#at least none of them were brutally murdered last time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theemporium · 2 years ago

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[REQUEST OPEN]

[9.6k] local murders, amateur sleuthing and unconventional phone calls catch the attention of wednesday!reader. little does she realise the mastermind behind it all is none other than hawkins’ golden boy. (smut)

“LOCAL TEEN FOUND MURDERED IN HIS CAR EARLIER THIS MORNING AFTER WHAT LOOKS LIKE TO BE BRUTAL STRUGGLE. THIS IS THE THIRD MURDER AFTER THE DEATH OF—”

The volume dial on the radio was instantly turned down, the drawling voice of the presenter quickly dying down to a whisper after blaring through the store like it had been doing for the last hour.

But no matter what channel or radio show they turned to, each and every one was covering the latest discovery in the Hawkins’ murders.

Murders that started during the annual 4th of July celebrations where a local jock had been found stabbed and murdered just after the firework display, his body slumped into one of the ferris wheel carriages before anyone could notice the killer.

The screams of the young carnival worker who found the body was one no one in Hawkins would forget for a while.

The second murder followed less that two weeks later, when a cheerleader was found brutally stabbed and stashed in the back of her car at Lover’s Lake.

And now, the whole of Hawkins had been sent into a frenzy as the police department worked aimlessly to find the culprit behind the recent murders. Only to come up short when they couldn’t find a single clue against the murderer. Not a single fucking idea.

The whole town was left waiting for the next attack, set on edge and second guessing everyone around them as they waited for the killer to attack again.

The killer was playing with their prey, setting everyone on edge and making them go crazy as they waited for a single clue that this wasn’t over. The killer gave them hope that the worst was over, that they moved on or skipped town. The killer made them think they could be safe again.

And then they struck—just yesterday, after a whole month of silence.

“God, don’t they have anything better to talk about,” Eddie grumbled under his breath, nose scrunching up as he focused on the pile of tapes in front of him that he had been sorting out for the last twenty minutes.

You shifted your eyes from the book you were reading, raising a single brow. “And here I thought you’d love something like this.”

“Not all of us are as morbid as you,” Eddie retorted with a lazy grin sent your way. “It’s all anyone’s been talking about the last two months. There’s only so much small talk I can handle over the counter about my ‘crazy theories on Hawkins’ biggest criminal since Johnny the bike thief’.”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment.

“I swear some of them think it’s me,” Eddie muttered with a light scoff. He paused for a moment before his eyes narrowed on you. “They probably think it’s both of us. Probably doesn’t help that you’re always lingering here.”

“You invite me, Edward,” you stated simply as you flicked to the next page of your book.

“And you come every time,” Eddie retorted with a grin on his face, like he was proud of the fact he somehow managed to have you coming back.

“I didn’t have anything on today,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Geez, way to make a man feel special.”

Your friendship—if you could even call it that—with the local metalhead wasn’t something you ever planned or considered. As it turns out, wandering around the woods beside the trailer park will leave you with a curly-haired, restless twenty-something who attaches himself to you and continues to call you his friend regardless of whatever you tell him.

Eddie Munson just seemed to work like that.

Not that you minded him all that much, most of the time at least. You could tolerate him and sometimes coming to the music store he worked at provided amusement in the form of watching the general public. If you had to deal with Eddie calling you a friend during that time, then so be it.

“Got any wild theories in that morbid head of yours?” Eddie asked casually like you weren’t discussing murders in the middle of a very public store, the boy more concerned about the price tags he was currently trying to stick on the tapes laid across the counter with a contraption he wasn’t totally sure how to use.

“What makes you think I have been theorising about it at all?” you asked, eyes focused on the words on the page.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Because you’re you? And you like all those weird horror books and movies and shit.”

“They are comforting,” you stated simply.

“That…is terrifying, actually,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, shooting you a wary look though it really shouldn’t have surprised him. He still had flashbacks to the biology classes he shared with you in school where everyone had taken three steps back from the lab counters whilst you had cut open the poor frog they had been assigned to dissect with familiar ease. The scalpel in your hand almost looked as belonging as a pen.

“You let yourself get too easily scared, Edward,” you told him, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were scolding him.

The boy paused, raising his brows. “You’re telling me you’re not the least bit scared that we have a homicidal maniac on the loose right now?”

“Everybody dies anyways,” you replied.

Eddie blinked. “Yeah because nothing says circle of life like being brutally stabbed twenty times in the gut.”

“Twenty-four,” you corrected.

Eddie furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Each victim had been stabbed at least twenty-four times,” you said as you lifted your gaze to meet his own. “If you’re going to be scared, at least be scared by the right facts.”

“Maybe you are the murderer,” Eddie grumbled with a huff, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the tapes.

“Would you like me to fast-track you to the top of my list?” you deadpanned, though there was something quite like amusement glimmering in your eyes.

“Aw, you’d change up your master plan for lil’ ol’ me? I knew you liked me, sweetheart,” Eddie said with a grin. “Make sure they write that on my tombstone, yeah? ‘Eddie the Freak: changer of small, emo serial killers’.”

You let out a huff but Eddie swore it was a laugh.

“Why the hell are you guys hanging out without me?!”

Both heads turned towards the entrance of the store where a very angry, curly-haired nuisance was making his way towards the cashier counter, the redhead behind him simply shrugging and giving the two adults a ‘what can you do?’ look.

“I’m working, Henderson,” Eddie retorted, gesturing to the store around him. “I hardly consider that hanging out.”

“She’s here!” Dustin said, exasperated as he pointed a finger at you before quickly dropping it when he noted the look you gave him.

“She was invited,” you said to him as you said to Eddie earlier.

“So it is a hangout!” Dustin exclaimed. “Did you invite Max too?”

Eddie remained silent.

“Oh my god.”

“I give her a ride back home after my shift,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh, knowing the boy wouldn’t shut up about this for a while. “I hardly count that as hanging out. Plus, her mum doesn’t want her skating back alone with all the…murdering going around.”

“Who cares about murders when your own friends stab you in the back,” Dustin muttered with narrowing eyes glancing between the three of you.

“Listen, you’re here now, can’t you just…get over it?” Max grumbled, making her way towards the counter where she pushed a handful of tapes to the side before jumping up to take a seat. She pointedly ignored the glare Eddie was sending her way. “I’d rather hear you talk about conspiracy theories for another hour.”

“Conspiracy theories?” Eddie questioned.

“Dustin here thinks he knows who the killer is,” Max snorted.

Eddie narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and Max. “Neither of you sound as worried about a killer on the loose as you should be.”

You didn’t bother with a reply but Max shrugged as she replied.

“She’s rubbing off on me.”

“Are you kidding me? This is freaking awesome!” Dustin exclaimed, catching all three of you off guard as the boy began to pace around the store, arms moving around animatedly as he spoke. “We are living in a real life horror movie! The mysterious killer, local victims, town paranoia—”

“Let me guess,” you interrupted with a raised brow. “Are you deeming yourself the protagonist?”

“Me? Pfft, no, I’m the movie expert,” Dustin said with an oddly proud look on his face. “The protagonist is the final girl.”

Max frowned. “Final girl?”

“Yeah,” Dustin stared at the group like it was obvious. “The girl that is always left at the end of the horror movie. The one who survived after facing off with the killer when their identity is revealed and is the one to tell the story.”

Eddie snorted. “You, Henderson, have quite the imagination.”

“He’s not wrong,” you stated as three pairs of eyes focused on you, all equally shocked. “It’s a common trope in the horror genre.”

“HA!” Dustin grinned.

“Just because you know a bunch about horror movies doesn’t mean you know who the killer is,” Max pointed out, legs swinging back and forth. “It could be anyone. Hell, it could be someone from out of town.”

Dustin shook his head. “Unlikely, each victim seems like a personal choice. And they are linked, it can’t be random at all.”

“Oh, now he’s a professional,” Max muttered, rolling her eyes.

“So who’s your guess, detective?” Eddie asked, entertaining the boy’s delusions.

Dustin brightened. “Well—“

“HENDERSON! THERE YOU ARE!”

The bell above the door rang through the store, accompanied by the sound of quick footsteps as Steve made his way to the group, still clad in the Family Video vest—most likely having just come from his own shift at the shop down the road.

“Way to ruin my dramatic moment, Steve,” the younger boy muttered but didn’t look shocked at his arrival.

“Yeah, yeah, you can cry about it in the car,” Steve murmured with a sigh as he slapped the boy on the back. “Get your stuff, your mum wanted you home by six.”

“It’s only five thirty!”

“Yeah, and I have other shit to do other than drive you about.”

Dustin turned to you. “Tell him to give me five more minutes.”

You raised your brows. “And why would he listen to me?”

“Because he’s obsessed—“ But Steve’s hand was slapped over his mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Car. Now.” Steve stated simply, avoiding your gaze as a light blush appeared on his cheeks.

Dustin let out a heavy sigh before grabbing his backpack that he had dumped on the floor at some point during his rant before he waved the group goodbye. “This isn’t over. I am gonna prove I know what I’m talking about.”

“Whatever you say,” Max called out, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“I’ll, uh, catch you later, yeah?” Steve said as he followed Dustin to the door, though his eyes lingered on you. Maybe waiting for an answer, maybe hoping you’d say yes.

“See ya later, Harrington!” Eddie waved him off with a shit-eating grin, waiting until both boys were gone before he turned to you. “When are you gonna put him out of his misery?”

You frowned. “What misery?”

“Steve has the biggest crush on you,” Max stated matter-of-factly. “Everybody knows.”

“I didn’t know,” you retorted.

“Yeah, because you’re just as stupid,” Max snapped back and your lips twitched a little at her words.

“You sound just as delusional as Dustin,” you muttered before your eyes focused back on the book on your lap, the one you had been trying to read since you arrived at the store but had only managed two chapters of.

“Say what you wanna say, but when he comes standing outside your house with a boombox and starts confessing his love to you, we will be taking full bragging rights,” Eddie said, a grin matching the redhead’s on his face as you simply rolled your eyes.

“Like I said, delusional.”

…

You were alone in your house on a Tuesday night when you received the first phone call.

Unassuming and unaware, you had spent most of the day out of your house doing simple errands and runs that you had been putting off. You got back home around five and had been loitering around, enjoying the peace that came with an empty home with both parents out of town for the week.

Dinner had been uneventful and the shower you had taken afterwards had been uninterrupted. The phone didn’t ring until around half an hour later, when your hair was still soaking the pyjama shirt you had slipped on and your mirror was still steamy from the hot water.

“Hello?”

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

You paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other side of the phone. It didn’t take long for you to piece things together, the articles and radio warnings that had been blasted around town for the last few weeks giving you a clear idea who was on the other side of the phone.

After all, the mysterious number on the phone bill was the one common factor linking the murders together.

“Do you give all your victims the same icebreaker or am I just special?” you asked the killer on the other side of the phone, hand firmly gripping the handset like you were scared to miss his response.

“Who said you were my victim?”

You paused for a moment. “Is that statement meant to bring me a false sense of security?”

“Do you want me to make you feel safe, sweetheart?”

“Not sure that’s a part of your job description,” you deadpanned, hearing the killer on the other side of the phone let out a huff of amusement. “I thought the point of these phone calls was to heighten your prey’s paranoia.”

“Telling me how to do my job now, are you?”

“Just curious how you play the game,” you admitted, the prickling sensation in the back of your neck a telltale sign that you felt like you were being watched. But you found that you didn’t mind it all that much—for now, at least. “Tell me when I should start begging for my life.”

“I would never wanna hear you beg for your life, sweetheart. I would never hurt you.”

“Are you sure you’re the killer?” you asked bluntly, wondering if this was just some prank call of someone impersonating the Hawkins’ killer in hopes of getting a few laughs from their friends. “You don’t sound very scary to me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to scare you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Maybe I just wanna talk, sweetheart.”

“How wholesome,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the end of your bed and letting your feet touch the cold, wood floor as you stood up from your bed and started making your way downstairs.

“What are you doing?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wanna know why you left your room.”

You froze for a moment, half way down the stairs and your eyes instantly fell on your front door where you could see the lock was still secure in place. “How do you know I just left my room?”

“I like to see the people I talk to.”

“Not social enough for face to face conversations?”

“It’s more fun when they can’t see you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you about how stupid you were currently being. You had watched a plethora of horror movies from a young age, a lot of them had been watched multiple times and you knew the trope of the dumb girl very well. The one who would keep talking on the phone, who would never go for the weapon that could save her life, that would fall when being chased.

You knew the longer you stayed on the phone to the killer, the higher the chance that you could very well become that same character in Dustin’s little horror movie fantasy. That your body would be the next one found, another victim that would lead up to whatever finale this killer had.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to hang up the phone.

The killer was intriguing, not at all what you expected them to be like and—though it would kill you to admit it—Eddie was right, you did have a morbid curiosity for these kinds of things.

You entertained the conversation, picking apart the things they said and the phrases they used. They were careful, they never gave anything away that could even hint to you who they were but there was a knack at the back of your head that told you you knew this person—which was incredibly stupid knowing you couldn’t see anybody out your windows and their voice was disguised.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to help you break that social barrier you’ve built. I heard eye contact improves conversation flow.”

“Never thought you’d be the kinda girl to help someone out.”

Your lips twitched a little. “And I never thought you’d want to sit about for an hour talking about nonsense from a random bush across the street.”

“Guess we surprised each other, huh, doll?”

You raised your brows. “Bored of sweetheart already?”

“Just testing the waters.”

You weren’t sure at what point the line went dead. You couldn’t really remember if you were the one to hang up, or if maybe it was them. The memories of the night before were fuzzier than you would have liked them to be, but certain things were vivid and clear in your head.

One of them was the fact that you knew each door and window had been locked. You knew that there wasn’t a single point of entrance in the house from outside. And yet, laying on your bedroom desk, you found a series of polaroids.

One of you in your room, laying on your bed with a book in hand. One of you in the kitchen, hovering by the stove as you cooked. One of you in the bathroom, the silhouette of your body just noticeable in the steamy mirror.

And a note scrawled on the back of the last one:

Thank you for the conversation, sweetheart. Until next time.

The mastermind behind the Hawkins’ murders wasn’t what you expected them to be like. But they had caught your attention now, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to know more.

…

“Five!”

“Yes, Henderson, we heard you the first time.”

“Five murders!”

“And we heard the radio announce it too.”

“He has killed five people!”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

This conversation had been going on for the better part of the last hour. Just that morning, the police department announced another victim in the Hawkins’ murders—one of the wannabe journalists in the school newspaper that often bothered Nancy with his deadbeat stories and flakey behaviour.

He was found just by Lovers Lake, his camera smashed to pieces beside him and his torso torn open by multiple stab wounds, more than any other victim. And of course, Dustin hadn’t shut up about it since it had been announced.

“It’s a feeling, ya know?” Dustin said with a pondering look on his face. “Like a gut feeling.”

Max raised her brows. “Sure that’s not just acid reflux?”

“Shut up,” Dustin huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s escalating, he’s killed two people in the space of ten days. He’s getting more frequent.”

“Ambitious,” you commented.

Dustin gaped. “No, not ambitious! Dangerous!”

“He’s gone off his victim profile though,” Eddie noted as he took a large bite out of the pretzel he was eating. “I thought he was just going for jocks and shit. But a journalist and a band geek? Rogue choices.”

“Or they are connected in a way we don’t realise,” Dustin countered.

“Or this is all bullshit and he’s nothing more than a murderous maniac who’s just killing anyone he can get his hands on,” Max stated bluntly, shooting her curly-haired friend a look. “Stop reading into it so much. He’s probably just going for younger victims because teenagers are dumb and would probably follow a strange man into the woods if he offered them beer.”

“Is that what you’d do, Red?” Eddie joked as he nudged her shoulder.

“Yeah, and Henderson would be my first victim,” Max continued, biting back the smile that was growing on her face.

“Not funny, guys, not funny,” Dustin grumbled with a crease between his eyebrows.

“It’s a little funny,” Eddie grinned, playfully patting the boy on the back.

“Am I the only one taking this seriously?” Dustin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “There’s a murderer on the loose!”

“Really? You didn’t mention,” Max deadpanned.

“Look, kid, let the professionals solve the case, okay?” Eddie’s voice turned a little more serious as he placed a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I don’t want you getting mixed up in this and end up getting hurt.”

Dustin’s shoulders sagged. “I just feel like—“

“I know, I get it, you wanna work it out,” Eddie said, his features softening. “But it’s not up to you to solve.”

“But if you help—“

“I’ll help you,” you spoke up and the room quickly fell silent.

“Uh,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Are you doing alright?”

“Yes. Why?”

Eddie frowned. “Because you just willingly offered help to someone? To Dustin of all people?”

“If it’s any consolation, it’s for personal gain,” you stated as the three of them continued to stare at her.

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you gaining?”

“Answers.”

“That’s…that’s insanely cryptic,” Eddie murmured, his frown deepening as he flashed you a concerned glance.

Not that you owed any of them answers, but you hadn’t told them about the phone calls from the killer. You didn’t tell them about the phone calls or the photographs or the promises the killer made to not harm you. And you certainly didn’t tell them the phone calls had become an almost daily occurrence.

You didn’t tell them because you knew they would worry. Dustin would hound you with questions, Max would question your sanity and Eddie would be throwing you into the back of his van before beeling towards the sheriff’s department. All valid reactions in the grand scheme of things but would be nothing but a nuisance to you.

You were playing a game with this psycho killer and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to know how it ended.

“Well…beggars can’t be choosers!” Dustin smiled at you and you had the odd feeling that this boy saw this as a branch of friendship.

As it turns out, the boy was more obsessed with the case though you had to give him credit for his passion. He had all but set up a murder board for the killings, complete with pictures of the victims, string linking in pieces of information pinned to the board and a map of Hawkins where each murder had taken place. He had even gone as far as getting transcripts of each phone call the victim received (something about his genius girlfriend being able to retrieve the information).

And that was where your interest piqued the most, unable to deny the way your eyes read over the transcripts multiple times as you analysed the phone calls.

Noting how different they were to your own phone calls with the killer.

“I think the answers are in the phone calls,” Dustin confessed to you as you both stood in front of the board. His hands were on his hips and he stared at the board with such intensity like the answer would appear before him at any moment.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, they are a part of his game, no? They gotta be the answer to why he is doing everything.”

Yet, the idea of you just being another pawn in the killer’s game settled bitterly in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like that. You didn’t like it at all.

…

“You stalking me, sweetheart?”

“Thought I would return the favour.”

“I’m flattered, baby.”

…

“They have to be connected,” Dustin sighed heavily, staring at the pictures of the victims he had pinned on the board.

“They are connected,” you said, sitting back on the couch with your feet planted up on the coffee table and an array of sheets of papers sprawled around you. They were a mix of missing persons flyers, police reports and articles that had been written since the very first murder on 4th July.

Dustin frowned. “They are?”

“They are all from the same year in school,” you pointed out, using the pen in your hand to point at the first victim. “Jamie Anderson, complete narcissist with an ego the size of Indiana.”

“Kinda comes with the jersey,” he muttered under his breath.

You pointed to the second photo. “Samantha Ricks—spent more time swiping daddy’s card and picking on people who wouldn’t talk back.”

“So they were every basic teen targets in a horror movie,” he pointed out with a blank face. “This isn’t really shedding light on why they were chosen.”

“Third victim: Charlie Hughes,” you continued, pointedly ignoring the boy’s pessimistic comments though they did gain a few points of respect from you. “I shared a chemistry class with him in senior year. He always held a grudge after I sabotaged his experiment.”

Dustin raised his brows. “Decent guy?”

“No, an absolute moron,” you stated bluntly before you pointed at the fourth victim. “Kennedy Jenson. A bitter mind in a pretty body, it’s sad to see her go.”

“Were you friends with her?”

You shot the boy a blank look.

“Okay, not friends, but…acquaintances?”

“She wasn’t all that remarkable though she was quite the ass kisser,” you pondered for a moment before you pointed at the final victim. “Katie Adams: extraordinarily self-absorbed and a copycat. I can respect many crimes but lack of originality is not one of them.”

“I’ll remember that,” Dustin murmured, a wary glance sent your way before he looked back at the victims. “So what? That’s our connection? They went to school together and were all unremarkable?”

“It’s too coincidental to be random,” you commented.

“You think he has chosen them on purpose?”

“Yes, but his purpose is the thing I can’t quite work out.”

…

“Do you have a reason you picked your victims?”

“Interested in my job, sweetheart?”

“Curious, really.”

“They all deserved it, I can promise you that.”

“And why did they deserve it?”

“Because they couldn’t appreciate perfection, sweetheart, and I can’t let that shit slide.”

…

“Maybe he has a motivator.”

You raised your brow. “A what?”

“A motivator,” Dustin repeated as though you’d suddenly understand him a second time round. But when your face remained blank, he let out a sigh and continued. “Like, maybe he is doing this all for someone.”

You pondered the thought for a moment. “You think he is just some lackey?”

“Maybe,” Dustin shrugged his shoulders. “Or maybe he is doing it for attention. Maybe he is doing this for someone so they can see it, so they can see his work. Like, a gift or something.”

“Interesting,” you murmured, keeping your face neutral as the boy continued to ramble.

“I mean, if that is the case, he would probably want to gloat to his motivator,” Dustin commented as his eyes flickered over the papers in front of him, fingers fiddling with the ball of string in his hand. “Or at least reach out to them so they know he exists.”

“Like a stalker?”

“Or, in a twisted way, an admirer.”

…

“Do you always watch me when you call?”

“I told you, I like to see who I am talking to.”

“Is there a point of watching me if you’re not going to kill me?”

“Maybe I just like watching you, sweetheart. Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s a bit creepy.”

“Says the girl talking to Hawkins’ most wanted.”

“That still makes you the creepier one.”

“Because I’m talking to Hawkins’ biggest loner?”

“That was almost funny.”

“Maybe next time you’ll let me hear your laugh. But the smile you are trying to hide will do for now.”

…

“Delivery for—holy shit, it looks like a fucking murder scene in here.”

“Pass the pizza, Munson.”

“Kid’s got claws,” Eddie muttered as he passed the pizza boxes he collected into the boy’s awaiting hands before manoeuvring over the mess that had been sprawled over the living room floor to take a seat next to you. “What’s going on here?”

“Dustin thinks he is on the edge of a discovery,” you informed him.

“I am!” Dustin exclaimed. “I think you were right about the school year being connected.”

“Geez, wonder who saw that one coming,” you deadpanned.

“So I grabbed a copy of the yearbook and started making my way through it, seeing who matches the possible description the police have for the killer and—”

You started to drown the boy’s ramblings out, attention focused on the yearbook you had snatched from his hand as you began to flick through it. Dustin had crossed off people with a large, red ‘X’ on who he thought didn’t fit the killer image, along with question marks surrounding potential suspects.

But as you flicked through the yearbook—something you hadn’t even owned yourself, simply rolling your eyes when one of the committee members tried to hand you a copy on the last day of school—you found yourself taking in the pictures that were dotted throughout the book. Pictures that were taken throughout the four years of high school, of different friend groups and clubs and squads.

Pictures of the unsuspecting victims who didn’t know they would be dead less than two years later.

“You really think you’ll be able to find them in that book?”

“I’ll know a murderer when I see them, Eddie.”

Your eyes aimlessly travelled over each photo as you flicked through the pages before you paused. It was a double page feature on some of the sports clubs in Hawkins High School. There were pictures of different teams and meets and games and matches. There were pictures of the groups mingling and mixing. But the one that caught your eye was one of a jock and cheerleader, smiling and grinning at the camera like their future was full and bright ahead of them.

Jaime and Samantha—the first two victims.

But it wasn’t the happy faces or the arms thrown over each other’s shoulders that caught your eye, not when you knew long ago they had been friends in high school. No, the thing that caught your attention was the figure standing in the background, hidden in the shadows almost out of sight.

The figure was glaring at the couple, a glare full of hatred and pure spite. It was a look that went beyond typical teenage jealousy or testosterone rage. This was something deeper, something more primal. This look was wild and cardinal and animalistic.

This look was the look of a killer.

“It could be anybody in that year, Henderson,” Eddie said with a sigh. “It could be someone you would never suspect, it could be someone you’ve already crossed off.”

“Have faith, Eddie, the people I have crossed off are people who I definitely know could never be the killer,” Dustin assured the older man.

And the person behind the look was none other than Steve Harrington.

“Yeah, Edward,” you spoke up, unable to tear your eyes away from the photo. “None of these people could be killers. Never in a million years.”

…

You didn’t tell Dustin or Eddie your revelation.

You didn’t tell anybody and, to be completely honest, you had no reason to keep his secret. You didn’t have any evidence against the boy to actually take to the police, but you were sure with a little digging you probably would have been able to find what you needed—the confirmation any sane person would need to make sure they were 100% sure.

But you weren’t sane and you didn’t need evidence—you knew.

You knew the killer was Steve. You knew the voice behind the phone calls was Steve. You knew without a fucking shadow of a doubt that it was Steve fucking Harrington.

But the truth was that you liked that you were the only one that knew. Something quite like pride prickled inside you in knowing that the whole town was going crazy but you knew the man beneath the mask—and you liked that he had no idea either.

There was a dark sense of satisfaction in knowing that Steve Harrington had this whole other side to him. The boy next door, the heartthrob and the fucking king of high school—but you knew another side of him, the real side of him.

It was a heavy secret but the weight laid comfortably on your shoulders as the hours passed, Dustin and Eddie throwing theories around that you knew were nothing more than trash until you eventually packed up for the night and left.

You knew the second Eddie dropped you off and you stepped into your house that he was watching you, just like every other night. And something sick and twisted in you hummed in delight as you went about your routine, as you made dinner and walked around your house with those eyes glued to you.

And you waited and bided your time until the phone rang just like it always did, just like you knew it would because Steve himself was a sucker for routine and this was his favourite one.

“Let’s play a game.”

You raised your brows, the greeting a small change from his usual ones and yet the change was welcomed as you felt a thrill wrack through your body.

“What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek.”

“I thought your brain was a little more developed than that,” you said, wondering just which window he was watching you from. “Or you were at least a bit more imaginative.”

“There’s a catch.”

“Of course there is,” you hummed and leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as his gaze washed over you like a welcoming wave.

“Aren’t you going to ask what it is?”

“Why should I when I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You never fail to make me smile, sweetheart.”

“It’s my life’s mission,” you deadpanned before biting what he was baiting. “What’s the catch?”

“If you can hide from me, I’ll tell you a secret.”

“And if you find me?”

“Then you tell me a secret. Do we have a deal?”

You paused for a moment, the weight of his offer laying on you as you contemplated the game. A million different ways this game could go, and for all you know, maybe this was the night he decided he wanted to kill you. Maybe you were no longer a motivator to him or he knew that you were aware of his secret.

Or maybe Steve was just sick and tired watching you from the window and now he wanted the real thing.

“How long is my headstart?” You asked, only to hear his laugh crackling on the other end of the phone.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m already in your house.”

The line had barely been cut off before your feet were moving, your head pounding with a million different thoughts as you wondered just where in the house he currently was—if he was anywhere close to you now.

You knew it was planned. Steve was probably aware your parents were out of town again. And he knew you were home alone. Hell, Steve knew everything about you because despite what he said, he was a little stalker to you.

A little stalker who had five murders under his belt and was now currently chasing you through your own house.

If you were sane, that thought would terrify you. If you were sane, you would be dialling nine-one-one and screaming everything you could to the dispatcher before your life ended. If you were sane, you wouldn’t be running through your house, high on the thrill of a serial killer chasing you.

But you weren’t sane, not in the slightest.

Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, your body buzzing with an adrenaline rush you had never felt before and, in some crazy way, you had never felt more alive as you did right now. With floorboards around your house creaking and doors slamming, this was the biggest high you could ever imagine.

The only advantage you had was that this was your house, and yet even that fell short when you knew Steve knew this house as well as you did. He had spent days watching you in this house. He had spent nights sneaking in to leave you gifts. He probably knew this house like the back of his hand.

Another fact that should have terrified you but once again, you weren’t sane.

The irony wasn’t lost on you that he managed to find you just as you made it to your bedroom, his hand grasping your arm before you could escape and your body pressed against the edge of the vanity table. Your chest was heaving with light pants but it was nothing to do with the chase and everything to do with the boy in front of you.

He was towering over you, the mask covering his face and the black robe hiding his body, but the lack of distance between your bodies let you feel his broad shoulders and built torso well enough.

Your eyes took in the sight, taking in the small details of the mask and the ghost figurine it depicted. Maybe to others it would be a terrifying sight, not even his eyes visible through the fabric but you could only let your curiosity grow.

He raised a gloved hand, the fabric rubbing against your skin as he ran a finger down the side of your face before tilting his head to the side, and you knew exactly what he wanted.

“A deal is a deal, right?” you said through soft pants, the blood rushing through your ears almost distracting if it weren’t for the fact the boy in front of you had your full attention. “I guess you want my secret now.”

He nodded slowly.

Your eyes never left his masked face as you spoke. “My secret is that I know it’s you under the mask, Steve.”

The silence settled between you, neither one of you looking away or even reacting, and for a small moment you wondered if the reveal shocked him that much. You wondered if he was trying to work out how you knew, or how to keep you silent. You wondered if you had rendered him speechless.

Then, he slowly raised his hand that had previously been tracing your jaw and pulled at the back of his mask, the fabric bunching up in his fist as he pulled the mask over his face. And what you weren’t expecting to see was his grinning face staring right back at you.

“I knew my girl would figure it out,” he spoke, voice low and huskier than the times you had heard him speak before. “You were always the smartest one in the room, sweetheart.”

And his amusement only seemed to grow tenfold when he noticed the shifted look of confusion grow on your face.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry, did I ruin your surprise?” he murmured, his hands dropping to your waist as the weight of his body trapped you against the vanity. “I didn’t mean to, sweetheart. Just couldn't help myself, gets me all excited when you get that look on your face.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to reply. Not quite yet, not when you hadn’t stopped staring at his face and the way his eyes shone with an emotion you couldn’t quite read yet. Not when Steve Harrington had just revealed himself as the Hawkins’ murderer before you and all you could think about was the way his smile made your insides twist in a way you had never really experienced before.

“Why?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, almost as surprised as you were by the single word that left your lips. “Why?”

You nodded and repeated, “Why?”

“Why, sweetheart?” Steve repeated, almost mockingly as he let out a laugh—a twisted, bitter laugh and it wasn’t directed at you. No, you knew it wasn’t when the lightness in his eyes disappeared, replaced with the same dark look you saw on his face in the yearbook photo. “I did this for you, baby. All for you.”

A crease formed between your brows and the boy softly cooed as he ran his gloved thumb over your skin.

“You didn’t hear them, baby, you don’t get it,” the boy murmured in a soft voice despite the acidic tone lacing his words. “I…I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t just hear them talk…fucking nonsense. Not about you. Not when you’re so…”

His eyes fell back to meet yours and they instantly softened as he pulled his gloves off, his fingers hesitantly reaching to trace your cheek. “Not when you’re so perfect. My sweetheart, so fucking perfect for this world.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, almost offended by the word.

But Steve only flashed you a goofy grin. “You don’t get it, baby. You don’t see what I see.”

You barely choked out a gasp as his hands spun you around, the warmth of his chest pressed closely against your back as you found yourself staring at your own complexion in the vanity mirror. Your eyes shifted to Steve as he stood behind you, towering over you, only to find his attention was already on you.

“Everything about you…it’s fucking perfect,” he murmured, eyes darkening as he tucked his body further against yours, his head dropping so his lips were brushing against your ear. “They called you names. They called you a freak…a loner…a fucking psycho, but they don’t get it. They never could understand utter fucking perfection.”

“That’s noble of you,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed when you felt his warm breath fan across your skin as he chuckled.

“They needed to know, sweetheart,” he whispered to you, the hands that had dropped to your waist tightening their grip. “They needed to know who the real psycho was.”

“So you killed them?”

“I gave them what they deserved,” Steve gritted out through clenched teeth. “The bastards had it coming.”

“You know, you’ve just given me a full confession,” you told him, watching the way his eyes fell shut as he lightly nudged your ear with his nose, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I could run along to the police and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.” There was a small pause. “Nothing except kill me.”

His grip tightened and his head fell to your shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you that I would never hurt you, sweetheart?”

“You don’t seem scared about the threat to throw you in prison,” you noted, fighting to keep your eyes on him and not the way his hands were sliding up and down your sides, the action almost comforting.

He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder. “You wouldn’t give me in to the police.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“If you wanted to, you would’ve done it already,” he stated simply as he lifted his head enough for your eyes to catch his, noting the way his lips twitched upwards in a smirk that was all too smug for your liking. “But we both know why you haven’t told them shit.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the boy. “Oh?”

“The same reason you haven’t told Dustin or Eddie or anyone about my secret,” Steve continued, his voice was soft and calming like he had no care or worries in the world. “You like it, sweetheart. You like it just as much as I do.”

“Presumptuous,” you snided.

“Is it?” Steve tilted his head, eyes watching your expression closely as his hands slid past the black skirt you had been wearing, his hands a heavy warmth on your tight-clad thighs. “I know you, sweetheart. I know you liked knowing my little secret. I know you liked everything I did…reading those reports…imagining what it felt like when I stabbed those assholes again and again and again…”

His words trailed off, his words like a soft lullaby as you fought to keep your eyes open.

“You like that I killed people for you, baby. It fucking excites you to think about the way they bled and begged for their lives,” he whispered in your ear. “Because you’re sick and fucking twisted…just like me, just like those movies you always rent out. And I fucking love it, baby. I know you do too.”

“Because I’m morbid?” you murmured, breath caught in your throat when you felt his hands squeezing your thighs and his nails digging into the fabric of your tights.

“Because you’re perfect, sweetheart,” he said in such a final tone, his chest pressed against your back to the point you swore you could feel his racing heart. But it was hard to tell over the sound of your own pounding heart and his hands ripping through your tights.

“Steve,” you breathed his name out, unsure what you wanted to say but the boy just grinned at you.

“The way you say my name sounds like fucking heaven,” he murmured as his palms were pressed against your inner thighs, slowly moving upwards. “You gonna let me return the favour, sweetheart?”

Your chest was heaving with soft pants, his darkened gaze hard to look away from.

“I just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. All of this is for you, I just wanna please you,” he murmured, analysing every inch of your face as he waited, as he bided his time.

The small nod of your head was a soft, almost invisible action but Steve didn’t miss it. He never missed anything when it came to you.

“Thank you, baby, gonna make you feel like the queen of the fucking world,” he murmured in between the soft kisses he placed along your shoulder, his hands moving to the apex of your thighs as he cupped your clothed cunt and let out a soft chuckle. “I fucking knew it.”

Your body slumped back against Steve.

“I knew this fucking excited you,” Steve grinned boyishly, his fingers running along the wet fabric as he basked in the way you sighed in pleasure. “My perfect girl.”

“Do something,” you breathed out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you urged them to move, to keep touching you.

“Anything you want,” Steve murmured against your neck, sliding his hand past the waistband of your panties as his fingers ran along your slit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re so wet f’me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about your ripped tights or the panties tucked to the side, not when you had the perfect view of Steve holding you against his chest as he circled your clit. It was soft, slow circles at first like he was testing the waters. But one moan from you and the boy was insatiable. He wanted to hear more, he wanted to be the cause of those moans.

He wanted to be the only one that could make you feel that good.

His eyes were locked on your face as he slid a finger inside you, whispered curses muttered under his breath as he felt your walls clench around him. Because you felt perfect, you were fucking perfect and you were all his. Just as he was all yours. You belonged to each other and nobody else and Steve would make sure of that.

“Do you like this?” he murmured, unable to stop the way his chest heaved with heavy breaths as he watched you squirm around his fingers as they slowly pumped in and out of you. The same hands that murdered five people, that killed just for you. “Do I make you feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, soft moans leaving your lips and despite the fact he was the one holding you against his body, fucking you with his fingers and whispering in your ear, you knew that you were in control. You knew that if you told him to stop then he would stop. If you told him to go faster then he would go faster.

And fuck, if that didn’t make the coil in your stomach tighten more than his thumb circling your clit.

“Just like that, Steve,” you moaned, eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder, as you let him nuzzle his face against your neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Never, sweetheart,” he murmured as he pressed kisses along your heated skin. “Wanna see you come all over me.”

Your nails dug into his forearm but Steve relished in the pain as he held your body tighter, as he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure through the mirror. He couldn’t even bring himself to blink as your lips parted, his name leaving your lips in a breathless moan as he felt your walls clench around his fingers.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until you let out a small whine, muttering his name as you tried to pull his hands away from between your legs—your shaking legs, Steve noted.

But he never stopped touching you and kissing you. His hands running up and down your sides, his lips pressing soft kisses onto any inch of skin he could. Steve had spent so many nights watching you from a distance, he needed to make up for lost time now that he had you in his arms.

“I knew you would understand,” he murmured, his nose pressed against your pulse point as he listened to your thundering heart. “I knew you were perfect for me.”

“Yeah, I can feel just how happy you are,” you commented, feeling his hard bulge press against your lower back and yet, it was almost endearing the way his puppy dog eyes found yours in the mirror.

This was the boy who had brutally murdered five teenagers, who knew you’d look at the reports and revel in his work. This was the boy who teased and taunted and played with his prey like a true, bloodthirsty killer. This was the boy who watched and waited and bided his time with you until he knew you knew.

And, now looking at the mirror, this was the same boy who was begging to make you feel good despite his raging hard-on pressing against the confinements on whatever he was wearing beneath the black robe he currently wore. This was the same boy who looked at you like you hung the moon, who would probably kill for you if you asked him.

This boy was Steve Harrington and you, without a fucking shadow of a doubt, owned him.

“Take your clothes off,” you told him, borderline ordered him as you kept your eyes on his lust-blown gaze.

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Take off your clothes, Steve,” you repeated, voice remaining steady despite the orgasm that had rocked your body minutes ago. “Or have you changed your mind?”

“I—no!” He said quickly as he shook his head, taking a step back so he had enough space to pull the robe over his head, leaving him in black jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt. You were almost disappointed it was clean, that it wasn’t covered in the blood of the victims he had brutally stabbed.

You watched as he pulled the shirt over his head, eyes darting over his broad shoulders and toned chest, lingering for a few seconds before his hands moved down to his belt buckle. You didn’t say a word as he continued to strip down, his clothes abandoned on your bedroom floor until he was left in his boxers.

And Steve stood there, clad in his underwear, watching as you stepped away from the vanity table. He watched as you reached for your shirt, pulling it over your head and he watched as you unzipped the little black skirt you were wearing. He watched as you ditched the ripped tights and ruined panties, watched as you unclipped your bra before you settled yourself on your bed.

“You look…” he trailed off, hooded eyes taking in every inch of you now that he had you up close. He would never get enough of you. “Fuck.”

“That’s reassuring,” you said, the hint of a smirk on your lips as Steve slowly walked to the edge of the bed, his hands clenched in tight fists at his side and he looked torn. “You okay there, Steve?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, a little higher pitched than normal.

“Say it, Steve,” you said to him, leaning back on your elbows as you basked in the boy’s attention.

“Can I…” Steve cleared his throat, a blush covering his cheeks. “Fuck, can I fuck you? Make you feel good?”

“You wanna make me feel good, Steve?”

“Please, baby,” his voice slightly whiny as he crawled over your body, kissing from your ankle to your knee. He continued to kiss up your thighs and stomach, up the valley between your tits and just every single fucking inch of you because he needed to. He needed to feel all of you. “Just wanna show my girl how fucking good I can be.”

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Steve?”

“So good.”

Your lips were ghosting his as you pulled him towards you, a soft noise escaping the back of his throat as he tried to lean down to kiss you but you pulled him back as your fingers threaded through his hair with a gentle tug.

“Then fuck me, Steve. Fuck me like you mean it.”

The boy let out a groan before his lips finally met yours, his body almost sagging in relief like that single point of contact was what he needed. His hands squeezed your sides, his body fitting between your legs as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip until it was red and begging for him to kiss.

Your fingers tugged his head closer, moans muffled amongst the sound of your lips smacking and his soft whines as he reached down to push his boxers down, kicking them off the rest of the way when they reached his knees.

He pulled away for a few short seconds, panting heavily as he reached down to stroke himself, letting out a small wince as he teased the head of his cock before sliding it up and down your soaked cunt.

“Shit,” he hissed as he tapped his tip against your swollen clit, almost grinning at the way your nails digged into his skin in response. “You’re so wet, sweetheart. You look so fucking pretty.”

“Do you always talk this much?” you commented, a little breathless as you watched him slowly slide the tip of his cock in.

“Can’t help it, baby,” he sighed as he reached for you, one of his hands intertwining with yours and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from the touch. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you.”

“You should work on that,” you muttered, only to be cut off by your own gasp as he pushed himself inside you completely. “Shit.”

“Fucking made f’me,” Steve groaned, forehead pressed against yours as he felt your walls squeeze around him. “Perfect fit.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate,” you spoke, a little choked up when he started to slowly pull out before thrusting back in.

“I believe in a lot of things when it comes to you,” Steve confessed, eyes glued on the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

Steve revelled in the way you clung onto him, the way it was his name leaving your lips like a fucking mantra as he thrusted in and out of you. Steve revelled in the way your nails dug into his skin, the way they raked down his back leaving scratches he hoped lasted for days after. Steve revelled in the way your lips met his in a messy, sloppy kiss so unlike you and yet, he fucking thrived in knowing he brought you to this point.

Steve revelled in knowing that he fucked you up just as much as you fucked with him.

“Shit,” he groaned, head resting on your chest as he tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible. It was always impossible when he was this close to you, when he was still inside you. “Did I make you feel good, sweetheart?”

You let out a small huff that almost sounded like a laugh, but Steve grinned regardless.

“Maybe you’re not totally hopeless, Steve,” you murmured softly, and against your better judgement you ran your fingers through his hair, pushing the strands back so you could see his wide eyes looking up at you from where he laid on your chest.

“Is that just about the sex or everything?” he asked, unable to keep his hands to himself as he gripped your sides.

“The sex,” you said, so blunt and deadpanned and you that Steve couldn’t help but love the way you said it. “Your knife skills were admirable, but clearly the work of an amateur.”

His grin widened. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that sounded like an offer to learn from someone more well-versed with knives.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Interested in joining the business, sweetheart?”

And Steve fucking Harrington revelled in the way a smile broke out on your face.

“I can show you how it’s really done, Steve.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut #ghostface!steve

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wake-me-up-inside-imagines · 8 days ago

Note

Please give us more Mafia boss Charlie!!

Sure thing! Since there wasn’t a specific prompt requested, I wrote a yandere ABC list for Charlie, which was also requested by @isabellanobody at one point a while back. Hope y’all enjoy!

Yandere mafia boss ABC’s

Gn! Reader

Warnings: Typical yandere behavior, mentions of murder, kidnapping, drugging, psychological torture, isolation, suicide, delusional behavior, unhealthy relationships

Alphabet credit goes to @yanderecrazysie

Divider credit goes to @sweetmelodygraphics

Affection-(How affectionate is he with his darling and how would he show his affection?)

Charlie’s extremely affectionate with his darling, if they’ll let him be at least. As stoic and cold as he is, Charlie wants nothing more than to curl up with his darling and spend all his time with them, never letting them go. Nobody will ever see him as soft and gentle as he wants to be except for his darling, nor will they see him as considerate.

Charlie mostly shows his affection through gentle touches and soft spoken compliments, but he also showers his darling with thoughtful gifts as a sign of his devotion, paying close attention to his darling’s likes when shopping. He also tries to spend as much time as possible with his darling, just the two of them, although his job isn’t always so accommodating to that aspect of his wants.

Blood-(How messy will he get for his darling? What would he do?)

There is very, very little Charlie wouldn’t do for his darling. He is a mafia boss, after all. It doesn’t matter the severity of another person's actions or affections, Charlie will do whatever it takes to keep his darling “safe” (as he likes to think) from anyone who could take you away from him. Murder, blackmail, torture, drugging, it’s all on the table, and he’ll do it with a sick smile on his face. All for his darling, he likes to think. All for them.

Of course, Charlie’s not delusional enough to forget how traumatizing and brutal such actions would seem to you, if you were to find out. The last thing he wants is to scare you, so he always makes sure there’s no chance you’ll find out what he’s done. He’ll do his business far from where you could accidentally walk in, and he makes sure to clean up afterwards, not a trace left behind. You’ll be none the wiser, and he’ll sleep well knowing he’s taken care of you.

Care-(How would he treat his darling?)

Charlie practically worships the ground his darling walks on, he wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt them, whether physically or emotionally (minus kidnapping ig). He would treat his darling with the utmost respect, but at the same time treats them like they’ll break under too much pressure. Anything that could stress his darling out will be removed from their life, giving his darling a life of complete comfort and luxury. Contrary to Charlie’s normal life, he tries to be as respectful of his darling’s boundaries as possible, he wants them to know he sees them as more than the average people he deals with every day. Overall, very soft with his darling, and only his darling.

Delusion-(How delusional is he? Does he truly believe his darling loves him?)

Charlie’s logical enough to understand that his darling won’t start off loving him (especially if he kidnaps them), but he definitely deludes himself into believing that after enough time, they’ll grow to love him just as much as he loves them. He understands their initial fear of him and what he can do, but at the same time he takes any sign of increased boldness or conversation as proof that his darling is falling for him. I think after enough time has passed, Charlie will definitely believe his darling has fallen head over heels for him, whether they show him affection or not. He’ll start fully referring to his darling as his spouse by then, acting even more couply than before, and if his darling protests that they don’t love him? Well, they’re just afraid to admit they’ve fallen for him, right?

…Right?

Escape-(Is it easy for his darling to escape? How would he react if his darling managed to escape?)

Because of how wealthy he is and because of how many precautions he has around the house, Charlie doesn’t have any reason to worry his darling will escape. So if they were somehow able to bypass his security and get out (which is nearly impossible), Charlie is frantic. He won’t be able to function, he becomes the living embodiment of violence and impulsiveness until his darling is back with him, safe in his arms. He’ll stop at nothing to find his darling, exhausting every resource he has until they’re found. His rivals better hope they don’t run into him during this time, unless they want to lose their lives.

Fight-(How would he handle his darling fighting back?)

He’ll be amused, at least at first. Regardless of his darling’s skill level, there’s no way they’re gonna be able to physically beat him, a literal mafia boss. It’s like watching a child throw a temper tantrum, he finds it cute that they think they have any authority over him and how he takes care of them. However, he begins to tire of the constant defiance after a while, so after a bit of leaving his darling be, he’ll begin to snap back, reminding his darling of all the horrible things that could happen to them away from his watchful, protective gaze.

He doesn’t want to move into anything more aggressive, but if his darling’s complaints don’t relent, then…well, punishment might be in order.

Guilt-(Does he feel any guilt over his actions? What would make him feel guilty?)

Charlie doesn’t necessarily feel guilt per say, but he does hate how much distress he’s put his darling under. In his eyes, he didn’t do anything wrong, because he’s protecting his darling, keeping them away from anything that could hurt him. That mentality will never change, but the pangs of guilt will come visit every now and then whenever they express grief over their old life in front of him. Despite his unwillingness to understand his wrongdoings, Charlie still can’t shake the sadness he feels at taking something important from them, no matter his justifications.

Despite his guilt, Charlie will still do everything in his power to protect his darling the way he feels is necessary, no matter the effect it has on them. He still has a sense of superiority, as if he knows better than his darling ever could, so he’ll ignore the pain he’s causing in favor of what he thinks is the greater good.

Hell-(What would his darling’s worst experience be with him?)

For a regular darling, Charlie won’t do anything worse than giving them space to the point of feeling isolated. He hates the idea of treating his darling roughly, and the last thing he wants is to scare them anymore than he already has. It would take a lot for Charlie to do anything traumatizing to his darling, but if they were to repeatedly escape or worse, attempt to murder Charlie, he’d have no choice.

Charlie will never physically hurt his darling, no matter how far they go. His punishment would be more mental, scaring his darling into submission. He’d chain them down somewhere and force them to watch recordings of other organizations, particularly his rivals, as they viciously punish those who have gone against them. Charlie makes it clear to his darling that nothing is stopping this exact thing from happening to his darling, nothing except him, that is. He hates to do it, but Charlie hopes by the end of the experience, his darling will be too scared to attempt something so rash again.

However, this would only be in the worst worst case scenario. More likely than not, Charlie will never feel the need to do something so traumatizing.

Ideals-(What kind of future does Charlie want with his darling?)

Honestly, anything goes with Charlie in terms of the future. Above all else he wants to retire from the mafia and live peacefully with his darling without having to worry about work, but before that can happen, he’s fine with whatever. Kids? Eh, sure! Just the two of them? Sure! Whatever his darling wants they’ll get, so long as they stay by Charlie’s side.

Jealousy-(How easy is it for him to get jealous? How does he deal with it?)

Charlie is an incredibly jealous man, but he won’t take it out on his darling. Oh no, his raging anger is reserved for whoever took his darling’s attention away from him. Anything from a small, longing look in his darling’s direction to touches or attempted flirting sends Charlie over the edge, and he makes sure to coldly send them packing before whisking his darling away for some well needed, reassuring cuddle time. He’s noticeably more clingy when jealous, possessive words and compliments spilling from his mouth as he hugs his darling tighter, but he makes sure to keep his bubbling rage under control, lest he scare his darling away.

Most of the time Charlie won’t do anything more than snap at the person after his darling or punch them if they get feisty enough, but if he feels the person who made him jealous is enough of a threat, Charlie will find them and kill them, no questions asked (not in view of his darling, of course). They’d never be able to take his darling away from him, but better safe than sorry, right?

Kidnapping-(Does he kidnap his darling, and if so, how does he do it?)

Unless Charlie’s darling is someone already knows and trusts to stay by his side, he absolutely will kidnap his darling. He’ll end up drugging them until they’re securely in his home and all of their stuff has been moved to their new room, unwilling to leave even the slightest thing up to chance. Besides his burning desire to be with them, his reasoning for the kidnapping is that his darling is a civilian, so he needs them to be nearby in order to protect them. He knows about all the horrors of the world, but his darling doesn’t. How else is he supposed to keep them safe?

Rest assured, his darling will be as comfortable as possible during the transfer and following days. He’ll personally make sure of it.

Love letters-(How does he approach/court his darling?)

In most cases, the kidnapping would be the approaching. Going out to personally pursue his darling in public would be incredibly dangerous for both Charlie and his darling, so he really sees no other option. After the kidnapping however, Charlie will shower his darling with gifts and affection, hoping to win them over with his grand displays of love. He’ll give his darling space if that’s what they need, but the loving gestures never slow, not until Charlie feels they’ve been together long enough to begin really knowing each other.

Mask-(Is his true personality any different from how he normally behaved? Which side of his personality does his darling see?)

Charlie’s personality does a whole 180 around his darling, but in the opposite way that most would expect from a Yandere. He becomes much more kind and gentle around his darling, a sight no one who works with him would ever be privy to seeing. It’s like he can finally open up and show a softer side to someone instead of constantly embodying violence and anger. Not that those aren’t a part of his personality, but he gets to shed those parts of him around his darling, someone he could never view as worthy of his wrath.

Naughty-(How would he punish his darling?)

As stated before, Charlie will never physically hurt his darling, and in the worst case scenario, he’ll subject them to psychological torture rather than physical. For regular disobedience though, he’ll simply isolate his darling. He won’t take anything away from them, he’ll just lock them in their room for a couple of days, dropping off food and snacks every so often so that his darling won’t starve. The lack of human contact will eventually become too much for his darling no matter how introverted they are, and they’ll have no choice but to beg for his forgiveness. That’s how he sees it, anyway.

Oppression-(What rights would he take from his darling, and would he ever give them back?)

At first, Charlie would restrict his darling’s movements to just his house. A big house, but just the house nonetheless. As time goes on and his darling learns to behave, Charlie will begin letting them out as long as he’s with them, going on fun dates or just to do seemingly mundane chores that he’s never had the chance to do normally. He’d never let his darling go out fully unsupervised, but it’s mostly out of concern for what could happen to his darling if they’re on their own rather than Charlie not trusting them to return.

I think he would also restrict his darling's access to friends/family for a long time, monitoring every interaction closely until he’s sure Stockholm syndrome has set in. At first he’d only let them text, then call, and once he’s sure they’re never going to leave him, he’ll allow them visits (with him tagging along, of course). He understands the importance of family and he doesn’t want his darling to hate him, so Charlie won’t keep his darling from them. As abnormal as his life is, deep down Charlie craves normalcy for both him and for his darling. As long as his darling’s family don’t try to take them away from him, he’ll allow them in his darling’s life.

All his darling has to do is behave.

Patience-(How patient is he with his darling?)

For someone as dangerous and impulsive as him, Charlie’s surprisingly patient with his darling. He’s aware that they’re probably afraid of him and what he can do, and that despite his justifications, kidnapping isn’t exactly normal. So he’ll accept his darling’s outbursts for a while, trying to be understanding of their fears. His life isn’t nearly the same as his darling’s after all, it would make sense for them to lash out.

It’s really until his darling tries to escape or do something else drastic that he’ll begin to be a little more strict, beginning to threaten possible punishments.

Quit-(If his darling successfully escaped, died, or left, would he be able to move on?)

If Charlie’s darling was no longer in the picture, he’d spiral into insanity and kill himself. His darling was the only thing tethering him to reality amongst his brutal life, how could he possibly survive without them? He became so reliant on them for comfort that their absence would leave him spiraling, unable to cope properly with the grief and anger. In an act of pure desperation, Charlie would end up shooting himself in the skull, ending his misery quickly and painlessly. He probably wouldn’t even realize he’s doing it before he’s already gone, but he wouldn’t regret it either way. At least there’s a chance he’ll see them again, if the afterlife is kinder to him than the living world was.

Rage-(How does he act when he’s angry, and how does he calm down?)

In general, Charlie is very aggressive when he’s angry, barking out orders and threatening his employees, even going so far as to murder depending on the circumstance. With his darling however…

Charlie rarely gets angry at his darling. He hates to scare them, and he knows his temper can get him into deep, inescapable trouble, so he does his best to keep his composure around his darling. When he does get angry, the worst he’ll do besides punishment is shout at his darling, which can be pretty scary considering how authoritative he is. His yells are never threats, only frustration over how stubborn his darling is and how he’s trying to protect them. Once it’s clear no one’s willing to back down, Charlie will go to some other part of the house before either crawling back to his darling to apologize, or beginning his darling’s punishment.

Soulmate-(How did he meet his darling and when did he fall in love with them?)

Charlie most likely met his darling while out on some sort of mundane errand or just around the public sphere. Literally just saw them once, had a single respectful conversation with them that started out of pure convenience, and he was hooked. He’s never been able to interact with anyone normally for the most part, and there was just something about his darling that drew him in from the get-go. Needless to say, he was ”in love” from the start, and would do anything to be with his darling forever.

Tears-(How does he feel when his darling cries or isolates themselves?)

Charlie hates to see his darling cry, let alone watch them isolate themselves. Is he really so bad that they’d willingly take solitude over him?

He’ll feel guilty then, knowing he’s the source of his darling’s misery, but he won’t back down, too desperate for their company to do what’s right. He’ll try to comfort them with words of reassurance and gentle touches, but if they want nothing to do with him, he’ll leave them be. He deludes himself into thinking that they just need time to adjust, and then they’ll come around, arms open and ready for his affection.

Unique/(What sets him apart from regular yanderes?)

Probably his respect for boundaries. He’ll kidnap his darling, but besides that he does his best to respect his darling’s wishes when it comes to physical contact/personal space/comfortability. The last thing he wants is to be a bad husband, so he’ll do anything to keep his darling happy. Anything besides freeing them, of course.

Visit-(Would he let people visit or communicate with his darling?)

As mentioned before, Charlie would let his darling talk to their friends and family in heavy moderation, getting more and more lenient as time passes. He’ll start with moderated texts, then calls, and then finally, when his darling is fully in love with him, actual visits. He’s good at covering his tracks so he has no problem disguising his darling’s prolonged absence as something different.

Weakness-(What weakness can his darling exploit for their benefit/to escape?)

Charlie’s a smart man, but his gentleness and lenience in terms of lashouts as well as his delusions would give his darling an opportunity to escape. If his darling just pretends to love him for long enough, they’ll gain much more freedom without question, and therefore can potentially escape when Charlie has his guard down enough. Still risky with all the precautions in place, but it’s as easy as it’s gonna get.

Xaonon-(Would he worship his darling? How far would he go to win them over?)

Charlie worships everything and anything his darling can do. Compared to the people he deals with in his daily life, his darling is so…pure. So fragile. They’re a symbol of what Charlie could never have achieved on his own, and he revers them for it. He’d do anything his darling asked (besides freeing them or leaving them of course), they could ask for the bodies of all his enemies and he would make it happen somehow. There is very, very little he wouldn’t do to make his darling fall in love with him.

Yearn-(How long would he pine after his darling before snapping?)

There is no waiting with Charlie. He meets his darling, finds out everything he can as quickly as he can, and then he kidnaps them. He wants his darling as quick as possible, so the only period he has to pine is during the time where he’s gathering information about them.

Zero Tolerance-(What would make him snap? What would he never tolerate his darling doing?)

Charlie’s very lenient, so most of his darling’s outbursts can be dealt with easily without much fuss. He’ll even tolerate an escape attempt or two if he can tell his darling is genuinely afraid of him. However, attempts on his life, multiple escape attempts, or lying to him about loving him will break him to the point of snapping. He wants to trust his darling so bad, but there’s only so much he can take before he loses his mind.

I hope you guys enjoyed!

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nonbinaryeye · 4 months ago

Text

They Lived

Written for @gortash-week

Day 6 - AU

The prism-bearers killed Kethric and are about to enter the Bauldur’s Gate. The Dark Urge and lord Enver Gortash have a bit different ideas about how they should deal with them.

Read on AO3

...

The Dark Urge does not have to bother to sneak or disguise themselves around the Wyrm’s Crossing. On some other day they might – just for the fun of it, just to test their skills against all the Flaming Fists and Banite guards and elaborate traps, just to prove that none of those things could really stop them. But not today, as today they have business to talk to the soon-to-be Archduke of this city and they wish to get to it as soon as possible.

They burst through doors to Gortash’s private chambers and no one tries to stop them. Because they are known well enough here and everyone can probably see that they are in a bad enough mood that telling them that ‘Lord Gortash is too busy’ or that ‘High Imperceptor of Bane is not accepting any visitors right now’ would lead to nothing but a pointless bloodshed.

As they enter lord Enver Gortash – their years-long ally, accomplice, confidant and, they would even dare to say, friend – appears to be posing his new painting. The pleased smile that appears on his face as soon as he spots them quickly turns to frown when they cut his latest vain immortalization on canvas shortly. Before the painter, focused on his work, even spots them, they are already slicing his throat. His latest and also last and forever unfinished painting is improved by splashes of blood.

“You could have at least waited for the painting to be done, if you were eager for a kill,” Gortash lets out a displeased scoff as he looks at the corpse. The Dark Urge could not care any less. They are in a sour mood; their dear tyrant should be rather grateful they have restrained their bloodlust till now and have not left the path of corpses all the way through his newest lair.

“Your corpse will have no use for your portraits. Start designing your tombstone, that might be much more use to you rather soon,” they growl as they approach him.

“Careful, it almost sounds like you are threatening me, dearest assassin of mine,” a smile returns on Gortash’s face and for once they find it more annoying than charming. He spins his cane in his hands in nonchalant gesture and steps closer to them, arms open, welcoming. His posture is relaxed, unguarded, as if he has no reason to fear the murder incarnate in front of him. He deserves to be gutted just for his carelessness and all its implications alone.

“Kethric Thorm is dead. Kethric Thorm is dead and you send me this.” The Dark Urge throws to his feet the invitation. His fancy paper, in his fancy envelope, with his fancy seal and fancy signature. Oh, they are well aware how much Enver loves his etiquette and politeness and manners. And usually, under normal circumstances, they tend to be willing to indulge him, play their part in the tyrant’s charade. ‘Usually’ and ‘under normal circumstances’ are the keywords here.

“Where exactly is the problem, my dread heart? Countless invitations to my inauguration to the office of Archduke were sent to all the important people in Baldur's Gate and beyond. How could I have not invited the most important person beside me? Or are you offended I have not handed it to you personally? My deepest apologies, but you are quite hard to reach and unfortunately, we’ve not had much time for each other lately. I was always giving you all important information and I was always clear with you about all my plans-“

“You know that the useless piece of paper is not what I am talking about here, Enver,” they growl, their patience worn thin.

“Do I?” Gortash decides to insult both of their intelligence by choosing to play ignorant a bit longer. Their hand itches. They really wish to stab him right now and not in the tender loving way, but in the brutal and relentless one that would paint his newest rooms in red. They have to be content with piercing their dagger through his already destroyed portrait a few times. He is watching them curiously, patiently waiting for them to get to the point that should not be necessary to be made

“Group of adventurers with that damned prism you could have not shut up about the past few tenthdays killed Ketheric and stole his Netherstone. The Netherstone we need to control the Brain because: what exactly do you think will happen when an army of Absolute’s soldiers with no general arrives in the city?” they are supposed to be the one thrilled at the prospect of slaughter and countless deaths, they are not used to trying to be the voice of reason.

“No need to worry, the prism-bearers will bring the Netherstone directly to me. If my sources are correct, they arrived in Rivington just yesterday’s evening.” Did they now? That much to him ‘always giving them all the important information’. They do not bother to bring it up as he would only answer ‘I am telling you now, am I not?’ They wonder what other things might have their ally forgotten to tell them.

What Gortash really should have sent them instead of this stupid invitation is a letter with their location. The Dark Urge could have gathered their faithful followers, storm their camp at night, and they would have had all the Netherstones again already. If soon-to-Archduke found a moment in his busy schedule of portrait’s getting painted and patriars being flattered, they could have even attacked them with joined forces of Bhaalist and Banites. The Dark Urge would love to fight side by side with their tyrant again. Blood of their enemies always looks so lovely on him. They enjoy witnessing how ruthless he can be when he is not only giving commands but fighting himself, his cunning mind put to action…

No matter. No need to dwell on ‘should have beens’.

“And what about it? Do you think they will simply hand it to you? They should not, they cannot, be underestimated. We need to consider them to be a serious threat.”

“Yes, yes I do consider them that, for a fact,” he puts on a smile, fake one as most of his smiles are these days, “In no doubt, they’ll be travelling to the city. Let’s make sure we give them a Baldurian welcome. I will offer them an alliance. Proposal they cannot refuse. Anything and everything they could wish for… you know how it goes.”

They are tempted to suggest that he sounds like a devil. Gortash would not be amused by such a comparison. That might be only one more reason to make it. Alas that would get their discussion nowhere and so they bite their tongue.

“Why do you assume they will be interested?” they ask him instead.

“Everyone wants something,” he waves his hand dismissively, “Everyone can be bought for the right price.”

That is clearly not true. The Dark Urge should know as their loyalties lay strictly to Bhaal and they cannot be bought by any amount of sweet words and promises. Even though most people seem to be easily corrupted by material things or gold or power or other silly things such as these, they themselves cannot, therefore one must assume some other living beings might be hard to persuade as well. But their tyrant still sees everything just as a transaction to be made and it makes them wonder how well he really understands them.

“You are a fool with too much confidence for someone whose plans have been failing so much recently,” the Dark Urge scoffs, knowing very well how to hit the sore spot. Gortash’s eyes twitch over the accusations, though he refuses to let go of his smile.

“Small hiccups, easy to overlook in the greater scheme of things,” Gortash stands his ground and even though they are standing so close to each other, one reach of arm away, he has never felt so far away from them. They have felt this unease for a while. The itch that something is wrong, that things are not going the way they were supposed to. And it has nothing to do with the fact that their plans are being shaken as much as the entirety of the Gate under the Netherbrain interference. Their alliance has been bleeding dying creature for a while and Kethric’s death feels like the last hit needed to put it out of its misery. They both know it. They both must see it to be a corpse slowly starting to rot and not even the tyrant’s demands can will it back to life.

There used to be perfect balance between them and Myrkul’s Chosen being added to the mix never weakened it. If anything, on the contrary, it used to be an unspoken agreement that when the time for betrayal will come, he will be the first one to be cast aside. But who would have guessed the immortal general can be killed this easily?

“As always we will overcome the struggle and come out stronger from it. Don’t you think?” Gortash crosses the distance between them and places his hand on the side of their face. They cannot help themselves but lean into his touch. Because that is the worst thing. They still crave to be placated. The sin they are hiding in the deepest corner of their rotten heart. They wish to be pulled into the tyrant’s embrace, have him whisper all the sweet lies about his love and adoration, about the world they can rule together, about the unbreakable bond they share.

“I don’t believe you wish to know what is going through my mind right now, dear tyrant,” they sigh and Gortash finally drops the smile of his. He grabs them by their chin and pulls them to a kiss. The movement is too familiar, they do not even think about it and lean in. They press their lips together and just for a second, they can pretend they are back in much simpler times when the schemes and plans they were creating together were manageable.

“Just tell me, I can still trust you. Tell me, I can count on you,” he holds them tenderly and every droplet of their godly blood boils inside them. How dare he be the one demanding assurance; how dare he be the one demanding from them to swear him their loyalty.

Though it might be their own fault, the Dark Urger thinks bitterly. They were indulging him too much. You offer the tyrant a hand and he will put it in cuffs. Does Gortash really think he can make them do what he wants just because of some poisonous affection they happen to feel for him?

“You can count on me getting the Netherstone you will fail to obtain through your methods, that much I can promise you, Enver. Upon your brilliant mind will then fall the task of figuring out how to split three Netherstones between two Chosens.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, my love, that will be a problem to solve after we reunite them,” he laughs and his words only confirms their worry. Gortash is always miles upfront in his plans in all possible directions. He knows very well what he will do in either of the only two possible outcomes. It is a deliberate choice that he decided not to share it with the Dark Urge. And they might be a bit paranoid, yes, but it is hard not to be cautious when dealing with a man like him.

“As you say,” they decide to not point out the smell of rot in his words, they pretend not to see the dagger he is hiding behind his back, they pretend not to taste the poison in his kisses. And it seems to be good enough for him as he releases them from his hold, a smile, which is still not quite reaching his eyes, on his face again.

“I still hope you will come to my inauguration,” he drops the topic as if nothing happened, as if he has just not dropped the first gravel of soil on the coffin where the remains of their alliance lay in its grave.

“Goodbye, Enver,” they say and wonder if their tyrant can also feel the finality of their words and the bitter end of whatever it is they had or if he is still lying to himself with the same intensity he keeps lying to them. There used to be a time when they could have put any thoughts and concerns into words and asked him. Such a time is no more. All the ‘we’ and ‘us’ turned into ‘you and I’.

#Gortash week day 6 is done only one prompt to go!#AU -The Dark Urge Survives Orin's Attack #gortashweek #enver gortash #the dark urge #durgetash #mEye fanfic #mEye post

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lexasxempire · 10 months ago

Text

LOVER || Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Plot: Frank decided to not tell Sam (reader) he was okay after his night out hunting people down.

WARNINGS: mostly smut, smut with some plot, slight dirty talk, slight choking, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys) etc

18+ only!! MDNI🚫

It had been a long day for both Sam and Frank, she spent the day tracking down a gang of men for him to kill. He spent the day killing said men. Sam didn’t really care for the men he killed, they were bad guys. Murders, rapists, thieves, predators. She never felt anything towards how brutal Frank was to them.

As of right now though, Sam was pissed to say the least. After she had told Frank where the men were hiding, he never returned any of her texts asking if he was okay. She didn’t know if he was dead or being tortured, if he was hurt and couldn’t call for help, she didn’t know anything. It was agonizing.

All she could do was wait. And hate every second of it, I mean it’s not like she could call the cops right?

Oh um officer! The punisher is missing! Please help me find him!

Pfft! As if anyone could find the “dead” man. He was gonna be a dead man the next time she seen him. She planned to let him have all her nasty words for making her worry so damn much.

Hours had passed, the sun set and the morning rose again since she last heard from him. Still nothing. Not a single peep.

Sam didn’t get a wink of sleep it felt like. She should be used to him doing this but she just never was. She cursed him for keeping her up so late when she had work the next day. Speaking of which, is hell at the moment, it’s like everyone in the damn city is getting hurt at the same time and coming to the same place, the hospital.

It was now passed 12, she was heading home now and still nothing from the man. She was too tired to put out a flyer. Too tired to even care about the strangers she walked passed in the night.

Once she got to her apartment door, walking inside after unlocking it, she dropped her bag to the floor and hung her keys before making her way towards her bedroom. That’s when she seen him, Frank, laying on her couch all bruised and bloody. She wanted so badly to be mad at him, to scream till he woke just to scream at him more. To hit him for scaring her so bad. But she didn’t. Instead she grabbed her first aid kit and got to work cleaning his open wounds. Most of the blood on him wasn’t his own but it didn’t bother Sam. What surprised her was he didn’t wake up the entire time, if anything, he fell deeper into his sleep.

When she finished, she cleaned up her mess before heading to bed herself. Although she backtracked to lay a blanket over Frank. She even placed a glass of water and ibuprofen out on the coffee table for him. Then she finally went to sleep, she was just happy to finally close her eyes and not worry anymore.

Morning came quicker then she liked, Sam wanted to stay in bed longer but she heard Frank’s footsteps outside her door. See they had a rule, a boundary like rule. She’d leave her door open for him most of the time but if it were closed, he couldn’t come it. It was an unspoken rule but sometimes he’d break it just to check on her. Although the times she locked her door, like today, made him anxious. He couldn’t check on her. How ironic.

Sam didn’t leave her room yet though, she showered before and she took her time as well. She wanted him to suffer. So after she stepped out of the shower and dried off, she pulled on a large t-shirt, one of his, and a pair of black lace panties. She kept her wet hair down, wetting the top of the shirt. Once satisfied, she finally walked to her door, unlocking it and walking out. She forced herself to not let her eyes look for him, not to meet his eyes. Even when he stood from the couch with a small grunt. She knew he was watching her. He knew that she was angry at him.

None of them said a word as she poured herself a cup of hot coffee that Frank a made. Truthfully, she wanted to ignore the coffee all together because he made it, she was petty. But it was coffee, she needed her coffee.

“Sam.” He spoke first, his voice sending shivers up her back. She missed him so much.

But she ignored him still. She carried on with making herself breakfast, not caring how much noise she was making with the pans she was about to use. As she started making her breakfast, she heard Frank come closer to the kitchen, which wasn’t far from the couch. Subconsciously, Sam held her breath, waiting for him to get closer. She wanted him too. She hated how much control he had over her.

“Sam please.” His voice was just above a whisper, he wanted to hear her voice, for her to yell at him, curse at him, hit him, anything. He needed that from her. He missed her.

“I’m busy.” Was all she gave him, not a glance his way or even an attitude in her tone. His heart clenched, he knew he messed up this time.

He brought his hand up to her elbow gently, feeling her twitch under his touch. She was having a mental war with herself, she wanted to lean into his touch but she also wanted to rip herself from it.

He waited for her to pull away, to react, to do something. She didn’t. So he spoke again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m an asshole for not calling, for not letting you know I was okay. Sam I’m sorry.” He didn’t stop the emotion in his voice, he was completely and utterly open with her, vulnerable to only her. “I’m so fucking sorry baby.”

She almost broke then and there. Oh how she wanted too. To wrap her arms around him, take in his cologne, feel the rough callouses on his hands. But she didn’t, she felt her pettiness wasn’t enough just yet.

“At least you know you’re an asshole.” Sam pulled her arm away and stepped away from him, moving back to her cooking. But Frank? He wore a grin, he knew she wasn’t mad at him anymore, she was just being a little cruel to him now. He deserved it but he could also handle it. As long as she was speaking to him, it was good enough for him.

“I can make it up to you.” He hummed, gently moving her away from the stove to take over. The gesture annoyed her which amused him. “Sit, relax I know you had a long shift.”

“Oh do you now?” There was that attitude. He missed that. He only smirked to himself as he continued to cook her breakfast.

“I know your schedule, Sammie.” The woman rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath. “What was that?”

“You’re a creep.” Sam grumbled into her cup as she sipped her coffee, loving the burning down her throat. “An asshole creep.”

“Is that my new nickname?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled as he plated her food, sliding it in front of her, pressing a kiss to her temple, keeping his lips there for a few seconds.

“Thank you for stitching me up, taking care of me.” He whispers, his hand squeezing her knee gently. She subconsciously leans into his kiss, letting out a soft breath.

“Who else would do it? Not like they’ll welcome you to the ER.”

“I’m quite comfortable to be here.”

“I bet you are you freeloader.”

Frank snorts, squeezing her thigh with a bit pressure to tease her.

“Easy, you’re the one who leaves your door and window open for me.” His whisper against her hair sent her skin tingling at each word. She quickly started to eat just to distract herself.

“I just forget to lock them.” She hums, shifting in her seat.

“That so?” Frank smirks, gently brushing her hair over her shoulder as his hand moves higher on her thigh. He only received a small hum from her. He didn’t like that. “You have to use your words, sweetheart.” Squeezing his hand tight on her upper thigh.

“And if I don’t?” Sam practically squeaked out, her face was heating up quickly, as was between her legs.

“I’ll have to make you.” He smirks, pressing a kiss to her jawline gently. “And we both know I can.” He whispers to her as he moves his hand up further, letting his hand push up the shirt she was wearing, his shirt. His hand was stopped by hers laying over his.

“Frank.” She whispers, almost a gasp coming from her as she finally looks at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since she left her room.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered back, his nose brushing against hers as he struggled with the urge to kiss her.

Sam lets out a breath, biting her bottom lip as she shakes her head slowly, spreading her legs open further for him. Her hand squeezed his, giving him the green light to continue. But he wanted more.

“I told you to use your words, sweetheart.” Brushing his fingers against her covered heat, he felt her jolt under him.

“I- Frank, I don’t want you to sto-stop.” She panted out slightly, trying to roll her hips against his fingers for more. She needed more. She needed him.

“There you go.” He smirks, pushing his fingers against her more, rubbing her through her panties slowly. “Let me take care of you now baby, it’s my turn to take care of you.” He whispers as he pushes her panties aside, letting his fingers feel her wetness.

Sam couldn’t control the soft moan that fell from her lips as she felt his fingers. Her own gripped onto his shoulder, her other still holding his hand. “Frank.” She panted out.

“Shh shh shh, I got you baby, relax for me.” His words were soothing to her as she felt his fingers slip into her slowly, clenching around them greedily. “Fuck sweetheart.”

Grunting out a moan, she moved her hips against his hand. He pulled another gasp out of her as his callused palm rubbed against her clit.

“Ahh Frank!” Her nails dug into his shoulder as his fingers went deeper, quickening his pace of sliding in and out of her. He loved hearing her cry out for him.

“Atta girl, I got you.” He presses a kiss to her throat as he quickens his hand, curling his fingers in her slightly. She let out another cry of pleasure. “Oh you like that huh? You miss me baby? Mm?”

Sam nodded quickly, panting as she parts her lips when another moan comes from her.

“Yes! Ye-yes yes I missed you.” She was so close to coming as she locked eyes with him, her hand coming up to grip the hair at the nip of his neck. She didn’t care how hard she pulled, she wanted him to know what she felt.

“I’m here baby, I’m here.” He nods, keeping his pace as he kisses up her face. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

She cried out with a loud moan, pushing her forehead against his as she came. Panting quickly as she rides her high. “Fuck Frank.”

“That what you want?” Frank smirked before he quickly picks her up without letting her say a word. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Sam lets out a squeal as he picks her up, seeing he was taking her to her bedroom, her cheeks still flushed.

“Franky.” She whispers against his ear, nipping at the lobe, knowing it would drive him crazy. “I want you to fuck me.” She smirked against his ear as he practically sprinted to her room.

Sam laughed out as he tossed her onto the bed, his hands immediately working on his belt as he eyed her down. With a small hum, Sam slowly slides off her panties from her hips and down her thighs, wiggling her hips as she does. She smiled at the hungry look in his eyes as she slowly opened her legs for him, inviting him in. That only drove him to work faster, ripping off his shirt and dropping his pants to his ankles as well as his boxers.

“God you are beautiful.” He grunts as he moves to her, grabbing and pulling her leg closer to him, kissing her roughly. He was so desperate for her lips, her taste.

Moaning against his lips, she rocked her hips against his. Gripping his short hair, she flips them, sinking onto his cock slowly as she straddles his hips. She loved his grunts of pleasure. They mixed so well with her own.

“Shit. You’re perfect baby.” He pants, his large hands covering her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples as she bounces on his dick. “Look so beautiful riding me.”

“Ahh!” Her moans were almost screams, moving her hips to ride him faster, his hands gripping onto his shoulders tightly. “Fr-Franky!”

Grunting out, moaning against her neck as he messily kisses her skin. He felt the growing heat building in the pit of his stomach as he left his marks on her skin.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me come, sweetheart.” He pants out, his hand coming up her back to grip the back of her wet hair. “Agh you take me so well-“

Sam’s moans cut him short, sinking her hips as far as they can go onto his cock. She could feel her second orgasm coming on quickly. “Mmm make me come Franky, fuck.” She slowed her hips, leaning down to kiss him, cupping his cheeks.

Returning her kiss greedily, he lets go of her hair, moving it to her throat and squeezing, driving his hips up into her quickly. His grunts filling her mouth.

“Ahh! I’m- I’m coming Frank!” Her walls clenched tightly against his cock, pulling ruthlessly as she comes. His moans follow closely after, the clench and warmth of her sending him over the edge, coming inside her.

They both pant against each other’s lips, a small laugh coming from Frank as Sam breaks a smile, kissing him softly.

She gently hits his chest. “You ever do some stupid shit like that again, you’re sleeping outside.” She whispers playfully. Frank chuckles.

“As long as I get to hear your voice, I’ll do whatever you say, sweetheart.” His whisper was soft as he kisses up her face gently, earning her soft giggles.

The end.

I hope you enjoyed this😋and no I’m not gonna edit it or reread it for typos, I’m to tired too, goodnight peeps!

Also this was my first smutty fic! And first one shot! Pls be nice😪

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #frank castle x fem!reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #frank castle fic #the punisher fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #fanfic #jon bernthal #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #smut #frank castle smut

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informl-onthings · 3 months ago

Note

OKAY last ooc question for now but do you have any tips for like acting as Light? I know this is an L blog but you are a genius and I trust your intuition cause you're doing so well at playing L! I'm planning on making a Light blog purely because death note is a current obsession and even though I hate him lovingly I would love to play as him too but I need TIPS cause this bastard has too many facades and stuff >:( - Misa (I promise I only get more annoying from here on/hj)

OOC: DON'T WORRY ABOUT BEING A BOTHER! I'm very talkative when stuff I'm into is talked about, so send an ask whenever!

I'm no genius but thank you so much for the compliments! I don't have much experience playing these characters but their psyche and reactions are so interesting that I can't help but go mental over them; none of these goofs can be labeled as one-dimensional because, although they do stem from character archetypes, each one brings something new to it, without being a copypaste of the genre. My relationship with Light is very similar to yours lol, I hate him but he's such a great character that I appreciate his complexity.

Therefore I can't guarantee that I'm the best person to ask for this, but here are my thoughts anyway!

Light's character keeps the 'model student' trait up until the second half of the show, it's an asset that is extremely useful to him as both a cover and advantage in terms of gaining trust/information easily; this doesn't get to his head unlike the DN, despite how many times he uses it, it's all that it is to him, a title. He weaponizes it but doesn't view it as an achievement, it's more like a standard that he has to live up to; a "normal" person would jump of joy or at least be happy to be the number one student nationwide, to be praised no matter where they go, but he doesn't care, ergo: he's not a bragger. Sure, he utilizes his high intelligence to get his way, acknowledges his superiority to others in intellect, but he never outworldly brags about, he rejects it. On the outside he is moderately humble and denies/gently pushes away the flattery he's given, even though he knows it's true; the same goes for women, he knows he's popular and uses that, the only time he's proud of it is when he's talking to Ryuk about, which sounds like explaining attraction to an aromantic or science to a philosopher.

One common misconception that has been floating around for decades about his character is his personality pre-death note, which I am very against; the statement that Light without the Death Note would have been a wonderful guy who’s modest and kind is so fundamentally wrong that it’s jarring to me. It’s so reflective of the treatment of serial killers in real life that I can’t not mention it; if the person who committed the crime was “good” or performed good actions, then something turned them into a monster or drove them to do whatever crime they did. While they can be conditioned/solicited by outside sources, saying it happened out of the blue is erroneous; I can understand why people would think that, even more so if they were someone they trusted or saw in a good light, because believing otherwise would crush them. No one does things that major without reason, yes they can be pushed to do it, but the intent is there, it has been, it doesn’t appear out of thin air, take this as an example; when you cry while laughing, it’s because you laughed too hard, when you unintentionally leave the light on it’s because you forgot about it, when you miscalculated it’s because you weren’t paying attention to your calculations etc…

How does this have anything to do with Light? People seem to believe that he’s ‘innocent’ or wouldn’t have become a mass murder if he hadn’t found the note; this is mainly the Yotsuba Arc’s fault, which led to misinterpretations of his character, it’s true that Light feels horror at the sight of these killings because of the sheer brutality, but he’s not completely against them either. In that same scene, Light is contemplating if he could really fit the profile of a merciless serial killer, subsequently reiterating his possible motive for doing something so cruel; eradicating evil. He admits that and we hear it, yet his innocuous behavior is the only aspect the fandom highlights, not his self awareness or the re-affirmation of his established morals. This conveys the message that it’s all the DN’s doing, and while all of this mess wouldn’t have happened without it, it’s wrong to say that it’s the root of all evil when it’s not. The DN served as a catalyst for Light’s nihilistic morality to be enacted, exteriorized, the switch that flipped his passive worldview into an active one; Lighr saw the world as rotten long before he picks up the notebook, the world has always been full of weeds that need to be removed to him, the DN was just his means to do it, the apple for Eve, if you’re looking for a religious metaphor.

Another thing is how he interacts with people. The obvious thing we can learn is that he’s extroverted and a role model for other people to follow and idolize, but he’s actually the most alienated university student ever, take Patrick Bateman from American Psycho as an example — he has everything, he embodies the ideal American man, except he doesn’t feel human at all and feels alienated from humanity which drives him to commit murder. Both of these characters know they aren’t like everyone else, know that the expectations that they are raising are just a cover for an empty soul that can’t understand why it’s different. Light consistently draws this line between himself and other people because they’re not equal to him, he’s something else that doesn’t follow human nature or behavior; he has been emulating it since day one, which is why his attempts at behaving ‘normally’ to avoid suspicion actually increases it and doesn’t feel normal to us, the audience, at all. His words and mannerism, neatness and appearance, are what people expect of him, his conversations prioritize what other people want to hear instead of what he wants to say.

I have no clue if this helped at all, I’ve tried writing down my thoughts as coherently as possible, please don’t be afraid to ask questions if there’s anything I said that confuses you!

Thank you sm for the ask! -K.

#ooc ask #ooc answers #k answers #character tips #tips #my take #light yagami #death note take #k rambling #here i go again

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 years ago

Note

bianca uses her siren powers to screw with tyler which causes his hyde to accept a new master(xavier) who is forced to take care of the boy as he goes through a panic attack and doesn't take care of himself

Unwiling

warning : big fluff , angst , hurt/comfort , cuddling , kissing , soft

Tyler Galpin x Xavier Thorpe / Tylorpe

Info : Dear anon i hope you like it and i'ms sorry it took so long but here is your requested story. It was really fun and cute to write it. Have fun reading and everyone else too

masterlist

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

Two hours ago, he wasn't covered in blood. Two hours ago, he had not almost killed people again. Two hours ago, he didn't have a new master. Two hours ago, he was not yet in the arms of Xavier, who was trying to calm him down. But two hours ago his heart was still beating as fast with love as it is now.

After the events with Crackstone and his former master, several months had passed. The whole town and the school were slowly but steadily recovering from the brutal murders and events.

Tyler himself was also facing new challenges. With the help of his father as Wednesday and the other students, they were able to explain the situation to some extent. However, he knew that he was no longer human.

He was half human half Hyde and yet his monster, however involuntary, was a part of him. A way to get closer to his mother, at least that's what he always told himself. But this gave him only a little comfort.

Comfort he found among his few friends who still treated him with a little distance in some situations. But as much as it hurt, he knew that he himself suffered the most.

And he did not resent them as good as not. He understood their fear, especially the fear that flared up in Enid's eyes from time to time when he and the werewolf were reminded of their fight. A tragedy.

But there were also beautiful moments, as well as every afternoon they all spent their lunch break together. This time they decided to retreat to the fencing room. Fortunately, they could sit anywhere, but they chose both the benches and a few chairs that were in the corner.

They all ate sandwiches together and Tyler had made coffee for everyone. Something that even Wednesday brought a small unimpressive smile to her lips. ,,Your shot of four espresso is to die for," she murmured, watching his touched smile.

Ajax, Enid and Xavier also nodded slightly, enjoying their warm drinks. They all brought something so that everyone could eat. ,,Do you already have the homework for fortune telling?" asked Ajax who gave one of his snakes a piece of ham from the ham and cheese sandwich.

A sigh of remembrance of homework went through the group. ,,Yeah, I got it...well my skills aren't the best," Tyler said, running his hands over his curls as he took his notebook out of his backpack and handed it to Ajax. ,,You can just give it back to me later today," he said casually before picking up the packing trash and heading to the trash can.

Since there was none nearby, he had to go out into the hallway. ,,I'll be right back," he said and looked at his friends one last time before slipping out through the doors.

A sigh escaped his lips as he breathed in the cool air through the larger surroundings. It only took a moment for him to arrive at the trash can. He was lost in thoughts of homework, his friends and Xavier.

He was hardly aware of his surroundings and did not look around. But he heard from afar footsteps barely perceptible, quiet and careful. Before he heard it a voice of which he thought he would hear it more. So familiar that it was strange again. It surrounded him, swam through his mind and befuddled him.

He hardly noticed how he staggered towards the fencing halls, how he had his hands wrapped around himself and his breathing was fast and heavy. He felt in the lightness of his voice how his body was transformed, his surroundings blurred for a moment before he could barely control himself. Find your master he heard the voice, his head shook, everything ached and burned.

It was always painful, but like now. It was horrible. He dimly sensed Wednesday hiding her friend Enid and Ajax behind her. They were all afraid, afraid that Hyde would kill them. But this Tyler tried hard not to scare his friends.

The monstrous creature lurched, its claws digging into its own skin, blood flowing down its body and onto the ground. He gave a scream and saw his friends wince. He himself was afraid. Afraid of what would happen. ,,Xa-Xavier" was the artist's name, and the younger man seemed to be trying to calm him down somehow.

Hyde went backwards, his back colliding painfully with the mirror, which shattered and injured himself even more. ,,It's going to be ok Tyler" he heard Xavier say as he hid his friends behind him and took them to the exit. He only heard the click of the lock on the door from afar. Master was the word that went through his mind as he fixed his gaze on the artist.

That gentle voice surrounded him again. Instructed him to accept it. Xavier approached him, raising his arms soothingly, saying calmly yet audibly, ,,Calm down, try to calm down". The words came through to him and seemed clearer than anything had in a long time. They felt good, like someone cared. Tyler hardly noticed how his Hyde stature slowly diminished.

Only when Xavier was standing a few meters away from him did he realize what had happened. ,,Oh shit...you-you're my master," Tyler said stunned, ruffling through his hair before pulling painfully at his curls. ,,What-how?" stammered Xavier, running a hand through his own hair. But he saw how chaotic everything around them was. Even the fact that Tyler didn't answer made him look from his hands to Tyler.

Tyler seemed to be completely out of it as he held his hair, his breath going too loud and too fast. A panic attack, he realized, something that wasn't necessarily new to him. Slowly he approached Tyler who was leaning against the broken mirror. Slowly he settled down next to him and watched him for a moment.

Slowly he put one hand on Tyler's and slowly pulled it away from his curly hair. ,,Hey, it's going to be okay," he said slowly and slowly stroked the other man's hand. He could feel the trembling, the tension in Tyler.

He thought for a moment, If I'm his master now, he mused. ,,Tyler, look at me," he asked the older man. To his amazement, Tyler lifted his head and Xavier looked at his tear-stained cheeks, reddish ears and eyes filled with pain and strain. He sobbed, probably trying to come to terms with the fact that he now had a new master.

His other hand went to the cheek of the barista. ,,May I?" he asked, seeing the small nod that showed fear and loss. He put it on the warm skin of the smaller one, gently stroking it with his thumb, trying to somehow take away some of the pain.

As funny and involuntary as the whole situation was for both of them. ,,What-what now," Tyler said, sniffling again and holding onto Xavier tightly. ,,I don't know, maybe after we figure this out we should find whoever did this and just start over," he said, pulling Tyler closer so the smaller man could rest his head in the crook of Xavier's neck. ,,I'm-I'm scared," he heard Tyler say dully, and Xavier stroked the smaller man's back. ,,Me too," the artist admitted, and even though he knew there was no worse moment, he knew that his heart was not only beating with fear.

But also with love and concern for Tyler. He pulled him a little closer, not wanting to let him go for fear he might hurt himself again. The wound he had inflicted on himself as Hyde and the cuts would heal.

But Tyler himself, they both knew the answer. ,,Thank you," the artist said and saw Tyler look at him for a moment. ,,For what?" he asked, wiping away a tear before snuggling back up to Xavier. ,,For letting me get so close to you, for letting me touch you, for letting me give you this, my Tyler," the artist crooned. But before Tyler knew what the taller one meant, he kissed him gently. Without franticness or nervousness or fear.

It was a kiss of pure reassuring love and closeness that they both had. ,,I will always love you no matter what" he reminded his friend and Tyler smiled sadly knowing. ,,And I will always love you for loving me," he said, and this time he gave Xavier a kiss that would keep them locked in the big room for some time. Because what they needed was what they had the most. Love.

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

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smileyallthetime77 · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere!Damian Wayne x Reader Pt.3

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Mention Of Rape/Murder, Stalking, Abuse, Death, & Anorexia

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸: 666

👾Characters👾: 3,631

But little did you know that none of the males in front of your unconscious form where going to keep that promise.

************************************************

“Uhhh Bruce”? Cyborg spoke.

”Yes Victor” Batman sighed deeply.

“Where did you find her again”? Victor asked.

“I told you already, Joker decided to keep a few girls hostage and she was the only one who survived” Bruce answered.

“I don’t think she’s the only survivor of just one of Jokers attacks” he mumbles barely herd by Batman.

“What”?! Batman asked in a high pitched tone yet slightly shaky.

“According to her file she’s been through a lot. From rape to body damage”. Cyborg answered slightly scared of what Batman’s response would be.

“What the hell does that mean”? Batman asked.

“According to her file, when she was ten years old she was taken for two and a half years by some man named Chris Peterson. It says he brutally raped her, but she found a way to escape. He is currently spending a life time in prison. It also says this isn’t the first time Chris has taken girls and raped them. Some of them were even unfortunately killed”. Cyborg answered in a shaky voice.

Batman could only wonder to himself what more you could have gone through without a single word being brought to him, the justice league, or even his civilian form.

“What else does it say”? He questioned.

“It says that she did (s/n) since she was kid. Her coaches forced her into eating less, and she even received a few injury’s on her body from the sport”. Cyborg said with a “damn” placed after it.

“But that’s not all. Her mother went missing when she was a baby, and apparently because of that she doesn’t have the best relationship with her father at the moment”. Cyborg once again spoke.

“Maybe we could get her into therapy. Or something that will help her relax into her life”. Cyborg suggested.

“I swore to my family that we were never to meet or speak of her” Bruce said quietly.

“The kids only thirteen, Bruce. She needs a proper adult to take care of her.

Then it hit Batman. Maybe you didn’t need a parental figure, but more like a friend (or a new family). Someone around your age who could get you the help you needed. And who was better then his own son. The best of the best.

Damian Fucking Wayne.

_________________________________________

“Boys” Bruce shouted in the house.

They all came in to the room a little confused on why Bruce was yelling at 1 in the morning.

“What’s up”? Jason asked.

“That girl we saved last night, she….., she needs our help. I know I said that we shouldn’t speak or see her ever again, but I have come to the realization that it is best for everyone if we keep a close eye on her. At least for now”.

“Why, what happened”? Dick asked.

“She is going through some pretty damaging stuff right now. I won’t get into to detail right now because when she speaks to you. All of you. That is how you’ll know she trusts you. Tim, I want you to send a letter to [Address]. This letter will include that all expenses of her new school at Gotham Academy will paid for. I want you to make it look like the government wishes for her to go there. In the letter you shall not state who the money is coming from, just make sure she comes to this school”. Bruce said firmly.

There stood all of the boys smiling like idiots (some smiling on the inside) ready to take on who might become like a little sister to them. Or more.

Written: Tuesday, July 25, 2023

#Yandere Damian Wayne #Trama #Abuse #BatFam

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ultfreakme · 1 year ago

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You know, I feel so sorry for Toji Fushiguro, he's an unemployed deadbeat, he has no self-esteem, he's unlucky and he still has memory problems because of the trauma his clan caused him. He deserved it but I can't even hate him For me, he deserved another ending to the story. If I were gojo I would spare your life I would force him to enter the jujutsu school to teach and so he could start working and taking care of Megumi It would work on your emotions. Oh I would put a bracelet on him that would reduce his physical strength so that he wouldn't hurt anyone until he had his redemption.

Wait Toji has memory issues??? Afaik, I don't think he does. I don't think Gojo had any reason to spare Toji's life, or for Toji to accept that. Sorry anon but I think forcing him to teach would take away his individuality and would impose on him the very same principals that made him leave the Zen'in clan in the first place.

First, Gojo had no reason to forgive him, or give the man a chance at all. He's an assassin hired to kill the girl who Gojo treasured as a friend and wanted to protect. Toji premeditated and planned Gojo and Riko's murder, and is implied to have killed Kuroi, the only reason he didn't kill Geto was because he didn't know what would happen to the cursed spirits Geto held but he DID injure Geto terribly(if you wanna piss off Gojo, you hurt Geto- at least during Hidden Inventory days).

We as the audience can have sympathy for Toji because we know about his past but at the end of the day, in-story, Toji made his choices. He's an adult and it's not the responsibility of a (at the time) teenager to fix the man.

Toji might actually laugh in Gojo's face if he told Toji to stop, probably be more vicious in his plans to absolutely destroy Gojo. Because Toji's issue with Gojo is personal. Gojo stands for everything Toji detests about sorcerer society, so to have this treasured heir to the GOJO clan essentially looking down on him, it's like Gojo would be saying "you're not even worth fighting, how about you do what I say?". Gojo's not recovering from whatever Toji plans to do in killing him after THAT disrespect.

Also, Toji being forced to be a teacher with his powers suppressed???? First, he would find a way to escape. Second, he would absolutely not be doing it unless the Zen'ins or Gojo were using Megumi as a bargaining chip and not in a fun way(like a "I will literally kill your son, or brainwash your son to follow our ways if you don't comply") which won't make him a good dad, or a good teacher, like I seriously think he'd be plotting more ways to murder everyone and escape. Toji's smart, he'll find a way and whatever massacre he'd leave behind for being FORCED to work in the very societal structure that made him the way he is would be brutal.

Restricting Toji and forcing him to be a teacher would absolutely destroy Toji as a person. His strength is something he clearly enjoys. He likes the fact that a 'monkey' like him can topple the strongest sorcerers. His powers are him.

This is the thing about redemption arcs, you can't force it. The character needs to realize they're in the wrong. No amount of sticking them next to our heroes is going to work if the character isn't willing. I'm going to use Zuko from Avatar The Last Airbender as an example since his redemption arc is one of the most famous. Zuko was a main antagonist who constantly interacted with the main cast and encountered many victims of his family's atrocities for the first two seasons, but none of this actually flipped him around. His uncle kind of essentially did what you're suggesting about Toji be done to him. Zuko just got resentful, he hated it no matter how much he tried, he actually got WORSE.

His redemption and realization of his wrongdoings happened when he was alone, left with the consequences. No one was forcing him to change, he came to that on his own.

If we do want a Toji redemption arc, I think a different route would have to be taken. I'm not sure what that would be or where it could start, but forcing him to suppress his powers and teach new sorcerers won't work imo.

Sorry if this comes off as harsh, I tried to be as unbiased as I could ;_;Toji's a cool character though, I like JJK because it's not easy to redeem or change these people's lives. I still can't figure out what would've been a good place for Geto to be redeemed, or Junpei to be saved, or anything. All that happens in JJK happens for a set of very interconnected reasons.

#jjk #toji fushiguro #riki asks

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loftylockjaw · 7 months ago

Text

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Somewhere in town™ PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Ariadne (@ariadnewhitlock) SUMMARY: Wyatt accosts an innocent stranger during a bird-related freak out. This stranger, Ariadne, gives him some information on the existence of mares that he desperately needed. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

—

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep. If it wasn’t the nightmares, it was the insomnia, developed because of the nightmares. He was afraid to sleep, though he wanted (and needed) it, and in the Pit his delirium was no longer serving him well. Panic often bubbled just below the surface, searing hot and easily melting away the thin layer of control he still clung to like a life raft, boiling over and sending him into a sort of frenzied state.

He’d never been a particularly calm or collected fighter, but his matches the past few weeks were ending in more and more brutal fashions. One opponent he actually ate, grievously injured but still alive. Right there in front of god and everyone, putting himself at risk for the sluggish way he crawled back to the locker rooms to wait out the digestive process. The crowd had loved it, of course, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth both literally and figuratively, once he realized what he’d done. And this was to say nothing of how he’d recently snapped and murdered his friend, Samir, during a fight. He'd never felt such guilt before, and it haunted him.

The lack of sleep showed. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his gaze was half-lidded and not entirely present. His manicured look had grown more disheveled, his hair a curly mess atop his head instead of the usual slicked-back look. Even the way he walked, a far cry from the confident stride he normally had, told a silent story of a man barely holding on to consciousness. He wasn’t even sure where he was at the moment, the sinking darkness of the evening turning to night changing how all looked and getting him thoroughly lost. He’d even left home without his phone, dazed as he was, and for what purpose he’d come out into the night he couldn’t recall. But he was here now, averting his gaze whenever he felt someone look at him, stumbling along with no destination in mind and no real way of getting himself home. Damned be whatever had set him off here in the first place, for it was long absent from his disjointed thoughts.

But then a sound met his ears, one that set itself apart from the mumbling of people and rumbling of vehicles, the dings of shop bells and swish of their doors as they opened and closed. It was a quick sound, and altogether innocuous, if you were anyone other than Wyatt Barlow. But he was he, and he was terrified. His body stiffened and he came to a sudden halt, the person walking behind him nearly running into him as a result. His gaze was trained upward to the lightpost overhead, where sat a lone black bird, which stared back at him.

It cawed, its voice gravely and low, and Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath. “Get outta here, you piece of shit,” he snapped at the animal, forgetting everyone around him.

—

She remembered how things had felt before she’d died. She didn’t like to remember that, but it was pretty damn hard to avoid. So much so that she even cursed at the thought of it – if damn counted as a curse, and Ariadne figured that it had to. At least in this circumstance. It was evening now and she was out, because she had to be. Not because she wanted to be. Being tortured without sleep quickly led to no longer needing sleep and she missed it desperately. Not just because the thought of actually sleeping next to Wynne was one that she so very much wanted to make real, but also because she somehow still found herself tired, even though Celene had said something about them being higher beings because they didn’t need sleep. But how did that work when you still craved it, much in the same way that you craved nightmares? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t ask Celene, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask Leila or Inge. Even though she knew (or at least was fairly sure) that she could ask either of them anything she wanted, there was still a big, gnawing part of her thoughts that forbade her from doing so.

Because that wasn’t an area she wanted to examine, and if she avoided asking questions about it, then it could be all pretend. “All pretend” in that it would become something that she didn’t have to think about. It was easier this way, to play the game of avoidance and deny any of the complicated and twisted up feelings that she had. Ones that consumed her in a way she’d never wanted, but ones that she couldn’t so easily talk to with just anyone, and so ignoring and trying to be good was all that she could really hope for, in the end.

There weren’t tons of people out right now. Which Ariadne knew. She’d become far too accustomed to the habits of people at night, but at least it was peaceful. There were no men with vans around (as far as she could tell) and she had Inge’s knife with her, which did put her more at ease.

A bird sat atop a lightpost, and Ariadne held her breath – an unnecessary action – in hopes that maybe it wouldn’t make any noise. Still, it did, and she heard a voice that made her jump. “It’s – it’s just a bird.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I – sorry. If I scared you.” Her voice was hesitant and unsure. “It – do you want – I – it’ll go away soon, probably.”

—

Wyatt whipped around to face the voice chastising him for being afraid of a bird, not hearing the apology that followed, too focused on the continued caws of that feathered menace. He looked wild, wide-eyed, and angry. “Just a bird!” he hollered at the girl, throwing his arms into the air. “Hah! Yeah! Just a fuckin’ bird! You’re probably right, I bet that’s why there’s fuckin’ bird legs comin’ out of the ground! Yeah, I bet you’re fuckin’ right! It’s nothin’! I’m just fuckin’ losin’ it!” There he went again, going mental on women in public again. At least there wasn’t a crowd this time, but he had enough sense to drop his voice to a snarling whisper before someone came to tackle him to the fucking ground. “You’re stupid if you think it’s just a bird. None of ‘em are just birds. Minions of… of whatever the hell is goin’ on in this town. Evil. They’re evil.” Anger dissipated into fear and Wyatt lifted his hands to his messy hair, shrinking away from the lamp post as the crow clacked its beak at them curiously, shaking itself out and tilting its head this way and that.

“You should—girl, you should get out of here,” he warned, backing himself up against the nearest building and sinking to the ground. His eyes—yellow, now—stared up at the crow. It stared back, unbothered.

“What?!” he shouted at the animal. “What d’you want?!” His voice was strained. The crow cawed again, and his hands flew to his ears.

—

She wanted to shrink into herself at his words. Ariadne couldn’t understand why he was yelling at her. But maybe he was scared, and maybe she shouldn’t dismiss things like that so easily. In the past two years, ever since becoming what she was, a part of her seemed to have forgotten just how afraid people could be of animals. Which was selfish. Just because she would’ve done anything for any animal to like her didn’t mean that other people weren’t afraid of them. “I – uh, I don’t think you’re losing it.” She gulped. Her lip wobbled, and she looked up at the crow and it looked at her and she didn’t know a thing about animal language but she could’ve sworn the crow was asking why she was around and that hurt almost more than when Jade and Clare had called her all but worthless. “I– I’m sorry. Also. For uh, like, uh – for thinking it’s just a bird. But I really do think that it’s not much.” Another pause. “I – yeah. At least to me.” Which now probably sounded stuck up or something like that. Which, yikes, big time.

“I – do you want me to leave?” She questioned, picking at her nail beds. “I can go, it’s – maybe the crow’s mad at me. For like, whatever perfume I’m wearing. That’s what I get for following TikTok trends, right?” Ariadne giggled, but it sounded hollow even to her.

—

The flare of rage had fully been extinguished as he sat there on the sidewalk near some girl who hadn’t asked for him to flip out on her, meanwhile another crow joined the first on the lamp post. He was no longer angry, but terrified. This was another nightmare.

“It’d be a lot more helpful if you could scare ‘em off,” Wyatt groaned, squinting his reptilian eyes closed. “With your perfume or throwin’ somethin’ at ‘em, whatever works better for you.” Not that it would matter, not really. This would end with him waking up wherever he’d passed out, probably in a fucking gutter somewhere while wandering around town trying to stay awake, and he’d have another panic attack. Might shift in front of whoever was around to see if his current tenuous grasp on his human form was anything to go by. The ghost, as he called the other people in his dreams, could spook away as many birds as she saw fit to help the idiot on the ground beside her, but it wouldn’t make a difference. They’d swarm him like they so often did, and he’d feel every gouge they made with their beaks and talons, just like he always did.

Wyatt kicked off a boot, pushing it toward her with his foot. “Here. Please.” Their caws were grating, and he could still hear too much through the cups he’d made over his ears. “Shut ‘em up. Please. Before there’s trouble.”

—

“I – I can, I think.” How could she further explain that without telling him that she was a literal nightmare? How would that work itself out? Ariadne figured he probably wouldn’t believe her, and if he did, what if he was a hunter and just waiting for her to out herself? “I don’t wanna throw stuff at them, though – I don’t like hurting animals.” Even though she did it each and every day. She couldn’t even babysit Wynne’s cat because she’d scare it terribly. So she just bought it a lot of toys and told Wynne to make sure they told the cat how much Ariadne loved it. Thankfully, Wynne understood her and what she was and still loved her for it.

“Oh, I don't – I’ve never gotten them to uh, go away.” Okay, Ariadne, backtrack. “What happened that’s got you so scared of crows? I mean, they can be loud and stuff and a group of them doesn’t have the cutest name, but I – sorry.” She picked up the boot, turned it over and over in her hands before she set it back on the ground. “Would moving – like, going for a walk, help? We could go find ice cream or iced tea or pizza?” She wasn’t sure if any of that would solve any sort of problem, but the fear from the man was almost palpable and she wanted some sort of a distraction from that, desperately so.

—

This was getting him nowhere. A third crow joined the other two on the lightpost and Wyatt fought to maintain his composure, or… whatever was left of it. The ghost refused to help (because why would she) and he was left to fix it himself. And by fix, all he could really muster was trying to get the fuck out of there. “They’re just goin’ to follow me,” he muttered, snatching his boot back up and shoving it on his foot before getting back to his feet. The crows flapped their wings and cawed in response to the sudden movement, and the shifter moved quickly away from them, turning away so as to not draw their ire by staring at them.

Her question rattled around in his head for a moment before he spoke up, noting that she had fallen in step beside him. “They keep killin’ me in my dreams. Was never scared of ‘em before, just… happened a few months back. Had one nightmare n’ it all started to unravel from there. Can’t sleep anymore. Except I’m pretty sure I am right now…” He glanced back over his shoulder to see the birds still perched in their spot and shuddered. “Sometimes they got teeth. Claws. Sometimes they’re massive. Sometimes they look like people.” Like her. “You ever have somethin’ like that? A fear that just… comes up outta nowhere? Haunts you all the fuckin’ time?” It was a stupid thing to ask, but he wasn’t feeling his most coherent at the moment. Really, he didn’t even know why he was still talking to this girl, this ghost… either it was helping keep him awake, or he was already asleep and it was just delaying the inevitable.

—

“Maybe they won’t.” Ariadne wanted to sound comforting but she couldn’t help but worry that it came out sounding far more patronizing instead (if that was the right word), because maybe she just sounded like some sort of stuck up kid telling off a grown up, which was very much not the sort of person who she was. But maybe it was coming off in that sort of way, and that made her stomach twist itself into knots.

In his dreams. She felt her mouth drop open, agape, at the comment. “I – yeah. I – yeah.” The fear out of nowhere she was far (far) too familiar with. “A couple years ago, yeah. It was bad. Not birds, but yeah.” Ariadne picked at her fingernails again. “I – it’s bad. You should try to get help. Not like – oh god, sorry, I didn’t mean – I just mean, like, it’s valid and you should pay attention to it ‘cause there’s things – monsters,” because she was a monster no matter what others said, especially in this context, “that eat nightmares. So that – it – you. Might be working with that.”

—

Wyatt was surprised with her answer, eyebrows raised as he turned to look at her. “You—really?” His heartbeat quickened. “Monsters that eat them?” It was nothing he’d ever heard of before, but that was hardly saying anything. “What do I do? How do I get it to stop?” He found himself filled with a sickeningly sweet hope, the dark cloud that’d been dangling over his head for months suddenly thinning out as the realization that this might be something he could fight against broke through it like the rays of the sun. “What are they called?”

—

“I - uh. Yeah.” Ariadne was regretting her words more and more by the minute. “Yes, and um, salt. Like around your bed. They can’t go past salt. They also don’t do well when flashed with bright lights.” She felt like she was betraying herself, betraying Leila, Inge, even Celene of all people. She was out here giving away ways to hurt her kind. She might have loathed what she was, but it didn’t feel as though it justified this.

“Mares.” She bit down on her tongue. But it was too late to go back now. “Like, uh, nightmares. Animals aren’t usually big on them, either.” Her gaze flicked up to the crow. “So if you got a dog, or borrowed a friend’s dog or cat or something, then you could have that in your house and that’ll alert you if one shows up.” She fiddled with the ends of her hair. “Just – make sure you do so soon, ‘cause if you have it go on for too much time then you die.” Ariadne winced. “Or so I’ve heard.”

—

Salt. Lights. A dog. Fantastic. All easily attainable. And he had a name for the thing—that woman he’d seen, she must have been a mare, right? If she was real, and she was in his nightmares? The joy Wyatt was experiencing came to an abrupt stop when she mentioned death, however.

“... oh. Well… okay. That makes sense. I mean I’ve hardly felt alive for months, so…” Fuck, he needed to get started on this immediately. He shook his head, looking up and down the street they were on. “I gotta… go. I gotta go get some fuckin’ salt and take me a goddamn fuckin’ nap,” he breathed, deciding that he was awake after all. This girl wasn’t a ghost, she couldn’t be a part of his dream, because he needed this to be true. He’d confirm the information with someone who might know before making any huge assumptions, but salt couldn’t fucking hurt, right? “Thank you,” he breathed, looking back at the girl. He seemed uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he could trust her, but desperately wanted to.

—

“I’m sorry.” Because Ariadne knew exactly how it felt to feel hardly alive, and sometimes it was even worse than how she felt now that she was actually dead. “You gotta… Yeah. Of course.” At least he wasn’t thinking she was a monster, which was a big win. Huge. Though she figured maybe most people wouldn’t just auto-assume that she was evil.

“Of course.” She nodded her head. “You can go, yeah. I mean – I – I’m not like, in charge of you, but I just mean that I support you getting a head start on this.” Ariadne realized that she hadn't given her name, but that was fine. She didn’t know the man’s name either, and in case he did decide she was no good, him not having her name was better.

“I hope things get better soon.” She offered a wavering smile. Somewhat fake, but mostly genuine. Ariadne knew that she wanted to get away from the crow, too. More for the bird’s sake than her own, but still. It deserved something good, and most of all, it didn’t deserve to go on in a state of constant high-alert and panic. “See you around, maybe?”

#. thread ;#. with ; ariadne whitlock #. are you my nightmare? ;

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luckloveandwaterfalls · 2 years ago

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In response to my AoUV poll, here we go! This will be long and I might have more to come later, but thanks so much to everyone who participated, it was great to see your thoughts :D

First of all, I'm so grateful that no one picked the Lowes. That would have been terrifying.

For the others, I'm going to share my thoughts on each of the families because I've thought about this extensively. But obviously it's just my personal opinion, and all of them are at least a little fucked up in their own way. It is Ilvernath, after all.

The Macaslans. Isobel has my whole heart, I swear she does, but the Macaslans as a rule are atrocious. Showing up to every funeral in the city and stealing magick from dead bodies as they're put in the ground is beyond tacky and disrespectful, and Cormac is beyond slappable. His "how many ways can we commodify Isobel to make money, 15% goes to the champions" bullshit gets me so upset. We haven't met many Macaslans but if he's the representative, hard pass.

The Grieves. I disagree with the people who picked them, but I do understand. I've talked about the Grieves a lot lately, so I'll just summarize and say that they're in a truly awful situation where they have few options other than to give up. None of that excuses what they did to Gavin and, tbh, their other kids too. This family is a hot mess.

The Thorburns. They're serial killers. They lie and cheat and cut deals with the government to control high magick, and murder people in Ilvernath and drain them of their life magick and frame someone else for it. Then they call themselves the heroes, enforcing this idea so strongly that their champion causes an insane amount of damage trying to live up to it. I really struggle to get past this.

The Blairs. They won the poll, and I absolutely get it. They're straitlaced and dependable, and they keep to an honor code. My issue comes with the severity of this honor code, and the collateral damage that comes with it. Blairs keep the code and their word, but all that honor and protection is for the cause of...the exact same cause that everyone else has. They do better things than the others do, but only to pat themselves on the back over it and claim their prize. Their honor code blinds them to everything that isn't black-and-white—see how Finley's moms respond to him suggesting there's a way to break the tournament. Don't get me wrong, they're way better than Elder Malvina, but the Blairs are not saints, and I think part of what makes them so insidious is that they make it look like they are.

I'm briefly grouping the last two together, because they're the families we know least about and that (in my opinion) seem like the most reasonable. I'm going to preface this by saying that yes, the Paynes and Darrows trick Briony and the others by swapping their stories in All of Our Demise. Yes, this causes problems for them in the tournament.

But honestly, can you fucking blame them? Their kids were just murdered, and these people who are trying to stop people from being murdered do not seem to care. From the Paynes' perspective, their champion died brutally and Briony and the others mentioned her literally zero times in their appeals for help. From the Darrows' perspective, it's even more justified. Briony killed their champion and then she and Isobel publicly lied about it, responding with little more than an "oh oops" when they're called out on it. I don't blame the Darrows and Paynes for not wanting to help them.

Taking a closer look, these two families want high magick for very different reasons from the others. The Lowes and Grieves want it for power, the Macaslans want it for money, and the Thorburns and Blairs want it for glory. Granted, we don’t get to see too much of the other two, but by all appearances they’re more interested in how high magick works.

The Darrows are all about studying, keeping records, and learning. It seems like they’re interested in figuring out the what and why of high magick for the sake of knowledge, not necessarily using it. As for the Paynes, All of Our Demise reveals that they’re inventors, which explains so much. They make things. And sure, there’s no guarantee that they would use high magick for good, but the general vibe we get from them is that they want to make things and be left the fuck alone. So even if the Paynes and Darrows originally agreed to join the curse with the other families, the current situation heavily implies that they’re doing it for far less selfish and destructive reasons.

All of this is to say that, in my opinion, it would be between these two. And I’d give the edge to the Paynes for two reasons, one being that, I’m sorry, any family that picks Carbry as a champion for a death tournament needs a reality check. If it turns out that there were literally no other siblings or cousins, I will apologize. Don’t get me wrong, I like Carbry, but he is not death tournament material. Also, firsthand knowledge is admirable, but it’s kind of a flimsy reason to send your kids to be killed every twenty years. None of the families are really morally defensible here, but at least you could make the argument that one of them has the means of and interest in using the high magick for something practical. So ultimately, that one family is the one that gets my vote.

Long story short, I wish we got more information about these last two families. But considering the information we do have, and the dots that are left to connect, I would have to pick the Paynes.

#all of us villains #all of our demise #all of our demise spoilers #aouv #aood #amanda foody #c. l. herman #i seriously wish we could’ve learned more about the paynes #aood gave us crumbs but they were interesting crumbs #again these are just my thoughts! it’s fun to think about though #let me know what you think :)

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psychotrope777 · 1 year ago

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im really gonna crack up man like im really gonna lose my shit one of these days.

ive sent application after application to all these different dumps for the last 3 months and none of them have come back. none of them pay more than maybe 15 an hour at best. and this fucking freelance thing i just tried to look into to at least supplement me with a form of income while i look for a job is a total shitshoot its garbage i flat out dont even know if i can do it. im 19 right now im lucky im not like fucking paying rent or anything. but i sure will have to eventually! it's bad enough i feel like a fuckup who can't keep a job after i got fired from my last dump but like. only so much time

virtually all of my family and friends age 20 - 30 live in fucking dumpy little tenement apartments and those are the ones who can even get places of their own. dont know if i even know anyone who makes more than like maybe 30K a year. and i think we're still the lucky ones. my parents got a 3 bedroom house back in 2001 and i live with them. but i cant live here forever, like financially socially emotionally thats just not... feasible for me. i think they said a little over 11% of americans live under the poverty line? and then there's a study that says america has the worst poverty rate out of 26 "developed" nations. this country is a fucking sick little joke. an empire built off of genocide that brutalizes the rest of the world while its citizens rot in the streets. a twisting labyrinth of dead-end jobs and unwalkable cities with nothing to do but toil and die. what is new york city if not a giant factory town? and this does not even cover one one-eighth of what is wrong with this stupid shitshow of a country

and whatever i know i should just be grateful for what i have (what do i have?) and i know it's a common sentiment among poor / impoverished people to be like well you just need to hustle harder well this is just how it is etc etc but like just what an absurd fucking way to think like you guys are fucking high. people shouldn't live like this. people can't live like this. it's not sustainable. it's not realistic. we have to have a right to shelter and food and literally at the bare minimum to fucking survive like... i mean for fuck's sake there are wild dogs who live in tiny rock dens smeared with their own shit and blood who still have a better quality of life than human beings in our beautiful utopian capitalist society. at least ants and wolves look out for each other. what happens when you fall sick or become homeless in america? what happens if you don't have enough money in america?

with every new day i feel more and more like anything resembling a fulfilling life is just not possible here. i don't know where else i would go. i know travel is expensive. idk i just like. i know this is my home and it does feel like a cop-out but i can't live like this. nobody can live like this. fuuuuck this. honest to christ even if north korea was actually one quarter as bad as US propaganda says it is that would be better than this. at least under the Cold Cruel Hand of Communism i'd have something to fall back on. i'd be insured and have a place to live. what do we have in capitalist america? a weak nod of acknowledgement? and you know what my least favorite part of "patriotic" american bullshit is? if this is really the "best country on earth" we might as well just start organizing mass suicides.

and now with senile old fuck biden regurgitating israeli propaganda and encouraging the senseless murder of palestinians i just think. and this is the guy democrats wanted. this is the guy that republicans were shitting themselves over telling themselves he'd turn america communist or whatever. god if youre still even taking calls from this fucking tragedy of a planet i hope some sort of incurable and highly infectious plague breaks out inside the white house and all of those stupid fucks end up with abscesses forming inside their brains. it might not fix anything but it'd take some of those perverted vultures off the face of the earth so it'd be a nice pick-me-up at least. UGHHHHHHHHHH

#my posts

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iamapoopmuffin · 6 years ago

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So, uh, last night I had a dream about Nanbaka again. Liang and Rock were in building five as staff (Liang appeared to be in a guard uniform while Rock was dressed as a chef with a ridiculously tall chef hat). Samon was there too, of course. Also there was an escaped convict, a goddamn mountain of a man who looked like a Transformer, and he had Liang pressed against a wall, holding him by the neck.

And he killed him. Just as Samon and Rock actually arrived on scene, he killed him. There was blood coming from his mouth and nose and abdomen and the dude was 100% dead and mystery mountain man killed him.

Rock wanted to fight the dude, to get him away from Liang, but Samon said that Rock had no chance against him and that, on the offchance Liang was still alive, he should get him to safety while Samon fought the convict. The supervisor understandably looked furious but also had tears in his eyes.

There was more blood. Dream focused on Rock cradling Liang’s body while Samon tried to give them a chance to escape, then the fight sounds stopped and Samon hit a wall and a shadow loomed over Rock, who was crying, and then I was watching more blood hit the floor. I think they all died.

I woke up after that. So yeah, that was...dark.

#Hi this is at least the fourth time I've dreamed about Nanbaka characters #please make it stop #at least none of them were brutally murdered last time #though the last Nanbaka dream did involve murder #just not the murder of anyone I cared about #or recognised #nanbaka #rock nanbaka #liang nanbaka #samon gokuu #at least the stupid chef's hat was funny #actually the threat of straight up murder does seem to be a theme in these dreams #first Jyugo was trying to prevent his cell mates from being killed #then a dude from another anime wanted to kill Upa and take his place #then it was Hachiman being a mafia assassin leader thing #now this #what is wrong with my brain?

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1533-secrets-from-history · 8 months ago

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My involvement is a bit late,but I have to answer this.

I loved how you remarked that Mihrimah's existence is not defined by being "Hürrem' daughter" or " Mini Hürrem", despite several people admitted at and how she proudly bragged about it to them,who mostly were her own unts, with whom, ironically, she shares far more similarities than she or anyone else admits.

To make my point clearer, I will make several parallels with her aunts,that is not a habitual characteristic of Hürrem.

First of Hatice:

Mihrimah and Hatice shared a close bond for a long time,before it was deteriorated by enemity between two sides.Interestingly,none of them very initial participants of the conflict,but only found themselves in for their "closest ones". In season 3, Mihrimah only got involved in quarrels when she was defending Hürrem and Hatice only got involved when she perceived Hürrem as a threat to Ibrahim. Apart from that, Aunt and Niece shared a dreamy nature,they both had an ideal image of love and soulmate.(although,for Mihrimah it could have been influenced by the relationship of her parents)they get very passionate about their feeling that often leads them to reckless actions and while such outburst are vey rare for them,requiring string emotional stimuli,they get very brutal when that happens. Still,they have good nature and a kind heart that gets darker throughout the show,though even at their lowest it can be reflected by deep regret and call of conscience. Both are very romantic and submissive in relationships as well and on several occasions it only causes them to be more or less victimised by their own husbands.Hatice and Mihrimah are quite closed in their thoughts in addition to be persistent to depression. they have certain fear of opening up to others about their feelings,follow the stream even if it's leading them to their breakdown and perceiving dealing with their own personal feelings alone as part of their duties as daughter/sister/wife etc and despite being very close to mother,whom they adore they often find confidant in someone other and their mothers are last people to hear their sorrows.

Fatma:

Their similarity was evidently shown in several scenes they tried to bond.They share love of the luxurious side of their privileged bloodline (while in contrast Hürrem appropriated freedom of it, Şah and Hatice- social standing), they are both extravagant and charismatic that often lets them see different percepctive of world and thinking.( They often have very distinctive and original ways to get what they want and it involves psychological pressure on others and extensive imagination,which they used in many things, including murder of their own Husbands).

They also share quick,but passionate changes in romantic interests.They were not just briefly flirtatious,they were falling entirely and even though both of them demonstrated to be highly intelligent,I'll go as far as saying they had shown to have one of the greatest sheer intelligence,but often abandon/forget they main direction to chase after their romantic interest,which they originally planned to be only "side goal".So,their intelligence gets overshadowed by impresiviseness of their nature.

Şah:

Perhaps the least similar as much as I remember,but still worths to be mentioned. I think similarity exclusively between them is hard to find because of how Şah and Hürrem are quite similar themselves. Determination,cunning and intelligence are something Mihrimah has very similar to Hürrem, however what differentiates them from others is a quality that I have already mentioned with both Fatma and Hurrem- Charisma, however in contrast to colourful and playful charisma of them, Şah and Mihrimah share dark,royal charisma- Unlike Fatma and Hurrem,they are rarely expressive of their wrath, happiness or sadness publicly,mostly they keep strict, collected demeanour. It's evident that despite being very emotional Mihrimah always seems calmer next to anyone else(when Hürrem is insulted and she clearly restrains herself from expressing great wrath that is burning her from inside, Mihrimah is always next to her with unnerved face,but bitter remarks to put others in their places, when Hürrem threatens Fatma, everyone is evidently shocked/scared, Fatma is clearly conflicted within her feelings between being intimidated and self-assured, Hürrem has death glare, Mihrimah is only one who is just standing there smirking and later walks away like she is going go enjoy every moment of upcoming cruelty. Something, that was most notable seen on Şah, who only lost temper once. also, they are one of the few people who are not throwing tantrums at the decisions of senior members of family and are taking fulfilling them as part of their duty. I think in all that they are both similar to Ayşe Hafsa.

How similar did you find Mihrimah to her mother as a character? I’ll be completely honest I found it a bit comical how other characters in the show or even fans of the franchise would consider Mihrimah very much her mother’s daughter while I personally feel they contrasted in a very important way: Mihrimah was born into privilege that Hürrem never truly had, or at the very least never had the full extent of. Mihrimah was considered “one of the dynasty” and was treated and accomodated to as such from day one, and I feel she got used to having pretty much everything at her fingertips for the most part and it showed in her interactions and the way she processed the events that would take place around her. Hürrem on the other hand would have elitism applied to her through all stages of her life and spent her entire life either climbing the social ladder in the harem or fighting to maintain her spot. I won’t deny that Mihrimah certainly posseses strength and intelligence in her own right but a spitting image of her mother? I wouldn’t think so. What do you think?

Truly, I’ve also always wondered why Mihrimah is often considered solely “her mother’s daughter” and nothing else. I get why the characters of the show do so, because there are certainly times she behaves similarly or absorbs her mother’s assessments completely - Mahidevran calling her as tenacious as Hürrem when she found out she organized a secret meeting with Taslicalı, Mustafa comparing her to her after she was blindly unwilling to understand his point of view in E121 and especially, Şah Sultan telling her outright that she’s like Hürrem, when in the season 3 finale Mihrimah took it upon herself to go in her mother’s footsteps when she was considered fully gone. These points of view I understand, because they had one particular reason, one particular event that triggered their reaction. What I don’t understand is the fandom taking these at face value, even when they have the full picture of her character, because in spite of these moments, Mihrimah is very different from her mother.

The contrast you brought up is very important, because Mihrimah indeed has something that Hürrem doesn’t and Hürrem herself relies and capitalizes on that, expecting from Mihrimah to achieve what she couldn’t. That’s why when Hatice used elitism on her in the beginning of season 2, Hürrem turned to Mihrimah specifically and it was also why it was she Hürrem was sharing her dreams and ambitions with from early on. It makes Hürrem lean on her and Mihrimah acts accordingly. She not only takes her position for granted just like her aunts, that same position becomes utilized for her mother’s goals. This contrast reflects on her narrative role and arc, as well.

Ironically, Mihrimah seemed closer to her mother when she was little than when she grew older. When she was a child, we could definetly say she was set to succeed Hürrem, exceed her even. The way she professed she isn’t like the other princesses (paralleled with Hürrem’s: “Don’t compare me to anyone else.”), the way she wore the crown for a bit, which was her character establishing moment, the way she thought of strategic intrigues that gave Hürrem a run for her money when Mahidevran ruled the harem… We could easily think she was her mother’s replica, but worse, similar to grown MCK Dilruba, only more simplified, spoiled and brash without a truly overlying motive. Little Mihrimah was supposed to be like that simply because of it, but it looked like we had to take the hint she was the dynastic version of Hürrem’s most over the top relation to the power she already had. (which, by the wedding, wasn’t little at all.) This didn’t end up being the case at. all.

The difference in Mihrimah’s arc can be underlined best when we compare it to the arcs similar to Hürrem’s - the arcs of each sultana from the Sultanate of Women. Hürrem is presented as the unwarranted beginner of the Sultanate of Women in the show and the characters in it followed the same patterns of their respective arcs, even when it was showed in a different order. (we saw Safiye’s gradual fall, instead of her gradual rise) Now, historically Mihrimah is a part of the Sultanate of Women and at first, she was set to be it in the show, too, as I described. When she grew up, and especially in season 4, however, we saw quite a difference in her role and arc that diverged from everyone else’s. Not to mention that she got the crown only briefly until she broke it, she didn’t get the thematic ring the others got, either, the ring that became key for all these sultanas, which is telling in a symbolic way. If she were a spitting image of her mother, wouldn’t she get all that? But let’s ignore these technicalities. Every character of MC’s Sultanate Of Women has a primary motive that is survival and rise and keep of power that is most thoroughly shown to us through Nigar Kalfa’s advice to Hürrem in the first episode. Mihrimah not only lacks this particular motive, by most of season 3, she has yet to find her own. Mihrimah’s character didn’t have any solid foundation for a long period of time: at first she was brash and spoiled, because she was and because she could, then she didn’t do that much in the script aside from her love stories, she had room to breathe before it all became more serious. She had the chance to discover herself. To venture into her love adventures with Taşlicalı and Bali Bey. Neither Hürrem, nor the other sultanas of the SOW had that chance. They are put into the environment right from the beginning, while Mihrimah had to be put into it much, much later, so the foundation of her character came only then and only by some of the second half of season 3 and the whole season 4 it came to the surface.

And when her motivation and foundation finally appeared clearly, they were nowhere near Hürrem’s. The main thematic exploration of the Sultanate of Women was their growing relation to power and the way it evolved from Hürrem to Turhan. Mihrimah’s relation to power wasn’t at the core of her thematic arc. Mihrimah’s character is about familial protection. Throughout the series, she was pushed to do what is necessary to protect her family. Anytime Hürrem or Rustem beg her to do something, they use the well-being of her brothers as an argument, which she believes in wholeheartedly. Even the moments where she was defending her mother, like episode 84, was not because it was powerful for the sake of being powerful, but was rather a reaction of hers to try to defend the threatened. She is taught to value family most of all and doing everything for them she considers right. The turning point for her character was marrying Rustem where her monologue highlighted that realization of hers - she did something she was strongly against, but she had to do it for her and her brothers’ own good, despite of the wedding being like a funeral. That could be paralleled with the culmination of her overall arc - her stealing Mustafa’s seal that was also supposed to be for her family, but had more dire consequences she had to come to terms with. (and arguably didn’t, because protecting family and legacy is way too engrained in her now.)

For a while, Mihrimah had an allegedly idealistic perspective, which is why there were times where she tried to act as a peacekeeper in such a system. That made her quite a bit more perceptive than her own mother - she predicted the possibility of an eventual fallout between Selim and Bayezid, calling them, not Mustafa their biggest problem. Coupled with her idealism, she wanted Mustafa safe and sound for very long and was in a good relation with him. Her character is about familial protection, but isn’t Mustafa also part of the family, of Mihrimah’s own blood? It’s what she thought, too. That perceptiveness and perspective were muted by Hürrem and Rustem more often than they weren’t, of course, but they existed and they brought them into conflicting situations. Would that be the case if Mihrimah were a spitting image of her mother?

One more thing important to note is that Hürrem (along with the SOW of the show) is guided by what became her own feelings and desires, Mihrimah learned to let go of them. I feel what Mihrimah wanted most in her life were true love and piece. Hürrem had found her love in Süleiman, but Mihrimah’s journey in finding it has always been stopped by something or someone else time and time again and when someone (Dr. Pedro) finally offered her a way out, she decided to stay on her own terms. (I don’t think she would’ve gone with him, even if Rustem didn’t threaten to kill him) She has been told that piece is impossible in this period (Rustem: “Life isn’t a fairy tale, Mihrimah.”) and she had to use her own power when she didn’t want to at all. She didn’t want to think of the consequences her actions would cause right until reality ensued.

The necessity put upon her and her feelings and desires were clashing constantly with each other, while with Hürrem they were in near perfect accordance and when they weren’t, she made them to be soon enough. With Mihrimah the times where she chose to act with her feelings and the ones where she acted in necessity were always taking turns narratively, leaving us to wonder which one would prevail in what moment. And the more time passes, the more the necessity prevails, because she accepted it.

#history #historical drama #magnificent century #16th century #magnificent century kosem #mihrimah sultan #nurbanu sultan #medieval women #halime sultan #ottoman

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