#She doesn't really like to be touched and doesn't like to be without her armour though))

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

hii lovely, can i request a "☀️ sunshine in my pocket" with a bipolar/bpd!reader and james potter, the prompt being "showing displays of affection that might seem questionable to others around them"?

I'm gonna be honest, I wrote like three versions of this (one with bipolar, two with BPD), and settled on the second one with BPD, but I might redo the bipolar one and post that as an actual fic at a later date, just because I really enjoyed this and would love to explore this type of thing a little more.

Anyway, thank you for requesting, I really appreciate it!

Chantelle's Birthday Bash

The common room is too warm. Too loud. Too full of people who smile too easily when you're happy and edge away just as quickly when your mouth turns down, when your voice pitches up and your laughter slices too sharp. Their smiles are brittle, their glances fleeting. You can almost see the way they weigh your moods in their palms like something fragile, ready to shatter.

James doesn't do that. Never has. Not once in all the years of tangled conversations and messy moments and split-second spirals. He stays. He always stays.

He's across the room now, perched half-on, half-off an armchair that looks ready to collapse beneath the weight of him and Sirius both, their limbs tangled in the way only boys who've never been afraid to take up space can manage. Remus leans on the edge of the hearth, smiling softly at something James says. It's a simple scene, ordinary even, but it burns in your chest. The way James tosses his head back when he laughs. The way people seem to lean toward him without meaning to. Like he's a sun.

Your gaze is glued to him like ivy—desperate, clinging, poisonous in the way you've been told love shouldn't be. The words of past therapists echo in your skull like a curse: emotional dysregulation, unstable relationships, identity disturbance. But he's yours.

That thought buzzes like static under your skin, too loud, too fast. Your fingers twitch with it. You watch a girl—Evelyn or Emma or something E-ish—touch his arm when she laughs, her body angled toward him in that too-familiar way. Something primal and dark twists through you, wrapping around your ribs, pulling tight like a corset of panic and rage. You rise before you can think.

You cross the room, each step fuelled by a thunderous rhythm inside your skull: he's mine he's mine he's mine.

James turns like he feels you coming, like your presence tugs at something invisible inside him. His face softens instantly. "Hey, sweetheart."

You don't respond. You step into his space, fingers curling into the coarse wool of his jumper, and tug him toward you with a force that borders on urgent. He catches you, of course he does, arms sliding around you like armour, one hand smoothing over the back of your head as though you're glass with a fresh fracture.

"Alright, love?"

You shake your head into his chest. You don't want alright. You want more. You want everything. You want to unzip his skin and crawl inside. You want to be fused to him so completely that no one—not the E-named girl or the entire bloody world—could unpick you.

You lift your face, your voice a whisper meant only for him. "Kiss me."

He hesitates—not out of reluctance, but awareness. The eyes. The murmurs. But then his hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing across it reverently, and he kisses you like you're a question he already knows the answer to.

It's not soft. It's hungry. Desperate. Messy. Your fingers dig into his back like claws, pulling him tighter until your breath leaves in one sharp exhale. Someone coughs. A muttered "bloody hell" rises from the corner. You don't care. You don't hear them, not really. There's only the thrum of his pulse under your hand and the taste of peppermint and parchment and Quidditch sweat and James.

When he finally pulls away, it's slow, reluctant. His forehead leans into yours. "You okay?"

You shake your head again. Words escape you. Your mind's a swirling vortex of shame and fear and want, all tangled up until you can't find the start or end of anything. You don't know how to say: I'm scared you'll wake up one day and realise this is all too much. That I'm too much. That loving me is like trying to hold water in your hands.

James reads it anyway. He always does. His arms tighten.

"You're in your head again."

"I saw her touch you."

He doesn't roll his eyes or dismiss it. Doesn't say you're being ridiculous even though you are. He leans in, lips pressing under your eye, the place where tears like to bloom. "I didn't even notice."

"I did."

"Yeah. I know, love."

The confession unfurls inside you, heavy and raw. Your hands tremble where they clutch his jumper. You feel flayed open, like everyone can see the chaos inside. Like the walls have eyes.

He brushes your hair back behind your ear, gentle as anything. "What do you need?"

"Can we go?"

No hesitation. No sighs. He just nods, laces his fingers with yours, and leads you upstairs. Away from the stares, the whispers, the judgment. Into his dorm. Into quiet and shadow and the soft sigh of a door closing behind you.

You climb into his bed immediately, curling small, the way you did when you were younger and hoped that shrinking might make you safer. James settles beside you, not touching until your hand finds his. It always does. You hate that about yourself, how you need contact like it's a drug.

"Do you ever get tired of me being like this?"

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. He just turns to you, brown eyes soft, voice like velvet. "I get tired for you. But not of you. Never of you."

Your chest cracks open. You press your hand to his shirt like you're checking for proof, for heartbeat, for permanence. And he lets you. He always lets you.

You cry, just a little. Not the violent, frantic sobs that rip out of you some nights when the fear gets too big. Just quiet tears that soak into cotton. James doesn't shush you or ask what's wrong. He strokes your back, slow and steady, drawing shapes you'll never see but always feel.

Time becomes water, slow and strange. Eventually, he whispers, "You know, people don't have to understand us."

You let out a short, trembling laugh. "They think I'm too much."

He smiles, tired but unwavering. "You are a lot," he says, and it should sting, but it doesn't. Because when he says it, it sounds like a blessing. He cups your cheek again, thumb swiping away the remnants of your tears. Then a kiss to your forehead—slow, grounding. "But I've got a lot of room."

You breathe. For the first time in hours, maybe longer, you breathe.

And maybe it's not neat. Maybe it's stormy and strange and overwhelming. But in the soft warmth of James Potter's bed, in the quiet cadence of his breathing and the weight of his arms around you, you believe—for now—that it's enough.

That you're enough.

Even like this. Especially like this.

[buckysleftbicep]

beneath the crown (1) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: knight!bucky barnes x princess!fem!reader (set in medieval times)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, forbidden relationship, lots of tension, loads of pining

summary: in a kingdom ruled by duty, you’re a princess promised to a prince you don’t love. sir james buchanan barnes is the knight sworn to protect you. but one touch turns into a secret affair, dangerous, all consuming and impossible to stop. and now, you’d risk everything just to be his.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: yay! chapter 1 is finally here! i genuinely hope it doesn't flop on me! thank you so, so much for reading my loves and please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed it, i would really appreciate it! love ya and stay safe darlings!

series masterlist

The castle has never felt so cold. Tall arched ceilings echoed every whisper of conversation and footsteps, the marble floors that royalty generations before you had walked on were polished to a mirror’s shine beneath the flickering chandeliers.

Golden sconces lined the stone walls, casting pale light over the crimson tapestries and ornate banners bearing the crest of your house in silver, bold and unbending. Servants moved quietly through the corridors, heads bowed, eyes averted, as if the walls watched and guards stood stoically at every turn, their armour gleaming in the light like polished bone.

But none of it felt like home, at least not anymore. You sat stiffly in the great hall, hands clenched tightly in your lap, the silk of your gown whispering with every breath you took, you were dressed like a bride already—draped in ivory and gold, dressed to the nines, every day of your life, since you were born.

Your hair, coiled into elegant twists by your handmaidens, your throat encircled by a delicate sapphire necklace, gifted by your grandmother to you, that seemed to feel more like a shackle than a gift. 

Though you were the only princess ever born to the king and queen, hailed as the light of the realm on the day you were first presented to the people of your kingdom, you never truly felt that way. You hardly saw beyond the gilded, golden bars of your palace prison, never saw what life truly had to offer besides the one you were born into. Adored, perhaps, but always constrained.

Sometimes, you envied the townspeople in their simple lives, free to choose, to love, to marry whoever they wished, to breathe without permission. 

Across the length, your father, the king stood proudly beside the visiting envoy, the herald of the man she would marry. The great prince of House Hydra who had not even bothered to come himself, sending nothing but his regards.

The man who would inherit your hand, your title, your body, the man who would rule over you, the man you were expected to serve. He was chosen not for love or even friendship, but for land, allegiance and gold. 

A political transaction. 

That was all you had become, raised, fed and taught to become nothing but a bargaining chip, a living seal on a loyal contract. Your heart thuds with rage as you remember how swift the announcement was.

There was no warning or private conversation with your father, none of that, simply a scroll, read aloud by his majesty at the high table, his voice ringing off the walls with pride.

“The princess (y/n) (l/n) shall be wed to Prince Rumlow of House Hydra, a noble union which will ensure peace and prosperity across all kingdoms”. 

Peace, prosperity, what of yours?

Completely disregarded.

You blinked slowly, swallowing hard against the tightness in your throat, your mother had said absolutely nothing, shooting you a glance that urged you to accept the decree, to do your duty as princess.

You didn’t blame her, you couldn’t, she too had wed your father under the very same circumstances. She had simply bowed her head as the court erupted in polite applause and some of the duchesses congratulating you as if being offered to some man on a platter was an occasion to be celebrated. 

“Are you well, Princess?” The voice came low beside you, gravel-smooth and unmistakably his, you turned your head, already knowing who stood at your shoulder. 

Sir James Barnes, Bucky, your sworn knight, your silent shadow stood just behind you, ever watchful. He was a towering figure of black leather and polished silver plate, his broad shoulders framed by the dark cloak clasped at his collar.

The hilt of his sword gleamed with deadly promise at his hip, well-worn from use, the etching of the royal sigil barely disguising the notches of war along its edge. He looked carved from steel and smoke, unyielding, stoic and impossible to ignore. 

His hair was slicked back from his face, his features sharp and angular, a soldier’s face, honed by battle and shadowed by the weight of things unsaid.

A strong jaw dusted with the beginnings of a beard, cheekbones carved you suspected were carved by Aphrodite herself, high and severe, and a mouth that almost never smiled, but when it did, gods help you. 

But it was Bucky’s eyes that captured you most, steel blue, clear and cold and somehow endlessly deep, they never left your face, not in four years, not since the day he was assigned your guard, plucked from the battlefields of the border wars, his name carried by whispers of brutality and brilliance.

They had said he was ruthless, relentless, a weapon barely unleashed. And yet when he looked at you, there was a softness, fire, a hunger so carefully buried, it almost felt like a secret you were never meant to witness. 

Bucky had bowed before you in the great hall that day, kneeling in tarnished armour, blood of the kingdom’s enemies still drying on his gauntlets as he swore his oath before the court. He was to guard the kingdom’s most prized possession, to protect the crown’s only heir. 

You remembered how his eyes had narrowed when you snapped at him for following you a tad too closely, the way he hadn’t apologised when you ordered him to leave your chambers when you were dressed in nothing but one of your sheer nightgowns, he only lowered his gaze respectfully, jaw tight and unmoved.

Overtime, however, something shifted, a grudging understanding, then a fragile trust and now, perhaps something else. 

“I’m not well” you replied softly, eyes scanning the court for any nosy handmaiden, “but i’m surviving”. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his gloved hands flexing at his side. “If you gave the word-”

You looked up at him sharply, “what?”

“If you told me to,” he said, voice low, so only you could hear, “I’d help you escape all of this”. 

Your breath caught, he had meant it, every word. There was no jest in his tone, no playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, Bucky's gaze held yours with unshakable intensity, carved from iron and shadow and in it, something deeper stirred. Not just the rigid armour of loyalty he wore so well, but a burning heat beneath it, a quiet consuming ache. 

It pulsed in the space between the both of you, the kind of yearning that cannot be named, only felt, it was ancient, wild and utterly ruinous. It had stretched between the both of you for months, like a bowstring drawn too tight, trembling with restraint, begging to snap. It was the lingering glances across the room, the brush of your fingers against his that should have been accidental but never were.

You and Bucky had never crossed the line between knight and princess—not truly that is. But you had danced along its edge, toeing it in the shadows where nobody could see, a breath too close, a touch held too long, words unsaid, heavy with meaning.

All of this taut and forbidden. 

“I can’t” you whispered, “you know I can’t”. 

“You already do” Bucky replies. 

“Not the way I want to”. 

The confession crashed over you like a wave, sending your pulse skyrocketing, you turned your face forward again, willing yourself to stay still, to hide the tremble in your hands. 

Not the way I want to. 

You lost count of the nights you spent, laying awake, staring at your ceiling, thinking of the rough timbre of his voice, of the stolen glances you had both shared across the council chambers, his training yards and moonlit corridors.

The nights you had spent imagining pressing your lips to his, tasting the fire you saw behind those cerulean blues, that barely showed any emotion, except when it comes to you. 

Too many. 

Bucky was your knight, sworn by blood and steel, bound by an oath beneath the banners of war. You were the crown princess, first of your name, heir to a throne gilded in tradition and chained by countless expectations, rules.

The space between you and him was carved by laws, wide, deep and merciless, it was a chasm filled with duty, danger and the ever-looming spectre of consequence. 

To betray that sacred divide meant death, not just for Bucky but for anyone who dared conspire with him, after all, the crown does not forgive disobedience. It punished treason with fire and blade, seen when your father made examples of lesser men for far smaller sins.

And Bucky was no ordinary man, he was a symbol, the battle-worn soldier pulled from blood soaked soil, knighted before a crowd of nobles. He is the kingdom’s quiet weapon. 

And yet, your heart raced everytime he looked at you like that. 

Not like a knight beholding his charge, but a man staring down temptation. Like he knew exactly how soft your skin would feel under his calloused hands, like he had memorised the shape of your mouth when you whispered his name in the dark.

Like he was always mere seconds away from shattering every vow he had ever sworn. 

“Come” you said softly, standing, the heavy chair behind you scraping lightly against the marble, “I wish to walk the gardens”. 

Bucky nodded silently, and fell in step behind you as you swept out of the hall, your chin high, posture regal, but you knew, beneath all of that, you were shaking. 

The castle gardens were quiet this time of the night, cloaked in moonlight and the hum of crickets. Roses bloomed in wild tangles along the stone pathways, their scent thick in the cool air. Lanterns flickered gently in the breeze, casting golden shadows over the hedges and statues. 

You walked until you were far from the windows, far from the eyes of the court. Bucky followed without question, ever the silent sentinel. When you finally stopped, it was beneath the wide, open branches of the weeping willow, the one your mother whom you recall used to read to you under it, now it had become the one place you always came when the walls of the castle felt too tight. 

“Do you think I am weak?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. 

“What?”

“For accepting this, for just bowing my head and smiling through my own damnation” you say, a bitter ache swelling in your chest, shame twisting with helpless fury as the words slipped from your lips like a confession. Your voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the weight of a thousand silenced protests, all the defiance you had swallowed in the name of duty.

Bucky stepped closer, like a storm barely held at bay, broad shoulders tense, his cerulean irises burning with a fury reserved only for those he could not protect. “You aren’t, there is no weakness in survival Princess, there is no shame in doing what you must”. 

“I feel like I am being sold,” you said, breath catching, “packaged like meat to some man who I have never met”. 

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You’re not his. You’re not anyone’s.”

But mine, he almost said. The words burned on his tongue, scorching with truth, but he swallowed them down. He couldn’t risk it. Not when both your lives hung in the balance.

You stepped closer, voice soft but steady. “No,” you whispered. “But I wish I were yours.”

The words escaped your lips before you could even stop them, your heart pounded like a drum against your ribs, defying reason, downing out duty. Bucky’s chest hitched, chest rising as if he had been struck, the raw hunger in his eyes, sharpening, no longer hidden, no longer restrained.

“You don’t mean that,” Bucky replied tightly, his voice strained, torn between hope and torment, almost as if your words had cracked something open in him that he had fought too long to bury. 

“I do” you whispered, “I’ve meant it for months James”. you replied softly, his name lingering on your lips.

Bucky’s hand rose, hesitated in the air, then slow and gentle, he touched your face, callused fingers grazing your cheek. His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone with aching tenderness, as though you were something sacred he would only ever dare to worship from afar. The fire in his eyes flickered with conflict, a desire that warred with discipline and love for you that was tempered by fear.

“I’ve known it since the night you carried me from the fire in the east wing, since you bled for me, since you stayed by my side”. you said, leaning in, your lips just a breath from Bucky’s.

His breath shook, “if I kiss you, I won’t stop”,

Your eyes searched his, “then don’t”.

His lips crashed against yours, all hunger and desperate, breathless need, it was far from gentle, it wasn’t careful, it was the unraveling of restraint, the collapse of every unspoken word between them.

His hands framed your face, thumbs trembling against your cheeks, you could feel the cold press of his armour against your chest but it did nothing to dull the searing heat radiating from his body—from his mouth, his touch, the way he kissed you, like he had been starved. The raw ache behind every movement sang through your body, full of all the things you and Bucky were never allowed to utter.

But before the kiss could deepen, the sound of footsteps echoed across the path. “Your Highness?”

You and Bucky broke apart instantly, breath heaving, eyes wide. 

Your handmaiden, Yelena, rounded the hedge, “The King requests your presence in the throne room immediately Princess”. 

You straightened, your heart thudding, face burning. “Very well, thank you Yelena”. 

“I am sorry Princess, I know this alliance is not what you wish for” she replied softly, her gaze moving towards Bucky, she knew, she always knew of your feelings for your knight. You offered her a tight smile, the ache behind your ribs sharpening, “nor is it what I would choose,” you murmured, eyes flickering towards Bucky just once, your voice low but steady, “but I was never offered choices was I?” 

Yelena’s expression softened with quiet understanding, but she said nothing more, she didn’t need to. 

Bucky’s gaze changed, it was something darker, protective, possessive. 

“Whatever it is, you won’t face it alone” he says. 

You nod, turn and walk with him at your side, your fingers still tingling from his touch. 

The throne room was filled with lords and ladies, their fine jewels glittering under the light, your father stood before them, hands raised for silence. 

“The date is set” he announced, voice booming across the chamber, “my precious daughter, the crown princess shall be wed to Prince Rumlow in three weeks time, all preparations shall begin at once”. 

A round of applause filled the hall and your stomach dropped like a stone. 

You turned just enough to catch Bucky’s expression where he stood in the shadow of a column, his jaw was locked, his cerulean eyes were dark, like storm clouds threatening rain. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, as if he was restraining himself from crossing the space between them. There was a storm brewing behind those eyes, not just fury, but anguish. 

He looked like a man ready to go to war. 

a/n: and that's chapter 1! gosh i hope you loved it, please leave a comment or reblog this if you did, it would mean the world to me!

[lovebillyhargrove]

Part 2 of this

👑⚔️ king Steven x knight William ⚔️👑

***

The mysterious knight does not provide any further information about his background. William only says that he himself remains hoping that one day memory will serve him better and he will be able to shed more light on where he comes from and why he was found dying on king Steven's land.

The king finds it odd, but everything is odd about the knight clad in dark armour,

Who is bathed in sunshine, whenever he loses the iron of his warlike suit.

And Steven finds the strangeness even more beguiling.

The most uncanny thing is the king's fervent desire which consumes his whole being when Steven finds himself close to the knight, or when he finds himself far from him —

The distance does not really matter. If they happen to be apart for several hours, Steven gets lost in sweetest elation — he dreams of the moment when he will see the knight again — his gaze turning hazy and thoughts unfocused. The dire necessity to always be near William, not lose a single grain of time that can be spent together, baffles the king for he has never felt anything alike.

The constant craving makes his body ache for the knight's closeness and attention, salivate in anticipation of possible pleasures.

At first, it is unclear where William stands regarding the king's intentions, for one second Steven catches the knight looking at him, desperate to hide the deep-lying longing in his abysmal eyes — and failing to do so,

The king's gaze mirrors the yearning, the two tides violently clash

However, seconds pass, and the handsome barbarian puts distance between them, as though forcing himself to do it, forcing himself to fall back to chivalrous conduct.

The king keeps the knight always by his side, they get carried away by lengthy conversations, take long walks on the sea shore and in the woods, they feast and indulge themselves in intellectual pleasures, listening to musicians and reading poetry to one another. As soon as William's wounds have healed, the two young men compete in archery and swordplay, and the virtuous king often seeks advice from knight William regarding kingdom affairs.

Eventually, neither of them — they are destined to be lovers — can escape the current. A chaste kiss brings them to heaven, and is followed by a rough and at the same time inexplicably tender embrace which turns them both to molten steel, soft and pliant,

Yet unbreakable and oh so hot to the touch.

They share the bed, and Steven ascends to wuthering heights every time he lays his hands on the knight's silk like skin. Once the dam has been broken, there is nothing chaste in the way they touch each other.

The king is blinded by passion, and so is the knight, who whispers

Tracing his fingertips over Steve's face, following the pattern of his scars

"My king, your beauty is utterly entrancing. You have spellbound me, put me to my knees."

The king cannot spend a single night without his knight, and after they satisfy their mutual hunger, he nestles his head against William's strong shoulder and slides into blissful sleep.

Needless to say, king Steven's previous engagement to princess Nancy from the neighbouring kingdom is scandalously broken off.

***

One day the king finds William in the garden looking troubled

"I must leave you for an uncertain amount of time since I have urgent business. I need to free my sister. There is a place in the mountains — a passage to the underworld where she is being held against her will by terrifying creatures."

"Your sister? .. Have you remembered your past?"

"Not all of it." The evasiveness of the knight's answer eludes king Steven. "I have been having dreams. She is calling for me."

"Then I shall accompany you in your difficult quest."

The knight wants to protest

"If I may, your majesty, this is too dangerous .."

But the king doesn't give him a chance to finish the sentence pressing his lips to William's.

Steven knows the place he is talking about — years ago he fought a creature there, the demogorgon, as people have called it.

However, the crack is now closed and there is no way to get to the underworld.

"Do not fall into despair. I know who might help us." Says Steven.

They go to the woods to pay a visit to a young witch who does not talk and leads a solitary life.

"My people wanted to banish her from the kingdom, but I insisted that she stay. However, she lives alone in the woods, only occasionally coming to Sunday market in town square."

The witch helps the two men to open the gate to the underworld.

They stand back to back, fighting with a bloodthirsty horde of strange creatures that look like dogs, and although the king is an experienced fighter, he does not fail to notice how on several occasions William bravely rushes to protect him with his shield, or sword, or his own body.

It takes a massacre to free a young woman with noble features and hair fiery like dancing flames. Her name sounds outlandish

Maxine, her brother calls her.

Steven offers her rooms in his castle, the sister and brother spend time together, and Maxine also starts to frequent the witch who lives in the woods.

One day she addresses king Steven

"There is no measure for my brother's and my own gratitude for saving first him, then me. Your heart is good and pure and .. my brother's heart is good as well. However, I feel it is my obligation to warn you. Not necessarily wishing to bring it upon your head, he still might do you harm for .. for he is haunted, haunted by .."

She wants to say more but the sound of the opening door stops words from leaving her mouth.

"I have been looking for you, king. The weather is gorgeous. The horses are ready. Should you agree, we could go for a ride in the blooming meadow." The knight suggests.

..

They make love laying amidst the tall grass and flowers which sough gently in the warm breeze sweeping over the honey meadow, and Steven forgets all that William's sister has told him.

..

In the morning when the king wakes up, he sees William sitting beside him, head down, hair cascading around his slouched shoulders.

A dark shadow runs over his impeccably handsome face as he lifts his head up, avoiding direct eye contact

"Forgive me, my lover, for my intentions, unlike my passion for you, have indeed not been entirely pure." The knight looks as if he is in physical pain, and his voice falters

With one swift motion, William puts the heavy shakles around the king's wrists.

At the same time Steven hears voices coming from the outside, the frightened cries of women and the unusual commotion.

King Steven's eyes are full of disbelief, searching William's distraught face.

Soldiers wearing black have invaded the streets of his town.

Someone must have opened the gates at night.

Betrayal.

"Why .. my love, why would you ..?"

***

Part 3

The witch in the woods is Eleven.

[gnohomotho]

Hello! Gonna be veeeery honest because this request is extremely personal and you ABSOLUTELY don't have to do it if it's too weird or something you don't wanna write 🙈🙈🙊

But like...the recruiter meets the femreader because she wants to end it (yeah that way) and plays with her for it instead..but he actually cares about her and doesn't want her to die 💔 Ik it's ooc I know it's stupid but I'd really really really appreciate it

Thank you and I love your writing so much! ❤️❤️❤️

Hello, Anon, of course it's alright. I hope I'm not the one being personal and intruding here - just a bit worried about you - if you want to drop into my messages and talk, that's more than alright, too. ♥

And no, it's not stupid. It's a very understandable thing to want to read when you're not doing well. :c Having a caring presence save you from the literal edge is - again - more than understandable.

Here you go. ♥

And a big computer hug from me.

.

.

.

Two Lives on the Table ➴ಇ

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: She wants to leave, he doesn't seem too eager to let her go. No, this lady in her strong but crumbling suit of armour is something for him to play for - yet - he may be playing for more than himself as she finds...that perhaps someone truly, in their own, very sweet and very odd way, cares for her. Warnings: Angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, guns, loaded guns, firing guns, threat and consequences of death, 18+ MDNI, heavy personal contact, kissing, touch, teasing, harsh language. Word count: 1.8k A/N: You'd think I'd let you go without fluff? On this blog? Link to epilogue ฅ^._.^ฅ Gorgeous gif by @phantom-evil

"Do you trust me?"

The voice circles your ears and kisses their opening.

"Not really, no."

Your answer is as dry as a bone.

"Good," the voice coos before continuing:

"You don't need trust to play."

You straighten your back to avoid a shiver running down it.

"I find this game unfair."

The voice moves, circling to your other side, gently warming your temple.

"Good."

The shiver sauntered down your spine without issue.

"Has anyone ever told you you're an unhinged lunatic?"

"Many times," you can hear him smile into the words as they coil around his lips like honey, "though you know what they say. Dead men tell no tales."

"Is that why you never shut the f---"

"Ah ah ah. Little lady. That's a bit unbecoming." He hushes you, a single finger resting on your lips. His thumb traces their outline before laying in their center.

Why you agreed to play a game with this near stranger in a secluded place is starting to weigh at you. Almost as much as the blindfold.

He nudges your lips to open and his thumb gently rests on the border. Never quite intruding. But intruding nonetheless.

"Alright. Look. Stranger. Mr. Stranger. I know molesting girls you find on bridges under the guise of a game must be as fun as it is predictable, but I expected something different. Something more fun."

Oh, now you've offended him.

Attacks of character? No issue.

Attack of his games? Now you've done it.

The voice doesn't change, but the air loses every molecule of warmth it had huddled against its bare chest.

"Then allow me to make it more fun than your little wager with Death."

❥❥❥

You swallow on an empty dry throat. Did you really want to die? Or were you just playing? Or were you just...tired?

"You remind me of my favourite film," you voice in a low whisper.

You don't feel his breath anymore. But you do hear a distinct *click*.

"Hmm?" He voices, half amused, half bored.

"A young man who's been through enough meets Death, who is to take him. Fetching fellow, that one. Death. Nice calves. Anyway. The young knight says that before Death can take him, he has to play chess. And win."

"Does he?"

"It's never that easy, is it, Mr. Stranger?"

"Oh, little armoured darling. Do you think yourself a knight?"

"No, I just like Death."

"Then open wide, maybe he'll pay us a visit."

You do as you're told, and your lips feel the outline of a cold circle that tastes like…harsh metal.

“Good girl.”

He pushes the barrel of the gun just a little further as his sentence concludes, lightly turning it in your mouth. Left to right. Left...to right.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of mumbling into it, but your breaths are hurried, and a small whimper escapes your occupied lips.

Did you hear him sigh?

Just as elegantly, he slowly pulls the gun out of your mouth, and you cough.

“Innovative.”

“You know, I think we both know I can see straight through you, Y/N. Your cards are huddled up to your chest, but they’re…” he brushes the cold steel against your chin and runs it up your cheek, softly pushing into it, lenient pity in his voice that you know is false.

“…All turned the wrong way around. The whole table can see.”

His hot breath circles your cheeks, he must be gazing right at you with only millimetres separating his lips from yours.

“The whole table except for you, little lady. Blind to the game and blind to the threat. Blind even to yourself.” He playfully pushes three taps into your cheek with the gun and you feel warmth on your other, from your jaw to your eyebrows, even through the blindfold. It’s almost…kind.

His hand. His hand is on your cheek, as the gun pushes into the other.

“Now, let’s play a game.”

❥❥❥

Two bullets. One gun.

Two bullets. One blank.

Two players. One blind.

Two choices. Both wrong.

“Choose a bullet for me, little lady.” His slick voice rings in your ears.

“Who shoots who?” You try to remain steady, hands firmly clasped into each other, wondering how far he is from you, where you are, and what the table in front of you must look like.

How fast you could flip it on him and run.

“Well, curious little thing you are…I’ll leave it up to you. If you choose to shoot me and the bullet is blank, I get something in return.”

“Jesus, you’re predictable.”

But your voice is shaking. Anticipation? Cold fear? Armour crumpling?

“And you’re unravelling. If you don’t shoot, I get the gun. And I get to pull the trigger.”

“And I get a favour,” you add, your trembles not matching your thoughts.

Though by now the favour would likely be ‘fucking shoot me already’.

“Now who’s being predictable?” He teases, but you hear he must be having some sort of fun from his voice alone. It’s almost jovial, light, if he were anybody else, you would seek warmth in it. But you don’t. A painting of a fire underwater, that’s all he is.

You place your hand on the table, gently laying your fingers across each new inch to feel for the bullets and not disturb them.

He’s entirely silent, perhaps watching your fingers so softly touch even in their shivers, meticulous, elegant, gentle – perhaps he’s thinking you’re taking too long. You don’t care.

Your fingers find the two shapes, as you nudge them and envelop them in touch, you feel there is no discernible difference. Well, there goes the plan.

 Left right left right.

I had a good home but I left, right…left.”

You pick that one and softly flick it towards the sound of his voice. The bullet rolls on the flat surface with a little dull *clink* and lands against what must be his hand.

He loads the bullet wordlessly, the magazine spins and you lift your palms as if expecting something delicate and fragile, you’re weary of holding the gun, even through your tough words.

“So polite, it’s quite lovely to see.” He coos his little lullaby of words that barely reach you, and as he lays the gun just as carefully in your hands, you feel a single finger brush the knuckle of your dominant hand’s trigger finger. Not much.

Just enough to make you falter.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, your lungs aren’t getting enough, and you want to be done. You want to be tired of it all. You want to hesitate and refuse and throw the gun at him. Not shoot. Reset the whole scene. At the same time…

It took you less than a second to connect the two moves.

Aim. Fire.

The sound fills your ears and your heart beats as if it were a sleeping bellringer just now aware it’s the full hour.

The sound woke you up and you tear off your blindfold, nothing but regret and shame on your mind, you couldn’t have shot him, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, no no no, no matter who he is, you don’t murder people he didn’t even hurt you no---

But you tear off your blindfold to a swift blur of both light and dark, so fast you fall back in your chair with a heavy weight pinning you down, sudden crude touch circling your nape and without warning, cool supple flesh connecting to your lips – his own.

Their smooth warmth traverses the entirety of your mouth from outer corners to the very centre, their brisk but no longer concealed hunger enveloping them fully as he pulls you in.

A large hand shoots around your neck, not quite pushing, merely resting on your rapid pulse and holding you in place. One final thrust of his body against you as you feel his tongue enter your mouth and the blur hushes, your eyes closing on their own, reciprocating its motion, holding onto him for dear life.

The anticipation, the fear, the relief – all expressed and all barely breathed between your intertwined lips, your own gasping body, his form over you and his hand tightening around your throat – momentarily leaving to brush through your hair and pull your head back – allowing his tongue ever deeper into you.

Exploring, taking, feasting, you feel both subdued and his – and you feel alive.

❥❥❥

“You…you could have…said the favour was a kiss.”

You barely manage words against your explicitly not steadying chest. The blindfold is back on and you’re glad at least half of your truly flushed cheeks aren’t on display. He seems far calmer from his voice alone, but you know what you felt. Oh, he’s at least half as fucked as you are.

“I am not one to kiss and tell. Choose another bullet.”

It almost sounded like an order.

Alright, perhaps twenty-five percent as fucked as you are.

You once more choose the one on the left.

“Never was one for variety," you try to chuckle, but it comes out dissembled and half cut off. You’re shivering.

He merely hums and loads the gun again. You’d give quite a bit to know what he’s thinking. Your heart is fluttering out of your chest and your breath keeps getting stuck in the same place he grabbed your throat. As if he were grabbing it for dear life.

The magazine spins once more and once more; you take it in your hands with care. You could take it with less consideration, but somehow, the weight of the gun seems…heavier.

You endeavour to do exactly the same as before but…you cannot.

Your finger brushes the trigger, but does not move to push. Your lips open a tad, his taste still upon them – sweet, poisonous, invigorating, life-giving. And here you are. Holding something to take life away.

Just two movements, like before.

Easier than opening an unlocked door.

But you cannot. And your hesitation is more the duly noted.

Wordlessly, he takes the gun back from your hands and you hear the safety click.

Your thoughts stop.

Your heart almost follows suit.

You stop breathing.

The silence envelops you, but you do not move nor fight. Merely open your lips just noticeably, drawing a small shallow breath.

“Thank you for a…pleasant game, Mr. Stranger,” you whisper slowly, softly, holding your hands to yourself with each finger intertwined, “never could play chess to save my life.”

You almost laugh bitterly to yourself. But end with a wistful smile in wait as the thickness of each passing second rings your ears hollow.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

❥

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

❥

One.

Two.

Three.

❥

*click*

❥

Dull.

Reverberating.

Empty.

❥❥❥

He had taken the live bullet out.

[paws-akimbo]

I know people have flirted with you, and that’s their deal, but- and I mean no offense by it- I am down apocalyptic for that custom Amber Phantom.

I need more intel on that cockpit setup or I am going to explode.

Have you ever been plugged into the soup while she’s under maintenance? If so, what does it feel like? Can you tell the difference between someone touching the outer plating versus the endoskeleton or cables?

(I’m willing to bet on the former, knowing both SSC and how that frame-pattern dances around, but-) Does she move via synth-muscle or classical hydraulics? What’s her low-gravity handling like?

I- I need to shut up.

- a very… jealous Everest pilot

(feel free to delete this, especially since it’s not a bit and I’m only on anon to dodge the guilt and shame)

Oh? That's new. She is a work of art - custom made, high quality and bespoke by SSC standards. Sorry pal, she's spoken for - tuned to my neural and genetic signatures, anyone else tries to pilot her and they get nausea and confusion at best and a fried brain at worst.

Which is why I'm not particularly worried about sharing enough to stop your head going pop.

So, the setup itself; Her chest is all elongated and such as a Phantom or a Metalmark's tends to be; hers opens up, or more precisely retracts, into lots of different pieces, and I have to crawl into the tank since it's horizontal. The soup (no idea what the hell it's made of, I'll have to test if I can use it in napalm some time) does not stop fire but it very much does stop radiation, so her reactor is pretty damn close to the tank itself.

I also have to wear a specific suit that really tests the "hard" in hardsuit; the thing is uncomfortably skintight, although it is thankfully far more padded than it looks; made out of these fancy layers of gel and polymer designed to help keep me cool and prevent any injuries from being tossed around in the tube, stray shrapnel, the works. I do get a cool helmet though. That at least doesn't look absurd.

That suit also has these little ports that the mess of cables links up to. I've got the one in the back of my neck, most pilots have one there or on the skull these days, but but the suit also lets Foolish Mirror interface with my entire nervous system without needing to look pockmarked. That said, I have gone in without anything in the way of armour (long story, something something enemies stealing my shit and doing guerrilla warfare). Never again. If she weren't tailor made for my brain I'm pretty sure I would have suffered irreversible damage The soup itself is breathable fluid, although I get a filter mask in my helmet that keeps out anything that's not meant to be in the soup, thank fuck. Tastes like a more bitter version of undiluted squash mixed with metal, would not recommend. The fluid itself contains a ton of shite I don't know, but also some heavy, heavy stims, as well as some liquid nutrients and life support crap, plus a disinfectant that (somehow) isn't harmful to me (and only me, remember, bespoke by SSC standards) but fucks up any critters in the tank with me. Oh, and Foolish Mirror also releases other shite into the soup in response to certain situations; if I have shrapnel in the tank, coagulation agents, If It's too fucking cold, antifreeze. How SSC makes this crap nonharmful to humans I would love to know. It also lights up my body like a star with some kind of euphoria agent in tandem with my fight or flight response. Best part is that the intended use for it is to let me keep the adrenaline of the fear without panicking; The day I figure out what it is, is the day that I build a drug empire because let me tell you that if this hit the streets gliss will be history. Leads to some incredible risk taking behaviour but in Foolish Mirror sudden unexpected consequences to my actions are significantly reduced so it kind of evens out.

There have been times where I was plugged into "the soup" (I'm stealing that") more than I wasn't for weeks at a time, maintenance being among them. It uh, it's an experience all right. The first time felt like I was being torn apart, I effectively was being torn apart, there was damage to the nociceptive filters and- yeah. Shit sucked.

The second time though, that was...

It feels weird, having pieces of yourself removed and fiddled with and even stranger to feel new ones added. Recalibrating added pieces feels like the most intense pins and needles of your life, and also hellishly hot and polar cold and also like an electric shock.

To put a point on it though, the sensation does not go away when the filter is active. Plus, it's even more intense when you know exactly what's going to happen besides the nitty gritty a few seconds in advance - think eating some food you knew was going to be hot, but not nearly as hot as it is really and also someone unexpectedly added chillies.

Your assumption was right, of course, I can tell you exactly what system is having what done to it at any given time. Outer armour plating usually doesn't have nociception and only a tactile sensation telling you what pieces are missing or damaged and where. Internals kind of feels like someone is sticking their fingers in your mouth; it takes a whole lot to stay still and they tend to be uncomfortable and complicated and full of pieces you didn't know you could feel until they were poked, and Christ-the-Buddha preserve you if there's damage to them - pain on itself is fine, but being told by a separate sensory input each whenever a few wires are pulled a little too far? feels like raw nerves. The wires especially are sensitive fuckers. If someone touches the endoskeleton, assuming the gaping hole that's presumably there for that to be necessary isn't poked, is actually not all that bad. Besides the fact that it makes you aware of the fact you have a skeleton. And when you get out, you stay aware of this fact. When the maintenance crew actually remembers that there's someone's nervous system hooked up to the machine, it can be kind of relaxing though. At least until someone drops a screwdriver into your secondary comms array. Smoke. Isn't that right?

Anyways, as for how she moves, she's designed for advanced neural interfacing, so she uses a muscle analogue system - although, it's pretty SSC. Specifically, she has pressurised nanotubes; the whole limb being moved effectively is the hydraulic, or more accurately, thousands of hydraulics. Lets you use all your nerves to move how you normally would with minimal adjustment necessary. In fact the nerves in my tail are also repurposed to direct the monowire, so that's. Fun.(I'd like to take a moment to note that my monowire was made by the same smiths who make shock knives, but for obvious reasons it needs to be able to get re printed quite regularly. You would not believe how many angry terashima folks I get looking for their apology letter) There are also sections of reactive metalloid polymers that shrink wrap themselves in response to electricity, used for some of the less protected areas where even SSC need to rack up durability.

As for her zero G handling... four words. Rapid burst jump jets. Some of the most fun I've had in a long time. SSC is always built for dancing around the fight to some degree, but a phantom in zero G capable of flight? She makes my skin look rough compared to how smoothly she glides.

My dear everest pilot, you don't need to shut up. Any other questions? I would be more than happy to answer them.

[lyramundana]

Hey, Mate. How are u? I've just seen your yandere Chan and changbin headcanons and I really like it! Can you please do a yandere skz reaction where their crush likes someone else?

Have a beautiful day! 💛

Thank you, mi amor!💖

YANDERE! STRAY KIDS REACTION: THEIR DARLING LIKES SOMEONE ELSE

CHRISTOPHER BANG

Oh well, we start hard already

We've already established previously that, out of the group, he's the most likely to turn yandere in real life. The divine @whatudowhennooneseesyou explained it in her blog before, and if she says it it must be be true, so

forgetting my short fangirl moment there . He got close to his Darling by showing her only his good sides and presenting himself like a friendly, reliable guy that she could count on for everything. He introduced himself into her life smoothly, carving his place in her routine while discreetly removing the "obstacles" that annoyed him. He won her trust quickly enough by forcing situations where his Darling got to see him as her knight in shining armour and felt compelled to rely on him, slowly but surely growing more dependant of him.

If there's a virtue Christopher has in quantity, it's patience. He's ready to wait as long as needed until he gets what he wants, and he's also the type to plan things in advance. So yeah, he's a fucking challenge to get away from.

He though he was doing great, that things were progressing like he planned, so imagine his utter shock when he learns his Darling has a crush on somebody else. She makes the mistake to tell him herself, asking for advice from a "good friend".

Once he gets over the initial loss of words, he's pissed. Very pissed. He's so fucking mad that, in the moment, he accidentally lets his nice guy act drop and loses control of his emotions in front of her. He starts an argument about it, claiming that person is not good enough and they're only going to hurt her, even if he barely knows them. Because who else could be worthy of Darling but himself? This mishap scares her and she ends up arguing back, running away from him in the end. He chastises himself for losing his cool like that later, furious that he ruined all of hard work into shaping a perfect image of him in her eyes. He can't stand the though of losing her, so he recomposes himself and already makes a plan to fix things.

First he gets in touch with her to apologize and make up for his behaviour. He's not sorry for the way he reacted, but he knows it scared her off and he knows that could prompt her to create distance, which he can't allow. Once again, he plays his charming and loving role to convince her, blaiming it on the stress of work and his desire to protect her, since most men are just pigs that would break her beautiful heart only he can do that. When she gets her to believe him, he grabs her hands in his and smiles, promising he'll help her the best way he can.

As soon as he's done recovering her trust, he's investigating that worthless piece of trash that has apparently stolen her affection. He has his contacts, so it doesn't take too long to get what he wants. He memorizes every single detail that he deems useful, just like he did with Darling, but this time is with entirely different purposes.

He's the type of "keep his enemies closer", so he'll befriend that person first and gain their trust, luring them into a false sense of security that it's more like a spider web, trapping them to be devoured without resistance. He gets that person to share secrets with him, things they regret, and Chris promises he won't ever tell a soul.

Some promises are meant to be broken.

He'll hold what he knows over their head to threaten them into staying away, or he'll straight up twist their words so his Darling can misinterpret them and feel betrayed/heartbroken. Obviously, he doesn't waste time into playing his role of brilliant hero and becomes her shoulder to cry on. This kind of validation is like oxygen for him, he can't get enough.

If the person proves to be persistant, he'll take more drastic measures and get rid of them permanently from Darling's life.

"It's okay, doll. It's not your fault. How could you've known they were so terrible? I never fully trusted them, but you seemed so happy and convinced. This is why you should listen to me. I only want the best for you.

LEE KNOW

We've also discussed him a bit in previous posts, but we'll profundize more here.

He's a passive yandere. The type to observe and "care" for his Darling from afar, unnoticed. Never intervening directly unless he absolutely has to. He'll be infatuated for years before gathering the courage to talk to you. But once he finally does, he'll win over his Darling quickly because he just seems to be so sync with her.

Truth is that, during all the time he's spent pining for her from the shadows, he has recopiled every bit of information about her he could get his hands on. Stalking, hacking, stealing personal belongings to treat as "treasures", you know it. While he didn't feel capable of havin a face to face interaction with her, he found comfort in observing her on her daily tasks. He knows her favourite food, color, animal, names of her friends and relatives, the perfume she uses, the places she frecuents and her special events.

His aproach would be slow at first, probably reaching out to her through social media (he has follows her in all of them and has a hacked all her accounts at some point) to chat about common interests, and after he feels they're both on friendly enough terms, he'll arrange a meeting in real life in one of her favourite places.

And because he's so in touch with everything that happens with her, he finds out about her crush before she even tells him. He goes through various phases, like sadness, heartbreak, rage. He just can't fit his head around such concept. Hasn't he proven himself enough to her? He has gone such lenghts to protect her, to get to know her, shaping himself to become the man of her dreams. Did he fail somewhere? What else he should do?

Then it dawns to him. It's not fault. Of course he followed all steps, did everything perfectly. By all accounts, his Darling should've fallen for him already. But maybe he chose the wrong aproach.

Maybe he needs to be more clear about his intentions.

He doesn't have Chris' discretion or long-game. He doesn't want to sit around and wait, he's done that enough for years.

He can't fake friendliness even if he tries, so his solution is kidnapping the person and threaten them to stay away from his Darling's life. If that doesn't work, he'll simply keep them hidden until their existence begins to be forgotten. He could also use them as a boxing bag to let out his frustations, who knows.

@whatsk-poppinhomies has the perfect description of yandere Minho, as I mentioned in another post. Go check it out!

SEO CHANGBIN

He's the egocentric type, to that makes him dangerous and scary but also predictable.

He lives off the praise and admiration from others. He's constantly showing off, fishing out all kind of validation to feed his ego. He also takes great care of his appareance and everything involved in the way he presents himself to the people.

Imagine the stereotypical jock of american movies that's popular and always being the centre of attention. That's him. He needs to feel eyes on him and be admired or else he'll get slightly insecure.

He'll try to catch his Darling's attention by doing exactly what he does to the rest: Showing off. He'll spoil the shit out her and do anything in his power to prove that he's the ideal partner. That no one is gonna treat her better than he does.

He'll become his Darling's slave, her biggest simp. He'll run up to her if he sees her in the same place as him and trail behind her back like an eager puppy, ready to bend himself backwards for her wishes.

Darling might feel overwhelmed by the constant attention and expensive gestures, but he has no plans on stopping, even if she asks him. Then he'll try to tune it down for her sake, but he's uncapable of stopping. He feels the urge to worship the ground she walks on.

He invades every space of her life with his boaming presence and craves himself into her routine, making sure he's the first and last face she sees everyday. If someone seems to "steal" the time that's rigthfully his, he'll drop that bubbly attitude quickly and become very intimidating. He's short but those muscles don't lie and he knows how to use them.

He has a high self-steem, so he's not jealous per se. However, he enjoys marking what's his and let other people know. He's prideful and has a similar disposition to Chris, in terms that they act more like dogs by how much they remind their partners and everyone else who they belong to.

He'll very, very angry if he finds out his Darling has a crush on someone that's not him. He feels his efforts weren't enough. He feels his ego is being questioned.

Unlike the previous two, he lacks self-control over emotions and he's rather impulsive, so he'll probably get into a fight with his rival or/and his Darling too.

He's a lot more direct about this matter. He'll use his position to berate Darling's crush until their reputation shatters or they decide to run away from the harassment. Changbin would be merciless.

Humiliations, fake rumours, pranks that leave injuries too serious to be just that. He'll be a manual bully, and a terrible one because no one dares to fight back. He's stronger than most, intimidating when he wants to, and has no problem sending someone to an hospital if they piss him off enough.

Eventually he'll drive his rival far from his Darling so he doesn't return, but if that doesn't work, well...he's ready to take permanent measures.

HWANG HYUNJIN

oh fuck here we go

Another dangerous one if he falls to the yandere side. He's as bad as Christopher, the kind of yandere that you can't escape alone and most likely you never will.

He's highly narcissistic and self-centered, but unlike Changbin, you won't ever see him coming. And while Chris' red flags can be more noticeable, Hyunjin's are invisible until it's too late.

He's a great actor, a manual manipulator and the perfect wattpad boyfriend. And by this I mean that every breath he takes is pure 🚩🚩🚩.

Seriously, if I had to pick, I'll run to Christopher Bang with no second though, because he's at least somewhat nice and truly feels like he cares.

Hyunjin doesn't. He believes he does, but that's not it.

He doesn't necessarily want to have a fairytale romance with his Darling. He simply wants to own her. Be the centre of her life and have her at his beck and call. Like I said, narcissistic.

He'll be drawn to someone that doesn't pay attention to him at first. He's used to have people worshipping the ground he walks on and surrounded by admirers, so seeing someone that treats him differently inmediatly picks his interest. And so he goes after her doing everything in his power to impress her and get her to look at him the same way most people do. He can't stand not having everyone infatuated by him.

He'll be the classic love interest that never takes no for an answer, ignores boundaries and takes the protagonist for granted. He thinks being allowed to be with him is an honor. He doesn't really care if the girl is comfortable with the situation, he's set on "fixing the anomaly".

As he begins to develop feelings for his Darling that go beyond winning this game of "hard to get", he starts to idealize her to unsane levels and even gives her traits that she doesn't actually have, just to fit his perfect narrative. If she doesn't have them, then he'll just have to make her, right?

He's charming and has a way with words, but his ego might cost him vision. He uses his image of "dream prince" to his advantage and plays the role for his Darling. He intends to turn her into his muse, a doll crafted by and for himself. He'll smoothly move her to change some aspects of herself to his preference.

His ego, eventually, confirms to be a burden. He's confident on his own perfection and he sees himself as the best option out of everyone and everything, so discovering his Darling apparently has a crush on someone is a mindfuck for him.

But he recovers quickly. As soon as the shock is over, it gets replaced with rage. For the first time in his life, he feels surpassed by someone. And he hates losing.

He'll sabotage every possible relationship Darling could have with anyone. If he can't have her, no one will. Simple. Until she realizes her only viable option is to be with him.

He's the type to ruin his Darling's life too and break her, so he can pick up the pieces and put them back how he wishes. Make her undesirable for other people so she thinks he's the only one that would ever love her.

HAN JISUNG

A nightmare for your emotional health. Dating him on a regular setting would be already a roller coaster, but as a yandere? You'll need fucking therapy and lots of patience, if you ever get out of it of course.

He relies heavily on emotional reactions and playing the victim card. He might actually believe he's a victim. He's impulsive too, but not like Changbin. He's another subtle manipulator, but unlike Hyunjin and Chris who use mental games, he hits you where it hurts.

He's prone to breakdowns and his mental health isn't the most stable at times, so he'll probably fall for his Darling when she helped him through one of his episodes and comforted them. As soon as he felt her warm hands and kind smile, boom. The path to obsession began.

He can be very insecure and distrusting, so he'll get jealous even when they're not even together yet. He thinks everyone that gets close to her has romantic interests and fears they'll take her away. He reflects his own feelings and thoughts unto other people.

Due to his insecurities, he believes everyone is better than him and so, if he lets Darling see other people than him, she'll surely reject him.

He's moody, so he'll go through periods where he's extremely clingy and others where he isolates himself. In both cases, however, he needs to know she's near or else he'll fall in a pit of panic. It reassures him.

He's very attached to his Darling, probably the most out of all. His dependency is completely toxic and it moves him to push people of her life so he can have her entirely for himself. He hates having to share her time and attention, so what's the solution?

Make sure he's the only person she has to talk to.

I think it's important to note that Jisung, while being emotional, is far from stupid. He's in fact one of the smartest in the group, so don't let the shy, soft persona fool you.

He's quick to pick on details, and that includes weaknesses. If he realizes his Darling can't stand seeing him sad or angry, you bet he'll use to his full benefit. He'll throw tantrums and randomly stop talking to her so she has to go after him to know what's wrong and "fix it". Seeing her give him so much attention comforts him.

If he catches on the fact that Darling has feelings for someone else, boy he'll go insane. You think his moodiness and bipolarity were bad before? Be prepared to see it ten times worse.

He wont' stand it, and he'll make that very clear. Another one that'll sabotage any type of relationships she has, but unlike Hyunjin, he'll never go as far as to hurt her or ruin her, because he adores her too much. No, all the damage is directed against those who try to steal her from him.

He'll play the victim card and pretend they were the ones who started the conflict, lying that they made fun of him or they're all speaking ill of her behind her back. He'll paint them as villains and his tears would do the rest.

If that doesn't work, he has no problem locking her up in his house. After all, this would allow him to have her everyday by his side like he wants.

He's highly dependant, very clingy and very sneaky. He's emotionally unstable, so she might see the danger before entering a relationship with him.

LEE FELIX

I really can't see this heaven-sent human as a yandere, but I'll try

He's very similar to Jisung, so it's easy to assume they'll follow similar aproaches. Not for nothing they're called Sunshine twins.

He's also very driven by emotions but he's less impulsive than Han. He prefers to think a bit more before acting, since he wants to look the best at all times for his Darling. That means keeping up appareances with other people too, even if he doesn't like them or can't stand their closeness to her. He wants to earn her through her friends first.

He basically charms everyone around him with his sunshine persona, offering home-made brownies and overall being a cute perfect boy. No one dislikes him and she has only heard great things about him, so she's at ease with him.

She doesn't that he eliminates anyone that suspects his dark side or speaks badly about him. That's why he's seemingly flawless in her eyes.

Because there's literally no one that talks bad about him.

He falls for his Darling due to the simplest things. Maybe a casual warm smile she directed at him once or her complimenting his baker skills. Simple gestures that are plain friendliness and politeness but his deranged mind interprets them in another sense.

He's delusional. A lot, really. If all his interactions with his Darling feel positive and she doesn't reject his advances, that's enough to make him believe his feelings are returned and she feels exactly the same for him.

He'll get close to her by befriending her first, obviously. He wants to take it slow, go step by step in fear he ruins it. He earns her trust and enphasizes his good traits for her. Of course, he uses his deep voice too (because he knows that's one of his best assets)

He's so gentle and kind and understanding, such a good listener. He provides for her and spoils her to the brim. It's only natural she trusts him with her secrets and confides in him.

Including to ask advice regarding her new crush...that's not him.

He doesn't let his inner turmoil be shown. He smiles softly and plays the sweetheart act until she leaves. Once she's out of sight, he finally loses the composure and unleashes the dark emotions he's been hiding for so long.

He doesn't understand. He has done everything perfectly. He's been nothing but charming to her, nothing but a good boy and flawless. He has made her laugh like nobody else, cared for her like a dutiful boyfriend. He's been basically a dream guy. Where did it go wrong?

But he refuses to lose like this. She's only confused, that's it. He shouldn't been so tolerant of the people she hang out with, should've watched better her surroundings. If he does it right, he'll open her eyes and move her back to the right path.

He knows there's no one better than him for his Darling. No one but him deserves her. No one can love her like he does, take care of her like he does.

So he does the only reasonable thing, the same he's done previously with other pests: Remove the obstacle permanently from his life.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Another master manipulator here.

No but for real, he's also relies on his intelligence, and these are the most dangerous and hard to escape out of all.

He plans every move he makes beforehands. He knows what he's doing at all times and, if not, he always has a plan B. He hates the idea of failing.

He's too cool to admit his feelings, so he tries his best to ignore/supress them. Last thing he wants is appear weak and/or vulnerable.

Obviously, he eventually embraces his obsession love and starts to formule a plan. He's another one that's more than willing to play the long game. .

He's only the right amount of polite when he's with his Darling and never more. He purposedly plays hard to get so she'll become interested in him and aproaches him first.

He'll be kind and friendly one day, and the other behave coldly and indifferent. He confuses her constantly in hopes she's drawn to his mysterious side and pays more attention to him.

They won't become friends per se, and he'll become more like a passive yandere like Minho. Watching her from afar and controlling what happens in her life without her knowledge. He'll collect her belongings too, although he won't make a fucking shrine like Minho would. He sees them as trinklets, memories from her. And also as material to learn more about her.

He's highly observant and discreet. Chances of him getting caught are very slim, and there's no way anyone could suspect of his tendencies. He's specially careful around his Darling, so unless her friends have all keen eyes, he could spend an entire life doing this.

He has her entire profile and routines memorized. Her adress, her relatives and friends, the teachers she's had and the places she likes to go. He uses all that information to create interactions where they're "casually" on the same place at the same time or he "accidentally" meets with some of the people she knows who in return talk to her about him.

Step by step, he makes his way through his Darling's life, with zero suspicions.

Unlike Minho, he'll actually aproach her when he follows her somewhere. He doesn't remain hidden, since he wants her to think they both frecuent the same places to see how much in common they have.

He figures out her crush before she has the time to say it. Since they're not close yet (much to his suffering), he finds out from other sources.

He's calm about the whole deal. Well, he still gets angry and has murderous thoughts, but he's an strategist. He has an entire journal with everything there is to know about her. He's good at gathering info.

So he does the same with his rival...but with entirely different purposes.

However, he doesn't simply expose his darkest secrets and removes him from his Darling's path quickly. Oh no. He has a sadist vein. He manipulates everything from the sidelines so his Darling ends up rejecting this person by herself, twisting their image in her eyes so she grows disgusted or uncomfortable with them.

And absolutely no one suspects him.

Once that pest is out of the way after a delicious and humiliating rejection, he moves back to his routine. This event may push him to accelerate the plan and strenghten his bond with Darling.

YANG JEONGIN

Another emotionally unstable one. Lord have mercy.

He's actually more mature that people give him credit for, but he has a certain brattiness, product of usually getting what he wants.

He's impulsive and prideful. The type to resort to the silent treatment if gets angry at someone. He refuses to give in first.

People often see just his cute, maknae persona and get fooled by how coddled he is, but everyone has dark sides, and his particularly can be very intimidating.

Have you seen his angry face? Yeah, I'll burst out crying if someone looked at me like that.

Moving on

He struggles to express his feelings openly, but he also expects his Darling to simply guess them and gets offended if she doesn't act accordingly. He expects her to read his mind.

His Darling would be either an old friend or a co-worker. He likes to remain in his circle, so he feels a bit more in control.

He'll admire her from afar and then aproach her by using his soft, cute maknae act to get attention and care, like he wants. He's used to be the centre of attention because of his cuteness, and let's be honest, she wouldn't resist it either.

He'll make sure her eyes are always fully on him, at all times. If she's paying attention to someone else, he's quick to snatch her with excuses like "i need help with this" "i don't know how to do this" "i'm nervous, can you be with me'" etc.

Another manipulator too. Of course, he learns from the bests of the category.

Meaning he knows how to pretend and act to get his way. He's not as innocent as he lets on.

He gets jealous and he doesn't hide it. He has two moods: He throws a tantrum and pouts (in front of his Darling), and he glares and mocks at the other person (when Darling is away).

Speaking of this, he'll bully anyone that shows interest in her. Like, literally bullying.

I mean intimidation, harassment, bad pranks. All behind her back, of course. He'll eventually convince people to not get close to her, and he'll be fucking happy about it.

Now there's no way she cannot notice him.

At least that's what he thinks, until he hears that his Darling has set her eyes on someone. And it's not him.

Out of all of them, he's the most likely to be caught by her, since he has a hard time hiding his anger.

He'll be resolved to kick that person out of Darling's life one way or another. Oh, and he'll also refuse to speak to her altogether, feeling "betrayed". Again, emotionally unstable and bratty.

Seriously, that person would go through hell. It'll be a mix of Changbin and Jisung. He'll try to play the victim and paint the other as the abuser.

However, he's so deep in with his rage that he gets sloppy. His Darling might caught wind of his harassment to others. She'll probably catch him mid-fight or provoking someone, making fun of them.

When she asks and tries to intervene, he doesn't answer. He doesn't want ignore her forever, but she hurt his pride by liking some other asshole, so he remains in the silent treatment.

He wants her to feel guilty, that it's her fault somehow. Emotional manipulation it's his weapon.

If he plays his cards right, he might get inside her mind and do what he wants with her. If not, she'll believe what she sees and cross him as a bully, avoiding him for good.

Regardless, his rival would be gone. That he'll make sure o

[daisypreaker]

depression? you're better than that.

other written content for homelander on masterlist

They haven’t slept together yet.

As much as it’s a surprise, it’s mostly a relief. It isn’t that she has an overinflated opinion of her own sexual prowess; Homelander is just not the kind of person to be normal about anything. So far, whoever he sleeps with is common knowledge, hence why his preoccupation with them also becomes fodder for the Vought grapevine.

Something more unusual is developing. An affinity, an artificial sense of equality proffered by his hand like a benevolent god. The last person to receive that “gift” was Maeve. Whilst Naya has no choice but to accept, her mind is a network of twitching blood vessels working out ways to get out of this trap before his noose comes down around her neck.

Still, the false sweetness is nice to a point. People don’t check up on her because she doesn’t check up on people. Isolation means nothing if the worst parts of it aren’t nuzzled up to your soft parts, free to take out chunks. Besides, Naya has always been better friends with the voices in her head.

It’s quite the shock to hear a particularly grating one filter through the air behind her while she has her head in her arms and her sleeve is suspiciously wet. Him. She tenses, waiting for some smart quip, a razor sharp insult at the pathetic state of her. Instead he seems uncomfortable, the way a dog side-eyes an object of bemusement. It almost makes her laugh through the tears.

“Who did this to you?” he demands.

Ah. The knight in shining armour act is part of it. John has a series of stages when it comes to idealising a relationship with a woman - any woman he deigns to keep an eye on - and this is one of them. ‘I will protect you’ in gothic font.

“No one.”

“Tell me.”

Naya sighs and unravels her hair and jabs a hand at her skull. “Go crazy.”

It doesn't hit him immediately. And then he blows air through his lips with that mocking sound of disbelief she's come to loathe. It still manages to make her feel this small when he does it.

"Depression? Oh please." He flaps his hand in dismissal. "You're better than that."

She sets her head back on her arms. "If you say so."

Several beats of silence pass in which she can hear him edging closer, like a deep sea diver towards a great white. It takes everything in her not to flinch when he touches her hair. There have been nights where she dreamed of horrors that began exactly like this; he stroked her hair with the sweetness of a lover and then raped her until she bled. Horrible, brutal things that he can make her feel with a single glance, never mind the use of physical force. She just wants the fear to leave. Then he can do every bad thing he wants. She won't mind. She just needs to feel nothing.

He pushes his nose into her neck and breathes in. A fistful of her hair is held captive at the nape and she can't really move her head to look at him because of it. She makes do with a creaky, "What are you doing?" and receives a soft hum in answer.

"You smell good." He extracts his own pleasure from every interaction, and that puts her at ease. It would have unsettled her more if he'd genuinely tried to comfort her.

"So do you." It comes out without time to think on what she's saying and they stare at each other in startled acknowledgement of the fact.

She isn't sure when he decides he's going to kiss her. Maybe it's when the petting of her head gets heavier, like he's taming a stray cat to come to heel. It works, sort of. It makes her eyelids droop, the pressure soothing the static between her ears, until her mouth is sealed by his and everything goes numb. She's never heard herself make these noises before. Strangled, helpless whimpers that he answers with husky ones of his own, his hand braced at her spine to pull her in closer until she can't breathe but it feels so good not to.

It's touch deprivation, she tells herself. Not to have been kissed or touched like this in so long - Vought keeps a harsher eye on her than with any of the others - of course she's going to end up whimpering in the arms of the first person who does. Dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin - all delivered on his tongue like a drug cocktail. Kissing a human isn't like this. It's not dissimilar. But it's not the same.

His hand reaches between her legs and she almost allows it, she's so overcome by the gravelled edge of his moans reverberating through her. She fantasises having the confidence to take the leap. To do as Stillwell does and sexually beguile him somehow. But she can't. He will overwhelm her, and then he'll get bored, because she can't mentally dominate him the way Madelyn can.

She comes to and grabs his wrist. They break apart, lips glossy and pupils blown. She can't seem to wrap her mouth around the word no and ends up shaking her head, her curls dancing with her. He doesn't move to grab her again, but for a fraction of a second - just a fraction - his eyes turn red.

Then he lets go and they're the usual misty blue.

"Sure. Whatever." There goes that puff of scornful air blowing through his lips. He drops the fistful of hair in a messy tangle over her shoulder. There's no eye contact before he walks out abruptly.

She touches her kiss-swollen mouth and fear spreads through her like an oil spill.

[sillygoofyqueer]

TCGF/NPAB AU where Pei Ming actually dies in his final fight as a mortal. Not against Rong Guang, but against Jun Wu, just after his ascension. In my personal headcanon, a god is a bit weaker and not fully immortal after they've just ascended, considering that this is a completely new form and they're caught off guard, so Jun Wu - trying to eliminate a threat before it becomes an issue - gets him while he's down. So, Pei Ming dies.

Of course, he comes back. Dead and kicking, like a vicious little ghost. Instead of Hua Cheng being the next Ghost King after the White Clothed Calamity, Pei Ming takes on that role (haven't decided a fancy title yet). Zhao Beitong may see a son in him, but she sees a warrior. He is the first ghost who refuses to forget her. He stares her dead in the eyes and downright refuses to be consumed so that he cannot forget her. Even if he forgets her name, he will not forget her. She is such a brave warrior, the only martial god he would ever respect. He is a general, and he kneels to her.

He's not really all about that Revenge Lifestyle™ and ends up hanging around Gusu, the site of his ascension, listening to the tales spun of the General who never wanted to be a God, the one who spurned his Godhood and now wanders, looking for someone worthy enough to fight him.

After Mount Tonglu, he just kinda hangs around, reconnecting with Yushi Huang earlier on because, welp, he's dead, the worst she can do is kill him again. He has no idea what the hell happened to his ashes (Jun Wu thought he scattered to them, but a certain Heavenly Official watched this mess occur and caused a massive distraction that allowed her to replace the body with a duplicate) and frankly, he doesn't really care. He's just waiting for something interesting to happen (preferably for the Heavens to crash to the ground, but he's not picky).

Because he ascended before death, he can still receive prayers after death. People speak of the General who spurned godhood, but one who still helps out those who beg for it, becoming a terror to those within his own realm. Ghosts fear him just as much as the gods who hunt them, and he is perfectly content with that. He never touches a sword after his death. He lives peacefully, learning to fight with other weapons, making his own armour and practicing just...living. Ironic that he had to die to learn how to do such a thing. He doesn't get involved with anything.

He listens to the rumours of the God-Pleasing Crown Prince from Xianle, sympathy seeping through him as everyone talks of the awe-inspiring legend, being one of the only people to see it as it really is: a soon to be tragedy. That doesn't stop the sympathy from crawling through him at the tales of how Xianle has been hit with a terrible plague along with a war, how the Crown Prince descends from the heavens to help his country, and the eventual demise of his kingdom. The tales of the White Clothed Calamity. The Crown Prince being banished from the heavens without his sight.

It all makes him feel sympathy for the Crown Prince, especially when less-savoury rumours begin to emerge. He doesn't think about them much. He stops paying attention to any sorts of rumours or stories after that.

Until Mount Tonglu. He, of course, has to go to it, because of the literal everything that goes on. When he watches Zhao Beitong coach a red-clad ghost, watching at a distance and not getting involved until she notices him. They share a look, and he just nods, beginning his journey into the kiln - one that he took before, but accidentally. He does allow himself to farm a few of the wandering souls, because he's allowed a treat sometimes, but he just sits by the doors, waiting for them to open.

He waits for a while. He speaks to Zhao Beitong occasionally. She seems pleased that he has reconnected with Yushi Huang. Apart from that, he doesn't really do much, just kills particularly irritating ghosts. When the kiln opens, he darts inside, not going out of his way to fight the ghost, mainly just watching. Even when the young man notices him, he just watches. Until they fall into memories.

There's no real surprise that the ghost manages to consume Zhao Beitong, but not before she makes him promise to make Pei Ming teach him anything she can't (surprisingly, there are things). When they exit the kiln, Pei Ming is surprised to find a group of child spirits waiting for the red-clad ghost to return. When they notice Pei Ming, he doesn't make any attempt to appear scary - he is quite intimidating as it is. The red ghost looking for his god turns and asks for him to teach him everything.

Pei Ming disagrees.

So, of course, he is absolutely fucking pestered by the ghost (who, despite being strong, cannot really fight against someone at least two hundred years older than him), until he is actually charmed into agreeing - by the child spirit with multicoloured eyes, not by the ghost.

(This was not supposed to be this adapted, just wait 'till He Xuan comes along)

[dragon-watcher03]

Genji x Male!Angel! Reader

Headcanons

Note: you are Mercy's older brother (so around 40) and are part omni on your torso, left arm, and head. You started working with Ramattra after he saved and revived you when your parents abandoned you in a burning building. You now work with Overwatch. You look like Angel from Diablo except your wings are black. You can change the armour as well but you gotta keep the hood. Reader is implied to be part omnic

Genji:

When he first saw you he kinda was scared shitless. I mean, can you blame him? But he was also kinda intrigued by you, mostly by your wings.

He loves the way you look tho. You have that perfect balance of mystery and grace that makes you so pretty. He knows you have a handsome face even without seeing it.

When he saw you fight for the first time, he was in awe. Your moves were so fast yet graceful and after you would just walk around like nothing happened.

He loves messing with you sometimes, like poking the blackness of your face. Although if it actually does annoy you he'll stop.

He strives to break down that silent and serious facade you put up. But he only wants you to show that side to him, no one else. Ngl he's kinda possessive of you-

When you do finally feel comfortable enough to show your face to him, he decides he should do the same thing as well. So you both take off your hood/visor for the first time since you started dating.

Safe to say he was not disappointed. You were even more beautiful than he imagined, and he kinda just stared up at you in awe for a long time. When you poked his face, he finally snapped out of it and was kind of embarrassed. That entire time he was contemplating whether he should kiss you.

You guys are actually able to cuddle and it isn't uncomfortable bc your human side matches his, plus he likes the coldness of the metal on his cheek.

When y'all are alone, he can be quite clingy. He's very touch deprived, but so are you so it's a win-win. He's always holding your right hand with his left so that you guys can feel each other's skin and for once feel like you're humans again.

Soba loves you (kinda like a dog tbh-), which in the Shimada clan is an omen that you've found your soulmate. So now you're stuck with him. Not that you're complaining. She will often leave Genji and wrap around your neck loosely while smooshing her snoot into your cheek or shoulder, asking for attention (which you noticed Genji also does when he wants attention).

Hanzo is a bit iffy about you and how you're 3 years older than his little brother, but after finding out you were related to Mercy, he relaxed a bit. He thinks you're chill and likes hanging around you. But he tends not to bc he knows Genji can get jealous easily.

Kiriko really likes you. Y'all are like this🤞 It honestly makes Genji jealous with how close you guys are. You guys often rant to each other about some random topic, and by both, I mean Kiriko is the only one who rants while you just listen.

Mercy is happy for you both. She knows what your parents did and just wants you to be happy. She does keep her eye on Genji tho, she wants to make sure he doesn't break your robotic heart.

Damn this was long-

[wylldebee]

Ye Olde Magick AU Part II: More Houses

As always: thank @books-n-guns for the existence of this AU :D Basic lore (and the first bunch of houses): X Without further ado, have some more houses~!

The Arryns: Wings, wings, wings. They have the most beautiful feathered wings you'll ever lay eyes on and back muscles because damn their wings are heavy. They need special oils and soaps, and are almost constantly grooming. And they have echo voices (X). If the song Hallelujah existed in ASOIAF they would own it. The skies of the Vale always has at least one Arryn or one of it's cadet houses The Boltons: Like books-n-guns says, they're vampires with an interest in blood magic. Legend says the Boltons actually used to be able to shed their whole skin—and I mean their whole skin—until one Bolton got into blood magic and suddenly vampires. The northern weather is perfect for them. The Mormonts: Werebears! Werebears! Werebears! You think Bear Island was named after the bears that inhabit it? No. It's the werebears of House Mormont. Were as wild looking as the Starks of old just bear themed; claws and teeth and fangs and thicker hair, and were generally bigger and stronger. Now they're just strong. Lady Maege Mormont can still crush a man's head between her hands.

The Tarths: Giants. For some reason the magic has been absent from their bloodline for a few years until Brienne was born. While not as big as her ancestors, Brienne is still big and has great strength. She didn't defeat those who had a bet on her maidenhead so much as she sent them flying. People held score cards. Loras was sweating in his armour and allowed Brienne to grapple him instead shut up you drunken archer of my family I allowed it because I didn't want to fucking die. The Hightowers: Flame hair. Think Hades from Hercules. It's safe to the touch and doesn't set anything on fire...unless the Hightower it's attached to wants it. Just like when they turn the beacon's fire green to call their bannerman, a Hightower's hair can turn green at will. Please imagine Alicent entering the room not only in her green dress, but with flickering green flame hair. The Baelishs: Fiery eyes. Look up Lucifer Morningstar red eyes and you get what I'm imagining, though the pupils are a glowing flame coloured. It's hard to look like a friendly and powerless man to be underestimated by all the high lords with these eyes, but Littlefinger manages it. The Greyjoys: Krackens. Honestly I'm just imagining a kracken version of Davey Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. But they can only get that form when wet with seawater. Can remain in that form so long as a part of their body is still in seawater. Rare times does it skip a member of the family, so sorry Aeron. The Karstarks: Since they are a cadet branch of the Starks they also benefitted from the same wolf magic—however instead of fangs they've got the claws. Sharp and deadly, the Karstarks are best at being frontline fighters where even if they lose their swords they can still maul a bitch. No, seriously, they will maul someone with their claws. They have mauled people with their claws. Rumors say they use grindstones to keep their claws nice and sharp. The Freys: Trolls, specifically bridge trolls. And not the dependable kind that they used to be back in the day. Still having that weasel look to them, they have granite skin that makes normal swords break against them and above-human strength, thus still making them the most powerful bannermen of House Tully. The Reeds: Lizard-lions or frogs. Actually, nobody really knows what the Reeds are—not now or back in the past. Not even Ned knows what Howland Reed looked like because he kept his entire person covered from the top of his head to his hands to his feet. The only thing he saw was a super long tongue jab hard at Arthur's neck that killed the knight and save him. And that's what I've got for now. Again ideas of other houses are welcome!

[arcsimper5]

I am very sad Wrecker didn't really get much development overall. And there are other things I would like to have seen. And Tech.

But anyway.

So consider this version I'm going to (possibly, when my emotions have calmed down), write.

Buckle up, folks. This is gonna be a LOOONG one.

During Plan 99, Wrecker's neck injury is much more severe than first thought.

It is limiting his movement for some time, and AZI warns him that, without a bacta tank, it will take time and rest to heal properly.

Cue Hemlock turning up and their escape (during which time some of the damage is made permenant by the stress), and Omega being taken.

He is already dealing with not being 'strong enough' to pull up the entire railcar and save Tech (which Echo insists was impossible), because he was born and bred to be the strong one, and if he can't be that, what is he?

Flash forward to season 3, and when he turns up with Hunter to the Durands, he's visibly struggling, but only the audience and Hunter really recognise it.

He's hunched. He's stiff. He's more hesitant. But Hunter is hyper focused.

Wrecker is suffering from his injuries, but is doing so in silence, because Omega comes first, and Hunter is still his older brother and his sergeant. They'll find Omega, then they can rest.

During the visit to the old lab, his injuries flare up. Hunter loses an eye to the slither vines. They know they should be more careful, they know they were reckless, but Hunter cannot bring himself to care.

When the surprise reunion happens, Omega pauses for just a little longer when she sees the state of Wrecker. His armour, his posture, the way he falls to his knees to embrace her instead of picking her up because, despite how he wants to, so so badly, it hurts too damn much.

Her guilt only grows when she sees Hunter missing an eye, and realises how much they went through to try and find her. She apologises to Hunter for not listening to him at Cid's, for getting herself captured, saying that she was only trying to protect her squad.

They have a group hug, interrupted by Crosshair appearing silently behind the, uttering his trademark 'How touching,' paralleling the first episode where they find Omega in the brig.

They pull their blasters, Omega panics and runs to Crosshair, standing in front of him, explaining they escaped together. Hunter and Wrecker are still suspicious.

Onto Pabu.

Wrecker's injuries are bandaged, and he is insistent that AZI has had a proper look and he just needs to rest up.

Hunter asks him when Omega leaves why he lied to her. Wrecker shrugs and says he didn't want her to worry.

Omega finds Crosshair, he's still shaky and practicing. When he spots Hunter and Wrecker, he remarks how much they've been through, and how much they've changed.

Omega reminds him that they have too.

Crosshair finally has a talk with Wrecker about his injuries. They repair their relationship a little by admitting they're both scared of losing the one thing that made them 'special', a steady hand and true strength.

Echo arrives. He remarks on how run down everyone looks, Hunter wants to get straight to a meeting, but Echo insists on getting food first.

He expresses how grateful he is that Omega is okay and unharmed, and becomes visibly distressed when she talks about Clones being experimented on.

He looks to Crosshair and asks 'you too?'

Crosshair is hesitant, but nods. He tells Echo what they did to him, adding that he doesn't want Hunter and Wrecker to know.

Echo urges him to get support from his brothers, but he point blank refuses, insisting he will be able to get it under control. Echo is unconvinced, but agrees, beginning to repair his relationship with Crosshair.

On Barton IV, when scoping out the noises outside, when Hunter shoves Crosshair, Cross snaps, asking him how he failed to notice how much Wrecker is struggling.

Hunter retorts that Wrecker 'doesn't struggle', says Crosshair doesn't know them any more.

Crosshair reminds him he's spent the past 6 months with only Omega for company, and that he knows her better than Hunter, and that she is scared for Wrecker too. He accuses him of failing her, and that he can't even see how much she's hurting because of what happened to them.

After dealing with the Wyrm, Hunter let's out a long sigh, looking back to where Wrecker is moving towards them and finally seeing just how hunched and awkward he is when he moves.

Crosshair remarks that he seems to be able to see better with only one eye. Hunter chuckles and they squabble in a friendly manner.

During the mission with Fennec, Wrecker is injured further, struggling to carry their target with them, and Hunter begins to become very concerned.

When they get back to Pabu, he orders Wrecker to rest, Wrecker insists he's fine. Crosshair disagrees. They get into an argument. Crosshair takes Wrecker down in a hand to hand fight easily.

Realisation hits. Wrecker agrees to rest. Hunter feels guilty, apologises to Wrecker, who shrugs it off and hugs him.

When the Empire shows up and takes Omega, Wrecker's injury is exacerbated by the explosion. He's weak, he's seriously injured, but he keeps pushing.

They break Rampart out, but he struggles to carry him, struggles to throw him, struggles with everything.

Hunter comes to realise that his brother might never be the same again. He begins considering leaving him on Pabu while he and Crosshair go to get Omega from Tantiss.

By the time comes for him to consider it, it's too late.

They make the jump to Tantiss, the shuttle crash takes more out of him, and the fight with the massive creature nearly kills him.

By the time they get to the hangar, he's a shadow of his former self. When the debris falls on Hunter, he's in too much pain to lift it.

He can only watch as Hunter loses his other eye to the troopers, and Crosshair is knocked out.

He gets taken down too easily, unable to fight any more.

When they are tortured, he can barely resist, all of his energy failing. His strength, the one thing he was made for, is gone.

He's tired. His muscles are wrecked. He's had no time to recover, no medical treatment. He's beyond repair.

Despite it all, he pushes through to help Omega, he is faced with a CX trooper around his size, but for the first time in his life, brute force won't work. He just doesn't have the strength.

He doesn't dive through the window. He baits the CX trooper into charging him, and darts out of the way just in time. The trooper lands on his head, snapping his neck and killing him instantly.

So the final fight comes down to them fighting the CX troopers , but in a way they are not experienced in.

Hunter has to use his other senses. With his sight gone, he needs to trust his hearing, his spatial awareness, the electrical pulses he can feel.

Wrecker has to use his brain to trick the troopers, knowing he can't beat them 1v1 any more.

Crosshair's weakness is close quarters combat, but he fights through, desperate to chase down Omega.

Finally CX2 is the only one left. He talks about emotions being their weakness, and undoes his helmet, assuring them they will suffer an emotional response.

It's Tech. Wrecker all but collapses, just on shock. Hunter let's out a sob and similarly falls. Crosshair attacks.

He tries to get through to Tech, saying he knows he's in there. CX2 just laughs sharply, telling him he will lose, again, because that's what they always do.

No matter how successful they were, they were never meant for longevity. They were always destined for short, sad lives, and he's going to make sure of it.

Wrecker marches towards CX2, Hunter and Crosshair calling him and trying to stop him, unable to. But he just walks up and hugs him, crying as he murmurs how sorry he is for not being strong enough to stop him falling, for not holding on.

Tech's memories begin to return, telling him in a strained voice that Hemlock needs to be stopped, that Project Necromancer is a plan to keep the emperor alive forever, to cement his rule for multiple lifetimes. The only person with the knowledge to do it is Hemlock.

He needs to die.

They chase after Omega, Wrecker limping behind with Hunter. As the confrontation happens, Tech kneels down in front of Crosshair, getting him to rest his blaster on his shoulder, a callback to TCW S7 arc. Crosshair says he doesn't think he can make the shot.

Tech reassures him he's never missed one when it mattered most. Tells him to trust himself.

Crosshair takes the shot as Omega stabs Hemlock.

Then takes one clean headshot. Hemlock is dead. He doesn't fall. He's there. Dead. Crumpled. Gone.

Knowing they have no time, they get into Hemlock's shuttle, flying away towards Pabu.

Omega is shocked and overjoyed to see Tech, but devastated that Hunter has lost his sight.

They reassure her that everything will be okay.

They arrive on Pabu. Echo hugs Tech, tells him he's an idiot, expresses how sorry he is he was experimented on. Tech reassures him, they exchange a meaningful handshake.

Wrecker has a cane now, his body still recovering. He has a limp, it's obvious he's suffered permanent damage. Crosshair helps Hunter over to where Omega is. He still has a tremor, his hand still aches, but he's there, with his family.

They talk about the future, about how they are free now, to do whatever they want. Tech comes over and tells Crosshair it's time to go.

They all look at him, confused. He explains they're going with Echo to join the rebellion. They've been a part of the Empire, they know what they're up against, they need to fight. It would feel wrong not to.

Omega hugs them and they promise to be back soon. Hunter and Wrecker relax with Omega. Fade to black.

Epilogue:

Hunter still catches Omega before she goes. Only this time, Crosshair and Tech are waiting with him, having come to pick her up in their ship. Batcher is acting as Hunter's seeing eye dog, giving him his freedom back to a certain extent.

They reassure Hunter they'll look after her, that Echo is waiting for them. Wrecker appears behind them, chastises Omega for trying to leave without saying goodbye.

Conversations about rebellion and how the fight is going. Omega hugs Hunter and Wrecker and goes to get onto the ship.

Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair all share an embrace. He murmurs about her being their little girl. They all smile and agree. Only she's not so little any more.

As Hunter and Wrecker watch the ship take off, the Bad Batch theme plays full force once more.

Their legacy lives.

[barn-anon]

He looks at the human woman that had opened her home to him. He's been living with her for two weeks now and he doesn't get it. why? Why let him in? Why let him stay? Why hadn't she chased him off from the start? This makes no sense, there's no reason for her to tolerate him. Yet she's here making extra portions of her own meals for him to eat whenever he drops by.

He tenses up when she reaches over to pat his arm as she walks past him. All these little gestures of kindness and affection. Is she not terrified of a massive armoured being that's armed to the teeth? He's confused, is she really that big hearted or is she wrong in the head? Just yesterday she had walked up to him and plopped one of those funny hats she usually wears out on top of his head and snapped a picture. Giggling as she hugged him after and scurried off.

He felt like an idiot just standing where and staring at where she had walked out the room. Perhaps he should stop this, stop coming around or maybe make it clear how he disapproves of her actions? Though he doesn't quite want to stop it. It feels silly to indulge her yes, but at the same time... when was the last time he's looked up to with such innocent eyes full of joy? when was the last time someone touched him without the intention of trying to maim or kill him?

He supposes there's no real harm in allowing her this. He can live with this and though he hates to admit it, he likes it. A part of him feels unworthy of such tender affection. How many lives has he cut short in the past? He's a Chaos Marine. How can a monster like him deserve such good things? He had tried to convey to his human that he's dangerous, that she should stay far away from him. Nothing worked, she's always there with a heart too big for this cruel world.

Still he grumbles when she once more approaches him with another cutsy hat in her hands. He bends down enough for her to plop it on his helmet and holds still for her to take her picture. He looks at her phone and snorts when she posts it on whatever social media humans flock to. She wraps her arms around him and human words are spoken, cooing to him in that sugar sweet tone that he notes she uses when speaking to human children and pets. He can tolerate this.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

[setrija-nibelungenfangirl]

My random thoughts on Harald Reinl’s film adaptation of the Nibelungenlied from 1966/67.

Die Nibelungen: Siegfried (1966)

Die Nibelungen: Kriemhilds Rache (Kriemhild’s Revenge) (1967)

More under the cut:

Positives:

- Film starts directly with Worms and thus places it directly as a focus of the film

- Volker's role is expanded as the narrator of the film. And he also goes to Isenstein.

- Even Ortwin is in the film and very briefly Rumolt too

- Great landscape images. I love the wide shots of the Burgundians on their journey to Etzel.

- I really like Rolf Henniger as Gunther: he is so self-confident and charismatic and has Siegfried pretty well under his control: Siegfried seems like the pawn of the Burgundians (Henniger seems like the COMPLETE opposite of Theodor Loos as Gunther xD)

- Karin Dor as Brunhild is also very great. She conveys her cold pride really well.

- It's cool that the film also includes the war against the Saxons. And nice touch, that Siegfried fights in it without armour.

- Dankwart helps Hagen with the hoard sinking (which I like because we see more of Dankwart).

- I find it interesting how Rüdiger and Blödelin are already established in the first film, as well as the bond between Giselher and Dietlind. It's at least a replacement for the Burgundians' stay in Bechelaren, that the film leaves out.

- It’s tragic (in a good way) how Brunhild really falls in love with Gunther after their consummated wedding night, before the secret of her betrayal comes to light.

- I find it interesting and quite cool how it storms during the 1st wedding night and the night Siegfried's body is brought back. It emphasises the impending doom. [In the NL, before the quarrel of the queens, there are several mentions of tournaments (buhurts), some of which take place in illogical places where there is no room for them. They are probably a stylistic device to depict the impending disaster and the coming outbreak of hostility. – The storms in the film seem to be a nice parallel to that.]

- I really like the little scenes where the Burgundians laugh together. They convey their bond with each other well and make them even more human/sympathetic.

- My absolute favourite piece of music in all NL movies is this theme of the huns (it starts at 2:41). It slaps so hard.

- The depiction of the Huns is definetely better than in Lang’s adaptation.

- Dieter Eppler IS Rüdiger to me XD Every time I drew Rüdiger in the past I just drew Eppler. He’s definitely the NL actor that shaped the most how I visualize a NL character in my head.

Negatives:

- The dragon is… ehh.

- Gunther just drops dead because of his wounds at the end! No! At least throw him into the snake pit if he's not going to be beheaded! xD

- Kriemhild seems slightly weaker as an avenger than in Lang’s adaptation or the NL. But there are also good scenes in this film showing her ruthlessness (especially that one scene in which she watches the burning hall).

- It's a shame that Dietrich's fight against Hagen and Gunther isn't shown.

Comments/Nitpicks:

- I love how randomly Hagen just stands there during the two Gunther-Siegfried conversations (at Isenstein and after the 1st wedding night) xD He doesn't even secretly eavesdrop, he's just ignored/not noticed xD

- interesting how Hagen becomes the seemingly last follower of Wotan in Burgundy. And the weird anti-Christian “bond” between Hagen and Alberich xD. ‘Incense makes me sneeze’ was a pretty amusing line from Alberich.

- a bit funny how Siegfried leaves immediately after he frees Brunhild, after he really wanted to free her with the ring (because he doesn't want to bind himself to her in order to continue adventuring). But immediately afterwards he wants to woo Kriemhild…

- Siegfried generally has little self-awareness xD The way he wants to give Brunhild a necklace as a gift for her wedding xD His backstory with Brunhild comes across as kinda awkward without the magic potion that lets him forget everything

- Brunhild's LSD belt xD

- Pretty amusing how Alberich summons the rats to be freed, attacks Hagen on the boat and is killed by Hagen. And Hagen could even have become the owner of the cloak of invisibility had he only learnt the magic words! xD R.I.P. Alberich, you were a weird but amusing character in the film.

- Because Gunther is such a decisive king here (even more so than in the NL), the influence of Siegfried and Hagen seems diminished compared to the NL, especially that of Siegfried. Which makes Siegfried and Hagen seem somewhat weaker to me as characters than in the NL.

- Why is Gunther so often in his sleeping dress (at least I think it is his sleeping dress)? He even receives Rüdiger in it. Is he too lazy to change? Is he secretly in his midlife crisis? xD

- I think the subplot where Hagen and Gunther want to kidnap Kriemhild's son and the child dies in the process is interesting. It shows Hagen and Gunther once again as unscrupulous realpolitikers and leads seamlessly into Kriemhild's decision to accept Etzel's proposal.

- Harald Reinl seems to have taken some inspiration by Fritz Lang. Giselher and Rüdiger kill each other (just like in 1924) and Gernot gets shot showing Giselher’s dead body to Kriemhild. Which is not bad in itself, I just found the parallels interesting between the two adaptations.

Stand-out scenes:

- The scene in which Hagen raises his sword in the stormy night and swears to avenge any harm done to his king is absolutely cool.

- The end of Part 1 is also superbly staged: how Kriemhild swears revenge on Hagen at sunset.

- Kriemhild watching the hall burn is also a great scene.

My personal ranking: 9/10

I think Fritz Lang's film version is a better film from an artistic perspective, but subjectively I like Harald Reinl's film version a little more. Maybe it's because it was more memorable when I was younger or/and because it aligns more with my (modern) viewing habits as a non silent film. It's an entertaining and, in my opinion, well-made film adaptation (even if it does have a few silly scenes) and many of the actors seem very charming to me, especially the Burgundians. The film also scores points with me as an adaptation of the NL, as the Burgundians' march to Hungary and the crossing of the Danube are also shown. But the ending is a bit disappointing, as Gunther's sudden death and Kriemhild's suicide make the ending have a weaker effect on me than in the Nibelungenlied or in Lang’s adaptation.

[midnight--capricorn]

There was a proper title here but I didn't like it so there is no longer a title

this is not an AO3-worthy post but I decided to finish it and post it anyway. It's that type of fic where I can't really do much but it's there. Not sure exactly how I feel about it it has been sat in my wip being for like a week but still. It's here, it's sacred stones, honestly I don't mind if you give me your opinions tbh I am very self-critical

I would give details but I'm not sure how, actual plot under the cut:

"There you are, Forde."

Kyle marched up the hill, the gently waving grass rustling beneath his boots, the soft yet cold wind from the steel-grey sky stroking his face with its icy touch. Silence blanketed the duo- Forde, silent and still, his golden ponytail caught in the wind and gently fluttering, the ends of the red ribbon holding it dancing with it- the solitary piece of red without any of his armour.

"Forde?"

"Hm?"

Forde looked up from the thing he was staring down at and turned his head. His green eyes, like sunlight on a patch of grass, looked duller than usual.

"Oh, hey, Kyle."

"I was wondering where you went to."

Forde turned back to what he was looking at, a chuckle forced from his chest.

"You do that a lot, you know?"

Kyle inched closer to his friend, peering over to see what the object of Forde's attention was. A small block of stone, dark in colour. The inscription on it was hard for him to make out. "Oh."

"Is something the matter, Kyle?"

"I forgot it was that time of the year."

Kyle fell silent for a moment, running his thumb over the bright green armour covering the back of his hand.

"This is something you do every year, isn't it? You always disappeared for a while around this time of year."

Forde nodded, still not taking his eyes off the stone.

"It's a promise I've made to myself- to visit her at least this time of year. I forgot the exact date, but I remember it being around this time."

Kyle put a hand on Forde's shoulder, looking down at the tombstone himself.

"You'd normally take Franz with you, how come you've stopped doing that?"

Forde gazed up at Kyle, a melancholic smile painted on an already gloomy face.

"He has his own life now. Plus, would he still grieve someone he doesn't remember?"

"I'm sure he would, even if he doesn't remember."

"I also tend to bring some of my paintings with me when it comes to this time of year, to show Mother what I've been doing."

Kyle's hand moved from one shoulder to the other, then down to Forde's arm, pulling him slightly closer.

"She would have enjoyed seeing them in person."

Forde nodded, letting silence grow between them. It crashed down on Kyle, drowning his heart in the deluge. It choked the words inside his throat, washing away more in his mind. It flooded his body for what felt like an eternity, before Forde spoke again, draining it away. "Hey, Kyle?"

"Hm?"

A soft rain started to fall, its gentle patter upon the grass and trees, adding to the gentle, natural chorus.

"You asked me to teach you how to paint, didn't you?"

A forced chuckle. A wobbly smile.

"Perhaps we can both show her our work."

Kyle nodded. Words weren't coming easily to him now. Not with that distant look in Forde's eyes, like the raindrops on the grass.

"For now, though, can we stay here? Just a while longer?"

Kyle pulled Forde in closer, keeping his arm wrapped around his back. He let Forde's head rest on his shoulder.

"Of course."

[callophelia]

Scared into acting again, here are some shadow/persona designs I made for Persona Crossroads:

I saw a news article thing for P6 show up on my phone's newsfeed and got scared into acting once more, here are some more persona and shadow designs I made for Crossroads (which I sort of scrapped since I don't want it to be done in the P5 Tactica art style anymore XDD)

First up we got the myth, the legend, Bayonetta!

I actually got pretty far into making the art digital, but as much of a shame as it is, I just wanted an art style change XDD The final Bayonetta design will probably still look similar tho owo

I used Ernesto from P5T as inspo for the gun feet X33 I don't really have much else to talk about regarding her design since it mostly sticks to her canon outfit in Bayonetta 1.

Next, we got Karl Jacobs' TFTSMP character.

I really wanted to lean in on the whole In Between-Other Side-XD's World idea, tho I ended up not finishing the colouring since I got stuck on what to do with the hair lol XDD

The bottom coat part is inspired by a fanart I saw by Cute Studio (I believe their username was...) and the inside of the coat and the hands sprouting from the ends of Jacobs' scarf is a reference to all the versions of him that can be found in the In Between. The last notable note I can think to mention about his design is how his halo is meant to sort of... evoke the imagery of a clock? If that makes sense lol.

I wanted him to look super ominous since Jacobs' was supposed to be a boss.

Unexpectedly, up next we have the illusive, rumoured Istaroth from Genshin Impact!

It's a weird choice since we've never had a confirmed appearance for her, but back in my old notes for Crossroads, Istaroth was supposed to be one of the characters' personas, so yeah, I made her lol.

Her design was inspired by art of her drawn by gierosajie-art and littleblueberryartist! Originally I had her standing, but realised the pose of her sitting down with her hands in her lap to be more iconic.

And here we have Mari from OMORI! :DD

I think I mentioned it before, she was originally supposed to be part of a system of personas that's like... a bunch of personas in one personas because their user was a person with DID. Still not sure if I'm keeping the concept yet, but if not, then she'll just be a shadow roaming around.

Her hair was inspired by a fanart made by k0re_drawings on Twitter. I just loved how they drew her hair in a way that looked like snapped violin strings! If I redesign her tho, I think I might use a drawing by an artist called Hiko (I think) as inspiration. Mari doesn't really look like Something, but if you look at her from the back, the resemblance is there, I swear!

And next we have the Electro Archon herself, Raiden Ei! :DD

This was designed when she was still supposed to be Arilette's persona and I truly regret not making her skin look like shadows :\\

Her outfit is basically just her normal outfit without some of the asymmetricalness and some extra ornaments and armour inspired by the Raiden Shogun boss and a small handful of fanarts. I love how her bottom half has the vague silhouette of a butterfly :))

And last but not least, we got the Anemo Archon, Venti! :DD

So... I don't like his design ._. It's too much. I tried using various fanarts as inspiration to try and make his outfit a lil cooler, but it's just... so... much ._. (I do love the touch of Celestia in his corrupted form owo)

Even tho the name of the persona is Venti, I decided to make his look resemble Barbatos so I could pull a Third Ascension and make it look like his bard outfit while naming it Barbatos owo

That's all I got lol

[illmetkismet]

for the ask game, i'll give Ashley! <3

YESSSSSSSSS thank you for giving me Ashley!!! I'm holding her gently in the palm of my hand...

How I feel about this character: Full disclaimer is that I dressed up as Ashley last halloween, i have an Ashley sticker on my water bottle, I wrote fic with Ashley in it so um, I love her. They nailed her character design - she's so fucking cute - and the way she grows throughout re4r is so gradual that you almost don't notice it's happening until you blink and she's suddenly knocking down a wall with a wrecking ball and you're like, "Wait...." She starts off so miserable and scared, and little by little she finds the courage to make it through her ordeal. The sections where she's with you in the game were so stressful because I was so worried for her, but I love her commentary and just having her there with you makes it feel less lonely. One day I will unlock the armour for her and then my heart will be at peace... Playing as her was even worse, worry-wise, but honestly, it just made me realize how brave she really is.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Sowwy, no one.... Well, actually, I do love that she has this sweet crush on Leon, and I do want her to get to be with him cause she's so into it, but I just don't see it happening. So I do love fanfic or fanart of them together, especially when it feels like maybe it's one of her daydreams/fantasies lol That's the only way it makes sense in my head.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Oh, but her and Leon are so great together platonically! Their scene where he tells her she can keep going, but warn him before stabbing him next time.... Uuuuugh that was so sweet, I love them!! I love how committed Leon is to saving her, and how much she comes to trust him. That they start to like each other, to joke with each other, to encourage each other. Their sunrise ending scene makes me tear up every time.

My unpopular opinion about this character: It feels like just liking Ashley is an unpopular opinion in and of itself, but I'll try for less of a low hanging fruit... Hm, let's see... Well, I guess it's a popular refrain, and I feel like I've said it myself before, but the more I think about it the less I like the whole, 'give Ashley a gun!' thing. Actually, I love that she didn't get a gun. I love that she got through the game - even the section where she had to run around with the fucking Armaduras on her ass - without a weapon (wrecking ball doesn't count lol). I don't want her to be a warrior badass, I want her to stay her sweet goofy self.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish she wasn't a one-off, or that at the very least we got a cameo or some kinda in-game document with a little update as to what became of her. Seems like she and Leon didn't keep in touch, and I've talked about what a shame I think that is before. Basically, more Ashley please!! But I'm not holding my breath.... She's so important to me, but I guess in the grand Capcom scheme of things she's just a side character who appeared in one single game and was never heard of again 😞