when you’re not particularly motivated, you still know that your writing time will be peaceful and comfortable.

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shortkingvi · 3 years

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No, no, tell us more about your thoughts on tyzula

alright,,,, i feel like this was a long time coming with how much i talk about my deep love for azula and her character arc so i'm gonna write a pretty lengthy analysis/discussion here about it all,,,,,,,, i'll put in it a read more so people don't have to scroll past a super long post if they aren't interested, so click below if you DO wanna read it

right SO, in order to understand the crux of why tyzula is so compelling and such a complex ship to understand, we have to understand azula as a character first

to preface, i should clarify that i'm not the kind of person who enjoys the "people are born evil" narrative because it's pessimistic, cheap, and in my opinion, not realistic. i think that characters can progress past the point of redemption, sure, but i don't think that any person is inherently meant to end up a monster

azula is a character who has never received unconditional love. the only reference to positivity in her childhood that we get is ozai's praise of her as the better firebender. this, however, is conditional love to the fullest; growing up knowing your value to your parent is intrinsically tied into what you can accomplish makes you highly defensive of losing your ability and disappointing, because then, what do you have? maybe this is the gifted kid in me speaking, but being identified as "special" at a young age is SO damaging in so many ways

azula only knows love in the form of praise for her abilities, not for her as a person. her mother certainly had no unconditional love for her in the way she did zuko, in azula's mind at least. azula herself says that her mother thought she was a monster; now, we can argue until the hippo cows come home whether or not ursa ACTUALLY thought this but it doesn't change the fact that this is how azula PERCEIVED it. she watched zuko receive love from their mother and their uncle while all she ever received was praise for what she could do, not who she was. she also received praise from her father and admonishment from her mother, so it's natural she would be inclined to follow her father's - horrible - advice rather than her mother's

anyways, now that we've established azula's lack of understanding of unconditional love, let's talk about ty lee. ty lee is the first one to give azula a taste of what love is. now, again, much of this is borne out of manipulation on azula's part BUT this is mainly because azula only knows how to receive approval through actions and not character. for ozai, she molds herself into what he'll approve of; for ty lee, she molds HER into something that won't be swayed by azula's flaws

nonetheless, we see some real azula peek through when she's with ty lee. during the ember island episode, we get a pretty sincere apology from azula to ty lee that feels VERY out of character for someone who never apologizes for anything. we see azula's dependence upon ty lee as, on the surface, something related to ty lee's abilities. however, it does seem strange that azula chose a non-bending circus girl as one of the members of her elite, inside squad (no i'm not arguing ty lee isn't strong or powerful, i think she's actually one of the most powerful characters in the show re: chi blocking, but azula probably wouldn't think this immediately)

INSTEAD, azula chooses ty lee because she TRUSTS her. trust is how love manifests when you aren't taught how to love in the first place. ozai, the only person azula thinks cares about her, puts his trust in azula to carry out his orders so she, in turn, does the same as an expression of care and love. because that's what she thinks love is! love to her is "i trust you to do this for me when i can't" and not "i trust you to do this for me because you WANT to"

because azula doesn't GET to want. she only gets to DO

so, now, let's get into the betrayal, turning, rebellion, whatever you want to call it, at boiling rock

IF azula only ever expresses real compassion for ty lee, and we've established that trust seems to be the way azula expresses this compassion most of the time, a betrayal would be the worst possible thing for her to face. she's already dealing with mai turning on her and choosing zuko, although i'd argue this was always in the back of her mind considering mai and zuko's relationship. what she ISN'T expecting, however, is ty lee. ty lee, who she trusted explicitly, turning on her and choosing the other side. because in azula's mind, she's not sure what she's done wrong! she's carried out orders perfectly, she's the strongest, she's the logical option at this point in terms of who will win the war

and still, ty lee turns on her

so now we have an azula who's lost the one person she cared about most (if we're going on the context clues of the show), and it breaks her. breakdown azula sends away all her advisors and protectors out of fear that they'll betray her because she's already been betrayed by the one person closest to her, so what's stopping all of them from doing the same?

her hallucination is important in understanding tyzula too; her mother talks about her use of fear to control people and azula replies with "trust is for fools, fear is the only reliable option." funny how hallucination ursa never mentions trust here and yet azula talks about it, huh? because trust is equal to love in her mind and she just lost any semblance of love she had left in her life the moment ty lee left her. i could write a whole other thing about the symbolic hair cutting here, but i'll save that for another time probably because this is already getting long and it'll turn into a whole discussion about hair in the avatar universe

ANYWAYS, this is all essentially why i love tyzula so much. we have a girl who doesn't understand and has never felt real, unconditional love losing a person who DID love her deeply but couldn't trust that her actions were good

we have azula, who was raised in a restrictive environment where her abilities were the only things keeping her from being physically abused (because she was regularly being emotionally abused if we're being honest), trying to grapple with understanding what GOOD even looks like

it's worth it to mention that azula was raised in a highly homophobic environment as well; it's not coincidental that bryke specifically confirm it is the fire nation who criminalized homosexuality. azula's internal homophobia, compounded with her inability to understand love, makes tyzula this tragic mish mash of almost, maybe, but also never

in any other world, tyzula happens a million times over; ty lee and azula are childhood friends who grow up, lose contact, come back together, and break free of their oppressive environment that neither of them are truly suited for (azula mentally and ty lee emotionally)

in the world we're given, however, this is everything they CAN'T be. and that's what makes them so fantastic

i love azula, i think about azula a lot, i RELATE to azula, my heart breaks for what she could have been if she weren't a product of her environment. but, more than anything, i'm just so heartbroken by azula getting SO close to understanding what love is but coming just short because the one way she expresses love, through trust, is the one thing she feels ty lee breaks

and isn't that the tragedy of it all?

#sorry anon this is SO long sxvsxgsdysvdg and turned more into an azula meta than a tyzula love fest #but their tragedy and toxicity is what makes them so fascinating #because they have all the makings of an epic wlw pairing but azula is just SO broken she gets in her own way #also totally unrelated but while i was writing this i was thinking about how azula's descent into madness #is what game of thrones tried and failed to do with daenerys #and now i kinda wanna write an azula dany meta thing too dvasyvdsadahsdvasdj #anyways yeah this is why i love them #asks #anon #tyzula

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

Text

Superhero Salary

It all started with a joke. It ended with Ladybug and Chat Noir finally getting some of the compensation that they deserved.

After all, fame isn't going to pay the bills.

links in the reblog

It all started with a (mostly) joking comment from Chat Noir, blurted out in a moment of frustration.

"I hate it when that happens," he had grumbled after Ladybug knocked him free from the akuma's control. "Stupid, stupid mind-control akumas. Tell Hawkmoth that if he's going to insist on akumas like that, he's gonna have to pay for my therapy after this is all over!" he hollered after the akuma, who was clearly hopping mad about no longer having a superhero under his control. "A superhero salary doesn't exactly pay enough for it!"

He had been kidding, at least mostly. Kidding or not, though, the complaint was out there.

The moment had been picked up by the Ladyblog, of course, just as part of the bigger fight. But it wasn't long before it absolutely exploded over the internet.

Sure, maybe in comic books it was implied that superheroes always worked for free. But was that really fair? After all, Ladybug and Chat Noir were providing a service to the city. They were taking the time out of their normal lives to save Paris and put things back to rights, and they were doing it often. They had to come out whenever Hawkmoth sent out an akuma, not just when they had a spare bit of time that they could use to fight crime. Just like policemen and firefighters, they were putting themselves in danger by fighting on the front line. And if they were in jobs, or were in school- well, having to duck out regularly had to be affecting them, and not in a positive way.

If they had jobs, they could very well be on the edge of losing them because of all of the times they went missing. Even if they were self-employed- well, then they would still be losing out on some serious work time and having to work late into the night instead. And if they were in school...

Then they would be in danger of falling behind and need help to keep on top of their schoolwork. Tutors and online courses both cost money.

And on top of all of that, there was superhero merchandise being made using their colors and images, clothes and dolls and souvenirs and toys. Surely they should be getting a cut of the profit from that.

With only a few exceptions, Paris was soon in agreement: their superheroes needed to be earning a salary.

Marinette wasn't quite certain what to think of it all.

"Tikki, what do I say if the mayor decides to give us a salary?" she implored, slumping back in her chair. "I mean, even if it would be possible to safely get the money, I just don't know."

Part of her wanted to do the noble thing and say no to a salary. After all, she was Ladybug because she wanted to help! Plus, would public perception of them change if they were technically city employees? The mayor might think that he had the power to call them up on command, which would really stink.

But- well, Marinette was a teenager, and no sane teenager would turn down money, particularly when it was money for work that she had done. Even though she wasn't exactly struggling- she got an allowance, plus money from babysitting Manon and of course commission money, and besides she was a teenager and not an adult with a million living expenses- having more money in her account for fabric or design classes or her future career wasn't a bad thing.

"Well, Plagg and I could certainly set things up so that all of the money you get would be funneled through us and our magic," Tikki told her. "And we would be careful about not matching up the amounts or making them regular! There's ways that we can do it without attracting attention."

Marinette nodded. That was one question answered, but the other?

"As for if you should take the money..." Tikki considered that. "I mean, there's a lot to consider. But I'd like to point out that you don't know how long you'll be fighting Hawkmoth, or if there'll be any other threats after he's gone to deal with. That could interfere with you having a regular job. And if the akuma attacks keep disrupting your school day and you need to hire a tutor to help you keep up but you don't want your parents knowing, having the extra money could help. Or if you decide to sign up for an online school so that you can look up lessons that you missed in class, you could pay for that! But people might have strong opinions about superheroes taking money, too."

"That's a lot of positives and only one negative," Marinette pointed out. "I mean, it could be annoying to listen to people judging, but unless they're in the majority..."

Either way, it was going to be disheartening to hear people judging her for taking the money. But as long as they weren't in her face or spreading lies about her and Chat Noir now not being motivated to take down Hawkmoth because that would mean an end to the money or something ridiculous like that, she could probably ignore it. Maybe she could make some donations with the money she was getting to dispel those rumors.

Honestly, she'd probably do that anyway. There were so many organizations and people in need in Paris, and if Marinette was earning money then of course she would want to support them.

Of course, that all depended on if the officials even offered the salary in the first place, which was honestly looking really likely. It looked like public opinion was strongly in their favor, and the mayor was seriously easily waived by public opinion most of the time. And anything to do with the superheroes- well, it was publicity gold.

And in the end, it only took a week of deliberations- entirely about how much Ladybug and Chat Noir should be making, and puzzling out how much of the profit from sales of their merchandise they should be getting on top of their salary- before the announcement went out that the superheroes would be offered payment. A day after that, Ladybug and Chat Noir accepted their salary and gave the city's head payroll officer the information their kwamis had given them for the kwami bank accounts, so that they could get their paychecks without risking their secret identities.

"I didn't expect things to blow up like this when I said that, about not earning enough for therapy," Chat Noir admitted after they had left. He had seemed put-together and confident when they were in the office- which Ladybug had appreciated, because the sums that were being discussed were absolutely intimidating and having Chat Noir being so confident next to her helped her not get flustered. "I mean, yeah, down the road, I wouldn't be surprised if I get nightmares about fighting all the time and need to get help with that, but- well, I don't think I'd be able to, not unless I sign up as Chat Noir instead of my civilian self. And I don't know if I would necessarily want to do that, in case too much civilian stuff comes out."

Ladybug winced. Yeah, that was a real concern. And- well, she didn't ever admit it to anyone other than Tikki, but she sometimes had nightmares about the fights, too. And Chat Noir was right- a therapist could probably help.

But the identity concerns...

It was more than likely that some personal information would come out if they were talking to any sort of therapist, and that was dangerous. Maybe the chance of their therapists stumbling on their identities was low, but she still couldn't risk it.

Maybe they could go out of Paris to find someone, using the Horse to jump. Then their therapist would be even less likely to make the connection between Ladybug and Marinette, and with the distance from Paris, having the superheroes in their office might be less exciting than it would be for someone who saw the superheroes on a daily basis. But even that wouldn't really be a possibility until Hawkmoth was gone, when they actually got some semblance of free time back.

"I can't deny that the money could be helpful, though," Chat Noir added after a moment. "I mean, depending on how long the conflict drags on, or if we need anything that Tikki and Plagg can't provide to help us, or- well, when I get old enough to move out of my father's place, I want to. There's way too many people who think that they can just barge into my room without warning and poke around, and- well, it's not safe."

Ladybug glanced over at her partner again. He looked like he was her age- in fact, they had shared enough information inadvertently that she was positive that they were probably a year apart at most- which meant that he was facing years of people disregarding his privacy and potentially discovering his secret. "That's ages away, though."

"I know. I can't do much about it right now, though, besides just paying attention to where I'm detransforming." Chat Noir sighed. "I guess the money can't really help with that, not right now."

"Yeah. And that's not great." Ladybug tapped a rhythm against her leg, trying to come up with a solution and finding none. She just didn't have enough information about the situation to find places where they could do something. "I mean, the most I can come up with is a camera that you could connect to and move around to see if anyone is in there before going back in. And you could see if anyone is coming around and poking around that you don't know about. But- well, the problem is that cameras can be hard to hide, and if your father finds out and decides to review footage..."

"It could backfire on me, really fast." Chat Noir glanced around, then back at her. "Yeah, I know. I guess- well, for now, I won't change anything. Maybe something will come up in the future."

"Yeah, I'm not going to be changing much either, I think. But it's nice to have that money there in case I need it." It made her feel a little weird, honestly- after over a year of volunteer superheroing, accepting money for that was just strange- but maybe eventually, it would sink in that she was doing a job and deserved pay for it.

Chat Noir nodded. "Just in case. And, well- if we don't use it, it'll be a good start for my retirement account!"

Ladybug laughed at that, the awkwardness and concerns that she had had earlier flying away in an instant. "Teenagers with retirement accounts. Who would have thought?"

"Well, you can never be too prepared, right?"

Ladybug giggled again, imaging the looks on her parents' places if she sat down for dinner and started asking questions about retirement accounts and for their advice in setting one up. Maybe it wouldn't be completely out of left field- after all, unlike most of her classmates, Marinette did earn money with commissions, and enough that she would not be spending it all- but it was also a strange thing for a teenager to ask about.

Well. At least it wasn't a bad problem to have.

A week later, Ladybug and Chat Noir officially received their first paychecks, with back payments pending. And by that time, the two of them had figured out where those payments were going.

Most of the money, of course, would be held in the kwami bank accounts until it could be trickled into their civilian bank accounts. How much, exactly, could be deposited without being noticed was still being decided- Ladybug could definitely get away with more than Chat Noir, though she figured that varying amounts and not at regular intervals would stick out less than regular payments. They were still trying to figure out how they might get retirement accounts going- even as much as they joked, it wasn't exactly a bad idea.

And then part of the money would go to charity. It was just a nice thing to do, after all, and since they had spare money- well, it would just be a good idea to help out a little bit more. They didn't want to make too big of a deal out of their donations, since it was very possible that people would judge where they were donating, how much they were donating, how often they were making their donations, and how their donations did or didn't change over time. There would no doubt be people petitioning the superheroes to support their favorite charities, which- well, maybe it would be a good way to learn about new causes, but it sounded like more stress than it would be worth. Besides, Ladybug and Chat Noir were private citizens behind the mask, and they deserved to have some privacy about their finances.

All they needed to tell the public was that they were donating anonymously and wouldn't be disclosing the places or amounts for those reasons. It was a simple answer, and should satisfy most of the population. There would no doubt be a few naysayers- there almost always were a few people who just had to be difficult- but it was a reasonable answer.

Thankfully, the person who had interviewed Ladybug and Chat Noir about what they were going to do with their first paychecks- a kind man from a mid-sized newspaper, who had earned the spot of first interview entirely because he hadn't been pushy about asking- had thought that their reasoning was plenty sound. They were hardly going to be millionaires, and so expecting them to donate large amounts on a regular (and frequent) basis was completely ridiculous. Keeping things private- well, that meant that people who were out of touch wouldn't be moaning about donations that they were perceiving as too small.

Just because Ladybug and Chat Noir were famous didn't mean that they were rich.

Marinette hummed quietly to herself as she skimmed the article that the reporter they had talked to had written. While the interview itself had taken place several days prior, the article had just been released that morning to coincide with both their first payment and the start of the month. It was very nicely written, and framed their reasoning in an even more clear and articulate light than they had managed themselves. She didn't doubt that it would get noticed soon, and then the speculation about whether or not Ladybug and Chat Noir would donate some of their earnings would be put to rest for once and for all-

"Wait, Ladybug and Chat Noir aren't donating any of their salary? That's so unlike them!"

-or maybe not.

"I was surprised too, they just completely brushed me off when I suggested that they donate part of their salaries," Lila told her audience as they swept into the room as a- well, as a flock, really, that was the only way to describe it. "It's what I would do if I was a superhero, of course, so I thought that they would feel the same! It's such a let-down, I really thought that they were better than that..."

"I would say that maybe it's because they've donated so much of their time to the city already, but I know I heard something at some point about backpayments to cover their time from the start," Alya commented, her eyebrows furrowed. "So that's not really donated time anymore, is it?"

"Maybe they have bills to pay," Rose piped up, clearly ever-hopeful. "And they need to get caught up with that first, of course. That would make sense!"

Of course, Lila was shaking her head as she headed up to her seat, with the rest of the group following not far behind to keep listening. "They're too young for bills. I met up with them again this morning and was trying to talk some sense into them because really, they could just do small donations, even a little bit helps- I would know, I've seen how far money can stretch and help in a charity! But even now that they have the money in their hands, they just want to keep it."

There were murmurs of disappointment all around the group gathered around Lila at that. Even though donations clearly weren't mandatory- well, they thought that the superheroes should be better role models than that! If they didn't have bills to pay, surely...

"And it's not like they're not getting enough to have both spending money and do a little charity," Lila said, shaking her head sadly. "Plenty of spending money, even! And I pointed that out, but they got really upset with me. I'd hate for our friendship to be destroyed over this really, but it's just- I feel like I don't know them at all now!"

Frankly, Marinette had heard enough. She wasn't going to let her reputation as Ladybug- or Chat Noir's reputation- get slandered by Lila's nonsense.

"Funny thing," Marinette commented in the most deadpan, disinterested voice that she could muster, not even taking her eyes off of her tablet as she talked. "You say that you met up with the superheroes this morning and they weren't interested in doing donations, and yet there's an article in La Trib this morning about an interview they did with the superheroes days ago that say otherwise. It says that donating was in their plan from the start."

The group in the back of the room went quiet.

"Marinette is correct," Markov commented after a moment, breaking the silence. "The article was posted one hour ago, though the paper copy presumably went out earlier. The superheroes stated that they have been looking at charities since they first heard that they might be getting money for their superhero work, as they wish to continue to help Paris. Their donations will be anonymous and private to protect their privacy and to prevent unwanted commentary on their choices."

Marinette glanced back. All eyes were slowly turning from Markov to Lila.

"There is also a video of the interview linked on the online version of the article," Markov added. "And the metadata confirms that it was filmed several days ago."

Several of the eyes pointed towards Lila were getting narrowed and suspicious.

"Oh, that- that's lovely!" Lila exclaimed, somewhat belatedly pressing her hand over her heart. "Maybe they were just trying to wind me up to tease me, then! And I misread the situation and took them seriously. Or they were trying to give me a pleasant surprise! It happens, sometimes- I'm not always great at catching sarcasm-"

This time, not everyone looked entirely convinced.

Smiling to herself, Marinette looked back at her tablet, closing out of the article and opening up their reading for Literature so that she could review it- or, well, finish reading it, because an akuma had interrupted her the previous night and it had been too late to pick it up again once the fight was over. If she hurried, she might be able to finish it before Ms. Bustier called for a start to class, and then she wouldn't get in trouble again for not doing her homework.

Honestly, if Lila's track record was anything to go by, she would probably wriggle her way out of the lie by the afternoon and the whole incident would be forgotten. But maybe this time would end up different- after all, Marinette had never seen that doubt before- and Lila's tower of lies would finally come toppling down. It was long overdue, really, but Marinette wasn't going to hold her breath.

If it happened...well, if their superhero salary was like a surprise cake, then a Lila downfall would be the cherry on top.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #superhero retirement fund

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honey-makki · 4 years

Text

Firsts

Characters: Tsukishima Kei X Fem!Reader

Summary: Fate works in mysterious ways to bring people who are destined to be together, to actually be together.

Warnings: Sex!! blow jobs, face riding, virginity loss

Genre: fluff, smut

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Well this started as a drabble request but here I am a week later with a 5k fic about it. Soft tsukki inbound. I hope you enjoy @salty4tsukki bc I def enjoyed writing this.

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Being an only child is not a precursor to being lonely. Memories of family game nights, shared dinners and movies watched filled the air of your house letting you know that you were both never alone and, oh, so loved.

You knew that having as healthy a home environment was unusual and that it was part of the reason that you are so emotionally intelligent. Many of your peers couldn’t stand their parents and found every excuse to avoid being home. Sure, you and your parents had arguments about curfew or the number of texts you sent every month. The last argument happened every time you brought home a grade that was unsatisfactory, which wasn’t often, but consistent enough that it was a recurring problem.

“I’m just tired of them expecting me to be perfect! It’s unreasonable for them to expect perfect grades, being on a starter for the soccer team, and involved in other clubs! I’m only one person.” You ranted to Tsukki, sulking around his room before plopping on his bed, arms covering your sighing face. Tsukki was the only person you came to with family problems because you knew he would understand and not push you. The usually sassy boy always softened these days, knowing that this was the one thing that you couldn’t handle being teased about. Today, he looked at you with soft pity, knowing the amount of work you put towards everything just to be told it’s not enough.

“I could tutor you in English if you want? I know we have our usual pre-exam study sessions, but I really don’t mind making them more regular if you think they would help.” Tsukki might listen to you complain but he still isn’t the best at empathy, rather resorting to problem-solving. He showed his care and compassion to you subtly. Offering his solutions in a way you could make them sound like your own, knowing that provided a semblance of comfort. Allowing you into his room whenever you needed to complain and not questioning your feelings. Always offering you a hoodie or jacket when you were worn out from crying, knowing that the warmth would lull you into a much-needed sleep

You knew he cared about you. Yes, sometimes you over exaggerated your feelings to take advantage of that, but only because you wanted his jacket on your body. The thought that it was his arms rather than just a Tsukki scented cloth surrounding you. Only crying a little harder with the hopes he would offer to have a movie night which always meant cuddles. No, you never faked your feelings to him, not wanting to lie to your best friend and consistent childhood companion, you just embellished them.

Relishing in the fact that for maybe, just ten minutes that Tsukki wasn’t just your best friend, that he grew past friends as he aged, and saw you like more, as his other half. The person he wanted to spend not only his childhood years with but also every single one he still had left.

You aren’t sure when you fell in love with Tsukishima Kei.

It could have been his moment against Shiratorizawa when you saw him truly experience joy for the first time in the sport he spent so much time. It could have been the time he gave you his rain jacket when it was pouring before you walked home, knowing it wouldn’t do much against the downpour, but the barrier being symbolic. It could definitely have been the time you went over to study and you walked in on him singing to himself while studying, the soft tenor notes gracing your ears. You only really remember how his voice made your heart skip a beat, the flush of his ears when he turned around catching your eyes.

All you know is that you were hopelessly in love with the man who had been with you every step, every stumble of your life. The man who towered over you but never made you feel smaller than he, the man that laughed before checking on you when you tripped, but always ensuring you were truly ok.

Watching him grow into his height and his body gaining muscles during highschool was both a blessing and a curse. Your eyes were drawn to his figure, shoulders hunched over on his desk, deltoids peeking out of the sleeves in a way that made you want more. Yes, you loved looking at him but sometimes it plagued you.

Eyes scrunched shut and heavy breathing, all you can think about is what Tsukki might look like under those clothes. It was a curse, lewd thoughts of your best friend being the only way you could get off anymore. That didn’t stop you from plunging two fingers in and out for your dripping cunt edging yourself closer to your release. At the precipice, you pull your fingers out and eagerly circle your clit, the other hand moving from gripping the bedsheets to pulling at and groping your nipples. Tsukki’s name leaves your lips like a fervent prayer as you cum to the thought of him. You never felt worse about yourself than you did at this moment, but somehow you found yourself here regularly.

You didn’t know that at that exact same moment Tsukki was in his room thinking about you. The way your smaller hands would fit around his dick, the hesitation you might experience but be driven forward by lust. The thought of being the first and maybe the only person to touch you always drives him to his release.

He might have fooled around with some girls before, a handjob here and there, amidst a make-out session, but he could never find it in himself to go further. He couldn’t, no, didn’t want to be with anyone else, because he knew that the whole time he would be thinking about you under him.

As you had aged, sleepovers became less frequent but were something the two of you still cherished and actively made time for. Tonight is one such night, having just finished your final midterms and gorging yourself on celebratory ramen from your favorite shop. Tsukki’s parents were out of town for the week, but were used to your presence in the house and didn’t mind you being over.

You being there should have been fine, nothing out of the normal but that's not how fate works.

Once you arrived at his place you both changed into lounge clothes getting ready to binge the latest season of Game of Thrones. You went to the kitchen to grab you both some water, knowing neither of you will want to get up once you start.

Tsukki must have had the same idea because as you rounded the corner of the kitchen, you were met with a brick wall and a frigid wave running through your body. You realized it wasn't through your body when your nipples began to harden, peaking through your now translucent shirt. While you are still shocked at the chill, Tsukki looks down to see what happened. Instead what he sees is you, accidentally exposed, the white shirt clinging to the curve of your body like a second layer of skin.

He knows that if he doesn’t avert his gaze that he won't be able to suppress a rising tent in his pants. Committing the image to memory quickly, he apologizes for being in the way, “Shit Y/N, I’m sorry. Feel free to go grab one of my shirts to change into. I’ll clean the mess up.” With that, he moves towards the kitchen to grab a towel, brushing against your body in the narrow hallway.

You head up to his room and go to his dresser, you’ve watched him put his laundry away before, knowing exactly where he keeps his biggest and most comfortable shirts. You strip off your shirt, skin pebbling at the breeze from his fan. Blushing at the fact you are taking your clothes off in your crush childhood friend room, you strip off your lounge shorts now noticing they also have been soaked.

As you pull his practice jersey on you notice it reaches your midthigh, which causes a brief internal conflict. Should I grab a pair of his shorts even though I know they’ll be too big? This shirt is longer than my shorts were anyways, but it’s not the most decent thing. The deciding factor in opting for no shorts was nothing to do with you, rather with the man waiting patiently downstairs. It had everything to do with the glint of intrigue in Tsukki’s eye you spotted earlier, the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath, and the burning touch he left on your body as he passed you in the hallway.

Tsukki was not even thinking about what you would look like in his clothes as he had more urgent problems. His cock was achingly hard in his sweatpants, the gray not doing him any favors of hiding how he felt about seeing your body. He was doing everything he could think of to suppress both the thoughts of you and blood rushing downstairs.

After quickly cleaning up the spill, he got situated on the couch with a blanket hoping it would help hide his current problem as he got it under control. Tsukki spent the remaining time of your absence struggling to distract himself, reciting poetry meditating, anything to not think about it, think about you, think about the curve of your che- fuck he was failing.

His eyes shot open at your weight landing next to him on the couch. Subtly looking over your form, that he now has burned into the back of his eyelids, seeing you drowning in his clothes, his volleyball clothes. Wait, is she just wearing my shirt? His gaze lingering on the soft expanse of your thighs, knowing that he should be able to see the hem of your shorts with the way you are sitting. The thought of you in your underwear almost makes him moan, his already hard dick twitching with precum budding at the tip.

You shoot him a smile, apologizing for taking so long and say you're ready to watch if he is. After some time has passed, the air is nipping at on your still slightly wet skin, you scoot closer to Tsukki and get under the blanket with him. The slight abrasion from his sweats on your skin sent electricity tingling throughout your body and unknowingly did the same to him.

Reaching forward to grab a glass of water after a particularly gruesome scene, your phone tumbled out of your lap. Not really thinking you lean forward and grab it, slightly raising your ass into the air to reach the last few inches. You plop back down with a grunt and throw your arms open, hoping Tsukki would know that this is your way of saying you needed to take a break from the show for a bit.

Neither of you expected the moan that escaped his lips as you brushed across his now very obvious erection. Neither of you knew what to do after either, he flushed red with embarrassment and hid his face, you with your arm still where it landed on his thigh, unable to move. “Y/N, can you please move?.” he barely chokes out. The obvious restraint in his voice was a sound you had only previously daydreamed of.

Driven by lust, or excitement, maybe even fear that another opportunity would arise, you do move, but not in the way he had intended. You get up off the couch and he's sure that you are getting ready to leave, disgusted with him, but instead, you settle in on your knees between his thighs. Doey-eyes looking up through your lashes with hesitant excitement. “Ok, I’ve moved, what next?”

Is the one thing he dreamed about is really happening? The actuality of it seems almost incredulous. “Y/N, stop joking, I’m sorry about this. They just kinda, happen sometimes.” He can’t meet your eye because he’s sure he would cum just from the sight of you between his legs.

“If you don't want me here Kei, I’ll move, but I’m serious.” As you say his first name, another moan comes from his throat, spurring you to action. Biting your lip, you move the blanket and hesitantly grasp his erection.

Tsukki is hazy with confusion but simultaneously everything is crystal clear with pleasure, unable to focus on anything due to the duality inside his head. Even if he wanted to tell you to stop, to stop and think, he wouldn’t be able to choke out the words.

He notices you aren’t really moving which is driving him mad until he looks down and sees just how pure you look. “Kei, I don’t-- I don’t really know what to do. Just tell me what you like and I’ll do my best.”

“Princess, are you sure you still want to do this?” as he pulls you up to eye level, cupping your cheeks. Seeing your nod and nervous smile, he leans forward to kiss you.

The chill that had previously permeated your body is replaced with warmth, the feeling of his soft lips moving in time with yours, his gentle but assertive grip on your back acting as heat sources. It’s a comfortable warmth, an invitation into him.

You plan on taking that invitation as he deepens the kiss, one hand in the hair at his nape, the other returning to palm him through his sweats. As he stops your kiss, holding in a groan you take that opportunity to return to your original position in front of him. Waiting patiently, looking up at him for instruction with an absolutely pornographic gaze.

Tsukki thought the image of your chest was the best thing he would ever see, but this takes the cake. Your hands playing with the waistband, with slight hesitation before pulling both his bowers and sweats down with his assistance.

You knew what a dick looked like, but that doesn’t mean you are any less intimidated when one is just a few inches from your face. Long and curved, a prominent vein running up to the head that is flushed red and slick with precum. His hand rests on your head with the other on his thigh. Seeing his excitement on his face gives you enough encouragement to kitten lick his tip two times. “Fuck Y/N, please don’t tease me,” his voice wavering between a moan and a whine, you’ve never heard him sound so dependent, so needy before.

Knowing that you are the one doing this to him gives you the confidence to start taking his dick in your mouth. You pause at the head, moving your tongue around, unsure what feels good until his grip on your head tightens as you rub against the bottom, just before the shaft. “Fuck pretty girl, please move your head down, please I wan--” A groan cuts him off as you follow his command. Slowly starting to bob along a portion of his length, with increasing speed.

“Spit on your hand and stroke the rest, god your mouth is heavenly” after pulling off to follow his command, you finally notice the familiar Tsukki-induced burning in your stomach, but amplified by a hundred when you see his cock twitch as you spit into your hand. He watched you with half-lidded eyes as you positioned your hand under your mouth, whispering uncharacteristically gentle words of praise.

Soft moans fall out of his mouth as you swirl your tongue around his head on every upward movement. Your hand mimicking the speed of your lips, trying to give him as much pleasure as you can. One particular comment of his shoots straight to your core, “Y/N, I never imagined you would make me feel this good.” The implication of him thinking about this, the same way you have, makes you moan around his dick, which in turn elicits a sharp intake from Tsukki.

His grip has been tightening on your head slowly, but all of a sudden he pulls you off. “Don’t wanna cum in your mouth without asking, just hand me a tissue.”

You never imagined Tsukki making the type of sound he did when you artlessly stuttered out “W-Well you have my permission.”

Returning your tongue to his tip, which is now angrily red and coated in both spit and precum, it only takes a few seconds before he bucks into your mouth as he orgasms. His cock reaches further than you expected resulting in you choking as he hits the back of your throat, unintentionally intensifying his orgasm.

He pulls you off of him, grimacing at the cold air hitting his spent dick, bending forward to look you in the eye.. “Pretty girl, I’m so sorry for that last bit, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you ok?”

The pressure of his thumb wiping off a few spare tears makes you wonder what his touch would feel like on the rest of your body. As your mind delves into lewd thoughts, you shift your thighs looking for some pleasure, and give him an absentminded “It was fine, unexpected but I wanna make you feel good.”

He carefully sits you in his lap and pulls you into a deep kiss, slow but hungry. He moves down your jaw to your neck before whispering “Well, I guess it’s my turn to return the favor huh.” You bite back your moan, but as he harshly sucks a spot at the base of your neck it slips out. “You don’t have to hide your noises, princess, let me know how good everything feels.”

He runs his hands up and down your sides underneath his shirt before they find your chest. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined these.” You tug your shirt off and do the same to him. Both of you are just marveling at the beauty in front of you with lust.

He makes the first move, gently bringing your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, as his left-hand switches randomly between rubbing along your side and massaging your left boob. The warmth of his tongue flicking against your pebbled bud is miles better than your own fingers, endless breathy moans falling out of your mouth as you find purchase for your hands in his hair.

You must be unconsciously rutting against him because he stops his ministrations and stills your hips with a harsh grip. “Feeling needy now? Let me take care of you.” Tsukki rolls you off of him and you expect him to get on his knees in front of you, making you clench your knees both out of excitement and embarrassment.

So when he lays down on the floor in front of you and shoots you a smug smirk, “Come take a seat,” your jaw drops in shock.

“No, Tsukki, you don't have- What if I don’t taste good, please don’t worry about it-I don't want to suffoc-” excuses and concerns pour out of your mouth but your body betrays you at the thought of him licking your sex.

“Y/N. Get over here. I want to do this and I’ll ensure you enjoy it.” His tone was commanding enough that you moved from the couch to straddling his head without a thought, losing your panties along the way. Your mind is murky with lust and anticipation, thoughts of how many times you’ve imagined his tongue on your clit being the only thing breaking through the fog.

His tongue pierces through the haze as he runs the flat of it along your entire soaked core. Your body wants to pull away from the pressure but buck into the pleasure at the same time but Tsukki makes the decision for you, wrapping his arms around your thighs so you are snug against his face.

He repeats the action, trying to coax a moan out of you, adding a little more force each time. It isn’t until the bridge of his nose brushes your clit that you finally let out the noises you’ve held in. “Kei- hi- fuck- higher,” breathy moans coat your words in lust.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” His smug tone would have been annoying except for the fact that he was pressing hesitant licks against your clit eventually circling it with the tip of his tongue. You have no control over the whines you are making, only broken up by saying “yes Kei, yes, fuck” and other words of praise

Knowing how it felt when you moaned around his dick, he tries humming with his lips surrounding your clit and if he wasn’t already hard, he sure is now after the way you lewdly moaned his name and fiercely tugged his hair.

The view of your tits heaving along with your breaths drive him to be a little more aggressive with his tongue, mercilessly switching between toying with your folds to harshly drawing shapes into your clit.

Your cunt is drowning Tsukki in slick, coating his face and chin and he’s never been happier. Sucking your folds and using his tongue to taste all of you. He can't believe that anything has ever tasted better than you do right now.

He can tell by the legs squeezing his head, and the shake of your entire body you are close to your orgasm. Wanting to try something new, he slides his tongue into your hole, causing you to grip his blonde locks so hard, you probably pulled some out.

The wanton moans reverberating through the room are the only encouragement he needs to keep pressing his tongue against your tight walls. Your cunt so desperately wants to be filled its almost sucking his tongue in, but you know that alone won’t be enough to make you cum.

“ ‘m close, fuck. Please my clit, Kei please” The loss of his pressure in your cunt is overridden by the shockwaves of his lips around your clit, paired with him tracing letters and a deep moan from his throat. That was all you needed to be pushed over the edge. His moan continues as you ride out your high, hips jerking forward at the intensity.

As he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap, “Obviously I didn’t need instructions on how to make you feel good. I’ve thought about this for years.” You aren’t clear-headed enough to slap him like you usually would. All you can think about is the painful tension already building again in your core and his painfully hard dick pressed into your thigh.

You pull him into a kiss that conveys your unspoken words. Full of need and lust and wanting to make up for all of the time you lost. Your lips meet his harshly, like if you stop that it might disappear, afraid to pull back for air.

As he moves to your neck you instinctively rut your hips against him, looking for some form of release. Growling into your ear, “Oh, so one wasn't good enough for you? You want another orgasm?”

“Well, It’s obvious you want another one,” matching his smugness with another roll that causes him to groan.

Before you can recognize it, he's flipped you over on your back and is hovering over you, eyes committing every inch of you to memory, drinking in the sight of your body, pebbled nipples, slick coating your thighs, love marks he's left thus far. It’s almost enough to make him go feral.

Almost.

“Y/N, are you sure you want to do this? We can stop. I really don’t mind.” The concern in his voice is clearly fighting against the lust, just barely winning over his more carnal desires. His answer comes in the form of your hand grabbing his dick and giving it a few soft, needy strokes.

“Please Tsukki, I need you in me. I’ve thought about this for so long, no way am I stopping”

“Alright pretty girl,” and with that he returns to your deep kiss, your lips feeling like a home he never knew he left. He brings his hand down to your core, ghosting his fingers on your lips before teasing one finger in slowly.

You hiss at the pleasure, hands finding stability rooted in his shoulders. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth to help distract you while he rocks it in and out of your pussy. Quickly, he could tell that you were ready for a second and slipped it in, being met with you clawing at his shoulders while letting out a wanton moan.

Tsukki moves to place wet kisses along your neck and down to your chest, sucking every once in a while and then following it with a swipe of his tongue. You miss the pressure on your mouth, but you can feel another orgasm building, and it's getting harder to breathe.

You genuinely do stop breathing when he takes one nipple in his mouth and uses his free hand to start rubbing circles into your clit. Well, if this is the way I die, I don’t really have any complaints. The coil in your stomach is about to snap and the only warning you can get out is slapping his shoulders.

The wave almost knocks you out, back arching off the floor while also trying to get more from the man between your legs. Inserting a third finger stretched you so good, he watches you try to fuck yourself on his hand through the orgasm, greedily wanting more.

“You ready, pretty girl? Ready to take my cock?”

“Shit yes, Kei, please fuck me. I’ve dreamed about cumming on your dick, please please--” you are reduced to babbling pleas when he runs his dick along your slit coating himself in your slick. The jolt of pleasure every time his head hits your already over-stimulated bud edges on pain but you don’t want him to stop.

You see stars and hear symphonies when he thrusts into you. A duet of his staccato grunts and your euphonic moans, accompanied by the fortissimo sounds of your pussy as he slides in. After taking a rest for you to adjust to his girth, his pace starts off slow but gradually increasing as you beg him for more.

“Fuck, please, fill me up, god I never thought your cock would feel so good, Fuck”

Your babbling praise is reduced to a high pitched whine when he starts slamming into you harder than before. The heavy slaps of his hips into yours replacing your moans in the melody. You barely process his words as the tip of his cock slams into your cervix with no remorse, over and over and over again.

“Did I just hear you say you didn’t think my cock would feel good? Do you want to go back to cumming on your fingers to the thought of me or do you want me to continue stretching your tiny little pussy out?”

Tsukki never minced his words, but the sheer lewdness of them causes heat to rise in your face. “N-no Kei. Please help, shit, me. Wanna cum on your dick so b- so bad.” His answer is to push one of your legs back towards your shoulder, the new position and the curve of his cock has him hitting that spot inside you always struggled to reach.

Every muscle in your body is tensed up, burning from the desire to cum. Shockwaves of pleasure radiating from your pussy reach the tips of your toes and through every hair on your head.

Your walls are clenching around him, wanting him deeper, even though there isn’t really any room left for him. Your body is driven by lust and disregards any pain you should be feeling, rather interpreting it as a different octave of pleasure.

You find your fingers on your chest, groping and tweaking your nipples, knowing that you get even more sensitive when you are ready to orgasm. “Kei, please cum in me, I wanna cum but I wanna, no I need to do it with you,” it sounds more like a moan or a plea than a request, but Tsukki was already struggling to hold back his own orgasm.

He took your lead, moving his mouth down to your chest and rolling your other nipple against his tongue. Simultaneously, he snakes a hand down to your vagina, to the spot you begged him to touch earlier and rubs meticulous circles on your puffy and neglected clit..

Your back arches off the floor at the first touch of your clit, and your cunt clenched around his dick, making it even harder for Tsukki to thrust in and out. Your orgasm is stronger than its ever been, you’re certain you blacked out for a minute, only coming to when you hear a hearty moan from Tsukki and another wave of warmth in your sex, this time coming from him.

His forehead pressed against your chest as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, hand still curling your clit, attempting to extend the euphoria you both feel for as long as he can. Your hands find their way into his hair and you gently tug and scratch his scalp, making him look up at you.

Your face may be covered in tears, and spit but he’s never looked at you with more adoration. You continue to pull him up to your face, placing sweet kisses all over his face as you both ride out the last waves of your high, his dick still inside of you. Wincing as he pulls out to lay down on the floor, he ends up pulling you into an embrace.

You look over to his content face, illuminated by the television, eyes closed with a ghost of a smile dancing over his lips before he murmurs, “I never knew Game of Thrones sex scenes were quite so realistic, but I’m not complaining.”

“God, Tsukki you’re so annoying,” you say trying to shove him off of you with a laugh, but he just holds you tighter.

“I like it better when you call me Kei.”

Tags

@ceo-of-daichi @roandtheroses @sugawara-sweetheart @nonexistent-social-life

#tsukishima #kei tsukishima #tsuki #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukki #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #tsukki x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #kristen writes #soft tsukki #h*rny hours

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dreamyyang · 3 years

Text

summary: you made taeil’s undead heart soar and he was absolutely addicted to the feeling.

pairing(s): yandere!zombie!moon taeil x reader | kim doyoung x reader

warning(s): swearing, obsessive behaviour, mentions of blood, gore (kind of..?), minor character death, cannibalism, non con (taeil forcefully kisses the reader)

word count: 2.6k words

a/n: this is pretty heavy stuff so if any of the aforementioned content triggers you, do not read. please note that I do not condone taeil’s behaviour and that this is purely a work of fiction. my fic is not an accurate representation of taeil’s actual personality.

part of @127-mile’s addiction collab

emotions were as foreign to moon taeil as brains and human flesh once were. while he doesn’t mind either of them, they were just very hard to come by. that changed when he got a job at the qian family’s mortuary, courtesy of qian kun, a mutual friend. johnny had already explained taeil’s special situation to kun, who agreed to give taeil access to the bodies so long as he worked as kun’s assistant. it was an excellent arrangement for both men - taeil could finally eat some proper food while kun finally had help. for obvious reasons, not many people were willing to work at a morgue, especially for such low wages.

taeil managed to ease himself into a routine of work, brains, sleep then repeat. while many people would eventually go insane from being constantly surrounded by cold, still bodies, taeil couldn’t care less. a zombie couldn’t ask for a better arrangement. while he did not experience emotions, he still felt a semblance of peace.

at least, that was before you showed up, completely unannounced. of course, your arrival wasn’t completely random, kun did warn taeil that his cousin was coming home after getting their phd, but you weren’t what taeil expected. he had this mental image of you being stoic and reserved. he thought you’d briefly acknowledge him with a slight nod while visiting your cousin and that would be it. imagine his surprise when he came to work and was greeted by a smile brighter than the sun. you were like the human embodiment of a meadow of flowers in the summer - warm, wonderful and welcoming. hell, you even smelled like flowers.

suddenly, his daily routine was ruined.

most mornings, you would meet him at the mortuary, looking as fresh as a daisy, and hand him an equally fresh box of baked goods from the bakery next to your clinic. if it was a slow morning, and it usually was, you would make small talk with him while kun went over the day’s plans in his office. he began to cherish those morning conversations with you and his undead heart would sink when the clock struck nine and it was time for you to hug him and kun goodbye. from then on, he was usually in a sour mood for the rest of the day, not humouring the silly jokes kun made as they worked. he would get off work with a dull ache in his heart if you weren’t there to pick kun up or offer to take them out for drinks.

this abrupt change frightened taeil more than anything. why was he suddenly experiencing these strange feelings? he hated it. every day, he was going through a rollercoaster of emotions that would be decided by whether or not he saw his boss’ cousin. it was so absurd. in the past five years of him being a zombie, he hadn’t felt such extreme emotions before. they all felt so...so human.

when he consulted johnny about these strange occurrences, his friend began to howl with laughter, “dude, it’s so obvious!”

taeil glared at johnny, “care to explain what exactly is so obvious?”

“you like y/n. why else would you be constantly pining for them?”

taeil scoffed. johnny must have smoked something because there was no way he liked you. at best, he had known you for three months and it isn’t like you regularly spent time together. plus, you were related to his boss. johnny had no idea what he was talking about, he was full of shit.

“that’s bullshit. I don’t buy it,” taeil shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

“no I swear, it’s true! we drove past this factory and they were just beheading these chickens out in the open,” you sighed. “anyway, the sight was so sickening, I’ve never looked at meat the same way since.”

“yet you decided to be a thoracic surgeon.”

you shrugged, “yeah but operating on people and eating meat are two different things. I don’t mind looking at flesh and blood but the thought of eating any makes me sick.”

taeil silently thanked you as you made that statement. ever since johnny had suggested that taeil liked you, he’d been searching for reasons not to like you. and of course, there’s no way he could like you if you were a vegetarian. you would be absolutely disgusted if you knew what his main diet consisted of. yet, every now and then, he felt his mind drifting away to a different mental list - a list of the things he liked about you.

he liked how you would come up with the most absurd conversation starters, just to make him crack a smile. he liked how your hugs were warm and comfortable. he was even beginning to like the fuzzy feeling that would envelop his heart whenever he was around you. you made him giddy and lovesick and eventually, he didn’t mind anymore. being around you all the time forced him to accept that he had very strong feelings for you. in fact, he was certain that even as a human, he had never had feelings this intense. there was just something special about you that had him feeling some sort of way. normally, he would have been afraid of how you controlled your heart but now? he was in too deep to care.

he decided it was better for him to just accept the fact that he loved you. why try to fight it? it was highly unlikely that he would feel this way about anyone ever again. he had to hold onto you, he would be insane to let you go.

finally, he plucked up the courage to confess to you. he was falling for you more and more every single day, and not being with you was slowly killing him. he decided to surprise you at the clinic where you worked with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. he planned to treat you to lunch at a romantic café then confess to you while walking you back to the clinic. he had rehearsed the little speech he wanted to give over twenty times with johnny, who repeatedly assured him that everything would go well.

it did not go well.

taeil was greeted by a unpleasant surprise when he reached the entrance of the clinic. there you stood, his beloved y/n, in another man’s arms. taeil watched, horrified, as the man placed a soft kiss on your lips. you looked so happy with him and it broke taeil’s heart. he felt awful as he watched you smile at the man. that same wonderful smile that he wished was for his eyes only. it felt like a cruel joke to have your laughter fill his ears as tears pricked his eyes. taeil was glad that nobody was paying attention to him as hot tears stained his cheeks. he couldn’t have gotten away sooner, pushing past the people on the street to go home.

he quickly texted an excuse to kun about how he felt sick and would be gone for the rest of the day. it wasn’t exactly a lie - he did feel sick and every time he thought about you and the stranger, it only got worse. he ripped up the bouquet and the plastic that had been wrapped around their stems, screaming as he did it. pain bled into fury as he destroyed the beautiful flowers. he was unbelievably angry and wouldn’t stop until every last petal had been snatched from the base and scattered on the floor. he was blinded by rage as he made a mess of his apartment floor. finally, the bouquet had been completely ripped apart and tears cleared taeil’s vision.

he dropped to the floor, feeling miserable as he stared at the mess, tears streaking down his face. he loved you so much, but someone had stolen you away. how dare that asshole? you were supposed to be taeil’s, how could he just come between the two of you like that? how incredibly selfish of him. taeil had to get rid of him, as soon as possible. the more time you spend with that jerk, the more he’ll ruin you. taeil scowled at the memory of the two of you kissing. he will pay.

it was decided. taeil was going to make you his, one way or another. whether you liked it or not.

“I hate this, taeil.”

taeil nodded, feigning sympathy as you pouted and continued to complain, “doyoung’s been so busy the past week that he hasn’t been able to call me even once. he just sends brief texts… I really miss him.”

“that sucks, y/n, but you know, it’s a very demanding job.”

“yeah I know…but would it kill him to at least call to say good night?” you sighed, sipping your tea. “whatever. thank you so much for listening to my rant, taeil, I really appreciate it. you’re an awesome friend.”

the word stung, but taeil tried not to show it as he smiled and promised you that he didn’t mind. which was half true. taeil could never get tired of listening to you talk about any topic but one - kim doyoung, your boyfriend. it didn’t really matter, though. soon, taeil would make sure that you would forget all about that piece of shit. soon, moon taeil would be the only thing on your mind, just like how you were the only thing on his min

but first he had to punish you. you deserved it. if you hadn’t gone and dated another man, he wouldn’t have considered such a thing. you needed to be disciplined. you belonged to taeil and he was going to make sure that you remembered that fact. so he sat there in front of you, politely nodding as you vented about your boyfriend, and tried to think of a suitable punishment.

“I know I’m complaining about him a lot, but I really like doyoung,” you laughed. “even though he took me to a barbecue place for our first date.”

that’s when a lightbulb went off in taeil’s brain.

for someone who couldn’t survive without eating brains, taeil sure was an idiot. somehow, he’d gotten roped into a dinner date with you, doyoung and doyoung’s sister, jisoo. at least he managed to convince you to let him host the dinner at his apartment, insisting that he wanted to make a good first impression on jisoo. you’d wiggled your eyebrows and teased him about it but he knew, deep down, setting him up with someone else was hurting you. but you wouldn’t have to worry about hiding your feelings for much longer - taeil would soon relieve you of your misery. ideally of course, he wouldn’t want to start off your relationship with a double date with other people. not to mention your little punishment, but hey, all relationships have their ups and downs.

now if he could just get that pesky little jisoo out of the way.

after briefly stalking doyoung’s instagram account, taeil managed to find jisoo’s account and figured out where she worked. getting her to stay away was easier than he thought it would be. all he had to do was press a small knife against her neck and she was begging for him to leave her alone. he left her trembling in the alley behind her office, with her tears stinging the small cut that ran down the side of her cheek. he wasn’t worried about her telling her brother since that’s who he’d be visiting next.

he had to say, out of all the humans he’d made dishes out of, doyoung was certainly the best. probably because his meat was actually fresh, but you really seemed to enjoy him as well.

“god taeil, your spaghetti is wonderful. I can’t believe doyoung and jisoo are missing out,” you nearly moaned as you devoured your dinner. “these are the best vegan meatballs I’ve ever had. seriously, how’d you make this?”

taeil shrugged, “I used a pretty basic recipe, although I did use something extra special for those meatballs.”

“would you mind sharing what that special thing is, master moon?”

taeil’s smile dropped, his expression completely serious now. you didn’t think much of it, taeil was probably just being dramatic. however his tone as he spoke his next sentence sent a chill down your spine.

“enough dilly-dallying. tell me, sweetheart, did you really think you could get away with dating another man?”

you were too stunned to speak, what the fuck did he just say?

“woah, don’t get shy now. did you seriously think you could go be someone else's whore and I wouldn’t get mad?”

“taeil, what on earth are you talking about?”

you looked like a scared and helpless little rabbit and taeil would be lying if he said that didn’t make him feel some type of way. taeil’s predatory gaze burned into your eyes, ensnaring you and refusing to let go. you were confused. why was taeil behaving like this? why was he so angry with you? but you were certain about one thing: tonight was not going to end well for you.

with a gentle voice, you tried to calm him down so the two of you could have a rational conversation but taeil wasn’t having any of it. he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you up to your feet, stepping away from the dining table and pulling you close till your chest brushed against his. suddenly, his steely gaze slightly softened.

“y/n, my love, I hope you know that I didn’t want to do this to you, but you left me no choice. you forced my hand.”

tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. taeil was getting frustrated. you knew exactly what he was talking about yet you were acting as though taeil was speaking in cryptic messages. taeil noticed your tears and tsked, cupping your cheeks. there was no point in you crying now. the deed was done. taeil was hoping you’d learnt your lesson so the two of you could move past this.

“don’t cry, sweetheart. at least, not until you know what I did.”

“but taeil, I don’t even know what I’ve done,” you sniffed lightly.

“darling, I love you. and I know you love me too, you don’t need to say it. but why did you have to go and date doyoung? do you know how much that hurt me?”

you shook your head, “taeil, I really didn’t know how you felt. but I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same way.”

taeil glared and tightened his grip on your jaw, “fucking lies! that dickhead doyoung has brainwashed you. oh my precious y/n, I feel so awful for punishing you the way I did, but how else will I fix you?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, afraid of the answer he was going to give you.

“those vegan meatballs, darling. although I suppose the term ‘doyoung meatballs’ would be more accurate.”

your beautiful features were twisted into a look of pure horror as realisation dawned upon you. taeil couldn’t help but let his lips form a maniacal grin. he was rather proud, even if he did say so himself. doyoung would never be a problem ever again. nor would anyone else be, for that matter. taeil knew that you were his good, obedient little y/n. you wouldn’t dare to hurt him ever again. satisfied, he leaned in and forced you into a kiss. you were too shocked to fight back.

as he pulled away, he pushed the hair out of your face.

“remember to behave yourself, darling.”

#nct 127 #nct #moon taeil #nct taeil #nct writings #nct fics #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 x reader #moon taeil x reader #taeil x reader #taeil angst #yandere!nct #yandere au #zombie au #nct au #yandere!taeil #nct horror

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dontcallmecarrie · 3 years

Text

No Hero [And Not Made Of Stone]

...I’ve got nothing. Not even sure where the idea came from, but as per usual, the moment my brain had an idea it immediately took it by both hands and ran with it so here you go. Name for this AU might change, but for now here have another song lyric [from Five Finger Death Punch’s “Wrong Side of Heaven”]

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings: mild profanity, dysfunctional families, a metric buttload of gender and identity issues, because the protagonist is a possibly agender character [their stance on gender can be summed up as “huh, those parts are new. Weird. Moving on”]. Not exactly Tony-friendly at times, but not for the reasons you’d think.

To sum up: haven’t done a SI-OC fic before, let’s see how it goes. Under the cut, because RIP mobile users otherwise.

Justin Hammer’s name wasn’t always Justin Hammer.

He doesn’t really remember what it was anymore, but he knows that much.

Honestly? This ‘memories of another world’ thing was more a pain in the ass than anything else, at least at first.

It might’ve been cool if they remembered something useful— concrete dates, specific innovations, hell, even any tips of what stocks to invest in— but no, they had to get short end of the stick with weird dreams, identity crises, and a longing for a family they’d never had.

Oh, and another round of puberty, because of why the hell not. Like last time hadn’t been enough of a pain in the ass.

Ugh. They wanted a refund.

...okay, so it probably could’ve been worse.

Justin has vague recollections of going to sleep hungry, of huddling with their younger sibling under blankets because their parents couldn’t pay the electrical bill— so really, in the great scheme of things, being born as part of the 1% this round was. Something.

Trippy as hell, is what it was, honestly.

This family was loaded, and under other circumstances, they might’ve even been able to enjoy it— if, y’know, they hadn’t had the incredibly shitty luck of being born two years before Tony Stark.

“Look at what he’s doing, that could be you” this, “study hard, he’s going to be your rival” that— geez, if any other kid had been in Justin’s shoes, he would not have envied them.

If he didn’t already have a firmly established sense of self, it would have been a mindfuck of a childhood because for some reason, his father kept comparing them? And yeah, Justin could kinda see some of the parallels— they were about the same age, both firstborn sons and heirs to their parents’ respective companies— but that’s about where the similarities ended.

Look, Justin wasn’t a genius, okay? He was fairly bright for his age, but...he wasn’t a one-in-a-million prodigy. And, up until he was 6, that had been acceptable.

But then the press went wild because oh, look, Howard’s son built a circuit board at age four, and it all went downhill from there because suddenly, being normal wasn’t good enough. Not for his parents, anyway.

Sometimes, he wondered what would’ve happened if it had been another kid in his shoes— how they would’ve handled the small army of private tutors and the extra classes they kept being signed up for in the hopes of finding something they excelled in.

The pressure of constantly being compared to a once-in-a-generation prodigy, and always being found wanting.

Justin wasn’t afraid of hard work— but it was grating, even for him.

Really, just about the only silver lining to this ‘second life’ thing was his adorable little sister, Stephanie.

She, at least, looked up to him: her gap-toothed smile didn’t hold any expectations for anything other than the piggyback rides he regularly offered, and this time he didn’t even have to worry about medical bills, or—

Anyway.

His family and the Starks run in the same social circles, because of course they do.

Now that he’s getting older, Justin’s being dragged along to all of the fancy shindigs with his parents, and it’s only due to two lifetimes’ worth of self-control that keeps his polite smile from wavering when he’s introduced to the bane of his existence.

“Hi, my name’s Tony Stark.” The little brat said, and Justin bit back a sigh as he shook his hand.

...so, the Stark heir his father wanted to be his rival was a kid. Actually a kid, which just made this mess that much more pathetic because part of Justin had almost been starting to want to buy into this rivalry thing, but.

In this life, and the last one, they’d been an older sibling.

This time, despite everything, he could tell he was softer— he had never gone to bed hungry, never had to worry about the roof over his head, or being solely responsible for his younger sibling’s health and safety— but.

Old habits die hard.

Of course Justin’s father hears “the Starks are sending their seven-year-old heir to boarding school” and thinks “good idea, why didn’t I think of that?”

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Steph had cried when they’d packed their things, and for that alone, Justin would never forgive their parents.

The other brats at boarding school are more invested in the Hammer-Stark rivalry than they are.

...this was going to be a long 9 years, wasn’t it.

One of the perks to going to one of the most elite boarding schools in the world was the options. Certainly, Justin doubted other places offered skiing and fencing and over eleven languages in their electives.

Not that he was complaining: it was definitely a way to keep busy, certainly much better than the constant attempts at one-upmanship that came part and parcel with cramming the richest heirs, heiresses, and honest-to-goodness royalty in one place.

At the end of the day, though, they were all kids. Bratty, entitled little shits who were still at the stage where they constantly went “my father will hear about this!” and Justin had way better things to do with his time than engage in those petty little playground attempts at power plays.

So he dove into everything the school had to offer, bouncing from elective to elective like a ping pong ball, and trying not to think too hard as to why Spanish had come so easily to him, though he’d never studied it before— or why he’d felt a pang when the instructor had congratulated him on his accent.

Somewhere down the line, Justin...kinda made a name for himself? Apparently?

Ugh, they’d never understand these people.

Okay, so apparently he’d kinda become an older brother figure of sorts to the brats around here? Somehow? Even though he hadn’t exactly been planning on doing anything of the sort when he saw an underclassman struggling during practice, or stopped fights before they could start in the common room because he’d just sat down and didn’t have the patience to move all his stuff somewhere else to study.

Didn’t make sense to him, but apparently it was enough for some of the professors to write ‘good leadership skills’ on his transcripts, so whatever.

As a bonus, it made his old man happy. Not that Justin gave a damn about what he thought about him personally, but the increase in his ‘allowance’ [it was in the triple digits, like hell he was calling it that] was nice.

Among the hobbies Justin bounced between, there were a few that raised more eyebrows than others.

Knitting, for instance, was something some of the more annoying brats liked to laugh about. They eased up when they found out he sent the scarves and hats he made to his little sister, but... eh, whatever.

Sewing, too— apparently it was okay if it was framed as a Boy Scout-esque ‘know the basics so you can always be prepared!’ way, but the moment he did any sort of embroidery there went his respectability.

Well, at least nobody gave him a hard time about cooking. But then, his chilaquiles had some of these guys’ eyes watering just from the smell of it, so.

It still didn’t sit well with him sometimes— kinda like how puberty had Not Been Fun on a number on levels, but hey, if all else failed, he could just ignore it harder.

It hadn’t failed him yet.

Stephanie insisted on going to boarding school with him when she got to the age he’d been shipped off at.

It was...nice, having his little sister around again.

It was a good thing Justin had been okay with being designated the heir of Hammer Industries, because Steph was... exactly like he remembered her.

Cheerful, upbeat, startlingly devious and manipulative when she wanted to be, and just a tad bit spoiled.

...okay, so Justin had probably contributed a bit to that last one. In his defense, he’d been doing his best to shield his sister from the staggeringly high expectations he himself had to deal with, but look, he wanted at least one of them to have some semblance of a happy childhood, okay?

Goodness knew he hadn’t [not this time, nor the last].

Stephanie wasn’t interested in the family business, was more interested in pursuing a career in the arts.

Justin, of course, encouraged her wholeheartedly.

Their parents weren’t entirely happy about it, but...wasn’t like they had much to complain about. Not when Justin was always in the top ten of his year, not when the professors practically gushed over his responsibility and work ethic.

He was no Tony Stark, but he’d made a name for himself nonetheless.

“So, we’re supposed to be rivals?” The bane of his existence said once, at yet another gala. “Howard says so, anyway.”

“Seems that way,” Justin shrugged as they pilfered a flute from a nearby table, carefully not commenting on how he’d referred to his father by his first name. Talk about a strained relationship, right there.

“You’re not really acting like one.”

“Well,” Justin sipped at his flute before making a face when he discovered it was champagne and not apple cider like he’d hoped, “it’s nothing personal, just business. Healthy competition, y’know? Someone’s got to.”

Stark eyed him for a moment, before giving him a brilliant smile. “You know, I think I’d like that.”

Justin would never, ever understand these people.

In the time Justin Hammer got his degree in business, Tony Stark got several Ph.Ds.

Not that he envied him: the idea of being shoved into the limelight after losing his entire family? Hard pass.

For some reason, Tony Stark seemed to think they were friends.

Why.

Sure, Justin tried to be as cordial with him as he did with anyone else, but... how on Earth did that translate into being friends?

“You look at him like he’s a kid,” Steph says once, laughing, “you look at all of us that way, haven’t you noticed?”

“Well, to be fair—”

“You’re only a few years older than us, but you keep acting like you’re dad. More like a dad than our actual dad, sometimes,” her smile dropped for a moment, “don’t think I forgot that time he didn’t even call for your birthday.”

Justin made a face. “But what’s that got to do with anything?”

She sighed, then gave him a smile and a look he couldn’t decipher. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

By the time Justin Hammer became the CEO of Hammer Industries, Tony Stark had held the same post in his company for over half a decade.

Yet...well, something weird was going on.

Maybe it was because Justin’d had more time to prepare for the cutthroat world that was the defense industry, but—

For some reason, he couldn’t help but think Tony was softer than he’d thought.

No-brainer contracts that would have been a cinch to broker, passed over simply because their distributors didn’t pass their incredibly high standards; buyers who wanted in, but whose past associations— very, very far in the past— meant SI didn’t even consider them.

Justin couldn’t understand it.

For someone in the industry, Stark’s morals were...unusual. Respectable, from one perspective, but remarkably naive from any self-respecting businessman who wanted to turn a profit.

He was fairly certain the only reason Stark Industries was considered number one in the sector was because of the constant influx of new designs; they just were turning down too many contracts for him to consider otherwise.

Sure, sometimes Hammer weapons found themselves in the wrong hands— much more often than Stark weapons, regrettably— but it was one of the hazards that came with the business. They’d both known it from the get-go; Stark weapons were considered the best for a reason, even though somewhere down the line, his company’d gotten a reputation for no-frills dependability and ruggedness to the point where unscrupulous individuals would do anything to get their hands on either. Wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it, not when money talked in ways laws didn’t.

Why Stark was so hung up over it, he just. Couldn’t wrap his head around.

Stark was proclaimed dead, and there was strong evidence to indicate the attackers had been using his guns.

...well, fuck.

“This is fine,” Justin muttered as his personal headache proceeded to come back from the dead only to say his company was going to stop doing the thing it was known for and making an ungodly mess in the stock market while at it, “it’s not like it affects me, anyway.”

Overnight, Hammer Industries became number one in the defense sector.

Justin was not a happy camper about the spotlight.

Even more so, when he had to take additional measures so his sister could continue enjoy the privacy she’d had after pursuing her dreams as an artist because the press didn’t want to leave well enough alone.

“You know, you could’ve given me a warning.” Justin scowled when he saw Tony at the next gala.

“You handled it well enough, didn’t you?”

Ugh.

His headache was back, and worst part was, the smile he got more than made up for it.

...and then I kinda ran out of steam.

tl;dr: MCU canon had Justin Hammer as a foil to Tony Stark, here their dynamic is more along the lines of Beethoven and Mozart [one really respecting the other’s genius, and working their butt off to get to that level of respectability and general acclaim].

in this AU, Stark Industries is kind of like Apple— very futuristic high-tech stuff, all the bells and whistles going on, etc, whereas Hammer Industries is the Nokia in this analogy: not fancy in the slightest but as close to indestructible as it gets.

#No Hero [And Not Made Of Stone]#No Hero [Downward Descending]#My writing #character study of sorts #fic idea #fic ideas #3 am musings #kinda #also #does it count if said 'fic idea' is over 2k long?

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Note

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?"

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!" Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now. Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all, Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

Note

Is it bad that i want ironwood to be alive in the show and travel with the ace ops and have a redemption? I know most of his fans are happy that he is dead so they cant ruin him anymore but still, his ending is so wrong to me like they redeemed cordo, emerald, FUCKING HAZEL, but not james? I was pulled back into rwby because of james and the atlas arc. v6 last episodes pissed me off so much i didnt even watched the finale to this day but then i saw scenes of james and winter and the ace ops in v7... and now i just want him to swim up from the ruins and be the amazing character he was before v8. His death is so fucking sad to me even with how much they ruined the character... he deserved a redemption arc the most (and better writers, sorry the ask got so long but james ironwood gives me so much feels)

You know, I am right there with you, anon. Here's the thing about James. We didn't see an on screen death and the writers kept his semblance completely unmentioned in volumes seven and eight, but made it public. Yes, Miles Luna said 'rest in pieces' (the total douche) when talking about him in a cameo, but tbh, Miles Luna is sloppy and unprofessional, he could straight up say whatever to try and make the next 'twist' in RWBY surprising.

In fact SPOILER ALERT. I don't remember who, but after Avengers Infinity War when Loki died, people in the project 'confirmed' that Loki was good and truly dead this time, and of course no one believed them and of course no one was surprised to see some version of Loki escape alive in End Game. They had a better ability to twist a not-quite lie out there, due to multiple universes and time travel or whatever (idk the details, I stopped paying attention after I watched and hated Thor Ragnarok.) But still, it stands that if you want to make a character death believable in today's day and age when 'character death' is taken back so regularly and sometimes multiple times per character, writers should A. show the death/show a body (which they didn't do for Ironwood or Watts,) and B. Not leave any character threads hanging.

With Ironwood, they didn't delve into enough emotional responses to things (like Oscar/Oz getting shot off a cliff, or Qrow ever confronting him,) which leaves his story feeling like it lacks a solution and like there's still a lot to be resolved there already. But confirming his semblance outside of the show proper, which seems to act as a form of at least partial mind control, is obviously one giant thread too. Of course, this is MKEK, so the likelihood that they were foolish enough to give Ironwood a semblance that forced his actions at least in part and then not address it, kill him off, and expect everyone to just be happy with that on top of the lack of emotional depth they bothered to give other characters in regards to his 'fall' is high. However, that doesn't make James feel dead, he still doesn't feel like a dead character to me, yet, even if I know a lot of the reasons for that feeling stem from bad writing.

But on top of his semblance being a very big thread that was left untouched, his semblance also would be a very easy out if the writers did want to bring him back or if they wanted to bring him back and redeem him. His semblance could help him survive Atlas and Mantle falling, and it could easily be explained as having pushed him into his acts of villainy. It would still feel like a big ol' retcon (especially with how hard they tried to convince everyone he's pure evil,) but for once, I would like a retcon that actually goes my way in this show. XD

On top of that, you're absolutely right that in the show where Hazel can get 'death equals redemptioned' and tell life lessons to Oscar, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed even without the semblance. In the show where Hazel can beat a child while victim blaming the already-a-victim-of-abuse guy in the kid's head for *checks notes* training young women to be able to fight the soulless monsters who will devour anyone (four to six year old child or not,) and then get redeemed within 24 hours of that... yeah, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed. Emerald can murder Penny, try to kill everyone else at Haven, try to murder Penny again in Atlas, and then join the friend group enough that everyone good naturedly ribs her, including Penny who giggles over Emerald saying 'switched sides' despite the fact that Emerald never once apologized for literally murdering her in cold blood. So yeah, I don't think it'd be off brand of the show to have the 'does bad for good reasons' guy get redeemed even if they did make him express regret that he hadn't tortured children. Clearly, the standard isn't 'if they apologize they're worthy of redemption,' and the standard isn't 'if they only always had good intentions they're worthy of redemption' or 'only kids who are villains can get redeemed,' or even 'so long as they haven't tortured or tried to kill children they're worthy of redemption.'

However, here's where things get a little tricky. Because the standard in RWBY seems to have much more to do with what was done personally against the main group that made them mad or sad, rather than actual moral standings, harm done to the world, intentions, etc. I've talked about that idea in another post, that the show (whether intentionally or otherwise) is treating going against Ruby and her team as worse than actual criminal acts. Emerald's actions are easily brushed aside without her ever admitting she was wrong or trying to apologize, but Ozpin's act of not explicitly trusting Team RWBY with dire secrets months after knowing them is so unquestioningly bad that he has to give an in-depth and very serious apology while explicitly saying he was in the wrong, which the mains then begrudgingly and seriously accept (even though they were laughing with Emerald mere seconds before.) Which isn't to say that I don't think Ozpin had anything to apologize for, just that the framing of Ozpin's dialogue and reception versus Emerald's is ridiculous. Therefore Ironwood being redeemed after wishing he could torture, shooting a child off a high place, and threatening to destroy a town... In the narrative of the show, that can be brushed aside fairly easily. But both the show and the FNDM at large have constructed a narrative where going against the mains is what's treated as hard to come back from and worthy of all the ire and disgust in the world - unless the character comes crawling back, bowing to Ruby's whims in every plan, and regretting ever doubting Ruby's amazing simple soul and the protagonist approved goals she's decided on.

If the price of Ironwood coming back and being redeemed is him kissing up to Ruby and joining the gang of people who just pat her on the back and assure her she doesn't ever need to change or listen to others... I might kindly ask MKEK to keep him dead. Ironwood belongs to his fans now as far as I'm concerned.

They can bring James back, and they even have an easy way to redeem him in their back pocket. But I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, and with the way they've been writing their show, I'd just as soon let James rest.

#rwde #anti rwby #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #ironwood defense #good ironwood #pro general ironwood #pro IW #IW antis please leave me alone #rwby hate #anti mkek #anti fndm #rwby bashing

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waveypedia · 3 years

Text

come and dance with me

Rymin Week Day 6: Dance

1 2 4 5 7

Ao3

One late summer evening, when the sky is turning dark orange and blue, Ryan drags Min out for the night.

They end up at a club similar to what they play at regularly. Today, though, they are not here for music, as unfathomable as it may sound. Today, they are just here as innocuous members of the audience.

Days with neither a tight driving schedule to keep to or a show to catch are rare. Ryan and Min make the most of them, however that may play out. Sometimes it’s a quiet night in the hotel, catching up on practicing with Min’s full-size synth. Sometimes it’s exploring the towns on foot instead of the car.

Sometimes, like tonight, it’s hanging out at clubs and bars. As exhilarating as performing is, it’s nice to be on the other side sometimes. It’s a different experience.

They start out at a small table on the side, but in no time at all Ryan is dragging Min towards the dance floor. It’s a bit crowded for Min’s taste, but all it takes is a wide, hopeful smile from Ryan and he’s on his feet.

It is crowded, but Min nearly doesn’t notice once Ryan’s hands are in his. They spin and jump to the music. It’s thrilling to be a part of such a crowd, and yet Min and Ryan only have eyes for each other.

I love him. I love him so much…!

On the dance floor, with bright lights and loud music and sweaty people swirling around them, Min comes to a realization.

I never want to be without Ryan. I want to stay with him for the rest of my life.

Ryan wraps his arms around him. “Hey Min, I’m getting kind of hungry. can we-”

“Marry me.” The words are out of Min’s mouth before he even realizes they were there in the first place.

His mouth snaps shut. I. Why did I say that why did I say that?!

Ryan is staring at him, frozen, mouth agape. “Min?”

Min can only stare back.

As he’s standing, stock-still in the midst of dancing partygoers, the eye of the hurricane, he comes to yet another startling realization.

I don’t regret it. I stand by what I said.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet and breathy. “Yeah. Yeah! Ryan, let’s do it!” Excitement floods him, and he starts to bounce up and down. He takes Ryan’s hands and squeezes them, beaming. “Let’s get married!”

Ryan does not respond. At least, not verbally. He holds Min’s hands oh-so-gently, as if he were holding precious cargo. A light blush paints his cheeks, and he gazes at Min with a love-filled gaze.

“Okay.”

Min grins. “Okay!”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Ryan warns. His seriousness feels out of place both with the upbeat music and euphoria in Min’s heart.

Min starts spinning slowly to the beat of the music, tugging Ryan along with him.

“I don’t care,” Min says. “I just want to be with you.”

Ryan grins, leaning back but never letting go of Min’s hands. The shock seems to be wearing off, and his usual swagger returns, but he still seems quite caught off guard. “Well, that’s quite a declaration. Um. You didn’t plan this, did you?”

Min laughs, shaking his head. “I guess not. The sentiment just… came over me all of a sudden.”

“Ah, how the tables have turned,” Ryan says, laughing lightly. “Well. I’m glad you feel you can express yourself freely around me like that, even without a plan.” His cheeks are tinged pink.

“Me too.” Min ducks his head. Is that a rejection? Ryan would be more forthcoming than that, right? Ryan isn’t the type to speak in implications. Not when it counts.

Ryan opens his mouth to say more. At that sight, Min relaxes, because of course Ryan wouldn’t leave him hanging. But Min never gets to hear what those words are. Before Ryan can speak, he’s cruelly interrupted.

The song changes from something crooning and beautiful to something energetic and bouncy. It’s a popular song, topping charts in the way Chicken Choice Judy hopes to one day. The audience - both the dancers and the wallflowers - react accordingly, screaming with excitement.

On any other day, Ryan and Min (definitely Ryan) would’ve been just another person in that yelling crowd, expressing their joy in volume and feeding off the energy of their peers. Now, they stand frozen in the middle of the dance floor, an oasis of stillness in the middle of chaos.

They stare at each other, unsure. Neither of them is willing to break their communal silence (which feels absolutely nothing like silence, given the amount of noise around them).

A fellow partygoer nudges Min, a little too forcefully. “C’mon, guys! Aren’t you here to have fun?”

Ryan jumps. Min tries to catch his eye, but misses. When he glances back at the partygoer, they’ve disappeared into the crowd.

Ryan glances at Min and shrugs. He starts jumping and cheering. It might look perfectly natural to an onlooker, like a perfect part of the crowd, but Min knows him too well. He’s restrained, self-conscious in a way he rarely is.

But he seems unwilling to talk, so Min goes along with it.

They dance for a while longer before Min starts to get tired. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Ryan just seems to know. Before Min can open his mouth, Ryan’s dragging him to the bar.

Ryan finally gets his food. They sir at the bar, drinking and laughing about everything and nothing. It’s a little awkward at first, which feels like unfamiliar territory for them after all this time off the train, but they eventually relax.

Yet neither of them dare to mention their earlier conversation.

The night passes in a blur of dancing and conversation. Min feels a little out of it, like he’s floating, or viewing his own life as an outsider. He doesn’t come back to himself until he’s lying in bed. With Ryan.

Both of them have never been more grateful for the initial idea and excuse of taking a queen-sized bed in their hotel room to save money. It has never been awkward, not even when they first started out. Not even before they knew each other liked men, or that they liked each other. Not even before Min himself knew he likes men! It always felt so natural to share so much domesticity and personal space with Ryan.

Until now. They’re cuddling, like usual. It’s not out of the ordinary for partners such as themselves. Usually the lull of Ryan’s breathing and his warm arms around Min’s body lull him right to sleep. Yet tonight, he feels tense.

He can’t deny that he is safe and comfortable in Ryan’s arms. His breaths are deep and calm. Slowly, the tension and worries start to ease out of his body. He relaxes in Ryan’s embrace, all thoughts of the proposal nearly gone.

Min is just starting to slip into sleep when Ryan stirs. “Min.”

A foreboding feeling is starting to burn in Min’s gut. He rolls over noisily in the silence and opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

Ryan is lying with his back to Min, staring decidedly at his hands as if they held the secrets to the universe. “Did you… mean what you said earlier? About marrying me?”

The last semblance of any drowsiness Min once had his gone, leaving him stiff and anxious. “I… yeah. I did. I do, really.”

Ryan doesn’t respond. He’s biting his lip and frowning into the darkness of the hotel room. Min shivers.

“Maybe it was dumb,” he mutters, disappointed. “I know it was spur of the moment. I didn’t even give you a grandiose speech. You deserve that.”

Ryan’s breaths are long and measured. If not for how controlled they are, or how long he’s been sleeping next to Ryan in close quarters, Min might’ve thought he’d fallen asleep. Which wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, if tonight were a normal night. If they’d stayed up late dancing and partying and crashed afterwards. It’s happened multiple times, with each of them at fault. Long nights take their toll on everybody.

But Ryan isn’t the type to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation like this. Not when it counts.

So Min waits. Patient as he is, the silence still stings.

“So it was just the lack of a speech that was dumb?” Ryan finally asks. His voice is quiet, scratchy with disuse and fear.

Min swallows. “Yeah, but Ryan- I don’t really care, I just-“

“Tell me your speech.”

“Huh?” Min must have heard him wrong.

“Tell me your speech.” Quick as a flash, Ryan rolls over and grips both of Min’s hands in his own. His nose is inches from Min’s. They stare into each others’ eyes, breaths catching. Ryan’s eyes are wide and nervous, with no semblance of sleep remaining. His lips are slightly parted. Min’s gaze flicks down to them, then away when he realizes what he’s done. Now is not the time. Later… but not now.

“O-oh. Um.” Min clears his throat awkwardly, desperately searching for words.

Ryan frowns and breaks his gaze away. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Or if you need to think it over-“

“No, no.” Min shakes his head empathically. “I still feel the way I did in the club, Ryan. Just… a little more tired, I guess. But my point stands. And I don’t need to think it over, because I love you and I love everything about you. I don’t need multiple drafts to figure out how to say that.”

“Oh.” Ryan is blushing fiercely. Min stifles an affectionate giggle that would surely break the moment and forces himself to concentrate.

“Ryan Akagi,” he says after a moment, taking a deep breath. “You were my first friend. You are my closest friend. You were one of the first people I ever met. When our parents wanted us to be friends, we could have not gotten along. But we have, because you are a wonderful person who charms everyone who comes within ten feet of you.”

Min pauses for breath, then continues. “But I care about so much more than that. I love you because you helped me realize my first dream. I love you because you convinced me to play in our first performance because we wanted to, not because our parents did. I love you because you never gave up on me. I love you because you are such a go-getter. When you set your mind to something, you make it happen, even if it seems impossible. You came back to me even when I thought we were finished, and you changed my life. I cannot imagine spending it without you, whether in music or at home. I love playing music with you and traveling with you and performing with you. Please make me as happy now as you make me every day.”

Min’s final words hang in the air. The silence in the room is broken only by the incessant whirring of the hotel fan.

Min scratches at the back of his neck. “Umm, if you want to, of course. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I will respect that.”

“Min.” Min shuts up fast. “Man, I-“ Ryan rubs at his eyes and sniffles. “You’re too good to me.”

“Never,” Min promises fiercely.

“Shut up and let me talk, okay?” Min nods, chastised. Ryan sends him a small smile before continuing.

“Min, you’re… man, you’re such an amazing person. Shut up, it’s true, I can see those protests coming from a mile away.” Ryan levels him with a stern glare. Min laughs.

When the moment has passed, Ryan sighs, threading his hands behind his head. “I barely know where to start with you. You’ve made my life so much better, you know? I don’t know where I’d be without you. Gage is nothing compared to Chicken Choice Judy, sure, but even when we were kids my life revolves around you. You were my only friend, but you know what? I never sought out anyone else because I never needed anyone else. Time and again, you’ve always been the person I’m happiest with. That year I spent alone on the road was the worst year of my life. I kept asking myself, ‘Why am I so unhappy? I have everything I’ve never wanted. I’m finally a performing musician. I’m writing an album. I’m away from my stifling family. I’m free to be myself.’ But I’ve always known the answer. It was because I was without you.” Ryan rolls over to take Min’s hands once more. “I never want to be without you again, Min.”

Min chokes on a sob. “Ryan, I…”

Ryan squeezes his hand. “You don’t need to say anything. This has been a lot of sappiness for one night.”

Min shakes his head, the ghost of a smile on his face. Well, allow me to change the mood. As you wish, good sir. “So, is that a yes?” he asks hopefully.

Ryan bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the previously quiet hotel room. “Sure it is, Min. I pour my heart out and that’s all I get, huh?”

“Sorry,” Min says, chuckling. “I’ll do it right this time. Ryan Akagi, will you marry me?”

Ryan’s smile is soft and beautiful. “Of course I will. Min-Gi Park, will you marry me?”

“I will,” Min says quietly, full of emotion. God, he loves this man.

He can’t imagine a better future now that it belongs to Ryan. They have their entire futures to spend together. Their entire lives to spend together.

The future hasn’t been something Min looked forward to for a long time. Not since his parents started pressuring him about college, and certainly not since Ryan left. Yet now, lying in a hotel bed with Ryan’s hand in his and a promise on their lips, he finds himself looking forward with a smile on his face.

Whatever comes next, I am ready. With Ryan by my side, nothing could ever truly go wrong.

to be completely honest i wasn't even going to write for this day but we started chatting in the discord on monday about rymin engagement and i had to drop everything to write this (except i actually didn't because i ended up writing it all today aksdjfkdsl) it's literally all because of this

Ryan: Min I think we should get-

Min: married

Ryan: I mean I was going to say takeaway but let's do your thing that sounds much better

title is from apple by gfriend. admittedly this doesn't fit the "dance" prompt as closely as i would've liked so hopefully that makes up for it. in all honesty i didn't have a plan for this one and i just wanted to shoehorn rymin proposal in there somewhere dkfjgkfd

it's really late rn i finished this hours ago but i was away so i can only post it now. i just really want to go to bed so i'll leave you with that. might edit this in the morning though. thank you for reading! if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or on twitter! please leave a like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

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good-rwbyaus · 3 years

Note

What about an AU where everyone had somehow been under the mistaken assumption that Ruby was a professor at Beacon? For a laugh, Ozpin rolls with it whenever he's asked about it.

Becoming :: mod lilac :: Part 1 out of 2.

What about an AU where everyone had somehow been under the mistaken assumption that Ruby was a professor at Beacon? For a laugh, Ozpin rolls with it whenever he's asked about it.

Test

“You cannot be serious, Headmaster!” Goodwitch burst into the room just as Headmaster Ozpin made his offer of early entry into Beacon. Ruby couldn’t help but grimace at the Huntress’s words - they hurt, especially since they came from someone she admired so.

“Oh? But weren’t you singing praises about young Miss Rose earlier?” Ozpin spoke with a hint of joviality. “What was it? Amazing potential, excellent coordination, sharp eyes, animalistic instinc-”

Wait wha-

“All of what I spoke is what she could become in the future,” Goodwitch objected, “She’s still too young. Hasn’t even completed her training back at Signal. If you bring her to Beacon, she’ll just be building on an unstable foundation - who knows when she’ll topple over?”

“There’s too much she’s lacking in, “ the Huntress continued, “She hasn’t developed the muscle mass to fully control her weapon. And her situational awareness is poor, especially when she tunnel visions like what she did tonight.”

Ozpin nodded his head at Goodwitch’s assessment. The gesture made her feel like a rock settled into her stomach, and the man’s following words didn’t help.

“Excellent points,” Ozpin agreed before he turned his head to her, “What do you have to say Miss Rose?”

Her eyes were like a deer in headlights, open and wide. She couldn’t lose this chance. She wanted to fight against the Grimm. And a day sooner she got into Beacon was a day sooner she’ll become a Huntress. She could stay at Signal, but...

“I know Professor Goodwitch is right,” Ruby agreed hesitantly, “I’m lacking in a lot, probably so much that I don’t even know what I’m lacking. But Signal... Signal won’t help me.” She closed her eyes and sighed, “I’m tired of watching from the sides because the teachers are afraid I’ll break my fellow students’ confidence.” She trembled before gritting her teeth, “I’m tired of being left alone because the teachers think I’m already in a good place and there’s so many others that need help. They just tell me that everything will come with time and to practice on my own.”

“There’s only so much I can do learning through books and training by myself,” Ruby quietly said, “And my dad and uncle are busy with Hunter business and teaching. I can’t take too much of their time just because I want training.”

She shifted her feet uneasily before repeating, “I know I’m lacking, but Signal will not help me find those things. So please let me into Beacon.”

“All I ever wanted was to fight the Grimm. I want to become a Huntress. I never wanted anything else,” she bowed her head quietly, not able to meet either of them in the eyes, “Please give me a chance.”

The silence in the air was palpable, almost as if it could be sliced. It lingered, and she could feel Professor Goodwitch’s gaze pierce through her. Seconds felt like minutes as time dragged on, and before she could speak to get rid of the unnerving quiet, Goodwitch spoke first.

“Beacon Academy’s Initiation will start in two months,” Goodwitch sternly stated, rapping the table with her riding crop. The woman looked straight into her eyes. “You will inform your family and then report to Beacon Academy tomorrow. Be forewarned that if you do not have what it takes, I do not want to hear anything more about early entry. Understand?”

Ruby lifted her head, eyes shimmering in excited tears. Professor Ozpin looked both amused and perturbed as he looked over at Professor Goodwitch and then herself. Professor Goodwitch looked every bit the strict disciplinarian waiting for her answer.

“Yes, I’ll do it! I won’t let you down. Thank you Professor Goodwitch. Headmaster Ozpin!”

----

Training

Metal barrels and chunks of asphalt flew swiftly through the fields, trying to tag its red-clad target. Meanwhile, bullets shot through the air trying to pierce into her Psychokinetic assailer.

A sniper bullet managed to avoid her barrier of floating debris, forcing Glynda to step back to dodge it, the air in its wake stinging her eyes. Clearly, Miss Rose was getting used to this level of attack - the local masonry was no longer adequate. It seems that after three weeks of training this girl in the guise of testing she’ll yet again need to bring another element into play.

The Disciplinarian - her weapon - swung towards the ground, her Aura channeled deep within the earth.

“Ah!”

The red-cloaked girl stumbled half-way from the miniature earthquake that was created. Large chunks of dirt and rock, larger than Miss Rose herself, floated into the air courtesy of her Psychokinesis before rushing to crush the girl in their midst.

And just as she expected, Miss Rose performed marvelously.

The girl quickly found her footing and bounced amidst the floating debris. A slice subtly cut through one of the boulders, so fine that she failed to see it at first - followed by a bullet from her blind spot. Glynda had already moved to duck under that follow-up bullet, and she couldn’t help but mentally complement Miss Rose's tactics, which were only inadequate due to not knowing the depths of her opponent. Had she been a student at Beacon instead, that would’ve been a fight-ending blow.

Miss Rose would’ve been wasted at Signal. This girl was not meant to be a greenhouse flower, safely nurtured until she was ready to be brought out in the world. She was a wild rose, meant to grow in hardship and become all the more beautiful for it. Her presence in Signal - the other teachers must’ve sensed it somehow - was detrimental to the class; to them, she was like a weed that had to be kept in check lest it strangle the rest of the greenhouse.

She knew this because she was the same way when she came into her Semblance - Psychokinesis - and became all too aware of the differences in capabilities between Hunters.

Two more years at Signal would’ve ruined this girl. They would’ve dulled the girl’s sharp instincts like when she and Miss Rose first met.

...Truthfully Beacon might not be the right fit for her either.

“Argh, shit Glynda. Is beating on me really that fun?” the girl yelled accusingly as she bounced off against a floating rock.

Oh whoops she was smiling. Glynda shifted her expression to something more neutral, but she couldn’t help but internally grin.

Their relationship had gotten a lot more casual a week in. Politeness tends to go out the window when exploding barrels were involved.

“I’m only happy that I’ll be sending an inadequate student back to the institution she needs to go back too,” Glynda replied in a deadpan, flinging a volatile-marked barrel into the battlefield.

“Oh fuck y-”

Boom.

---

Hunt

“What do you think, Peter, Bart?” Glynda said almost proudly as if introducing a prized student to an audience. Peter gazed upon the red-cloaked girl amidst the pack of Beowolves, many of which were turning to smoky wisps from her scythe blade. Even at this distance, she could see the girl’s every move, every strike an efficient take-down.

“I’m feeling sorry for those Beowolves. Did you teach her how to be so...?” Port said quizzically as he saw the girl flip onto the back of a Beowolf, scythe at its neck - a single click later, and the Beowulf’s head was sailing over her.

“So?” Glynda questioned.

“So vicious. She’s really not scared about close combat” Peter commented, “Bit unusual, given her weapon’s part sniper rifle.” He observed as the girl rolled underneath a Grimm’s legs, only to swing the scythe from underneath. Urk. He squeezed his legs together at the phantom pain brought from that strike - Bartholomew did the same.

“It wasn’t me. She came like that,” Glynda shrugged her shoulders, snorting briefly at the males’ sympathetic reactions, “Honestly, I didn’t expect this when I let her loose.”

“...She was born to Hunt,” Bartholomew commented as he sipped from his thermos, “Probably more than me and either of you. Look at her face. She’s smiling.

“...She’s smiling,” Glynda said quietly.

All three pensively watched as their soon-to-be-charge gleefully tore through the Grimm with a grin on her face, scythe reaping through them like they were wheat on the fields.

----

Meeting

“How do you feel?” Headmaster Ozpin asked with a smile, “I heard you had an exciting two months.” Ruby and the Headmaster were standing together at the landing hall, observing the other students arrive for orientation.

“Like coming out of a dream,” Ruby sighed happily as she hugged Crescent Rose’s folded form. “It was everything I wanted and more.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you would look fondly on what other students call Professor Goodwitch’s Ego-Crushing Disciplinary Course,” he chuckled, “Of course, those students have far less friendly names for it.”

He couldn’t help but feel perturbed though when Ruby stared at him in confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I like it? She pushed me to my limits and more,” Ruby stretched, “Same with the other professors.” Her gaze shifted away from him, a little hesitant and guilty, "But I’m having a feeling that Beacon regularly isn’t that exciting.”

“No, it isn’t,” the Headmaster said, “But you’ll be provided opportunities to go into the field as needed, though you’ll still be required to join a team and interact with them.”

“Those never did go well back when I was at Signal,” she grumpily said.

“You’re speaking as if that were ages ago. You’ve only been in Beacon for two months,” Ozpin chuckled.

“It felt so much shorter. Guess time flies when you’re having fun,” Ruby laughed before rubbing her hand against a silver badge on her chest.

“Hmm, what’s that?”

“Bar- I mean, Doctor Oobleck and Professor Port were joking about how I deserved a reward for surviving Professor Goodwitch,” Ruby laughed, “So they gave me a badge that's been defunct for a while, back from when Vale determined the seniority of a Hunter based on Grimm kills. Apparently this is the highest accolade.”

“Oh, should I be worried then about my position, Professor Rose?” Ozpin quirked an amused eyebrow.

“Maybe~ I don’t know. I’d rather be out in the field. Never did like the classroom, “ Ruby grumbled, “Even more so now...Hopefully, being with the other students won’t be too bad.”

”Looking down on your peers already, Professor Rose?”

”Stop calling me that, Headmaster,” Ruby hopped up and down angrily, “People might get the wrong idea. And it’s not that I’m looking down on them. I’m just not used to competent teammates. Don’t worry though. Professor Goodwitch stressed to me the importance of a team. No good Hunter hunts alone.”

”Wise words. Perhaps you should hold some classes.”

”Stop joking around.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Little did the fuming Ruby know that there were some people that caught bits and parts of their conversation and that they were prepared to take those words very seriously.

------

Rumors

“Holy shit. Did you see that video of that girl decapitating that Nevermore?”

“Yup. Can’t decide whether the Deathstalker kill by Team JNPR or the Nevermore kill from Team RWBY was better.”

“Probably team JNPR’s kill, since they’re actually a bunch of students. I heard team RWBY’s leader is already a professor here.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No joke. They say she just can’t get full professorship because of her age. Apparently she’s a combat prodigy from Signal, and she came to Beacon two years early to fast-track into a professorship. I mean, do you think the team being named after her is a coincidence?”

“Hey, guys! You’re talking about Professor Rose, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I personally heard the Headmaster call her Professor Rose before. A lot of people have during orientation actually. It’s just that it’s all supposed to be on the down-low. She’s on first-name basis with all the professors. Heard her call Professor Goodwitch by her first name when they’re in private.”

“She has balls. If I called Professor Goodwitch by her first name, I’d probably end up missing both of mine.”

“I didn’t need that imagery thanks. But if you want any proof, take a look at her badge. That’s an official Vale Hunter’s badge if you search online for it. Bit old and dated, but it exists.”

“Guess I shouldn’t ask to copy her homework then. Can I copy yours?”

“No. Go do your own.”

“Dang it.”

#logo-comics #ruby rose #glynda goodwitch #ozpin #rwby #rwby fic #mod lilac

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Text

I dreamt last night that Billy and Steve were both hospitalized after the event at Starcourt

Steve in Urgent Care, being watched closely by the government to ensure that the Russians hasn't fitted him with any odd devices like maybe a tracker or some kind of mind control chip, and of course to ensure that whatever drug he was on earlier doesn't have any serious side effects, but he's fine, really, and this is all too annoying to deal with, he just wants five minutes alone

Billy is in the ICU, barely alive, rarely awake, drifting in and out of consciousness, doctors and machines everywhere, some people in lab coats followed closely by big guards. It would be so easy for this to be the end of him; he could just give up now and drift away, finally a way out that isn't really his fault in the end, so maybe he can go out like a hero, being remembered for having saved El and Max and everyone else in the world practically

But then he sees Steve, dressed in his own hospital gown, hair a limp mess, face bloodied, but... smiling. Billy can't talk, can't smile, for he's got a tube going down his throat, hair shaved off and an ugly scar where the scientists and doctors got a good look at his brain to see the after effects of having been “mind flayed”, whatever the fuck that means, and his entire body aches near constantly - the morphine doing a shit job

Steve mumbles something about just wanting to see how he’s doing, talks about himself too, how he’s fine and just wants to go home, but they’re keeping him here because it’s easier to keep an eye on him that way, and Steve might not be as dumb as Billy thought once

And Steve sits down on a chair he’s pulled up next to Billy’s bed, and turns on the tv

They watch Jeopardy together, at 3am, Steve getting almost all the answers wrong as he guesses along, and Billy wants to laugh, but doesn’t feel like he’s physically capable of even that

The next day Steve shows up again three times; breakfast, lunch, dinner. Sometimes he talks, sometimes he just eats in silence, but Billy doesn’t really care either way, he’s just happy he’s not alone

Steve mentions that Max really wants to visit, but she’s not allowed to, some big brutes in suits stand guard and keeps everyone away. Neither of them really know why they allow Steve to visit, but they’re not going to complain about it

Sometimes Steve shows up at night, turns on the tv and leans against Billy’s bed. He looks exhausted, bags heavy under his eyes, no glow to his usually somewhat cheery expressions, and Billy wants to ask what’s wrong, but the tube remains in the way, and neither of them talk

Eventually Steve falls asleep, head on his arms that rest crossed near Billy’s legs. And he doesn’t wake up till a nurse at 5am asks him kindly to go back to his own room and get some rest there

After about two weeks, give or take, Billy can’t tell time anymore, Steve shows up in a set of fresh clothes that Dustin and his mom brought, because he’s being discharged from the Hospital, and promises to come visit as often as he can, but he’s not allowed to drive yet after… everything that has happened, but he will be back

And he visits several times a week at first, Billy never doubted it, but as Steve returns to the real world out there, he shows up less and less. Every time he does visit he apologises profusely, and talks about his “normal life” and how everything is - how everyone is doing, and he asks Billy how he’s doing, but all he can do is nod

Not that he’d tell the truth if he could

The day comes when Billy finally gets the tube removed, and although he hasn’t spoken in nearly two months, hoarsely he asks for them to call for Steve and have him come visit

And Steve smiles big when he sees Billy doing the same, which is an odd experience for the both of them, because whatever hatred they had for each other got knocked down a notch when Billy sacrificed himself, and through the last month or so it has almost grown to friendship

After that Steve visits far more regularly, always with food that definitely isn’t a part of a healthy diet, but it tastes fucking amazing compared to the hospital food

They talk and talk and laugh, watch tv, read magazines, eat. Steve tried to get Billy to play some board games with him but hell no he’s not doing that. It all almost feels normal

What could have been- what should have been

When Billy starts physical therapy, he feels his self hatred amp it up by a thousand, because he used to be strong, be the fucking King around Hawkins, but months of being hospitalised and sewn together and only getting up to shower has made him nearly dwindle away

His tan has started to fade, muscles weak and useless, everything just feels sore constantly, and most movement of the legs feel dull and weirdly impossible, and as he has thought so many times during this process, he should have just died. They should have let him

But… Steve’s there, here, always present, shows up for every session he has with the physical therapist without fail. And Steve’s no less stronger than he was before all of this happened; he supports all of Billy without as much as a trembling muscle, and Billy hates him for it, yet he also… loves him for it, and perhaps that’s scarier than anything else that has happened this year

Or ever

Steve’s present too on the days Billy sees a psychiatrist, not that he wants to see one because he’s not insane or mentally disturbed or- he just doesn’t need help, doesn’t want help really, doesn’t want to be seen as weak, or weaker than he obviously is

But Steve explains that he’s seeing a shrink, too, and shares without restraint his own meetings, as they sit and eat junk food on Billy’s bed after his latest appointment, and honestly Billy doesn’t feel as pathetic or weak when Steve talks about going through the same thing, kinda

Time passes, Steve visits near daily, which is weird because doesn’t he have a job at the video store now? He sometimes talks about that girl Robin, but even half a year later nothing has happened between them, and Billy is oddly relieved at that

He’s come to terms with his unrequited feelings for Steve, feelings that he now knows he’s had from the moment he saw him in that parking lot, what feels like ten years ago now. All that anger came from wanting what he couldn’t have, and now it has simmered down to sadness, depressed to know that one day Steve will find a lucky girl and then Billy will become a second choice, or probably a third if he has to fight Robin for Steve’s attention, too… maybe fourth, what with Dustin and the gang

And he truly believes he can live with that, even if it does make him want to cry, which he rarely did before, but everything has changed now

He’s changed

For the better or worse, he can't quite tell, but now he can make Steve smile and laugh, so he can convince himself it's all for the better

Eventually, after almost a year in therapy and being basically a test subject, he's released on two conditions

1, he has to stay in Hawkins, no leaving it unless escorted by assigned guards

2, he has to "voluntarily" show up two times a week for tests and check ups

And there's a moment where he doesn't want to leave

Not because of those two conditions, because that'd be better than being hospitalised for the rest of your life, right?

But because he's not sure where his life is going, where his place is in this world anymore

Neil won't take him back, but even if that was an actual option, he'd have chosen the uncomfortable hospital bed instead

He can't go back to school, or rather he's not allowed to, and he can't go back to being a lifeguard, not with all these scars and a general inability to fucking swim

At least here at the hospital he's got some semblance of purpose in life, although it isn't much of a way to live

When he mentions it to Steve he's depressed, downtrodden, completely and utterly destroyed, because there's no place for him anymore anywhere, he'll forever be caught in the limbo of Hawkins

But Steve- he… He places his hand on top of Billy's, warm and soft and grounding, and as he smiles so softly, so lovingly, he says "There's a place for you in my life"

And suddenly nothing else matters than that, than there, here, in Steve's life

In Steve's hand

#Harringrove #My Writing #fluffy fluff fluff #Angst #kinda #enough for me to tag it #in my dream Steve had an IV drip #but that felt too dramatic tbh

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yurimother · 4 years

Text

LGBTQ Light Novel Review - Adachi and Shimamura Vol. 1

In Yuri, as with most things, what is popular is not always what is good, or rather, the most prolific item is usually successful because of massive marketing and economic power, and rarely because of a work’s merit. That is not to say that just because something is beloved, it is a bad work, far from it. It is nearly impossible to achieve commercial success if the content is terrible, although NTR Netsuzou Trap challenges this statement. However, the vast majority of the most consumed Yuri series like Bloom Into You and Yuru Yuri are good and even great at times, even if they are not the pinnacle of the genre, despite what sales figures and community polls may tell you. Occasionally the (subjective) best can rise to the top, like Kase-san and My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness, both of which have lauded appropriate praise from critics and audiences.

Iruma Hitoma’s Adachi and Shimamura is a well-liked and successful series, publishing eight volumes over the past seven years, spawning two manga adaptations, and receiving an anime adaptation, which currently scheduled to premiere later this year. The light novel finally makes its English debut, and I found the first volume, sadly, disappointing. There are some lovely moments, and I understand why this series is so widespread, but far too much of the material felt aimless, unnecessary, or even aggravating. Give me a few hours and an X-Acto knife (or the copy-paste tool, considering this was an early digital release), and I could probably salvage a pretty good short story from the unfortunate drudgery that is this light novel. Still, as a whole, it would rank significantly far beyond other popular and frankly superior titles.

The light novel follows two high school girls, Adachi and Shimamura, who are both delinquents that regularly play hooky. The two meet when they both choose the same hiding spot, a loft in the gymnasium, and the two become friends, spending their classtime avoiding other people and playing ping-pong in the loft. This concept quickly wears thin as the author feels the need to drill it into the readers’ skulls over the first two chapters. Eventually, the actual plot, if you could call it that, takes over, and the rest of the volume follows the two girls on their inconsequential adventures, going to the mall, fishing, and singing karaoke. Now, there is nothing wrong with a relaxing slice of life about girls doing everyday things, but Adachi and Shimamura utterly fails in this endeavor.

There is a semblance of a narrative arc, but meaningless occurrences so muddle it. After almost every scene, I found myself asking why it was included, what the point was, what the consequences were, what effect it had on the overall story, and there was hardly ever an answer. Sure, there were cute moments, like Shimamura riding on the back of Adachi’s bike or the two girls holding hands which one can squeal and throw money at, but it all feels so distracting. These inadequacies are made all the worse because the story underneath all the garbage is actually rather enjoyable.

Chapter Three, “Adachi, Questioning” is a definite highlight of the story. This section sees Adachi having a salacious dream about Shimamura and struggling to come to terms with it and her feelings. Her inner conflict includes some pleading and self-assurances she is not gay. This assertion quickly begins to shatter as she struggles to control herself. This chapter is realistic, if a bit sensationalized, and captures that awkward teenage lesbian experience perfectly. If one reads only this chapter and a bit of the start of the novel for context, you will find a fantastic story.

Another feather in this series cap is Iruma’s prose, translated by Molly Lee. The light novel reads exceptionally well, with varied and complicated writings, raising it above most other light novels whose composition I struggle to identify alongside my elementary students’ writings. The perspective shifts back and forth between the title characters every chapter or so, providing readers with a nice bit of dramatic irony, as the girls wonder about the other’s actions or thoughts. Such moments are the only time the author shows us any sense of logic or consequence. My only complaint with the prose is the over-reliance on narrating the characters’ thoughts. These comments are usually sarcastic and used for comedic effect but become a bit tiring.

The story may be thin and convoluted, but the characters are at least consistent. Sadly, they are consistently terrible, ranging from unlikable to downright annoying. Both Adachi and Shimamura are incredibly antisocial, with the former being somewhat more anxious and closed off. Neither one has any ability to connect with other people beyond awkward conversations or snark. At more than one point, Adachi actually runs away from an uncomfortable situation. Their introversion does not read well. Both girls come off as cold and unkind, not touching, cute, or relatable. I cannot fathom what they possibly see in friendship with each other, and this is a serious failing on the author’s part. But nothing, no aspect of their character, could possibly make them worse than Chikama Yashiro.

Yashiro is a small time-traveling alien from the future who forces her friendship on Shimamura. If that sounds awkward and out of place here, do not worry, it does in the book too. No other character indicates any level of fantasy. They at least maintain a semblance of reality even if their personalities are unrealistically callous. Yashiro feels like a strange addition from a fanfiction. Not only is she out of place with the rest of the story, but she is aggressively bothersome. On more than one occasion, she forces her company on Shimamura and loudly interrupts the already struggling plot. The worst of these incidents occurs when Adachi finally gets Shimamura to agree to an outing together at the mall, only to have a bratty alien impose her company on them. In the end, the only emotion the girls feel which Iruma manages to convey is anger and annoyance, as readers will be nothing short of fuming after reading chapters about the bothersome creature.

Adachi and Shimamura is a resounding disappointment. There are individual moments of cuteness, none of which have meaning, and one chapter with some actual stakes and engaging story. Other works, like Yuru Yuri, have shown that inconsequential slice of life stories can thrive with engaging characters and fun situations, but Adachi and Shimamura has neither. However, I still have some hope for the upcoming anime adaptation. Crazy and annoying antics like Yashiro’s will likely come across better in a visual medium, where characters can be reactive and exaggerated better than in text. Further, I think the additional dialogue required by television will help the girls feel less distant and more engaging for the viewer. I recommend you skip reading this book and wait to see if the anime has anything more to offer, or if future volumes can improve the shoddy storytelling.

Ratings: Story – 4 Characters – 2 LGBTQ – 6 Sexual Content – 1 Final – 3

Purchase Adachi and Shimamura Vol. 1 here: https://amzn.to/3alTyLM

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

#yuri #reviews #lgbt #lgbtq #adachi and shimamura #light novel #manga #anime #girls love #gl #wlw #gay #romance #lesbian #lgbtq+#queer #seven seas #comic #comics #lesbian comic

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

Text

Miraculous Ladybug/DC - Adoption AU

There seems to be a lot of Miraculous/DC crossover ideas, often with Adrien and/or Marinette getting adopted into the Batfamily.

Here is my take:

So it turns out that apparently Gabriel had family he tries to avoid and altogether pretends don’t exist.

And it turns out the family in question he’s particularly wanting to keep out of his life and away from his family is Harley Quinn.

To be fair, they weren’t close to begin with. Then there was the whole thing with Joker and her stint as a villain. After that, Gabriel cut off all contact and moved to Paris.

Harley gets why. She doesn’t like it, but she gets it. She’s made mistakes and is trying to do better. She understands if Gabriel isn’t feeling all that forgiving or willing to reconnect. And she is fine with that, really.

What she is NOT fine with is discovering Mr. No-fun lost his wife in mysterious circumstances and has responded by not only isolating himself, but his son as well. His son who is a genuinely sweet and wonderful kid, and deserves so much better than being kept trapped in a quiet and lonely old mansion every day.

So she does what any good aunt would do if they’re a psychologist who used to be an underling and abuse victim for a psychotic clown whom she’s recently escaped from, found herself a girlfriend, and is past the point of having kids of her own.

She steals Adrien.

Well, from the mansion at least. Only from there. Not wanting to take him away from what little social life he’s managed to make so far despite Gabriel’s best efforts, Harley has them all stay in Paris. She even buys a nice house in a good district with money that was totally not stolen from Gabriel on her way out *coughcough*. Once set up in the new home, she proceeds to take Adrien there where she can dote on him like proper family and give him some of that affection he’s been so desperate for.

The wax figure of Adrien has been left in his place in the mansion.

Gabriel has yet to notice.

As has anyone else. (They’ve had at least 3 photoshoots so far with just the wax figure.)

Ivy finds the whole thing questionable but comes to see that Adrien is a sweet boy with a desire to do good even if he doesn’t necessarily know how or the best way to do so. She decides she can “raise him right” and mold him into a proper young man who uses his resources to help the environment. So she starts having him do gardening with her.

Adrien is...actually okay with this whole setup. Plus he went from no mom to TWO moms! Who spend time with him! And are involved in his life! And let him see his friends! And he actually gets to leave the house without a bodyguard tailing his every move—which turns out to be because Ivy is able to use her plants to keep an eye on him in a much less obtrusive manner, but eh...details. He’s essentially not-so-reluctantly kidnapped. He COULD escape at any point. He’s Chat Noir after all. But even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t like Ivy and Harley were going out of their way to keep him locked up or anything. The worst they did was give him a curfew—which when comparing a few hours of free time with an expectation to return by a set time vs a set schedule with only one hour of free time maybe worked in somewhere, was hardly something he was going to fight.

The fact is that he’s doing well under their care. Harley shares his sense of humor. Pamela nurtures his creativity. He gets support and encouragement to be more assertive. They actually WANT to talk to him and hear about his day. They WANT to be affectionate with him and have dinners together. And he just soaks up their attention and affection like a sponge and responds in kind.

Under their care, Adrien changes a bit. He speaks out more and makes it known when he’s unhappy or uncomfortable with something. He does not let people just touch him when he’s uncomfortable. If anything, he’s doing more touching and initiating conversations without fear of appearances. Nino gets bro hugs. Kim gets bro hugs. All the guys in class get bro hugs. Marinette also gets bro hugs—though he doesn’t hug her for too long since she seems to overheat easily.

Adrien is really enjoying this.

Even better, his moms somehow get jobs in the area.

Pamela either becomes a biology teacher at the school or opens a nursery. If she does open a nursery, Marinette becomes a regular customer on principle. She and Ivy bond. They trade gardening tips. Marinette is surprisingly helpful in keeping pests away from her plants for reasons Ivy doesn’t quite know. All around, Paris suddenly starts becoming a bit more green…and without the eco-terrorism. It helps that Adrien’s social media starts featuring him planting trees and taking care of plants, which is encouraging other people to follow suit.

Harleen becomes a school counselor. At Adrien’s school. Where she takes full advantage of the opportunity to embarrass him in full “overly affectionate mom” mode. Adrien is too happy to be embarrassed. Anyone who actually ends up laughing at him comes to regret it when Harley picks apart their psychological issues.

The new moms evaluate his friends.

Nino passes. Flat out. He got akumatized trying to throw their boy a birthday party? He also arranged an impromptu house party for Adrien the one chance he got? YES. THIS is someone he needs in his life!

Alya gives them concern given her Lois Lane levels of getting into trouble mixed with sheer lack of self preservation. Her tendency to jump into matters and reveal things or trust things without thinking also has them concerned.

Chloe has potential, but needs a good few months of therapy as far as they’re concerned.

Lila is banned from coming within ten feet of Adrien. It would have been fifty, but Adrien refused to take a killer plant that big and risk anyone thinking it’s an akuma.

Marinette passes after they have a sit down talk with her to get to know her better. Harley notes her anxiety issues and helps her to be able to avoid panicking. Ivy likes Marinette’s energy, and her garden is impressive. She gives her approval of Marinette courting their son.

Marinette: Wait—what?

And because they’re actually good moms, they figure out fairly quickly that their new son is the leather-suited catboy running around protecting Paris.

Harley: HOW DO PEOPLE NOT KNOW THIS?!

Adrien: Magic?

They have a bit of difficulty for the next few fights with the rather overprotective mothers trying to interfere in akuma fights, causing more confusion than anything until Adrien asks them to stop. They don’t, of course, but they at least let him try to handle things.

All in all, they make for a nice little family.

But there’s only so much two moms can do. And with Gabriel pretty much not involved, they’re limited in options. So after a while, they decide that Adrien needs a good father figure.

Adrien: But I have a father...

Harley: I said a GOOD father figure.

But who to choose?

Bats? “Oh god, no! Why would you inflict that level of broodiness in our child?”

Joker? “Sure! The best way to teach him important life skills is to have someone to test them on as an example. Like the best weak points! And the effects of blood loss! And how to hide a body!” “We could just use Gabriel for that and save on travel time!”

Superman? “The world isn’t ready.”

They finally come to a decision.

Which is how Nightwing finds himself tied up and dragged off to Paris to be made part of this weird little makeshift family.

Pamela: Why him?

Harley: He got the killer Robin from ‘murdery’ to some semblance of being an actual semi-healthy child with only some violent tendencies. He’d make a good father figure!

Pamela: But wasn’t that an alternate timeline—

Harley: A GOOD father figure.

Pamela: ...fine.

Nightwing: Wait—what?

Naturally, he’s confused. He tries to contact Batman to let him know what’s going on and what Ivy and Harley are up to because they’re in Paris for some odd reason and they have a kid he’s pretty sure isn’t theirs. Batman, on the other hand, is more concerned with all the crazy magic shenanigans in Paris that the League somehow doesn't know about and can’t get any accurate information on. So he pretty much tells Nightwing to stay with them since he’s already there and they have room for him anyway so it’ll be easier.

Nightwing: I'm telling you, they've captured me, dragged me off to Paris, and they have this little house with a kid—

Batman: Good, then you have a place to stay while you investigate the anomalies in Paris.

Nightwing: Bruce, I don't think you're hearing me...

Adrien: (Just pats him on the arm sympathetically)

Harley: (Hugs Nightwing) Looks like we've got Batdaddy's approval! You're part of the family now!

Nightwing: I will do whatever you want. Just don't call him that again.

To be fair, it is Batman, so he probably knows Harley and Ivy aren’t an issue at this point, but still!

…At least he gets his own room…

Nightwing isn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, he knows he shouldn’t be encouraging this. On the other hand, Harley and Ivy aren’t actually doing anything bad. And if anything, taking care of the kid has been good for them. Plus the kid seems happy with them, at least. It’s...weird, certainly, but he goes along with it. (Read: He folds to the kitten eyes.)

Then he finds out said kid is a superhero in a city regularly attacked by a supervillain who transforms and controls people by manipulating their emotions—which the League somehow has not been aware of despite it happening in PARIS.

Needless to say, he isn’t pleased.

I'm just imaging Dick Grayson interacting with other adult figures in Paris. And really, just Dick's response to everything in Paris and how things are being handled.

"So...you're telling me no one has tried to track down where the magic butterflies are coming from?"

"Um..."

"The governmental body hasn't initiated any policies to try to prevent akumas?"

"Well..."

"Set up an alert and evacuation system so people know where to go or not go?"

“…”

“Do I want to know what you people actually do in case of an emergency?”

“Probably not.”

Much like Ivy and Harley, he gets a day job to help out. There are two potential options for him.

He becomes a teacher at the school and takes over running gym class, which he uses to keep the kids in shape, teach them self defense, and help them work out some of their tension and emotions through physical activities and a good listening ear. His interactions with the kids would be something to see. Even better for his interactions with Damocles and Bustier. Because no, the events of the Ladybug episode would NOT have happened if he was there.

Lila: (Sobs) Ow! Ow! The pain! How could Marinette do this to me?

Dick: I’m not seeing any injuries.

Lila: I don’t bruise easily. They just haven’t appeared yet.

Dick: Even so, there are no abrasions. No swelling. No indications of a broken bone or sprain. Not even any marks to show where you fell.

Lila: It’s internal!

Dick: Then you need to go to a hospital to be checked out and have the extent of your injuries noted.

Lila: I wouldn’t go that far—

Dick: And your mother will be contacted and told to meet us there.

Lila: Well—

Dick: And of course we’ll be holding off on any punishment until we have a list of your injuries and a thorough investigation is completed.

Lila: But—

Dick: And just to keep you safe, I’ll be staying with you the whole time. We wouldn’t want anymore “accidents”.

Lila: ….Dammit.

He joins the police force. Just for shenanigans in his interactions with Roger. Maybe helping the force to be more effective so they can actually HELP during akuma fights instead of simply serving as a temporary distraction.

Either way, he’s a positive role model for Adrien. The three of them working together help Adrien to maintain a positive and altogether healthier state. They give him more jokes and puns to work with—because that has long since been Nightwing’s area of expertise. They give him advice in wooing his lady love. They address the “just a friend” issue. They teach him self defense and helpful fighting techniques. They curb the “self-sacrificing” tendency he’s developed. They encourage him in his goals and self discovery now that he has the freedom to actually try.

Despite the weirdness of the situation, Adrien is actually happier than he has been in a long while.

Which is made ever more clear at a particular moment when he’s leaving for school one morning.

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!”

Harley sniffles and wipes a tear with a tissue she pulled out of her sleeve. “It feels like just yesterday that I stole him away from the mansion.”

“Then what does that make your kidnapping me?” Dick asked, sardonically. “This morning?”

“Don’t act like you’re not proud.” Ivy snarked.

Oh, he was. Immensely so. But of course he wasn’t going to admit it and give them the satisfaction.

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