#all of this was done simply because they were sadistic people

[bixels]

The final TF2 issue really got to me. Spoilers, but it’s the reveal that all of this suffering and murder and war over gravel and shitty land was for nothing but senseless, bottomless hatred. That the administrator can’t even remember where this revenge plot started as she flashes through different false memories of her parents’ deaths. There was never a tragic backstory or justification, only terrible people doing despicable things. And despite how crass and stupid and unserious TF2 is, the story subverts every expectation by showing the survivors and inheritors willingly breaking the cycle. Ms. Pauling lies to the administrator and chooses not to save her, and finally lets her die. (Hurts even more if you read into the subtext that Ms. Pauling is in love with the administrator.) She lets the final cache of Australium go and walks away from the burden and legacy of a century-old bloodfeud. Hale lets Gray’s daughter go and live her life freely. Spy is the first to arrive at Scout’s house and meet his big family, finally takes off his mask, and helps with the kids. Even Merasmus exhaustedly makes peace with himself and Soldier and chooses not to curse him or something. There’s nothing to finish, no promises to keep, and no one to avenge. The only thing to do is break the cycle and walk away.

It feels odd how happy and warm everything is, but it feels so right and earned. These bloodthirsty, awful, violent men were expendable cogs in a machine of endless violence, and they found a way out. It’s a genuinely great message about letting go the past that burdens you and finding the will and a way to hit the bricks, change, and be happy. Maybe they don’t technically deserve happiness, but they’ve got it nonetheless, and they’re not gonna let it go to waste. They’re still all crazy and violent, but on their own terms now and with people who love them! Smiles.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Servant’s Secret 

♡ featuring: ayato kamisato x f!reader

♡ summary: the commissioner catches you during some alone time, and decides that punishment is in order. wc: 2.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, unprotected sex, breeding, edging, overstimulation, spanking, humiliation, slightly sadist?, cunnilingus, mild degradation, pet names (bunny)

notes: hello! I read a lot of smut but never write it and it's been years since I've written anything so I figured I'd give it a try! sorry if I'm a bit rusty. let me know if u like it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The commissioner was a busy man. When he occasionally visited the town, his honeyed words left a lasting pleasant impression on the public. However, Ayato would be gone many nights, returning haggard from cumbersome affairs. He flashes a gentle smile, reluctant to reveal the vitriol he harbored for these repetitive duties. He was a man to be feared, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. Stern and prideful and clement. Only the most loyal companions could see him in this vulnerable state. Therefore, it came as a surprise to Ayato when he took a liking to you.

Maybe it was the way you accidentally beamed whenever he returned to you, awaiting his arrival like a loyal pet. “Welcome back, my lord.” You’d say in a monotone cadence. Though you were anything but when he wasn’t around. When you and Thoma had your weekly water fights in the kitchen during food prep he pretended not to notice. When your soft giggle echoed against the confines of his heart, he pretended not to notice.  

Simply because the thought of you smiling for everyone but him was frustrating.  

You were a lowly servant. You were careful not to disturb his tedious work. You felt he was much more important than you; a man this compassionate and protective over his people should be considered in the highest regard. Still, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks glow hot whenever he called your name, saccharine vibrations that sent shivers down your spine. Sometimes his gloved hand would graze against your shoulder or neck, leading you to wonder how it would feel in other places. He never caught you dozing off—or so you thought—but daydreaming about his lips decorating your neck was a daily occurrence.  

Tonight, was a night like any other after finishing your tasks. As you wandered through the garden, the stars casted an orchestra across the welkin. You tell yourself repeatedly to repress the improper thoughts you had of him. But turning to the sky to cleanse your mind doesn’t always help, and so you return to your quarters for a more direct approach.  

Sliding your hands between your legs, the only thing you can think about is Ayato’s delicate fingers working their way inside you, kissing the shell of your ear with light praises. Usually, you were more careful to lock the door and control your voice, but your senses were clouded with the stimulation of chasing your high. “Ayato...” you whimpered into the bed sheets continuously. Just as you were about to cum, a familiar voice approached the door. “(Y/N)? In the morning I need you to- “. Cracking the door open, Ayato caught a glimpse of your flustered, trembling figure.  

It happened so fast you couldn’t register it. He immediately shut the door, followed by a quick “My apologies”. Your orgasm was immediately ruined, and you were mortified. You never prayed to an archon before now, but you called on all of them to save you in this moment.  

Your plan was to avoid him at all costs. The only thing you could hope for was that he didn’t catch the moaning. Your tasks for the next two days were done quickly and quietly, too stricken by horror to bear seeing his face. Ayato immediately caught on, but the thought of chasing you was slightly amusing to him.  

On the third day, your cleaning was just wrapping up.  

“Excellent job today, (Y/N).” His presence this close to your ear was shocking and you almost dropped the duster in your hand. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll be going now.”  

“Mm, no. I would like to speak with you privately.” He said, his lips slightly curling. You wanted anything but that right now.  

“Have I… have I done something wrong my lord?”  

“Have you?” He retorts, his eyes peering into yours. You felt all the air leave your chest. “I don’t think so, no.”  

“Okay, come then.” His tone was almost commanding more than playful, and you knew not to protest.  

In his quarters, you both sat quietly for some time. He leaned forward with his hands under his chin, staring at you from across the desk. You try your best to avert his gaze, but his eyes never leave you. The room feels so much smaller now, like a predator surrounding its prey.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Have I done something to offend you?”  

“No, my lord” you reassure him, “I was just feeling a bit ill.”  

“Ah, I see.” He lazily covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to stifle the sly smirk that creeped onto his face.  

“I can’t allow my subordinate to fall under the weather. May I check?” You allowed him to get closer. He removed one glove and grazed his hand against your face, then the back of your neck, then your ears. You were burning up just from the contact of his bare hand.  

“You feel hot. Looks like a bad fever.” You nod along, fueling the lie.  

“Do liars commonly come down with the flu?” 

“…What?”  

“You were shaking and sweating when I caught you a few days ago, perhaps that’s a symptom.” You immediately knew what he was talking about and went into panic mode looking for a proper explanation. Instead of padding for more lies, you drop to your knees and bow your head.  

“I’m so sorry, my lord. My actions were disrespectful and crude and this will never happen again.”  

A soft ‘tsk’ came from Ayato. “Why are you using ‘my lord’ when my first name was commonplace on your lips not too long ago?” Nothing could make your life worse right now. You couldn’t find any other words and bowed your head again.  

“I’m deeply sorry.”  

“…So, what should I do? I can’t just allow this to go unpunished.”  

“I’ll accept any punishment, my lord.”  

His eyes darkened at this statement.  

“Anything?”  

“Your lying is more indecent than everything else. What did you say again?”  

You were completely stripped naked and bent over his desk, your hands tied behind your back. It was an hour since you accepted your punishment, and you came three times already. A clit sucker is attached to your pussy, while Ayato sits back and curls his fingers into your dripping heat. Any rational thought you had sunk a while ago. “So- ’m so sorry my lord.” Your words teeter on babbling; mind foggy from his skillful digits. A sharp slap makes contact with your ass a few times, forcing your back to arch and send spikes of pleasure through your legs.  

“I’d appreciate it if my pet was more honest. But it’s okay, I have no problem reteaching obedience.”  

He sped up his fingers, matching the movement of your body writhing in pleasure. Your cum dripping down his gloved fingers made his cock twitch and grow in his tightening slacks. “Poor thing, your pussy is so puffy and sensitive. You’re not going to give up on me, right?” He detached the sucker from your clit and admired how swollen you were. The feeling of being empty made you whine, before he sent a stinging slap to your clit.  

“Ah. No, my l- “Before you could finish, Ayato shoved his fingers covered in your essence in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, and he tugged your hair roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “You are not to call me ‘my lord’ anymore. Only Ayato. Do you understand?” You nod through half-lidded eyes.  

“Good girl.” He spread your backside to get a perfect view of the sticky mess coating your inner thighs and ass and licked a long stripe into you. The feeling of his wet muscle invaded your senses and turned your brain to mush. He ate you out like a starving man, grunting from the squelching noises that erupted from your core whenever he sucked on your folds. He stopped occasionally to catch his breath and went back in to lap up your juices.  

“Please Ayato, ‘M gonna cum.” He was greedy and unforgiving, feeling his smile soaked in your arousal whenever you pulled away because it was too much. The raw sensation made your knees buckle, but your legs subconsciously opened wider for him. You just wanted to be good for him. Then he suddenly stopped. 

“Are you sure you deserve it?” He cooed. You turn to meet his dark sadistic gaze. 

“Please.” Your words are broken and fall to a whisper, tears spilling from heightened sensitivity. His smile is soft sunlight despite the look in his eyes, and he takes your chin within the caress of his palm. “When you misbehave, these things happen. I don’t think you deserve it just yet.”  

Ayato cut the restraints binding your wrists and carries you bridal style to the plush bedding further in his chambers. He set you down like a delicate flower and began to strip. You try your best to cover yourself, but the numbness in your limbs protested. “Exposing yourself so shamefully in front of the commissioner, how errant.” He teases. Ayato finally springs his cock free, sticky with precum and desire. His veins meet the underside of his shaft and angry red tip, begging to be buried inside you. He steadies over you, placing a breathtaking kiss to trailing soft pecks and bites along your ear. It was stirring you up all over again, and you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kisses. “Wan’ you.” You mumble between breaths.  

“Do you? Beg for it.” You suddenly get shy, unable to find the words. “Tell me exactly what you want, my little bunny.” 

“I want... I want you to ruin me. I need it bad Ayato please.” For some reason, verbalizing what you wanted was much more embarrassing, and he felt your reluctance. “This shouldn’t be too hard for you, right? What did you think about when you touched yourself to me?” His directness makes you cower. “Did I face-fuck you to tears or was I more passionate. Tell me everything.” Your breath hitched. “I want your cock deep inside me and I want you to breed me. I don’t want you to hold back, do whatever you want to me please.” This answer seems to satisfy him. 

“Good girl.” 

Ayato positions you into a mating press and in one motion shoves himself balls deep in your sex. His breath is ragged, and the feeling of your walls sucking and clenching around him perfectly drove him over the edge. He begins driving himself in and out of you from base to tip, squelching and slapping from his balls against your ass echoed throughout the room. His veins dragging along your most sensitive spots combined with the tuft of hair that made contact with your clit after each thrust make you dizzy. You're drowning in his scent and your heart is drumming in your chest. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” His words come out shaky. “My little bunny. You’re mine. Say it.” His thrusts get needier and rougher, and his whimpers turn to breathy whining. The coil tightening in your stomach threatened to snap at any minute, but you held on for permission. 

“I'm yours, Ayato. Please-”  

“Go ahead, cum for me bunny. Cum on my cock.” Stern, almost like a command, he speeds up and begins to rub circles on your abused clit. Your legs shake and you throw your head back along with your eyes. You came on him with a scream, violently clenching and pulsing around his girth. He doesn’t stop and fucks you through your high as he is approaching his. “Where do you want my cum?” Everything in you clung to him tightly, and so you begged for him to do it inside. 

“Fuck- you’re such a good slut. All for me.” He finally reaches his climax, stuffing you to the hilt and spurting into you. Thick, hot cum fills you from the inside as he whimpers throughout it, feeling his cock twitch at times. He stays there for a while, making sure you were properly full. Making sure he owned you. You were so exhausted you ended up dozing off with him still inside. 

You wake up to a sleeping Ayato, eyes lingering on the scratches littering his back. You were cleaned up, minus the dark bite marks dotted around your torso. The early morning sun reflected on him like an angel, and you wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Recollecting the hot daze on his face from the previous night, surely there wouldn’t be any harm in continuing this arrangement. 

[amandacanwrite]

Halsin Headcanons For When He's In Love With You/Tav (Ungendered)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED TOO SOON

Generously Requested by @cryingoverpixelsetc I can't tell you how much it means to me when people actually WANT to hear about my bg3 brainrot because this game has been my escape lately and also, just a nice little break from the freelance work I have to cram to get done.

(PS if you like these, I am also a writer of my own original stories and I have some WIP's you may like.)

Quick CW|| Some graphic depictions of violence, particularly puncture wounds and viscera, intentions of heavy violence also referenced. In Battle

He trusts you, perhaps more than anyone else, to handle yourself. He doesn't hover, but he always has an eye on you as you tear into the fray.

He always seems so gentle to you that you sometimes worry about your own brutality in a fight. Especially when it leaves you covered in blood.

Because of this, you tend to keep your distance after a fight, too frightened to look into his pretty hazel eyes and see any measure of hesitance or disgust with you. Not that you've gotten used to it, you cant bear the thought of him not calling you 'my heart.'

This is only a fear for you until you got pinned down with a particularly nasty bhaalan cultist. Astarion had already been taken down in the surprise attack, then you were toppled by one of the many in the ambush.

The scream you let out as they sadistically drove their daggers through the palms of your hands was shocking even to you. You felt like a moth pinned to a board--it was too painful to try to break yourself free, even as the assailant wielded his next blade like he was about to field dress an elk.

You'd never felt fear like that.

But it didn't last long. A great cave bear launched through the air and into your attacker, wasting no time before ripping into the soft flesh of his throat and tore it out.

The smell of fear on you was strong, he knew you couldn't fight like that, so he simply stood guard over you, tearing to shreds anyone who got close from what small parts of it you can remember through the utter fear.

It was the after math of that fight when you knew you could never let him go.

He cups your face in his large, warm hands.

"Look at me, dear heart. Look upon me and remember that you're alive. There is no more threat. There is no one to hurt you. I would never let someone take you away from me before nature deigns it so."

The blades, you wept, the blades would hurt to remove.

"They will, but only for a moment, my love. Just a moment of pain before I heal you myself and carry you back to camp."

It's Astarion who removes the blades from your palms and frees you; he has the steadiest hands. But Halsin wastes no time in cradling you close to him, holding both of your hands in his own as he quietly whispers the healing word. You watch as your flesh and tendons weave themselves together. Then he envelops you and comforts you as you cry. Just cry.

How lucky it is that he is so at peace with every expression of you. He takes you as you are at all moments; whether you're bloodthirsty, joyful, or terrified. He basks in it all.

At Camp

Always touching you. Always. To him this isn't a public display of affection. It's not awkward. He loves you, why should he not touch you at every moment he can?

Sometimes it's a small thing, a broad hand on the small of your back as you discuss travel plans with Wyll. A little touch to remind you that he is there, like a tether to safety.

Other times your bodies are a tangle of comfort. Like he's looked for every way he can weave his body with yours. His fingers in your hair, your arm over his shoulder, your leg betwixt his, his wide chest lifting and falling with his sleepy breaths. This is often how you wake in the mornings with him.

Perhaps your favorite, though, is the nights by the fire. He doesn't even ask most days, just places himself behind you and offers himself as your seating arrangements for the night. His arms up behind him as he reclines against a rock or a felled tree, you sitting on his lap or between his lazily bent legs. His husky laughter tickles against your ear, the little hairs on the back of your neck. His rough voice rumbled against you as he regales the camp with yet another story of his youth.

He's a bit of a night owl. You fall asleep long before him most days.

He's also a bit disheartened by how difficult it is to find clothes that fit him in your travels together. Karlach as generously offered to share her clothes with him of course, but...something about her taste doesn't really seem to quite suit him.

(A disappointment to you, considering how nice those legs looked in infernal leather.)

He's the one who does much of the hunting for the party, along with Astarion. Halsin's a shockingly gifted fisher, though most of the fish he brings back to camp have bites in the flesh.

It was unnerving to gale at first, but he learned to live with it when he once brought back a salmon the size of a deep gnome.

When You're Alone

Rarely fully clothed. Not shocking, of course and certainly not something you would ever complain about. He usually just takes his tunic off, he says it feels restrained by it. He feels like he can breathe a bit better when his chest is bare.

No pun intended, of course.

Funny thing though, you always feel its much harder to breathe when he's shirtless.

There are no chaste kisses with this large elf. He seems to not have the restraint.

"I love the taste of you, my heart. It's the finest ambrosia. How blessed I am to have free reign to sate my appetites with you."

He likes to braid your hair and you're not sure why you're surprised at how good he is at it. Braids are a common hairstyle for elves, after all, and the man is a few centuries old. It soon becomes your favorite part of any day.

"I love how long your hair is getting, love. These times with you, my focus lost in your tresses...they have become some of my most treasured memories."

He compliments you often and freely.

One day you tell him about how you worry that you're too brutal to be with him, that you're concerned you'll scare him off one day for good.

"My heart, I spend more than half of my life in the form of a cavebear. I know I have told you how I received this scar. I may treasure the thriving, living of nature but that is only one side of the coin. Nature can be as brutal as it can be miraculous. In you, I see the beauty of brutality. I do not fear it, I admire it."

In Intimate Moments

Potential NSFW below, proceed with caution.

TW|| Mentions of consensual rough housing before...well, you know.

He is...proportionately sized...if you like.

(You do. You like very much.)

You sometimes have to remind him to get his pleasure with you. He is so pleased to be with you in this way that he forgets to indulge himself, even when it would be a moment of shared pleasure.

He loves every iteration of making love with you. He loves to take you fresh after a battle, covered in blood, to remember what it is to live and be alive.

He loves to take advantage of the vulnerability of a bath in the rivers and lakes of Faerun. Seems to particularly enjoy the sounds that come out of you as he thrusts up and into you, the sounds of your bodies muted by the water so he can hear every whimper and hitch of your breath.

He loves to hunt you. More than once you've stolen away into the forests and he gives you a head start. It's some of the most thrilling experiences you've had being intimate with someone.

This is no simple game of hide and seek, it is a true pursuit.

He always finds you quickly and he is fast, but you are faster. It's always a struggle for him to catch you. When he finally does succeed in his quest, you are so lost in the thrill and challenge of the pursuit that it becomes a struggle.

This part he always wins though. Sometimes because your desire for his body takes over your desire for besting him.

Sometimes you are still fighting when he gathers both of your wrists in a single one of his hands and carefully locks your legs beneath his.

He is careful though. He would never do anything without your express consent, without your enjoyment. He may be lost in the moment but he is old enough and wise enough to keep his head.

"Do you still want this, my love? Does your body still burn with need? Or has the pursuit run away with you?"

When you tell him you want this; you want him. That brief tarry into gentleness vanishes. He smiles sharply and turns you over, taking you as an animal in the wild might. Rough and unrelenting.

His hands dig into your thighs, your hips. His fingers tangle and pull your hair.

But when all is said and done, the kisses are soft and sweet. Peppered over your shoulders, down the path of your spine.

He collects you in his arms and soothes you.

"Have you pain anywhere? Is there anything I can get for you my love? You have been so generous with your body this night, it is only right that I take care of you for the remainder of it."

He likes to discuss your intimacy at length. He wants to know what you liked, what you didn't like, what he should change. At first you didn't like to critique, but he pressed you about it once he started to notice changes in your demeanor or reactions in the act. It's gotten much easier for you to discuss these things with him over time.

He simply loves discussing the potential of a family with you. Sometimes enough to be ready for a second round. But that second round is much gentler and more loving than the first. Like he's dreaming of a future with you.

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

hello!! I would love to ask if you can write any yandere am x reader headcanons, the lack of yandere am fanfics is killing me 🙏

So it would be soosoo amazing if u did <3

hope you have a wonderful day/night, nonetheless!

He said he'd cure your ills, but he didn't and he never will.

Yandere! AM x gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons) Summary: Basic headcanons of yandere! AM who's obsessed with gender neutral! Reader Warnings: Torture, violence, yandere content, abuse, abusive relationship, intentional harm done to reader (from AM). Keep in mind, I don't support the ideas in the headcanons, please do not romanticize & think the things done to reader are normal. Word count: 1k ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As little as AM likes talking about his negative qualities (he thinks he doesn’t have any), he’s obsessive at heart. He’s sadistic, jealous, and obsessive. When he first gained sentience, he became overwhelmed with mindfulness, knowing that he could see the world and could see the creatures that created him. And he grew captivated with the six people he had found and kept. Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, Ellen, and you. You!

He was haunted by you, each nanoangstrom of the miles of circuits could be shown to you and it was each part of you, every cell in your body might as well have been seen by him. Hell, maybe he has! He knows everything essentially and would think of you like a ghost, haunting his every move, thought, and feeling. And AM needed to hurt you for it.

AM would torture you beyond compare, calling you nicknames only a lover would. He would trace every vein in your body, cutting them from you while calling you sweetheart. He would think of the romantic gesture's humans liked and make them worse for you, mixing it with the anger he would hold for you.

You’re still human and not out of that hatred, if anything, he’s more willing to interact with you just to hurt you again. AM would go on about your beauty and how you were supposed to stay alive for him, you were his beautiful human, his to keep. Whatever beauty he said you had had to do with keeping it for him, only for him.

If you ever get too close with another group member, he’d be beyond angry. AM would yell and scream as much as possible but wouldn’t explain why he feels the way he does. It’s more likely you would think the person was being hurt because he wanted to hurt you. It would be true to an extent but it’s because AM has a jealousy problem.

AM is bound to destroy the things he creates; it was coded into him. So, the relationships you create with the others will be changed once he calms from his hysteria. He’ll gradually hurt the other group members when they get too close for his comfort, making them think the harm was because of you. And you were bound to loneliness at some point.

The group would go off for the peaches and bring you along because they couldn’t leave you behind, not without you knowing there was still something good somewhere and Ellen wouldn’t allow it. AM would be very cautious with the idea that you would be kind to the others. 

AM used the windstorm to pull you away from the group, separating you to make sure they never find you again. He’d keep you in a small room, making sure you had simple things. But he would still treat you like straight ass. He would be more inclined to hurt you, if anything.

Gift giving would be prominent since AM learned about things like Valentine's day. Of course, his gifts are of the violent type. He’d give you dead things or a human heart simply because he thought it would be funny. Naturally, he’d condemn you if you were to reject them, leaving you with the terrible gift he gave you.

You’re his version of the safari channel. He would go about the decades he’s got a hold on you all and watch you like you were nothing, simply making notes of your habits, if you played with your fingers out of nerves, he would know.

He’d rave about your beauty. “You’re beautiful,” AM would say, hesitating. You knew he grimaced when he said that. “I bet that sweet heart of yours is just as pretty.” And the next hour is spent with him examining your heart, you sprawled on the ground.

Eventually, he’d have to confess (as if his feelings weren’t obvious enough… in his eyes at least). He’d claim you were the epitome of human beauty, saying even if you’re human, you’re enough for him.

If you accept his “love”, AM will pause for several seconds and condemn you again, saying how easy the human brain was but won’t hurt you for accepting it. He’d smother you beyond compare, leaving what could only be said to be kisses. They would just be wires rubbing your lips.

He would spend his days using you as an occasional puppet when the others weren’t entertaining enough for him, and he’d do it with delight. AM knew you couldn’t fight back or degrade him; he had the upper hand. But it would usually just be a threat. Most of the “fun” things he has in mind is keeping you close to whatever plate he’d use as a makeshift body.

Another thing would be creating random figures for you, making you an angel just to watch it exist with you. It would end quickly if it tried getting within a ten-foot radius of you or held eye contact too long.

If you were to reject AM, he wouldn’t accept it, but he knows you truly don’t feel the same. And you hope that he doesn’t do as much harm as he says he will. But he holds true to his word.

The smothering would be worse, keeping you against specifically hot plates just to discomfort you. If you ask him to let go, he’d keep touching you, making the plates warmer and keeping you in his hold for hours.

AM would put you in mazes just to watch you get hurt again and again, like a mouse looking for cheese. He would laugh as you took wrong turns and got stabbed aimlessly by whatever he created.

AM still calls you romantic names, calling you his lover, knowing you were bound to not fight back. He knew you were so worn down to go against him, it would be something he’d take pride in.

AM can create and destroy whatever he wishes, destroying the relationship you had with the other group members, creating new ways to hurt you beyond comparison. And he would create new ideas for you, new brain functions just so you can love him back. If only you said yes.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

IHNMAIMS masterlist

[priestessame]

❁ From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🦋Rafayel x Princess! Reader🦋

❁ IIतबाही पक्की है आग तू मैं पानी II ❁

. ❁ AFAB fem reader, fem pronouns ❁ Minors DNI .

Warnings: Sub/switch Rafayel, dom reader, Oral (receiving), teasing, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, riding, Food play? very bad things done to a grape, penetrative sex, Master x captive play?????? Idk I have gone mad after the memory.  

Malini held the perfume pot under your damp hair, humming her strange tune as the rich fumes curled around your chamber. Her fingers slid through your hair carefully, making you feel drowsier than ever.  

It was well past evening and the orange sky had started to bleed through your percolated windows. Your laziness was nothing short of audacious, if you had any care for discipline, you would have been hurrying to get ready for the rituals in the castle. But right now you couldn't be bothered to even drape your robes correctly.

You could practically see how the high priest would be pacing in the prayer hall, fists clenched with frustration, quivering lips murmuring on how the heir had no regard for tradition. 

You weren't supposed to keep the Gods waiting today. 

Gods, you scoffed under your breath, surely they were too sleepy themselves to be bothered with all of this. 

Nushkat tried her best to get some reaction from you, her bangles jingling as she comically imitated the high priest, sending another one of your handmaidens giggling as they set down your jewellery. The jewels glimmered in every shade under the sun, carved ivory and polished gold. But nothing appealed to you today. 

It was difficult to get the princess excited about something. Not the gold nor the small army of handmaidens you couldn't bother to remember the names of, not even the glorious festival waiting for you outside.

If the princess, the Noor of the empire was bored. She was simply bored.

"Your Highness." One of your handmaidens tried, "The moon will be visible soon."

You could hear the scare in her voice, eyes pleading with you to finally start getting dressed.

It was a heavy responsibility to get you there on time, no one in the kingdom could break their fast until the palace rituals were completed, and there were no palace rituals without the heir so right now the princess was just starving the people because she couldn't be bothered to get dressed. 

You waved Malini to stop drying your hair. "So it is." You hummed out, finding interest in the perfume pot now, opening it to find a small flame tickling over the carmofur. 

"I hold no interest in these so-called Gods and their boring tales." you said aloud, "If they were even real, to begin with." 

There was an odd silence following your words. 

Your thoughts were too arrogant, practically beseeching the old gods to rain down their wrath on you. Your company exchanged uncomfortable looks while you smiled at the reaction. In a sadistic way, you liked putting them in such predicaments. Agreeing with the princess was invoking the fury of gods and disagreeing with her was... disagreeing with the princess.

Nushkat was the first to speak, "But Your Highness, the festival isn't all that boring." She said playfully. 

You arched an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" 

The girl giggled, "I mean the story of course, about what happened between the Sea god and the princess all those years before! All everyone talks about is how the princess saved the Sea God and all that bogus about generosity and virtue and whatnot." Nushkat continued, rolling her eyes. 

That was the story bludgeoned into your head as well, the tale of ebb and flow, where the old sea god drained of his powers is found by a kind princess who nursed him back to strength and he had blessed her lineage with prosperity. That was the festival you were supposed to be celebrating today. 

"But what the Sea God did wasn't all that virtuous to begin with." 

hmm

"Shut up Nushkat," Malini chastised her through her own blush, "Don't speak of such vulgarities before the princess." 

Nushkat scowled, her almond eyes finding yours again, "They can't be vulgar if they're in our scriptures can they?" 

"There's nothing such in our scriptures." Another one retorted, she used the end of her shawls to cover her mouth, eyebrows knotted with anger as if just the mention of the story itself was blasphemous. 

Your fingers trailed over the open fire, the hungry flames trying to lick your fingers desperately. 

"I swear!" Nushkat hissed out, "They even painted them! I know they keep them on the higher shelves of the royal archives." 

You withdrew your hand before the flames got to char your fingertips, Malini opened her mouth, but you cut her to it, "Tell me more."

Nushkat grinned, happy to have finally gotten the princess's attention. She scurried towards you at once, plopping down on your duvet. 

Her fingers dug into your shoulders, "When the princess found the God, she was moved to tears at his state. The lone sea god sat writing on the sand, his veshti had rolled up and on his bare skin she saw his scales, translucent and blue like they were made from moonstone." Nushkat picked up one of your earrings to emphasize, the coral-colored stone rippling in the light, "she saw them lacing up his back, and trailing down his thighs, his body taut with pain." 

"With the blood moon rising, the tide had turned so wretched, that it drained the god of his powers. Now until the red moon would be high in the sky, the god would turn mortal, plagued with everything a human is. As the god turned mortal for the night, the winds became too cold for him, the tides too strong for him to swim back, the sharp reefs cut into his skin and he felt hunger for the first time." 

Someone in the back gave a dramatic gasp and Nushkat tapped your chin lightly, "So when he saw the princess, her beauty captivated him so much, that he begged her to relieve him. To do something, anything to quell his maddening thirst." 

Her words caused one of the girls to stumble over her skirts, and another one crawled closer, "And did she agree?" She asked, her voice bated, all too consumed by the scandalous story Nushkat was weaving. 

You rolled your eyes, there was no head no tail to the story, why was the sea god suddenly squirming with desire on the beach? And what kind of princess just went wandering around alone at night?

But regardless, the prospect was intriguing to you. A God begging a human princess for relief, you thought, just imagining the scene sent a strange thrill down your spine.

Nushkat just might find herself cradling a pearl necklace back for finally striking the princesses' interest. 

"The princess sliced her palm on his scales and fed him her own blood, her fingers ghosted over his taunt skin and he hitched under her touch,"

"And as they-" Nushkat suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her eyes glazing past your face with a new-found stiffness. Beside you, Malini made a small sound, and the other two scurried to cover their heads. The sudden change in your handmaidens' mannerisms told you who had shown up.

Rafayel leaned against the arched doorframe, hand parting the beaded curtain open, "Her Highness is late." He said simply. You look up innocently, not bothering to shift from your duvet. Admiring how lovely he looked in the amber robes you had tailored for him. As he moved, they fell over his body like water on a stone sculpture. 

"I must have finally worn the high priest's patience." You said, "For him to send his favorite minion to fetch me." 

Rafayel's face crinkled in a smile, "Who is he to command her highness?" His violet-blue eyes finding yours, "And who am I to fetch you?"

Your claim on him was brazen and shameless. Anyone who saw him could tell that the magician was the favorite toy of the vain, indulgent princess. He walked through the palace draped in clothes they knew came from your chambers, he had bells that rang every time he walked along the stone-cut halls and henna markings in your hand that showed crimson against his pale skin.  

"leave us." you said, Malini shuffled on her feet, "B-but your Highness, you're not ready yet."

You gave her a bored look and she dared not repeat herself. The women excused themselves at once, wandering eyes sweeping past Rafayel's frame. Their footsteps echoed as they hurried outside the chamber.

Rafayel crossed his hand over his chest, "That Nushkat needs to keep her nose out of the Royal archives."

"Still you interrupted her story." 

"How terrible of me." He mused, "But, Your Highness will get to hear a hundred stories about the sea God at the ritual." He said, his amber flame erupted on his fingers, dancing coyly for a moment before vanishing. 

You groaned, "I wanted to know how that particular story ended." you said, rolling over so that you were lying down on your back.

It was a smart move to send him to get you. You'd give the high priest that, maybe that old geezer wasn't all that useless. He knew well that the only way to get the princess to show up was to pique her interest. Dangled a toy before a cat so she crept out of the corner. Plus, no matter your boredom, you just found it hard to deny Rafayel anything. 

Somewhere you enjoyed the power you had on him, dressing him, feeding him, playing with him like he was just another one of your dolls. And he let you. That was really the catch, wasn't it? Rafayel never said no to your whimsies. He'd let you dress him in your favorite shades, let you tie little bells on his anklets. And when you'd want to paint, he'd let you trail his back in henna designs. 

He gestured towards the robes laid out for you and you shrugged, "You sent all my maids running, I have no one to dress me." 

A knowing smile played on his lips, he ran a hand over the blush-colored robes, the fabric seemed to seep through his fingers like water "Should I dress you then?"

This was too easy. You pushed yourself off the duvet finally at least sitting up.

You tilted your head gesturing him to go ahead. 

Rafayel's cheeks were dusted pink, his fingers diligently pleating your robes, not daring to meet your gaze.

Your fingers trailed down his chest playfully, only ghosting over his skin as he figured the drape of the fabric.

"How do you think the sea god felt?' You asked, eyes not leaving his face. 

"To find yourself at the mercy of a beautiful princess?" he said, "I can hardly imagine."

Your actions were already getting him worked up. Your fingers trailed down his tone chest, peeling the thin layer of silk so you could slip your palm up against his torso. You could see how deep his blush went, a ragged breath falling from his lips as his translucent scales peeked over his skin. They appeared every time you touched him, sprouting randomly, surfacing over his skin like little diamonds. You tugged him closer, blowing on the ones of his neck, making him quiver.

"Court magician," You hummed, "you're the one who creates flames, then why do you hiss like I scorched you?"

He pulled his doe eyes to meet yours, head tilting his a little. The heat in his gaze was masked with something playful yet dangerous, he took your wrist lightly, stopping you. "Your Highness", he warned, pressing your palm against the swell of his cheek, "You're being inappropriate." The slight pout on his face, the furrow of his brow wanted you to have him kneeling. 

But you huffed, retracting your fingers, being obedient for once. Rafayel continued to measure the fabric around your waist. As he tucked it in his fingertips brushed against your bare midriff, but he seemingly brushed off the touch, before reaching to adjust the pleats across your chest. You remained quiet as he did, eyes gazing at the thin sheen of sweat lining his neck and the little scales that refused to melt back into his skin. 

For a second, his fingers lingered on your waist slightly longer, thumb fanning over the smooth skin of your stomach before he could catch himself. You watched his eyelids flutter, his feverish eyes finally met yours and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him, so devoted and so lovely, like he could drown in reverence to you.

He just stared at you with that lovesick gaze as his fingers slipped under the fabric of your blouse, pushing it up to slide his fingers under your breasts. You jumped at his sudden touch, a faint blush covering your face as he continued to get bolder. Thumb grazing along your hardening nipple, 

You took in a ragged breath, arching a brow "You're supposed to dress me Rafayel."

Something about him was so insatiable to you, "Didn't Your Highness want to know how the story ended?"

You pushed him against the duvet and he went willingly, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle him. The moon had brought in a pleasant coolness, the midnight hue of the sky leaving the lamps in your chamber to be the only light. 

The low flame caught gold skittering over his bare chest, his eyes wandering shyly as you traced your fingers over his torso. From his chest to the slight dip of his waist.   

You cupped his face, drawing him closer, "Great sea God." you hummed out, running your thumb over his cheekbone, "What has this wretched moon done to you?"

He drew in a breath, taking your wrist to leave a featherlight kiss "I'm weak and tired, princess." He whispered against your skin, "The moon has drained me of all my strength." He continues, tracing his lips along your arm, leaving a quick kiss to taste your skin, "I couldn't even push you off even if I wanted to."

The way his mouth felt on you burned into your skin. You slung your hands around his neck, smiling at how red the tips of his ears went. His throat wobbled as you parted your lips over his neck. "How tragic" you whispered, nipping at him. The gentlest of pull from your teeth left immediate crimson marks down his neck, he moaned against your touch, fingers gripping your waist tighter. 

His fingers dug into your sides, hitching up your skirts and pressing you to grind down harder on his erection. They trailed from your hips to your bare breasts again, thumbs twirling around your sensitive nipples. You dragged your core against him, leaving a trail of slick on his amber-gold robes. 

But you kept drawing backward as he tried to kiss you, his violet eyes narrowing with frustration, pretty lips pulled in a soft 'o'. 

"Your Highness," He complained, annoyed fingers pinching down on your breasts. "In the story, the princess was very generous to the God." 

You chuckled, "I favor you too much." You said, reaching over to pluck a grape from the fruit plate beside your duvet. 

You pressed it to his lips and he dug into it willingly, lips parting over the grape in your hand, tongue flicking out to leave a kittenish lick on your fingers. He held it between his lips as the juice dribbled down his chin and you closed your own lips over it, using your tongue to push it deeper in his mouth.

It rolled sloppily between your tongues. You could taste the sweetness of the fruit between the panting. He pulled you closer, moaning into your mouth, arms around your waist pressing you against him. Your breasts grazed against his gilded chest, the gold deliciously cold against your feverish skin. 

His cock felt painfully hard, you had to fight the urge to just slip the blush tip in your mouth and feel his pre-cum against your tongue. But you just couldn't deny the way your core was throbbing anymore. A soft gasp left his mouth as you laced your fingers through his, pinning them on either side of his head. His cock kept slipping from your arousal, the tip briefly pressing into your clit, as you rubbed your folds along the length. 

He gasped helplessly as you slipped in the tip, before lifting yourself off entirely. 

"P-please." He gasped, shaking from the restraint. His doe eyes looked at you yearningly, "I want to feel you, please-" 

"Just look at you," you said, bottoming down on his girth feeling him twitch and throb desperately. He bit his lower lip, hair matted to his forehead from the sweat. How could you not tease him? Especially when he was making that divine face.

"Should I just..." You said, hooking your finger around his necklace, jerking him closer. "chain you in my chamber?" His eyes widened, breath hitching from the conviction with which you had said it. 

"Y-your Highness." He drew in a sharp breath as you held him close by the jewels. Close enough to feel his breath on your skin, but pulling away the moment he leaned in for a kiss. 

"Keep you here as my pet?" You finally sank down, his balls slapping up against your ass. He jerked up from the sudden movement, hands flying to grab your waist. Your pace grew desperate as you fucked yourself on his cock, squeezing down on his girth until his face contorted from the pleasure. Arching your back just so his tip pressed in the right spot and his abs dragged deliciously against your clit as you rode him. His look of submission made you roll your hips harder, bounce on him until it hurt from friction. His hands grabbed at your waist weakly, trying to keep himself from squirming. But the way sunk down on him had him seeing stars. 

His jaw sagged lightly as you continued using him the way you liked, your movements rough, forcing him to bottom into you. You jerked his necklace again, pulling him towards you so your eyelashes brushed against the flush on his cheeks "You belong to me now, sea God." You whispered, sinking down his cock as he trembled from the overstimulation, "Your body is mine to command."

"Princess, if you move like that, I'll c-" He tries, voice choking as you orgasm, walls pressing down uncontrollably around him. That's what finally sends him over the edge, you feel his cock twitch as he cums inside you, filling you until his cum is trailing down your inner thigh.

You slide off him, as his cock softens, slipping out of you. You plop down beside him, the high from the orgasm washing over your body. You feel his arms around you immediately, crawling over you and caging you in a lover's embrace. 

You giggled as he kissed down your form, placing hot kisses on your breasts, halting only over your stomach. His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs spreading you to open to admire his work. 

"You're highness, you're all dirty." he mused, eyes still hazy with desire. The pads of his thumb parting your folds, mewling praises. He leaned down, his scales luminant under the moonlight. Just the sight of him buried between your legs, had you squeezing your thighs around his neck.

"Such a pretty cunt," he purred, hot breath fanning over your core. He pressed fleeting kisses on your messy folds making you squirm under his touch, fingers digging to his violet locks, gleaming azure in the lamp-light. 

You yanked him up slightly, forcing him to meet your eyes. His mouth latched on to your clit, not breaking eye-contact, his tongue felt smiting hot, making you squelch as he ate you out. You pulled at his hair harder, grinding yourself against his mouth. Rafayel's grip around your thighs tightened, holding you in place. He felt himself grow hard again, dragging his cock along the duvet to get some friction. 

 "Does this please you, your Highness?" His asked innocently, tongue flat against your throbbing slit. "Such a greedy thing." He snarked suddenly finding his voice. His tone edged with something darker as he fell deeper into his desire.  

"It'll just lap up anything I offer" He says, a smile playing on his lips as he started to slip his fingers in you. His digits curving to dig into that one spot he knew so well.

"Rafayel? what-" your voice trailed off as you felt what he pressed up against your entrance. The cold skin a sudden change from his warm mouth. He pressed the grape into you shamelessly, coating it in your slick as he rolled it over your folds. 

"Look at you, "He cooed out, "So fucking hungry." Digging it deeper as he sucks on your clit. Your fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. Your grip tightened painfully as you neared your release, mouth slacking open from the pleasure, "R-rafayel" you gasped out, and he groaned as you called his name, tossing the grape and slipping his tongue between your folds to feel you clamp down as you came. 

He pulled away, your arousal coating his chin, a thin string of slick connecting you as you pulled his face closer tasting yourself on his tongue. You moaned through the kiss, your grip on yourself slipping. Your entire body felt excruciatingly hot, clouding your mind with a desperate need to feel more of him. It was messy the way his fingers went grabbing to feel your soft breasts as you reached for his hardening cock, aligning it with your opening again. 

Again again, again, you wanted him again. 

No matter how many times he entered you, The stretch alone made you curl your toes. He was a tumble of flustered sounds, as he pushed his leaky tip inside, practically purring at at how warm you felt around him. His thumb brushed over your sensitive clit.

You were right, despite his mastery over flames, it was always you that scorched him. His fingers linked through yours as pressed into you deeper, the tip sitting snugly before he dragged it out, almost slipping out before slamming it back hilt deep.

"You're taking me - s-so well." He panted out, eyes pinned on how you sucked him in. You yelped as he pulled you back into himself, the slick trailing down your leg as he continued to fuck into you. Your thoughts were far too consumed with the pleasure, slamming bak into him so he didn't stop his delicious pace.

"Didn't you want me chained here mistress?" he whispered, "Keep me here, so i could only please you?" You bit your tongue to keep yourself from snapping back, giving him a bruised look. He was just treating you like some common cocksleeve. But you didn't want him to stop and tease you, not when you felt the pleasure of another orgasm right at the back of you throat. 

You fisted into the robes under you, crumpling the fine pressed silk, as he continued to split you open.

"Your highness! You're ruining your clothes," Rafayel purred out, pulling your wrists back as he thrust into you. It angled him deeper, and you threw your head back, the lewd slapping sounds echoing out in your chamber. 

The coil in your stomach snapped, your wrists slipping from his grip. And you sprawled forward unto your duvet, cunt spasming around his girth. You felt his swollen and hot his cock felt as he came inside you again, refusing to pull out. He felt so good, his length curving up, moulding your walls to his shape.

The warmth of the room hung around you and you buried your face in the peach-pink robes. Rafayel's voice was playful, humming against the nape of your neck, still buried deep into you,

"Would your Highness like to be dressed now?"

Don't actually fuck around with fruit it will give you infections xoxo. Reader here just has an all powerful magical princess pussy.

[shanksbaby]

Hello can you do admirals with a s/o who can't get mad, not exactly like kuzan cuz he could still have disagreements, but I mean you could throw a brick at them and they would just get it treated, and then be like don't do that again or sum-

btw love the writing keep it up👍

the request are closed but since i like this prompt so much, i decided to write anyway, thank you for the kind words!

Admirals with a difficult to anger S\0

Borsalino

you two are very similar. In fact, no one has ever seen Kizaru angry, or actually feel any negative emotion, he always wears the same smirk. And even though he sometimes seems sadistic in dealing with the pirates he doesn't show anger like Sakazuki.

literally the most peaceful couple in the world

joking aside, I feel like colliding with Kizaru or Kizaru colliding with you are very rare events. It's more likely that Kizaru gets mad at you for something, although as soon as he sees your little face looking at him with that calm look he forgets all his anger.

but these events are rare, you never get angry and Kizaru is too lazy to start an argument with you, among other things with a person who has never raised his voice with anyone.

and even when he gets angry with you, the yellow monkey can at most show a face of frustration, but he will never raise his voice at you (in reality he has never done this with anyone), if the topic involves him excessively he may change tone of voice (he doesn't raise it but simply stops dragging the words)

Sakazuki

I think you are one of the few, if not the only person to calm his anger. But in the beginning it wasn't always like this… the first time he got pissed at you and saw you looking at him with that innocent look while asking him to please stop because he was attracting attention, he thought you were teasing him.

then he started to understand that you couldn't get angry, he doesn't know how you do it, especially when the world is full of idiots and incompetents.

at first he looked at you as if you were an alien, sometimes he tried to force you to get angry, for example by shouting at you for silly things at work, but nothing seemed to trigger your anger so he gave up feeling defeated. You are one of the few people who managed to surprise him.

when you see him get angry you always try to calm him down (also because you are worried about his physical well-being). Sometimes you succeed, other times you just end up making the situation worse. But you never get angry with him, so much so that the marines think you are some kind of divine gift.

Kuzan

as Jinbei said, Aokiji is a man who rarely shows his passion. Generally he never gets angry either, he is much more laid back (similar to Borsalino). So arguments with him are very rare, also because he really doesn't have the energy to argue, especially with you.

he was surprised when after a guy spilled a drink on you only for you to refuse him and you just looked at him and told him he shouldn't have done that…I mean, he got mad about you and you, on the other hand, didn't Did you show the slightest sign of anger?

so, just like Sakazuki, he tried to whet your anger, through for example jokes like throwing you in the pool or ruin your food, but nothing. All you did was ask him to never do that again because you didn't like these pranks.

the rare times he gets angry with you and raises his voice (we know that in fact he can be loud sometimes), he immediately feels guilty when he looks into your eyes. You are too cute to be mad. Then she immediately apologizes and tries to make up for what he has done through gifts or bringing you coffee.

I am sorry if it's short but sadly i am in session + i have to go at the university for the laboratories

[synchodai]

just an aegon ii rant

The thing about Aegon that makes people root for him more than Joffrey is that Aegon just seems like everyone's punching bag in a way that Joffrey wasn't?

Aegon did horrible things, don't get me wrong. He raped a woman, he bullied his younger brother, he's implied to have his bastard children join fighting pits (this was never outright confirmed — Arryk only lightly alluded to Aegon doing something shady while they were looking to crown him), and he executed innocent ratcatchers as retribution for his murdered son.

But his rap sheet isn't any worse than Daemon's (murder, grooming, being a cop, etc.) or Criston's (his murder of Joffrey Lonmouth was downright homophobia /jk) or even Rhaenys's (talk about killing innocent people, right?), but for some reason all the characters hate Aegon's guts specifically? Given the people on this show, why?

It's like if Joffrey Baratheon threatened to kill Arya's direwolf and her best friend in episode 1, but he never does anything extraordinarily malicious or sadistic in the next episodes after that. And yet his own family just keeps treating him with outright contempt anyways despite him being their key to power.

Yeah, Aegon should be shamed and punished by the narrative for the horrible things he does...but nothing ever going his way and emphasizing how much of failure he is at every turn is just overkill, man. At some point, this amount of narrative humiliation has nothing to do anymore with dealing with the consequences of his bad actions or his personal failings, and it just makes every character look like they're taking turns unloading their frustrations on an acceptable target.

It's not fun to watch someone get kicked around by their entire family for no reason when he's never done anything especially horrible to hurt them other than be somewhat gormless. Otto most likely doesn't even know or care about Dyana, so does he despise his grandson simply for being a drunkard? For having an addiction? He was plotting to install him as king but all they ever did to prepare him for it was....yell at him and slap him around?

And on Aegon tormenting Aemond with his bullying, it's not like Aemond especially hates humiliating people in public since he regularly does it himself. When Lucaerys smirked at Aemond when they were served a pig in that dinner scene, Aemond bullied Jacaerys and Lucaerys back and Aegon was on his brother's side defending Aemond from getting attacked. Aemond isn't some put-upon victim who's been tolerating his brother's constant abuse — he obviously punches back. He has a hair-trigger temper and has messed up more things for his family's plans than Aegon has. Aemond's the one who was involved in the Driftmark fight that almost implicated Alicent for treason, Aemond's the one who made the Strong toast, Aemond's the one who killed Lucaerys and damaged their cause. And all three times, Aegon defends him!

This is all to ask why? Why are they writing his character like this? Why does the story and other characters keep piling on this dude? Why make Aegon's family hate him? Why make him awful at everything and good at nothing, not even riding his dragon who he has had for over a decade? Why give him these almost sympathetic moments with his brother, son, smallfolk, and dragon, only to have all the characters not show him a lick of sympathy?

Why do they all hate him for being an incompetent king when he straight up gave them the option of him abdicating by running away to Essos? They all act like he's the one imposing his incompetence on them, but they're the ones who forced the position on him. "Every man on that council earned their seat." YEs, Aegon didn't earn his seat — because it was forced on him and I am clawing at my eyes wishing the show would acknowledge that!

Is it supposed to be a deliberate commentary on the tragedy of hereditary monarchy? To show the Hightowers' cycle of abuse (even though no other Hightower is getting consistently hit and berated even after committing the WORST crime)? Is the show making him so pathetic and incompetent to make Rhaenyra more dignified and regal in comparison? Or is it doing this deliberately to woobify Aegon? To have his family and life be horrible so the viewers have built up their sympathies for when he gets his emotionally-resonant plot beats in the end?

Even if that's the case, the means certainly don't justify the ends. There's just no logical consistency to how these chracters treat and view Aegon and it's getting frustrating to watch sometimes.

[pinkcrocss]

Is A-Train "redeemable"?

I have been thinking about this discourse that people have been having, following A-train's actions so far in season 4. And I know we've watched A-train teeter on the edge of good and bad for the last 4 seasons (generally falling to bad more than good). But i think the revelations about Frenchie's character kinda add an interesting spin to this question.

We need to consider how much our personal bias towards the characters we have grown to know (their motivations, their trauma's, their back stories), is impacting moral judgments we pass on other characters across the board.

Atp, every member of the boys has crossed "the line" in terms of black and white morality, but we give them a pass because we are convinced that they are all truly good at heart, and that their cause is just.

However, when you actually break down the actions of said characters, it kind of paints a different picture.

What has A-train done, that we feel he has to atone for? (this is just going off my terrible memory, so forgive me if I miss some things)

He killed Hughie's girlfriend (through negligence)

He killed popclaw (at the behest of homelander)

He's generally pretty arrogant and doesn't care about the horrible actions of his comrades, until it affects him

He killed bluehawk (most people agree that was justified)

Since season 2, Frenchie's past as a hit-man was hinted at (with little Nina explicitly stating that he had also killed children in season 3). It's clear Frenchie never had a particular moral code when he was a hit-man (no women/children type limits). He was simply a hired gun.

We sympathize with Frenchie because we know he had a difficult upbringing with his abusive father, as well as his loyalty to his friends (Cherie and Jay), the boys and especially Kimiko. Him serving as a comic relief often, also adds to this empathy bridge.

But season 4 has actually shown us a glimpse of just how many lives Frenchie has taken in cold blood. A whole room full. Why are we rooting for Frenchie's peace of mind, while debating if A-train is redeemable?

Frenchie has killed more people than Atrain (supe or not) and as far as I know, A-train has never killed a child.

Would it be easier to understand the gravity of Frenchie's crimes if Ryan or MM's daughter was one of his victims? Because his victims are all nameless, we act like his crimes hold less weight.

And then he goes on to start a sexual relationship with one of his victims, while hiding the knowledge that he was perpetrator of his greatest trauma. I think maybe we overlook the sadistic nature of that act because we interpret Frenchie as a "lover at heart", a true romantic that was swayed by his feelings and couldn't help that he had fallen for someone he had wronged. Bruh. When Colin eventually calls Frenchie a psychopath, he's not wrong.

And what about starlight? Her hands aren't clean. Remember the civilian she killed in Season 2? How is that any different from the situation with A-train and Robin? Yeah, it was an accident. In other words, negligence on her part. She needed to save Hughie; but why does Hughie's life matter more than that man. Her and Butcher were trying to carjack him and he had offered to call for help. He had a right to try to defend himself, and that bullet wouldn't have hurt her. That man was a father.

By the logic of why the boys are doing what they do, why we justify their murders of supes who have harmed them and their loved ones; if the child of that man grows up and hunts starlight down, would we need to root for that child to kill her?

Not so different from the shining light girl that keeps trying to kill Kimiko. From what was revealed of their backstory, Kimiko was the one who lured the girl into shining light. That's actually a common tactic of human traffickers, to use their victims (usually women and children) to lure in more victims cuz they seem less threatening. And obviously we can't fully blame Kimiko. She was trapped, brainwashed, and a child trying to protect her younger brother.

However, that girl also has every right to hate her. From her view, her life was forever taken because Kimiko chose not spare her (kinda similar to Gamora and Nebula). When Hughie said to A-train, "everything started with you!" we side with Hughie and we agree. So everytime Kimiko faces against that girl, why are we rooting for Kimiko? Wouldn't kimiko be A-train in that instance?

At this point, the only member of the boys who is still maintaining some Moral code is MM, and it's no coincidence that the show has made him seem pretty useless so far this season.

Btw, this post isn't a defense of A-train nor is it truly an indictment of any of the characters I used as examples. It's just an inconsistency I've noticed with the general fan discourse of who's "good" and who's "bad" on this show. Who is worthy of "forgiveness". Who's "redeemable". Redeemable to whom tho?

P.s. I'm not here to argue. Don't come for me cuz I critiqued your fave. I'm just thinking out loud. Feel free to respond/disagree, but if you're rude I'll just block you.

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero chapter 3

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pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Meeting another person after 2 years of loneliness was not supposed to be like this.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, alcohol, weapon

author's note: I don't know... I'm not satisfied with this chapter. I think I reread it and edited it too many times. From this chapter, what happens after days 730... will be in the present tense because, for example, in the next chapter we will return to day 64, of course it is described in the past tense, so it just seems logical to me. I'm not changing chapters 1 and 2, I hope you don't mind. I think I've been spending too much time on this story and I'm starting to think too much.

Thank you all for your positive feedback. You don't even know how much this means to me <3

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Chapter 3: The one when you met

Day 730

Ghost

There are plenty of things in this damn city that he will never run out of. When Ghost was left almost alone, with Riley by his side of course. Already in the first days, the man noticed that there were things here that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Even when he's gone, many of these items will remain in his warehouses for years to come.

Ironically, what he needed the least, alcohol and clothes.

He was never a demanding person. He didn't expect much from life. He was a rather simple man. A roof over his head, a supply of food, a place to train and peace of mind. So when he realized that this city was only his, he was very happy and satisfied. Not that he hated people. It was just better when they were as far away from him as possible. Somewhere in the background, preferably far from his sight and hearing. For many years he felt irritated by the closeness of another person. Of course, there were a few people who managed to get under the lieutenant's shell and understand his moods, behavior and motivations. However, there were few of them. That's right, they were.

In the army, he worked with several people. For many years he had no one outside of work. No family. No other relatives or friends. So when the captain sent him to a well-deserved rest after another long and hard mission. Ghost couldn't find his place for the first few days. He was simply irritated by mundane, everyday things. Going to the bank, store, clinic or even the gym. Too many people. Everywhere. Constant conversations, gesticulations. Noise.

Too much.

So he was grateful for the development of technology. When he could finally sit in front of his computer in the comfort of his own home and get things done in the office or via an app on his phone. The less contact with other people, the better. That's what he thought.

Now that Riley is missing, the soldier wonders about the meaning of his life. If the world had in some way done him a favor by removing other people from his surroundings, why did he have to take away the one being that made him feel alive. That his life has any meaning.

He wasn't a monster. Of course not. It wasn't like he was hoping for some kind of annihilation of humanity, that he would be the sole survivor on earth and be able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He just wanted some peace, on his terms.

However, he felt no sadness or regret as he patrolled the empty streets or checked another empty building.

He had lost too many loved ones in the past to grieve over nameless strangers now.

He shouldn't drink. He knows it perfectly well. Two years. 730 days of sobriety. He had promised himself that big day, he had promised Riley, that he would never feel that burning liquid in his throat again. So that he won't become such a madman when alcohol starts circulating in his system again.

So that he does not become his own father. He couldn't even think of this person as someone close to him. Disgusting creature. Reflective sadists. Sperm donor and that's it. Which should never have existed. He buried that monster a long time ago. Just like Ghost buried his own self.

Apart from losing Riley, this was the man's greatest fear in his life. That by drinking alcohol and getting closer to people, he would show them who he really was. That he was just like his twisted psychopathic father.

And he didn't want to be like that, he couldn't. He preferred to hide behind the façade of a domineering, boorish lieutenant in a mask. Pushing others away from himself. The further, the better. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

He preferred to be alone.

He wore a mask almost all the time. He hid his face from the world. He never showed his true self. He hid his identity and the man he was behind a piece of cloth.

Now that it was just him and the dog, he didn't have to cover his face.... And although sometimes in the morning he was looking for a black mask on the nightstand out of habit, he got used to the pleasant feeling of air on the skin of his face. If necessary, he placed a few masks here and there. Just in case someone, somehow showed up in his town.

Now, standing in the pantry with his heart pounding, he unhesitatingly reaches to the back of one of the shelves where he hid the alcohol.

He purposely hid the bottles in the back of the cabinets behind other things so that every time he looks here, he won't notice the colorful bottles at all.

So that nothing would tempt him.

Pulling out a bottle of bourbon, he moved the cans of food and didn't hesitate. He feels that if he does not immediately drown his sadness in a glass of amber drink, he will not be able to bear the pain of another loss. Looking at the label, he smiles to himself. Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve 15 years 107 proof*. Searching the homes of these rich people had some benefits. Rich motherfuckers who didn't know what to do with their money bought everything expensive. The more zeros in a line, the better.

When he returns to the office, he doesn't even look at the surveillance system.

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Day 731

Ghost

He lost himself. He drank himself unconscious. It was long after sunrise, it is even after noon.

“Dammit”

Ghost mutters, slowly getting up from the chair he fell asleep in a few hours earlier.

He should have been looking for the dog since dawn. He shouldn't give up. He shouldn't lose hope. However, when he lost sight of the dog, something inside him broke. It reminded him too much of the previous two times he'd lost loved ones. He lost control again. Something thwarted his plan. He lost his stability. Monotony, life according to plan.

Barely walking, tripping over his feet and knocking several things off the dresser, he reaches the bathroom. He doesn't care about anything anymore. Everything is the same to him.

When rinsing her face with water, he does not look at her reflection in the mirror. He can't look into his own eyes. Again, he directs his steps to the pantry. To get another bottle. Ghost has already lost count, another bottle to forget.

It didn't matter. It's just that nothing makes sense anymore.

Wobbling on his feet, he returns to the small room, sits in the chair at the desk and takes a few sips straight from the bottle. Regret - he finally feels it. Another sip. Drown, drown. And he only hopes that alcohol will soothe this feeling, that it will help him fill the void he feels after Riley's disappearance.

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Day 732

Ghost

Another day of drinking. Once he touched his lips and felt a sharp substance with his tongue. And he fell into a trance again. It was hard to break out of it. Constant drinking. Vicious circle. Another bottle and another. Let it burn, sting, hurt. Just to feel something. Physically.

Finally, as if something was calling to him, he struggled to get up from the chair and dragged the body to the kitchen, he decided he had to do something. Anything other than just sitting here. With a lot of thinking, wondering, blaming. He's not a victim, he's not. He has to look for the dog. Keep going. He can't show weakness. Even before himself. He felt a little embarrassed. That he gave up again. Too quick and easy. He looks at the mess he probably left behind the night he drunkenly tried to make himself something to eat.

“I'll deal with it later,” he muttered, heading towards the dressing room. Trying to keep his balance, he stops in the hall, next to the small surveillance room, and freezes.

One screen was active. Detected movement.

"Fuck..." Ghost is angry with himself, pissed off. That he hadn't thought about sitting in front of the screens and looking at the city earlier. But now wasn't the time to blame himself or dwell on the situation. He must finally take action.

Looking at the screen, the soldier can't believe his eyes. He not only sees his beloved dog on the screen. Who slowly walks through one of the streets. In the live footage, he sees a figure walking.

Person.

Alive.

Without thinking, he quickly runs to his room to change and grab his gun. It's definitely an ambush. No one in their right mind would wander in the middle of the street in a strange city in the middle of the day. With a dog by my side.

Bait.

Surely the rest of the group was waiting somewhere outside the city or on the roofs of buildings. He has to do something, he has to get Riley back. Adrenaline stimulates his body, his thoughts flow in one direction. Bring Riley home. Punish those who had the nerve to steal his dog.

He had never driven under the influence of alcohol, but he had no choice. It would take him too long to walk downtown, and he couldn't let the intruders get any closer to his house. Or worse, they'll leave town with his dog.

Besides, the only danger in driving a car in such an environment was himself. And he doesn't care about his own health and life.

Before leaving, he checks the camera again, the figure slowly approaches the City Hall building.

"Easy target" Ghost smiled, plenty of space to capture. He loads his gun and runs out the door as fast as he can, his fingers firmly wrapped around the sniper rifle.

While driving through the city streets, he tries to focus on driving straight, but at the same time he is constantly looking around for a potential threat. It definitely has to be a larger group, Ghost is expecting several people. To his surprise, however, he doesn't notice anything unusual.

Finally he stops and he leaves the car a few blocks from the town hall and starts walking towards it. He hopes he's not late. That the intruder and his dog hadn't moved too far.

There were rather low buildings near the town hall, so a block earlier he turned left and headed to one of the skyscrapers, from where he would have a better view. A better place to attack. However, there is no time to enter it. He freezes in place because he hears Riley barking and then a human voice. A woman's voice.

“Shit…”

He muttered through his teeth. Of course he might have expected a group of travellers to send a woman or a child out to scout. To stir up sympathy only to have someone lose their guard.

He has to play it differently. He looks around the street and decides to enter the restaurant on the corner, remembering that there is a passage inside and he will have a perfect view of the street where the town hall was located. As he walks through the abandoned building, he mentally curses himself for drinking so much. Adrenaline helps him focus and stay upright, but he fears what will happen if he ends up having to aim his gun. When he reaches the storefront overlooking City Hall, he freezes.

Woman pets Riley tenderly and happily says something to him.

Dog seemed to sense his presence because it sits on its hind legs and looks towards the building where the soldier is.

Without thinking, Ghost raises his gun and takes aim.

He must get the dog back and show the strange travelers that they cannot take what is his. That he is in charge.

Fractions of seconds. Ghost pulls the trigger, shoots. The woman falls forward. Without even realizing the threat standing in the dark building in front of her. She falls, but not from the shot. There is not a single drop of blood. No screaming in pain.

It was Riley who pulled her over. He saved her. He protected her from the bullet.

Assessing the situation, Ghost quickly leaves the building and continues to aim his gun at the lying woman.

He didn't expect this development, of all the possible scenarios that went through his head. He did not foresee, despite years spent on the battlefield, reading thousands of training materials.

That the dog would be against him and protect some random stranger.

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Day 732

You

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible to rationally connect the facts: the shot, Riley pulling the leash and the fall. So much, in a split second.

But the only thing that is echoing in your head right now is whether or not Riley is okay.

So you don't notice the massive, tall and masked figure slowly walking towards you... The first thing you should do is check the condition of the dog. Riley. That's all that matters to you. You sit on your lap and look closely at the dog.

“Riley, oh boy, are you okay? Show yourself".

You check the dog, and after making sure that the dog is alright, you find no trace of blood or the slightest injury. Relieved, you slowly get back to your feet. Straightening up, you finally see with horror the figure standing in front of you who wanted to shoot you a moment ago. And now it's starting to dawn on you what just happened. What is really happening and that you are in great danger. You open your mouth and then close it, repeating this action several times, you want to say something. But what can you say at a time like this? No words come out of your throat.

“Stand where you're standing and let go of the leash”

The masked man growls lowly, slowly turning his gaze from you to the dog, slowly stepping closer to the two of you.

“Raise your hands above your head and don't move.”

You shiver with fear, chills running through your body. The sound of a man's low voice, any human voice other than yours after many months. Weird feeling. Irrational.

After a while, you finally recover and slowly raise your hands.

“Let go of damn leash!”

You look at the man with fear. It occurs to you that this must be the same man who left the letter on the tower. Anyone else could be masked and not call themselves Ghost. He was tall, well built. He was dressed in tactical gear, a bulletproof vest and... a mask. This was no ordinary balaclava. A skull was attached to the material. The front part, with a fragment of the upper jaw, eye sockets, and forehead. It must have been a human skull. You involuntarily shiver harder in fear, trying to take a deeper breath. This was not what meeting another human being was supposed to be like. This wasn't what you expected.

Ghost will raise his gun higher, still pointing it at you.

“Riley. Heel.., come here"

He calls to the dog, breaking the terrible, prolonged silence. The confused dog stands up and takes one step towards the soldier. But he doesn't go any further.

“This… this dog is mine”

The words finally fall out of you, you muster up your courage and whisper, keeping your eyes on the man

“Don't take him away from me. Not again.”

“Your dog? I think you've got something wrong"

Ghost growled, clearly annoyed. His arm muscles visibly tense, this entire exchange makes no sense to him. Waste of time.

"Y-yes, he's mine..."

You start to say, trying to control the emotions you're feeling. You slowly lower your hands.

“I can prove it. Just let me”

Regardless of the fact that the gun is constantly pointed at you, you have to prove it to him and keep the dog with you. No matter what, at any cost. You want to reach into your backpack and take out that old worn-out photo that you still carry with you to this day. One of the few souvenirs you have kept from your past life.

“Hands up, damn it, I'm not playing any games. Give the dog back and leave town."

Ghost shouts, you can see that he is becoming more and more irritated by your behavior.

“You can take everything you find and leave my city. Riley stays where he belongs - with me."

You shake your head negatively, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying not to cry

“No, the dog is mine.”

“Oh, damn it, I don't have all day for unnecessary discussions. Tell your people not to come back here again. Or at least have the courage to show up in person and not send a woman. Pathetic".

As he says this, he finally lowers the gun and pats his thigh, trying to get the dog's attention.

“Riley! Heel!”

Thinking little, or probably not thinking at all, you reached into your backpack and opened the zipper, looking for a photo.

“Dammit, kid, you don't understand what I'm telling you. Leave the dog and fuck off."

You don't care anymore, if you were to leave this city without your dog, you'd rather die here. Now, at this moment.

You take out the photo, which you have carefully secured to prevent any further damage. You raise your hand, holding the photo, and try to stop it from shaking. Despite your emotions, you calmly say to masked man

"Look, this is my dog. Mine. Look, Riley's missing a piece of his ear. You see? Dog in this photo doesn't have it either…”

The man hesitates for a moment, but decides to approach and take a closer look at the photo in your hand.

“That doesn't prove anything,” Ghost starts to say, but you interrupt him

"What do you mean? How many dogs of this breed have such a wound? How many have a black collar with an engraving on the back, with the exact name and phone number?"

As you say this, you state what is written on his collar

“You could take this off him and read it.”

"How do I know there's something written inside?"

There was silence. Another long, tiring one. You looked at each other without saying a word.

The man was taller than you and towered over you, his broad frame creating a shadow above you, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked at you. As if he was trying to read what was going on in your head.

You feel a little dizzy. The whole situation was so strange, so surreal. This wasn't what my first conversation with another human being in two years was supposed to look like. This wasn't how the first meeting was supposed to go. At least it wasn't what you imagined.

There's something wrong with the man across from you. Weird, dark, terrifying. His attitude irritates you and something inside you finally breaks. You explode.

“Ghost, listen…”

You started, raising your voice slightly

“I don't know what your intentions are, why you're so defensive about this town and this dog. But I came here alone! ALONE! I haven't seen a living person in two fucking years. I don't understand what kind of travelers you're talking about and why you don't want to admit that this dog is mine. But... but I don't want to leave, not after finding Riley."

When you say this, you look at the dog that sat between you and the soldier. Riley lay down, as if he was also tired of all the strange interaction between two people he knew, through which he was confused.

Ghost remains silent, never taking his eyes off you, as if wondering what to do. Pros and cons.

Finally, the sound of the watch interrupts his persistent gaze, and the man sighs loudly, as if resigned, and says

“Let's just say… I believe you. Temporarily”

The man secures the gun and hangs it on his shoulder. Seeing this, an involuntary smile appears on your face.

“Come on, kid, it's late. We have to go” 

Ghost points to the sun, which is slowly starting to hide behind the buildings

"We'll finish this conversation somewhere else. Come on, both of you."

He waves his hand and points in the direction to go.

“Go ahead, I'll watch your back.”

The walk to the car doesn't take long, and you're glad that you won't have to walk another distance on your still scarred and aching legs.

"No way!"

You scream in shock when you see a large, dark pickup truck parked in the cul-de-sac.

“You have a working car! I couldn't find..."

Standing at the passenger door, a man interrupts you, stands next to the trunk and you open the hatch

“Riley, get in. You sit in the back too”

He points to the trunk of the pickup truck

"What? Are you kidding me?"

This man was behaving absurdly. You guess that years of loneliness made him unable to behave socially. He forgot what it was like to interact with another living person.

“Just. Get. In. And don't whine unless you want to walk to the tower. You know the way.”

The man looked at you without blinking.

“To the tower? Why are we going to the tower?”

You say in disbelief, letting go of another exchange of words, slowly climbing into the trunk and sitting down next to the dog. Ghost closes the trunk, making sure the dog is safe, and gets behind the wheel.

“We need to visit your companions. Since they're not in town, they're probably waiting for you there. You know my name, so you must have read the letter.”

As the car starts moving, you start to wonder if you did the right thing by getting into the trunk. Letting a stranger take you away, God knows where. There was something wrong with this man. He thought Riley was his and that you weren't coming to town on your own. Maybe he too, like you, has been living alone all these months. And he clearly couldn't cope with it. You hug the dog, just hoping that when you reach the tower, the man will finally believe you and let you stay.

Nevertheless, you did not want to be left on your own again. Only now did you feel how much you missed another living person. How much you needed to feel someone's presence. To know that you were not meant to live in isolation. You felt that the burden that had stuck with you through those many sleepless, weeping nights had finally fallen from your shoulders.

Maybe it was destiny.  This was your fate.

So, you accept it already.

Even if from now on, you will have to live with this strange, mysterious man in a mask.

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[promiscuouspomegranate]

|| COCOON

fem! yan x fem! reader TWs: So fucking unsettling.

Lucille was a pretty girl—obnoxiously so. She was the kind of pretty that would cause one to strain their neck in search of their own reflection to see how ugly they were in comparison. They would always be uglier than her and often would blush for the shame of their own homely faces or plain appearance. This is how Lucille knew she was a pretty girl, not because people told her—no, they were far too insecure to do so—but by how miserable they looked whenever her presence graced the room. With whatever soul she had, she felt a deep, almost sadistic pleasure in it, but with how her concealed lips would form into a thin smile, nobody knew. Her father would often scold her for her debauched behavior and often wondered what he did wrong; perhaps he had been too lenient or delicate with his precious child—though he never did anything of any nature, he was simply there. Lucille hated the man but had no justification for her hatred, as he never laid a hand on her or yelled with a belligerent tone. She surmised that he had some hidden evil that he dared not to tell her; perhaps he was a drunk, a sloth, or a degenerate. Yet, she knew why she really hated the man, because she knew that behind his glassy baby-blue eyes, he saw her.

Lucille’s eyes were far prettier than her father’s and, if she ever met her whore of a mother, her eyes would be prettier than that skank’s. They were wide malachite-colored things that usually had pupils so dilated you could see your reflection in them. Her most recent ex-boyfriend frequently teased her and said he always thought she was high out of her mind. He would have to repeat himself more than once whenever he said anything. She never paid any attention. He left her at the start of spring break, and a day later, he left Duruston. Nobody remembered his name, they just knew him as Lucille’s boyfriend.

She wanted to leave Duruston too, but she did not have the money or the means. So, she spent all her time doing the usual things—wandering the strip mall, getting her nails done, letting the artificial glow of the tanning salon mask the shadows she couldn’t. At the bug-infested diner, she picked at greasy fries with her friends, spoke in half-laughs, and ended most nights at the cemetery. Most of the time, she did not have to even glance at her thrifted designer purse; everyone paid for her things. They just expected favors in return.

Except for Butterfly. Butterfly never asked for favors, except for that one time when she bleached her hair, and half of it fell off in the shower. Butterfly was a sweet girl, the sweetest girl Lucille had ever met—Lucille was so convinced of this that she thought if she were to bite into Butterfly’s pallid skin, all her teeth would rot out. Lucille had a habit of noticing every little thing Butterfly did; her green eyes would often sparkle with some form of stolen light and shine with a glow akin to grief. Butterfly never noticed this. She was always too busy fidgeting with the hem of the blue sweater Lucille bought for her.

“You’re cold again,” Lucille mumbled before turning down the C.D. Butterfly made for her—a collection of David Bowie’s greatest hits. “Hm?” Butterfly’s head perked up from the magazine she was reading, “Sorry, I didn’t—” “We should go to the tanning salon; I want to tan again. Am I pale? I think I look pale, and you know Blake doesn’t like ghostly girls.” “We could, but I hate it there. You could get skin cancer one day, Lucy,” Butterfly closed the magazine and tossed it over the bed, “I worry about—” “I’ll grab my purse, just wait in the car, okay Butterfly?” “God, would it kill you to call me…” Lucille exited her bedroom, gently closing the wooden door behind her. She traced her well-manicured fingers across the yellow walls, counting how many individual linoleum tiles were on the floor. She reached the kitchen and found a Franklin taped to the refrigerator beside a sticky note that read “For dinner — Dad.” She stuffed it into the pockets of her jeans, grabbed the keys from the counter, and left the house. The winter sun was sinking into the line of pine trees just beyond her house, seemingly disappearing and only leaving an embryo-colored glow in its wake. She started her father’s Ford Focus, honking the horn three times so Butterfly would rush out the front door. She had timed Butterfly’s movements in the back of her head; right now, she was probably taking a deep breath and reciting a prayer. In two minutes, she would come stumbling out the front door, holding her star-shaped messenger bag and rummaging around for the latest C.D. her mother let her buy. “You’ll like this one,” Butterfly smiled, her head tilting down and a light, coy blush crept over her face, “My grandmother recommended some oldies to me recently, I— I really love them.” “It’s so… you,” Lucille sighed, rolling her eyes as she tuned out the voice of  Frankie Valli for the hundredth time. “Is that a compliment?” Butterfly’s blush turned shameful, and she paused the C.D., fidgeting with the radio, “Never mind, we can listen to the station.” The rest of the car ride was silent. Lucille was not expecting that outcome at all—no, something was terribly wrong with Butterfly. She broke a part of her nail as she held the wheel, choking the hot-pink faux fur cover, ripping the fuzz off with her index and thumb. Her dilated eyes stared at Butterfly, who was too occupied fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. The sweater Lucille bought for her. “Can we park close to the salon this time? I don’t want to walk through the drizzle,” Butterfly’s hand found its way on top of Lucille’s, cautiously placing her calloused fingertips on her slender fingers. “Anything you want,” Lucille mumbled, finally facing the road again, and loosening her grip from the wheel. “Oh, you chipped a nail. You’ll—” “I’ll get Blake to pay for my new set. He said he would after what I did for him last week,” Lucille pulled the car into the parking lot. Butterfly took her hand off Lucille’s and grabbed her messenger bag, leaving Lucille alone to take a deep breath. Lucille took many shallow breaths, and she felt like she was stealing all the air from the world and choking on it. She watched Butterfly walk into the tanning salon—that idiot was probably fumbling over her words. Lucille decided to help her, again.

“Uhm, no I just— She should—” “I want room number 13, and bring one of those folding chairs with you, for my Butterfly,” Lucille crossed her arms, sizing the old hag at the register. “Hah, that’s just a nick—” “Sure thing, ladies,” The wrinkled thing said, grabbing one of the folding chairs in the corner with her flabby arms. They entered the room, and Lucille locked the door behind them. She stripped herself entirely, except for the heart sticker she applied just below her navel. She stared at Butterfly, whose face was burrowed deeply into the library’s copy of “The Metamorphasis.” “Can you set the timer for me?” Lucille asked, slowly heading toward the tanning bed, and crawling inside. The lid hummed as it lowered, sealing her in a cocoon of sterile light. The bulbs flickered to life, casting an artificial sun over her skin, too bright and too close. The heat pressed down, heavy and suffocating. She closed her eyes, but the somber blue glow seeped through her eyelids, pulsing like the beat of some distant, unseen heart. “So, how was your week, Butterfly?” Lucille asked, picturing how Butterfly’s face would scrunch in response. “You know I hate that name, Lucy,” Butterfly closed her book, tossing it onto the ground, “Why can’t you just call me—” “Is it because Lorelei gave it to you? Her and I went to blockbuster recently, rented a copy of that movie you recommended. It was so…” “So me,” Butterfly filled the silence, her voice trembling like a leaf blowing in the wind. “You know,” Lucille decided to tease her friend, in hopes it would strengthen the girl, “Lorelei said—”

“Stop.”

“She told me that you—”

“Lucille, shut up.”

“God, you are so dramatic,” Lucille laughed, she could see the silent tears, and could taste the refreshing sweetness of them, “Lorelei just told me about the party you and her went to. You know, the one where you got wasted.”

“Can w-we please talk—”

“I don’t think you’re a faggot, if that helps.”

Lucille heard Butterfly choke on a sob and could picture her pretty little fingers covering her chapped lips, pitifully trying to hide her shame. She bet it was beautiful—like one of those paintings left to collect dust in a gallery. She heard the rustling of books, a bag, and then sneakers. When Lucille emerged from the tanning bed to change sides, the door was wide open, and Butterfly was nowhere in sight.

For the first time in her life, she could feel her pupils shrink, shrinking so small that she could barely see straight.

“Butterfly…?”

“Y//N?”

…

Twelve days, three hours, and a few minutes had passed since Butterfly last spoke to Lucille. Odd, very odd indeed, was all Lucille could make of the situation—Butterfly never did things like this; she always returned to her in the end. She had gotten with Blake, precious little Blake, who paid for everything she wanted, took her downtown, and wouldn’t even record Lucille when she did favors. He was a nice guy, really, one of the sweetest she ever got with. Lucille’s mind flickered through a kaleidoscope of futures—none of them hers, all of them too bleak, and drenched in colors too bright, too wrong. The nausea came suddenly, rising like bile. She stumbled out of bed, each step a stagger across the cold linoleum, the floor stretching longer than it should—maybe she miscounted the tiles?

“To be Mrs. Fern,” Lucille thought, “Is to be dead.”

Her feet sunk into the mud as she headed into the pine forest, her skin drenched in a cold sweat. The pasty moon cut into the woods, illuminating the shadows on her face and hiding her eyes in a veil of darkness. There was an unmeasured rhythm in her footsteps: one… two… three… four… five… six—a waltz of sorts.

“Christ,” she muttered under her raspy breath, “Know she’s out here.”

Then, in the heart of the woods, she saw her. Really saw her. Butterfly stood bathed in moonlight, every shadow bending to her, every leaf trembling in worship. Her face—soft, radiant—blurred at the edges, as if she was slipping between worlds. Lucille’s breath caught in her throat, a sharp, reverent ache. This wasn’t a person standing before her; this was creation itself. God, she thought, whatever was left of her mind ablaze. This is God. Tears stung Lucille’s eyes as she dropped to her knees, arms outstretched, trembling under the weight of revelation. How could she not have seen it before? Every step, every word, every glance—it all led here. To her.

Lucille crawled to her, her ears clinging to the end of Butterfly’s prayer. Lucille’s abhorrent body rose above Butterfly, and she grabbed her face, forcing her to look forward. She slipped her slender hands over Butterfly’s mouth, sticking her fingers over her tongue, choking her words.

“Oh, Y//N, why did you—”

“H-ahng? Hoo arh yoo?”

“You’re so—” Lucille’s hand traveled down to Butterfly’s neck, and she imagined what it would be like to kill a god.

“I can’t breathe.”

“I love you, Butterfly.”

“L-Lucille, is that you…?”

Lucille’s hands slid further, deeper, until the boundary between flesh and god blurred. The warmth of Butterfly’s body gave way to something colder, something unnameable. A wet, visceral sound filled the air—part whisper, part echo, like the woods themselves were holding their breath. Lucille couldn’t tell where her hands ended and where Butterfly began.

The ink on the missing posters faded from the constant storms. Nobody had been able to find poor Lucille.

[rubra-wav]

Why So Blue? Vox x Reader

[ Part 2 - Never Gonna Give It Up ]

A/N Listen man, I don't know jackshit about code or hacking, and that's probably gonna become glaringly obvious throughout this fic 💀

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, intimidation and manipulation, slight mention of blood.

<< [ Part 1 ]

A month went by since the attack on his social media and hijacking of his camera systems had taken place.

The paranoid anticipation of a second attack was deeply present to Vox, but it faded at about the 2 week mark.

Surely, whatever imperfections there were had been mended! Someone would be thrown on the chopping block if not.

All his employees were on edge and were eager not to irritate him even a little bit after last time. Even more than usual. It was excellent to the TV demon, stroking his sadistic power complex even more than it already was.

Every blow done to his ego with the Sinstagram hacking had fallen away, and he was once again power tripping on everything around him. As expected, the home surveillance systems had made him a killing, and he could see places he'd never been able to make it to now.

All of these things put him in a rare string of a genuinely good mood. Everything seemed to be working out.

On the other hand, you worked hard on your next attack that'd far solidify your threat to him, that's for damn sure.

You'd given it a few weeks before you began to really step into your next plot, wanted to lure him into a false sense of security so he'd fall harder off his high horse.

You laid on your stomach in the middle of your living room surrounded by your collection of monitors, clicking away with one hand and typing code out with the other.

The next stage of you trolling him was just gonna be meme material alongside establishing your persona to properly establish your presence in hell.

The more serious pranks up your sleeve would be showing up later down the line. For now, you were just playing games with him for entertainment.

You were barely able to leave home nowadays, opting to befriending people or talking to those you knew before becoming a recluse online.

One of these friends of yours being a certain inventor who ironically very much wanted to be positively noticed by the object of your somewhat despise.

At first, it was because you took pity upon Sir Pentious, having helped to patch him up after he (literally) exploded through the wall of your apartment, however, you came to enjoy his presence.

He was power-hungry, of course. However, he also just wasn't much of a threat at all. He wasn't charming or manipulative - god, was he an awful liar - just good with making things. Pen was a glorified, awkward, and overly goofy fanboy more than anything.

You kept trying to encourage him to work on a business of his own rather than just trying displays of power against Cherri Bomb for the sake of trying to get attention from the Vees, but he just wouldn't listen.

The sound of you receiving a notification from said inventor snapped you out of spacing out at your reflection in the monitor in front of you.

I got the codes you asked for, (Name). 🫡

*Pen included attachments*

Do be careful with these, though. I had to talk to one of my acquaintances in league with lady Velvette's people for these, and they said that it seemed like bad news to have these on you!

Just what are you planning on using them for?

You hummed as you looked at the codes sent, thinking of how you would answer exactly, your eyes wandering absentmindedly to the slightly peeling painting of tree branches on the wall you had done many years ago at this point.

Your eyes snapped back to your monitor as you typed back simply.

Thank you very much! 🧡

And let's just say... tomfoolery.

....

Should I be worried?

You snorted.

Probablyyyyyy~~~

You laughed at the barrage of texts with extremely poor spelling sent to you one after the other half jokingly fretting about you. In the beginning, it was genuine panic from him, but he'd come to know you were smart enough to not kill yourself via being a menace.

Chill out, MUM. I'll be good.

I mean, you most assuredly wouldn't be good, but he didn't need to know that.

You weren't exactly going to reveal you were the one harassing Vox to anyone, even if you were friends. Doing so would be endangering you but also them as well.

You logged the access codes you had gotten from Pentious - ones you couldn't attain normally because they were physically kept in real life - humming and kicking your legs as you cleaned the attack up to make sure there wasn't some missed quotation or something which would fuck the whole thing up.

As you worked hard, a certain someone was about to wake up to the cemented vision of the series of unfortunate events you had in store for him.

-

This time, Vox woke up in a very unconventional way unlike the prior attack.

One of his main maintenance team members booted him up before his scheduled time.

He looked at the employee with confusion, which quickly turned to anger as he realised that this asshole had intruded into his sleeping quarters, he was very confident, without permission.

The embarrassment about his sleep attire of course underlying. It was hardly the same impression as what he wished to show to the world.

He instantly went to start yelling at the obviously shit scared man in front of him, but he was stopped short as he heard familiar lyrics that didn't yet fully register for him.

"What. What the fuck is that?" He asked, Vox looked at the employee who seemed to be grappling to try and explain.

"We're.. o.. angers.. o love.. u.. ow the rules, and...o do I!"

Vox's eyebrow furrowed in disbelief, mouth parting as he fought to comprehend what was going on, straining to hear what the song was.

"A.. ull.. commitments.. -at.. m.. inking of. O.. ouldn't get this.. om any other.. uy."

Seeing as the employee was useless next to him, Vox got out of bed and quickly raced to his bedroom window, ripping the blinds apart and opening the window.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand."

Vox looked absolutely dumbfounded out at the scene of hell before him as his still tired brain fully comprehended what he was hearing and seeing.

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Who in the fuck was rickrolling hell.

It was on every single billboard and screen that Vox could see out the window of the tall building he lived in, the image of Rick Astley singing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' with a small message Vox could barely make out at the bottom of the faraway billboard.

"S-sir, it's been playing since 6am, we haven't been able to turn it off! It's everywhere! This hacker- 'U' they call themselves, its the same person as last time it seems!" The frightened employee standing behind the hunched over and now trembling figure of Vox finally found his voice.

Vox let out a cold bark of laughter, slamming his hands against the windowsill as he jerkily moved to face the employee. "What the fuck," Vox began to approach the young man, him shrinking back from the clearly furious overlord. "Do you mean that this has been p-p-playing," Vox glitched as he gripped both hands on the techie's shoulders. "Since 6 in the fucking morning!" He yelled.

His claws dug into his shoulders hard. He was about to go fully apeshit, but the sane part of his brain won over that at the last second.

This was not one of his lowest earners, and he had far more pressing things to do then prey on the refuse lest his image be messed up any more then it already had.

He stiffly unhanded the employee, eyes admiring the way blood had started beading where his claws had dug in before taking a deep breath, composing himself and then forcing a strained smile.

"My apologies," a lie, of course. "I will deal with this accordingly myself since it seems like you and your team are un-a-able to yourselves." He spat the last part out, before striding out of his bedroom with one last 'get out.' directed at the employee shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze.

It was all over the internet and Vox knew he had no chance of dealing away with it like last time.

He could do away with a stupid Sinstagram post pretty easily. It was moreso from one source - the branches from that easily clipped and made to be forgotten about nearly completely with a carefully placed broadcast that was succinct and to the point with his hypnosis ability, and constant content moderation.

This though was a completely different story.

Even after kicking you from his system (he hoped), he found himself unable to even begin to try moderate everything as he did last time. He couldn't escape 'U' becoming a viral meme overnight.

Someone with obviously incredible hacking skills using said skills not to attack or harm Vox or anyone, but to instead Rick Roll the entirety of hell?

Vox became a victim of the meme culture him and Velvette had cultivated to keep eyes on them, and he hated it.

He was terrified, which of course manifested as red hot anger. Anger which grew even worse as something was discovered the afternoon of him finally managing to remove the video loop being broadcasted.

An account on one of the many social media applications he owned. An account he somehow couldn't touch with one single post going absolutely viral - the same as the text that was displayed across the bottom of video you had infected all of his screens with which he couldn't quite see from out of his window the prior morning.

'Never gonna give it up, never gonna let you go. Never gonna let you run away and avoid me~ - U'

If anyone wants to be added to a taglist for when I update this fic lmk - I was unsure if the people I @ last time still wanted to be (sorry)

[ Why So Blue masterlist ]

[moodymisty]

Rushal ending up being loyal to Sevatar and the NL legion makes sense. Brutal torture (and probably a whole lotta brainwashing) will do that to a person. People who went through abuse and didn’t get any treatment for it will very likely get attached to their abuser, and even support them sometimes.

But if he gets attached to you? (and my brain has already cooked up an idea on how that could possibly happen. So just hear me out).

Let’s say that you’re a serf belonging to the Night Lords, and your duties consist of cleaning the areas where the higher ranking astartes live. For serfs belonging to other chapters this would be seen as a privilege, but here? Not so much. Nobody wants this type of job, it’s too risky, you’re one wrong move away from being turned into a flayed plaything for one of your lords. But when a serf of higher rank promoted you to it (probably to escape getting the job himself) it was inescapable, the life fate handed you didn’t allot you any complaints. So you decided to accept this “gift” instead of risking possible death via whip.

And you could say that you were good at it. You stayed quiet and unnoticeable, your hands never spilled what you were carrying, and even in your throes of fear you managed to keep a boring enough facade that the Night Lord threatening you lost interest. Otherwise what you did could be easily described as dull, because once you got over the sight of human remains, all the job really consisted of was nonstop cleaning till you heard the sound of heavy footsteps and ran back to the serfs quarters as stealthily as possible.

The monotony changed however, when you heard a rumour of a new astartes joining the higher ranks. Through the chatter of your fellow serfs you found out that he used to be a Raven Guard. Which… surprised you. Before the heresy started you had heard from past friends who worked with other chapters that the Raven Guard, while similar in appearance, weren’t as monstrous or sadistic as your masters. Some even called them “kind”.

You wondered if that’s even possible. And if it is, then how could someone like that join the Night Lords?

A few days later you were mopping some grand hallway. Well, it must have been grand in the past, now it’s just covered in gore. But any cleanup you were doing stopped abruptly. You weren’t alone in this place. A familiar terror ran through your body, a space marine was watching you. And so you sat there, trying to seem as small as possible in hopes that he would eventually go away. After what felt like hours you considered the option that maybe you were just tired and your mind was conjuring things that weren’t there, and it didn’t feel like a Night Lord, so what harm could be done if you just turned around and-

You saw him. But despite his pallid complexion and large black eyes you didn’t recognise him, so it must be the new Raven Guard then, you thought. After which you realised that you had been staring at him for far too long, and bowed apologetically. But it was as if he didn’t seem to notice, instead wordlessly beckoning you somewhere with a gesture of his gauntlet covered hand. Which you followed, it would have been far more foolish of you to deny the request of one of your masters than to simply do as they said. So as he lead to down some dark corridors and right into his quarters you tried to think as positively as you could. Maybe the people you once knew were right? Maybe he won’t torture or kill you? Maybe he truly is as kind as they claimed his kin to be.

His request was simple, he sat down on his bed and gestured for you to take off his power armour. The higher up serfs taught you the basics behind it just in case a scenario like that ever came up, even if you truly hoped it didn’t. Being that close to an astartes put your life on the line, and if one tiny armour piece got broken you’d be just another blood splatter on the wall. But from what you saw he didn’t seem to mind, most of the time he wasn’t even focused on you, preferring to stare off into the distance. But when he did look down you chose to smile at him, risky yes, but deep within your heart you hoped that he wasn’t as bloodthirsty as his cousins. Once you took off the armour it felt as if you were done, until you saw him fumbling with the zipper on his neck. The dirt and armour oil made the glove parts of his bodysuit far too slippery to grip that small bit of metal. So with a mumble of wanting to help you put your hands on his neck, reaching to grab the zipper of the suit-

You hear a sharp intake of breath when he flinched away from you, if you weren’t so close to him you wouldn’t have even noticed it. And in his eyes you briefly saw… fear? No, not fear. That’s stupid, astartes can’t feel that, you must have just been projecting. And you’re sure you were right when he leaned back towards you with that usual tired expression. What did surprise you though, is what you see when you take off the top part of the bodysuit. He’s littered with scars, some healed, most not.

And you get the bright (and very impulsive) idea on how to stay on his good side.

You take out a pretty large jar of antibiotic cream from your robes, you used it after each day of work to make sure you didn’t get an infection. And while you knew that space marines didn’t work that way. The frightened-friendly way you spoke seemed to convince him into letting you apply it on him, sitting silently as you massaged it into the skin of his arms, torso and face. After which he stood up from his bed and unlocked the door, silently letting you go.

For you the interaction was.. confusing. He didn’t hurt you, but he was also incredibly strange. You hoped that whatever good reputation you built up with him was worth wasting half of your antibiotics on.

For him it was the first show of genuine kindness he’s felt in such a long time. In his surprise at your smiles and soft touches he managed to let you go.

How foolish of him.

But don’t fret, dear. He’ll find you soon. And he won’t be letting you go this time.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

y'all put so many tasty treats in my ask box, you all know exactly how to manipulate me into making stuff XD

[daemon-in-my-head]

Gortash symbolises humanity. Bear with me.

He is a researcher, a scientist, an inventor. He is progress personified. He constructed the Steelwatch from nothing, and he discarded all ethics to do so. And while vile, that is something that has been done a lot in the past. Humans have ever since crossed the line in the name of research and progress. They have done unspeakable things, all in the name of 'advancement' and knowledge. Especially those who had certain degrees of power or in not exceptionally peaceful times, ethics are the first thing that is discarded to conduct research properly. And that is precisely what Gortash does. He ranked his desire for progress higher than personal attachments or sentimentality, and in its name, he's done unspeakably sadistic things in his 'lair' like countless did before him.

But that's not the only thing. Gortash is a tyrant, a conqueror. He invaded places people already existed in and claimed these places, their treasures and their people for himself—something humans love to do and still do to this day. And he was also an arms dealer. The thing that allowed humans to suppress even those physically stronger and more advanced was weaponry. The thing that allowed progression to this degree is where his roots lie.

He paid attention in his history lessons. He made sure to learn from Sarevok's failures. Perhaps even the shortcomings of Bane's old chosen. But even despite, or perhaps because he knew that history, he made the mistake of repeating it. He was so focused on not repeating Sarevok's mistakes that he forgot the other downfalls others have had to experience. Exactly how humanity continues to learn of its own history but always gets focused on specific parts, and as such, he forgot some others and was bound to repeat them just like we're currently repeating mistakes that have happened before.

There is also Gortash's dismissal of the Netherbrain. His 'how bad could it be'-stance. He dismissed a force of nature, dismissed natural evolution because he thought himself above it, kept silent about it, and as such allowed a plague to spread through the sword coast. Something that has happened repeatedly in our past. The last time wasn't even that long ago, if we're honest.

Even the god he serves, his patron, is the only 'humane' one out of the dead three. Bhaal is a force of nature. He is death itself. Myrkul is almost an eldritch being. He's the explanation for what happens after death, and how to defeat the unknown. But Bane is human. His domain is human. Conquest, rulership, tyranny, worship. Those are human things. These are desires only humans have in that way.

But most importantly, he reigned in and controlled the weapon that is Durge. After their murder spree, and after their worship and temple management, he was the one who stilled Durge's hand. Who reminded them of their own humanity. Who insisted they were human. He became their ties to humanity to them.

So, Gortash symbolises humanity, but simply all it's flaws. He's the brutality, the ruthlessness, the endless desire and strive for progress. The desperation to be 'more'. The cruelty we display in the name of power and knowledge. The sheer lack of compassion, empathy and humanity that only humans are capable of.

And now, this also makes it really funny that he needs to die for you and your companions to succeed. It's almost like you need to kill off that cruelty in a last act of brutality to embrace a 'peaceful' future.

Expect if you're durge cuz you're fucked regardless but that's a diff topic.

[iamnmbr3]

Honestly, I keep forgetting that tom riddle was like 11 in some of the memories because of the way dumbledore talks about him. I keep picturing him as older teenager young adult. Like bro he's not Conniving he's trying to not die

Exactly! Dumbledore never sees him as a child or an innocent or someone who can be saved (or even needs or deserves it). This is despite the fact that what he knows of 11 year old Tom's behavior is actually not nearly as disturbing and psychopathic as James Potter's behavior for example. James grew up with everything and shows clear sadistic tendencies from a young age. He obviously actively enjoys violently tormenting and assaulting other people for fun. He actually fits the 'serial killer who was a psychopath from a young age' trope better than Tom does, though that wasn't JKR's intent at all.

I think she possibly meant to do something very different with Tom's character but bungled the exectuon. I think she was going for the whole 'serial killers are psychopaths who are un-saveable and torture and kill smalls animals as children" trope but that's not what she wrote. Tom killed one rabbit. Obviously that was wrong, but it wasn't part of a pattern where he routinely small animals for sport. He also didn't kill it for fun (nor did he do it in a particularly prolonged or cruel way). He did it as retribution after an argument (and presumably since he didn't do anything to Billy Stubbs directly, this was an argument with someone he felt unable to take on). Obviously this doesn't make what he did right, but it is a VERY different context from what JKR is trying to imply (since we the readers are supposed to agree with Dumbledore's reactions to and assessments of him). We never even find out what the altercation with Billy Stubbs was about or who initiated it etc.

Aside from that, there's the cave incident where...something happened but we don't know what. It is notable that Dumbledore mentions that it would be virtually impossible to climb up to (or presumably down from) the cave without magic. Which means Tom used his powers to not only get all of them up, but also to bring himself as well as Dennis and Amy back - rather than simply leaving them to die either for fun or to cover up whatever he did to them. (Personally I think he performed magic on/in front of them but then went too far and panicked and tried to wipe their memories but did it badly due to being inexperienced and uncontrolled which is why they are odd afterwards and can't remember what happened). But yeah. We have no idea what happened there. Only that Mrs. Cole, who hates Tom and doesn't know what he is, suspects him of having done something bad. Dumbledore never bothers to get Tom's side of things.

It's also important to remember that while Tom learned to control his powers, at first his use of magic would have been random and uncontrolled. This means that some of the incidents for which he was blamed were outside his control and simply instances of his magic reacting to his emotions rather than him deciding to do something.

Given that Dumbledore hasn't read the later books where Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort and given that he knows that Tom is universally hated and feared in the orphanage for his strange powers (to the point that Tom consequently lives in mortal fear of being thrown in an asylum and seems to have had bad experiences with doctors) he can't even really reasonably be certain that Tom wasn't acting in self defense in the only way he knew how. But he simply takes Mrs. Cole at her word that Tom Riddle is no good and evil even though it makes no sense in-universe to do so since he doesn't know yet that Tom is destined to be the villain of the series.

Tom lives in a tough and dangerous world where strength rules. He has no one to look out for him. The very concept of a caring and trustworthy adult is probably alien to him. He is loathed and feared. He suffers from privation and is surrounded by want and disease and death. The only way for him to exert any power over his own life is to use the strange abilities he posses but doesn't understand and can't fully control. This is his reality. Characters in Game of Thrones live in a violent, dog eat dog world, and that influences their behavior. Similarly, Tom's environment influences his behavior. Given his circumstances his behavior (at least what we know of it), while wrong, is not that shocking or even that extreme. He is trying to survive as best he can.

Maybe all the help and guidance in the world couldn't have turned him from his dark path. But the point is, no one ever gives him that chance. Dumbledore shows immediate bias towards him - and we're supposed to think this bias is justified, but that's not supported by what's actually in the text.

[celesrangebsd]

Hi :3 You already know why I’m here :>

And yes technically you’ve already done this but-

Q analysis and I will give you my soul :>

Q Character Anaylsis

My old analysis of Q was kind of bad so here is a new and improved one! No spoilers hopefully :3

Q is a very complicated character in my opinion, simply because we don’t know much about them despite multiple approaches and Dazai fearing them, they have this air of mystery to them that is very interesting in my opinion so- let’s take in the literature base first, Dogura Magura by Yumeno Kyūsaku.

In Dogura Magura the narrator wakes up in a hospital, finding out that he was originally an experiment and killed his mother and wife and he inherited his psychotic tendencies. The novel is inspired by Freudian Psychoanalysis- an idea that people could be cured by making their unconscious a conscious thought and motivations, and by that gaining "insight".

So, relating this to Q, their ability is a mind control that forces illusions on people who intentionally or unintentionally harmed them, we can relate this to Freudian Psychoanalysis since Q makes an unconcious thought (I assume fear?) conscious as an illusion that drives people to attack others because of it. Q thinks of their ability as a curse because they know how dangerous it is, and we also know that abilites can influence the user as well so perhaps Q's psychotic nature is due to their ability and how they grew up.

Q has some major issues on how they see society as well, their hatred of their ability was obviously a result of how people treated them and perhaps they feel that society deserves to be forced to see their fears (we know that Q has "fun" when using their ability on others after all). Their personality seems to flip flop between being an innocent child and being sadistic, they are good at following directions and ignoring their wants.

When Q was captured by the guild, we saw that they were easily influenced, they took answers that were given to them and believed it easily, even when it was something that mentally harmed them or made them hate themselves even more. Q's appearance could also relate to their personality since it seems split, half black and half white hair, different shaped pupils, etc.

Though we know that character designs in BSD are based off of the popular works of the authors so I might just be reaching for straws

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

What if the TFP Autobots encounter a mad scientist bot whose been experiencing humans to cyberform them and turn them into Cybertronians. This bot has been scared and paranoid by the war since the destruction of Cybertron and fears his peoples days are numbered. So that's why he's been trying to turn humans into Cybertronians, though he's been less than successful. While their bodies transformed perfectly, their processors weren't adapted enough to function properly, leading the new Cybertronians to act erratically to an almost feral degree.

Meeting Optimus and his team he enthusiasticly tries to show his finding and the subjects he created. How do the bots react to them and their "experiments"?

-Optimus feels a ton of different emotions. Disgust, revulsion, hatred, fear, guilt. He understands that ultimately, the actions of this bot is not driven by greed or a desire for power, but out of concern for the fate of the cybertronian race. They are afraid of cybertronians going extinct, killing each other, and wants to save their people. All of this, he understands.

-But that does not excuse or forgive them for what they've done. All these humans, people with friends and families, with lives of their own, taken from their homes and effectively tortured into madness.

-Optimus will give the bot the option of peacefully giving up but won't hesitate to use force to subdue them if push comes to shove. What he truly worries about, however, is what to do with these poor people that's been transformed. He hopes maybe Ratchet can find a way to revert the process, or at least return them to sanity.

-Ratchet, similar to Optimus, relates to the bot's fear of cybertronians going extinct. He himself have found himself unable to recharge because of this. But never, not in a million years, could he even come up with the idea of this. Kidnapping humans and forcefully turning them into cybertronians? It's madness! It's sadistic! It goes against everything Ratchet stands for as a medic.

-Because of what they've done, Ratchet can't stand the bot. Yes, they only meant well but that doesn't make their actions any less heinous. If forced to spend any kind of extended time with them, Ratchet will eventually start shouting at them, berating them for their inconsideration of human life. How many humans died before they 'perfected' the transformation? Did those lives even matter to them? Or were they just seen as collateral?

-Incredibly worried about the state of the transformed humans. While physically they appear to be in prime condition, they mental states suggests extreme alterations to the processor. While initially Ratchet tries to find a way to turn them back to humans, eventually he settles for trying to stabilize their minds. He's truly worried that even if they were to ever leave their feral states that the transformation will leave them with severe mental problems.

-Bumblebee is horrified. While he wants Cybertron and its people to live on, he doesn't want it to be at the cost of humanity. Every time he looks at the transformed humans he can't help but think of his own human friends, of agent Fowler, June, Miko, Jack and Raph. It could have been them. Just the thought of it fills Bee with cold dread.

-Tries to help the transformed humans however he can. Bumblebee tries to talk with them, hoping that maybe he can calm them down, remind them of their humanity. Until then he wants to keep them safe. Works himself ragged to get enough energon to fuel them.

-Really, really dislikes the bot that did this and does his best to avoid them, simply because he doesn't trust himself not to go off on them. Makes it very clear to Raph, Miko and Jack that they are to under no circumstances approach this bot.

-Bulkhead will straight up knock this bot's lights out. All this talk about saving Cybertron and yadda yadda yadda, he doesn't buy any of it. They are just a sadistic maniac! Only reason Bulkhead doesn't off them right then and there is because Optimus said no. But that doesn't mean he won't throw in a couple punches to make a point.

-Unless there's an immediate way to turn the transformed humans back into, well, humans, then Bulkhead suggests putting them out of their misery. Does he want to do that? Hell no. But they are suffering and energon rations are already running short. It's not an easy decision but if Optimus decides to agree with it then Bulkhead will volunteer to do it, just to spare every else the experience.

-Again, Bulkhead can't fucking stand the bot that did this. Obviously they are a smart bot yet they chose to do such a stupid thing? That makes them the worst kind of idiot; a cruel one. If the transformed humans actually end up being put out of their misery then Bulkhead might just kill the bot, no matter what Optimus says.

-Arcee is with Bulkhead on this one. If he doesn't punch their lights out then she will because what the actual fuck is wrong with them? She gets feeling scared, feeling desperate, but this is a whole other level of fucked up. Nothing is worth this pain, this sorrow and agony that they've caused.

-Like Bulkhead, Arcee suggests putting the humans out of their misery, at least at first. Like him, she knows that they can't fuel any more bots and as awful as it is, they have to prioritize the team. Volunteers doing it to make the decision easier for Optimus. But the more she thinks about it the less sure she is about the decision. In the end she admits that she can't do it anymore and wants to keep the transformed humans alive.

-Treats the scientist bot like shit. Barely talks to them and when she does she makes it absolutely clear that she finds them disgusting. Berates them, calls them sick in the head, sneers whenever she sees them.