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comfortless · 9 months ago

Text

Only Other

chapter three of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.

notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!

wc: 9k.

<- previous.

König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.

You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.

You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.

Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.

You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.

Though… men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still… amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.

There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.

König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.

There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.

The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just… lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.

“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.

König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.

“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.

There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.

When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.

You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.

You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.

“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.

“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.

“Ja…”

“You really…” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.

When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.

You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.

The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.

You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.

“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.

“Yes…”

“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.

“Partly.”

You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,

“Is that why I can not have you?”

“I never said…” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.

König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.

It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.

He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.

Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf… the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.

His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.

You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.

“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”

It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.

And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.

“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.

When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.

His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.

It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.

Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness… and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.

Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.

His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.

You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.

His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.

He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.

You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.

He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.

“… everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”

The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.

He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.

After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.

König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.

He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.

— — —

The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.

Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.

Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.

Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.

It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.

There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.

“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.

König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.

“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.

His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.

The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.

“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.

“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”

Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.

You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?

Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.

— — —

Barbarian settlements are strange.

There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.

The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,

Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.

Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.

You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.

Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.

“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.

Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.

If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.

You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.

At least, until he begins to speak again.

“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”

“No… Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.

“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”

Surely… you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.

It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.

His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.

That may have been the case.

When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.

König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.

Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.

— — —

When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.

Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.

He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.

His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.

The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.

“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting…”

“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.

“Yes… but it’s yours.”

He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.

“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.

You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.

There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.

When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.

“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.

“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.

“Ja…” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.

Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.

He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.

You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.

The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.

The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.

He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.

“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.

When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.

You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.

König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.

“Wartet hier.”

He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head…

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you… you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.

There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.

You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.

There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.

And there is no sign of König.

You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.

Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.

But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.

Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.

The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then… a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.

As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.

When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.

Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.

You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.

Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.

— — —

The village takes time to rebuild.

You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.

Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.

Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.

When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.

Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.

When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.

The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.

The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.

Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.

The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.

You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support… even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.

When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.

The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.

You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.

“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”

“Nein… we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.

The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #okay i lied two hours early but i’m tired of looking at words today #f: only other

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starfishstark · 10 days ago

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Thinking about Frankie knowing you have a strange relationship with sex and never pressuring you or discussing it, just always being there for non sexual intimacy and cuddling and just supporting you emotionally and never making you feel like you’re depriving him of something. Cause for me all that shits gotta happen before I even get remotely interested in sleeping with someone but once it does then I’m mad horny as fuck

head canons for this one:

first of all, YES, I mean, duh, Frank is so fucking understanding, because essentially I feel like that's what he wishes everyone else would do: just understand his character a little better

I think he tries really hard to find the clear defines of what you consider to be sexual and what's non sexual in your guys moments of intimacy, so prepare for some boundary testing in the early stages, from neck kisses, to holding your lower back, testing out what you're comfortable with

I firmly believe that Frank, even if you weren't in this weird limbo with sexual desires, would very gentlemanly wait for you to come to him first to take care of you. MAYBE just maybe it's a power trip for him to control himself until YOU can't, but it's also a sign of his respect for your comfort first. So you never gotta worry too much about turning down his advances.

If you feel weirdly turned on at some things, and not at the same thing at later times, and you don't know how to tell him you're not in the mood, don't you worry because this man will read you like an open book and put his hands away himself

"hey, hey, hey, you not feeling it? nah, don't worry about me hun, if your heart ain't with it, then i don't want it."

He's a romantic girl he will get you flowers, he will take you on cute dates (read: stay in the safety of his home where he can keep an eye on you and has complete protection down to the bullet proof windows he installed himself), so don't worry. he will NOT feel like this relationship is lacking because there's a lack of sexual activity.

in the event that he is turned on by you, miserably and horribly and practically ready to beg, he will excuse himself politely " 'scuse me, hun, give me a moment" and finish it off in the bathroom, take a couple minutes to will himself back down to a calm enough state that it wouldn't bother you or upset you what just happened.

Ok but what about when you finally do get comfortable?

FUCKKKKKKKKK I'm telling you the first time you ask for it, it's the sweetest, more loving, painstakingly beautiful sex you will ever experience in your goddamn life. if he thought you would like it, there would be fucking candles.

the first few times are like that, sparingly tossed out the course of a month or so...but the ache starts coming by more often, and sooner and sooner.

soon enough, he would have you bent over on every fucking surface at his home.

"hey, easy, easy, just take it, slow, breath...attagirl."

you couldn't even bake some damn cookies without remembering how deep he was hitting you, hands running all over your skin, trying to get more and more every second, every blessed second he had with you.

When he realizes how insatiable you get after you finally trust and give into him, it's free range from there. he let's you pounce him practically anywhere (long as it's safe and mostly sane)

in turn, he can practically read when frustration is creeping up on you, or maybe you are just 5% into the angsty maybe bratty thinking that day, and he's already grinning thinking about how great it's gonna be when he takes you apart piece for piece on your fingers.

"mhm, not so bratty, now, hun? nuthn' left to say?"

he would indulge you even if it's the middle of the fucking night

i think personally he would be down to try your wilder things, like maybe wax? restraints? no idea what you're into, but there's a good chance he'd be willing to play your fantasies.

on that note, if you're an absolute fiend to blow him all the time, cockwarm him, whatever it is, he would feel first of all) like the luckiest guy on earth bc he doesn't understand how fucking good it could feel to you to give him pleasure, like suddenly it doesn't go both ways anymore? secondly) gentle as fuck, head scratches, praise "luv you, hun, god, you're so good, so perfect for me" (CANNOT forget the 'attagirl'), and the aftercare after you give him head is so unmatched. he's so much more cuddly, he brings you up to his arms and just squeezes so hard like your own personal blanket.

anyways. yeah, don't worry, you're in good hands with Frank Castle.

(so sry for any typos maam I was possessed when I saw this ask)(omg ur my first ask)

#frank castle x reader #Frank castle #starry.text #the punisher #punisher x reader

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regionalpancake · 2 years ago

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(Picard fans at Terry M’Talas)

“fans of seven and raffi will find their journey worthwhile in the end.”

?????????

did the definition of worthwhile change without me noticing or what.

at this point i just want seven and raffi to have one private conversation. given up on anything else i just want to hear about the breakup from their own mouths and not through some teachable moment, mansplaing game of telephone. just let them take it from here the pointed distancing has gone on long enough.

#salt level: dead sea #all my homies hate terry matalas #very long very deep sigh #though honestly bless Swear Trek- who’s gifs are keeping me sane rn

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dreamyyesenia · 25 days ago

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Always Keep Simming - Aileen in Sixam!

The next night, Aileen got ready to travel to Sixam with her wormhole generator, which she had finally constructed and upgraded at work.

When Aileen arrived in Sixam, it was eerily quiet. She had heard about magnificent cyberpunk style buildings in Sixam, hosting various space parties. None of that was to be seen. What had happened here?

She looked around and found a lot of space rocks and other artifacts to take home. She was actually searching for the inhabitants of this place but either they were hiding or she was actually not in the correct location?

Finally, Aileen found a couple of aliens gathering around. They spoke in hushed tones. When Aileen approached them, a green alien raised their head and waved at her.

„Welcome, Mrs. Blackburn. We were hoping you’d come seek us out some day“, they said. Aileen came closer and took the Bizarre Fruit the MOTHER had given her out of her pocket.

„I came to deliver this. The MOTHER is awake and sends her regards“, she said. The green alien took the Fruit from her with widened eyes. „The MOTHER… after all this time! We are so thankful to you, dear lady, you cannot imagine how much“, they said and held the Fruit close to their chest. „How so?“, Aileen asked.

„The MOTHER was our Sixam‘s Queen. We went to her for advice, for blessings or for punishment. When she was stolen and brought to your Smearth for scientific studies, our population suffered. The smugglers and thieves wrecked havoc on our Sixam. We lost everything. We then had to start abducting sims again… for revenge for stealing our MOTHER… and for scientific purposes! Our research is really the only thing keeping us sane, you know. And while we’re at it our pollinators make sure our DNA is spread out so our genetic diversity remains“, they explained.

The alien looked to the ground, seemingly embarrassed. „But we are thankful for your service, Mrs. Blackburn. We promise we won’t abduct you without asking first ever again!“, they promised. „I‘m Millie, by the way! I‘m very curious about sims, so I‘d be happy to stay in touch. Just for fun. And maybe we could share our scientific knowledge with each other?“ They kept coming closer and closer to Aileen, with unblinking dark eyes, a hopeful smile forming on their lime green face.

„Well…um, yeah, sure. Just leave me alone for a while“, Aileen said, quickly stepping away to board the rocketship.

Millie nodded. „Sure, Mrs. Blackburn, see ya soon! If you ever need help with anything, just come around and let us know!“

At that, Aileen turned around and said: "Well, you know I just got a brilliant idea... !" ...

#alwayskeepsimmingsave #ts4 #simblr #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #ts4 stories #sims 4 gameplay #sims4 stories #ts4 scenery #ts4 story #ts4 simblr #the sims 4 legacy #the sims 4 screenshots #the sims gameplay #the sims story

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wol-fica · 1 year ago

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[ℝ𝔼ℂℍ𝔸ℤ𝔸𝕄𝔼]-ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥-

pairings - jennaortega x fem!reader

summary - simpy down-bad reader back at it again, this time on a red carpet feature !

warnings - fluff, sprinkle of spice, make-out session

an - im planning on writing pt4 for Woe Is Me, it’s just been hard trying to figure out what the best plot line it should be. thank you so much to those who have been so patient, i applaud you for that

(THIS IS APART OF A SMALL SERIES, EACH CHAPTER WILL BE A WORD THAT STARTS WITH THE LETTER P, THE FIRST TWO ARE PRAISING AND PLEASING)

(see dress and suit)

╭∩╮(ಠ_ಠ)╭∩╮╭∩╮(ಠ_ಠ)╭∩╮

“Babe…” Jenna murmured from beside you, reaching out to grab your hand, “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” You lied, putting on a small smile, “I promise.”

The two of you were at a huge event for Jenna’s new movie with the Weeknd, and your anxiety was not happy with you. Ever since you arrived and saw the large crowd, your stomach has been clawing at your throat as soon as you stepped out of the car.

Jenna had done as much as she could to make you feel as comfortable as possible, but there was only so many things she could do. It’s not like she could remove the large crowd, and even if she could, there would still be tons of paparazzi in your face with big cameras and even bigger flashes.

Thankfully, she made sure you were always near her and tucked behind someone at all times so you wouldn’t be in the spotlight. Having bodyguards and stylists around her at all times made it very easy for you to hide from the publicity.

As of right now, you were standing sort of behind Enrique, his body being used as a shield so you wouldn’t have to see the photographers head on. Jenna was to your right, smiling for the cameras and posing whenever someone yelled her name.

“Jenna over here!”

“Look this way Jenna!”

“Jenna this way!”

“C’mon Jenna smile for me!”

“Big smile Jenna! Give me a pretty face!”

“This is intense.” You muttered to Enrique, cringing when the calls got slightly louder.

He laughed, leaning back ever so slightly to bump his shoulder to yours. “You get used to it, I promise.”

‘Definitely not’ You thought, shuffling over when someone wanted to pass. Big events and celebrity stuff was for Jenna, all you wanted and needed to be was her assistant who stayed silent and did what you were told. You also needed to be her girlfriend, someone to keep her anchored and sane in her hollywood world.

“We are gonna move into the theater soon.” Natalie said from your left, nudging your leg with her hand to get your attention, “Jenna has one more interview until we get to go in, so we can wait over there.”

“Okay.” You replied, glancing at your girlfriend before following Natalie to a more secluded spot on the carpet.

Once you both were situated, you turned to watch Jenna do her last interview for the night. She smiled and laughed, enthusiastically talking about the new movie and her previous projects that she loved so much. The joyful aura she was radiating had you swooning.

It was easy for you to just admire her, taking in her beauty from afar. She was a blessing from above, or what your mom liked to say, a nice plate of christmas ham; something that looks great and is enjoyed by all.

“Thank you so much!” The interviewer said to Jenna as she left.

She smiled and waved goodbye before turning towards you and Natalie, her eyes immediately finding yours. A slight blush came across her cheeks at the sight of you, her bottom lip slipping in between her teeth while her eyes scanned your body.

‘She’s checking me out’ You thought, rocking nervously on your feet.

“Are you ready?” Jenna’s manager asked her, causing her eyes to leave yours.

“Yeah! Let’s go enjoy the movie!” She said enthusiastically, looking at everyone while they all nodded.

You smiled at her, falling into step beside her when she slipped her hand into yours. She moved closer to you, slightly leaning into you so her mouth was near your ear.

“You look extremely handsome darling.” She murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I need to put you in suits more often.”

You blushed madly, a shy smile creeping onto your face. Jenna giggled at your reaction, bumping her shoulder against yours before standing up straighter when you both reached the entryway into the theater.

Once you were ushered to your seats, you were quick to take your suit jacket off and give it to Jenna. You knew how chilly it could get at these kind of viewings, and you also knew that Jenna gets cold very easily, so the best option was to just give her your jacket to avoid her getting grumpy.

“Thank you.” She said after you helped her out it on, “C’mere and sit.”

You obliged, sliding into the seat next to her. Immediately she took your hand and placed it on her thigh, both of her hands resting on top of your own. Her touch was soft, welcoming and warm for you to invade her space and be apart of it whenever you wanted to be.

“You’re cold.” Jenna noted, pulling your hand to the inside of her thigh, “And shaky, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little anxious.” You answered honestly, running your tongue along your teeth, “I’m fine though!”

Jenna glanced at your bouncing leg, then back to your shaky hand, and then stood up. She tugged you up with her, wordlessly walking out of the theatre and into the lobby. Very few people were there, just a couple directors and some security, but other than them it was empty.

“Jenna.” You said, curious to where she was taking you.

She stayed silent, dragging you along until she came face to face with the girls bathroom. She pushed the door open, pulling you inside and shutting it behind you when you crossed the threshold. The sound of the lock clicking hit your ears, but before you could comment you were being pushed up and onto the counter.

Jenna say you on the cold surface, nudging your knees apart with her own before settling in between your legs. Her hands found their way to rest on your thighs, and the she leaned up to kiss you.

Her lips were soft, plump and warm and tasting faintly of strawberries and stale lipstick. You kissed her back immediately, your hands automatically drifting up to cup her cheeks. It felt comfortable and natural to kiss her, especially when she squeezed your thigh and slid her tongue into your mouth when you let out a small gasp.

“Jenna.” Your moan was muffled by her kiss, body on fire from her touch.

“Shhh.” She murmured to you, kissing from the corner of your lips down to your collarbone, “Let me help you relax.”

You sighed, turning your head to the side to give her more room to mark your neck. Jenna pecked the underside of your jaw in response, her lips moving down to suck on your jugular.

“Y-your manager is g-gonna kill me…” You whisper, your eyes rolling from the feeling of her sucking a hickey onto your neck.

“They won’t do anything, you are not their property.” Jenna said, leaning back to look at what she did to you.

You turned your head, eyes widening at the sight. Your neck was covered in little dark spots, skin littered with hickeys all over. There was a slightly larger and darker one on your collarbone, a clear sign of Jenna’s possessive nature.

“You look…” She pondered for a moment, looking at you in the mirror, “Hot.”

You agreed, because you truly did look hot. With the marks all over your neck, and the way that your shirt was ruffled and undone down to your your bellybutton really helped to give you the part of the sexy butch bisexual.

“Thanks, I guess?” You responded, giving her a cheeky grin.

Jenna giggled, standing up on her tippy toes to kiss the tip of your nose. Her hand slipped into yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We need to go back.” You mumbled, tilting your head down to rest your forehead against hers while your eyes fell shut, “They are probably looking for you.”

“Let them.” Jenna replied, her other hand sliding around your waist to pull herself closer to you.

“But-?”

“Don’t.” She interrupted you, kissing your lips softly, “I don’t care if they need me, want me, or whatever. I’m here for you, because you need me.”

“Okay.” You whispered, scrunching your face up when she nudged her nose against yours, “We can stay.”

“Are you feeling better?” She asked, pulling back to grasp your chin gently, “Anything else I can do?”

You smirked, leaning your head into her palm, “You can kiss my some more, I don’t think you did enough.”

Jenna smiled, a light blush coating her cheeks.

“Always.”

————————

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#jenna ortega #jenna ortega edit #jenna #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jennaortegaedit #ortega #wednesday #wednesday adams imagine #wednesday addams x reader

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tom-failure · 2 months ago

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Hmm, how about Rika for that character ask game? 👀 And I'll throw in Zen as well, feel free to babble about him as much as you want <3

HO HO HO someone actually wants to hear my hot takes!!! Well, you’re in for a treat, my friend *cracks knuckles*

Rika

favourite thing about her

I’m gonna be hella controversial here, BUT my favourite thing about Rika is the lengths to which the game goes to justify her. HEAR ME OUT. This is the treatment always reserved for male characters. They are the ones getting coddled, loved, and redeemed (cough Jihyun Kim cough Jumin Han cough Saeran Choi). And Rika doesn’t even (arguably) get redeemed! She gets justified! The game explicitly tells you: ‘forgive her, or you’re a rape/pedophile apologist’. And hoo boy, that’s refreshing to see, especially in a game as misogynistic as MysMes.

I support women’s wrongs in this case. Raped women can have little a death cult. As a treat.

*mic drop*

least favourite thing about her

Hmm, I don’t know! I think Rika is a really good sympathetic villain. She’s sleazy, creepy, and at times plain terrifying. Recently I was chatting with a follower and we talked at length about how scary of an all-permeating presence Rika is/was to the RFA. But on the other hand, she has solid motivations for what she does, she has a pretty coherent (if fucked up) philosophy she follows, she’s well-rounded as a character!

I think the only thing I don’t particularly like about her is the voice performance and the whole Mika schtick. Rika doesn’t need someone nudging her towards the idea of a death cult to make her, as a villain, sympathetic. With all she’s been through, she is already sympathetic enough. And it’s enough that she takes her fucked up situation and turns it around to her advantage in this MORE fucked up way. It’s way more interesting.

And on the voice performances, I have very particular opinions. Rika’s strikes me as poorly acted oftentimes. Even taking into account the difference in mannerisms familiar to my Ukrainian ear VS the actress’ Korean.

favourite line

I love when, between being completely unhinged, she says incredibly sane stuff like this:

Like, SHE’S NOT WRONG!!!! Say it louder, queen!

But also…

brOTP

Honestly, I’m not sure Rika can truly have friends. I don’t think with her levels of fucked up, she could really keep such an arrangement. She can have followers, and she can have lovers, but I think, ultimately, she has never seen a normal equal relationship to such an extent that she wouldn’t know how to maintain it. So I guess it’s a blank here.

OTP

I think Rika with an evil fucked up MC is very *chef’s kiss*. V can suck it. And those two could be gay and do crime. Admittedly, I didn't pursue that ending, although I wad tempted, but I like the concept a lot.

But also, I love the dynamic of JuVRika and how they make each other worse, dragging everyone around them down with them. Those people are entangled in all sorts of manipulative and hurtful dynamics, and they all latch onto each other and refuse to let each other go. Truly a dysfunctional family, a toxic polycule, don’t join them when they spot you across the bar.

nOTP

I don’t have any strong negative feelings about Rika being shipped with anyone. Gonna be controversial again, but I don’t even judge people who see something romantic in Yoosung’s feelings for her. Go and indulge your toxic fucked up ships with my blessing.

random headcanon

Hmmm, don’t wanna repeat myself with the headcanons I already posted about her. I think a not-before-mentioned one that I really enjoyed was the one that came to life when I was talking to that follower about the Zen post. They said that Rika was down to solicit Zen for sex (maybe with V watching/filming/taking pictures) when they roped him into the RFA. And I’m seriously considering this possibility.

unpopular opinion

ANOTHER ONE?

Okay, here goes: I think Rika held way less power in her relationship with V than is often attributed to her. She was pretty much homeless and barely an adult when she was proposed to after just a couple months of barely knowing each other by some sort of a rich boy heir. She was severely mentally ill and she had pretty much no power in that relationship whatsoever. Without V, she would never have gotten access to those rich people and their resources, I don’t think. Yes, Rika made her fucked up decisions herself, but V made her SO MUCH worse beforehand. I think Rika is often blamed for what is actually his part.

song i associate with her

You are in luck! I make Spotify playlists for all characters and ships that interest me!

But if I had to pick one, probably On a Wire by Belasco

Shot myself

A final gaze

Through the glass of the watch

That you engraved:

‘To my love, my eternal love’...

‘YOU LIED, YOU BITCH’ —

I screamed from above.

And you,

Yeah you,

You wanted more than to fill a room with careless lies,

And you,

Yeah you,

You were the apple, no, the cause of my strife.

favourite picture of her

This one for the sheer memetic possibility.

Zen

favourite thing about him

I absolutely LOVE his backstory, even though it is so little explored. I love how dark it is and how it perfectly explains all of the shitty takes he has on the world and all the shitty habits he inflicts on the people he loves. I love his tragedy, I love how dark of a character he actually is, and how he came out of that hell so flawed, and yet undeterred. I love how rough around the edges his past has made him.

And oh, don’t get me STARTED on the voice performance. Best in the game, no contest.

least favourite thing about him

His route. I can’t STAND the whole premise, and I think it ruins him for a lot of people.

I’m also peeved by the way fandom doesn’t treat him seriously, but that pales before the treatment Yoosung is given, so I don’t think it’s worth elaborating on.

Yeah, the worst thing about Zen is his route, where he gets accused of raping a woman (poor boy gets his life ruined by an evil female, amirite, happens all the time), you gotta believe he is in the right there with no proof whatsoever (because women are evil and always lie, especially about rape, you know), AND THEN he is forced to reconcile with his shitty family that bullied him and let people harass him, to the point that he preferred to become homeless and a criminal??? And he never ONCE gets called out on his actual shitty behaviours?! Babes?!!

favourite line

This one on Jaehee route.

It’s so little yet so poignant. It is such a fleeting little thing, but it encapsulates his character in its entirety: lonely, hurt, yet caring about others first and foremost in his own clumsy ways; guarding his own wounds from others lest they suffer even a little bit of what he’s been through by proxy.

That guy makes me Feel Feelings.

brOTP

Zenhee! Or Zen/MC, specifically Joori, the MC I came up with and Jaehee’s girlfriend. But if we’re talking canon characters, then Jaehee. They would make each other so much better! Their friendship has so much potential! Zen would care for her in the very way she needs, I think his overbearing care is a perfect match for her self-neglecting self, and don’t get me started on how much he hypes her up! I saw a very good post recently about Zen wanting to be the older brother figure his own brother couldn't be to him, and here, I think, he could really shine. And Jaehee, with her reasonable and level-headed approach, would really give him good advice and bring him back to earth. She, too, can be overbearing with her care, but to beat Zen’s mind, set in his ways so hard he can’t look up? Yeah, that would work on him.

In general, it would be fun to see Zen have friendships with strong no-nonsense women, because he himself has strong enough a character and big enough a personality to offer them something cool and interesting, but also he really needs to be called out on his bullshit more.

OTP

…do I need to answer that? I’m THE Yoozen ambassador in this fandom, I am proud, and I’m still going strong. Yoozen/Zensung is THE ship ever, and I stand by it.

They care about each other a hell of a lot in canon, they compliment each other and stand up for each other, and I think they’re pretty much the only real friends in the whole RFA. And given Zen doesn’t let anyone close, the fact that he often invites Yoosung over and likes it is just very telling to me. The way they rely on each other and care for each other, despite Zen (and, arguably, sometimes Yoosung, too?) having no normal ways of showing it OR accepting it, makes my heart flutter. They talk about each other very tenderly to MC, too.

Also, I think they’d be incredibly good and healing for each other. Yoosung is very emotionally intelligent, empathetic, and insightful, and in him, Zen has a delicate and loving presence that he doesn’t have to explain himself to too much. Yoosung accepts him and wants to actually offer him warmth. And Yoosung’s open and kind enough to invite openness and kindness in return. He sees Zen for the big-hearted person that he is, and he could bring it out to shine.

And Zen is already so willing in canon to be the shoulder to cry on for Yoosung, to be good to him, he already wants to support him, help him, care for him, but he does it in all the wrongest and pushiest ways, hitting right into Yoosung’s own trauma. Yet, for all his forcefulness, Zen would give Yoosung the love that he craves: big, dramatic, and romantic. He is the protector, and he would do his damnedest to shield the softness in Yoosung, yet he would be the greatest inspiration and support for him to become firmer in his own personhood.

Besides, Zen with his fighting responses has the love that can complement Yoosung’s in its self-sacrificiality, and it’s just such a delicious dynamic for me.

nOTP

I am in general very faithful in terms of ships, so I’m not into any ships besides Yoozen that include Zen or Yoosung. But if we’re talking stronger feelings? Definitely Zumin. I am NOT into the trend of seeing outright hostility and saying, ‘yeah, that’s love right there’. I am old-fashioned like that.

random headcanon

I headcanoned extensively about Zen, both here and on Drawingmen, but the absolute pet headcanon of mine is the guy he had ‘too many firsts’ with, the unseen presence that prompted Love Story and that haunts Zen in all of my fanfic, but particularly Down Bad and The Wolf. I am currently writing a fic centering them both, and I even have a playlist about them now.

unpopular opinion

Romantically, I would not wish Zen upon any woman at all whatsoever. Zen has internalised the street code, he is EXTEREMELY prone to overcompensating, and he’s so desperate to be a beacon of masculinity (as an overcompensation, too, ironically) that he is bound to hurt people. His explosive character is just asking for trouble, and with the way he mellows down for the MC on his route… yeah, I know men like him. It never lasts long. I would not wish for any woman to deal with a man like that in a relationship.

song i associate with him

I got a Zen playlist, too, but it’s long and I haven’t filtered it in a while. The one song I would pick… probably Leave Me In by Zahl.

It's all right if there's a battle tonight.

I'm right here and I'm ready to fight.

I swear I'm gonna kick daylight,

Serves him damn right.

So go on say your prayers,

But say them when I'm not there,

Cause that god, if he's there,

All he had for me was fear

And also, lately, Rokas by JUUK. After I drew that art with Zen’s hands over the years. Nothing quite particular about him in the lyrics, but it is now The Vibe.

You conceal your arms,

I conceal mine.

favourite picture of him

The CGs where he has Yoosung in his lap:

If I had a penny for each CG with Yoosung lying in Zen's lap, I'd have two pennies, which isn't much, but funny that it happened twice 😌

If you got this far, just letting you know I love you <3 Thank you for giving me the opportunity to ramble!

#прівєт пострижися #god bless thank you so much #you made me feel all warm inside

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darkdemeter · 28 days ago

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Dem!!!demy!!! My bestie

This idea has been going around the ol' nogging for a little. But part 2 of A Warriors Armor (punk!human) where the human has been making the horsemen their own punk vests as a way to Keep themself sane. (I imagine this especially applies to death's human after he yeets himself to the well of souls).

I Also imagine that their human takes their measurements with like...a maker measuring tape/hj(everything's easier when you use the maker measurement system,aka: everything is "fuck you" big)

And the horsemen's reactions are priceless. Their little human adopted them into their punk pack??(and maybe its about time they confess)

As always take ur time,Im sure you have a lot on your hands!!

(Pd: looking forward to dark feathers SO MUCH. but take as long as you need!!!/gen)

-Jeri🧡

・issue #2・ STYLE OF WARRIOR II

⚤ Death/Strife/Fury/War x GN Punk!Reader just fluffy content with some angst ✎ 2.6k

✎ a note from the author, Death: throws himself in the well of souls Me, remembering your fic: T R I G G E R E D hahahahha! yes I still get all emotional and upset when I even think about that fic! I gotta read it again.... 😂 here you go, Jer, part 2 for your punk request!

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

For your dearest Horseman, you'd do all you humanely could to achieve what they asked of you. You'd brave the depths of hell, you'd face off the vanguards of the White City in protest of their declared 'holiness'.

But you never expected this.

DEATH

Having finally taken his measurements, it's all about fitting it to him nicely. precisely... no nasty points--

"Human," Death snarls after you jab him with the needle for the fourth time in a span of 30 seconds. It's not your fault that every time your fingers linger so close it's like his presence possesses them to tremble with violent impulse. And every time you do accidently poke him, you wince and apologise, but at this point, you may as well just stab him with the damn thing if he's going to keep carrying on like a ragged animal being prodded at intentionally.

"Then stay still," you breath back easily and roll your eyes. The insufferable nature of this reaper sometimes. Alright, you may have had to convince him a little but overall, this was his idea - his request. You're just being a good companion.

Placing the needle between your lips, you say, "I'm almost done. Back a little straighter." Your words are muffled but he overhears the tone of it and its enough for him to suffer through the remainder of his fitting in relative, blessed silence; just the way you both like it. Your eyes occasionally lift up to try and capture his expression, no matter how pointless it is with that mask, you can read the eyes at least. His gaze is elsewhere and you decide not to intrude on his thoughts.

You work better when he's not watching you with the eyes of a looming hawk anyway. You weave the last thread through the tiny hole and begin to stitch the final adjustments of his vest, but that's putting a fashion term nicely and you humour him just this once. He didn't exactly want a tradition vest like you due to the nature of his skill set and you obliged in his request, but you still kept some semblance of a vest-like quality to your craftmanship. The design ended up being a sort of an additional shawl that draped over his shoulder, but with a little artistic flare, you made the shoulder portion imitate torn sleeves.

"Are you almost finished?" he asks, almost causing you to flinch and lose control of the needle's point again. With a sigh, you nod. "Almost. Just a little stitch here... and a bit there-- and done!"

You step down off the stool because yes, he refused to crouch down to your level. Stubborn old bastard but you care about him nevertheless. You balance on the heel of your foot, nervousness flickering through the fluster of your beating lashes and the way you awkwardly angle your head down.

"What'cha think?" You suddenly take an interest in the very long, sturdy leather strip you used as a measuring tape. Alya's measuring tape.

"Hmm... I like it."

His confession could have come in an assortment of ways, and you're kind of confused by it still, but his embrace was comforting. "And I like you too."

You've never forgotten that compliment or that confession. The way it brightened your mood and turned your lips into a large smile. You'll always remember the way his eyes smiled down at you, applauding your work in the new addition of his attire.

That's what you think about as you stitch up the patches and sew new relics and decorations into the black fabric. Tears in your eyes, you find it hard to not jab your own fingers, wincing every few seconds when the sharp sting of your needle bites venomously. Now you know just how poor Death felt being pricked by you. Fond memories that now turn dark in this hour.

He's gone now. Sacrificed his very being to revive your species and to spare War a punishment to a crime he did not commit. He gave it back to you before his encounter with the avatar of corruption - his once brother, Absalom. By the time you managed to pry open the doors of the chamber, all that remained on the ground was the placid face of bone, sockets void of that vibrant amber you adored with secret fondness.

You're not sure if he will ever come back or the fate of War for that matter. The tears blanket your vision with a thickness that hinders your work, forcing you to stop. At this point, you're needlessly sewing and threat into it, reminiscing in every little detail and every tiny sensation that travels through your fingers. You begin to wonder as you lower the garb into your lap, haunted by a loud, audible sniffle, if Death knew what his fate was and that's why he finally indulged in your little scattered hints.

You'll wait for him. You'll keep adding these stitches and touch ups until the reaper returns. However long he may find rest in the well, you will wait for him.

STRIFE

The gunslinging Horsemen truly was a marvel at times. Not only did it take him exactly 48 hours to ask you if you would perhaps consider making him a punk vest. Suffice to say, your affirmative answer earned you a bone-crushing hug and a plethora of 'thank you's thereafter. Strife was excited right from the get go and eager to help you find the perfect material that was both strong and big enough to make a vest made for his size. Now to get a form of measurement...

"Alright, arms out, chest out and shoulders back."

He does exactly as you say and maybe a little too well. You take a rough estimate of his limbs and body proportions and when you ask, "Do you want me to make any alterations so it's more... suited for... y'know, your work?"

He shakes his head and his golden eyes flare with a giddiness. "Nope. Just like your one."

Eyes blinking rapidly, you take a short moment to compose your surprise. "Right. Okay then, let's see what we can do about that."

It takes a considerable amount of days but you finally get your hands on the perfect fabric and thankfully, you find some other suitable patterns and clothing to add to it and give it that punk flare. Strife particularly adores this one stripe of pattern that decorates the hem of your vest and so you do your best to replicate it, even going the extra mile in finding a similar pattern to it.

During your small sessions of camp and in your adventurous search for a measuring tape suited for his size, he watches you with that same excitement, almost fawning over your work right there and then, eyes blending to the fire's glow.

"Uh, hello? Earth to Strife." The Nephilim with spiked hair finally awakens from his dreaming stupor and addresses you. You can sense the sheepish smirk behind his mask. "Sorry, where you saying something?"

Your lips fold back into a slight grin as you shake your head. "Nah. Nothing important."

He's in awe of the delicate handle you have with the needle but fucking hell, does he whine when you so much as graze him with the needle point.

"Ow!"

"Quit your whining, I barely pricked you."

"Still... that hurt," he grumbles and you snort a little at that. His visor set aside, you're given full view of his expression which is both a good and bad thing. For one thing you can admire his handsome features, but the other means you can tell exactly what he's thinking. From the slack and slight of his brows and to the bevel between, all the way down to the small dimples that form in his cheeks with a deepened smirk.

"It's good you found a measuring tape for me," you say behind a chuckle, actually taking in just how long it was... "Where did you say you got it from?"

"I, er... found it." His reasoning doesn't add up and his eyes avoid yours.

"Yeah, that's a way to not sound suspicious, Strife." You continue to press the needlework into the craft, adding unique little strips of stitches and filling in any alterations and requests on the way. When you want him to be still, he's like a statue. Which is every tailor's dream client. You remember the countless times your mother complained about her clients being unable to stop fidgeting. Of course, Strife has his moments where he can't help it, but with a warning glare and threatening poise of the needle, he's on his best behaviour until you're done.

Indeed a very traditional vest and to say he wears it well is an understatement. It's like he was meant to be a punk. All he was missing was the vest. With a grin, you take a step back and allow him his space to take in the garment, waiting with batted breath.

"So?" you finally press to ask. He twirls around before stopping hot on his heels with a loud skrrt, flashing you with his signature finger guns and winks.

"It rocks! By the way, you know we're a couple now, right?"

Your jaw goes slack and your eyes increase tenfold in their blatant stare up at him, your face becoming flushed with a certain heat. "W-what?!"

FURY

"You know, you'd probably make a really kickass punk queen - if that was in our culture."

Could you have flattered her more? Here you go again, yapping on about how well her hair suits the culture and how she should think on it at least. It does get a bit boring sometimes when you're the only punk left in the world. After a few nights of noticing your considerable moping, she bit the bullet and upon preparing to leave the next morning, she caves in.

"Would you... like to make me a punk vest?"

With a gasp, you turn towards her in a way that causes her to flinch out of instinct when something moves that fast. "Yes!"

The task now at hand of making Fury's vest is a memorable one. Whilst she slays the hordes of hell, the seven deadly sins and gains mutual alliances, there you are in the background of it all; collecting whatever cool scraps you can fashion together. It's not like she held the jaws of gluttony apart for you just so that you could get that piece of textured fabric. It's a very beautiful piece of studded leather.

Back in the safety of Haven, Ulthan happily allows you to use the maker's measuring tape to your heart's content. Not that he really uses it much, rather knowing his know-how off the tip of his experience but to the younger maker, it could be more useful.

"Ugh, this is taking too long," Fury sighs.

With a raise of your brow, you huff in reply, "It's only been twenty minutes."

Fury only rolls her eyes but she lets you continue. You do well not to get her with the needle, only having done it once and she threatened that it'd be the last if you did it again. And so you go about her vest with the utmost care, cautious about how far your depth goes and where your needle point is aimed at all times.

"Look at you!" Jones taunts from the other side of Haven with a wicked waggle of his fingers, mimicking a playful, mischievous wave. In return, you do the same such to Fury's dismay. It says as much by the slow turn of her head in your direction, the milky whites of her glowing, Nephilim eyes glaring down on you.

Your lips pull into a thinned line and you continue your work in silence, carried on only by the sternness of her gaze that occasionally swept over you. When you finally finish her vest off, you feel a sense of relief that it's finished. Sighing, you gesture for her to have a move about in her new vest, to take it in.

"Ey? Ey?" you hum. It's not your fault that with each passing second you become more consumed by the thought of seeking her approval. Not very punk of you but for the longest time now -- and maybe because of your crush on the female Horseman -- but you have become obsessed with her opinion and moreso, her approval of the punk culture.

"Humans and their pathetic utility to craft such--" she pauses, and then slowly turns. She's observing the vest, now she's look at it closer... and she smiles!

Victory!

"This is actually... rather well made," she says, voice soothing and laced with an impressed purr. Then her eyes meet yours and you feel your heart melt, your chest swelling as the heat in your face surfaces. "I love what you did. I think you were right, I would make an excellent punk."

WAR

To make a vest for War would be putting an extreme limit on his capabilities. Besides, you'd be stitching that thing together for the remainder of your days with the way he throws himself into harm's way and dashes right towards it like a beast on the loose.

So you have to improvise. You decide to pin it here, cinch it there and around the shoulder to connect to the pauldrons and there you have it: a shawl that he can add over the top of his red one. It took many days and many sleepless nights by the fire's light to see what you were doing and your fingers are covered in tiny dots and a few makeshift bandages. But to you, it was worth it. It kept your spirits up and it made dealing with the whole end of the world thing easier to cope with when you have a personal project to work on. And War would watch you, observant but distant.

And finally, time for the final adjustments. When you first measured War, you'll admit - it was a very big undertaking to make him a punk vest. But the way his eyes looked at you like a shy puppy as he softly asked, almost mumbling his words as if unsure of how to present such a question.

You couldn't say no! So you pushed that overwhelming sense of dread when you realised just how big of a canvas you were working with. You would do this for him, to let him have his own piece of the culture and allow him to be a part of it.

By no means did he become impatient. Or at least he didn't show that side of him, but every now and then he'd check in and finally when it came time for his final fitting, you caught the slight blush on his cheeks as he stood still for you.

For the few times you accidently poked him with the needle, apologies poured out of your mouth as if you injured the most precious thing in the world, only for him to brush aside your doting concern. You'd shake and tremble a little out of worry that you'd hurt him.

"There! all done," you announce and brush a hand over your brow as you take a step back to analyse your work. "You look amazing, War!"

"You truly think so?" he asks, his voice unsure. He looks at himself however much he's able to. It's not until you direct him over to an old store window, allowing him to gauge his reflection in the splintered window.

"See?"

"Your craftsmanship is one of a kind."

You stumble over a sentence of half stringed words. Even to you they were unintelligible and so you sweep some hair that fell over your eyes away with a sheepish smile. "Thank you. Do you like it? I know it's not a traditional vest like mine, but I tried my best to keep in theme. I didn't wanna comp---"

His lips caress the delicate space between your hairline and your words immediately cease.

"I adore it. Thank you."

#headlinesxcomics publishing #happyfic hour #darksiders #darksiders x reader #darksiders death x reader #darksiders strife x reader #darksiders war x reader #darksiders fury x reader #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3

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lunatic-pudge · 2 months ago

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Yandere P1 Dude With A Male Reader (Requested by Gojifan1962)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Writing this with a male reader in mind. I try to make these as gender neutral as I can but I tend to slip into AFAB stuff cause I'm used to it. But this is to be read with a male character cause my homie is a guy and I want them to be included and feel comfortable!)

Warning, mentions of religion, religious psychosis, and violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Now's my chance to talk about yandere Dude! Granted, it will be P1 Dude, but all the Dudes are one entity to me and P1 is very fitting for the yandere trope

-How you and Dude met will forever be a mystery, just know that him becoming obsessed with you was a "slow" progression. It starts off slow cause he's rather terrified of you, thinking you're one of the infected

-Once you have "proven" that you aren't an infected, the obsession will start. Dude is rather startled by his growing obsession of you. Dude's not used to being around people, and definitely not used to having a crush on someone. So the crush goes down a rather toxic route very quick

-It starts off small, when he gets the strength to go out, he'll be stalking your every move. Scouting out the neighborhood you live in to see if there's any threats to watch out for. He prefers to do this at night where he can hide away easily. He'll also take this time to look in through your windows as well, his way of checking in on you without you knowing. When you're out and about, he's lurking behind a few feet away with a Glock in his coat pocket ready to be used if anyone dares to think about hurting you

-Starts writing about you in his journal. It starts off with writing basic info on you, but then starts to devolve into ramblings. He starts to view you as this Holy figure, sent by God to him as a reward for being such a good Christian boy. He might even claim that you're the second coming of Jesus if it gets bad enough. Dude suffers from religious psychosis, so it's expected for his mind to warp you as this angel that was brought down to keep him safe and "sane". And while he's blessed to have this gift, he doesn't wanna lose you and is willing to "cut off your wings" to keep you with him on Earth

-Mr. Home Invader. He will break into your home constantly. Your home is the closest to Heaven he can get while stuck on this planet, so he wants to be there all the time. He's a big fan of stealing your stuff as well, mainly your clothes. He likes taking jackets and hoodies cause he can wear them and feel like you're giving him a hug. Also, the smell of your cologne and natural musk makes him FERAL. It activates his singular neuron

-While he does his stalking, he's making plans on kidnapping you and keeping you in his home. When it's time to enact his plan, it goes just as it should. He wants this to be as painless for you as possible, drugging you so you won't pick a fight. He keeps you locked in his room. He's taught Champ to keep guard and make sure you don't try to leave. And don't even bother trying to fight back, not only will you get mauled by Champ, but Dude's also strong and has weapons. He'll hurt you if he has to (even though he doesn't want to), but you need to learn that you're stuck here. He'll tie you down to the bed if you keep trying to fight

#postal #postal dude #postal dude x reader

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erendur · 2 months ago

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Elwing, "the people of Sirion" , drug money and bad decision-making

My two cents that nobody asked for on the Sirion situation (with (almost) no discussion of property rights ! because I think that's beside the point !), for which I will draw a lazy parallel with No Country for Old Men.

So : 1. The Silmaril as dirty drug money

In No Country for Old Men (book or film, makes no difference here because I am going to simplify the shit out of these themes), the protagonist stumbles one day on a drug deal gone bad at the US-Mexican border. There's been a shoot-out, and everybody is dead (I said I was going to simplify). Amid the massacre, the protagonist finds a suitcase full of what is clearly dirty drug money (several millions of dollars worth of it). He decides to take the money, and run away with it to a better life. He thinks his odds are pretty good : he is a skilled hunter, and a Vietnam veteran, so he can move around in the desert pretty much undetected, and can shoot well. He has good survival skills, and is poor. Obviously (spoilers), things do not end well for him. The gangs whose dirty money he has taken are very determined to get their money back (is it really "their" money is beside the point there), are obviously very violent, well-armed, and not squeamish. The protagonist ends up dead.

Now of course the bad guys in the story are the violent drug cartels. But also pretty obviously from my point of view, taking something from violent, determined and ruthless people; that they consider to be theirs, whether they are right or not, is very poor decision-making. It's not about what is morally wrong or right (the DRUG LORDS are in the wrong, obviously), it's about what is a sane decision and what is not.

I don't know about you, but if I were to find a stash of very obviously dirty money somewhere, I wouldn't bring it back home. I would leave its vicinity so fast that I would probably beat a world-record for velocity.

And the worst you think the Fëanorians are, the least sense it makes to keep the Silmaril away from them, especially after they have very clearly proven their determination to kill for it in Doriath.

Pre-Doriath, you could argue that few people knew about the oath. Even people who hate the Fëanorians would frankly be at pains to find anything bad that they did between Alqualondë and the massacre at Doriath (and Alqualondë was not about the Silmarils, or not directly). So the decision made by Thingol or Dior not to return the Silmaril at that point could have been born, in part, of a bad reading of the situation : they did not expect the Fëanorians to attack, or if they did, the expected to win (and thought they were in the right, but I won't go into this now).

Post-Doriath, though ?

Which leads me to : 2. Who took the bad decision to keep the drug money away from the violent drug-lords (and who are "the people of Sirion ?")

So now, lets' get to Elwing - and "the people of Sirion" (I'm using quotations marks on this one, because I have thought about this).

The Silm says that "(...) Elwing and the people of Sirion would not yield the jewel which Beren had worn and Lúthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain ; and least of all while Eärendil their lord was on the sea, for it seemed to them that in the Silmaril lay the healing and the blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships".

It's presented here as though the decision to keep the Silmaril - or, in my analogy, the drug money that the violent drug cartel had firmly asked to be returned - was a collective one. It's Elwing AND "the people of Sirion".

I have several thoughts on that. The first one is that it seems that even though Maedhros writes to Elwing, she doesn't seem to be too much in charge of the situation. We are also told, earlier on in the same chapter, that :,"Bright Eärendil was then lord of the people that dwelt nigh to Sirion's mouths ; and he took to wife Elwing the fair (...)", so it seems that it seems that Eärendil is in charge, and Elwing is...his wife. It's obviously my interpretation, but in spite of the whole "gender equality" among Elves, women seem to have very little power, especially at a political level, so I fully believe that she did not make that decision alone.

Who, then, are "the people of Sirion" ? For me, given the context and the time period Jirt is drawing from when creating his world, it is pretty clear that "the people of Sirion" are Eärendil's, or maybe Elwing's, advisors, or at least the most important people in Sirion (lords and the like), that were left in charge along Elwing when Eärendil left. I don't believe that it means that the decision to keep the drug-money was a democratic one, because we just have zero instance of democratic process/decision making in Tolkien's world. It's all monarchy-this and lord-that.

In any case, these people clearly feel that they cannot give the Silmaril back without Eärendil's approval. What right, as an aside, does Eärendil have to the Silmaril, you might ask (that's the "almost" part of the "almost no discussion of property rights") ? To me, it seems again that given the time-period Jirt is drawing from and all that, he has a "right" to it because he is the lord of these people, and Elwing is his wife. Married women in Medieval England did not have property rights, all of their possessions automatically became their husband's.

But back to "the people of Sirion". Even if you disagree with my analysis that it basically means "Sirion's important people who were left in charge along with Elwing because she can't be trusted to make all the decisions on her own because she is a woman", this would be a mix of refugees from both Gondolin and Doriath.

Now, the people from Gondolin have lived for centuries walled off in their magical city, and have escaped it amid hellish destruction and Balrogs. They would sound like the kind of people that would think that they could take on a few Fëanorians (wrongly, but they only find out about that later). So the decision to keep the drug money would make some sense. They think they can defend it.

The picture the quotation above gives of "The people of Sirion", however, make them look like they are mostly concerned with the Silmaril in relation with the people of Doriath. " (...)the jewel which Beren had worn and Lúthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain."

Could be sympathy, could be the people of Doriath speaking there. And that's where I feel like screaming "give the drug money back to the merciless drug lords, you fool !!!!" Because, if the people of Gondolin get the benefit of the doubt as to how much they know about the evilness and the determination of the Fëanorians, the people of Doriath do not ! They were there ! They fled from the massacre ! How on Earth do they think that keeping the Simaril is a good idea ???

And then, we have the final lines : "for it seemed to them that in the Silmaril lay the healing and the blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships."

They don't want to give the Simaril back, because they think it does them good. The Silmaril as a holy object seems wholly addictive, and no one seems to be able to give it up voluntarily. And to go back to my drug money analogy, would a bunch of refugees be able to benefit from a few millions dollars, and do good things with them ? Sure, they would. Would they put the money to better use than the drug-lords ? Sure again. Does it make keeping it a good decision ? Nope, certainly not.

So, to sum up that long portion, "the people of Doriath", along with Elwing, seem to take the decision to keep the Silmaril because

some of them, the Gondolin ones, might underestimate the Fëanorians' determination / overestimate their strength ;

they think they can't make the decision to get rid of the Silmaril without Eärendil, their true lord ;

they are making decisions based on the sunk cost fallacy effect (the Doriath people have already suffered so much at the hands of the drug lords, we can't give them what they want to make them go away, even though we know first hand how determined and ruthless they are - not rational decision-making - it's the same logic that makes you watch 4 seasons of a bad series because you've spend so much time watching the first 4 that you don't want it all to have been for nothing - or throw good money after bad - yes, that car has been a defective piece of crap from day 1, but I've already spent so much money on it that I have to keep going in the hope it eventually finishes by getting better)

the Silmaril is addictive

And all of this just makes for poor decision-making.

And my conclusion would be :

don't take the drug lords' money

don't think you could do good things with it and that that's reason enough to keep it

don't think that having had your relatives murdered over it should mean that you have to keep it all cost

and just bloody return it if you are asked for it, even if you think that the tone of the letter is a little bit stiff and haughty. It's not about who has a right to the dirty money, it's about saving your own skin.

#silmarillion #tolkien legendarium #Don't touch the Silmarils kids #Seriously they are not good for you #Even if they are shiny and pretty and full of light #And don't take things away from the Fëanorians #ESPECIALLY if you think that they are irredeemably bad guys #The worse you think they are the least you should want to keep their stuff away from them #not shitpost #Sirion #The people of Sirion #Tangential Fëanorians #Fëanorians as evil drug lords for this one

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

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i am literally in shambles as much as the pack 😭

i think kyle deserves a nobel peace prize, johnny needs a damn hug (can't imagine how hard it's been for him, seeing 'mega so distressed pre-deployment, then deploying for godknows how long, then learning she's gone, then being the one to help simon get her back), simon should have a nice nap, and john needs an expensive cigar. this poor pack ☹️ john is definitely in the wrong, but i think i do genuinely understand why he did what he did. he was faced with an extremely tough situation and made the seemingly right (now seemingly wrong) choice despite his instincts, and i totally applaud him for that! i just hope everyone gets some proper r&r, bless their hearts!! maybe early retirement 😉

and obviously, so much love for dr keller. i knew she wouldn't be evil!! when everyone was theorising, it had me second guessing, but i never properly believed she'd had any bad intentions. i love her 😖 she and kyle are the heroes of the story ('mega too, being so brave)

anyways, hey pookums!!! i've been a total ghost for a bit but i'm back! how are you? how are things?? i hope you are doing as well as possible 💞💞 lots and lots of love from england, as always (and from the horses!)

- 🪐

The pack is also in shambles about the pack lmaooo. Kyle really deserves the highest praise once they get past this. My man is doing everything he can to keep them all sane and held together. Johnny deserves a big hug. Honestly so does Simon. Just cuddle them together and make them love each other again.

John...he's gonna be sleeping in the car at the cottage lmaooooo Not really but still. He made his choice. He got caught up in the big picture and didn't think about the ramifications of it. It's very in character for him, but it definitely doesn't excuse his decision. He could have chosen differently. Now they all have to live with his decision.

It has been a while since I've seen your face around here!! I'm doing alright. Taking it day by day at this point. sometimes hour by hour during the afternoons when it's 29304234 degrees outside. I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself 💚

#answered #queue 06 #crcb spoilers

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trancylovecraft · 1 year ago

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(BLUE EXORCIST) YANDERE LUCIFER: Headcannons

(BLUE EXORCIST SEASON THREE IS OCMIJNG JAND OMG IM SO EXCITED ITS LITERALLY MY FAVOURITE MANGA ALONG WITH KNY OMG OMG) (If you haven't seen the anime or have seen the anime and dropped it, READ THE MANGA THE ANIME DID IT SO SO DIRTY) (IN CELEBRATION AND THE FACT IM VERY SICK RN AND IT REMINDED ME OF HIM, HAVE THIS)

• Okay. Lucifer, King of light. This is probably the worst yandere in aoex you could get (apart from Mephisto but that’s for another time.)

• Possessive, Overprotective, delusional and manipulative TO THE MAX. Lucifer’s a narcissistic monster so you can see how this goes.

• Possessive in the way he just won’t let you go. He views you as his and nothing more. There’s no debating him on this, You have no voice.

• Overprotective in the way that he does not let any harm come to you. Health check-ups every day, Padded room you’re locked in with no sharp edges. That kind of thing

• Delusional in the way he believes the two of you are somehow bound by fate. He may be scarily intelligent but that does not make him sane in the least.

• And manipulative in the way.. Well, Come on. He’s a glorified cult leader. Lucifer controls every aspect of your life from your clothes to your schedule. All so he can display the image he wants you to see.

• I’m going to go with a Romantic route on this one. I’ll do platonic later if anyone wants it.

• Lucifer at first is shocked. Demon’s don’t feel emotions, Not the way humans do anyways. But his heart beats when he sees you. He’s confused at first, Believing it to be an ailment or illness

• However after a while he comes to terms with it, A shocking realisation. One that amazes him deeply.

• Even though love is a laughable matter for demons, Lucifer doesn’t deny it. He believes that you’re an exception and no matter what his siblings or Homare says, It wont deter him

• Being the egoist he is, He believes you must feel the same way. No matter how much you fight or argue he knows you’re just playing hard to get.

• How it started I can see it happen two ways. One, You’re a recruit in the Illuminati and you somehow catch his eye. Number two, You’re a member of the True Cross Order and you catch his attention.

• If you’re in the Illuminati then that just makes it easier for him. Lucifer is the commander in chief and their idolized leader. You and your colleagues practically worship him. (Rose tinted glasses)

• So it’s a breeze for him to get close to you. Suddenly your assigned as his personal guard or caretaker, Suddenly he requests more time off the clock with you.

• You see it as a blessing, The commander in chief wants more time with you. And from there on there really is no escape

• In the second scenario he might of seen you while spying on the order or when he was declaring war. I’m imagining him announcing his speech before his eyes lock on you from behind the mask, He pauses mid sentence to just stare before Homare coughs and breaks him out of his trance.

• He continues on but his eyes keep lingering back to you. It makes you feel uncomfortable more than you already were, This organisation was declaring war on the order and their creepy leader kept eyeing you up and down.

• I feel like Mephisto would catch on, He’d probably deduce it easily but for the sake of plot he wont here.

• When they leave, Lucifer can’t help but drift his mind off to you. He hated human beings, He envied them for their healthy bodies that they wasted doing nothing while he rots.

• And due to that and the fact that he is bedridden most of the time makes it very hard for him to do anything. Instead he relies on Shima to tell him things about you.

• You’re a teaching assistant at the academy, A middle-class exorcist with the meister of doctor and knight. The more he learned the more he felt his heart beat.

• If you have any other romantic partners or interests (even just friendships) he starts to feel another emotion. It’s not a good one, It makes him disgusted.

• Even though what he feels for you is intense and overwhelming, He will not show it at all. Cold and mechanical

• Lucifer wants to get you away from them. He doesn’t like people touching what’s his.

• After confirming this feeling isn’t illness, He has his mind set dead on you.

• Lucifer believes that you must feel the same way. This is love, Something he had never experienced before so he knows it must be mutual right?

• He has Shima gather items from you. Photo’s, Clothing and trinkets. He has them surrounding his bed.

• So when you come along with the exwires to rescue Izumo and he views you on the camera’s his heart skips a beat.

• Lucifer orders the entire staff not to lay a hand on you. If they do then they will suffer by his hand and he MEANS this.

• So when you and the exwires are separated and shoved into different rooms, There was no demon to fight you.

• You were confused. It was just a padded cell. All until a ray of light manifested on the other side of the room

• You bared your weapon. Lucifer appeared in a fresh clone body and full uniform, Wanting to look his best for finally meeting you.

• Of course you ready your weapon but its instantly dismantled by a blinding flash, Making you drop it to the ground.

• Lucifer approaches you and takes no time to proclaim his infatuation and love for you. He says it outright because of well.. He’s convinced that you feel the exact same way about him even though you only met once on really bad terms.

• Lucifer expects you to run into his arms or confess your love back. But to his shock and dismay you only scream obscenities at him, Which is a weird way of showing your love but go off I guess.

• Or not. Lucifer doesn’t like you saying that stuff. Even though he knows you don’t mean it he still takes great offense.

• Lucifer straight up offers you to join the illuminati. A pretty high position (And conveniently works close to him) Tells you about his ideals. His goal of making a paradise, Reviving Satan and making an equal world

• You’re rightfully disgusted. You say no again and curse him out. No way are you joining some glorified cult.

• He sighs, A tad irritated as he steps closer to you. You cant do anything but back away into a corner looking terrified.

• He approaches. The distance closes and he casts a dark shadow, His eyes glowing as he looks at you.

• You’re frozen in fear as he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. His hands are dead cold.

• “I understand your fear, But sleep well now and you’ll awaken safely in due time.”

• He says that to you and he places a single kiss onto your lips. His are freezing similar to that of a corpses.

• You black out afterwards, Lucifer catches you in his arms as he carries you away.

• After that its the “domestic stage”

• You sleep in a room in the Dominus Liminus. It’s both warded and protected to the nines.

• You wont speak much to anyone. A few staff here or there but Homare is the one tasked with keeping you secure and safe.

• Wherever you go (If you’re allowed out) Homare will be close behind. It wont even be hidden, Saying with a cold face that she is to escort you around the place and assist you.

• But you know it’s just Lucifer keeping an eye on you.

• As soon as your on board you instantly gain the title of ‘The Commander’s Fiancée’

• Its disturbing until you find out why. Once you meet him again he explains that your days are now leading up to your marriage with him.

• He could marry you right now. But Lucifer wants to have a ceremony, An official wedding that will involve a demonic binding to him.

• You curse him out again and try to attack him in his bed. But the Lundström pull you back escort you to your cell. Lucifer calling out your praises as you go.

• You’re fed the highest class food. It doesn’t matter what you prefer since Lucifer claims “You deserve the best”

• You also get a lot of gifts like clothing and furniture. Nothing dangerous or sharp though, Cant let you getting hurt.

• If you get close to anyone but him or maybe Homare he will not hesitate. He’s jealous and will order their death, Sometimes he’ll do it himself depending on the situation.

• Health check-ups daily. Human beings are fragile and if you died he doesn’t think he could go on without the one thing that numbs his pain.

• Unfortunately enough you’re being taken care of by a greasy little doctor Geodinn. Of whom sucks up to you even though you can tell its an act

• If you do manage to escape he will go on a rampage. It’ll be the blue night pt2. He doesn’t care who he kills or what he destroys, Only calmed when your back with him.

• Besides. His siblings as well as all their lower class demons would be on high alert, Its impossible.

• He’s always in bedrest and it annoys him. He can’t spend as much time as he wants to with you and his rotting body wont let him.

• Sometimes when he misses you too much he’ll get Homare to drag you in and lie with him. He likes holding you to your displeasure, Its the only thing that takes away his constant pain

• When his body is new however he makes it count.

• He takes you out on little trips in preparation for your wedding.

• Him, Homare and a group of his most trusted men take you dress shopping. They make you try on a shit ton until Lucifer and you find the perfect one. You both must be in agreement.

• You try to escape but you are instantly caught by Homare and co. Who drag you back to a disappointed and confused Lucifer.

• He still doesn’t understand why you’d want to leave. You’re both in love, Right?

• He takes you out to the final shop. A jewellers where he alone picks out the ring. A silver ring with a diamond centrepiece (Also one that he made a demon under him possess to tell him your location at all times)

• Afterwards its basically time for your big day. His at least, Lucifer is overjoyed and excited for once in his life.

• You walk down the isle with a veil to cover your distraught and defeated face all while carrying a bouquet of white roses. It’s a massive cathedral. The entirety of the Illuminati is there along with his siblings..

• Once you reach the altar, Lucifer is standing there in his full military uniform. For once his expression doesn’t look mechanical and dead, It has life now and his eyes look at you with an organic gleam.

• Iblis, Egyn and Astaroth are standing off to the side. They’re very confused but they don’t question him.

• Iblis thinks its cute. Egyn is confused and Astaroth just got here

• Shima is near the front row and is currently on FaceTime with Mephisto, Whose hysterical and laughing to high hell at what’s happening.

• Homare is ordaining the ceremony. She says her part and then Egyn comes up with the rings as well as a contract.

• Lucifer lifts your veil. He hands you the contract with a pen and urges you to sign it.

• You have no other choice. You sign the paper while trying not to cry. The deal is done, You’re unable to leave entirely now

• He leans down and kisses you as the crowd goes wild cheering. Through the noise you can hear him say one last thing.

• “You look absolutely stunning.. Once I get a working body and once you become a demon eater.. I hope to see you like this for the rest of time..”

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