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heliads · 4 months ago

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promise me - cato hadley

Cato promises you he won't volunteer for the Hunger Games, and then he does. When Plutarch Heavensbee offers you a chance to get back at the Capitol for taking your boyfriend away, of course you're going to say yes.

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Cato is dying. So they say. You haven’t been watching.

It sounds bad. It is bad. But you had made your boyfriend promise that he would stay as far from the Games as he could, and you’d actually believed him when he said he would, that he’d live to old age with you. Cato has been wanting the Games as long as he’s been alive, but you’ve been wanting him to stay with you for about that long, anyway. It took forever to wear him down enough for him to say he’d give up his dream of being a Victor, and just when you felt sure of yourself, he’d gone and volunteered.

It was stunning how quickly everything fell apart. You’d heard the representative from the Capitol read out the name of the male tribute, and when you didn’t hear your boyfriend’s name, you thought you were safe, you were fine. Another year guaranteed. Before you could even take another breath, though, a familiar voice rang through the town square. In your nightmares, you’d seen Cato volunteer a hundred times over. It was fitting, somehow, that when he volunteered in real life, it was exactly like every other time you’d seen it.

He’d looked at you from the stage, tried to find you in the crowd. You weren’t smiling. And, when they’d asked for the last visitors to see the tributes before they were shipped off the Capitol to die in glorious combat, you’d never even had the chance to talk to him. You’d tried to go to him, but the small holding room was swamped with adoring fans. You know Cato saw you over the heads of all the people saying how proud they were, how they were so sure he’d win. He saw you, and he saw you shake your head at all the people cheering for his imminent demise, and he saw you go.

You regret it half the time he’s been gone, leaving so early. It wasn’t like you would have been able to talk to him anyway; by the time you were turning around, the Peacekeepers were already starting to usher people out, and Cato, breaking another promise, hadn’t kept a space clear for you to find him. But, at the end of the day, you didn’t just leave because it was impossible to get to him. You left because you couldn’t stand to hear everybody praising him for going to his death, and you couldn’t stand to hear one more word about how his betrayal would make him a better man.

At the end of the day, you almost saw it coming. Winning the Hunger Games is Cato’s big dream, and it has been since you were kids. Even when you were small, you remember him staying late to train. He was proficient in the sword before most kids got their first kiss. You had always hoped that he would love life enough to stay away from that arena of death, but the last of your hopes were gone when he volunteered.

You don’t watch a second of his Games, you can’t stomach it. You try to picture watching your boyfriend die live on camera, your own falling face broadcasted live to the Capitol. Would your neighbors approve of your reaction when the love of your life was run through or shot or poisoned? It makes you want to throw up, so you stay at home and try to stay away from the screens, but nothing works. Even clamping your hands tight over your ears doesn’t stop you from hearing the roars of the crowds outside when something happens.

You have to assume Cato is doing well, but recently, people have been saying it looks bad. When Clove died, the mood shifted in the entire district, and that sense of jubilation over a seemingly guaranteed District Two victory has never returned. They say Cato is hurt, maybe. They say Katniss and Peeta are going to kill him.

Night falls when someone gets you, tells you that you have to head to the square, now. You get there just in time to see Cato on top of the cornucopia in the dark, trapping Peeta with the baying hounds below him. Katniss shoots. He falls. The cannon rings, and you’re dead along with him.

You’re numb for days. You don’t even remember the laments around you, strangers you’ve seen on the street telling you how sorry they are as if that does a damn thing when they pushed him to this. You get home, apparently. You get to bed. Somehow, you live when he doesn’t. You wouldn’t know how it happens. You don’t know a thing at all.

You stop leaving your room. You don’t want to see anyone, or have to witness the awkward guilt when they recognize who you are and why you look like the whole world has burned to ash around you, because to you, it has. Your parents try to bring you food, and you eat it, tasting nothing. You drink water and wonder why you bother when it just lets you cry again hours later.

When someone knocks on the door, you don’t bother answering, assuming it’s your family. The knock sounds again a few seconds later, smart and unavoidable. It doesn’t really sound like the tentative rap of your parents, so against your better judgment, you rise and answer.

There’s a man looking back at you, one you’ve never met before. He’s in his forties, maybe, his hair an early white. He looks Capitol, but you can’t fathom why he’d be here. He invites himself in, taking a seat at your desk and looking back at you once he’s settled himself.

“You should close that,” he says, gesturing to the door.

You’re not really energized enough to start arguing, so you do as told and sit down on your bed, hands clasping at nothing in your lap.

“Who are you?” You ask, voice scratchy from tears and lack of use.

The man glances once at the windows, once again at the door, and finally a quick scan of the room before he speaks quietly. “My name is Plutarch Heavensbee. I’m going to be the new Head Gamemaker.”

You eye him dolefully. “I didn’t realize the Head Gamemakers did personal apology tours for the dead tributes.”

He chuckles dryly. “We don’t. To speak plainly, I’m here because I need something.”

His honesty, however brutal, is a relief after all the saccharine half-meant apologies from the rest of Two. “What could I possibly give you?”

Plutarch steeples his fingers together, thoughtful. “Your unwavering loyalty.”

You laugh, now. It’s a far colder sound than his. “You and your Games killed Cato. Why would I ever follow you again?”

Plutarch’s eyes lock onto yours. “I may make the Games, Y/N, but I do not believe in them.” It’s a radical statement, and he lets it hang in the air for a few seconds before he continues. “We have a possibility of taking a stand against the Capitol. I’m looking for inside sources. You’re the perfect fit.”

You arch a brow. “I have no connection to the Games. How could I possibly help you?”

“Your lack of connection is the exact reason we need you,” Plutarch argues. “You’re not on the Capitol’s radar as anything more than a grieving ex-lover. Two is valuable to us.”

You lean back, considering this. “You want me to be a spy so I can get revenge on the Capitol for killing Cato. That’s it?”

“That’s it?” Plutarch scoffs. “You have no idea of the risk we all suffer just by meeting. Let me be clear, Y/N, what I am about to ask of you is dangerous to you and everyone you have ever known. The Capitol will butcher you and display your rotting body as a lesson. This is not something you pick up to pass the time. This will become your life, or you do not join. I want you here because you want to get back at the Capitol as much as the rest of us, but I will not permit you to be near us if I suspect you are not fully committed to the cause.”

His voice is steely, and it cuts through the haze of your grief like one of Cato’s knives. Briefly, the anguish gives way to fierce, bitter pain. You miss Cato with everything you have. There were a thousand things you were supposed to do, places you were meant to visit together, people you were supposed to become. You have been robbed of everything in the world. This is your chance to get the Capitol back, and you– you are going to take it.

“I’m in,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I want Snow gone.”

Plutarch’s thin lips curl into a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He stands, but pauses before he gets to the door. “We’ll be in contact. Keep your eyes open, and stay safe. Spies don’t have a long life expectancy. We’d hate to lose you before you even start.”

You nod grimly. “You as well.”

He almost smiles, then sweeps from the room. You can hear the distant sounds of him thanking your parents for the visit, and expressing his sincere sympathy for the loss of Two’s tributes this year. Then he’s gone, and you’re left wondering what you’ve done to yourself.

Your parents are thrilled when you get a job offer from the Gamemakers later that week. You’re able to pass off Plutarch’s visit as a last interview/congratulations before your new position begins. You’ll work in Two, mostly, deep within the district government, but you’ll have weekly meetings in the Capitol to update the Gamemakers on your progress.

In reality, you’ll be gathering everything you can and checking in with Plutarch once a week. The first time you take the train to the Capitol to meet him, you can’t help but wonder if this is how Cato felt, too, watching home rush away from him, knowing that success or death would await him in the Capitol. Your throat burns by the time you get there, torn raw with unshed tears.

Plutarch is careful, always careful, but as the weeks wear on, he trusts you little by little. He confesses eventually that having a spy in Two was crucial to his future endeavors. He won’t mention what those future endeavors are, not completely, but you understand why. It’s too risky to spill everything to someone he’s only just met.

You don’t know that Plutarch is truly certain of your loyalty, though, for another three months. By now, you’ve had several close run-ins with curious Peacekeepers, and transmitted enough information to feed Plutarch’s flames for years. As a reward, he takes you down to a secret room in the hidden headquarters of the rebellion, and in those cool, dimly lit rooms, he says something that transforms your life completely.

“We have Cato.”

At first, you think they mean the coffin. He was buried in the Capitol, they all were. There’s a broadcasted ceremony every year for all the tributes. That one, you watched. They wouldn’t let you or his family come. No one was by his side when he entered the earth. You sobbed for hours.

Plutarch shakes his head, though. “He’s still alive.”

You have to lean against the wall to steady yourself. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Plutarch says. “We grabbed his body before rigor mortis set in. He’s been in a medically induced coma for months while our medical staff stitches him back together. It’ll be a while before he’s even conscious, and longer before he can walk and talk, but he’ll be back.”

You feel dizzy, head rushing from loss of blood. “They would have noticed,” you fight to say. “He was dead, Katniss shot him. The Capitol would never let him go.”

“They don’t care about the dead,” Plutarch says. “Not yours, not mine. I collected him.”

You glance up sharply. “You wanted him as a bargaining chip, didn’t you? If I didn’t agree so easily, you would have told me that you had my boyfriend.”

Plutarch nods, paying no mind to the storm in your heart. “I would have done anything to secure a spy in Two. You know that. I would go to any lengths to do it. Even, yes, hold Cato over you. That was the whole point.”

Of course it was. Clever, plotting Plutarch, would always have a second option. If he had doubted your loyalty back in your house in Two, he would have ensured he had a safety net to stop you from going to the Peacekeepers the second he left. You hadn’t needed it, so he’d kept his ace up his sleeve until now.

“Why tell me, then?” You croak. “You don’t care what happens to Cato. What do you want from me now? I’ve given you everything.”

“Not everything,” Plutarch muses thoughtfully. “Not your life, not yet. The time may come. But you’re right, Y/N, I do want more. You’ve been with us a long time. Long enough to grow complacent. I want to ensure that you will remain just as sharp as ever. As we draw closer to the Quarter Quell, our plans will accelerate. I need to know that you will guarantee our success.”

“I would have done that without you threatening to kill Cato a second time,” you spit.

Plutarch just sighs. “I can’t guarantee that.”

You can’t stop staring around the room, trying to find a curl of blond hair, a wicked smile, any sign of the boy you’ve loved for so long. “Where is he? I want to see him.”

Plutarch nods, gesturing for you to follow him. “I wouldn’t expect you to just take my word for it.”

He leads you through a series of locked doors to a small care unit. There’s a body encased in a blue cell, the encircling glass walls just large enough to thread the limbs and chest with tubes pumping some sort of liquid throughout. Through the misty aqua glow, you can make out a face.

You stumble. You’d know Cato anywhere, even almost dead, even almost back to life. You stare at him, eyes wide, and a tear falls from your face and drips onto the glass. You didn’t even realize you were crying again. You didn’t think you could, anymore, but this hope– it brings you back to life along with him.

“When will he be awake?” You ask, breath harsh in your chest.

Plutarch straightens up from where he’s been glancing at a nearby readout. “A month or two, perhaps. He’ll be functional by the time of the next Games, which is good. If all goes well, we will need to run.”

You look up at him. “Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it. Anything.”

His lips curve up into a smile. In the ghostly blue light of Cato’s healing cell, he looks like a phantom. The ghost of Games gone by, perhaps. The ghost of the tributes to come. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

With that, you let the rebellion consume you. Not a day goes by that you aren’t traveling between districts, gathering information, and spreading contraband from rebel group to rebel group. Plutarch keeps you busy. Most nights, you don’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time, any rest caught in brief snatches between train rides. If you ever had a home, it’s no more than a memory now. You don’t stay in any place long enough to remember it. You’re certain Peacekeepers have been following you for days now, but maybe you just can’t tell the difference between the white-armored soldiers in every district.

You’re stopping by the rebel headquarters in the Capitol to bring news of the developments in Thirteen when Plutarch asks you to stay a while longer. You assume he wants you to take on another project, but instead he tells you that Cato has woken up. He couldn’t risk mentioning it through the usual comms, but he remembers his promise just as you’ve remembered yours.

You fly down the stairs to the med center, flying around the corners until you’re back in the care unit. The blue glass cell is gone, replaced by a hospital bed. A patient is sitting up and arguing with one of the doctors. You notice he’s been cuffed to the rail of the bed, and can’t help a small smile. That’s your Cato, isn’t it? Always a fighter.

He falls silent when you enter, eyes wide. For a moment, you wonder if the healing damaged his brain, if he might not remember you, if anything would ever be the same, and then a tentative hope enters his voice as he says, “Y/N?”

You’re across the room in a moment, and then you’re in his arms again, and maybe everything will be okay again. His free hand, the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed, is pressed against your back, drawing you ever closer to him.

“Y/N,” he says in a choked whisper, “Y/N, I died.”

“No,” you murmur, drawing back so you can see his face. It’s the same face, somehow. Still him. Still Cato. “They brought you back. You’re going to be okay.”

“How is that possible?” Cato asks, raising his free hand to touch your face lightly as if he can’t believe it’s you.

“Don’t ask me,” you chuckle weakly. “All I know is that you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Cato glances warily at the doctors, then returns his gaze to you. He looks more carefully now, taking in the hollows under your eyes, the scars and scrapes on your arms. “What have you done, Y/N? What did they make you do?”

You choke on a laugh before you can stop yourself. “The star tribute is asking me what I did? I haven’t been in the Games, Cato. I’m not the one who signed themselves up to die.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he says. “You’ve got– you look like us now.”

Dully, you realize what he means. There’s a sort of innocence in the faces of people who haven’t had to take a life. Even the hardiest of the careers still have it if they haven’t been in the Games. Cato sees it now in you. The last year has destroyed you.

You let out a slow breath, taking his hand in yours. “Losing you destroyed me, Cato. I had to do what I could.”

Cato looks around the room again, his hunter’s eyes taking in the details of the workers, the sparse decoration of the room. “We’re not with the Capitol anymore, are we?”

“No,” you admit, “we’re not.”

Something savage twists his face. “Good.”

You weren’t sure how he would take the news that you were working with the rebels, but surprisingly, Cato is in favor. He’s mad about what they did to secure Katniss’ victory. The whole point of the Games was that the strongest would win, he says, but they interfered. All that hard work to get to the Games, and then the Makers cheated him out of it.

What Cato doesn’t realize is how deeply entrenched you are in the workings of the Rebels. Cato isn’t allowed to go back to normal, obviously, Panem thinks he’s dead, but he hadn’t counted on you joining him in that fate. They find Cato a place in Thirteen where he can help train the soldiers; it’s good for him to stay busy, and he tries to work his body to the limits so exhaustion will fight off the nightmares of dying for him, but Cato wants you there with him.

Only, that isn’t the case. Plutarch didn’t give you Cato back so you could stop working with the rebellion. If anything, it makes you work even harder. Now that you have Cato, you finally have the brief, glimmering hope of a better life, but you won’t get it if the Capitol still exists.

By now, you’ve been clued in to Plutarch’s master plan for the Games. The rules for the Quarter Quell were announced a few days ago. The dominoes have started to fall. All that’s left to do is make sure the ruin runs where you want it.

Cato doesn’t see it that way. Every time you’re at Thirteen, you make time to see your boyfriend, but it’s never enough. It never will be, not until the Capitol is gone, not until the war is over. For Cato, though, he’s already died. He wants to stop running.

You’re with him now, tucked into his arms on his bunk with your back up against his chest, pretending that you won’t have to leave again in just a few hours. He’s tracing absentminded circles on your forearms, and when he speaks, his breath buzzes against the top of your head.

“Stay with me,” he says. “They’re going to kill you if you keep this up. Stay here.”

“You know I can’t,” you sigh. “Not until it’s done.”

Cato blows out sharply, annoyed. “Let them die, not you. You’re better than that.”

“All our deaths are the same,” you contradict. “Might as well be me.”

Cato’s grip around you tightens possessively. “I’d let all of them die before you.”

You shift slightly so you can look up at him. He’s frustrated again, jaw tight as he tries to control himself. “I have to do this. All of our work depends on the Games going in our favor. If we give up now, it was all for nothing. I can’t let that happen.”

Cato shakes his head tersely. “Promise me you won’t get hurt. Promise me you won’t die for them.”

The twisting guilt of deja vu curls around your stomach. You can’t help but remember a similar moment, a similar promise, almost a year ago exactly. You had said almost the same thing to Cato when he was talking about volunteering. At the time, it had seemed so easy. All Cato had to do was stay with you, and he would have been safe. But Cato had to go, it would have killed him not to go. And it’ll kill you to stay. Both of you know this. It doesn’t make it any easier.

You kiss him once, twice. For past and present. “I’ll see you soon.”

You won’t. You’ll be in the Capitol until after the Games at least, and although Plutarch has promised he’ll get you out with the rest, there’s always the small chance that it won’t work out.

Cato pulls you up in his arms so you’re eye to eye. “Soon,” he says.

“Soon,” you repeat. This close to him, you’re sure he can feel your pulse thundering in your veins, carrying with it the weight of this lie. He would know how to sense it, too. All that time in the arena, he’d know how to tell when someone was about to die.

Cato doesn’t want to let you go, but he has to, piece by piece, second by second, letting you go in the bed just to crawl off and hold you by the door, then walk you to the jet, then hold you again one last time before you’re taken away. You watch through the window as he shrinks away to nothingness, one arm still raised. You’ll see him again, or never at all.

Plutarch is waiting for you in the Capitol. “It’s time to play,” he says.

“It’s time to win,” you return.

He smiles without meaning it and turns back to his screens. There’s a lot of data to get through. Some of the tributes you weren’t expecting, but you have who you need. Finnick knows, Johanna knows, but you can keep Katniss and Peeta in the dark for as long as possible.

Thus, the Games begin, and, electrifying as an arrow in the night, they end. You watch Katniss looking down her bow at Finnick, then turning her weapon towards the sky. Plutarch slips away from Snow long enough to get you, and the two of you hurry towards a transport that will take you back to Thirteen in the dead of night. Voices are hushed. The tributes get out, but not all of them. Peeta, you think, was left behind. Johanna too. Still, it’s a better collection than you’d hoped.

And, when the jet docks in Thirteen, there’s someone waiting for you in the hangar, your golden boy. Cato comes running over before the landing gear is even fully tucked away. He waits, impatient as a coiled spring, while the doors open, and then he’s rushing inside and pulling you into his arms.

“No more separation,” he says against your temple. “We fight together now.”

“Together,” you whisper back, and you mean it, too.

Whatever happens after this, the cards are all on the table. Cato can come back to the public eye. You’ll fight in the war side by side. If you die before the rebellion wins, you’ll do it together. Some would call that tragic, but all of this is a tragedy. At least you’ll have him. Two is gone to you, so too is any dream of normalcy, but Cato– Cato, you will always have. That, at least, is your victory.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

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c-u-c-koo-4-40k · 2 months ago

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Here's a funny kinda nostalgic post for commenting on.

In Husbandry Warhammer what media normally designed more for kids do Space Marines enjoy? (Aka what media are they latching onto because it is healing their traumatized inner child?)

I'm gonna go through some of my totally unbiased opinions. And if you're favorite legion isn't on here...

Comment it with your thoughts!

Thousand Sons - Take your damn pick there's so much magic based media but of course the Owl House is up there for recent examples.

...some of the Loyalist Thousands Sons do get a bit...existential when the plot line of the tyrannical Emperor Belos gets expanded upon.

Ironically despite its fictional nature Thousand Son or other psycher space marines use certain scenes in it almost like training videos for their offspring.

Ultramarines - You can't Tell me these guys wouldn't like Bob the Builder, and Thomas the Tank Engine. The main characters are Blue and so much of trains and building is logistics! And Cyberspace! Logistics is mostly math so Cyberspace is in there too.

Death Gaurd - Zoboomafo, the focus on flora and fauna is quite enjoyable for marines literally in tune with the cycle of life. Children's shows in general often use simpler language which is easier to understand or translate for Marines still coming to grasp with ancient terran languages. The similarly enjoy The Wild Thornberries

Nightlords - Goosebumps. They LOVE Goosebumps and 'Are you afraid of the Dark?' No I will not explain it.

Blood Angels - Art Attack! Never watched the show myself but Damn it looks fun! And perfect for craft inclined Blood Angels.

Alpha Legion - The animated Carmen Sandiego cartoon! Deception, mystery and most importantly disguises! What more could a hydra want? And Blue Clues...because.

Salamanders - Dragon Tails. Love watching it with their family or kids. The show has a big focus on family itself and giant lizards it's practically made for them! Would probably also like Dinosaur Train.

Emerperors Children - Steven Universe. The art, the music, the messy drama of the characters that makes them weep and the existential dread of being similarly tied to a parent or family that is...complicated.

They find a lot of comfort and catharsis in it.

Black Templars - Veggie Tales. Okay JK kinda they would like that just swap out God for God Emperor. Also...Winnie the Pooh.

Is it just because Pooh is Yellow like their gene father? That's not entirely it but they approve of the little yellow bear who isn't the brightest but he does his Best Okay!

I could also see them using it as another weird allegory for the God Emperor loving and protecting because in quite a few episodes of "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh," Christopher Robin shows up to help Pooh and Friends out of their predicaments.

Iron Warriors - Reboot! My sister loved this show as a kid, and given its focus on computers/a digital world I could see them enjoying it! Also they like Cyber Space because Math. And...Chip and Dale rescue rangers But! They like it specifically for the scenes with Gadget because she makes cool things and they also want to make cool things/find a way to make them work.

See a video on AstartikTok about an Iron Warrior making a remote controlled roller skate and putting the families pet rat on it.

The rat is unharmed and even seems to enjoy the ride.

Dark Angels - Redwall. God that series gave me Nightmares but it Was still technically a kids show....technically. Also Jane and the Dragon, they like the medical aesthetic.

Space Wolves - No I'm not saying paw patrol. Blue Clues and Bluey! But All the legions have Marines who like Bluey! There's hardly a demographic on this planet that doesn't have a legion of Bluey Fans!

Also the old Tarzan Disney animated series because it was actually pretty damn hot shit! And full of cool action scenes fighting giant frightening animals.

White Scars - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic. Yes because horses, and yes because it espouses the values of community and collaboration and it has a kicking soundtrack. And White Scars are one of the few legions who both accept psychers but also acknowledge their inherent danger. They have a big focus on meditation and not becoming lost to the power you wield and finding support in those around you. They appreciate the similar messaging in the show.

War Hounds and World Eaters - Lazy Town. Because all of them want to become as strong as Sportacus and be able to lift a fuckin pyramid with a grappling hook from an airship!

Please stop them, the Pyramids of Giza need to stay where they are. Don't let them cause an international incident.

Ravengaurd - Ruby Gloom. They enjoy the macabre atmosphere merged with the cheerful main character. Plus the music isn't half bad.

Some tags for ya'll if you wanna jump in! And don't hesitate to comment about legions already mentioned if you've got more ideas about shows they'd like.

@egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts @barn-anon

@kit-williams @bispecsual @angronsjewelbeetle @virozero @sleepyfan-blog @passionofthesith

@beckyninja @felinisnoctis

#c u c koo anon #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #c u c koo headcanons

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enchantedchocolatebars · 1 year ago

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Unicorns Are Exquisite 💖 🦄 ! (Au based fic. "Alma" is Camila and Beardo Philip's daughter.)

Alma Noceda, 5 years old, couldn't help but cast a low-spirited look down at her unicorn sweater as she tugged on the bottom of the shirt while sitting in the principal's office.

"It's not dumb..." she spoke to herself quietly, referring to her sweater.

Upon entering the office, Camila and Beardo Philip immediately walked over to their distraught daughter.

"Baby, what happened?" Camila asked, her voice filled with worry before proceeding to cup her daughter's soft cheek.

"I got a call today from your teacher and principal. Is everything okay?"

Little Alma shook her head. "No, Mamá," she answered in a tone that was quivering with emotion. "Everything is not okay."

"What happened?" Camila whispered softly, wanting to know.

Alma started to sniffle, which made Camila wrap her in a hug.

"Hey, I'm here for you, mija. I understand that you're sad, and that's okay."

As Camila pulled away but still stayed close to her daughter, Alma began to speak, shedding tears from her eyes.

"Today, the girls in my class were being mean and said that my sweater looked bad and dumb. Papá was the one who made it for me, and I didn't like how they were speaking so badly about his work when he worked so hard on it."

There was a look of anger on her face as her cheeks were glowing red.

"He makes the best sweaters ever, and they were just dumb and jealous and-and-,"

Now it was Philip's turn to pull his daughter into a loving hug, which caused her to start crying at full force.

Her father quietly hushed her and gently asked her to take a breath.

"Did you hit any of the girls, Alma?" he asked, speaking to her in a soft and soothing voice.

Alma was his little girl, and he didn't want to make her any sadder than she already was.

Alma sniffled again before nodding.

"Yes, Papá," the small girl admitted in a sorrowful tone. "I did."

She didn't want to lie to her papa.

Alma knew that both lying and what she did today to the other girls were wrong.

Philip gently placed his hands on Alma's shoulders. "I understand that you love the things that I make for you. It's okay that you were deeply hurt by these girls and their reckless words, but it's never okay to hit others."

Camila smiled softly at Philip's words to their daughter.

Although he has changed a lot, they both felt worried about the situation.

Neither parent wanted their child to be bullied like they were at her age.

The cruel comments made by kids in school about Camila's clothes are still a recollection for her, and Philip can still recall to this day the taunts the other Puritan children made about him being a child of the devil.

"I'm sorry, Papá," Alma apologized, looking down in shame.

An empathetic smile spread across Philip's face, and he placed a small kiss on his daughter's forehead.

"It's quite alright, Alma. Mistakes happen."

Heaven knows he's made so many in his life.

"Just remember next time if someone expresses negative opinions about Papa's work, to ignore or walk away from them instead of hitting them. Okay?"

Alma slowly gazed up at her papa and nodded. "Okay," she quietly said.

Philip gave her a sweet and playful smile.

"Besides, it's not your fault that your tastes are much more exquisite than theirs."

He winked.

Alma softly giggled at his witty remark.

She greatly enjoyed her father's use of fancy words.

"You're right, Papá," she told him with another giggle.

Unicorns were indeed exquisite. 💖 🦄

Their horns, which smelled like cake and joy, were pure and enchanting, and they brought dreams to life, and no bullies could ever take that away from them.

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belos-pogging-pc · 2 years ago

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well aint that just poggers?

Raine is so fuckin cool.

#art this nice makes me almost wish Raine didnt betray me #almost #witch is a witch both ways #- The real belos #Art is belos approved #Raine not so much anymore

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

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PINNIE I WANNA PUT BELO IN AN AMAZON POSITION, is that what it’s called,,,? I DUNNO DONT CARE I WANT THIS ANGEL BOY BENEATH ME—DOMINATE HIM AA!! Also it’s funny imaging a small human bending a large angel :}

[YOU'RE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE OOOOOHHH-💨 Fem reader. You are not Admin in this.]

TW: Reader is slightly pushy at first but it's entirely consensual.

" I want to try something different. " You muse out loud.

" ... My Lady? "

Sex with Belo is great.

Upon first meeting the angel, you had one or two assumptions in your head that you thought held true. That angels are asexual, incapable of carnal desire. You thought he'd chastise you for expressing attraction to him, that he wouldn't make for a pleasing bedmate anyway.

You couldn't have been more wrong. Belo is none of those things.

In fact, the signs were there from the start. Belo had been struggling with containing his own desires for a torturous amount of time. You simply didn't want to interpret reality for what it was. Didn't want to believe that lingering touches meant more than just a different perception of personal boundaries, that his longing staring wasn't just a tendency of angels to be vigilant... Even as he confessed to finding you the most gorgeous lesser there is, you didn't believe that attraction could hold within itself the selfishness of lust.

Obviously, you know much better by now.

You know Belo craves to please you at any capacity he can, that your approval and ecstasy in bed is something he always seems to put before his own. And you love the sensation of his body atop yours, his sheer size, his warmth, the trembling need barely contained in his limbs when he sinks into you and that unforgettable softness experienced when your hands roam around his furred figure. It's bliss from beginning to end, your own little Eden provided by the angel that somehow proclaimed you his savior.

And yet...

Sometimes, it feels repetitive.

Like Belo is somewhat scared of doing something you would consider inadequate, so he sticks tightly to what he knows. Especially positions and gestures you have initiated in the past. You initially understood this as a sign of Belo's timidity and slight apprehension regarding such intimacies, but as time passes, you're fairly certain he himself is longing to try different things.

And you've been plagued with a certain mental image for a while.

So why not try your hand at it?

The power stares expectantly at your seated form on the couch by the doorway, having previously been in the kitchen, busying himself with chores you didn't assign or request of him- As usual. He dons on his front one of your aprons, the cloth looking ridiculously tiny on him, covered with stains you assume belong to sauces.

He's always wearing that black tight suit, it almost makes you feel bad for preferring to put on loose-fitting and comfortable clothes in your own home.

" I want to try something different, Belo. " You repeat.

There's a humorous pause wherein the angel tries to calculate what you might be talking about, your poker face and neutral tone betraying absolutely nothing. His eyes widen, and the non-human straightens immediately.

" Yes, of course my Lady! I've been looking at those uhm... " Belo gesticulates oddly, searching for words he doesn't necessarily understand. " Those digital cookbooks you have, and I spotted this very good-looking dish- "

Oh. Oh the poor thing.

He thinks you're talking about dinner.

The laugh that erupts from your throat is hearty and genuine, startling your devoted celestial into ashamed silence. Maybe he assumes you're mocking him for trying to use your social media bookmarks to cook. It's a genuinely sweet and loving effort from Belo, one of very many, provided he doesn't require nourishment in the form of actual food like you. You don't want him to feel self-conscious about something so considerate.

Rising from the comforting cushions, you approach the taller monster with a dubious little grin on your lips, hands dipping behind the apron to tug the long open collar of his outfit forward, down, your eyes meeting his two naturally engorged ones. The angel's tilted eyes have always been a touch too intense, but you know that's in his kind's nature, especially since he told you his specific cast specializes in combat and protection. Still, it's ever easy to get lost in those pools.

" I said something new. "

This time, there can be no type of misunderstanding. Even if Belo had the thickest skull in all of existence, the way your lids bat coyly and your head cants leaves zero to the imagination. An index flirts idly with neat clumps of fur as his chest begins fluffing in tension. He has no saliva to swallow down, but you wouldn't blame him if he gulped at this moment.

" Ah- I... I see. "

With a gentler smile, you undo the apron's knot, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Belo's face, hearing him coo a noise out, before carefully removing the garment in a way that causes the least discomfort possible to his smaller pair of wings.

" Did you leave anything on in the kitchen? "

" No, my Lady. "

He doesn't quite know what to do with himself, hands previously twitching by his sides now holding each other at his front, before he decides the pose isn't appropriate and holds them at his back instead, straightening- As if you needed another reminder of how he towers over humans. Three eyes bounce everywhere in the room, avoiding you as he always does when nervous, yet occasionally fleetingly checking for some type of approval in your gaze.

Cruelly, you allow him to remain in that riled up stasis for a few precious moments, standing on the tips of your toes to further crowd him.

" Good. Leave dinner to me tonight. "

When you take that lightly furred pale hand in yours, Belo follows obediently after you like a lost puppy.

" Undress. " You begin as soon as you're inside the bedroom, not even bothered to look the angel's way as you start arranging the sheets and pillows.

You're going to put him in a position that might be a little stressful for a being with wings, so there's a lot of caution to be exercised here. You figure support for his lower back and neck should help. After all, he takes similar measures with you regularly.

The sound of something soft hitting the floor has you finally looking back, faced with your angel now bare, flexing his wings gently. You've always wondered how he doesn't struggle with taking off clothes given his large wings, you'd certainly consider it a chore, just as many demons hate sweaters that get caught on their horns.

Belo presents himself to you, standing straight and spanning his wings a certain distance -Careful not to hit the walls- And spreading his legs the slightest amount in spite of his ever present slight nervousness. You've always liked that little tuft of fur above his slit, the way it feels against your fingers when he neglects to trim it for a while.

" My beautiful angel. " You praise. " Come, undress me. "

And really, if there was one request you could make of the all-powerful beings Belo so frequently raves about, it would be the ability to see the way his furious flush spreads from his face to his already fur-covered neck.

Supremely gentle and dexterous fingers work at your clothes with the same reverence he continues to extend your way no matter how much time passes. You'll never get used to this level of sweetness, this worship, Belo touches you like with a love so profound you can swear you somehow feel it in the tips of his digits. Even in his moments of seemingly greedy pursuit of gratification, Belo doesn't seem to know how to be anything except devoted. Maybe it's because he's angelic, but you can say for certain that you've never been treated this nicely, and you've never longed for anyone's embrace as much as you long for his.

The power doesn't let his fingers roam too much when he follows your command, intent on getting things done dutifully as opposed to demonstrating lack of self-control. His eyes however, swirling windows to the soul of a celestial, reveal everything he refuses to voice or act on out of respect for you. Belo's pupils dilate immensely as soon as your bare breasts are exposed, his digits acquire a slight tremble as he makes to fold your top and set it down on the drawer, until you playfully bat it out of his hand. Belo sinks to his knees in front of you, and the view is so paradoxical -A holy creature kneeling to its gods' mistake- That you nearly burst out cackling. Instead, all that leaves your mouth is a silent gasp when he catches the hem of your sweatpants and drags it down, hooking over your panties as well. The trip down is slow, measured, and you know it's not an intentional tease but you still shimmy to have it fall faster, catching a twitch in his largest eye, while the one beneath it has fixed itself on your naked pussy.

When his task is completed, Belo remains kneeling obediently, palms flat on his thighs.

" Thank you. " You purr. " Sit on the bed. "

He does, albeit on the very edge, quickly correcting himself when you make a "further" motion.

Seeing the way Belo's eyes widen as you move to almost straddle him is as intoxicating as it was the first time. You remember the luxurious roll of your hips over his own, recall his fingers twitching as he tried to grab onto you without bruising frail human skin. Delightful and memorable.

" Lay, my sweet. "

Ever the glutton for obedience, it's not long before the angel is on his back, and you immediately take the opportunity to flatten your palms to his furred chest, fingers threading between that familiar softness like second nature. Your head soon joins, nuzzling yet careful to avoid the extra eye stationed there. You trail a path of lazy kisses upwards, tracing the edges of his built-in halo you can reach and dragging your teeth across the root of his left pair of head wings.

The response is instantaneous and intense, this sudden cooing moan hopelessly erupting from Belo's throat before he seems to pale even further in shame and muffles the noise. Tsk, it seems he'll never learn to sing freely, no matter how many times you reassure the power that his angelic vocalizations are half the fun. Those smaller wings twitch and flap, the ones on his back fanning out humorously.

" You're adorable. " It's said in a mocking tone, followed by laughter as the angel fails to suppress more noises when you offer the remaining wing equal attention.

You love that he's already matting his own fur in slick by the time you reach down to part it and play with his pretty pink slit. It's engorged, his length already brushing against the fingertips that brazenly dip inside. With a gasp, the power spreads his legs slightly and tenses. You can feel his effort to keep still.

As soon as you begin crawling back to settle your head between snowy legs, he gathers enough wit to start babbling the same old drivel.

" M- My Lady, you need not- "

" I don't need to, I want to. "

Belo looks at you like he doesn't quite get the point. And frankly, some concepts seem to have been drilled so hard into his mind that you worry he will never understand other views of the world.

" You want to please me, right? " You start, kissing at his sheath until the very tip of him shows itself.

" More than anything. " The male pants.

" Then you should know that pleasing you pleases me. "

And with that, you take what's available of his rosy length in your mouth, coaxing the rest of him out almost impatiently.

Belo's choked groan of surprise has you smiling around him, amused by the impulsive horse buck of his legs before he garbles and apology and tries to melt back onto the sheets, poorly. He won't hold your head. Not from lack of desire, but that ever-persistent sense of inferiority, fisting his hands on the fabric beneath him instead. When one of his arms does rise, all he does is shakily pet your hair, inhaling sharply at the swipe of your tongue across his head, before dropping it again.

" Lady... "

He moans pitifully, a delicious sound coming from a creature so supposedly holy.

As much as you'd enjoy keeping him between your lips, your goal this time is much more fun, so you pop off him lazily. There's a moment where he twitches and his fur bristles in what anyone can guess is instinctual irritation, but Belo doesn't say a peep.

Seeing his eyes bulge when you grab Belo's thighs and start bending them up is hilarious enough that you giggle openly.

" What- What are we doing, my Lady? "

" Relax, I promise you'll like it. " Or at least you assume he will, what with his desire to always be below yourself. " Now please, hold your legs up for me. "

The title would get repetitive if you didn't enjoy it so much.

The angel does, grabbing the back of his knees and sliding his legs back with the help of your guidance, until they're basically glued to his chest. He's fit, you're not surprised he can easily hold that position. In fact, you get to see the exact moment it clicks in his bird brain, the nature of the position he's in. His cock bobs aimlessly and his wings move almost as if to cover his figure sides in shame. And, admittedly, the view has all sorts of chills taking hold of your limbs, your own womanhood singing.

" My Lady, this is so... So...! "

Eyes roll slowly at his stuttering, though you relish the tremor of his pupils when you move to hover over him, as if your much smaller body could ever constitute as a minimal threat to his.

" Filthy? Lewd? Scandalous? " You kiss directly beneath his eyes. " Yes, just how I like you, my debauched dove. "

With a soft command for him to hold still, you rearrange the pillows beneath his body properly and take a moment to figure your own position correctly. After all, as much as you've thought about doing this before, you never actually got to make that wish come true, so it'll take a bit of experimentation.

Belo continues to be mildly confused. " No- No offense, Lady, but are you sure this is correct? "

You scoot to line Belo's member up with your entrance, rubbing him against you to spread the angel's arousal and facilitate things. He shudders in anticipation, the lowermost eye on his face already rolling in pleasure.

" Why wouldn't it be? "

He's not given a chance to respond before you gradually sink onto his girth, causing such a reaction that he nearly releases his legs before holding them ever tighter.

" Gghn-!! O-Oh... "

Sparing him the smallest mercy, you're slow to rock yourself on him, letting the first shock of heat flow through him before you're flush to his pelvis. It's a wonderful position, he's hitting you deeper than usual already, ripping a soft mewl out of you as your cunt clenches greedily around the intrusion.

" See? " You huff, slightly out of breath when you experimentally bounce a little on him. Belo whines long and low, unsure what else he can do to ground himself. " It works just fine. "

The first few rocks are entirely random as you try to quickly work out a rhythm and motion that works well enough, settling for straightening up and grabbing Belo's ankles for support, careful not to twist the tiny feathers there. Finally, you're able to get into it properly, a sickly delight on your face as you watch Belo's figure shift beneath your thrusts.

Is this... What you look like to him? Not a bad sight at all.

Belo's eyes, previously closing at the first taste of rapture your walls brought him, widen like the dinner plates at the notion that he's being well and truly fucked by his human. There's a pause where it looks as if his mind has truly been fried, one eye fixed on your face, another on the sway of your tits, and the other memorizing the way your pussy swallows him.

You won't lie, the rush of dominance, of having something so much more than human willingly present themself for you, allowing a tiny human to ride them into submission- It has you beside yourself with want, and your smirk crashes into a pleasured "oh" as you join Belo in his stunned marveling.

You'll be doing this a lot more often, for sure.

" Hhn- Oh lords please- I- " Belo melts and shivers, his chest fluffing itself further and his wings twitching sporadically. " Humans have- Developed such odd mating customs... "

He's talking like he isn't throbbing madly inside you right now.

" Mhm, you need to catch up on a lot of stuff, pretty boy. "

Though of course, you'll be personally helping with that.

When your mind starts blanking in bliss and your body gives its first warning signs of an approaching peak, you look down at Belo, whose head has tossed onto the pillow supporting his neck and whose wings fan out in a tense crescendo of pleasure. His legs and feet spasm periodically and he moans the wetter his fur becomes with your slick.

Another reason you like his fur is the surprising amount of friction and texture it can offer your clit when you're intimate. It's the soft brush of a feather almost, but enough to bring you closer to orgasm all that quicker! Honestly, the only downside to Belo's incredibly soft fur is that vacuuming is a little more frequent and pesky.

In moments, you're bending to be flush to his body, batting Belo's hands away so you can hold his legs back yourself. It's an even more intense angle, making you feel even more powerful as you hold the angel down and piston his cock into you as hard as you physically can, sweating and panting in exertion.

You're sure you must look downright beastly right now, but all Belo does is whine and mewl, still gazing at you as if you were the most entrancing thing to ever exist, a wonder of the universe above him. The power gathers enough motor coherence to brush strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ear, before his arms flop uselessly at his sides once more, fingers curling in delight.

All those lavender eyes begin to roll, his hips rising off the bed yet smacked back down viciously by the weight of your body thrusting him down, in the midst of his mindless crooning noises, Belo utters your name like a plea for mercy and wraps his arms around your back, your breasts sliding on his chest and his legs reflexively fighting your grip so he can presumably wrap them around your smaller figure too.

He's a vision of the sweetest dream like this.

" Gods please don't stop- Please please- I'm sorry I can't- " The angel cries, tears beading in the corner of his three eyes, absolutely helpless and hopeless beneath you.

All of it comes together to send you well over the edge, throwing you into a climax so shockingly strong that you fuck yourself on him one last leg-shaking time before tensing and crying out to the ceiling. He follows instantly, having been holding himself for a while. You relish the sensation of Belo's cum shooting deep into your hole, only to have no choice except to drip back down and stain him, slip between his legs and yours in grossly warm globs.

Seconds of you two catching your breath silently and fondly pass, until you slowly release Belo's legs and rub his thighs in gratitude. He seems content to remain holding you, though avoids your gaze now that the post-orgasm clarity has him bashful again.

" Thank you for humoring me. " You sigh against his neck.

His wings close over the two of you gently. " Always, my love. "

#Belo oc #yandere angel #monster oc #terato #monsterfucker #terato tag #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #not sfw #minors dni #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster

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sepublic · 1 year ago

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King really has a whole thing about being seen as a toy, a pet, for people to own and play with without his permission. An object to look nice and pretty and not much else, without any wants or needs of his own.

So it feels very poetic that he constantly surrounds himself with toys and plushes to command over; King’s whole Tyrant schtick isn’t just a fantasy for him, it’s a way for him to reclaim lost autonomy by exercising his own control. It’s as if King FEELS like a toy, so he commands other toys because he’s essentially one of them. And it reflects on his juvenile nature, not being taken seriously, the revelation that it’s only ever been pretend, etc.

That makes King’s relationship with Francois very sweet, as a toy from the human world he finds, no thanks to Luz helping him. Luz is someone whose physical cuddling and affections King DOES appreciate, because by the end of the day, Luz respects King as a person and his boundaries. King wants affection actually, but he wants it on his own terms, and there’s a lot of moments where he ‘commands’ Luz and she happily obliges, defends him, etc. Luz is very thoughtful of King’s feelings, and The Intruder is a major episode in which Luz learns to be more mindful of King in general; This of course wins the approval of his father the Titan, who decides to show Luz the light glyph for her kindness.

But anyhow, King loves Francois and treats him kindly, often as a partner and even equal. So with all I’ve said about King’s toy motif, that transitions perfectly into his dynamic with the Collector. There’s the fact that in their initial interactions, the Collector glomps onto a clearly uncomfortable King, like a child with a pet he doesn’t quite understand is a living creature (and in King’s case, not just a pet either but a person). Dana’s own art encapsulates their relationship by portraying King as a terrified plush that the Collector loves;

The Collector is also juvenile and loves to play pretend, and treats people like toys, which is exemplified by them transforming victims into literal toys, who are dressed up to look even prettier. But for all their issues with boundaries, the Collector seems to genuinely love and value their toys, kind of like King with Francois.

This contrasts them with Belos, whom they believe breaks his toys out of fun; That speaks to their different desires, hence the Collector insisting they want to make friends out of others, whereas Belos finds it more simple and satisfying to just destroy his enemies. So the Collector regards his toys as, well, toys; But with a sort of loving respect that a kid who takes good care of their toys and makes sure they’re taken care of does. A projection of feelings and personality… Over the actual feelings and personality that DO exist, but alas.

But that’s where the Collector’s relationship with King develops, because over the course of two months, they begin to respect and listen to King more, value him as a friend, etc. The Collector is more mindful of King’s boundaries, doesn’t immediately glomp onto him, actually bothers to respond to King’s criticisms. When King says the Owl Beast isn’t ready, they listen, and it’s implied the Collector has known about King visiting Eda and Lilith behind their back, but simply allowed it because friends keeping secrets is totally normal, right? And anyhow, King has been so nice, and they love King so much, they don’t want to call him out and ruin things; He can have this.

Which leads to Francois, whom King relates to; The toy that the Collector WANTS to cuddle with. But King sets the boundaries that it’s for him (and Luz) only, and the Collector actually listens. He doesn’t touch Francois behind King’s back, and aside from a moment where he has to take it from Belos’ grasp to defend Francois, puts it right back where it belongs. He can’t have Francois, but the Collector can settle for having him BE there, so close and yet so far.

King is Francois; He’s a beloved toy to the Collector that he loves and appreciates, treats more special than the rest, and practically as a person, a lot of the time. But he’s willing to respect Francois’ boundaries and not play with him when he doesn’t want, just as he does with King, and his visits to his mother and aunt. The Collector obviously has a lot to learn when we check up on them two months later, and King understandably still IS frustrated, hence why he calls out the Collector after the nightmare illusions at the beginning of the series finale…

But King can tell, as a former, unruly child himself, who was only a non-issue because he lacked the power the Collector wields; The Collector is a kid like him. Who’s also learning. Who ultimately means well. And they’ve proven to be rather receptive over these two months; Not quite there, but if you put in the effort to teach and work with them, King is certain it’ll pay off as it did with him.

The Collector was a tyrant like King, and like King, a lot of this comes after being helpless because of others as well; The Collector was put into the care of the manipulative Archivists, and later trapped by the Titan. The only way to contact them was with a disc, an object, and their word was exploited by Bill so he could lead the Titan Trappers and finish the genocide of the Archivists. If the Grimwalkers were toys to Belos, so was the Collector, for him to hide away from everyone else, as his own, like a twisted Francois. And when he’s done with the Collector, he drops him into the pit with the rest of the discarded toys he loves to break.

So like King, the Collector being a tyrant isn’t just the result of kids being kids, it’s also a response to their lack of agency. And tbh, kids in general lack agency, hence why they can be quite unruly troublemakers and rebels, so it makes sense that the Collector also overcompensates, like King does! But both of them learn to be more mindful of boundaries, that their own pain doesn’t justify them doing the same to others, either.

The Collector notes that King isn’t the only person allowed to touch Francois; There’s also Luz. Luz, the kindly older sister who always listened to King and was attentive to his needs, respected him, and was often desired for physical affection. The Collector wants to BE Luz since King admires her so much, hence emulating her while playing Owl House; And Luz also recognizes their similarities, with the forgiveness she gives the Collector, being a form of forgiveness towards herself for being an ‘unruly’ child.

And the Collector also grows, has their loss of innocence, but nevertheless matures, as Luz did. They learn about death, just as Luz learned about death when she lost her father; And the Collector technically loses the Titan that night, who was arguably a turbulent father figure who failed them, too, and laments this fact to Luz. The Collector IS Luz, and like Luz in The Intruder, who gains the approval of the Titan with a light glyph, just as the Titan apologizes for the Collector and lends his power to protect them and others…

The Collector mends their friendship with King and makes it real. They respect and listen to him completely now. And so they get to finally be Luz, not just in their relationship with her, but also in their relationship with King, being allowed to love Francois, even being given him for company by King. Just as Luz is allowed to be King’s friend, and he follows her regularly, even sacrificing himself for her at the end of Season 2.

King and the Collector are toys who want toys to reverse that dynamic; But in the end, nobody can be a toy. And so they grow up and get to play with actual friends, and be friends to others.

#the owl house #king clawthorne #the owl house collector #Luz noceda #parallels #foils #motifs #meta

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