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cssnder · 1 month

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7, 16, 18 😁

https://www.tumblr.com/cssnder/745308376664244224/

What books have shaped the way you think about writing the most? Why?

I already replied to this question right here. I apologise in advance for how long my response in this post is, I tend to talk a lot and when I began it is often hard to stop me.

To what extent do you research for your writing?

A great amount, I'd say. I like getting the details right. For example, I've always been pretty well versed in philosophy before to begin working on my novel, but I still took in-depth courses — paired with at least fifty books that were recommended for further information —, from the antiquity to our current times because one of my characters is supposed to be erudite in this field. I wanted to be as erudite as I imagined my character to be. This could quickly seem like it'd be a waste of time but quite frankly, it helped me shape the psychology and the philosophy of my other characters as well. It helps me get new references to add — in the way Donna Tartt was referencing the Greeks, their philosophy and mythology, in The Secret History; or M. L. Rio was referencing Shakespeare in If We Were Villains —, ideas to implement, and it inspires me in new ways.

I will research everything and anything I need to. If a character brings flowers to another character, I'll delve into floriography and find what meaning I want those flowers to have, what I want them to say about a character, about their relationship, or about their intentions.

Dan Brown once said — which is quite ironic because I am not necessarily fond of his novels — that there are different kinds of research that authors do.

“For most writers, research is the very first thing you do. Research helps you decide what you’re gonna write about. Research is one of the most fun parts of writing a novel. You’re learning, you’re traveling, you’re reading - but there’s different kinds of research. There’s research that you’ll do to start your book, to say: “I wonder if this is what I really want to write about.” And it’s the kind of research where maybe you travel somewhere, or maybe you read a bunch of books about the topic. And those are sort of exploratory, that’s casting your line out and try to find ideas. But that first step is really just to learn about the world, let it inspire you, and let some of these questions start to percolate. Research as a first step will get you excited, it will give you ideas, and it’ll help you choose a world, which is really the first thing you need to do.”

“Once you have an idea, you do a much different kind of research. Once you decide: “I’m gonna write about overpopulation”, well guess what? Then you’re reading books on demographics and population and environment and pollution and bioengineering. Then you’ve cast your line and pulled out your idea, and now it’s time to get serious. For the kind of thrillers I write, personally, I will read history, philosophy, and art, and conspiracy theory. When I wrote Origin, I read four books that said that Darwin is wrong and evolution isn’t happening. To my taste that’s insanity, of course evolution is happening! But I read the other argument such that I could have characters make that argument to create that moral grey area.”

His episode about research is very long, in fact it's a two parts episode, so I cannot possibly write it all here, but I still wanted to share some of his thoughts about it because I found them very interesting and quite accurate, really.

But I wrote too much already. In short, I suppose my answer is this: everything. I research everything.

How do what you look for in your own writing vs someone else’s coincide? How does your writing influence your reading?

I honestly think that this is the most interesting question of this entire ask game. I have never thought about it before. Surely, I knew that my reading influenced my writing and I came to realise to what extent it did; but I never thought about it the other way around and I realise now that my writing most certainly does influence what books I pick up on some level.

Well, of course, if I were to be perfectly honest I would say that a morbid part of me is always looking for absolute perfection in my writing; which is absurdly unrealistic. Fortunately, those perverse expectations only apply to me and I never expect anybody else's writing to reach that level. On a more realistic basis, I suppose that I generally want for my writing to serve the story I am telling, while also attaining a certain level of excellence in my use of the language, a certain level of beauty in my prose and rhythm. And I would say this is also what I look for in someone else's writing: a beautifully written story, in which the writing style is effective but also beautiful — beautiful enough so that phrases or passages from the text haunt me and impose themselves to my memory, unable to forget them. What's most important to me is to have an impact on the reader, to make them feel something, whatever that something may be — sadness, love, disgust, anger, shock — as long as they're not bored. For one to feel bored when reading my words would be the ultimate insult to me. I suppose that's also what I expect from the books I pick up, to feel moved by them, impacted, even changed perhaps.

In a broader sense, I'd say that I read what I'd like to write and I write what I'd like to read — if that makes any sense.

#A Writer's Diary #Asks

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lemontongues · 3 months

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In regard to the addition you made on that post with AP article—I think the fact that they didn't use the word 'children' (or their phrasing from wihtin the article, 'children and young teens') in the tweet they made on it is what's being commented on in that post.

We should always be reading the articles we're sharing, but the optics on how this is being discussed on social media/in headlines (even if the fuller article has more specific information) feels like it was more the actual subject of the criticism.

so like, i don’t disagree about the general point that it’s shitty to try to downplay the tragedy of what’s happening in gaza by using euphemisms to sneak your way around israel committing genocide and child murder. that is for sure an awful thing to do, and i can understand there being frustration if a lot of other news sources have been using that kind of clinical or euphamistic language to make what’s happening seem less “icky” to an uninvolved audience. so yeah, maybe it would have been better for them to say "children" in the tweet.

but. i’m also gonna point out again that ap HAS consistently talked about the ugly and heartbreaking specifics of the genocide taking place, and also that the gazan health ministry appears to have provided the breakdown to ap in terms of the phrase "children and young teens", which means that the word minor does accurately encompass the health ministry's statement. the health ministry didnt say "children" and ap reported it as "young men" or whatever. feeding the outrage machine by pretending that all news sources are equally tools of the imperialist agenda is doing a huge disservice to a lot of people, including both the journalists doing the reporting and the people whom you're discouraging from taking what is overall a pretty reliable source of information seriously, and imo way more damaging than an accurately worded tweet that doesn't provoke your preferred degree of shock and horror, despite still reporting a shocking and horrifying statistic. like if youre getting all your news from headlines on twitter and your response to someone saying "12,300 people under the age of 18 have been killed" is to go NOBODY HAS ANY RESPECT FOR CHILDREN ANYMORE HOW COULD AP BE SO DECEITFUL AND HATEFUL thats. frankly a weird fucking takeaway.

#sage answers

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thran-duils · 3 years

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Total Eclipse (P.2)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,792 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: There is heavy backstory here in italics! I was reading up on Victorian customs and tbh, I’m not privy to it at all, so I apologize if things are not historically accurate!

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You walked away from where your ladies tea was going on, brushing your skirts out. You had begun to become uncomfortable sitting on the blanket and wanted to stretch your legs.

“Do not wander too far,” your mother called out to you.

“Of course not, mother,” you called back over your shoulder.

She would not notice how far you wandered when she was this engrossed in the latest gossip from the castle.

Coming onto the cobblestone, your eyes set on the fountain. There were goldfish inside and you made a point to always come to the fountain when you visited this park. You nodded at a couple as you passed them, exchanging pleasant smiles. They did eye you somewhat curiously at the fact you were walking alone but pleasant, nonetheless. Reaching the edge of the fountain, you leaned over, peering into it.

Just as you were reaching into the fountain, a small gust of wind hit you and you felt your hat fly off the top of your head. You let out a noise of frustration, turning around, eyes searching. It was tumbling away and coming to the feet of a gentleman sitting on a bench. His eyes were on you, and you had a feeling they had been for a bit.

He dipped down, picking your hat up from the cobble stone and stood up from the bench. His hands came up to brush at it as he walked towards you. He was careful with the fabric, his own coat bristling in the small breeze at his sides.

“Your hat, miss,” he said holding it out to you, giving a small bow.

You thanked him and took it.

He was terribly handsome. Dark hair, tousled just so, not to the point that he looked unkempt. His eyes were an alluring shade of chocolate. There was a playfulness in them and they excited you.

“You must keep a good hold on that. It’s woven perfectly,” he continued.

“Perfectly?” you asked, putting the hat back on.

“Yes. It’s immaculate. The stitchwork. Whoever did it took great care. I believe it is the work of the hatter on Bishop’s Gate, east end?” Your mouth fell open in surprise as you pulled the ribbon down beneath your chin and you froze. He gave a light chuckle at your expression, “Sorry, I have a keen eye for detail and a memory to boot. May I?” He asked suddenly, his hands reaching ever so slightly towards your face, eyes on the ribbons for a moment to explain what he was asking.

You stilled, your hands falling to your sides, and he took it as invitation. You breathed easily even though your heart jumped at him being so close. You did not even know this man; he was bold. Coming forward, his hands latched to the ribbons, tying it better than you could. He had a nice smelling aftershave and you locked eyes, your breath hitching. He was suspended in your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat.

He gave a brief smile as he pulled away. “That’s better.”

Something had happened there. And you pressed it.

“Are you sure you would like to tie it that tight? I may want to lose it again if it means you’ll fetch it for me?” you asked.

He actually looked amused, and you were relieved. You were constantly scolded from a young age for being so coquettish. “Bold. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told so.”

“Miss….?”

“Miss Y/N L/N. And you?”

“Sherlock.”

“That’s it, then?”

Now he was coy. “For now.”

“So, there’s to be a future, then? Between us?”

He caught your wit, amused even further. Thankfully he did not think you crass and he did not chastise. He was returning your flirtations. “I think so, Miss Y/N.”

“Well, I look forward to the future then. You live in London?” you questioned.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Most of the time.”

“’Most of the time?’” Sherlock repeated and you shrugged.

“Sometimes I dream of escaping. It takes up some of my time, pulling me away from here.”

He smirked at that. “I suppose I should say most of the time too. My mind pulls me to places. As well as my job.”

“Lucky you,” you said sincerely, and his expression was warm. He was interested in you. He was older, not terribly but there was distance. Reaching out, you touched his topcoat. “You are a bit of a pyromaniac it seems. Or just terrible with the cherries of your cigars. Please tell me it’s not the latter.”

“What makes you say that?”

You cocked your head and pulled down his vest and his eyebrows rose at the movement as you exposed some of his chest hair peaking out from beneath his dress shirt. You ignored his stunned look, doing your best to not linger on his exposed chest. Your finger landed on his dress shirt, pointing out the singe. “Do you think I’m blind, Mr. Sherlock?”

He let out a small laugh.. “I thought I hid it well enough beneath the vest.”

“You must not move as quickly as you have been to keep it hidden. Now, tell me. Why would you not just get a new shirt? You surely have the money. I mean, if you know the hatters on Bishop’s. And it’s not just anyone that splurges on a silk tie.”

He cocked his head, eyes running up and down you. You smiled in response, seeing you had impressed him.

“I haven’t gotten around to it,” he shrugged.

“Busy man, then.”

“Quite.”

“Too busy to escort me through the park?” you asked.

He eyed you and asked, “Would that be entirely inappropriate? We did not set this up beforehand.”

You shrugged now and said, “I could tell the gallant story of how you saved my hat from getting dirty in the mud. And I asked for you to walk me back. I did get quite a look for being on my own on the way over here.”

Sherlock’s lips pulled into a smile, and he gestured for you to walk. You were thankful he had initiated it; it was societally appropriate for him to initiate everything. How you wished you could loop arms but that itself would be societally inappropriate considering you had just met. Your mother would simply have a heart attack if she saw that, especially with so many possible suitors in the park.

He came to a stop, and you stopped as well, watching him curiously as he left the path. He reached for the rose bush, and you grimaced as he reached straight into it. He could cut his hands. But he yanked, his fingers moving ever so, pulling a single rose off the bush. His hand was unharmed.

He presented it to you, and you took it gently.

“A token of appreciation of your company, Miss L/N,” he said.

Examining it, you observed, “Pink. Are you of grace and sweetness? Or is that to refer to me?”

“I would have given red would it have been readily available,” he smiled, and you felt heat creep. “Also, pink can symbolize admiration. That is breaching on the red, is it not?”

You shrugged, keeping it close. “Yes, I suppose so. A fine point.”

The two of you walked on and Sherlock asked lightheartedly, “Where is your escort, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am here with a ladies group. They’re probably sitting at the blankets still, tittering about the gossip,” you responded. “My mother especially. She loves being in the center of all the gossip and drama.”

“My, I must watch my back returning you. Would not want to start any rumors.”

“Would rumors about us be so bad, Mr. Sherlock?”

He was tickled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Only in the presence of people I think I can trust. Not all women are complete straight laces. And frankly, most are only that way in public. Have you not spent a lot of time with women in private spaces?”

Sherlock chuckled, “That is a very loaded question, my dear. Where did you ever learn to banter like this?”

“I have an older brother. And your ‘dear’?”

“Have I offended you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His eyes were alight, sharing a look with you. It was only interrupted as you passed another couple and nodded at them, Sherlock doing the same.

“Ah, like I said,” you said coming back over the bridge. You spotted them still eating their small cakes and sipping on their tea. Sherlock followed your gaze and you leaned in, “Thank you for providing me a walk. My legs had become quite numb sitting on the ground for so long.”

“My pleasure,” Sherlock responded.

You saw that one of the women had noticed you and Sherlock approaching over the bridge and you needed to hurry up the conversation. Pressing your luck, you asked, “Do you happen to have an invite to the Mayberry Ball?”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Would it still be unfortunate if I was there?” you inquired.

Sherlock’s eyes were locked with yours and you came to a stop in the path. You stared at him with sincerity, waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “It would liven up the event, that is for sure. I am terribly bored at those events, but I am dragged along by my… partner.”

“‘Partner?’” you asked, your fiery hope getting water doused on it.

“Confidant. Flatmate,” Sherlock explained quickly sensing your discomfort, meeting your gaze once more. You visibly relaxed, and he no doubt noticed. He resumed walking with you down the path. “He encourages me to get out. It is why I am at the park today. I had only been out for about a quarter of an hour before you showed up and I had already been considering heading back inside.”

“What a shame, sir. To hide yourself away. Who knows who you’ll meet if you only ventured out?” you stated, shrugging in a lighthearted manner.

“Too true,” Sherlock returned, eyes bright. He shot a look towards where the tea was being held and then cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, it looks like we have been found out, Miss L/N. I suppose I should let you get back to your lunch. I have taken up too much of your time.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Sherlock,” you assured him as you reached the edge of the grass.

Sherlock gave you a curt bow and turned towards the ladies and gave them a smile and a bow as well in acknowledgment. The ladies bowed their head in return, and you kept yourself from smirking at the fact they all looked like chickens bobbing their heads in unison, eyes fixated on him.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Make sure to keep that hat tied tightly, Miss L/N,” he told you before turning on his heel and walking off.

You watched him walk off for a few moments before turning back to the tea.

Your mother was on you the second you sat down.

“Who was that man? And where did you get that rose?”

“My hat flew off and he fetched it for me before it went into the mud. I was foolish, I should have tied it before walking off. A gust of wind caught it,” you told her calmly, fixing your skirts around your legs as you relaxed in your sitting position. “And I made a comment about the roses, so he picked one for me. I was afraid the poor man was going to hurt his fingers, but he was careful. Very kind of him to do so, it does smell lovely.”

“And his name?”

“Mr. Sherlock.”

Your mother eyed where he had walked off and she said, “Why does that name not sound familiar?”

The other ladies looked at a loss as well and you merely shrugged in response. “Maybe he is new to the city. I am grateful he walked me back. Are there any cucumber sandwiches left? I am famished.” You acted as if you had little interest in him to get your mother off your back, but you were already thinking of what gown to wear to the Mayberry Ball.

<><><>

You looked down at your gown for the umpteenth time, making sure nothing had spilled on it. You had chosen a deep purple, silk brocade with silver detail. It was one of your finest and your mother encouraged it, considering it was the courting season and especially since it was your fourth season. Your father listened to you when you told him you were uninterested in the men who had tried to court you thus far, but you knew even his patience would wear thin with your pickiness and your hand would be forced.

Eyes wandering, you stood by where your brother was recounting a story to your father and mother. People spun to the dance, others off to the side, exchanging flirtations. You suddenly locked eyes with Sherlock across the room.

He grinned briefly before raising his eyebrows. He turned, disappearing back into the hallway behind him.

Your family was distracted with your older brother, and you easily slipped away through the crowd, following where he had gone. The hallway was empty and there were doors at the end of it. You pushed them open and were expecting him. But you were met with empty air and your brow furrowed.

“Sneaking away, Miss L/N?”

You startled hearing him from behind you. He was sitting on a bench against the wall, nestled between two tall plants.

Stomping over you glowered down at him.

“Did I offend somehow?” he asked as he stood up from the bench.

You scoffed, “You told me to sneak away! And then you startle me!”

“I did nothing of the sort! I merely made a face. And you assumed from there. I don’t argue your detection skills though.”

“Why do I feel as if you are jesting?”

“Never.”

You sighed before saying, “Well, I would accept a dance. But I am sure my mother would be on you in a second. She was already curious about the walk.”

“As you suspected. And she should be. A strange gentleman walking her daughter through the park. Especially during the season. And who said I danced?”

“Is that why you were standing on the outskirts?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You cocked an eyebrow and said, “If you haven’t noticed, I am single. I am to be escorted at these types of events. My father and brother were keeping me close until someone approached me to ask for a dance.”

“You’d already danced with three by my count.”

“You were watching me. For how long?”

“The detail on your gown is exquisite.”

“Will you always compliment my clothing? Is there nothing else about me to compliment?”

There was a pause, the two of you staring at the other. Sherlock’s lips twitched and he hid a smile. “It would be inappropriate of a me to engage in other compliments, no matter how much they are warranted.” Well, that answered your question in a sly manner, much to your pleasure. “But, being found outside with a man alone would tarnish your reputation. And yet you followed. Speaking of inappropriate.”

“And you encouraged it. Plus, it is not like I am a lady. I’m simply middle class. It would not affect me as greatly.”

“I would not say ‘simply’ in that regard. It is very respectable to be middle class. Especially since I can deduce your family is further into the elite side of it. And on the contrary, not being upper class, the situation which we are describing would certainly affect you greater considering you are closer to having less equity if a suitable match was not made within your own social class. Middle-middle class is less than lower upper class.”

He noticed your eyes were narrowed and he cleared his throat, stopping in his speech.

“Do you always speak so much?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

You spotted your brother going through the crowd inside in earnest, certainly searching for you.

“Well, do not change, Mr. Sherlock,” you told him, giving him a quick smile. His interest was piqued by the comment, and you added, “I’m quite serious. It amuses me so. You have intellect. But I must take my leave. I spot my brother who is certainly going to talk my ear off in an unpleasant way about wandering off alone. Even if I say I was using the lavatory and did not want to interrupt their conversation.”

“If you find yourself on New Bond Street…” you said in invitation. Sherlock looked taken aback and you quickly said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to be too forward.”

“No,” he recovered quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. You are just… very close to me. A few blocks actually… fascinating.”

You saw your brother cross again and you hurried, “Oh, well, yes, that is. What a coincidence. Well, good night. I hope to see you again.” You gave him a half curtsy before you turned.

He grabbed your hand and you stopped, facing him again. He brought your gloved hand up to his lips and gave it a kiss, keeping his eyes on you. “And I as well.”

A smile was on your lips as he let your hand go and you hurried back through the doors back to the ballroom.

<><><>

The day after your tryst with Sherlock, you were not surprised you were called on at home. Thankfully, Arthur was not home.

“A gentlemen is here to see you, ma’am. A Mr. John Watson.”

You greeted him in the parlor, the door cracked. You did not want to arouse suspicion about this gentleman visiting you while Arthur was out, no matter if he was known as an acquaintance. Although, he was far closer to you than anyone in the household would ever know. If the maids wanted to eavesdrop, they could do so gladly.

“John,” you greeted him and he took his hat off to greet you in turn.

“Y/N, you look lovely as always,” he complimented as one of your maids brought in a tray of tea.

John waited for you to seat yourself before he sat down as well. You reached forward, preparing two cups of tea for the pair of you.

“Thank you. You look well. Mrs. Hudson must be feeding the two of you well.”

“Quite,” he answered.

“Sugar?”

“Please.”

You handed him his tea and he placed it in front of him.

John asked point blank, “How was he?”

Of course John knew you had seen him. If Sherlock left 221B Baker, you were one of, if not the first, stops he would take on most of the time if John was not with him.

“He was Sherlock.”

John took a drink and you watched him closely. He met your eyes again and sighed, “He’s been manic.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s coming back out to see us then, correct? He confirmed he would be at the masquerade.”

“It’s gotten worse since—”

“I don’t need to be reminded again,” you told John.

“I think you do. Are you happy here?”

You bristled at the comment. Why did men think they had such a liberty to comment on your choices? Maybe you should have closed the door, but you did not expect something like this from John of all people. Sherlock, certainly. But not him.

John noticed your expression and he opened his mouth, but you cut in testily in quiet tones.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loudly about such matters right under my husband’s roof.”

You did get up now and go to the door, closing it. This was turning into something else entirely than what you had expected. John was watching and you hoped he realized he needed to be quick about this to not give too much time for them to speculate what was happening in here. You sat back down.

He matched your quiet tones, thankfully, even with the door closed. “It’s the most sure-fire way to get your attention on the matter.”

Taking a drink of your own tea, you kept your eyes pinned on him. Swallowing, you placed your cup back down delicately. “I cannot leave my husband.”

“I wasn’t asking you to do that.”

Cocking your head, you asked, “Then what are you asking, John?” His lips were pursed and you knew you had caught him. You shrugged, “You’re asking me to leave my husband. Divorce is illegal for me to initiate if you have forgotten.”

“I know that. He’s always better after he sees you.”

“But?” you asked, knowing there was more.

“But he always reverts.”

“Because he’s not with me?”

John gave you a look now and he said, “You know it is true.”

“John, is this for you or for him?”

“Can it not be both?” he asked honestly. “I am concerned for my friend, and I can simultaneously be concerned for my own mental health and anxiety.”

You sighed heavily, looking out the window.

“I know it is near impossible for you to obtain divorce – or even a separation – but… if you simply saw him more.”

“How?”

“Bring him into your circle. Then it would not be suspicious if the two of you were speaking with each other. On the street, in a restaurant, at the park.”

“You know it not just speaking that Sherlock and I engage in,” you whispered.

John rose his brows, looking embarrassed, but said, “I know. But just seeing more often may encourage him to imbibe less and relax.”

“Do you understand how much I wish I could be with him?” you asked seriously. John was quiet and you shrugged. “There will always be a hole, John, for me.”

John leaned forward and said, “Then try what I am suggesting. Please.”

Studying his face, you exhaled, running the risk of the idea through your mind. Sherlock was unorthodox, but perhaps he could put up a front to be around the gentlemen your husband surrounded himself with. It was farfetched but… possibly.

“I’ll consider it. I am going to see him tomorrow night at the ball. I trust you are attending?”

John nodded, “Yes. I am.”

“Good,” you told him, getting up again and going back to open the door a crack. You did not see anyone in the hall but you doubted they had not been there and had only run away when they heard your footfalls coming towards the door. Facing him again, you said in your normal voice, “I am looking forward to the gooseberry pie myself.”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes rdj #my shit

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kaisa-ryo · 3 years

Text

Itadori Yuji NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Itadori likes to chat for a long time. Topics for communication are usually very diverse: from listing the different sex positions he wants to try, to discussing brands of cars, televisions, types of soaps and colors of underwear. In parallel, Yuji will stroke your back, causing your body to creep. So the love attraction that you already experienced with him before suddenly takes on a special intensity. When he has a need to receive your affection, he will begin to sink under the covers until he rests his nose against your chest or stomach. By this action, he asks you to play with his hair. At this moment, he may stop talking altogether, because instead of chatting, he will hum with pleasure. In addition, he will try with all his might and in various positions to snuggle up to you with his strong male body. And you will begin with great skill to stroke his hair and gradually increase the pressure in order to induce real ecstasy in him.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

Obviously the hips and butt.

It is a blissful feeling when he squeezes your buttocks as he continuously enters you. And in the morning, when you start looking in the mirror, you notice that your thighs are scarlet. As you examine yourself, Itadori in the next room sees your stunned expression in the mirror and smiles proudly.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

He usually ends up on the aforementioned body parts. Although he experiences no less high pleasure when he watches how his hot semen flows down from your vagina. Or the mouth. And if you also swallow his seed, it will completely discourage him. It's so awkward and at the same time arousing when a girl literally lets a part of you into her. It's like you start making it a part of yourself. The part of his soul that passes through your body, moving on to the next stage of orgasm.

D = Dirty secret

To tell you the truth - there are a lot of them. Despite the fact that he almost always speaks with you frankly on intimate topics.

He often thinks about how he will kick you through the school desk and fuck you under the light of the graceful sunset that falls through the half-open blinds.

About how madly tempting it would be if you suck him off somewhere in the closet.

How to fuck you by the sea on soft sand.

There is no limit to these secret desires. Someday he will definitely tell you about all of them. And, of course, it will.

E = Experience

The highest level of experience in intercourse is masturbation. Yes, he has seen a lot of different videos on porn sites and instant messengers. And of course, he remembers them every single one. He has a lot of sexual fantasies. And they are all related to you. But they need to be implemented.

It will also ask you about your experience. For example, can you do a blow job. If you do not know about any sexual arts, he will certainly show you a video, explain how and what to do, ask if you like this objectively.

You can even say that he has much more indirect experience than you. But Yuji likes it. I like to teach you everything that he himself knows from the erotic videos he has watched.

F = Favorite position

In general, you have tried an innumerable number of poses all the time, but none can compare with the one when he presses you into bed from behind. When your penis plunges into the innermost and holds you so tightly that it begins to seem as if it has completely absorbed you.

G = Goofy (Are you serious at this moment?)

In most cases, yes. Even if this is not the first time you have been doing this, this does not mean that intercourse may not go well. But sometimes passionate excitement can outweigh all expressions of seriousness and turn it into entertainment or stress relief.

H = Hair (Is the hair ok?)

Not that he regularly tidies them up, but tries to make sure that both of you are comfortable. Maybe he prefers not to show it, but Itadori is really worried that you will be uncomfortable. Although the hair itself does not really interfere.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

Yes. And a lot.

Itadori literally melts when he sees you smile, the reason for which is his sweet and romantic actions. For him, there is no line between "boyfriend" and "spouse". And, of course, he regularly scrolls in his head how you have a large shared apartment, wedding rings, children ...

The guy is ready to even get you the moon from the sky, just to see your charming smile once again, to feel how you jump on his neck and say that you love him with all your heart. Sometimes he gets carried away - and then his hand reaches out to you to stroke your cheek, circle around your neck, say some banality, without which it is difficult for you to live. And sometimes you think that at such moments Itadori... looks a little more naive. But he does not see anything wrong with this and continues to cherish you, like the most priceless treasure on earth.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

It happens. And even after the start of your relationship.

In moments when you are far away, he records your telephone conversation, asks you to throw off your photos, turns on a home video taken once secretly from you ... then he starts "playing with his snake", quietly moaning your name. And if you start writing or talking on the phone, how much you want him now, it will just go crazy, imagining how he is fucking you on the bed right now. After all, it is such a pleasure to realize that your body receives only what you so passionately dream about and what you want.

— Mnh... yes, y/n... please continue...

K = Kink (Kinks and fetishes)

As mentioned earlier — home video. Yuji prefers to do this in secret, since he knows it will embarrass you. And besides, you will immediately guess why he does it.

He also has one fetish that you know about. Namely — voyeurism. When you change clothes, stand in the shower, or try on a swimsuit, he closely monitors your actions while standing outside the door. So he initiates you into his intimate world, where you can become his muse.

In addition, he has several types of perversions that he considers esoteric. For example, he really loves to admire your naked body and inhale its aroma, starting from the neck. This also applies to your personal things — your scent is also felt on them, and Itadori constantly examines and sniffs your things, hoping to feel your scent. It's kind of like a drug for him, and he likes to wake up in the morning and feel that your hair is still felt on his neck. And if you put on his clothes... it seems like some kind of new fetish. Now on his things your next smell. It's fucking exciting...

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

It makes no difference. The place does not depend on the amount of pleasure received from the process. True, you still have to find compromises. Because if it is convenient for him to hold your legs, simultaneously entering your bosom again and again, then it is quite problematic for you to be in the air, holding on to his shoulders. Thus, you get less pleasure. But do not think, he is not a rabbit, to fuck you wherever he wants, the guy will definitely ask if you want it. And yes, he does have a line between "normal" and "too public."

M = Motivation

All your movements are in clothes, which emphasizes the whole aesthetics of your body. As if hypnotized, Itadori watches your curves, how they change when you change posture or movement. When you are in your underwear, you specifically approach him and start to flirt playfully. When you wear his things, as mentioned by the way earlier. And oh shit, how turns him on when you show yourself a new swimsuit and ask to rate.

N = No (Which won't do)

Anything that will harm you. It doesn't matter whether it's big or small. If Yuji feels that he can be rude to you, then he will definitely warn you to tell when it hurts. After all, on the verge of orgasm, he may not notice that you are uncomfortable or unpleasant.

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

More is to give. His head is blown away because you are moaning his name sweetly and loudly, demanding more. Your morning kiss and praise for being amazing last night will give him confidence. And then, perhaps, your next night will be even better than the previous one.

Although one should not ignore his desires with needs. The guy will be very upset if, for some reason, you do not give him pleasure with oral sex.

P = Pace

In this he is a real professional Yuji knows perfectly well how to stretch pleasure and orgasm as much as he wants. A small effort of will is enough for him, which he has at least a spoonful.

At first he will start with smooth movements, and then gradually accelerate. At the same time, it will be easy to prolong your pleasure, because you will feel the strongest sexual charge directed in your direction. And with each strong orgasm, you will experience not only physical, but also mental pleasure.

Q = Quickie

From slow and smooth thrusts to wet and hot suddenness, it makes you feel your own intoxication, as if you are high. Superhuman abilities do give good results. As it turned out, not only in sports.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

In other matters, he is unlikely to refuse, since he himself has long wanted this. But Itadori is a responsible person, so he will think a hundred times and make sure that you accept the offer accurately. Do not be surprised that he will act agitated during such sex. He, like you, understands that this risk is serious and can create real problems.

S = Stamina (Stamina)

You should prepare caffeine and energy drinks, as this machine will squeeze everything out of itself, despite the fact that you yourself were exhausted already in the third round. He will not be enough all the time, and if you ever start to black out from fatigue, the guy will scream that he has not finished yet. It even forces you to limit the number of your intercourse per week, as his stamina is exhausting. And you've told him about it more than once.

T = Toys

In this regard, Yuji is more cunning and impudent. He always refuses to have toys for himself, although he himself does not mind tormenting you with a vibrator or even slipping it into your panties, justifying this by the fact that he does this to keep you close, at the same time showing his concern for you, flickering his ghost in your head. But he's not lucky that you're not such a naive fool. Despite this, the guy gets hit on the head, with a very convincing request never to do this again.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

Very much not even against, but not much into it. Over time, it bothers both you and him, and all actions cease to be unpredictable.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

Pretty loud. But in the volume of your moans, you take over.

They start with stifled growls, to groans because of how fucking amazing and sexy you are. And it all ends like a sugary, but trustworthy silence. Your loud moans of pleasure are a sign that you both were good.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

Once there was a case where Yuji could not come. He felt that he could not come even if he wanted to. His arms and legs seemed to be glued together, and he himself froze. I started to panic, think of reasons in my head. You, in turn, noticed this too, and when you asked what was the matter, Itadori turned pale and speechless. After that, he sat down on the bed, and here you started to worry. It turned out that he had masturbated too much over the past month, which has formed a habit of certain stimulation of the penis. At the news, you laughed, and he blushed. But at the same moment he exhaled with satisfaction. The guy was glad that the reason was not in you and not in his health.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

16 cm. During erection ± 2.5

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

Sex serves him for several purposes: relieving stress, sexual tension, just as a way to prove his love for you... Sometimes the beginning of sexual intercourse depends on his arousal. But for your sake, he's trying his best to hold back. Resorted to masturbation instead of sex, but as you already know, even this has its own problems. Seeing him so depressed, you also do not bypass the mutual concern. Even if you don't really want to do this or you are not in the mood, you will never refuse him. Although you will never let him relax and stop controlling himself. Do not miss the opportunity to talk to him about this, because, of course, he also needs it - to get rid of an inferiority complex and so on...

Overall, ± 8/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

Quite surprisingly, even in spite of his endless chatter before going to bed, as soon as he put his head on the pillow and lean on you, he falls asleep instantly. You feel him in your arms like a small hyperactive child who constantly wants to tell you something or, out of habit, make a row. And myself in his arms — protected by a large and strong wall.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk itadori #jjk yuji #itadori yuuji imagines #itadori yuji x reader #alphabet

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pluviophile-imagines · 4 years

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In Your Arms: Shigaraki

In Your Arms: a collection of short fics about cuddling with various characters. Find the masterlist here. This one does double duty as my contribution to another BNHA Sanctuary collab, with fics based around the prompt “[....] is concerned because Y/N isn't sleeping.“ The masterlist for that is here!

You’re being annoying.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. You’re not being annoying, which is annoying. Tomura hadn’t come all the way to your apartment for you to ignore him and focus on studying. He’d come all the way here to ignore you and focus on playing video games, and act irritated by the way you’d slowly drape yourself over him more and more until you’d sit completely in his lap, obscuring his view and forcing him to put down the game in favor of paying attention to you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

You’re not supposed to be laying sprawled out on your stomach with your textbooks and laptop out in front of you, only just touching him with a single bare foot draped over the back of the bed.

He can’t focus on his game when you’re being so difficult. His character dies again—jumps straight into a pit of lava—and he huffs at the grating death riff that plays over the all too familiar game-over screen. He starts the level again. It’s the sixth time.

When he’d sent you his usual im coming over text, he’d been surprised and slightly offended when you’d responded by telling him you were busy. He hadn’t seen it until he was at your townhouse, though, and your window was open like it always is when you invite him in, so he’d climbed up the trellis and slipped through. You’d greeted him with a tired, distracted murmur and hadn’t addressed him since, aside from pushing yourself down as he took his usual seat at the foot of your bed to nudge his shoulder just barely.

What are you studying for, again? Some big important exam for your hardest class, or so you’d told him. He doesn’t understand why you bother going to university; it’s not as if you’ll be needing a degree when you’re spending the rest of your life at his side. He also knows how much it means to you, though, and despite how he personally feels about higher education he doesn’t want you to fail. You’d be devastated. Beyond that, he does want you to succeed in the things you care about.

Tomura’s character dies again. This time he quits, growling and tossing the controller to the side. He doesn’t even bother turning off the console as he whips about where he’s seated to glare at you over the edge of the bed.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s moved. That in itself makes his annoyance surge; he’s glaring harder as you flip over. When you begin to pull your legs back to sit up he surges forward to grab them and prevent you from moving away from him—carefully, always carefully, pinky fingers raised despite the double-digit gloves he wears to prevent any accidents.

“I told you I was busy,” you huff. “Not my fault you came over anyway.”

“You said you wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I don’t mind it, I like spending time with you even when I have to be working on other things.”

“You’ve been working on other things for six days,” he grumbles. Nearly a week. This is his first time seeing you in nearly a week. It’s a miracle he hasn’t died from lack of attention, and you’re lecturing him on giving you space? His reasons for coming over aren’t even that selfish, damn you and your supernatural ability to make him drop everything to make sure you’re okay.

But he’d been able to tell that you weren’t okay even through the phone. You’re exhausted, and it’s even more obvious now that he’s in your room with a good look at your face.

So Tomura doesn’t let you go back to your work. He tightens his grip on your legs instead (still cautious, constantly cautious, with six digits rather than ten, pinkies and ring fingers raised) and doesn’t wait for you to protest before he yanks you off the bed.

Your yelp is cute. Everything about you is cute, of course, but there’s something he particularly likes about the way your voice is laced with surprised laughter as he snatches you bodily from your place on your bed and drags you down into his lap. It’s clumsy despite (or rather because of) how careful he is with his deadly grip, and you end up turned around with your back along his legs and your feet propped up on the end of the bed.

“How much have you slept since we last hung out?”

You pout, clearly aware that he won’t like the answer.

“Brat,” he rasps, “studying is useless if you pass out during the exam.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, then?”

Well, he can’t let you get away with that. You forget he’s an S-rank villain.

He stands suddenly, arms strong around your torso as he lifts you and throws you back onto your bed. Again, you yelp; but you’re long used to his manhandling by now, and you’ve told him how much you like it, so he knows the shriek is mostly for show. You turn around, making to go back to your notes, and though he’s well aware you’re not actually intending to return to your studying he still lunges faster than you to shove all your supplies off the bed.

“Tomura!” you whine—he can hear that you’re half serious now, and six months ago when all this was still new he might have paused to apologize, but instead he just grabs you again to pull you under the covers with him.

It’s sufficiently distracting. All thoughts of your studies have clearly been dashed from your mind as he rolls over to hold you on top of him, chest-to-chest, thick quilt and soft sheets covering the pair of you.

Tomura can’t help himself as he tucks his head in the crook of your neck, burying his face against your soft skin. It’s always a little overwhelming simply being in your room, but your scent surrounds him now, both from the bed he’s holding you hostage in and you yourself.

It’s warm too, pleasantly so; so often Tomura feels chilled to the bone, but that’s rarely the case when you’re around, always sharing your body heat with him in one way or another.

Your arms move to drape over his shoulders. You prop yourself up slightly, staring down at him as he pulls his head back to look up at you. He’s come to know you well enough to recognize that you’re planning something; he tightens his hold on you, preparing for you to make a getaway attempt, not that you stand a chance to get very far against his strength and reflexes.

“You’re not leaving. We’re sleeping.”

You hum in response, an acquiescence (though he doesn’t loosen his grip, less because he’s afraid you’ll leave now and more simply because he likes the feeling of you in his arms). He holds you like that for a time, listening to or perhaps more feeling the soft rhythmic beat of your heart against his chest and your quiet, steady breath.

One of your hands moves, tracing down the side of his face, thumb reaching across to brush over the scar on his eye and then doing the same further downward to its companion on his lip. Then it drops, finding a permanent resting spot on his chest, heavy palm warming him over his heart.

You lean in. His eyes flutter closed, sight going dark so that he can focus on his other senses—the weight of you on him, the smell of your shampoo, the brief little sound you make in the back of your throat that he’s come to learn means you think he’s being cute.

Your lips land on his scarred eye, featherlight and fleeting, a brush of a kiss. Then they’re just below his mouth, an identical kiss on what you affectionately call his beauty mark. Finally, they press to the corner of his mouth, that other scar (he used to be self conscious of it, frankly, but you don’t even have to tell him just how much you like it, he’s figured that out on his own thanks to how much attention you give the little blemish and your minute reactions every time you get the chance to feel it).

You’re sluggish as you pull back. You’re finally feeling the exhaustion, he can tell. He should really let you sleep, that’s why he’s here and forced you into bed with him in the first place, but he follows your lips anyway.

It’s a sweet kiss, slow and languid but not entirely passionless as his hand slides up your spine to find home on the back of your neck. He can feel you melt into him, letting him take the lead and relinquishing any active part in the process to him. Your heat seeps into him. He doesn’t get tired much, but at times like these your own exhaustion affects him, bidding him to follow you into dreamland—not that he’d ever complain about sleeping with you.

When the pair of you separate, you all but fall onto him, finally letting your heavy eyelids close as you bury your face into his marked neck. You mumble something into the skin there, almost too quiet to hear; a slurred out, “G’night.”

Tomura turns his head into you to press a kiss to your temple as he succumbs to your siren call and joins you in slumber, voice impossibly low so you won’t hear (though he knows you will anyway, perceptive as you are). “Sleep well, player two.”

#bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki imagines #shimura tenko x reader #shimura tenko x you #shimura tenko imagines #mine.🌧#char.🌧 shigaraki #fic.🌧 in your arms

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klaineownsmysoul · 3 years

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I was the anon that asked about why D agreed to certain things and your response was well thought out, but here I am again asking myself the same thing because it’s one thing to tell that gross story and another to say you think it’s cool and those who don’t are lame. This is not the D I want to be a fan of and I hate that it seems his surroundings aren’t changing anytime soon

Thank you! I think the feeling you expressed - that this isn't the D you want to be a fan of - is something a lot of his long time fans feel. Or perhaps even more accurate - that there's no room in his fandom for us anymore, as it only seems to want to cater to the psycho teens on twitter and tiktok who run red hot and ice cold when it comes to whether they like him or hate him. Those aren't fans. I don't know what they are frankly, but they're certainly not something you can build a fandom around and count on for support. They're too busy calling him their bestie and flailing over any appearance or mention of her to actually be invested in him. Or digging up ancient photos of him and then having a god damned meltdown over them even though you purposely went looking for something to crucify him over. Then you spent hours whining about how heartbroken you are and calling him the most vile things while saying that anyone who remains a fan after that is dead to you. This is who his pr is aimed at now - people who think public pee stories are hilarious and cute and of course #goals. Not the people who've been with him since Starkid and Glee. Not the people who booked trips to see him in Hedwig on Broadway or when he toured the West Coast. Not the people who watched every second of his performance on ACS with baited breath. I don't think I would have found this story cool when I was 12. Its not like she was sick; this was a choice she made because she couldn't be bothered finding a bathroom. Not sure why not appreciating that makes me lame? I've gone to concerts. I've been to places where bathrooms weren't available on every corner. But I've never resorted to this and then publicized it like it was something to be proud of. You want me think she's sort of lady or any kind of a match for him? Stop sharing shit like this that just reinforces that everything I already think of her is true. If he wants to be taken seriously as an actor, then stuff like this needs to stay underwraps and away from his image. But that's hard to do when the cause of it is velcroed to him 24 hours a day. Can you think of any other mid-30s professional who shares public urination stories about their spouse with the world? Me either.

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jellysharkbat · 4 years

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I’m going to preface this with: I’m not a fan of call-out posts. I’m going to post on one topic in this post, and another topic in a different post. I put up a read more so you don’t all get slammed by a all of text. Because I like to think I’m polite like that. ;)

Adding a second preface: I’m probably going to reblog or like stuff from people you may not personally agree with. I’m liking and reblogging because I like the work, not because I’m in love with the creator. People still like John Lennon’s music and he beat women.

Anyways, here goes for anyone who wants to read.

Okay, as much as I hate confrontation and do my best to avoid it, I can’t let this one lay. It’s just unfair all so many levels. I’m going to focus on Cullen, since he’s one of my favorites, and I don’t know the other characters mentioned (and those not mentioned) as well.

My, like many others, blog is nsfw. It’s 18+. I’m going to assume that anyone who follows me is an adult. And I’m going to pretend that anyone who isn’t, doesn’t. I am going to post things that are violent in nature and- here’s the one everyone’s super focused on- sex. Because I’m an adult. If I want to read about sex, I will. If I want to write about sex, I will. Because I’m an adult. And there is nothing wrong with sex.

There have been some names named and shamed for portraying characters as “hypersexualized”.

I have one answer to that: so what?

It’s no big deal if Cullen is portrayed as virginal or a sex god. He is not real. I’m going to repeat that: Cullen Rutherford is fake. He is fictional. He does not exist. He, like everyone else, is a character from a video game. We love him, but he is not real. He doesn’t have thoughts of his own, he doesn’t have feelings, he doesn’t have a life. He is a work of fiction created by Bioware.

I’m going to say this one more time: Characters from Dragon Age are not real. Stop acting like they are real people.

The great thing about fandoms is that we can take a character we like, and do whatever we want with them. If we want to fix inconsistencies that the creators didn’t, we can. If we want to fill in the gaps about their lives, we can do that. If we want to pluck them out of their canonical universe and put them in a new one, we can do that. If we want to rewrite stuff about them, we can do that. We own that creativity.

One of the biggest reasons for this “outcry” is that Cullen Rutherford was sexually assaulted and/or raped.

As far as I am aware, there is no canonical evidence to support this claim. Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.

His sexual trauma is something we assumed happened. We imagine that a character from a video game was treated horribly. Is it likely that this happened? Sure. I think we can all agree that it’s probable that the desire demon did more than mess with his mind. The implication is there. But we can’t confirm it. We can’t look at something and point to it as hard-based evidence. Because there is none.

We made it up.

Just like Scout Jim, we created that trauma. We want that trauma to exist.

We created it, and we can take it away.

I’m also going to say this: even if canon supported our theory, it wouldn’t matter. As fanfic writers and artists, we can change whatever we want. We can portray Cullen Rutherford’s personality, and other characters, however we want. Because he’s not real.

But the sexual assault! What about that?

You mean the sexual assault that never happened in real life? Because he’s not a real person? It doesn’t matter.

Should we approach the subject of sexual assault with respect to those who survived it? Yes. Because that is a real, traumatic experience a real individual went through. And their experience in such an attack should be handled according to that person’s wishes.

Does that mean the moment a work of fiction which may or may not involve it, it needs to be treated like glass? No. Because it didn’t happen in real life. And since it’s a work of fiction, we as creators don’t always need to pay attention to it or make it true for every single universe that includes Cullen Rutherford.

Some people might want to portray it as real as possible, others might want to eliminate it completely. There’s nothing wrong with either choice.

I’m going to assume that a most people have never experience sexual assault and/or rape. Have some people been harassed? Unfortunately, yes. But it is not true of the vast majority of us, and harassment (while a violation in its own right) is not the same as someone physically putting their hands on you. Most of us have no idea what it is like to be assaulted or raped. None. Nothing we imagine will ever compare to the real thing. We don’t know what it’s like, and therefore we will never portray it accurately. And quite frankly, I can’t imagine anyone who would want to know. I’m happy to keep the bad portrayals because it means no actual crime happened.

Even if we did know, real people react differently. Rape survivors do not all behave one way. They do not act one way, all the time. How they respond to anything will depend on their situation, their experience, their current circumstance, their comfort. You can stick two people in a room, have those people be raped in the same exact manner, and put them in a new situation which may or may not force them to think about what happened to them. And they’ll respond differently. Because they are different people. Sometimes they want no sex, sometimes they want all the sex. And that changes day to day, like it does for many people.

To tell them that they can never act any other way is an insult to them and what they survived. You should be ashamed of implying or outright stating that. How dare you slap them in the face.

That, however, is a real person. As I said, Cullen is not real. He is written and portrayed again and again by many different people. He is always going to be different from one portrayal to the next compared to his canonical, in-game self. Are there extremes? Sure. But I dare you to show me a fandom where there aren’t extremes. And in the end, it doesn’t matter if those extremes exist.

No one is actually being hurt (unless you’re a sick mofo and like writing your irl crimes…). It’s fiction. Fake. Not. Real.

If I want to write something about Cullen being violently raped, I can. If I want to pretend he was never abused in any way, I can. If I want to imagine him being sexually crazed, I can. If I want to rip off an arm and make him a eunuch, I can.

Because it’s all fake.

The beauty of fiction is that we created ways so people aren’t surprised by stuff they may not want to see. We created filters. We created blacklists. We created tags. Did we have to? No. You don’t go to a library or a bookstore and expect to see tags or filters, do you? Because those things don’t exist for books. You would just pick up a book and accept whatever is written inside. We didn’t have to do that. But we did. Because we want people to be comfortable, and have fun.

If you don’t like the way someone is portraying how you think- ah. That bit is important. I’m going to repeat myself again: If you don’t like the way someone is portraying how you think they should, that is on you. You have the expectation of something. It is no one’s responsibility but your own to cater to that expectation.

People aren’t creating works involving characters like Cullen solely for your, individual pleasure. How arrogant for you to think so.We are creating many versions of a fictional person in hopes that someone else might like that version and will share their own. We should not go around pretending that only one version is the True Correct Version.

That’s the kind of shit religions do. They love purity crusades.And that’s exactly what this seems to be to me. It’s not outrage because of how people portray a fictional character, it’s an outrage because some people don’t want to admit that they have a problem with other people freely enjoying sex.

You don’t own any of Bioware’s characters. You alone do not have the final say on what happens to a character outside of canonical information, or how that character should behave 100% of the time. And you have no right to harass people because they don’t have the same Vision you do.

If something like sexual assault was truly triggering for you, and not just something offensive to your delicate sensibilities, I’m going to say you probably wouldn’t search for it. You’d find ways to filter it out. And you would accept that if something does slip through, it’s no one’s fault. People can write or draw characters in whatever situation they want. You need to acknowledge that sometimes there will be something that you won’t like and if you still see it, because no one is obligated to do anything for you.

But we will, and we try. Because in general, the majority of us care. We want to have fun. We can adjust some things if asked. Nicely. Because a lot of us realize that not everyone is going to like the same thing. People are different and will have different tastes.

One more, final point: What someone writes or draws is not indicative of who they are as a person. I write and think about a lot of stuff. I’m a curious person. I want to be able to imagine what would happen in whatever scenario I create, good or bad. I have favorite characters. Because I like those characters, I like sticking them in the scenarios I create because I want to know how they would react. It doesn’t matter if it’s something soft and sweet or a rape roleplay. What that is has nothing to do with who I am. That goes for everyone else.

So let me tell you a little something about myself, since you have no other way of knowing if I don’t specifically tell you:

I am shy. I am quiet. I don’t like picking fights. I don’t speak eloquently. I am a pushover.

And sometimes- a lot of the time- I want my favorite fictional character Cullen Rutherford to act out a “hypersexualized” fantasy of mine.

#ngl #a little bit interested to see if I'll get a reasonable #actual adult answer to this #and not teenage hysteria #If you think differently #please tell me why #I like hearing other people's opinions #seriously #cullen rutherford #dragon age #you do realize that if you don't like something #you can ask for it to be tagged so you can blacklist it right?#this is very much a grow up and deal with it thing

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silvokrent · 3 years

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RWBY Character Analysis: Pietro and Penny Polendina

Up until now I’ve been keeping quiet about my opinions on the newest volume, in no small part because my personal life has been one absurd setback after another, and I haven’t had the energy to engage in fandom meta. If you do want to know what my current opinion of RWBY is, go over to @itsclydebitches blog, search through her #rwby-recaps tag, and read every single one. At this point, her metas are basically an itemized list of all my grievances with the show. I highly recommend you check ’em out.

Or, if you don’t feel like reading several hours’ worth of recaps, then go find a sheet of paper, give yourself a papercut, and then squeeze a lemon into it. That should give you an accurate impression of my feelings.

In truth, I have a lot to say about the show, particularly how I think CRWBY has mishandled the plot, characters, tone, and intended message of their series. And while I enjoy dissecting RWBY with what amounts to mad scientist levels of glee, I think plenty of other folks have already discussed V7′s and V8′s various issues in greater depth and with far more eloquence. Any contribution I could theoretically make at this point would be somewhat redundant.

That being said, I’d like to talk about something that’s been bothering me for a while, which (to my knowledge) no one else in the fandom has brought up. (And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.)

Today’s topic of concern is Pietro Polendina, and his relationship with Penny.

And because I’m absolutely certain this post is going to be controversial and summon anonymous armchair critics to fill my inbox with sweary claptrap, I may as well just come out and say it:

Pietro Polendina, as he’s currently portrayed in the show, is an inherently abusive parental figure.

Let me take a second to clarify that I don’t think it was RWBY’s intention to portray Pietro that way. Much like other aspects of the show, a lot of nuance is often lost when discussing the difference between intention versus implementation, or telling versus showing. It’s what happens when a writer tries to characterize a person one way, but in execution portrays them in an entirely different light. Compounding this problem is what feels like a series of rather myopic writing decisions that started as early as Volume 2, concerning Penny’s sense of agency, and how the canon would bear out the implications of an autonomous being grappling with her identity. It’s infuriating that the show has spent seven seasons staunchly refusing to ask any sort of ethical questions surrounding her existence, only to then—with minimal setup—give us Pietro’s “heartfelt” emotional breakdown when he has to choose between “saving” Penny or “sacrificing” her for the greater good.

Yeah, no thanks.

If we want to talk about why this moment read as hollow and insincere, we need to first make sure everyone’s on the same page.

Spoilers for V8.E5 - “Amity.” Let’s not waste any time.

In light of the newest episode and its—shall we say—questionable implications, I figured now was the best time to bring it up while the thoughts were still fresh in my mind. (Because nothing generates momentum quite like frothing-at-the-mouth rage.)

The first time we’re told anything about Pietro, it comes from an exchange between Penny and Ruby. From V2.E2 - “A Minor Hiccup.”

Penny: I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but... You have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot.

Ruby: Believe me, I know the feeling. But why not let us know you were okay?

Penny: I…was asked not to talk to you. Or Weiss. Or Blake. Or Yang. Anybody, really.

Ruby: Was your dad that upset?

Penny: No, it wasn’t my father.

The scene immediately diverts our attention to a public unveiling of the AK-200. A hologram of James Ironwood is presenting this newest model of Atlesian Knight to a crowd of enthusiastic spectators, along with the Atlesian Paladin, a piloted mech. During the demonstration, James informs his audience that Atlas’ military created them with the intent of removing people from the battlefield and mitigating casualties (presumably against Grimm).

Penny is quickly spotted by several soldiers, and flees. Ruby follows, and in the process the two are nearly hit by a truck. Penny’s display of strength draws a crowd and prompts her to retreat into an alley, where Ruby learns that Penny isn’t “a real girl.”

This scene continues in the next episode, “Painting the Town…”

Penny: Most girls are born, but I was made. I’m the world’s first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura. [Averts her gaze.] I’m not real…

After Ruby assures her that no, you don’t have to be organic in order to have personhood, Penny proceeds to hug her with slightly more force than necessary.

Ruby: [Muffled noise of pain.] I can see why your father would want to protect such a delicate flower!

Penny: [Releases Ruby.] Oh, he’s very sweet! My father’s the one that built me! I’m sure you would love him.

Ruby: Wow. He built you all by himself?

Penny: Well, almost! He had some help from Mr. Ironwood.

Ruby: The general? Wait, is that why those soldiers were after you?

Penny: They like to protect me, too!

Ruby: They don't think you can protect yourself?

Penny: They're not sure if I'm ready yet. One day, it will be my job to save the world, but I still have a lot left to learn. That's why my father let me come to the Vytal Festival. I want to see what it's like in the rest of the world, and test myself in the Tournament.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the approaching soldiers from earlier. Despite Ruby’s protests, Penny proceeds to yeet her into the nearby dumpster, all while reassuring her that it’s to keep Ruby out of trouble, not her. When the soldiers arrive, they ask her if she’s okay, then proceed to lightly scold her for causing a scene. Penny’s told that her father “isn’t going to be happy about this,” and is then politely asked (not ordered; asked) to let them escort her back.

Let’s take a second to break down these events.

When these two episodes first aired, the wording and visuals (“No, it wasn’t my father,” followed by the cutaway to James unveiling the automatons) implied that James was the one forbidding her from interacting with other people. It’s supposed to make you think that James is being restrictive and harsh, while Pietro is meant as a foil—the sweet, but cautious father figure. But here’s the thing: both of these depictions are inaccurate, and frankly, Penny’s the one at fault here. Penny blew her cover within minutes of interacting with Ruby—a scenario that Penny was responsible for because she was sneaking off without permission. Penny is a classified, top-secret military project, as made clear by the fact that she begs Ruby to not say anything to anyone. Penny is in full acknowledgement that her existence, if made public, could cause massive issues for her (something that she’s clearly experienced before, if her line, “You’re taking this extraordinarily well,” is anything to go by).

But here’s the thing—keeping Penny on a short leash wasn’t a unilateral decision made by James. That was Pietro’s choice as well. “My father asked me not to venture out too far,” “Your father isn’t going to be happy about this”—as much as this scene is desperately trying to put the onus on James for Penny’s truant behavior, Pietro canonically shares that blame. And Penny (to some extent) is in recognition of the fact that she did something wrong.

Back in Volumes 1 – 3, before the series butchered James’ characterization, these moments were meant as pretty clever examples of foreshadowing and subverting the controlling-military-general trope. This scene is meant to illustrate that yes, Penny is craving social interaction outside of military personnel as a consequence of being hidden, but that hiding her is also a necessity. It’s a complicated situation with no easy answer, but it’s also something of a necessary evil (as Penny’s close call with the truck and her disclosing that intel to Ruby are anything to go by).

Let’s skip ahead to Volume 7, shortly after Watts tampered with the drone footage and framed her for several deaths. In V7.E7 - “Worst Case Scenario,” a newscaster informs us that people in Atlas and Mantle want Penny to be deactivated, despite James’ insistence that the footage was doctored and Penny didn’t go on a killing spree. The public’s unfavorable opinion of Penny—a sentiment that Jacques of all people embodies when he brings it up in V7.E8—reinforces V2’s assessment of why keeping her secret was necessary. Not only is her existence controversial because Aura research is still taboo, but people are afraid that a mechanical person with military-grade hardware could be hacked and weaponized against them. (Something which Volume 8 actually validates when James has Watts take control of her in the most recent episode.)

But I digress.

We’re taken to Pietro’s lab, where Penny is hooked up to some sort of recharge/docking station. Ruby, Weiss, and Maria look on in concern while the machine is uploading the visual data from her systems. There’s one part of their conversation I want to focus on in particular:

Pietro: When the general first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration.

Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul.

Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. Much to my surprise, the Penny Project was chosen over all the other proposals.

Allow me to break down their conversation so we can fully appreciate what he’s actually saying.

The Penny Project was picked as the candidate for the next breakthrough in defense technology.

Pietro wanted a protector with a SOUL.

In RWBY, Aura and souls are one of the defining characteristics of personhood. Personhood is central to Penny’s identity and internal conflict (particularly when we consider that she’s based on Pinocchio). That’s why Penny accepts Ruby’s reassurances that she’s a real person. That’s why she wants to have emotional connections with others.

What makes that revelation disturbing is when you realize that Pietro knowingly created a child soldier.

Look, there’s no getting around this. Pietro fully admits that he wanted to create a person—a human being—a fucking child—as a "defense technology” to throw at the Grimm (and by extension, Salem). Everything, from the language he uses, to the mere fact that he entered Penny in the Vytal Tournament as a proving ground where she could “test [her]self,” tells us that he either didn’t consider or didn’t care about the implications behind his proposal.

When you break it all down, this is what we end up with:

“Hey, I have an idea: Why don’t we make a person, cram as many weapons as we can fit into that person, and then inform her every day for the rest of her life that she was built for the sole purpose of fighting monsters, just so we don’t have to risk the lives of others. Let’s then take away anything remotely resembling autonomy, minimize her interactions with people, and basically indoctrinate her into thinking that this is something she wants for herself. Oh, and in case she starts to raise objections, remind her that I donated part of my soul to her. If we make her feel guilty about this generous sacrifice I made so she could have the privilege of existing, she won’t question our motives. Next, let’s give her a taste of freedom by having her fight in a gladiatorial blood sport so that we can prove our child soldier is an effective killer. And then, after she’s brutally murdered on international television, we can rebuild her and assign her to protecting an entire city that’s inherently prejudiced against her, all while I brood in my lab about how sad I am.”

Holy fuck. Watts might be a morally bankrupt asshole, but at least his proposal didn’t hinge on manufacturing state-of-the-art living weapons. They should have just gone with his idea.

(Which, hilariously enough, they did. Watts is the inventor of the Paladins—Paladins which, I’ll remind you, were invented so the army could remove people from the battlefield. You know, people. Kind of like what Penny is.)

Do you see why this entire scene might have pissed me off? Even if the show didn’t intend for any of this to be the case, when you think critically about the circumstances there’s no denying the tacit implications.

To reiterate, V8.E5 is the episode where Pietro says, and I quote:

“I don’t care about the big picture! I care about my daughter! I lost you before. Are you asking me to go through that again? No. I want the chance to watch you live your life.”

Oh, yeah? And what life is that? The one where she’s supposed to kill Grimm and literally nothing else? You do realize that she died specifically because you made her for the purpose of fighting, right?

No one, literally no one, was holding a gun to Pietro’s head and telling him that he had to build a living weapon. That was his idea. He chose to do that.

Remember when Cinder said, “I don’t serve anyone! And you wouldn’t either, if you weren��t built that way.” She…basically has a point. Penny has never been given the option to explore the world in a capacity where she wasn’t charged with defending it by her father. We know she doesn’t have many friends, courtesy of Ironwood dissuading her against it in V7. But I’m left with the troubling realization that the show (and the fandom), in their crusade to vilify James, are ignoring the fact that Pietro is also complicit in this behavior by virtue of being her creator. If we condemn the man that prevents Penny from having relationships, then what will we do to the man who forced her into that existence in the first place?

Being her “father” has given him a free pass to overlook the ethics of having a child who was created with a pre-planned purpose. How the hell did the show intend for Pietro to reconcile “I want you to live your life” with “I created you so you’d spend your life defending the world”? It viscerally reminds me of the sort of narcissistic parents who have kids because they want to pass on the family name, or continue their bloodline, or have live-in caregivers when they get older, only on a larger and much more horrific scale. And that’s fucked up.

Now, I’m not saying I’m against having a conflict like this in the show. In fact, I’d love to have a character who has to grapple with her own humanity while questioning the environment she grew up in. Penny is a character who is extremely fascinating because of all the potential she represents—a young woman who through a chance encounter befriends a group of strangers, and over time, is exposed to freedoms and friendships she was previously denied. Slowly, she begins to unlearn the mindset she was indoctrinated with, and starts to petition for agency and autonomy. Pietro is forced to confront the fact that what he did was traumatic and cruel, and that his love for her doesn’t erase the harm he unintentionally subjected her to, nor does it change the fact that he knowingly burdened a person with a responsibility she never consented to. There’s a wealth of character growth and narrative payoff buried here, but like most things in RWBY, it was either underdeveloped or not thought through all the way.

The wholesome father-daughter relationship the show wants Pietro and Penny to have is fundamentally contradicted by the nature of her existence, and the fact that no one (besides the villains) calls attention to it. I’d love for them to have that sort of dynamic, but the show had to do more to earn it. Instead, it’ll forever be another item on RWBY’s ever-growing list of disappointments—

Because Pietro’s remorse is more artificial than Penny could ever hope to be.

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby spoilers #rwby thought dump #my posts #i speak #rwby meta #pietro polendina #penny polendina #james ironwood #arthur watts #ruby rose #rwby worldbuilding #rwde

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the-currian · 3 years

Text

Finally emptied my askbox!

Well, to be more accurate, I finished all my requests. The askbox ate the original ask, so shoutout to the anon who wanted Hisoka angst!

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Hisoka x Reader

It was insidious.

At first your curiosity was small. Harmless. When you heard the up-and-coming Mankai Company was having an act-off against the famed God Troupe, you knew that you had to catch both their performances. God Troupe’s performance was flashy and impactful as always, and while the leads of Mankai had a subtle flair of their own, it was one of their supporting cast members that truly caught your eye. You were captivated by his unique stage presence. He appeared confident and secure in his acting but underneath it all you could sense a hint of sadness that drew you in further.

To your shock and utter delight, he plays one of the leads in his sub-troupe’s next play.

“Hisoka…” you whisper to yourself as you trace the actor’s name on the flyer you received.

His gaze pierced straight through your heart, leading you to make an impulsive decision. Quickly scrounging up what leftover funds you had for the month, you resolve to attend all of their performances.

Watching Hisoka act night after night onstage makes your heart bleed for this man that you hadn’t even officially met. Again, you resonate with the melancholic aura that he gives off. It’s silly, really – the most interaction you’ve had with him was at the end of each play when the actors went to the lobby to personally thank and see their patrons off, yet there was just something so hauntingly beautiful about the man, and before you knew it you were drawn in deep.

You wanted to know more.

Days pass after the play’s closing night and you feel as if you’re in a drought – deprived of your favorite muse.

‘Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I should just keep this admiration as a fan, after all.’

Trying to lift up your spirits, you visit a newly opened cat café. As you walk through the doors, a paw-shaped bell gently chimes and a smile blooms on your face. Immediately, you are comforted by the mellow atmosphere that the establishment exudes. While you take your time to observe the café, a white Japanese bobtail cat walks up to you and gently nuzzles your leg, trying to grab your attention. You slowly squat down to pet the feline and it purrs at your touch.

“Welcome.” a familiar voice greets you sleepily.

Looking up, you yelp in surprise and fall onto your bum at the realization that the worker in front of you is Hisoka. Unperturbed, the fluffy cat you were petting moves over to plop down into your lap.

“Marshmallow.” Hisoka chides lightly, picking up the fur ball and cradling it in his arms. “You’re not supposed to play with the customers until they’ve gotten a table.”

The cat mewls lowly in response, and your heartbeat quickens at the affectionate smile that spreads on Hisoka’s face.

“I’m surprised that Marshmallow has taken a liking to you so easily.” He mumbles, shooting you a curious glance. “Anyway, please follow me to sign a waiver for playing with the cats.”

You quickly read through the document and sign the paper without fuss. Hisoka looks over it and nods before leading you to a table low enough for you to interact with the cats but still kneel comfortably.

Somehow, amidst your internal freak-out, you manage to address Hisoka, “Do you have any recommendations?”

His eyes immediately light up and you find his giddiness to be infectious as he lists several suggestions. “The hot chocolate with marshmallow crème is good. So is the s’mores cupcake – they put a giant toasted marshmallow on top. Oh, but the chocolate marshmallow mousse is also one of our best-sellers…”

You stifle a laugh and scratch the ears of the fluffy white cat in your lap. “I take it that you’re the one that named Marshmallow, then?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I get carried away again? The manager says I need to work on that. Something about how not all people would want to eat marshmallows when they’re here, which is ridiculous.” Hisoka mutters the last sentence under his breath, but you still manage to catch what he says and find it quite endearing paired with the pout on his face.

“It’s fine. Those all sound amazing, and I’m going to be here awhile, so I’ll have those three that you mentioned.” You say with what you hope is a reassuring smile.

“Okay. I’ll be back with your marshmallows soon.” He quirks a shy smile before heading back to the kitchen with your order.

Once he’s out of sight you let out a huge sigh, grabbing at your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow down. As if sensing your distress, Marshmallow meows loudly and rubs his head against your hand.

“Alright, alright.” You murmur in a placating tone and obligingly scratch behind Marshmallow’s ears. He makes a satisfied chirping noise in response. Minutes pass by as you absentmindedly pet the cat while you take in the café’s ambience.

Hisoka returns with a serving tray full of marshmallow treats as promised, and your mouth waters as he sets them on the table. You turn your gaze away from the table to thank Hisoka but find that he is also transfixed on your food. A pout appears on his face and the gaze in his eyes as he regards the marshmallows is almost longing.

Mustering up your courage, you ask, “Um… would you like to join me? I kinda just realized that this is way too much for me to finish by myself…”

Hisoka’s gaze locks onto yours, his expression the liveliest you’ve ever seen off stage. “You sure?”

Brain short-circuiting over how adorable he looks, you only barely manage to nod back.

“Hold on.” Hisoka says, rushing off to the kitchen with an unnatural speed. Before you can really process the interaction, he’s already back at your table and kneeling opposite from you. “My manager said I can take a break for a short while since there’s not too many customers right now. Thanks for sharing your marshmallows…” he trails off. Realizing you forgot to introduce yourself, you immediately do so.

He softly smiles in return. “My name is Hisoka Mikage.”

“Ah, I have to confess that I already knew that.” You laugh nervously. His eyes narrow at you in suspicion, and you honestly don’t blame him. However, the dangerous aura he suddenly exudes has you recoiling a bit. “I, uh… I’ve seen you act before in the Mankai Company.”

His demeanor relaxes ever so slightly at your explanation, but you can tell he’s still on edge.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that I’m a big fan of your acting and I can’t really believe that I’m seeing you outside of your show runs.”

Still, Hisoka remains silent, staring at you coolly from across the table. Wordlessly, you slide over the chocolate marshmallow mousse to his side as a sort of placating gesture. Hisoka’s eyes narrow even further, squinting at the dessert as if it had personally offended him.

“Is this a bribe?

“…Is it working?”

Hisoka puts a spoonful of the mousse into his mouth and hums thoughtfully as he takes his time to savor the flavor. Seconds pass agonizingly slow before he simply nods at you.

“Apology accepted.”

You feel as if a huge weight is lifted off of your shoulders.

From that day forward you get to know more about Hisoka Mikage, rather than Hisoka the Winter Troupe member of Mankai Company who you so ardently idolized.

And so what if you still idolized him for that? It’s not like it took away from the real affection you had for him as a friend.

‘Only as a friend.’ You think to yourself glumly.

You were thankful for his friendship, really. After that day you two officially met, you frequented the café quite often. In return, Hisoka would set aside his break time for whenever you stopped by. Your relationship had gotten close enough that he felt comfortable resting his head in your lap. You always teased him for this, calling him a “cuddle monster that can only be satiated by naps and marshmallows”. Hisoka has no qualms with this and completely accepts his role.

However, despite the progress you’ve made, you could sense that there’s a barrier he always had up. You could tell that he was trying but there were times that Hisoka would get a faraway look in his eyes as the two of you lazed about. It was during these moments that you felt so close but still so far from him.

One day, he decides that the two of you should hang out at a beach – which is frankly quite ridiculous given the season. Within the first few minutes of arriving, Hisoka remains silent, so you decide to tell him as such.

“So… what’s the reason for taking to me to the beach on this cold winter day?” you joke, trying to lighten the heavy aura Hisoka exudes.

His eyes suddenly snap over to yours as if broken out of a reverie. Just as you’re about to let it be – Hisoka gets into these moods at times, after all – he replies.

“This beach is a place I’ve only shared with my troupe members; it’s a significant place to who I was – to who I am. You’ve become an…” he pauses, mulling over his words carefully. “…important person to me. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about you that makes me feel safe. But–“

Filled with a surge of affection at his words, you blurt out, “Would you like to maybe make this official?”

Hisoka stares at you incomprehensively.

‘Hell, I’ve gotten this far already.’ You think to yourself, thoroughly embarrassed, but determined. ‘I may as well let it all out.’

“I’m sorry if I’m coming on too strong, but this has been on my mind for a long while. Ever since we met at the café – maybe even long before that, when I first saw your acting,” You give him a watery smile. “I was so intrigued by you. I always felt like there was something that just drew me to you. You can’t believe how ecstatic I was that we were able to become friends. But lately, it just hasn’t been enough for me. I’m sorry. I’ve fallen for you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, scared to see his reaction.

“I love you, Hisoka. If you’ll have me, I’d like the chance to make you happy as your friend, but even more so as your partner.”

Seconds tick by, your anxiety skyrocketing in the silence, when Hisoka’s words strike straight through your heart.

“I can’t.”

“…Oh.” Your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes at his rejection. “I see. I totally get it. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be obligated or anything because of my feelings. I’m sorry – “

“Wait.” Hisoka cuts you off then makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not you, I promise.” He grabs your arm causing you to freeze in place, preventing you from making your escape. “It’s not fair to you. I know it isn’t, but…”

“But?” you prompt.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” Hisoka mumbles, head bowed low, unable to look you in the eye. “…and it kills me.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“There are things that I’m still trying to figure out for myself – things I’m still trying to figure about myself. To drag you into it would be selfish of me. You don’t deserve that.”

“And if I said I didn’t care?” you sob. “What if I told you that I want to help you through it?”

Hisoka makes a pained expression at your words, letting go of your arm as if he was burned. He returns back to his shell that you so desperately tried to pull him out of. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. This is my burden to bear… I’m sorry.”

And just like that, he walks away.

The next day you go to the café where you first met. You pet Marshmallow when he comes over to you as you take a seat at your usual spot, but Hisoka never shows up.

#a3!#a3 #a3! fanfic #hisoka mikage #hisoka x reader #a3! hisoka #a3game #a3! scenarios #director make us queue

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wizardouxie · 4 years

Note

Evil Douxie AU Ash Dispersal Pattern is something I Have Not been able to stop thinking about. Just, whoever the leader is, seeing this moping emo kid working in a cafe and being like “ah. New recruit.” Douxie gets dragged along to a meeting somehow (cough Archie gently bullies him into going cough) and he picks up the guitar. For the first little while he’s grouchy and adamantly refuses to be pleasant or even civil. After he meets the old lady, his jabs start to get more friendly and 1/2

teasing and the band notices and responds in turn, until you eventually get an exchange like this: “aw, you know you love us” “...” “YOU DIDNT DENY IT” “waIT NO SHUT UP” “YOU LOVE US” etc etc and just,,, this group of college kids forcibly adopting Douxie makes me soft. How accurate would you say this is to your AU?? -M.H. Anon 2/2

VERY ACCURATE.

[ DISCLAIMER: This is... very very long. That’s all. ]

Ash Dispersal Pattern took a hard hit this year, losing their guitarist in a nasty fight after a gig. Because of that, they were forced to opt out from the Battle of the Bands. Of course then the end of the world happened three times, which also sucked.

But you know, life is too short so might as well say ‘screw it’ and find a new member right? The member that left can eat dirt for all they cared now. And so they put up flyers calling for auditions as a guitarist.

...no one shows up.

Okay so they gotta figure out a new plan. And what better place to do so than in a cafe? So here they are trying to figure out how to get a guitarist. Douxie shows up with their drinks and one of them goes “ayo what’s up!” only to receive a “tch” in response. They’re confused.

“Yo what’s his problem?”

“He’s probably having a rough day, maybe family issues?”

“I dunno man, but his hair looks sick as hell,”

And then it clicks to them. Maybe... him?

And now Douxie is surrounded by strangers that vaguely look around his age, well roughly give or take a few centuries, and he’s biting his tongue.

“I said no.” he replies firmly, backing away. He slings his jacket over his shoulder and eyes a stray black cat curled up nearby before heading on his way. Weirdos. A discussion immediately blows up among the members.

“Are you sure you wanna go with this guy? We’ve had our share of jerk guitarists,”

“Okay but can we talk about his hair? It’s so cool, I bet he has tattoos too,”

“Enough about the hair! Look this kid’s tryna play tough guy with us, but I think we can soften him up, it’ll just take some time.”

“Aight you’re the boss here, but if he screws us over, you’re taking responsibility,”

Archie overhears the conversation and smiles. These children seemed kind, and Douxie could use some normal friends. Nothing against the Arcadia gang, but they have more than enough on their plate and he can’t exactly force them to integrate the ex sorcerer into their friend group.

Douxie hates the idea. It’s stupid.

“You’ve already signed me up for two jobs and school. I don’t even need school! I have centuries worth of knowledge these mortals can’t even dream of knowing,”

“Yes, but we are trying to blend in, Douxie. And besides, I remember you used to play the lute. The guitar is quite similar I believe,”

“Arch I haven’t touched that instrument for god knows how long,”

“Have you forgotten how to play it then?”

Douxie goes quiet. Archie smiles. Well that makes his job much, much easier. He readjusts his glasses.

“I overheard their next meeting is this Thursday, and you’re going. Isn’t that convenient? You don’t work any shifts on that day. It’ll be good for you,”

“That’s what you say about everything!”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

Silence again. So Archie may have developed a talent for shutting up his familiar. He doesn’t really know if that’s a good thing, but it’s definitely frequent.

Thursday rolls in and Douxie shows up to rehearsal grudgingly. The members are surprised. He tells them not to get cozy; just wanted to try something new out. Luckily for him, the members had a backup guitar. The strings feel strange against his calloused hands but also familiar in a way. He strums a chord and a chorus of “ooooo”s fill the room.

“What? I’m competent,” he snaps. The leader raises her hand.

“Didn’t imply you weren’t.”

And so the first few weeks pass by without much conversation. Rehearsals weren’t so bad on the musical aspect; Douxie could play the guitar pretty effortlessly, much to their astonishment. They regularly complimented him even when he did things his own way rather than follow the sheet music. They rarely ever got a response though. Maybe a “hm” if they’re lucky.

Stage presence on the other hand... he was too stiff and lacked energy. Not to mention he constantly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. This was where the others started to get slightly ticked off.

“He’s sucking the life out of us dude, like we’re Ash Dispersal Pattern and he’s the freaking vacuum!” the drummer complained

“He doesn’t even sing with us! It’s supposed to be a group effort,” the bass player added.

“Yeah... honestly playing without a guitarist seems better than this,” the vocalist muttered quietly. Everyone looked at them and then the leader.

The leader pinches her nose. So that’s what they all thought huh? And as much as majority would usually win, this wasn’t what she wanted, to lose someone at such an early stage. What they’ve got going is not bad; it just could be better.

“Look, I get it, we’ve had a hard year and him being difficult doesn’t help us. But don’t you think he’s having it hard too? And we’ve all been there before. We’ve had our fights with parents, schools, society and he’s clearly going through it. Right now our best course of action is to just let it pass and let him approach us instead of coming on too strong.”

“Ah so that’s why we chose you as the leader,” the bass player jokes. The leader rolls her eyes.

“Can it, buttsnack.”

Miracles start occurring after the introduction of the little old lady. Douxie no longer keeps on a straight face. Rather, his eyes wonder curiously, mouth forming expressions that he’s not even conscious of. One day the drummer catches him... pouting. Now that’s an expression he didn’t think he’d get to see.

“You okay there, Hisirdoux? Something get you down?”

“The stairs,” he jokes halfheartedly.

He gets startled when he hears the drumsticks rattle against the floor. The drummer is running upstairs, yelling. And then he comes back dragging the leader who’s looking at him with concern.

“Yo Hisirdoux my dude, tell her what you told me!”

“He asked me if something got me down. I said the stairs. Thought it was funny,” the guitarist shrugs. The leader snorts.

“That’s the best you can do?” she comments smiling. Douxie returns the smile much to her surprise.

“Of course not, but do you deserve my best?” The drummer’s jaw drops. Oh snap. The leader on the other hand is very pleased. This is what she’s looking for.

Suddenly Douxie’s phone rings. He picks up while the others listen curiously. His face breaks out into a huge grin. It’s the little old lady.

“Hello love, I’ll pick you up in ten minutes, sound good? Just finishing up rehearsal,” he says softly.

The drummer wiggled his eyebrows at the leader.

“Ooooo we got a lovebird in the band!”

Douxie chokes.

“Are you okay Douxie?”

“Yeah, yeah, something came up but I’ll be there okay!” He ends the call promptly and shakes his head furiously.

“Aww Douxie’s such a cute name, why can’t we call you that?”

“FIRST OF ALL SHE IS NOT, ahem, she is not my girlfriend. That would be awkward because she is um, sixty to seventy years old,”

He doesn’t tell them that technically he is 919. The leader meanwhile, looks pointedly at the drummer who is slowly shrinking in his spot. Whoops. Bad call. Douxie looks at the clock. 5:20 pm. He starts packing up, slinging the guitar backpack over his shoulder.

But before he leaves, he surprises them one more time.

“You guys can call me Douxie or Doux too, by the way. The name is growing on me.”

Rehearsals are so much better after that. Douxie’s smiling and talking to them, performing much more animatedly and giving it his all. He still kinda jabs at them, but there’s no tension behind it.

Nowadays he practices at home instead of waiting for rehearsal. It’s a little hard to fit time what with schoolwork and shifts, but he makes it happen. Archie stares at him fondly. This was the life that Douxie needed. One with a balance between honest work and fun.

One day, Douxie brings in some takeout from the bistro. A little celebratory gift because Ash Dispersal Pattern finally got a successful gig after so long. They open up all the boxes, set out plates, napkins flying all over the place. It’s loud, chaotic, a little dirty, but it doesn’t matter to Douxie because he’s with his friends.

Wait.

“Dang Doux, you didn’t have to do all this but you did anyways. I bet you love us. don’t you?” the vocalist teased.

Douxie remains quiet. Friends. As in, people he really cares about and looks forward to spending time with. People who he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with. People who he --

“--LOVES US SHUT UP OH MY GOD!” the drummer yells, taking him back to reality. He looks at them with a smile and a shrug and suddenly he’s being attacked with hugs. They’re all screaming about how he’s always been soft and loved them from the start.

And then he’s crying. Everyone starts to panic and they’re scrambling off of him, asking him if he’s okay, if what they did was too much or anything like that. He shakes his head, trying to wipe his tears. It’s just... he’s never been held like this by so many people and for so long. He was so touch starved that he didn’t know what to do with this much love and appreciation. Quite frankly it’s been so long since it felt like he was truly wanted.

He tells them it’s okay, really, he was just a little overwhelmed. But now the craving for their touch is so much stronger.

“Can you hold me again like that? Just for a bit? It was nice,” he asks timidly and they nod eagerly. Within ten minutes, they fall asleep in each other’s arms. Archie quietly pulls a blanket over them and sleeps on Douxie’s lap.

His work here is done.

#this is so long omg #but i promise it's very cute #toa #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #tales of arcadia wizards #wizards #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux #douxie #archie #M.H anonnie #evil douxie

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cats-moss-gays · 4 years

Text

@terflies

You’ve been all over my posts so I’m just going to consolidate into this one. I’m tired of scrolling past your long and quite frankly boring responses. This post will be divided into sections. If you’re going to respond please say something interesting. However I doubt either of us will ever change the other’s mind. These are kind of like closing statements and I doubt I’ll make anymore major responses because I’m trying to stay focused on offline things.

1. Unanswered Questions

There are some questions and statements in my reblogs that you conveniently ignored.

Definition of a woman? You responded with some generic bs that very clearly isn’t an answer. I’ll be more specific, what should the dictionary definition be? Any ideas?

If I don’t feel like a woman am I allowed to identify as one? You said you weren’t going to humour this question but it is applicable to me and many other gc women. I definitely don’t have any internal feeling of womanhood, or any gender. Does this mean I have to be agender? Is the female gender label restricted to a certain feeling? Or is there absolutely nothing that women have in common?

What is the feeling of womanhood? You kind of answered this but I have a follow up question. You say the feeling of womanhood is enjoying being perceived as a woman. If I feel indifferent to this does it mean I’m not a woman? Additionally, many women feel uncomfortable with being perceived as a woman because of the misogyny associated with the label, does this make them men?

2. Inaccurate Statements and Lies

I don’t believe any “TRAs” define women by gender roles

You may not but there are many who do. It’s also important to point out how deeply ingrained gender roles are in society; you can’t stop them by just saying your choices exist in a vacuum. I’m sure you think I’m just making this up for fun, so here are some examples ;) x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

So this whole…thing is dishonest from the start. Gender does not replace sex.

In another post you said that laws should be based on gender instead of sex. So which is it, either gender isn’t replacing sex or it is. When feminists talk about sex based oppression they’re called terfs. When gay people say their attraction is based on sex they’re called transphobic. When people were saying that only females get cervical cancer, they were called violent transphobes. Gender is absolutely attempting to replace sex as the basis of legal protections, safe spaces, political movements, etc. Two of the top post on my blog are more extreme example of this. x - x

BONUS: You’re saying TERF rhetoric

3. The “Questions” Post

You seem very confused about how to define biological sex and to some extent I understand that but you have to stop playing dumb. There must be some way that doctors are able to identify the sex of a fetus before it’s even born in the vast majority of cases, right? And before you try to say I’m just ignoring the existence of intersex people or trying to deny science, I’ll point out that I have watched and read a lot of “sex is a spectrum” stuff. I understand that DSDs exist and that biology is complicated. Our disagreement is mostly not over the facts but over how to define them. I know that however I explain it you’ll pretend you don’t understand it, so instead I’ll just link you to some other sources that explain it more in depth. x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

A third sex—and many creatures have more than two—does not necessarily mean a third gamete. Mostly this question is a childish distraction, but if you were to use a strict, gamete-based definition of sex the answer would be “none”.

So all infertile people are a third sex? To be female you have to be able to bear children? And you call me regressive, yikes. This can be debunked with the same sources from above but I wanted to feature it in my post because I want people to know that you think there’s a third sex.

I made a quick little chart to compare all the things gender has been compared to! The difference is that while many are socially defined, gender is socially constructed. If someone never interacted with other humans, they would still have a skin color, have or not have specific abilities, have a sexual orientation, and be male or female. They would not have an observable gender identity.

1 - You refuse to humor my questions about being a woman who doesn’t feel like one, however this is not in bad faith; I do want to know what you think. Many gc/radfems, including myself, and many women in general do not have a specific feeling of gender. This is especially true for gnc women, who often feel a disconnect from the feminine gender role and subsequently, the feminine gender. The solution is to realize that there are no standards to conform to to be a woman, no clothes or interests or feelings, just the biological reality one is born with.

2 - You say “the feeling of womanhood is enjoying being called a woman” but what does that mean? It’s circular reasoning, a fallacy called begging the question. How do you know you are a woman? If I gave up being a terf on tumblr, how would you advise that I identify if I don’t think I feel like a woman? My current plan was to just pick the mogai flag with the prettiest colors, but I’m thinking maybe there’s more to it than that...

3 - See my explanation above. Sex is comparable to race or disability or sexuality; gender is not.

4 - You say genders are social classes. If they are indeed social classes, they are unnecessary ones that reinforce oppression. They are undefinable when not based on biological sex or gender roles. The other example of classes I can think of is wealth. Wealth classes have obvious divisions, you can’t just identify into more money. Gender has nothing that is shared by every woman, man, or nonbinary, so you can just identify in and out of classes. Additionally, if there are like 100 genders, are there 100 classes?

4. The “Biological” Sex Post

Gender does not replace sex

Then why are TRAs trying to say sexuality, legal protections, bathrooms, spaces, political movements, etc should be based on gender instead of sex? You keep contradicting yourself; you should talk to your fellow trans activists because many would disagree. Also see my response in part two.

A number of points here aren’t factually wrong but simple (*simply) irrelevant

So you would agree that biological sex is important and that it is relevant to many conversations? Then why were people getting mad about this?

Or this?

On to the specific examples. This post is long enough already and I’m not going to spoon feed basic biology to you because you’ll probably just ignore it. I referenced a variety of sources earlier. I’ll just reference Invisible Women since it’s an amazing book.

1. This first point is, appropriately enough, true in isolation; it just doesn’t support Paradox Institute’s argument. Listing it leads the audience to believe that truth is on their side, but PI do nothing at all to justify that.

So nothing here is true? They’re just lying? Here are their sources btw.

2. Generally irrelevant, but not entirely biologically accurate, either. It isn’t that ‘male’ and ‘female’ are categories intrinsic to nature that produce small, motile and large, immotile gametes respectively; ‘male’ and ‘female’ are labels we assign (generally, but not always) according to gamete size.

So it’s not relevant that one sex has the ability to carry children or menstruation or get an abortion? It’s not like there’s any issues women face specifically for that, right? So we assign the labels male and female to gametes. If you want to play semantics, sure, we created the words, but the gametes themselves already existed. Not really sure what you’re trying to say here other than disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing and moving some words around. Are you implying that the categorizations of gametes are subjective? Are you saying there’s a spectrum of gametes?? Are eggs just big sperm and sperm just small eggs??? Genuinely have no idea what the fuck you’re trying to prove here.

3. Whatever your opinion of evolutionary psychology, this does not preclude gender. (On the contrary, we ought to include gender in our understanding of cultural development with respect to sex.)

The only gender in history was gender roles, and both were tied to sex in most cases. Sex absolutely came before gender and is more integral to our existence. In any time before the last few decades, gender and sex were basically synonyms.

4. Entirely a straw argument. And, to the contrary, precision greater than two sex categories would be beneficial (i.e. specific sex characteristics, history, endocrinology etc.).

Obviously doctors don’t just diagnose based on sex, they factor in medical history and other traits. Precision is irrelevant because it still focuses on sex not gender. If it’s “entirely a straw argument” why did someone else reblog your response with this?

Speaking as a member of a medical family, the medical one fucking OFFENDS me.

Blood type HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH GENDER. Or biological sex! Both are totally irrelevant! And medication dosage is determined by AGE and SIZE. A 25-year-old 160-pound person with a penis needs the exact same dose as a 25-year-old 160-pound person with a vagina. In fact, possibly LESS of a dose, if the person with a penis is 5’10” and the person with a vagina is 5’5”. (The taller person may be underweight.)

This is just. UGH. I could scream.

@prismatic-bell this is one of the funniest and dumbest replies I’ve ever gotten. First of all “member of a medical family” tf is that lmao. This reminds me of that post where the “medical worker” tra turned out to be a garbage collector guy. I have no idea why you brought up blood type when it is literally never mentioned in the original post. Strawman much? Fucking obviously blood type isn’t affected by sex, and you’re completely missing the point if you think gender has anything to do with this. Medication dosage is decided by age and size, yes, but also biological sex. This is like basic medical science, dumbass. Mandatory reading from Invisible Women as punishment for your stupidity crimes:

People called her a terf for this :)

5. How sports are best divided is a far broader question than this point implies. We could, for example, segregate sports by relevant physical attributes (as is already the case in some sports) rather than by sex or gender. This point also presupposes (but does not justify) that a woman having an advantage in women’s sports by dint of being trans is significantly greater than an advantage any woman might have by dint of her natural attributes (which, empirically, she does not) and hence would be unfair. That said, enforcement of “female” sports is already marred by racism and perisexism.

You agree sex and gender are different, yes? So then why should males be in female sports? You’re trying to distract me with that stuff about physical performance and whatever. Focus on the question at hand, should males be allowed into female sports? We cannot eradicate sex-segregated sports because female athletes will be even more systematically disadvantaged. If you were truly a feminist you’d understand that female sports are the result of the movement you claim to support. More Invisible Women facts plus some interesting info about the plough hypothesis:

6. Simply untrue. Excluding trans women from statistics about women on the basis that doing so would affect those statistics is arbitrary at best. Those statistics may change, but that does not mean they are unsuitable or inappropriate. The exclusion of any subset of women can be justified in exactly the same way.

Nope! Stop trying to use women of color and intersex women as justifications for why we should let men pretend to be women. You’ve seen the hundreds of receipts of trans women committing all sorts of male violence. Has anyone found anywhere near a comparable number of trans men doing similar things? They have not, even though if trans men were truly men they would be much more violent.

7. The majority of single-sex spaces are, functionally, just as much single-gender (owing to the traditional equivalence of ‘sex’ and ‘gender’ and to the majority of the population being cis. Trans people have been using spaces appropriate to their gender for decades, whereas concerns about them doing so are based on speculation and hypotheticals rather than fact. (Aided, as with a lot of bigotry, by bad and manipulated statistics.)

I’ve spoken about my opinions on the bathroom debate before. If a passing trans person uses the bathroom of their choice I don’t really care, but there have already been many examples of men making women uncomfortable in their bathrooms, or worse. Making all bathrooms gender neutral is by far the worst idea, but unfortunately that seems to be where we’re headed. More Invisible Women, just for fun:

8. This is the worst red herring, exploiting violent misogyny for the sake of argument. It is another straw argument, too, since—even ignoring trans-positive feminism in practice and assuming trans people act only in self-interest—trans people are concerned with addressing such injustice.

Sure, many trans people are supportive of feminism. But we can’t effectively dismantle the patriarchy if we can’t accurately describe the (sex-based) oppression involved. Women are routinely silenced when talking about our biology, even when there is no “transphobic” language involved. “Trans-positive feminism” also often reinforces misogyny by supporting sex work and porn, and by shutting down analysis of things like femininity and makeup because “some women like it.” See also from trans activists: misogyny racism homophobia + lesbophobia

9. Similar to (7) there is no consistent distinction between sex and gender across law. Even so, this is another red herring as it is possible to recognise both sex and gender in laws and policies. Some laws already do (at least functionally, if not explicitly).

You can deny it but the TRA train is leaving without you and they’ve been clear about their goals. As you’ve seen in this post, gender is intended to replace sex. Those who bring up sex-based issues are silenced as “terfs” who deserve the hatred thrown at them.

Sorry for making such a long post but I was on a roll so I just kept writing. I don’t expect @terflies to respond to all of this but I wanted an excuse to make some sort of masterpost that links to a lot of my other posts and can be used in the future. Online school is going pretty well and I’m trying to start some doing some hobbies that are better than tumblr blogging.

#my posts #discourse #factfem #receipts #masterpost #there's so many things mentioned in this post i'm not going to bother tagging them all #debunking anti terfs #terf

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #rk800 dbh x reader #falselywrites #crosspost from main acc

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