#he is an evil little man and i hate his guts

[kurthorton]

im just saying i could do aria justice better than the show ever did and i dont even like aria

[prismaticpichu]

I love this whole exchange so frigging much. Zack is yet to understand Sephiroth’s motives and moral compass, the almost hate-filled look in his eyes a reflection of how he still holds a whole bunch of rancor towards him from their disagreement in Wutai, glaring at the older man as if he can’t ever believed he ever respected him or even dared to hail him as a hero.

Only for Sephiroth to reveal later that he’s sacrificing his allegiance in order to keep Angeal, the very person Zack thought he was giving up on, alive and safe from ShinRa’s erasure.

“Fail to eliminate them.”

And it’s at that moment where, despite the simmers of bitterness and tension that still boil between them, Zack sees something in Sephiroth that he never saw before.

Not a hero.

Not a First Class SOLDIER.

But a loyal, loyal friend.

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan with a Luo Binghe dakimakura is great but sometimes I stop and think about how a role reversal would have looked (i.e. Binghe as the reader who transmigrates in, Shen Yuan as the fictional character he was obsessing over) and oh my god. Fan Binghe who grew up with chronically online geek culture would have been next level in the absence of an actual, physical Shen Yuan/SQQ. Fan Binghe would have owned everything. He probably would have had to commission it all himself, either because the novel wasn't popular enough for the level of desired merch or because the mainstream commercially produced products were too cheap or flimsy or inaccurate for his specifications or probably both. Perfect hand fan recreations. Replica Xiu Ya (it's an actual sword) hanging on his wall. Fanart both done in a classical style (as in, 'what Shen Qingqiu might actually have hanging on his walls') as well as a variety of character portraits and erotic art zines. Printed and hand-bound copies of his favorite fanfics. Somewhere in China there's an amateur bookbinder who is making BANK off of this obsession, producing the most high level gorgeously bound copies of the filthiest smut and fluffiest hurt-comfort teacher/student fics.

Luo Binghe would be controversial in fandom because he is just as nitpicky and wank-y as Shen Yuan, with an extra dose of turning up in the comments sometimes to act like a jealous/possessive boyfriend accusing writers of being a little TOO lustful towards his unlikely waifu, but on the other hand he is rich and he will pay through goddamn nose for anything and everything that caters to his preferences. So a solid chunk of the fan creators just do things they think he'd like because they want in on the cash cow, while much of the rest of the fandom hates his guts because they feel like he hijacked everything with his own fanon and headcanons and obsessions. Shen Yuan isn't even that popular! Most of the rest of the fandom is kind of down on him as a cliche clueless danmei protagonist, they're all there for the score of blueballed love interests. Beautiful Liu Qingge and darkhorse Shang Qinghua and mysterious, tortured Yue Qingyuan and whatever the hell is going on with his evil doppelganger, Shen Jiu. Luo Binghe doesn't ever commission Shen Yuan with any of them, though! He's always solo, or maybe with a faceless tentacle monster or something!

It gets weird. There are probably Woman Buying Wonder Bread-esque memes about Binghe's highly specific kink commissions. On the other hand, Luo Binghe comes down harder than the actual artists on unsanctioned reposts because he commissioned Shen Yuan in that sexy lingerie fondling a really huge sword and it's not just for anyone to go around putting that up on whatever website they please!

He would own several dakimakura and they would arguably be more normal than a lot of the rest of his collection, is what I'm saying. He'd have them in different poses and seasonal outfits and versions that were acceptable for company and ones that had to get tucked into a drawer under the bed every morning because they were for Binghe's eyes only. And it wouldn't even just be the sexy ones, but also the ones where Shizun looks soft and fond and gentle and affectionate. The man was definitely working his way up to commissioning a lifelike Shen Yuan sex doll when the universe did absolutely everyone a favor and yeeted him into a transmigration scenario.

[aingeal98]

The thing about Cass is that the law holds very little value to her sense of right and wrong compared to Bruce. She's like oh the government thinks this man should die? Let's break into the execution chamber and break him out. Tim wants to call the police? That's stupid when I can just keep fighting bad guys until I get the answers I need. A assassin hesitates before killing a kid? Projection levels firing high today let's break into the CIA baby.

But then you bring up the one area of life where there are no easy feelings, where everything is complicated and it hurts: Her childhood with David Cain. He shot her for fun and she loves him and he loves her and showed her stars and constellations as a kid and he made her kill a man. And no one will understand that for the longest time the only part of her childhood that felt clearly deep bad wrong was the kill. The rest of it was... Not fine but something she misses sometimes. And no one else will ever understand why because it doesn't make sense to anyone except Cass.

So you bring 17/18 y/o Cass a case of child abuse, especially one that's not as clear cut as physically violent parent, where the father is a good man but a criminal by law, and the mother is cold, neglectful and uncaring, and that's the one time where Cass will rely on the law. David Cain is a bad man because he made her kill. He loved her but he was a bad father because he made her a criminal. Cass sees this man who is a thief (neutral to Cass, bad to the law) who loves his daughter, and her projection levels go through the roof. Yes the woman is abusive but Cass hasn't processed her own abuse. David is bad because he's a criminal not because he hurt her. She can't make the decision who the good parent is. She can't even decide how she feels about her own father.

Except it's not true, she does make the decision. On a different day, one where Cass was not reeling from the revelation of David cain being her biological father, she might very well choose not to let the man get arrested, to help him with his daughter. The law is something Cass falls back on only when her sense of purpose is in disarray. Twice we see her falter, when she let's the father get arrested and earlier in another issue when she puts the man back on death row. Both cases she projects hard, on the death row killer and on the daughter of the thief. Both times she ends the story miserable and with a deep sense of wrongness. She followed the law, she followed their version of justice.

And her gut tells her that this is not right. This is not how things should be.

Cass believes in herself. Cass believes in gut instinct for right and wrong.

Cass believes that she is an evil murderer, not someone who can ever fully belong with the actual heroes. There is something rotten inside of her, and when the situation is too similar, when she's reminded that she was raised to be a killer, a weapon who can never truly be good, just desperately trying to prove herself while feeling she never can...

Cass deferres to the law. And she hates every second of it almost as much as she hates herself.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Pulled by the Scarlet Reins✨

Witch Trial! Joel x fem! reader

A/N: I came up with this one-shot idea by listening to “Cassandra” by Taylor Swift! I hope you enjoy, and please give me all your feedback and thoughts 🩵 This one is a bit angsty. No beta readers. Nervous and excited to share this one!

Summary: In the hate filled town of Salem, no one is safe. With accusations flying daily, no one is spared from speculation. When the blame is pointed at you, who will be there to defend you?

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Tags: So much angst, hurt Joel, soft Joel, switching POVs, witch trial au, talk of death, grief, smut, oral receiving (fem), unprotected piv, creampie, protective Joel, yearning, pining, Joel seeks revenge, religious trauma

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The weather is cloudy, the sky full of windblown fire ash as another innocent woman is burned to death. You can smell the flesh rotting, hear the excruciating screams fill the amber colored sky as you mourn the loss of Cassandra.

It happened months ago, but you still hear it. The agonizing pleas as she begged for someone to save her, but she couldn’t be saved, not here. She was the only friend you had in this godforsaken town called Salem. She was your best friend, your soul sister, family.

They’re all gone now. Dead, murdered. Now you have no one. You’re all alone in a town hellbent to burn all the innocents they call witches. And you hate it, despise everything about this evil place. You just want to run far, far away from here. What a dream that would be, to get away from the gut wrenching noise of the town named for murders.

   David is the worst of them. The priest of the ungodly church, with his cold blue eyes, a snarl that bites anything he touches, slicked back blonde hair that sets fire to innocent women. He’s a devil disguised as a savior, tricking any man into following him into the depths of despair. You hate the man, hate this fucked up town, but escape is death, too. But what’s worse? Getting mauled by a bear or getting burned to death at the stake? You’d take the bear mauling over all of it.  

   It’s simple enough. You break the rules, do anything to get noticed by the Protestant men of the town, and you get executed. It doesn’t matter if you plead a case, doesn’t matter if you can prove you’re innocent, doesn’t even fucking matter if you’re a member of the goddamn church. If you do anything any of them don’t like, you get hung or worse, burned. 

   So now all you have is this little wooden house made by the rough hands of dirty men, men you’d rather not speak about. All you have are memories of Cassandra sharing your space, her essence still swirling around this lonely room as you pace back and forth day after day trying to hold on to memories that once belonged to you. When you had a friend, when you weren’t so alone, but now you were left with the haunted ghosts of this town. 

   Sometimes they show up at your doorstep when it’s calm and quiet after midnight, spreading their cries of warning to flee the area. But where would you run to? Who would you have? No one. But you don’t have anyone now, so what does it matter? You’re dead either way. 

   You lull around your house, assessing the various shapes and colors of bottles you hold your collected herbs in, twisting the lids on tightly and lining them up neatly across the tall oak shelf. Green lush vines and pink tulips hang across the wide layout of the large glass window, where the sun kisses their gorgeous leaves and makes them grow and thrive in a state of wonder. This house is your only safe haven. Outside is a blood soaked warzone, filled with snakes and gossips that you’d rather avoid. 

   You don’t engage with the toxic church in town; you stopped going right after Cassandra was accused and sentenced to death. Nothing could make you go back to those haunted paint covered church pews, listening to the priest that spews venom about anything and everything he can. You’re a prisoner to this town of hatred, mourning losses of fallen friends and family members who you’d never see again. You’d never conform to this, you’d find a way out. Someday, somehow. You’d get the freedom you so desperately seeked.

   Just when you start assessing some sprouting lilac petals, the wooden door slams open with a bang, making the entire house quiver under the sudden strike. You jump back, watching the potted lilacs fall to the floor as the ceramic pot smashes to tiny pieces. You feel cold, icy hands push you against the wall, holding you back as you watch the hateful men tear apart the only thing you have left in this sunken town.

   “What’s this, hmm? Practicing magic in my town?” David seethes as he holds up a bottle of fresh sage and smashes it to the ground, the glass shattering into tiny pieces like your own heart feels like. 

   “No, those are my plants!” You scream in horror as he continues to smash each bottle one by one, piece by piece. 

   “They don’t look like just plants to me, sunshine. Looks to me like you’ve been meddling in the devil’s affairs,” David snarls as he breaks another bottle of lavender. 

   “No, that’s not it! Please, STOP!” You yell as the men push you back against the covered blue wallpaper. You fight with all your might to break away from their hold, but it’s no use. You have to just stand there in shambles watching your entire life fall apart before your tear soaked eyes. 

   “Shut up, witch! Bite your tongue, you little devil,” he snarls as he comes over in front of you and fists the front of your dress as you see violent, icy eyes stare into your soul. “Now, you’re going to see what the consequences of being friends with Cassandra are. Following in her footsteps, pathetic! Just watch what happens to witches who don’t pay attention in church.”

   He tosses you back against the wall as you watch him slowly destroy your safe little haven. He breaks every single glass bottle in the house, tears apart every vine and flower that sits atop your kitchen counter, flips over granite tables, and destroys everything you ever loved in this space you called home. 

   You feel completely defeated, your silent screams making you dizzy as you plead for him to stop, crying out until your throat runs dry and wet tears stain your crimson cheeks. You watch him pull apart the last of Cassandra’s things, watch him murder her all over again as he lights a match and sets her golden heart locket necklace ablaze. 

   “No!” You shout, scream till your throat is completely on fire as you watch him spread the flames to your destroyed treasures. 

   He grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you out of the house, your white dress snagging on the ground as you become covered in grass stains and dirt, your scalp feeling like it’s about to be pulled off completely as you thrash against his hold. 

   “Witch!” He screams to the growing crowd as they all gather around to watch the next innocent life be taken from the haunted town, except none of them even offer to help. They just stand silent or yell accusations at you as you sit fragile on the soaked grass, feeling the weight of all the hate crash down on you like you really are guilty. You’re not though, you’re just an innocent girl whose life got ripped in half by a lying devil of a man. 

   “Burn it down! Destroy it! Kill the witch!” The horrible words come bellowing out of the community’s mouths, feeding David hate as he smirks your way and nods at the men. 

   “Do it,” he snarls. And they listen, just like they always do. They set your house ablaze, lighting matches and pouring gasoline until you see nothing but orange flames dance across the entirety of your house.

   “No, no, NO!” You muster up all your strength and push yourself off the damp ground, planning to make a run towards the crumbling house as it starts to topple from the hot flames of the ignited fire. 

   “Stay back, witch! We aren’t done with you yet.” One of the men pushes you down, and you feel your palms scrape against the rough ground, feeling blood soak the green grass as your fingernails dig into the cold dirt. You try to get a grip on reality, try to drown out all the screaming chants your way, but it’s no use. They’re echoing all around your mind, stabbing stakes into your body as you feel their filthy nails dig like chalk into your skin, smothering you in hate that you can barely tolerate. Your ears bleed, seep blood as you muster all of your strength to lift your aching head off the dirt covered ground. 

   You see the hateful snarls of the people, see the way they point accusing fingers and call you witch again and again until your brain starts to fog over like a thick mist. You feel the warm tears spill down your embarrassed cheeks, feel the weight of the world come crashing down on you as they cast you down in shame with scornful threats and vulgar gestures. And you’ve never felt more alone than you do now in this little town of deceitful fools.

   You feel the kick of someone’s boot, feel your shoulders being pushed down into a clump of wilting grass as you grunt and lay flat against the hollow earth. You feel as if you’re a tiny insect, its wings being torn off and ripped to shreds as the beautiful monarch butterfly dies in the hands of the vengeful enemies. You’re nothing but a speck of dried up filth now, and that makes you feel so defeated. 

   With every ounce of energy you have left in your frayed body, you dig your nails into the dirt, grunt out in pain as you lift yourself on your hands and knees, trying to ignore the rustling of burning wood and screams of past ghosts that were burnt in the flames time and time again. 

   You slowly lift your head, feeling a bit dizzy as the town lifts their semblance of pitchforks and dusty bibles in their hands, shouting angry chants at you to “Burn the witch” as they spit and crowd around you. Every single one of them follows David’s advances, snarling and bellowing death threats your way as you stare hopelessly into the sea of misled bodies. All of them twisting their words and spewing violence your way. 

   Your teary eyes scan the crowd, looking around for someone, anyone to help you, but there’s no one. No one that’ll take the risk. Your gaze covers the sea, eyelashes drenched in wet tears as your bottom lip quivers in fright. All you see are monsters in front of you, all around you, their claws lashing against your innocent skin as they spill blood over the town of Salem. Not a lick of remorse in their bodies as they continue to take innocent lives again and again. But that’s what they want, what they were taught to do. They never learned it was all a false lore to kill the ones who didn’t obey him. David. A false god on an altar made of death and bones of burnt bodies. 

   You hear the chants continue, feel the warmth from the bitter flames that took everything from you in an instant as your house sits in ash behind you. You can barely look up, barely keep your fingernails embedded in the soft grass, but you do. You can’t let them break you, even if you are already broken when they took it all away from you. Starting with Cassandra, then your family, then your home, your plants, your precious memories that were tucked away safely in that house. Now you have nothing. So maybe dying won’t be the worst thing because you already died the moment they took it all away from you. Now you’re just a corpse among this godforsaken town. They already burned everything you loved, what was another body in an ashy fire? 

   Your throat burns, no more tears left inside you as you feel the sting of bloodshot eyes scan the angry crowd again, enduring the weight of hatred sitting on your chest like you’ve been covered in gravel rocks, the heaviness consuming your insides until you can’t breathe, can’t speak. You’re just there, unalive, drowning in hate filled screams. 

   Your heart slows as you drown out the shouting voices, eyes swarming the sea of people until you see one that stands out amongst the others. In the very back, unmoving, not screaming death threats like the others, not making a sound as he watches with remorse covering the dark shadows of his sorrow filled eyes. 

   Your eyes grow wide as you stare at him, your gaze finding a safe haven in those flecks of honey colored irises that shine a little light down on you. He’s not like the others, no. He’s gentle, kind, a little rough around the edges, but it’s him that pulls you out of the flames, if only for just a few seconds. Joel Miller. The man that was never like the others. 

   He may be broken, may be hollow and bruised beneath his broken military watch, a mere ghost dragging his worn leather boots through the dirt just to get by in this miserable town day after day. The entire town may think little of him, may think he’s scum underneath their shiny church shoes, but you never did. No. He was the only thing that kept your head above water. The only light you saw.

   He watches you carefully, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. His fingers flex, jaw clenching as he looks at you with pain in those flecks of warmth. You feel the sadness and agony reflect in your teary eyes, feel exactly what he must’ve suffered when they took the life of Sarah, his only daughter, his only family, but now she’s gone. Just withered ashes in the blowing wind. And you feel it then as the sorrow takes over those cloudy dark eyes, can see it in the way he holds his tired muscles as he hunches his large shoulders. He wants to help, but he can’t. They’d just pull him by his grey threaded tousled curls and throw him in the grave, bury him alive while he suffocates in the damp dirt that holds the bones of his now dead child. 

   You feel a leaking teardrop escape one of your glossy eyes, your gaze never leaving his even as some men start to drag you away towards the haunted church. They pull your hair, digging their rough cut nails into your damaged skin as you watch Joel’s brows knit together, the lines mapping out on his forehead as he fists his clenched fingers at his sides. 

   While everyone else follows to the church, Joel stays behind. His large silhouette fading away when they drag you up the rough staircase and into the dimly lit church, throwing your body into the middle of the pews as they laugh and cast evil remarks your way. 

   You keep your head down as David reprimands you, tossing you against the dusty white walls while your fingernails rip into the fading paint. There’s nothing you can do or say, they’ve made up their mind. You’ll be burned at dawn the next day. This is it. They might as well give you a noose, let you tie yourself to a tree and end it all. You’d rather it be that way than watch the people you hate burn you alive. 

   You just face the blood soaked wall, curling your body into a tight ball as they tear you to shreds. You never were meant to be in this town, with these people. You just got unlucky, and now you’d die with the innocent souls of the lives they took day after day. And now you’d burn with them.

   Joel watches them take you away, dragging you to the church by your lifeless arms and your long locks of hair. He doesn’t follow, can’t bear the sight of watching another innocent life be thrown into the flames. His fingers flex, jaw clenched into a tight fist as he flares his nostrils. He can’t stand to see you hurting, could barely watch as they took everything from you and burned your house to black ashes. And your face. That beautiful, innocent face he was so captivated by. He can’t even muster the anger that sits in his heavy soul. 

   You don’t deserve this, any of this. You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t say a damn thing to draw attention to yourself. It all started with Cassandra, the first innocent woman that ever lost her life, and then it spiraled from there. 

   He knows the feeling of loss, knows exactly how it feels to have the most important thing snatched from his own rough hands. He went through that hell, watched his own daughter get accused of witchcraft in the walls of the unholy church. He fought like hell, throwing his body over his Sarah as they dragged her from his reach and held him back so they could tear her to shreds. 

   He cursed them out, damning them all to hell while they bound her hands and spilled holy water all over her body. He still hears her agonizing screams night after night, still sees her body alight with flames while they held him down against the mud and made him watch while he screamed in suffering with tear soaked eyes. He remembers it all, remembers them threatening his life after he got up and almost beat a man to death. His knuckles were bloody, body broken as they pushed him down and knocked him out with the back of a wooden plank. 

   He remembers everything. The pain, the loss, the absolute horror of living day after day in a town full of demons. And now he bleeds himself dry night after night, day after day. He has nothing left to give, no fight in him now. Now he’s just a hollow body, a broken man cursed to live in a place he so desperately despises. He wants out. God, does he want out. 

   But now there’s you. The woman he’s pined after for months. The rare beauty that captured his black heart, a ray of sunshine that showed him the light. It was the small smiles and grazing of skin, the gifted flowers, the afternoon small talks in the wildflower fields. He wishes he got the chance to kiss you, to tell you how much you saved him after his daughter was taken from him. But now it’s too late. He couldn’t save Sarah, and now he can’t save you. And it kills him, it fucking kills him. 

   He hears your gut wrenching screams, hears the crowd chant “Witch” repeatedly as his ears bleed dry. He covers his ears, kneels on the ground as dirt covers the fabric of his worn pants. He can’t hear it, can’t bear to know they’re torturing you. He wants to murder all of them, burn the whole goddamn town down, and maybe he will. Maybe this will push him to his last straw. He certainly won’t watch them burn you. No. He has to do something, anything. 

    He knows they’ll either throw you in a jail cell with venomous snakes or they’ll tie you and leave you in the field overnight. Where bears, creatures of the night, or monsters can take you out before the crack of dawn. He knows they’ll burn you early in the morning, crowd your body with hateful accusations and weapons they use like pitchforks. They won’t give you a chance to explain or to show you’re not guilty. They’ll just swallow your cries whole with their fiery tongues and amber ashes as they set your body alight. 

   He can’t see it, can’t hear it, can’t stand the thought of it. But what can a broken man do in a ruined town filled with cult following people that call themselves saints. He hates them, all of them. But he hates himself the most for not being able to save the people he cared most about. 

   He has to save you, even if it gets himself killed. For he’d rather stand on the thresholds of death with the fiery flames than see your gorgeous face melt into the depths of red embers. He’d walk through the black mist of hell, cross the fiery lakes of no return just to touch the softness of your skin.

   You were innocent, a pure angel in a broken world. He wasn’t going to watch you die. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. 

   

They leave you tied to a post in the middle of the field, a little ways out from the sparkling lights from the little town. They gave you no room to move, gave you no remorse when you whined at the sharp rope digging into your skin. They only laughed at you, spitting hateful words as they left you alone in the chill of night. 

   Now you sulk against the rough bindings, tears streaming down your now wet face, nowhere to go, no one to call. You’re just here. Alone. Hours away from being burned in the field. The one where lost lives cry into the darkness of night, their haunted pleas and screams still filling your ears. You’d cover your ears if you could, drown out the noise with your own cries, but it’s too late. Soon enough you’ll join in on the chorus of the dead.

   You rest your head on the rough post, look up at the blinking stars in the night sky, try to relax and calm your mind. Soon you’ll float up there while your body burns alive. Maybe there you won’t feel any pain, won’t feel anything that might hurt you. And that’s all you can think as the numbness drowns the anxiety out of your frail body.

   Your mind starts to slip to a warmer place, an untouched place that hasn’t been quite explored. A nook deep in your mind that reflects soft brown irises and scents of freshly brewed coffee. Somewhere where you wished you could’ve spent more time, got closer, pushed aside all boundaries and slipped against his plush lips.

   Joel Miller, the only man that had been remotely kind to you in this tainted town. You remember that day in the flower field. That warm, sunny day. He had been so close, his breath blowing against your cheek, his crooked smile shining rays of light against your delicate skin. You felt it, the tension, the longing, the raging desire that almost spilled out of the cracks of broken skin on his calloused fingers. God, you wish you could’ve felt those warm lips melting into yours. All you wanted was one kiss, but now it was too late. You’d never feel his touch again.

   You groan into the worn post, feel the tears begin to lick the sides of your eyes, dig your hands against the jagged rope that cuts into your reddening skin. The more you tug, the more the rope shreds your aching skin. You wince, struggling to stand comfortably in this position. You finally give up, relax as much as you can and kiss tomorrow goodbye. You won’t last long after the sun rises high in the sky. 

   Minutes tick by, the seconds struggling to give you an ounce of redemption. This was it. You were going to die alone, no dreamy sunkissed brown irises to soothe you to sleep, no gravelly voice to tell you everything would be alright. He wouldn’t be there to save you in the end.

   The tears crash over you, silent cries to the fading ghosts of Salem, begging for them to send a message, pleading for one to slip their cold whisps of fingers to untangle you from this rope so you can run far away, far from Salem.

   You close your eyes and pray to anyone that may be listening to send someone, anyone. This can’t be the end, it just can’t.

   You slump your head low, feeling your tears dry on your cold cheeks, eyelashes wet with old tears. This is it, this is… 

   You hear a loud snap in the near distance, hear leather boots crunching against the green grass. Your head shoots up, eyes searching for whatever made the pacing noises in the middle of the night. Your eyes go wide when you see the large form emerging from the shadows, broad shoulders pulling at the blue flannel button-up with each step he takes, rough hands balled into tight fists. Joel. 

   Your mouth drops open, and you suddenly forget to breathe. He stands in front of you, deep brown eyes that reflect sadness of his warm irises, furrowed brows as he slides his eyes over your weathered form, your frayed dress, the claw marks that run down to your bound hands. His lips flinch, jaw clenches as he takes in just what they did to you inside the church. It’s like he consumes your pain, bathes in it, shares your scars that David and the town marked you in. 

   “Joel,” you whisper in a broken tone as a fresh tear slides down the side of your face. He sighs, feeling the sting of a tear in the back of his throat. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Just a muted mutter that sounds a lot like your name spilling off his tongue. 

   He huffs, clambers over to you and cuts the rope with one slice of the silver knife, freeing your burning wrists as you stumble from the post and fall against his broad chest, his arms stabilizing you from falling to the ground. 

   You flick your eyes up to his slowly, letting his calloused palms linger on your skin as he grounds you back to earth. You’re so cold, the chilly air marking your skin, but he’s so warm, even with just his hands on you. Warm sunlight, that’s what he is. 

   “Joel, you saved me…” you whisper, voice unstable as your shaky breath escapes your lungs.”Why did you…”

   He stares at you, amber flecks glimmering in the moonlight as he takes a deep, steady breath. “You’re innocent. I couldn’t jus’ stand back and watch ‘em torture you like they did with… well, you know. Sarah… I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. I jus’… couldn’t watch you burn, too,” he says sadly, his shaky breath blowing against your face.

   There’s a second of tension in the air, a breath of something different between the two of you. Just two bodies that simply burn for the other, even if no words are said. It’s there. It’s right here, right now.

   “You never were like the others, you know?” He takes one hand and cradles it on your cheek, taking the tip of his calloused thumb and sliding it up and down gently as you lean into him, into his warm embrace. 

   His eyes flick down to your lips, your eyes begging him to lean in, to take exactly what he’s wanted to do for so very long. Your hand is clasped around his wrist, not willing to let go until his lips are on yours. 

   The air around you stills, the forest behind you now quiet, only the sounds of yours and Joel’s ragged breaths coming in waves, only the quickening heartbeats that quake with every touch of his calloused fingers to your skin.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   His forehead rests on yours, lips brushing carefully against yours. You’re so close, so close to him pressing all his weight into you. He practically shouts your name as his lips draw near. One more move and he’d close all the way in. 

   Just when you close your eyes and wait with anticipation biting at your heels, he’s pulling away from you and running his fingers through his disheveled curls. You try to reach out, but he steps out of your reach and nods his head in the direction of the dark forest. 

   “Go on, get out of here. Before they come lookin’ for ya. Go, now.” His voice is deep, rugged, tormented, his dark eyes glistening with held back tears like he’s fighting himself from telling you to leave. 

   “But…” 

   “Please, jus’ go. If they found you they’d…” His voice drowns out as he hangs his head low, the shadows fading against the greying scruff of his patchy beard. 

   You turn your head and look towards the muted forest. The one that holds tormented ghosts and creatures of the dark. A place you don’t want to go alone, but anywhere would be better than this horror town. But Joel… you can’t seem to leave him behind.

   You snap your head towards him and whisper, “Come with me.”

   He lifts his tired head and stares at you, all wide-eyed and searching your anguished face. “What?” His voice is strangled, like he can’t believe what you’re asking him to do. 

   “Come with me,” you repeat slowly. “There’s nothing here holding you back. I… you… we both had everything taken from us. And I don’t want to leave if that means you’re stuck here alone. You and me… well, we’re the same.”

   He takes a beat to register your words, dips inside his own mind as he relives the day they took Sarah, the day they forced him to watch while his world got torn to shreds. You hold out your hand, and he just stares wide-eyed at it, his fingers curling out, just like he wants to take your hand. He does, he really does, but there’s just one thing holding him back. David.

   He flicks his eyes to the sleeping town and then back at you, as if he has an agenda to get to. He nods his head and looks your way, a plan already set in motion in those flecks of honey. “There’s jus’ one thing I need to do first.” 

   “What’s that?” you ask, interest arising with your quiet voice.

   He looks back to the hollow town, and his eyes narrow and slit together as he sets fire in his mind to this haunted place. His hand clenches into a tight fist, and he spits venom from his tongue. “We’re gonna burn it all down.”

   Your mouth gapes open in shock, eyes wide, but then he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him. The wind whips through your hair, your heart thunders through your chest when he drags you along back into the dark town. 

   He wastes no time and grabs a large container of gasoline and starts spreading it all along the houses and buildings of the eerie town. You follow along, grabbing your own container and spilling it over bells of hay and wooden boards. You douse everything you see, wanting to burn every single inch of this religious town, wanting to destroy David, the culprit of all this land of turmoil and destruction. 

   You move quickly, barely making a sound as you soak a large ring around the town, watching Joel march up to David’s closed door with a deep scowl on his face. Your eyes go wide as you watch him go through, barely waiting a minute before he’s dragging David by the scruff of his neck, giving him no breath to himself. 

   “What the fuck is this, let me go!” David screams as he kicks and claws at the denim of Joel’s jeans.

   “No,” he growls as he shoves David’s face into the dirt and kicks him hard in the gut, David’s face contorting into blind rage and pain. 

   “This is for my daughter, for not lettin’ her go when she was an innocent little girl,” he seethes as he lands a strong kick under David’s chin, spewing blood every which way. 

   “This is for holdin’ me down and makin’ me watch as you burned her alive. This is for murderin’ my only child, the only thing that kept me sane in this fuckin’ church goin’ town.” He punches a fist against his nose, hearing the crack of bones as David topples over and holds his broken nose. 

   “This is for tryin’ to take away the only other woman that ever shined sunlight in this godforsaken town. This is for burnin’ all her plants, her house, for killin’ everyone she had left. This is for tryin’ to take her away from me.” 

   There’s tears streaming down his worn, tanned face now, pieces of grief and exhaustion reflecting off his glassy brown eyes, hurt mapped along the wrinkled lines on his forehead, pain bleeding from the surface of his now bruised knuckles. 

   You stand there watching him silently, feeling a wet tear fall down your cheek as you consume the pain he’s felt all these years, all the grief that’s hung like a dead weight on his broad shoulders. And you suddenly feel like you understand him completely. He’s broken, just like you are, and all you want to do is wrap your arms around his neck and tell him that you’re here for him, he’s safe with you, always. 

   Another kick and another punch to the face, an endless cycle of taking all his rage and hate on David, the man that took everything from him. After a few seconds he looks up from the ground, a large hand wrapped around David’s bloody collar, a fist hanging just inches from his bruised up face. He stops dead in his tracks as his glistening, tear filled eyes look up at you, and that’s when you feel everything he’s ever felt.

   You take a few cautious steps in his direction, feel another tear lick the corner of your eye, feel your heart shatter with every step you take closer to him. He just watches you, deep breaths leaving his lungs, his tired eyes pleading for someone, anyone to help. 

   One more step and you’re right beside him, reaching a hand out to run calmly through his dark, tousled locks, Joel searching your eyes for a way to escape his misery. He leans into your touch, allows your fingers to slide through his hair, even closes his eyes as a low groan escapes his plush lips.

   Another moment passes gently by, and then he’s rolling David out of the way and wrapping his strong arms tightly around your legs, letting hot tears slide down his face as they hit your bare skin. You let him bury himself in you, let him take the comfort he needs as he grasps you tighter, his quiet tears filling the space between the two of you. 

   This is what he needs, what he always needed. Someone that would listen, that would help take the pain away, someone that would understand what he’s gone through. And that’s you, it’s you. 

   He drags you down to the ground with him and wraps his arms tightly around your back, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as warm tears fill the cotton of the front of your dress. You wrap your arms around his neck, push your fingers gently through his tousled locks, giving him all the comfort he needs right now from you. He can have it all, it’s his, it’s all his. 

   “It’s okay, Joel. I’m right here. Let it out. All your pain, lay it on me. It’s going to be okay. You’ve got me, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright,” you coo into the shell of his ear, feeling him relax into your hold, letting his fingers cling around the back of your dress. “You’re safe with me,” you whisper, and that’s when he leans back and looks you dead in the eyes, all glossy eyed and teary from the weight of the world crashing down on him.

   He opens his mouth, looks softly down at you and smiles warmly at you, even through all the pain he still smiles. For you. He smiles for you. 

   “You’re so… good. You’ve always been so good. I should’ve… I should’ve…” He’s rudely interrupted from a coughing, blubbering mess of a man behind him, and he turns sharply over his shoulder to look at David.

   “Well, ain’t that sweet? Sharing a moment together? Please, makes me want to vomit,” David coughs, blood splattering all over the ground from his throat. “Why don’t you two love birds just burn in hell where you belong?”

   Something snaps in Joel, his eyes go pitch black and his scowl digs into the side of his mouth as he gets up and drags David to the church by his bloody ankle. Joel throws him inside the white peeling doors and drenches him in gasoline until he can barely form a coherent sentence.

   “No, you burn in hell,” Joel growls, lighting a match and throwing it on his body. 

   Joel takes your hand and backs you up slowly, watching David writhe in pain while the church starts to topple and crumble on top of him, the worn walls collapsing from the amber fire that starts to consume the haunted town.

   “Run,” Joel pleads as he takes your hand and leads you to the dark forest, only looking back to hear the horror screams and watch the burning flames swallow the entire town. 

   Your breath is shaky, your feet burning with every step you take, but Joel keeps you upright as his fingers lock around yours and pulls you through the thick, foggy night. You don’t look back, block out the dying screams like you did with Cassandra, just focus on your quick breath and your tired feet.

   You run and run and run, escaping anything that can hurt you, anything that can claw your skin and drag you back into the burning flames of the lost town. They’re gone now, vanished in the fiery flames, burned alive just like that did to all those innocent women. 

   It’s over, done, you escaped, you got out. All because of Joel. Joel. Your savior in disguise. 

   Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s all you see, all you know, all you feel. It’s here with you right now, he’s here. Joel is here. 

   He takes a moment to catch his breath as moonlight shines down on the sweat of his thick brows, cascading off the reflection of his tanned skin beneath a towering oak tree. You focus on him, his quick breaths, his dark eyes that seem to cast shadows over you, thick hands grasping against the rough bark as he slowly looks up, hovers just a little closer and then stares, mouth partly open as he takes in your windblown hair and your stormy eyes.

   Another drawn breath and he’s sucking it back in. “Are you alright?” he asks quickly, eyes piercing into yours with worry.

   “I’m… I’m alright,” you answer, still dazed from what happened minutes ago. The fire, the angry ambush of David, the whole town now scorching in the flames where they belong, where they should’ve been long ago.

   He takes another step forward, the worn leather of his boots meeting your scraped toes. “I should’ve known they were gonna do it. I should’ve fuckin’ known they were gonna burn your house down, accuse you of bein’ a witch, should’ve fuckin’ knew they planned to murder you in the break of daylight under flames.”

   He hangs his head in defeat, like he didn’t already save you, like he could’ve done more, and your heart breaks from the guilt that eats him alive. “If I would’ve jus’ kept goin’ to that goddamned church. If I would’ve fuckin’ listened to what the people in town were sayin’ ‘bout you. If I would’ve jus’ been a better man I could’ve saved you. Maybe I could’ve…”

   You press a palm to his heaving chest, curl your fingers around the soft blue flannel, engrave yourself just a little into his damp skin, enough to feel yourself in his fast beating heart. He stills beneath your touch, looks down and puts his entire attention on you, waiting with tear stained eyes right on the verge of spilling.

   “Joel, you did save me. You got me out before they could burn me. You took David out, you put the town of hell to rest. You freed me from my bindings, you came with me, you didn’t leave me alone. You saved everything about me…”

   His eyes bore into yours, something like desire and fate twisting together, an inkling of relief leaving his doe eyes as his fingers cautiously trace against your bare arm, slow circles of the pad of his calloused thumb dancing across your wrist like a tide full of warm waves lapping against your body. It’s comforting, magnetic even as his skin connects with yours so slowly, so steadily, almost like a lazy river rippling through the forest. 

   He sighs, slowly lifts his large hand to cup your cheek, calloused fingers gently drawing lines against your soft skin. You lean into it, breathe in his pinecone scent, almost taste what his lips might feel like on yours. Like a breath of fresh air, a breath of life. 

   “I had to save you. You were the only thing left that kept my heart beating. The only sunshine I saw under those cloudy grey skies,” he breathes, glossy eyes slipping into yours as they flick down to your mouth. 

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   “I should’ve kissed you back in that flower field when I had the chance. The way your hair flowed behind your shoulders, your sparkling eyes, your fuckin’ breathtaking smile. I jus’…” He leans his forehead down against yours, lips skating across your mouth as he passes them by, his gentle caress of your face as soft as a feather. 

   And he’s so soft, like a red rose petal beneath all the thorns and vines that disconnects him from anyone else. He doesn’t show this side of himself to anyone else, but he shows you. He shows you.

   “You just what?” you whisper, holding your breath as he cages you against the trunk of the tree, one hand still caressing your face with his rough palm while the other wraps around your waist.

   Another breath, another touch from his thumb as it traces along your bottom lip. He looks down, focuses in on your lips as he wets his own, hazel eyes staring down at you as he gulps down any fear he may be holding on to. 

   “I jus’ need to… need to… fuck, jus’ need you on my lips, sweetheart.” 

   Before you can move an inch he crashes down on your lips, cradles your face with his large palms as you sink into his broad chest, your fingers twisting into the flannel fabric that clings to you. 

   The kiss is slow, desperate, hungry. You feel as if this is the first time you’re breathing life into your body as Joel gives himself to you. He pulls you in by your waist as your arms circle around his neck, one hand combing through his messy curls as he groans into your mouth.

   You part your lips, allow him to slot his tongue in as you taste all of him colliding against your own tongue. You moan into his mouth, let his tongue chase yours as you down the whisky taste of him, lapping him up like he’s your only oxygen supply left. You think you feel forever in his taste. 

   He tugs at your worn dress, slides the cotton material down your arms until it hits the dirt on the ground. You quickly pull his flannel free, tugging the leather belt loose while his tongue licks feverishly into your mouth. 

   He brings you down gently to the ground, makes sure your body lands on top of his fanned out flannel, makes sure you’re okay when he disconnects from your lips and looks down at you with a hesitant stare.

   “Is this okay? We can stop if it’s too much. We don’t have to…”

   “Joel,” you stop him, give him a small smile as you nod up to him. “It’s okay. I want you to. Please, don’t stop,” you plead.

   He takes your answer and swallows it down, sits back on his heels as he gazes down at your splayed out, bare body under the glistening moonlight, looking starstruck from just how absolutely breathtaking you are under the glow of the moon. He thinks you look angelic, like you’re made of glitter and gold, like you’re made just for him.

   He takes his hand and runs it along your jawline, down your neckline, over the dip of your hips, stopping at the top of your thigh. He lets a sigh escape his mouth as he stares at the goddess that’s before him, and he thinks he’s so lucky to be alive, to have you in front of him, unharmed, in his arms where he can keep you safe. 

   “You’re so beautiful, jus’ like that field full of flowers you stood in, with your hair all tangled in the wind.”

   Your breath hitches, eyes widen as you take in just what he said to you. He thinks you’re beautiful. ��You think I’m beautiful?” you ask quietly, lips parted as his hazel eyes glisten down to yours. 

   “Yeah. I do, darlin’. Gorgeous.” 

   Then he’s leaning down and kissing you again while his large hands push your thighs apart. It’s like your mind carries you off into the clouds as his lips drag down your neckline, quiet moans blowing through your lips when his warm lips take your breasts into his mouth, pebbling your nipples as he sinks down down down and lands right between your thighs.

   You moan, feeling him lick a thick strip up your core, making your head knock back into the softness of the flannel while he spreads your folds and slowly starts to circle your buzzing clit. 

   You card your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan into your dripping core while he laps up all the slick between your thighs, tugging your bundle of nerves into his wanting mouth, sinking his tongue deep into your dripping hole, feeding all your desires as he gives you pleasure like you’ve never felt before. 

   You feel the white hot heat slide down your spine, feel your breaking point about to come loose, feel every stroke of Joel start to unlatch the tidal waves in your core. You feel as if you’re kissing the stars as he pulls you closer to his mouth, wraps his strong arms a little tighter around your thighs, laps his wet tongue up and down your core like he’s been starving for you for months. And now he has you, right on the edge of breaking.

   “Joel,” you moan, “I’m gonna… gonna…” 

   “Go on, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me take you all the way. Show me jus’ how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he groans between the licks, taking his time to slide his tongue in slow circles around your aching clit.

   You feel two thick fingers curl up into your heated core, feel him press up to heights you never could yourself, feel him collide with that spongy spot against your wall that makes you see stars. One more lick against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re arching your back and calling his name while your slick spills down your thighs, into Joel’s waiting mouth.

   It feels electric the way he laps all your slick up, his hot mouth blowing against your core, eliciting another moan from your parted lips as he licks and licks and licks until you’re a writhing mess beneath his mouth. 

   He looks up from between your legs, sticky slick coating his thick beard, eyes glossy from pulling an orgasm out of you, hands planted firmly against the top of your thighs as he looks up at you, out of breath from diving into you. 

   “You taste jus’ like honeysuckle, beautiful. Like sugar on my lips,” he smiles, the edges of his hooded eyes glowing under the moonlight. And you swear you’ve never seen anything more magical in your life. 

   “Joel, need you…” you whimper out, reaching for his body.

   “What do ya need, darlin’? Tell me what you want,” he whispers into the chill of the night. 

   You take a breath and blow it out, hoping your nerves won’t get in the way. “You, Joel. Want all of you. Inside me. Want you anyway I can have you,” you whine, desperate for the friction of his body against yours.

   He smiles up at you, pushes his dark jeans down, his boxers trailing after them until his hard cock is pressed against his stomach, red tip smothered in precum, his thick vein traveling along the underside of his cock, ready to split you in two. 

   Your eyes grow wide watching him crowd your body, his thick cock pressing against your soaked folds, rubbing up and down to collect your slick all over his massive length. He’s huge, but you can take him. You want him, now. 

   “Slow breaths now. Might be a stretch. Jus’ relax, I’ve got you, baby,” he coos, relaxing your body while he slowly enters inside your dripping core. 

   He gradually plunges into you, drowning out your moans as his lips land on yours, swallowing your gasps as he stretches you to the brim, his thick width rutting in and out of you, bottoming out until you can’t feel anything, can't taste anything but him. Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s everywhere, consuming you, bodies twisted together while he rocks back and forth, both sharing moans that get swallowed by the other, like you’re magnetized together. 

   It’s like you’re one in the same, two broken bodies that mend each other back together, two fragile souls that burn for the other, dance in the flames while your bodies get lost in the other’s, lost souls that found each other through pain and grief, Joel colliding into you like a star crossed lover, someone you’ve waited years for.

   You break again, nails scratching down his tanned back while your walls hug him tight, pouring out hot liquid that covers him in you. 

   “Ahh fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight, can’t hold on, sweetheart. Feels so fuckin’ good,” he grits through his teeth, trying with all his might to slip out of you before he spills himself inside of you.

   You lock your legs around his hips, make him stop before his warmth disappears, letting him know that it’s okay, that you want him to stay. “It’s okay. Let go. Come inside, Joel. Need you, need all of you,” you beg, long lashes batting up at him as you coax him to stay.

   “You sure?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together into concern as he hears your plea. 

   “Yes,” you breathe, your voice panting from the come down of your intense orgasm. “Inside me,” you repeat, a little louder.

   He hears you loud and clear. He thrusts inside of you, as deep as he can go, kissing your cervix as he grunts and grits his teeth together, eliciting another moan from you as he speeds up his pace.

   Once, twice, three more times and he’s throwing his head back, a low moan slipping from his clenched teeth as thick ropes of cum spill inside you, filling you so full that you moan out in bliss, completely saturated with his seed inside you, and that’s what does it. What consummates the two of you together, like stars in the night sky, two lovers that burn for each other.

   He falls against your side, scoops you up and sews you to his broad chest as his fingers trace the side of your sweat covered face. 

   You’re both panting, both exhausted from the love making, no room to do anything else but drown in the other’s ecstasy. You’re just two warm bodies now, a false witch, a beaten man, two bodies that bleed together who slowly mend one another’s wounds. 

   He traces your lips, his calloused thumb perfectly dancing across your face as he stares down at you, the woman he’s pined after for months, the one he knew he’d eventually fall for. And he did. He fell hard. 

   “What do we do now, Joel?” you ask quietly, while he continues to trace the lines of your skin. 

   “What we always do. Survive. But we do it together this time. This time, we thrive.”

   The way he’s looking at you with big doe eyes, and the way he’s touching you all soft and tender makes you feel things. Things you’ve never felt before. Like your heart swells just at the faint glow of his smile, his caramel eyes swirling into yours, his body crowding yours with the softest touch you ever felt before. Maybe you love him, you do love him. And you think maybe he loves you, too. But that’s for another night to uncover because right now this is where you are, bathing in each other’s moonlight, feeling sparks like the fireflies that dance in the forest light surrounding you, almost like this is magic. Joel is magic. He’s your safe space, your equal. 

   You sink into his chest, wrap your arms a little tighter around him while his lips graze across your forehead, telling you that it’ll be alright, that both of you will be just fine. 

   “Joel?” 

   “Hmm?” he hums, his deep voice reverberating through your entire body like cords connected to an acoustic guitar, like he used to play.

   “Promise me the worst is over, that we can make it maybe to the coast, find a new town, build a new life. A life that maybe isn’t so broken?”

   He sighs into your hair, scoops you closer into his arms and kisses you softly across your lips. “I can promise that the worst is over. No one’s ever gonna lay another finger on you, not on my watch, sweetheart. We’re free. I’ll take you to the coast. We’ll build a new life together. You and me. We’ve got the whole world in our hands now, and nothing can stop us now. No more flames, no more embers, it’s jus’ us.”

   You lean into him, as close as you can get while his hand traces up and down your back soothingly. You think this is exactly where you belong, in Joel’s arms, taking on the world together. You can do anything as long as you have him by your side, your guiding light out of the flames.

Tagging some friends who seemed interested 😊 @ozarkthedog @alltheirdamn @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @sawymredfox

@littlevenicebitch69 @604to647 @joelmillerisapunk @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @msjarvis @mountainsandmayhem

[tummywrites]

Okay that last anon was on to something. Could you write something meaner with a male feedee !! Thank you for awakening something new in me

anything for you sweetie <3

it started with just an extra hamburger, or an extra fry in his usual fast food order. a large milkshake instead of a medium, or an extra slice of cake after dinner. all this you could cover up with coincidences or excuses like

"oh, they had a deal at the restaurant. its cheaper this way, really."

"must've given me the wrong order. damn, might as well finish it, don't want it to go to waste, do you babe?"

"finish this for me so I can make room in the fridge."

once the effects of that became obvious, your tactics shifted.

"baby, are you sure I need an extra pizza? I think I'm good with just the one." he hesitates, looking at the array in front of him.

"don't be silly, you didn't get a gut like this off one pizza." you reply and he blushes darkly, ducking his head as he reaches for a slice.

okay, maybe you were the evil one. but it's not your fault he can't control himself around food.

"baby, what's this package out here?" he asks you from the living room, staring confusedly down at an amazon package.

"it's a scale, babe. figured since you're turning into such a lardass you could do with a reality check." you retort with a laugh, walking up to him and pinching his soft, blubbery love handle.

"why do you hate me?" he pouts, crossing his arms, "i'm really not that fat. im just...solid." he finishes with a huff, and you can't help but laugh again at the sight of him in front of you. round pot belly underneath crossed arms, giving himself cleavage from the pressure on his softened chest.

"mhm, sure. baby, you have bigger tits than I do. you're a proper fatass now." you remember how he looked when the two of you first began dating: slender, not the skinniest man you'd met but the little belly he carried was overshadowed by the muscles and the pecs he sported, giving the impression of a fit man, just with a little softness around his edges that told you it was just a matter of time before he'd blow up.

you're on your way home from work when he texts you I'm hungry :( and you just chuckle, until he messages you again, can you stop and get me dinner, pleaseee? you decide to call him, knowing how pitiful this conversation was about to get.

"hello my love, my sweet angel, my whole world. how was work?" he greets you in an overly sweet tone, one only used to convince you to do something for him.

"didn't you just eat a few hours ago? and when we went out for lunch? are you sure you need to be eating again? when you eat yourself out of your jeans, don't come crying to me." you reply, shifting in your seat at the thought: him, so swollen and fat and stuffed, panting from the pressure of his distended belly, hopelessly trying to button up his jeans after a night of binging.

"now that you mention it, I could use some new pants. the ones I have now are getting kinda tight."

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Dark Side (Konrad Curze, Vulkan)

Summary: Konrad Curze meets Vulcan's favorite mortal.

Konrad Curze/fem!Reader, Vulkan/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession

Word count: 1165

Song: Muse - The Dark Side

He noticed you immediately when he got on board Flamewrought. His brother was gentle and kind to pitiful mortals. He cared about them and hated it when Curze told him the truth. The truth is that Vulcan is just as much a killer as all the primarchs. And yet he stubbornly denied it, cherishing his subordinates. But you... you bathed in his love.

He sensed it in the nifty little augmentations that could adjust your body temperature. Just in order to withstand one-on-one communication with Vulcan. He understood this from your appearance. You did not know hunger and poverty, dressed in a simple but pretty dress. And yes. Konrad understood this because one of the Salamanders stood next to you. A personal protector, ready to tear to pieces any Night Lord who tries to approach you.

He probably could have noticed more details, but your personal Space Marine quickly took you to another part of the ship. Surely Vulcan did not want his gloomy brother to see you. Well, the Night Lords were faster. Curze remembered how then an evil grin spread across his face, and his body almost trembled at the mere possibility of killing you. Oh, how Vulcan would be upset.

Konrad did not speak to the primarch about you. First he wanted to meet you in person. A couple of words there, a couple of actions here and you’re sitting in your room completely alone. Weak and defenseless, completely at the disposal of the lord of the night. The primarch wanted to see your fear, to see your pathetic body shrink and your bladder burst. Wanted to hear your pleas and pathetic threats that you are in favor of Vulcan himself.

He didn't get it. Nothing at all.

You looked at him with almost glazed eyes. Your finger slowly touched your chin as your eyelashes fluttered slowly. You were puzzled. But not scared. Konrad felt that what was happening was wrong. What are you?

“You're pale.” - you say timidly. The voice is quiet and thoughtful. - “And the eyes are black. You probably don’t eat much... and you hardly see the sun.”

Curze just stared blankly as your small figure approached his massive body. You touched the black feathers of his cloak with interest. The man saw how thoughts were spinning on your gentle face and you were trying to think about what you saw. Until you gasp and look into his eyes with... delight?

"You are tall! Almost as tall as Vulcan. You must be his brother.” - Satisfied with your mind, you smile at Curze, as if he were your old friend. - “And you're pale because he takes all the sun for himself. I know his world is on fire, yours is probably not so hot. And feathers! You have so many feathers. Are you a bird-human or just love crows?”

Interest. Delight. No fear, hatred or disdain. Pure happiness. One continuous... innocence. Pure and immaculate, real, embodied in a little girl. Innocence. It was it.

It is unworthy for a primarch to run away from the battlefield, but it is even worse to run away from an ordinary mortal. His hearts beat with such frequency that the Night Haunter became deaf to other sounds. He rushed about like an animal, not seeing the frightened Space Marines and mortals on his way.

He wanted to tear someone apart. Sink his teeth into the flesh and drink the red liquid. Suck out the eyes and wrap himself in other's guts. To throw out all the rage that was raging inside. Is this rage?

Night Haunter couldn't do something like that to you. He just couldn't. Why? Your pain would be a pleasure to him. There is no good in the world. There are no innocent people. But you, you...

Konrad tastes his own blood. How his skin melts under a series of blows from his once calm brother. Finally. It was not in vain that he decided to visit this girl. As soon as Vulcan found out about this, he immediately attacked Curze, as soon as they were left alone. The primarch saw the red eyes glow, erupting with rage. Malice. Hate. Perhaps he could kill him right now... give him freedom.

But stupid nobility prevailed and the primarch spared him, turning his gaze to the space.

“I knew that you loved mortals, but not this much.” - the man licked the blood from his chin, swallowing a sharp tooth.” - "Who is she? Where did you find such... an incomprehensible and blunt toy?

Vulcan's eyes flashed with renewed rage, but the primarch restrained himself, retreating further from his uninvited brother. Was he afraid that he wouldn’t hold back again and would hurt Curze? Konrad wonders what he needs to do to you in order to finally hammer one simple thought into his brother’s head. He's the same monster.

“One of the civilians of the agri-world. The few who were able to survive the xenos attack.” - Vulcan pronounces the words while gritting his teeth. He doesn’t want to share the memory, but it’s better to answer Konrad before he throws out something new. - “Her dying father said that she has been so... special since childhood.”

Night Haunter clenched his teeth, dissatisfied with the way Vulcan pronounced “special.” Almost like an insult. Doesn't he love humanity? Shouldn't he cherish people like you? Weak, defenseless, pathetic people. So innocent.

“Some kind of abnormality in the brain. I promised her father that I would take care of her. She is a naive and kind girl, she knows and cannot do almost anything. She even refuses to eat meat because you can’t eat living creatures, it will hurt them.” - the man sighed tiredly, but Night Haunter felt the warmth in his words. He likes you. Even too much. Badly. Why is it bad? - “I can’t give her to an orphanage or to other mortals, she's too old, so now she lives here.”

Vulcan turned slowly, fixing his eyes on the Nostraman's face. Fury distorted his face, making him look like the dragon-like monster that mothers use to scare their children when they don’t want to go to bed. The temperature in the room rose to unbearably hot even for Curze. A little more and the room will melt.

“Don’t you dare go near her.”

Konrad Curze grins, expressing his disdain and amusement at this whole strange situation. But deep down, Night Haunter growls with indignation and envy. Why? Why did Vulcan get you? He already has plenty of mortals to watch, so why should you fall into his hands too? Let him share! Let him give you! And if not, then Night Haunter will take his toll.

A small, tiny ray of light will look good in complete darkness. The fire will consume you and you will merge with the rest of the dirt. But you'll be safe with Night Haunter. He won't let your innocence fade away. In this dark and empty galaxy.

The innocence will be his.

[smolbean12]

Dating Headcanons

Jujutsu Kaisen

Nobara and Maki's here

Itadori and Megumi's here

Sukuna and Naoya's here

☆ Gojo Satoru ☆

First of all, all the best. You really need it.

He's a menace.

Will wake you up at 3am and ask you stuff like "Do you think bugs will take over the world someday? They're tiny but I'm really scared of them."

"Satoru what the actual fu-?"

He would mostly only date someone if he was 100% sure that they could protect themselves or if he could be there for them.

But if he did start liking someone seriously, he would not cheat. He has found the one and there is no reason to drive them away.

He acts happy and carefree in front of others but in front of his lover he crumbles.

He's able to be weak for once and cry and cry and cry. please hug him, he deserves it.

Sometimes he gets really whiny and cuddly and won't let you go even if you both cuddled for the whole day.

"I got you some souvenirs from my mission!"

You take him to meet your parents and he manspreads the entire couch. So, your dad has to bring a chair from the dining table and sit on it. Asks your dad stupid questions to annoy him. "Why can't we just print more money?" everyone pretends not to notice the TV remote chucked at him

Flirts with your grandma. She loves him.

Eats the dessert your mom made and only the dessert. Your dad has to warn him about diabetes. i wonder if he has a lot of cavities

Your mom and grandma really love him but your dad hates his guts.

He's just a 6'3 tall babie who likes sweets and you :)

☆ Geto Suguru ☆

When I tell you this man is boyfriend, husband and baby daddy material.

He is THE man. The only man ever. gojo you lucky lucky man

Treats you SO WELL that you start thinking he's imaginary 'cause no way anybody is THIS perfect.

This is the Geto Suguru before defecting btw.

Never forgets any of the important dates like your birthday, your mom's birthday etc etc

"Hey, isn't it your second cousin's dog's birthday today?"

Lots of friendly banter. He looooves giving you silly little nicknames. He looks at you lovingly and goes, "My little tolerable monkey" jkjk

He's a human heater. Always warm no matter the weather. You wouldn't even need a blanket when you sleep next to him. He will put his arm and leg around you and snuggle his face in your hair.

You weren't scared at all to introduce him to your parents. He instantly becomes your family's favorite and they forget about you and keep Geto forever :(

Helps your mom in cooking dinner, setting the table and washing the dishes. Helps your dad to fix the light bulb and engages him in deep conversations.

Helps you wash your hair when you're feeling too tired. Will also cook you your favorite food and try to cheer you up.

Sometimes he gets really angry during arguments but he always makes sure to think things over and apologize if he said something hurtful to you. He makes sure the issue is solved and that the both of you are happy.

The best boyfriend to ever boyfriend. except he became evil and died

reblogs are appreciated :)

Work by: @smolbean12

[mnemosyne-nyx]

✨ Bruce Wayne Headcanons that haunt me but I refuse to elaborate on even if they're utterly wrong Pt. 2✨

Going feral over this man

Hal and Bruce almost share a birthday and it fucking infuriates Bruce for no reason.

My guy was a rebellious teenager growing up, you know, trauma baby tings but also wanting to distance himself from the elite society (I mean rich Gotham really is a different cesspool of evilness lmao who can blame the poor guy.) Not to get deep but the beginning of his crusade was him wanting to seek a life and identity beyond the Wayne name right and witness Gotham from all angles. However, after realising he can both honour and build upon his legacy, Bruce destroyed any proof of this phase as he associates it with his turbulent and troubled coming of age. Little does he know there's a box filled with Polaroids within the 73288199 attics of Wayne Manor ready for his kids to find plus his detailed knowledge about the punk scene of Gotham makes them suspicious anyway.

Bruce learns a lot from his children. He may be their mentor but he's definitely learnt acrobatic tricks from Dick Grayson, combat and body language from Cass etc etc. Black Canary one day complimenting an acrobatic move of Bruce's only for him to have learnt it from one 11 year old Dick Grayson.

Bruce knows every nook and cranny of the watchtower. This guy designed, funded and helped build this fucking thing. Superman can hear him fuckin scurrying in the hundreds of boiler rooms, hidden corridors and storage rooms like a human rat. Flash doesn't understand how this man just teleports from one end of the tower to the other not knowing Bruce built trapdoors, hidden passageways, fake walls in this place. Bruce has a hiding spot in the upper levels of the watchtower where a small window gives view to Earth. J'onn is the only leaguer who can rival Batman in his watchtower knowledge.

He is the unofficial caretaker of the justice league. He makes sure all catering and quarters are fully equipped to people's needs. Overhears a leaguer saying there aren't enough vegetarian options? Bam, fully renewed menu. Barry complaining he can't sleep because his quarter is too cold? Bam, temperature risen. Small things like office supplies, medical equipment - he's always taking mental notes of. He knows what leaguer is allergic to what too. Lad keeps the watchtower STOCKED

The League never fails to wish a member a happy birthday. Somehow word always gets out and no one really knows how the date gets around. It's Bruce. He knows everyone's birthdays. Sometimes photogenic memory doesn't work in his favour. When it comes to respect, compassion and love - Bruce isn't the verbal type. He prefers to show it through action - I mean he crusades around Gotham to show his need to protect people for God's sake. Therefore, he sets like a reminder anonymously on the watchtower monitor for some random hero to find.

My guy HATES Asmr.

Bruce's hair is naturally thick and actually pretty darn curly. Superman is renowned for having the curls, but Bruce - with dirty, grown out hair - can give him a run for his money. His curls never show though as he keeps his hair very short and often has it sleeked back in public (as Thomas and Alfred always told him it was neater and more proper that way.)

He is a PERFECT mix between Thomas and Martha. Everyone who ever meets Brucie Wayne for the first time tells him he's the spitting image of both of them.

My man was a heartthrob in the 90s. Dick and Tim frequently Google "Bruce Wayne 90s" and bust a gut laughing at how their old man is like in every fuckin teenage magazine published in that decade.

[meteor752]

I rewatched ever after high with my girlfriend after like, six years

We had…thoughts

Do you guys think fairytale people look down on those who aren’t from a fairytale? Because, Ever After High seems to be the most like prestige school, but not everyone can go to it. Is there like racism going on between fairytale people and normal people?

It’s said many times that Apple will be like, the future queen, but when we meet Snow White she’s a fucking capitalist. Also Apple being queen means kinda nothing cause half the school are royalty and will grow up to become kings and queens. That title doesn’t mean anything

We had like, ten kids from wonderland, but no Oz kids? I feel like a Dorothy child would be very obvious, like what the hell, same with the witches

The school actively encourages evil people to be evil, then become surprised when they are evil. Like, Evil Queen cursing Wonderland and almost taking over the world? That’s on you, principal

Also can we place lock up the principal in jail? He lied and manipulated his students, stole from Raven, and kept his brother cursed and locked up in the basement. Like, ???? The brother comes back and is just like “Oh I missed you so much brother” like no!!!!!! Get that man out of here!!!!!

Do the fairytale people reproduce like, asexually, or do we have a ton of inbreeding between the royals? Well, it would be the most realistic aspect of the show

Hot take: Apple is a great character. Like yeah she’s a little selfish, but when we’re shown how she was raised it’s fully understandable that she’s so obsessed with fulfilling her destiny, but she’s never rude or bitchy, not ever really to Raven. Also she gets better! Active character development! She’s one of my favorites

Why the fuck is Allister frolicking in Wonderland. Bro Alice came back, she left that place, yet everyone is just like “Yep he’s a wonderlandian”, like no! Also he’s a royal? Bro you can’t be a royal, you were actively rebelling against your story by going to wonderland early

It’s a little messed up how many of the kids are like, being forced to die. Like Ramona? She will be fucking gutted after eating her sister if she goes with her story. Like what is this school, what are these rules?

Apart from Sparrow, surprisingly, everyone of the boy designs are so fucking boring. Ew

I love the direction they took for Briar. I think they kinda realized after the first episode that shit, it’s kinda weird that this girl who’s destiny it is to sleep for 100 years to just be fine with it. Briar is also one of my faves

Speaking of the sleeping beauty story tho, do you think it’s rare for the school to have a sleeping beauty? Cause we’re shown that this school has housed like, generations of fairytale characters, but since Sleeping beauty clocks out for a hundred years, and probably only had a child after that, they must only get her like, every fourth or fifth generation. Kinda interesting actually

Daring X Cerise > Daring X Rosabella. Like idk, maybe it’s that Cerise can like, fully challenge him in his views, forcing him to become better in a way. Like, with Rosabella it feels more like an “I can fix him <3” mindset, while with Cerise it’s more “I can knock him down a peg”. I just thought they had a better dynamic, idk

Speaking of the Charming family, gf and I fucking hate Dexter’s name. Like, Daring and Darlings names match each other so well, not just that they sound alike but that they have meanings. Dexter is just a boring name

We tried to come up with name ideas, Dating was the funniest one to us, but we thought Dastardly was kinda fun.

Like, our thought process was that he was meant to be like, the classic jealous twin brother, always looking to sabotage his perfect older bro, except he wasn’t that at all. Like, a running joke would be that it would look like he was sabotaging Daring, or like being mean, but then the camera would like zoom out or smt and show that he was like, playing a video game or just doing something completely different. It would have been more fun, plus it would have given Dexter like an actual personality instead of just, inferiority complex the person

Dashing could also have been an idea for a name

Kitty should have a tail. As should her milf of a mother have. Also like, real cat ears instead of just a hat or a headband. It feels obvious

I mean Bunny has actual bunny ears, plus she can transform into a bunny, but why is the cat just like A Girl

How can Hunter belong to both the Little red ringing hood story, and Snow White. Is his dad just a mad multitasker, or does he have two dads? I like the second option honestly

The storybeat of the characters all living through each others story honestly should have been like, an entire special. It’s the most interesting thing the show did, and I wish we could have seen more, cause it lasted only like seven minutes. But that gives us more time to see that thrilling book all storyline, amiright?!

Briar’s moment was especially heart aching, and I wish we'd gotten more of it

But like, since Briar as the evil queen saw Apple poisoned instead of her mum, does that mean that Raven was talking to herself in her story

But at the same time, Blondie saw the current queen of hearts instead of Lizzie, so like what's going on

Snow White and The Evil Queen have like the vibe of high school rivals/ex girlfriends, and they did go to school together, but like Queenie is literally her step mom. Like what. If Raven were to live out her story, would that mean that she would marry Apple's dad? Whoever that is?

The more you think about the lore of this world the more it doesn't make sense, but it also becomes like incredibly dark

The Pied Piper is one of if not my favorite fairytales, but I hate how he is represented in this show. Like he kidnapped children and then drowned them, that man shouldn't be a teacher!

Also white queen is a teacher at ever after, yet her daughter is still in wonderland. Like bitch just left her there, what the hell.

I love that they didn’t make any of the princesses stuck up bitches, like Descendants did. Like, the girls are all kind, with vibrant personalities and a lot of love for the people around them. The closest thing to the “mean girl” stereotype is Duchess actually

But Duchess makes total sense! She fucking drowns at the end of her story, of course she wants another one. Why is Raven’s rebellion praised but Duchesses scorned? Also why is she a royal, girlypop is literally trying to steal other people’s happily ever after, she a rebel

There is more I can say, but this post has already been deleted twice from my drafts, and I am scared of it, so it’s better to get it out now

Also, as a final little send off, here’s my ranking of the characters, and the ships

[corgiplays]

This edition of Evil!Chloe is brought to you by a 16oz Red Bull, Strawberry Sour Patch Kids, Sing to Me and Wolves by Missio

Enjoy @minafeu

Like always ⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️ for blood, guts, and gore

Judge Sebastian Frollo wasn't always the man of God that he is today. His younger self was filled with hate and anger at his father, the world, everything. He lashed out and made many enemies during high school before getting kicked out and joining the church to find some sort of purpose; and he did.

The news of Adam's gruesome death has struck fear in the hearts of the people. With Ben contents away with no way to gain a hold of the royals apart of the court have been scrambling to find a suitable replacement and have turn to the church for guidance. Which is why Sebastian is here after hours kneeling to his holy father for help.

"Oh most righteous lord. I beg of thy to guide me. I ask of your heavenly wisdom to guide me to the right direction. Our county is in shambles as a darkness plagues the people, a demon has-"

"I do believe I am worse than a lowly demon."

A deep rumble echoes through the large chapel, the stone and wood tremble with the sheer volume. Sebastian stands, fear racing through him as he presses against the holy alter. He grips his cross, mumbling a pray as a what can only be described as a demonic chuckle makes the stained glass shake. It's low, haunting and Sebastian holds his cross tighter.

"I am not afraid of you monster. My father in heaven-"

"Your father has abandoned you!" The voice snarls, it sounds both far away and too close, the sound of metal dragging against stone makes him cringe from the sound.

"He has not! My holy father would never let his most faithful servant fall at the hands of a monster!" Sebastian yells, his own voice wavering as he backs away, he could run away, escaping through the back door of the church.

"Oh Sebastian..." The voice rumbles against his ear. "You should have stayed away from what's mine, from Red." The monster's hand pierces through his back, he gasps as he feels it wrap around his spine. "And now, your death won't cause anything but joy to me." With that Sebastian screams as his lower spine gets pulled out of his body crumpling to the ground.

"Chloe-" Sebastian croaks as he sees the girl from high school tower over her, her eyes glowing, her face animalistic, her feet ached inhumanely.

"I'm tired of hearing your voice." Chloe snarls and it's almost like seeing double, a spectral presence shadows her moves as she digs sharp claws into his throat, gagging on his own blood as he suffocates.

---

The next morning the clergy scream as Sebastian's remains are used to decorate the alter his head front and center and what's little left of him paints the alter red. And all the stained glass windows depicting the other kingdoms are broken, except for Wonderland's.

[ruumirmir]

𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘰𝘺

ੈ♡˳ Author's note - I simply have too many unfiltered thoughts about them Sorry not Sorry. This is entirely self-indulgent and completely male-reader centered. Don't worry ladies,, If you're imaginative enough!! You too can self-insert into this yaoi!!! If any of these don't make sense to new readers Don'tttt worry about it :) Probably didn't make sense to ME either but the vibe matched. @eluxcastar my trusty co-pilot for this ship,, do you have any memes to add perchance 🎤🎤 I'd love to compile everything here.

If you think Pantalone isn't a possessive prick you're WRONG. Lucky for him some people are into that.

Being gorgeous and evil go hand-in-hand one cannot exist without the other

*Sighs dreamily* Dont we all

Synopsis of my first two Pantalone x Male reader requests everybody:

Im sorry but it would be fucking hilarious for the plot. Loverboy being soooooooo normal about the rumours going around that Dottolone are Such Close Business Partners,,

but actually dottolone fucking hate each other. Group projects tend to do that to people. Its the biomechanical malpractice doctor vs business unethics banker. And dottore getting a massive kick out of this one fatuu agent hating his guts . Idk Just a Thought :0

What being microwaved does to a man. Dont worry guys Pantalone can manipulate and gaslight me into a killing machine anyday bc he's hot <3

Hoyoverse canonizing Pantalone's anger-issues is the best thing that happened to me. you can never trust an anime snake with a (^‿^) face

One does not simply work in close proximity with a hot guy and Not think about getting boned atleast once.

Somebody save childe

Makes zero sense in hindsight but the lore is coming. trust 🙏 Something so delicious about finding your way back to the person that changed you forever.

Hes just a pathetic little guy your honor. Let us all enjoy his extreme sad boy demeanor and sopping wet meowmeowism before we put him through the HorrorsTM.

Synopsis of literally the most recent Loverboy one-shot by riri:

Something something blatant favoritism.

Reminder that Loverboy joins the Fatui as a part of mandated service right after graduating school at the fresh age of 18 and kills a guy roughly 3 years later :D

Peak dynamic btw. He can be your angle or yuor devil. As long as he's behind over your shoulder 👍

"I learned my passion in the Good Old Fashioned School of Loverboys"

Thankyou homoverse they made Pantalone a certified Yapper. Him and Loverboy are just the "Talks a lot" vs "Listens" ship

No caption. This was just funni

Hey guys can anyone tell that I love a good corruption arc.

Despite his increasingly worsening state of ethics, don't forget that deep down hes still going to be a sopping wet meowmeow💕

Idk blame @/eluxcastar riri they put the devil's temptation thoughts into my brain

[ramsayxme]

Ramsay’s Toy

“So, let’s play a game. Which body part do you need the least?” Ramsays voice echoed. You’ve known Ramsay for a few months, your family was taken captive and flayed while hunting near the Dreadfort. You knew three things as facts. 1. Ramsay was evil. 2. Ramsay spared your life. 3. Ramsay wouldn’t spare anyones life unless there was a reason that pleased him. He said that line while beginning his torturing. You peered into the room from the hallway and saw him standing in front of a disheveled man who was strapped to the wooden X. Theon Greyjoy. You recognized him immediately. You sighed as you rounded the corner of the hallway, entering the room. “My Lord…” you quietly interrupted.

Ramsay whipped his head around, teeth grinding together harshly. He looked you in the eyes and his icy eyes bore into your soul. His dark curls covered the tips of his ears. You had to admit, you did find him visually appealing, but you hated his guts. He flayed your family! “What is it?” He hissed through his teeth, looking you up and down. “My Lord, I was hoping to speak with you privately.” Your gaze shifted over towards a crying Theon Greyjoy, and then back to Ramsay. Without saying anything, he huffed and walked towards you, his cloak swaying behind him. “This better be good. I was about to play a game!” He grabbed your elbow and yanked you into the hallway.

You gulped as he pushed you against the cold stone wall. His eyes shifted back and forth between your eyes. “Well?” He asked, impatiently. “Ramsay, I was just wondering if you would allow for-“ “Did you really distract me from playing a fun game with Lord Greyjoy to ask me a personal question?” He interrupted you, clearly irritated. You stared at his chest, your throat felt tight. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“I was really looking forward to peeling him. I have all of this built up energy, and now I fear I want to take it out on you, instead. Terrible timing on your part.” He pulled his flaying knife out of his sheath behind his back. You gasped as he pressed the metal against your neck. The blade was cold and you could feel his angry stare, even though you were avoiding eye contact. “Beg, and perhaps I’ll spare you. I’ve always thought you were pretty, it would be a shame for your blood to be shed because you couldn’t have patience with a stupid little question.”

You made eye contact, which caused Ramsays lips to curl into an evil grin. “Beg.” He commanded, pressing the blade against your skin a little harder. “Please, my lord. Please. I was foolish to interrupt you. Please…” Ramsay sucked in air through his teeth and yelled, startling you. “I SAID BEG!” You avoided the knife and dropped to your knees. You grabbed his ankles and lay your forehead on his boots. “Please, my lord!” You were trembling as you felt his hand move your hair from behind your neck, pushing it over your shoulder. He chuckled gently. “Fine, you may keep your life today. But don’t get too comfortable, I am losing patience with you.” You looked up at him he he held his hand out, reaching out to help you stand on your feet again.

You grabbed his hand, and he yanked you up. “Since you’ve interrupted me, I suppose I might as well just let Theon wait a little longer. Follow me.” He said, his hand still holding yours. He turned and walked down the hallway, nearly dragging you behind him. “My Lord, I have duties to-“ “You are boring me, my lady. You realize what I do when I am bored, don’t you?” He didn’t even turn around. You closed your mouth, and just silently followed him down the hallway. You approached a large wooden door, realizing you were at Ramsay’s chambers. You swallowed hard, nervous yet curious. He pushed open the door, pulled you in, and let it slam behind you.

He smiled as he put his hands on your shoulders. He stared at you deeply as he waited to see your reaction. You stared back at him, nervously. You shifted your weight under his grasp, making him grab your shoulders even tighter. “I am bored. Entertain me.” He whispered, letting go of your arms and walking over to a chair near his fireplace. You froze, unsure of what he was expecting you to do. You dared question him, but you just wanted clarity. “My Lord, what do you want me to do?” Your voice sounded like a raspy whisper in his huge bedroom chambers. Ramsays voice sounded booming. “I don’t know, be creative.” He pulls out his flaying knife once again, playing with it between his hands as he sits down, legs spread wide. “Sing. Dance. What are you good at?” He smirked. That didn’t help you at all, you couldn’t sing and gods knew you couldn’t dance.

Ramsay pointed his knife at you, motioning circles. “Do some spins, make your dress flow in the air. I like to see pretty girls dance.” You immediately began spinning, your dress curling into the air. You were terrified at where this would lead, but you hoped this was entertaining enough for him. “Come closer to me.” He demands. You continue your spins and sways as you make your way closer to him. He grins as you get within a foot of him, your dress hitting his knees as it bounces through the air. “You’re very light on your feet. Very good.” He praised you, talking with his hands which still held his blade. He watches you as you stare at the blade in his hand. “Oh, are you scared?” He points the blade at you, causing you to stop dancing and take a step back. Ramsay chuckles and leans over, setting the blade on the ground next to his chair. “Come here.” He demands.

You walk closer to him, barely swaying now. He reaches his arm out and pats his lap with the other hand. “Come sit on my lap and keep dancing.” He smirks, waiting for you to straddle him. Your face flushes red, but you don’t dare disobey him. You pull your dress up to your knees and you straddle him. As soon as you sit down on his lap, you can feel he has an erection. Before you can say anything, his arms snake around your body, pulling you down on him hard and close. He looks up at you, his eyes look wild. He loosens his grip, but keeps his hands on your waist. “Keep dancing.” He softly said. You were scared when he used a gentle tone of voice with you. You started rocking back and forth on his lap, your hips making awkward circles. You weren’t quite sure what you were doing, so you just relied on his facial expressions. Unfortunately, Ramsay had a solid poker face, and he was just staring at you. You shifted yourself forward, feeling his erection on your inner thighs. You began grinding on him, hips swaying. His eyebrows raised and his eyelids softened. “Oh, that feels good.” He whispered.

“I’m glad, my lord.” You replied, realizing that your breathing was jagged. You also realized in this moment that you were enjoying the feeling of his hard erection on your body. He chuckled at your realization, and pulled your body harder into his. He let out a breathy laugh. “You quite like this, don’t you? And by that look on your face, I’d say you’re surprised you do!” You flushed, knowing that he could read you like a book. Ramsay pushed you off his lap, and stood up in front of you. His trousers gathered at his crotch, and his cloak was crooked. He smiled at you and said “You’re dismissed.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to be dismissed. As much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t want it to stop. Gods, you wanted to hate him so much but there was just something you couldn’t shake. You bravely leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your lips against his. Taking him off guard, he deeply inhaled through his nose before groaning into your kiss. His lips were soft, which was surprising to you. Without thinking, you pressed your body onto his, causing his tongue to slip into your mouth. He made out with you softly, dare you say gently. Ramsay pulled away from the kiss, his hands on your hips, pushing you a step back. He didn’t smile. “I said you are dismissed.”

You felt frustrated. Clearly, he knew you were turned on and wanted to tease you. You felt a surge of bravery in your chest, possibly radiating from your lower abdomen. You stepped closer to him, closing the gap that he created. “I’m staying.” You said barely louder than a whisper. His mouth broke into a smirk, one eyebrow raised. “You’re persistent. I like that. Tell me, if I allow you to stay, what do you expect will happen?” His head cocked to the side, his face looking as soft as ever. His eyes were paralyzing. You took a deep breath in, “Whatever you want, my lord.”

He quickly brought his hand to your jaw, firmly grasping your chin between his thumb and index finger. He forced you to look him in the eyes. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? I didn’t expect this to be so easy, you are turning out to be such a whore for me. You are more inviting than I expected.” He leans in to give you another sloppy kiss, and you grab his other hand and slide it under your dress. His kisses stop and Ramsays hand instinctively caresses your soft thigh. “Do you think I am entertaining enough?” You whisper, watching his eyes flutter at the feeling of your warm and soft skin that is usually hidden away. “I certainly do…” Ramsay says, his voice trailing into the quiet of the chamber. The only other noise was the crackling fireplace, muffled chatter from outside the windows, and the sucking sound his lips made when he started kissing your neck.

You can’t help it, you let out a moan when he gives a little bite on your neck, right above your collarbone. His teeth are sharp. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” He cooed into your ear. You feel your skin catch fire, almost certain it turned bright red. He was so aware of your pleasure. Ramsays lips made their way up to your earlobe. “You know, I could have you right now. I could keep you in here for as long as I want, and no one would come looking. You’d be mine.” You hear his jaw clench when he word ‘mine’. Your breathing is heavy, you can’t help but moan when he whispers to you. “I know you want me, just admit it. You tried to hate me, and it didn’t work. You can’t get enough of me, can you?” You felt your body breakout in goosebumps, he slid his tongue into your ear at the end of his sentence.

His tongue went back into his mouth and he continued. “I could do all of these things to you… I’d have you for my personal use… and then after that?” He returned his gaze to your eyes. “After I am finished with you, you will never speak to me again. You will always look back and yearn for the days when I had you. The last time you truly felt pleasure. And you’ll tell no one, you’ll be powerless. You’ll have this longing inside you that will never escape.” You have a hard time swallowing as you listen to him. “Swear it. Swear by the old Gods and the new, and I’ll make you scream my name tonight, but it will be our little secret. I bring you here when I crave you, but outside of these walls…” he points to the walls around you. “You are no one to me. You are what you’ve always been and nothing more. But in here, you’re mine.” You nod, your mouth open. You feel so weak, but in the best way possible. “Say yes.” Ramsay instructs.

All you do is nod. You feel numb, almost stupid. “Speak.” He commands, as if you are one of his hounds. It works, though. You gently squeak out “Yes, my lord, I promise. By the old Gods and the new, I am your little secret.” He flashes his teeth as he chuckles, stepping backwards. “Yes, you are. My little toy. The little toy that gives me satisfaction. Do you know what happens to toys who no longer bring their owner pleasure?” He asked you, raising an eyebrow. Your lower stomach felt warm as he asserted dominance over you. It gave you confidence. You step forward, closing the gap between your bodies. Your fingers find his hair and you begin playing with his curls. “It doesn’t matter, because I won’t ever bore you.”

“But what if you do? What if I become bored?” Ramsay presses his forehead against yours. “What do I do with you when I am no longer satisfied by you?” You knew what he wanted you to say. You close your eyes and whisper, “Then you throw me away, my lord.” You can feel him grin. “Good. You truly do know what you are to me.” Ramsay brings a hand up to your cheek and caresses your soft skin on your face. He tilts his head, pressing his lips onto yours. You remain limp, allowing him to maneuver your body to his liking. He harshly presses into your lower back, causing a slight arch in your spine. Your hipbones press against his body and he pulls your hair, causing your head to roll to the side. “As my favorite toy, I promise to be gentle. You’re clearly very fragile, I wouldn’t want to break you. After all, if you broke, I wouldn’t be able to play with you much longer.”

You blush, admittedly loving the special attention that you were getting. You lean forward, nuzzling into his neck. His hair curls underneath his ears and he smells like a bonfire. Ramsay suddenly lifts you up, his hands holding you up under your thighs, your legs wrapped around his lower torso. You can’t help yourself, you start kissing his neck with long, sloppy kisses. You want to convey how badly you want more attention without actually having to admit it. “Oh, getting a little needy, are we my lady?” He whispers, the slight sing in his voice confirms that he is enjoying your kisses. Ramsay walks you over to his bed and sets you down on top of the pelt that covers it. After he sets you down, he leans forward over you. “I’m going to make you beg for mercy tonight.” His eyes widen as he waits for your reaction. You feel a surge of confidence once again. “Perhaps you’ll be the one begging for mercy, my lord.”

Ramsay gives a little exhale out his nose, nearly rolling his eyes at you. “Perhaps…” he leans in even closer, his lips resting on your ear. “Or perhaps one of us will have total control. Nobody tells me what to do, especially not in my chambers.” He kisses your cheek before standing up straight, peering down at you. You take a deep breath and stand up, brushing against his body as you stand. “Yes. Only one of us.” You attempt to kiss him, but he shoves you back on the bed. His teeth are clamped shut and his jaw muscles flex. “No, you poor thing. I fear you are terribly wrong.” You lay on your back, flat on the pelt. You know he’s right. He starts walking around the bed and begins to untie the laces on his shirt. “You know, no matter what I command… no matter what I want from you, you’re going to do it. You don’t have a choice.” Your eyes follow him around the end of the bed and over to his pillow side. He pulls his loose shirt over his head, his curls falling back into place. You gasp at the sight of his muscular yet pale body. He is much more muscular than you thought. You feel your stomach flutter.

“Ah, you are clearly attracted to me. I thought you might like to see me like this.” He sits on his pillow side and runs his fingertips up and down his chest and arms, pointing out every muscle. You realize your mouth is slightly ajar as Ramsay smirks. You wonder what he looks like while pleasuring himself. Your thoughts run on their own momentarily, the image of him giving himself an orgasm floods your vision. You bite your lip and crawl towards him. “Do you like what you see?” He flexes his arm muscles, clearly enjoying the attention. He’s so cocky. You feel warm in all of your layers. “Yes, my lord. I like what I see.” You exhale. He lays down on his back, propped up by his elbows.

You crawl towards him, but stop when he sticks his arm out. “Oh no, little toy. You’ve only earned a look.” He raises an eyebrow, watching your face fall. “Did you think you were allowed to touch me already?” You nearly stammer with your reply. “I I I don’t know I just…” he chuckles at your loss for words. “I want you to watch.” His face grows serious. His eyes like daggers. He slides his hand into his trousers and you can’t take your eyes off of him. He starts pleasuring himself softly in his trousers, his head leans back giving a small sigh. “Oh, I’ve thought about you many times while doing this. I’ve been dying to see what you look like under those layers.” He lifts his head and stares at you. “Take off your clothes.” He orders.

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You frantically start pulling your clothes off, each layer feels freeing. You watch Ramsays reaction when you are pulling your last layer off, revealing your naked body. He grinds his teeth, his eyes full of lust. His hand under his trousers picking up the pace ever so slightly. “Yes, it’s just as good as I have imagined.” He complimented you. You sit on your knees and the lust takes over. You run your hands across your skin, breathing heavy. Ramsay still has a clenched jaw as he brings his hand up to his face and spits in his hand, then lowers it back beneath his trousers. You can hear the wet sounds of him rubbing his cock, and his breathing is a little more desperate than before. “Have you thought about me like this before? Don’t lie to me.” He groans, his eyes concentrated on your body. You nod bashfully, humiliated to admit it. Your admission makes him grin. He raises his eyebrow at your body. “Go on.”

You don’t move, unsure of what he is expecting you to do. You look at him for more direction. “Pleasure yourself. I want to watch.” He has a devious smirk on his face as he bites the inside of his cheek. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve never done this in front of anyone before. You slowly lean backwards, propping yourself up on your elbow as you open your legs. You feel extremely exposed as you feel yourself open right in front of him. He is staring into you, still biting the inside of his cheek. You close your eyes and gently start rubbing yourself. Your face feels fire hot. Your heartbeat could likely be heard in the hallway. You can still feel his eyes burning into your skin. You feel Ramsay shift, the bed gently moving as he lifts himself to his knees and crawls over to you. You open your eyes to see him on his shins between your legs. You stop pleasing yourself since he is so close to you. He immediately grabs your wrist and pushes your hand back to your pussy. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

You begin again, taking in your view. His body was so pale and incredibly toned right in front of you. His hard cock was standing up just inches from you. You let out a moan as you imagine how it will feel inside you. Ramsay reaches out and tucks your loose strands of hair behind your ear. “I like watching this. You’re doing a good job.” Ramsay begins letting his fingertips gently brush against your inner thighs. He rubs your legs as you work on pleasuring yourself. You feel humiliated in the best way possible. “When is the last time you did this?” He asks you. You shake your head. “You don’t remember? It must have been a long time. I bet you’re dying for me to touch you, aren’t you?” You can’t respond with anything other than a needy whimper. “Of course you are.” He leans back on the bed, returning to his pillow. He motions for you to come here with his hand. You gratefully stop touching yourself as you crawl over to Ramsay. You straddle his legs, perching over his thighs, unsure if you are allowed to touch his twitching cock.

“Now, I have seen how you pleasure yourself. Let’s see how you pleasure me, shall we?” He reaches out and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. You wrap your hand around him and start moving your hand up and down. Almost immediately, he pushes your hand away. “Spit in your hand. It feels better that way.” You bring your hand up to your mouth and spit as much as you can, which is a sufficient amount considering you’ve been nearly drooling over him. You slip your hand back on his cock, from the head to the base. He moans with pleasure as it glides so effortlessly. “That’s much better.” He laughs softly, his eyes fixated on you. You keep this up for a few moments until you really decide to take control. You suddenly tighten your grip and use more force as your hand slips up and down on his cock. His eyebrows shoot up and his lips release a gasp. “Oh, yes. That feels good.” He groans.

He reaches out and starts gripping your thigh and hip. He’s hungry for you. “Do you enjoy pleasing me?” He moans, his eyes still carving into your skin. “Yes, my lord.” You whine, eager to get some more pleasure yourself. You pick up the pace even more, causing his head to lean back and his toes to curl. “Oh Gods, you’re naughty!” He grunted as he had to control his breathing. “Keep going.” You use your other hand and grab a fistful of his hair near the top of his head and pull his head forward. His eyes shoot open. You grin and demand, “I want you to watch me.” His eyes fill with excitement and he gets that same evil grin on his face. You scoot down on his legs and lean over, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. You hear him moan as you start licking and sucking on his cock, allowing it to enter your throat. Ramsay props himself up on his elbows and watches you. You peer up towards him and his mouth is open, eyebrows furrowed together, leaning into the pleasure. You feel his whole body relax as you work on him.

You take a deep breath through your nose, you let his cock plunge into your throat. You gag on him as you hear him groan, pushing his hips forward, ready for more. You close your eyes and concentrate as you bob up and down, letting his cock fuck your throat. His elbows give as he lowers his head to the pillow, and his hands find their way to your hair. He grabs your hair and shoves your face down and keeps it there, his cock stuffing your mouth. You gag a few times on him, he clearly enjoys the way it feels when your throat tries to reject him. He groans each time. He pulls your head up, allowing you to catch your breath. His cock is soggy and coated with thick saliva. His cheeks are red and flushed, his eyes cloudy with pleasure. He has sweat sliding down the side of his forehead and temple. You sit back up, his cock wet and excited is now placed between your thighs. You start teasing him, nearly giving him a proper lap dance. You slide your folds on his length, teasing his head at the opening of your pussy.

“You’re looking to take control here, aren’t you?” Ramsay questions you, his voice raspier than before. “Keep going, I’m intrigued.” He places his hands on your hips, and digs his fingertips into your flesh. You start teasing him even more, letting the tip of him enter you, before pausing and pulling it out. He starts grinding his teeth, anxious for the feeling of your walls around him tightly. You decide to really show him how controlling you can be. You get off of his lap, and lay down beside him. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asks through his teeth. “I want you to lick me.” You demand. Ramsay has an evil grin and flips over. You are excited at the idea that you can boss him around. Before you can even finish that thought, Ramsay has grabbed you and flipped you over, facedown into the bed. He presses your shoulders into the pelt and you feel his breath approaching your neck. He straddles you, his cock wet and resting on your ass. “Remember who’s in charge.” He whispers as he guides his cock to your folds. He presses the tip in and pulls it back out. He does this several times, and you are desperate for him to enter you completely. “Ramsay, please.” You moan into the pillow.

“What’s that?” You hear him ask from behind you. “A little louder.” You sink into submission. “Lord Bolton, please. Please fuck me.” You suddenly feel his cock fill you completely, both you and Ramsay moaning loudly at the sensation. “Oh yes, I am going to make you scream.” He says, his voice uneven as he starts fucking you hard. You feel yourself float into your own brain as you experience this intense pleasure. Your body had been aching for this. He fucks you hard and fast, moans escaping your mouth with every forceful stroke.

He slaps your ass very hard, causing you to cry out in pain. You hear him give a satisfied grunt when he hears your cries. He does this again, and you cry out even harder. The sting radiates, you feel as if your ass has a red handprint on it already. Ramsay reaches his arm up and grabs your hair, yanking your head up. You look at him from upside down, peering over your forehead. He is obviously close to his climax, his face red and his eyes glassy. He suddenly pulls out of you and flips you over again, entering you once again as you lie on your back. It happened so fast, but the slight change of angle made you moan wildly. “That’s right.” He exhaled through his gritted teeth. “I’m making you feel powerless, aren’t I?” All you could do was moan in response.

“I told you… I am in charge…. Of you…. Tonight.” He says while still thrusting into you hard and fast. “I want you… to cum for me….” He demands. His eyes lock a glare into yours. He presses one of his hands onto your throat, pushing the back of your neck into the mattress. This unlocked something in you, and you began clawing at his arms. Your eyes were just as wild as his. He grinned through his thrusts, knowing that he was making you insane. “That’s right, let it out.” He nearly choked on his words as his orgasm approached. Yours was approaching too, you could feel the knot tightening inside you. “I… I…” you attempted to squeak out. Ramsay growled loudly as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Do it!” You gave in. You allowed your body to be swallowed in pleasure as the wave of heat rushed over you. It lasted quite a long time for you, and you were unable to keep a fixed grip on reality as your eyes kept rolling into your head, you were being completely surrounded by your orgasm.

Ramsay plunged his cock deep inside you one last time before groaning and emptying himself into you. His body instinctively still bucking his hips into you even further as he pressed down into you. He had released your neck and laid his body down on top of yours, grabbing your hair as he came hard. His breathing was unsteady and heaving. You allowed him to lay on you, collecting himself as his body regained its strength. When he pushed himself up, his cock sliding out of you, he rolled over and his dark curls were damp and stuck to his forehead and neck. He grinned and looked over at you. “Well, I think I’ll have to keep you, little toy.”

[shanksbaby]

Kuzan x reader - Kidnapping

do you want a part two? please let me know!

When you had read in the newspaper that two pirates from Blackbeard's crew had broken into Whole Cake Island and kidnapped Pudding, one of Big Mom's daughters, you had simply sighed and shook your head. This was not the first time pirates had kidnapped anyone, much less abducted any other pirates.

You had read that the girl was only sixteen years old, and even though she was also automatically a pirate, you couldn't help but feel a veil of sadness toward her. She was still a young girl, lonely and scared for sure of those pirates…You knew that the pirates in Yonko's crew were particularly cruel, and you knew that there were two captains in his fleet who had no problem raping a woman.

But honestly that was it, you didn't bother to investigate further, as much as you were sorry it was still something related to Big Mom and and Blackbeard's pirates, not something related to you. So you spent your day quietly, not thinking about the news you read.

Until one of your fellow marines approaches you quietly as if he doesn't want to further upset you with an expression of pity toward you (now that you think about it, many marines have looked at you that way while whispering to each other) and says, "You know, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry…I read…Well everyone at the base read what happened at Whole Cake Island."

You look at him confused, wondering why he had told you this… What did you have to do with the kidnapping of that little girl? Of course you were sorry, but it wasn't something that destroyed you, it simply caused you a hint of sadness but that's all . The Marine further explains what he meant "I know what it's like to find out that your loved one turns out to be a different person than you thought."

"Huh?" you say being even more confused.

"Come on, don't pretend that's not true. We all know about our former admiral and your former boyfriend Kuzan and that girl" he says looking at you with an even more pity expression. He probabily thinks that you are trying to deny the realty.

"Kuzan? What the fuck Kuzan have to do the kidnapping of Pudding?" you say irritated, both because that marine was assuming that the man you were having an affair with and still loved was dealing with a kidnapping and because of his expression of pity. He almost looked like he was a bit condescending, as he is treating like a child.

"Y\N..." he says, changing expression after realizing you have no idea " I suppose you didn't read the communicate of the superiors... We have been reported that the Whole Cake Island has been frozen..."

you didn't need him to continue to understand everything….It was Kuzan who kidnapped the girl then, together with another member of Blackbeard's crew, your ex is the only one who has that level of power and above all had a devil fruit capable of freezing everything

"We all know that he is the only one....Honestly there are been reports of him joining Blackbeard, but we didn't believe them...And we didn't tell you because we tought it was useless since they were fake...But we are mistaken...I guess" he says sheepishly

…But why he joined blackbeard?You ask yourself while looking at the marine, but not saying anything. Why join a pirate like him? Did you know that Kuzan didn't hate pirates like Sakazuki, but joining a person like that Yonko? You could understand Shanks if he liked having more freedom…hell even Luffy…But Blackbeard? That man was so evil. How could he have the guts to kidnap a sixteen years old girl?

But you know there must be a reason…And you wanted to find out. On the other hand you knew Kuzan better than anyone else, you knew that he wasn't a bad person… You also know it from the words that Smoker told you that he pronounced "I am still me"..

At least you hope he had a good reason. There is a part of your brain that wonders, what if he became really evil? what if he has his own agenda and he doesn't care more about other's lives….what if he doesn't care more about you?

He had left you when he left the Navy, he had told you that he couldn't be by your side anymore, that he needed to be alone, that he needed to be away from all of that. In your heart, you knew he loved you when he said those words. but now? Now you're not sure anymore.

And that's exactly why you needed answers. You needed to meet him, no matter what. You then take your leave of the marine, thanking him and reassuring him that you were ok and making a plan in mind to have a face to face meeting with Kuzan.

[piratesfromspace]

Plaything (141xReader)

Pairing: (implied) Reader x Ghost x Soap x Price x Gaz Rated: Mature Word count: 2.7k Summary: Rain and Soap have been kidnapped. Note: In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic, I recommend you read part 3 to understand this chapter. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself).

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, implied torture, threat of sexual assault, overall canon typical violence, but with a happy ending (kinda)

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // <> // PART 5

Soap hears her before he can see her - Don’t touch me she screams, and the fury in her tone has his heart racing. They drag her into the room where he is detained. His hands tightly bound behind his back and to the metal chair he sits on. The zip ties are cutting into his skin, the metal too hard and cold under his thighs. No chance to rip them off discreetly with all those men watching him. But he stops caring about his own discomfort the second she appears. 

Despite the heavy tac gear on her body, she looks cruelly small against the giant holding her. Her hair is in her face, and there is a smear of blood on her cheek, but she’s trashing and screaming with so much vigor John is somewhat relieved. She’s alive and kicking . 

“My oh my, what do we have here, mmh? That’s an interesting new addition to your squad MacTavish.” The man next to the giant croons. “She wasn’t there the last time we met. Or maybe you’ve been hiding her all along?” He walks slowly, towering over Rain. “Wouldn’t blame you, such a pretty thing, you have to be careful who you show it to...” he taunts.

Soap knows him - codename Zeus, what a pretentious asshole - he’s the head of this mercenary unit they had to team up with once. But since they sell their fire power to the highest bidder, don’t really have any allegiance, it was only a matter of time before they met again in a less friendly situation. They had rat him out of the safehouse he was sharing with Rain. No clue how they got the intel. Or why they captured him. He had prayed Rain would be able to escape, but it appears she was caught as well. Soap just really hopes the rest of the squad will figure something out, and quickly. 

“So what is she?” Zeus goes on, evil mirth in his voice. 

“Sniper?” one of the other rogue soldiers tries. Zeus laughs.

“Nah. She had fucking glasses on when we caught her.” He looks at Johnny with a smirk, then at her. “Maybe you’re their nurse? Oh wait I know, you’re their cook, right?” he asks, feigning honesty, and his men chuckle. Soap wants to kill them all, break their teeth and stop them from laughing ever again. 

Zeus extends his hand, catches Rain’s chin between his gloved fingers, forces her head up. “Or maybe you’re their plaything? The squad little whore?”  Rain’s eyes widen in anger and shock, she snaps her head to the side trying to escape her captor’s grip. 

The words of Zeus awaken Soap’s memory. Invoke flashes of what happened in Siberia. Unexpected guilt settles in his guts with an icy feeling. “Plaything” - she wasn’t their plaything , she was the one initiating whatever it was , she was more than willing. They only wanted to make her feel good.

Johnny doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels guilty because of this. The implications of what Zeus is suggesting - he hates them, they’re nonsensical, but still he feels attacked even if it's ridiculous. He can only imagine what it does to Rain’s spirit. 

“Or maybe you’re their plaything? The squad little whore?”The words of their captor echoes in her head. How does he know? It’s not rational but for a split second she panics. She panics because maybe - maybe - there is the tiniest chance someone knows? Someone else beside the 141? It makes absolutely no sense, and she should not care at all, but since the second she’s been captured, she feels her mind unraveling.

She tries her best to keep it together - damn it , she followed the freaking training, she’s supposed to know what to do, she’s supposed to have her emotions in check. Truth is no training can prepare you for the feeling of helplessness slithering along every inch of her body, seizing her lungs, filling her throat full with a cloying fear.

Zeus and his men are hitting low, she’s easy target. Pointing at her womanhood and making it demeaning, citing all the adjacent prejudices they can think of. No better than stupid mean boys from high school. It should not dig at her confidence like this. She knows her skills, out of and on the battlefield. She knows her team respects that - respects her . Loves her, even. But still, she doesn’t feel so well, it’s too much happening too fast. Bile rises behind her teeth.

“Am I hitting a sore spot, sweetheart ?” Zeus laughs at her, forcefully cups her check, in a mockery of care. He turns to Soap “I guess we’ll find a way to have fun with her, me and my men, one way or another…”, He clicks his tongue, rests his hand on the handle of the knife attached to his belt, the threat blatant, “Don’t worry, you’ll watch before it’s your turn.” he snarls. Johnny grits his teeth, holds his tongue because he’s afraid anything he would say would be faced with some sort of retaliation on Rain. 

Zeus is not done. “Oh, one last thing. I just want to make it very clear for the both of you - I already got the intel I need. But my client wants you dead, so why not have a little fun while we’re at it? Well, I mean they want MacTavish dead.” Zeus goes back in front of Rain, “Sorry darling, you’re not quite famous enough for people to actually care about you.”

She spits in his face and he laughs it off. 

---

Ghost is the first to go in. He had rushed through the stairs of the decrepit building, stopping only a couple of seconds at every floor to make sure the way was clear before climbing up again. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s going to find. He only focuses on taking down any hostile as discreetly as possible. He doesn’t even want them to suffer, he has no will to torture - he just want them to be gone . Bones turned to ashes. Cleaned from the surface of this earth. He looks at their faces just long enough to forget them after. 

Since the news of their capture, he feels numb. Immune to any kind of emotions - dissociated - mind split into so many shards he wonders if it will ever heal. It’s not the first time one of them - of the 141 - has been captured. Not the first time he has to lead a rescue mission. But it’s her. And Johnny. And he knew this would happen - he knew it. 

The scars on his back are itchy, like the wounds were about to open again, as if time just decided to go backwards. The trauma of his own capture had been kept locked away very efficiently, Simon had tucked it into some layers at the root of his mind, pressed there between his will to live and his dedication to duty, a prison of steel where it was supposed to be forgotten forever.

Until Soap’s frantic voice had crackled through the comm - We been hit… is compromised… - and then the silence. Price had looked at him, surprise and something that must have been akin to fear in his eyes. Since then, Simon can feel it, the anxiety feeding on the ugly things he has repressed for years, gnawing at the base of his skull, ready to burst free. And along with it, blooms the guilt of failing to protect them from the worst that can happen to a soldier - to anyone . 

When he kills the first guard, he doesn’t bother to look at his face, but as he goes through the long corridors, sniping down each enemy, something clicks. He knows most of them. They’re mercenaries. When his knife slices the throat of another one, he can read in his eyes the terrible recognition and he’s pretty sure he can hear him croak “Ghost?” against his gloved palm before life leaves him.

Price, Gaz and him clear the rooms with brutal efficiency, and by the point they reach the end of the floor, they don’t bother with discretion anymore. They find a pile of discarded boots (two big ones, and two smaller) and belts and gears. Soap and Rain’s stuff. They are kept here, it’s a certainty now. So they kill and kill - sink bullets in old allies - terminating even the injured despite their begging. Ghost is bashing open every door he can see, leaving the last mercenaries to his teammates, until he finds it - the cell. 

He fires at the lock, kicks the door and goes in, handgun first. He scans the room in a second. Clear . And it’s like everything explodes inside him. The air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and fresh blood and revenge. Here they are, Soap and Rain. Soap is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, head lolling against his chest. His face is a mess of red, blood covering dark bruises, like stones at the bottom of a crimson pond. His clothes look soaked, his bare feet are also bloodied.

Rain is sitting on the floor, hands bound behind her back, curled against the leg of McTavish. She might be comforting herself as much as she’s trying to comfort her Sergeant. She’s down to the tight black shorts she wears underneath her cargo pants, her T-shirt is half-torned at the collar, hanging loosely on her shoulders. Blue and black patches are dotted on her upper arms, on her naked legs, but she looks in way better shape than Soap. 

“Simon” she whispers. And he realizes he’s been standing there in shock for a couple seconds. She turns her face to him, and there is a smear of vermilion on her cheek, where it was pressed against Soap’s thigh. Her eyes are a little wild, the white veined in reddish streaks - she must have cried. “Simon” she says again, like she can’t quite believe he’s real. 

Ghost snaps open the zip ties, and as soon as she’s free, she turns to Soap, holds his face in her small hands. “Johnny, Johnny, they’re here - you’ll be ok - Fuck, Johnny, please look at me…” she begs, while Simon frees him as well. Price and Gaz are at the doorstep, taking in the scene before them. Ghost is holding Rain with one arm, trying to prevent Soap from falling on the ground with the other - and she’s frantic, she repeats his name, tries to wake him up from his lethargic state. Simon tries to reassure her - Rain, let me take care of him. Rain. Rain, stop. 

But she can’t, she’s spiraling and she starts crying again. It feeds Simon’s own anxiety, he’s been helpless in protecting them, and even now he doesn’t know what to do. He presses her against him, hopes it will calm her down but it’s useless. Until her name - her true name - echoes in the room. Price’s voice is firm, devoid of any blame but commanding nonetheless. Ghost feels Rain stiffen immediately in his arms, her body reacting on instinct to her Captain’s order. 

Price gets her out of Simon’s grip, gently pulling her out of the way so he can take care of Soap. Are you hurt? Can you walk? She doesn’t answer, she’s shaking, from the cold and the shock of it all. Price scans her body, cataloging every bruise, the blood on her face, on her palms - not hers though. Soap’s…

“It’s bad Captain” Gaz whispers, eyes to the side, looking at Simon’s hauling Johnny in his arms. “We need to go. Now.” Price nods, gaze locked on Rain.

“Requesting evac. 6 minutes. They’re alive but … keep the medic on board.” Gaz’s radio crackled with a stern copy . They climbed on the roof to rendez-vous with the chopper. Rain insisted on retrieving some of her gear, she had put on her boots and holster, and had proceeded to unsheath her knife. Price had tried to argue she didn’t need to, she was safe now - but she wouldn’t listen. She made her way with the rest of them, in her shorts and torn shirt, holding her blade so tight her knuckles were white under the crimson of Soap’s blood clinging to her skin. She looked straight out of those dumb horror movies Soap likes to watch on leave. Bloodied and beaten and with tears on her cheeks, and yet still holding a knife ready to do whatever it takes to stay alive. 

Her head was too light and too heavy at the same time, her legs felt like cotton, she could barely hear anything above the deafening sound of her thumping heart. The last of her adrenaline was keeping her standing, but the second she got up into the chopper, she crashed. Price had to carefully pry the knife from her hands, strap her down to her seat, fix the headset on her ears, because her fingers were shaking too much.

On the other side of the heli, the medic was bunched over Johnny’s form, Ghost by his side. He turned back suddenly, back to her. The skull mask is streaked red, the white paint on his chin also. With the lack of light in the hull, she can’t see his eyes, just two holes of dark void. Anyone else would be terrified of him when he looks like this. Like some deranged creature that’s barely human, all bones and no flesh. But she spots the slight way his shoulders just drop, like he’s releasing a breath at her sight. Unconsciously, she mimics him, tries to even her breathing, tries to slow the angry roar of her blood. 

“‘Am fine” she states, voice flat, when Price clicks his mic open, before he even asks anything. “Just bruises. No internal bleeding. No concussion.” 

“Just let the medic check on you after.” Her captain insists.

“I have none of the symptoms.” She concludes and Price knows not to argue, because she started learning military medicine a few months ago and the new medic on base genuinely thought she was a colleague when she efficiently treated the open fracture of some rookie. Her ability to pick up new knowledge frightens him a bit sometimes. 

“I am fine.” she repeats mechanically. “I’m not the one injured.” she adds so low Price wouldn’t have heard it if it wasn’t for her mic. He picks up the underlying guilt in her statement immediately. 

“You stop this right now - Rain - Rain, listen to me. I’m fucking serious. It wasn’t your fault.” There is a tinge of despair behind the controlled anger in his voice. First time he sounds like this. It unsettles her. 

“You don’t understand, Johnny, he- he said stupid things so they would stop what they were- they tried to attack me-but…he…” She’s getting breathless, words stuck in her throat, hurting like she had been fed burning coal. Her voice not as monotonous as before, wavy and unsure. “He sacrificed himself.” and with that she starts to cry again. 

---

She’s asleep when Ghost joins her. The only reason she was able to close her eyes was the couple of sleeping pills and painkillers the medic slipped in Price’s hand before gesturing at her in a silent order. Her head had been spinning the whole time she shed her clothes and sat under the shower spray. From the medication and the exhaustion - Price had stayed to make sure she was alright. But at least she fell on her mattress and went unconscious the minute after.

Simon curls around her, squeezes her body against his, the warmth of her skin a blessing he wasn’t sure he would be able to know again. She moves in her sleep, sinks against his chest even further. Fuck . His heart misses a beat when he thinks about the fact she might have been gone. Forever. Her and Johnny, they both might have. He had spent the last hours mulling over his fear in the back of the room where the medic was trying his best to patch up Soap. 

Now all he wanted was for her to forget, for her to not have to go through what he had lived after his own capture. He stays there, strong arms around her waist, his discarded mask still covered in blood on the nightstand - an artifact powerful enough to repel the demons in her nightmares.

NEXT PART

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Alright buckle up here's my actual genuine reaction....

First episode:

First of all, I regret asking for more Hemlock, this was fantastically awful, I will not be recovering.

Second of all, that shaved clone has done things to me. Horrible, horrid things that made me actually pause it and look away. It made me physically ill, it was the worst. Great, but the worst.

The passage of time really did fucking get to me BUT HER LITTLE PONYTAIL UGH

crosshair..... I need a moment

EMERIE !!!! CANT STAND HER !!!!!!!!!!! SNITCH ASS BITCH

I literally don't care that she was allowed to keep the doll, btw. I dont give a shit. I hope Emerie dies in a fire.

nala se.... ew............

I think the whole episode was just pure horror, it was so fucking disgusting to watch, idk about you guys but watching the clone who had probably faced the true horror of SCI-FI warfare crying alone in his cell genuinely had me pausing the episode. Really great work there, Jennifer, I will be billing you for my therapy

Crosshair and Omega bonding !!! The little "What's your mission objective" was definitely a tactic he used on his brothers to have them pay attention, I refuse to acknowledge that he's the youngest, he just isn't. That's big brother keeping his little brother(s) on task behaviour.

Everything about Hemlock gave me chills. I love him. I hate him. I hope his guts cover the screen. I am fascinated by him.

I had a sneaking suspicion Emerie was taken under Hemlock's wing, and her undoing will be her endless loyalty to him... they did not have to say it as obviously as that, though. Glad they did.

Crosshair is sick. There is no way you show us all these sick, dying clones then Crosshair and expect us not to figure that out. He's going to die. His shaking is just the first symptom. I am not ready.

I definitely have more smaller notes I will make once I am not sobbing hysterically about it !!!!

Episode two!!:

This is the one that made me cry, actually.

Watching Wrecker and Hunter march in, quiet and covered in countless injuries, made me so sad. I couldnt recognise them. Those aren't my lads.

Wrecker begging hunter not to go because people didn't make it back.... hunter I get you're desperate, but you will NOT survive another brother being killed. I can't bear to watch him tear himself apart and neither can Wrecker.

WEEPED LIKE AN ACTUAL BABY WHEN I SAW THOSE CLONE BABIES.... THEYRE TOO YOUNG.

"99ers???" THERES FUCKING MORE ??????? I want to know the lore behind this line particularly.

Theyre so cute..... they're so CUTE ugh sedate me immediately

THE WAY HUNTER WAS LOST AT THE START BTW WITH THE TECH AND HE WAS GETTING FRUSTRATED AND HE IMMEDIATELY LOOKED TO OMEGAS STUFF AND LET HIS GRIP LOOSEN ON THE DATAPAD HE WSS THINKING OF HIS YOUNGEST TWO SIBLINGS I WILL NEVER FUCKING RECOVER DAVID AND JENNIFER LET THEM BE HAPPY !!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways that little fucker who was good with tech..... I see you. I love you.

They were so used to letting Tech do his thing.... they immediately moved to cover fire....... for a second they forgot it wasnt him, I'm weak

THE CRATE FROM S1 YOU HORRIBLE BASTARDS WHEN WILL YOU LET ME DIE

wrecker playing with the kids..... laughing with them....... ohh i will not cope when he dies.

Hes going to die, btw. In case you didn't know. I know. I am aware. I am unprepared. I dont want to discuss it.

PABU..... THEYRE GOING TO PABU WHEN I TELL YOU I SOBBED. MY MOTHER HAD TO HOLD ME. I WAS INCONSOLABLE FOR FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES!!!!!!

i cannot express my feelings for this episode.

Episode three!!!!!!:

I want that man. Yes, i do mean that masked man we saw for two seconds, I want him.

The Emperor had me actually screaming. I was so hyped. He scares me so bad.

Hemlock!!!!!! Evil !!!!!!!! CUNT !!!!!!!!!!!!

nala se was so obvious about her "Get tf out" speech..... why don't you say it louder, the whole fucking room couldn't hear you

The fucking timer. Chills. CHILLS.

Crosshair and Omega !!!! He was so unserious I love that

....sorry to all the lovers tho, have to say i DIED laughing at his "gUaRdS"

And the SCREAM he scrumpt when the door opened, who allowed that 😭😭 it was so fucking funny whbeisbwiba

They were so messy this entire ep, they're everything to me......

"Of course he did" DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING DIE ?!?!?!? WHO FUCKING GAVE YOU THE RIGHT CAUSE IT WASNT FUCKING ME

Crosshairs trigger finger shaking so bad he gave his position away....... that's a major fucking problem, isn't it? That's gonna bite him in the ass.

I want more of Hemlock having a damn tantrum, that was fantastic. Him this season has me in a chokehold. I can't wait to write more of him.

This entire season so far is amazing. I can't wait to watch more, there are so many more points I wanna make, I'm freaked. I'm so happy, I'm still crying, I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Making more coherent thoughts about them soon <3