#hoo man this was a doozy

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 6

note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 5.3k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff

ao3

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simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.

he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.

slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.

he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.

he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.

but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.

it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.

the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.

but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.

you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.

it’s anderson.

simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.

the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.

were you… involved with him?

the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.

not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.

he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.

it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.

you coming pub? 20:23 pm

you should 20:23 pm

sting is here ;) 20:24 pm

no. 20:25 pm

why notttttttt 20:25 pm

cmon just get down here 20:25 pm

seriously i think you should come we need you 20:26

fine. 20:28 pm

let's fucking go 20:28 pm

better run tho be quick 20:28 pm

simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.

✹✹✹

slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.

immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.

he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.

now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.

it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask. 

"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.

simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.

"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"

"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"

"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.

"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.

before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.

he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"

that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.

"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"

the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.

with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.

"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"

the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.

"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"

"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.

anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.

"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter. 

"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."

simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.

"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.

"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."

"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"

"i'm not–"

"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"

"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.

"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.

"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.

"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.

anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.

"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.

he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.

its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.

"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.

"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.

you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.

"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.

you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.

in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.

when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.

"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."

he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.

"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.

"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"

perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.

"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.

"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.

"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.

simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.

he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.

it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.

he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.

neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.

for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.

still, neither of you say a word.

a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.

eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."

"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.

simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.

"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.

with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."

"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him. 

"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.

"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.

your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.

"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"

another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.

your sigh breaks the silence.

"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.

"...what?"

"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."

"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.

"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.

"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"

"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"

your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.

"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"

simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.

the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.

he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.

he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.

"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.

he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."

"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"

"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.

"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"

simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.

"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.

when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul. 

"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."

he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.

simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"

"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.

"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"

there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.

"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.

"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.

"i'm in love with you, too."

his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"

"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.

"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.

"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"

simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.

"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."

"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."

for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.

a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.

he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.

simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.

he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.

"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.

"anything."

"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."

at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love." 

you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."

he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.

he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology (p2 in separated reblog)

[monarch-marshkin]

"C'mon Snufkin! Over there is where I hid the bodies!"

2018-2024

HOO, man working on this piece was a doozy. i'm so happy it turned out as well as it did :) and very proud with how much my art skills have developed over the years, anywho love moomin and snufkin i wish i had the motivation to draw them more

[cassiefromhell]

Bats and Fire: The Very Beginnings

What if we took y/n (who is, in this fic, a monster researcher/hunter) being mated to a couple acotar men... then made it all the acotar men (batboys, eris, lucien)....

So this was a silly joke. Then I wrote it. Then I realized that this could be multiple parts... so welcome to:

Bats and Fire

01 - The Very Beginnings

(this is such proof that i will write anything and i'm 6x more likely to write it if its MESSY and CHAOTIC)

Warnings: none

WC: 2k

Finding out you’re mated to all the ACOTAR men would be a doozy.

At first it’s Rhys, when you make eye contact with him while on a business visit in Velaris…

“I know,” you laugh, gently nudging your friend’s shoulder. “Boo hoo, you don’t like the Night Court. But it’s beautiful. We’ve been in worse places on business.”

“That’s tru— oh my cauldron, look who it is!” She points to the back of a man walking with a tall blonde woman, and you can immediately sense the power radiating off of him. He must be who you’re looking for: the High Lord of Night.

“Yes!” you grin, tightening your grip on the jar in your hands — which holds a very menacing pixie that has been stealing magic from residents of Prythian all over. The High Lord of Autumn had commissioned its capture, and you had tracked it back to night, and well… here you were.

“Lord Rhysand!” you call out, gracefully sliding your way through the crowd. “Lord Rhysand, I must speak with you!”

Someone bumps into you, and you stumble, crashing straight into the High Lord’s chest. 

“You bellowed?”

“Yes, yes— sorry, my Lord. But you see, this pixie—”

But then you look up, meeting his stunning violet-blue gaze.

You drop your jar, and it shatters on the cobblestone ground, the pixie exploding out of the rubble, trying to make a break for it. The creature is immediately surrounded by darkness, unable to make its grand escape.

“You’re…” you whisper, covering your mouth with a hand. 

“…My mate.”

Cassian and Azriel came shortly after. You and Rhys got close quickly, so why wouldn’t you be introduced to his friends?

“Darling?” Rhysand says, glancing around the room, his eyes finally landing on you. “Oh, good— you’re all ready. Remember that it’s cold, so wear plenty of layers—”

You blink up at him, gesturing to the not one, not two, not three, but four layers he’s made you put on. “Rhys. I’m going to be very warm. I’ve been to the Illyrian mountains on hunting trips before and I can confirm that this is too much.”

“It’s gotten colder in recent years.”

“Sure.”

Rhys grins, kisses the side of your head, and takes your hand. “Ready? We won’t be there for two long, I just want to do a little surveillance with the camps and introduce you to my brothers while we’re there.”

With a quick nod, you’re  enveloped by darkness and wind. And then it all fades, and chill air bites at your cheeks and nose.

Rhysand holds you close to his side as you trudge through the snow. You wrap your coats tighter around yourself, leaning into his warmth.

And then you feel it.

You freeze.

An electric connection stuns you, seeming to form at your heart and spread through your chest. 

And then another.

You reluctantly look over your shoulder, cursing when you see them. Two tall Illyrian males, staring at you. They definitely know. And you have the gut feeling that these two males are the Cassian and Azriel that Rhys told you about.

“Ah, look, there they are,” Rhys grins, waving towards the two males, who have both started in your direction.

This is your moment: fight, flight, or freeze? Your heart pounds in your chest—they’re getting closer—and the crowd is so thick with people…

As a monster researcher and hunter, you’ve never fled once in your life.

…But now is a fantastic time to start.

“Restroom,” you blurt, and then sprint from Rhys’s side, burying yourself in the crowd of taller Fae and wings and fur coats.

You weave between the people, attempting to mask your scent, and then burst into a small corner shop. A bakery, filled with the smells of bread and pastries. Perfect to cover your trail.

You walk up to the counter, fishing out a few coppers. “Do you have anything particularly smelly?”

The baker raises a brow, his wings shifting behind him as he gives you a once-over dripping with judgment. “Excuse me?”

“Love?”

You curse under your breath at the sound of Rhys’s voice. And then you slowly turn around, finding your mate… and your other two mates.

So you face your fate.

The Illyrians were easy to love. You got to know them in a matter of weeks, but you had other jobs to attend to, and was soon in the Autumn Court, where you had to finally turn in that damned pixie to High Lord Eris…

Are you sure you feel safe there? Azriel asks down the bond. One of us can come and accompany you.

Yes, you confirm. All is well. I’m just turning in this little beast. I’ll be back before sundown.

He sent you a wave of love, paired with a sarcastic you have fun with that.

So here you are, climbing a ladder to get to the top level of the Autumn palace. It’s built like a treehouse, with ladders separating the levels unless you’re nobility or a special guest, in which case you get to use the fancy-dancy wooden staircases in the center. 

But being a monster specialist is pretty damn far from nobility. So you get the ladders route.

You decide that you hate this place.

Hoisting yourself up onto the final platform, where the throne room is, you climb to your feet. 

A guard gives you a dirty look, holding out a spear to stop you in your path. “Female. State your name and business.”

You say your name, and hold up the jar containing a very angry pixie. “The High Lord commissioned this pixie’s capture. Now, if you’ll let me go, this Tinkerbelle is very eager to find an escape route.”

“You didn’t give advance warning of your visit.”

“I sent word a month ago,” you snarl, baring your teeth.

His spear strikes you quicker than your Fae reflexes can react. It collides with your cheek, sending you stumbling back, blood rushing down your jaw.

“What in Prythian are you doing, Magus?” an unfamiliar male voice enters the encounter, and you immediately see boots approaching.

“She was trying to force her way in—”

“Liar,” you hiss. You wipe away the blood and face the guard once more, free hand tightening on the pixie jar. “I have proper certification, if you would just let me—”

“She’s aggressive, your majesty.”

Your majesty?

You look up at the male who had approached. You’re met with a golden-skinned male, with a  scar through one eye and a whirring, mechanical eyeball. When he too looks at you, you feel the slightest… ittiest bittiest… tug.

Shit.

His jaw drops, long ginger hair falling over his shoulder. “You’re…”

The doors to the throne room swing open, revealing a male that looks like your newfound fourth mate. But he’s wearing a crown, so he must be the High Lord that you came for.

And when his stunning copper eyes turn to you, it happens.

For the fifth time.

“Nope,” you say, throwing the jar in High Lord Eris’s direction. “Nope. Not again. Not doing this.”

With that, you turn on your heel, starting back towards the ladder.

“Wait,” the first male jumps in front of you, eyes glimmering. “You’re… you’re my mate.”

“What do you mean?” Eris jumps in, stepping into view and rapidly approaching. “She’s my mate.”

“See, so there’s this phenomenon,” you start, gritting your teeth. “I already have three mates. I don’t feel the need for another two. The Mother is cruel and she thinks that building me a harem is great entertainment. But you two are officially out. Capishe?”

The two males looked at eachother, and then back to you—

But you were gone.

We have an issue, you stated down the bond to your Illyrian mates.

You knew that blocking out two mates would not work. And it didn’t. They sent you flowers and gifts, and... oh, the gifts... such expensive and exquisite things... for weeks, until you caved… and called a meeting for all of your mates.

You sit in silence at The House of Wind’s dining table, monitoring the males’ expressions. They're all glaring at each other. The Mother definitely could have given you a less… volatile… group.

“Okay,” you start, scratching the back of your neck. “So… I think this is it.”

“I’d like to put it on the record that you said you were sure we were all last time,” Cassian grits out, wings rigid at his back. 

“This is different. Now, we need to go over rules, boundaries… anything that comes to mind?”

“Separated court times,” Lucien starts, seeming rather open to the situation. “Eris and I manage the Autumn Court, and these three are always in Night, so it makes sense to do a week-on, week-off schedule.”

“Her work requires her to travel,” Azriel joins in, twirling Truth-Teller in his hand. “You couldn’t expect her to just stay in your court for a week at a time.”

“Of course he didn’t mean that,” Eris snarls, ear twitching. “He meant during her off time.”

“I could—” you try to join in, but it doesn’t really work out for you.

“I plan on making her my High Lady, which she has already agreed to,” Rhysand growls. “So she’ll be spending a lot of time in the Night Court.”

Cassian nods, joining in. “And we don’t want her to give up her passions. Which seems to be what you want. So she’ll be either at the Night Court or traveling. You two can… visit… her.”

“I really wouldn’t mind—”

“And what if I want her to be my High Lady?” Eris stands, lips pulling back as he faces Rhys. “Perhaps she’d prefer to reside in a more respectable court than Night.”

That prompts both Azriel and Cassian to stand, growling and wings flaring. “You’re a piece of scum and she does not deserve to be tied to the likes of you,” Azriel responds, bitterness and anger dripping in his tone.

“Have you lost all your dignity?” Lucien shoots to his feet too, and Rhys follows suit.

They start yelling. And arguing. And every time you try to cut in, they ignore you.

So you conjure up something that should get their attention.

“Contraceptive brews!” you shout, throwing your arms in the air.

Sure enough, the males go silent, turning to look at you.

“Sit down.”

And they all do.

Like puppies taking a command.

“Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel and I have all agreed that the males take the contraceptive brews. I have a rigorous travel schedule that often includes random overnights in the woods or mountains while hunting or researching, so I don’t always have access to them,” you explain, gesturing to the Illyrians.

Eris raises a brow. “Wouldn’t it make sense for you to just carry it with you rather than all five of us taking—”

“Drink the brew or you don’t get it,” Cassian growls, making a lewd gesture.

“New rule. No more fighting. It’s overwhelming and stupid.” you announce, taking the ribbon out of your hair and putting it in the middle of the table. “This is the Talking Ribbon. When you want to talk, you must have the ribbon. Else you shut the fuck up.”

“That is your—”

“Rhys. Talking Ribbon.”

Rhys obediently takes the ribbon, then tries speaking again. “This is your favorite ribbon. I wouldn’t risk this being used… it could get torn.”

Lucien takes the ribbon gingerly, and then faces you. “Then we will not tear the ribbon. Right, everyone?”

The males all nod.

You sigh, and then gesture around the group. “My time will be spent as I please. Now, I think I’ve been here for as long as I need to, so you five can work out the details on your own.” You stand, and walk away from the table.

“Love,” Rhys calls after you. “Love, I think that maybe we would benefit from your presence—”

“I can’t always be your mediator. I have a Wyrm to hunt. Good night.”

And you leave the males to grumble amongst each other.

If you'd like to be tagged for future 'bats and fire' chaos, comment and I'll add you to the taglist!

Read 02 HERE

[karatekels]

In Deep Water - Chapter 2

HOO BOY, this one's a doozy. Definitely the most fucked up, depraved thing I've ever written, so please don't read this if any of the trigger warnings are upsetting to you. Speaking of which...

TW: bondage, torture, threats, violence (hair-pulling, slapping, punching, kicking, biting, cutting), blood-drinking, sexual assault, rape (oral, anal, vaginal), graphic non-consensual smut

...What'd I tell you?

Part 1 here

---

Chapter 2: Over a Barrel

Reader’s POV:

Somehow it’s the sound of the slap that jolts you awake before you notice the pain, but then you do feel it, a hot stinging ache that blooms across the side of your face. You shut your eyes tighter, your head swimming from the lingering drugs in your system and the force of the strike, and feel your body in a strange, unnatural position.

You feel the rough rope binding your wrists, and at the sound of a cranking noise, the ropes are pulled upwards, taking your arms with them until you’re standing on the balls of your feet. Forcing your eyes open, you look up at the squeaky pulleys and the intricate knotwork around your wrists. No surprise; Gus knew his sailors’ knots.

You try to take stock of your surroundings in the dark room, assuming that you’re in a garage or maybe a basement. There are no windows, and the ground is cold concrete that seems to permeate the air of the room, making you shiver. You’re still in your dress but your coat and shoes have been taken off, making you feel vulnerable.

The room is relatively barren, save for a nearby table covered with items. You take notice of a bucket of water, a large cooler, an assortment of knives, and something that looks suspiciously like a branding iron that has your heart racing… Before you can get a closer look, Gus steps between you and the table, taking up your entire field of vision. His rage is simmering under the surface, but you can tell that it’s very much present as he looks down at you. He’s taken off his leather jacket and shirt, leaving him in just his white vest and pants, and as you take in the size of his arms you recognize the intimidation tactic for what it is. Not that it was necessary – you didn’t need to see his muscles to know that he could pulverize you without even breaking a sweat.

“Y/N,” he says your name flatly, glaring down at you before walking around you in a slow, wide circle. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he repeats, tsking your name as if mightily disappointed. “What are we going to do with you?”

You don’t say anything – what could you even say? – and sense that he’s right behind you, close but not touching you, and the anticipation has you trembling as you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to give your arms the tiniest amount of slack. You know that Gus is about to start demanding answers, and you’re not sure what to tell him; you don’t know what he knows other than the name Jacob and that you were clearly not someone to be trusted. He could just be under the impression that you were seeing a man named Jacob, or he could know everything.

Suddenly your head is pulled back sharply, his fist tangled in your hair and his other hand reaching around you to grip your throat. You feel your pulse take off against his thumb and swallow thickly.

“I thought that we had something, that we were going somewhere. And we do, honey, and we are, even if you don’t see it yet,” Gus coos reassuringly, even as he tightens his grip on you.

“G-Gus–” you choke out, trying to reason with him, but he hisses in your ear for you to be quiet, releasing your hair to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“Shut up,” he snarls. “You’ll speak when I tell you to.”

He shoves you forward suddenly, your body briefly swaying by your wrists as your feet try to find purchase on the floor. By the time you recover he’s standing in front of you again, looking you up and down in a way that has your hair standing on end.

“Now, you’re gonna answer all my questions, you’re gonna tell the fucking truth, and then we can start to move past this little bump in the road, got it?” You nod mutely and he gives you a pleased, toothy smile in return.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, a large hand cupping your cheek fondly. You try not to wince at the pressure on your tender skin; you’re certain it’s already bruised. “Now, tell me: Who’s Jacob?”

“A friend, Gus, just an old friend.” You try to speak clearly and keep your eyes locked with his, trying to convey sincerity the best you can.

“Yeah? From where?”

“From school, years ago.” You try to keep as close to the truth as possible without revealing information, and ‘school’ was close enough to ‘academy’ to help you pass off the lie. “We worked together for a little while afterwards, but that’s all.”

“Really. And why were you meeting him yesterday? Giving him a thick-looking file?”

“It was just old notes from the office, Gus!” you lie, and you can immediately tell from his expression that he knows it. He backhands you hard enough to make you sway from the ceiling by your wrists, the ropes digging into your sensitive skin.

“What did I say about lying to me, honey?” he hisses, bending over to get in your face and pulling you closer by the hair when you flinch away.

“How is this–” he pauses to reach into his back pocket with his free hand, shoving the photograph in your face, “ –‘just old notes from the office,’ huh?!”

You freeze as you take in the photograph. It’s one of the photographs you’d taken of the stolen goods in Harbour Manor. The same photograph that the waiter had picked up by accident.

“Where did you get that picture?” you ask in a quiet, hoarse voice, already bracing yourself for the answer. He had gotten to Jacob somehow; he was the only person on earth with a copy of that photograph. Gus slaps you again, but you hardly feel it; you’re too distracted about the wellbeing of your friend.

“Remember who’s who in this interrogation, Officer. I’m the one asking the questions around here,” Gus warns, before giving you a cold, mocking smile. “But I’ll humour you, just this once. It was found in Jacob’s car, which was all smashed up on an empty stretch of highway.”

You shut your eyes tightly, a grimace contorting your features. Jacob was a good cop, but a better person. He had a family. He didn’t deserve to die like this, or die at all because of you.

“I guess he wasn’t paying close enough attention to his surroundings, or maybe he just lost control,” he continues, his voice brimming with vindictive pleasure. “It’s incredible how one slip-up, one wrong move can completely destroy someone…” he trails off.

“H-He h-has a wife! He h-has k-kids!” you wail in anguish, your heart breaking for the man and his family.

You’re too wrapped up in your grief to be sure how long Gus stands there in silence, watching you cry as you mourn the loss of your friend, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time. Your body is wracked with sobs despite your unnatural position, tears pouring down your face and dripping down your chin.

“Oh, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Gus croons, pulling you into him and off your feet and holding you against his chest, his hands at your lower back and rubbing in slow circles. “But then, I guess I don’t know much about you at all, huh?”

You don’t reply; you’re not sure you could even if you wanted to. Gus doesn’t take well to your silence, slapping you, shaking you roughly by the shoulders, screaming at you, but you’re only distantly aware of it all, feeling strangely numb and disconnected from your body.

“Look at me, Nat! Fucking look at me!” he roars, and that name has you both freezing and making eye contact with one another for the first time since things had escalated. He stares at you, silently daring you to call him out on his blunder, but you don’t acknowledge it, even though you both know what he’d said. Him referring to you by his ex-wife’s name is a very, very bad sign for you.

“I don’t like hurting you, you know,” he says with a dejected sigh, loosening his bruising grip on your shoulders. “You were becoming the most important thing in my life. You believe me, right? Right!?” he demands, shaking you around like a limp ragdoll. “But I need to let you know that you can’t do this again, honey. No more cops, no more fighting, no more lying; that’s all over. You made me fall for you, Y/N, and I’m not letting you go.”

The passionate way he speaks reveals the depth of his obsession with you just as much as his words, and both positively terrify you, shifting your focus from Jacob to your own situation for the first time. Before you have a chance to speak, he’s bowed his head down to yours, capturing your lips in a ferocious, possessive kiss that you can’t shy away from.

So instead, you kick him between the legs as hard as you can, not thinking of your bound hands or anything else to do with your situation beyond getting him off of you.

He howls into your mouth before staggering backwards and curling into himself. You frantically look up at your hands to see if there’s any way to free yourself, but you know that it’s hopeless, and when you look back at Gus he’s glaring at you with dark eyes, and you know it’s going to be bad.

“I didn’t mean to, it was just a reflex! I–” your excuses are cut off as he punches you in the stomach, pushing the air from your lungs.

“You’re going to pay for that, you bitch.”

Your body instinctively tries to move into the fetal position to protect your stomach, but you can't, dangling from the ceiling as you are, and so you settle for catching your breath and trying not to be sick instead. Once you can breathe a bit more easily you look back to Gus to see him grabbing the large cooler off the table and bringing it over. Throwing the top open, he picks up a large block of ice, setting it down just in front of you without a word and walking off behind you.

The room is silent, save for your shaky breaths. You can’t seem to move your gaze from the ice in front of you, possibilities of what he’s going to do with it, do with you, racing through your mind.

Finally, you hear the clunking noise of a crank being turned and feel the tension of the ropes start to pull you upwards by the wrists, and you close your eyes to try and brace yourself for the incoming pain. Time moves agonizingly slowly as your arms are pulled up higher and higher, your shoulders twinging as gravity fights against your bondage until you’re worried your shoulders will dislocate.

You force your eyes open, looking through your tears for Gus to beg and scream for mercy, and your eyes fall on the ice block once more. You realize now what he’s doing.

Against your mind’s wishes, your body moves to relieve itself of the pressure it’s under, and you climb onto it, the stinging cold immediate on your aching, bare feet. Gus can clearly see you from where he’s working the crank, because it continues pulling your arms up until they’re raised above your head again. The crank is locked in place and Gus casually comes back into view, leaning against the table as he watches you shifting from foot to foot, trying to give the soles of your feet some relief. The pain is a burning cold, and wordless whines escape through your clenched jaw as you grit your teeth.

“G-Gus,” you moan his name, staring at him desperately. “Gus, p-please let me down!” you beg, forcing yourself to push through the pain. You truly have no idea how long you’ve been standing on this block of ice, but it feels like eternity, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Gus appears unmoved, toying with one of the knives on the table as he drinks in your suffering, his eyes glittering.

“Please, Gus! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please make it stop!” you wail. “I don’t know what you want, but I’ll do it, I swear I will!” you promise, telling yourself you’ll cross that bridge when you came to it.

A slight smile plays at his lips, and he wanders behind you again, lowering the ropes enough to let you step off the ice and lower your arms to your sides with a few feet of slack; enough to move, but not to run. It hurts to stand, but at least you can – you’re surprised that you managed to convince Gus to show you even this shred of mercy. As he comes back to the table you follow his movements with your eyes, trying to get a read on him. Had he hit his limit for torture?

In one fluid motion, he picks up the bucket of water off of the table and pours it over your feet.

The pain is absolutely indescribable.

You immediately collapse to the floor, shrieking like a wounded animal and trying to keep your feet off the wet floor. The rest of your body is telling you that the water is tepid, cool even, but to the frozen and frayed nerves of your feet it feels scalding.

“You’ll do what I want?!” Gus snarls down at you as you writhe on the floor in agony, still screaming. “You promise?!” He kicks you in the ribs, turning you onto your back with the toe of his boot. “What I wanted was to be able to trust you, Y/N, but you had to go and fuck that up.”

There’s a momentary reprieve from his assault as he moves to the table, and then he reappears with a sharp knife in hand, squatting down beside you and levelling you with a crazed, heartbroken look.

“What I want now is to make you hurt the way you’ve hurt me, sweetheart. And that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He takes the knife in one hand and the hem of your dress in the other, pulling it taut as he starts to cut through the fabric. You try to shy away from him and the blade but he merely tightens his grip and presses down harder. You feel the knife cut through a few layers of skin from your bellybutton to the hollow of your throat, and as he peels your dress off you can see crimson droplets appearing in the wake of the blade.

You stop thrashing and let out a whimper that becomes a gasp as you feel his warm, wet tongue lick up the trail of blood. You shudder, repulsed by the action.

“You’re so pretty when you bleed for me, baby,” he groans against your skin, cutting away your undergarments and leaving you bare on the cold concrete floor.

“I’m gonna make sure every inch of you shows that you belong to me.”

You manage to mentally disconnect from your body – it’s nothing you’ve consciously done, just your brain’s way of protecting you from Gus’s assault. He seems intent on covering every inch of your skin in a mark; a scratch from his nails or his knife, bruises from his teeth and his fists. You distantly hear yourself screaming, feel the dull ache radiating off of every inch of you, but you’re mostly focused on the bare lightbulb above you, the image scorching itself into your retinas. It’s like he’s trying to destroy you, to mash you up with his hands as though you’re made of clay so he can remake you into the loyal girl he thought you were.

Then, suddenly, it stops.

When he kisses you, the touch is so gentle that it jolts you from the surprise; you didn’t think he was capable of such a gesture after all of this. Your body doesn’t respond in any way, just laying limply on the cold hard floor beneath him. Continuing with the gentle treatment, he lifts you into his arms – you’re not sure if you’re not in agony because he’s being careful with you, or if you just can’t feel anymore – and places you on the table, the difference in temperature welcome to your freezing body.

“By the time these heal, you won’t need them to remind you that you’re mine.” He promises, running his hands across your battered body like he’s savouring every mark on your skin. You’re shivering, you’re sweating from just enduring the torture, you’re barely able to stay awake – you’re not sure why you’re bothering to try to at all.

“And if you need a reminder, we can always try something else…” He says, his voice soft and dangerous as he lifts the branding iron into view, turning it over. You see the twisted metal is curved into his initials, G.T., and your stomach roils at the thought.

“No, please!” you whimper, your hand coming up to grab his wrist before you’ve thought about it. He looks from your hand on his wrist up to your eyes, still holding the branding iron, but doesn’t make a move to hit you or remove himself from your weak grip.

“It’ll put you at risk if anyone ever saw it,” you offer weakly, trying to think up a reason for him to not go through with it. He gives you an amused smile, humouring your attempt at persuasion. You bite your tongue, bracing yourself to speak the words that will throw your remaining dignity and self-respect out the window.

“And… I know I’m yours,” you whisper, forcing yourself to maintain his gaze as you search his eyes, trying to read his thoughts. You think you see a shred of vulnerability in those cold blue orbs, and push yourself to exploit it. “I’m all yours, Gus.”

He knows you’re lying, you know he does, but seeing you force yourself to say those words out loud is as good a form of surrender as any in his eyes.

He lowers the branding iron, and you start to breathe again.

He looks down at you, one hand over his mouth as he considers what to do with you, and you don’t even think about moving or speaking, not wanting to set him off again. Finally, he laughs quietly to himself, and the sound immediately has you on edge again.

“All mine, huh? I think we should consummate that,” he says decisively, scooping you up off the table and knocking everything else off of it with a sweep of his arm, sending the torture implements clattering to the floor. He turns you in his arms and bends you over the table, your injuries screaming in protest. You hear him unbuckling his belt and start to panic but he holds you down, leaning over you and pressing you down with his body. Oh God no.

“Did you know that the expression ‘to have somebody over a barrel’ was originally a nautical term?” he asks in your ear, his voice calm and nearly cheerful as he pins you against the table. You can feel him reach between you and start to stroke himself. You don’t speak, you can’t, instead shaking your head in response to his question, hoping that maybe if you obey the best you can he’ll reconsider what he’s about to do. Just the thought has you fighting to keep your body from trembling.

“It’s from when sailors could be disciplined by being bent over a barrel in front of their crewmates and getting flogged,” he continues casually, as though you were discussing the weather. But then a hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back until you’re looking at him upside down, your back arching well past the point of comfort.

“I thought about bringing back that tradition with you, of letting the crew take turns with you for how you tried to fuck us over. I was about ready to let them ruin you, fuck you in every hole until you didn’t know your own name. But no. You’re mine, you fucked with me, and I’m going to dole out enough punishment for everyone.”

You’re hyperventilating, the action drawing your attention to your bruised ribs, but Gus pays you no mind, instead cutting the ropes free from the pulley system to first tie your arms to your sides, and then to tie you to the table, the ropes digging into the sensitive flesh of your waist as you struggle against him. Feeling some of your injuries start to bleed again as the rough rope tears into your skin, you force yourself to stop, one swollen cheek pressed flat against the table. You try to see him through your peripheral vision, but you can’t turn yourself enough with the ropes holding you tightly how he wants you.

“Gus,” you whimper out his name, knowing that trying to talk him out of this is futile but also knowing that you have to try. “Gus, please don’t. Just give me some time, let me heal up a bit, and I – I’ll be willing. I’ll be yours, I won’t fight, but just don’t –”

“Ssshhhh…” Gus hisses, coming to stand in front of you. He pulls you up by the hair, lifting you off the table to face him. You glance down against your better judgement and glimpse his long, thick cock, and your entire body shudders in fear and revulsion. You don’t think that something that big could ever fit inside you comfortably, even if you wanted it. The mere thought of him forcing himself inside you when you were unwilling has you thrashing against your bondage again. Of all the torture you’d been exposed to tonight – the beatings, the ice, the threat of being branded – none of them come close to what this will do to you.

“I’m gonna have all of you, Y/N, you hear me?” He grips your chin roughly, tilting your head so that you’re looking up at him as he speaks. “I’ve got your body, but I want your mind, your heart, your soul… and I’ll have them eventually. For now, I’ll settle for what I’ve got, even if I have to tie you down to take it.”

“No…” you groan, your tears streaming down your cheeks and onto Gus’s hand.

“I know you’re scared, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting. But it’ll get better over time, I promise. Once you can admit you love me like I love you, this is gonna be magic.”

He holds three of his fingers in front of your face, all bundled together, and you shy away. He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh of disapproval.

“I’m offering you a chance to make this better for yourself, Y/N. Suck my fingers, get them nice and wet – it’s the only lube you’re getting.”

Looking up at him with pleading eyes, you reluctantly force your jaw to open, laying your tongue flat against the bottom of your mouth. A rumble emanates from Gus’s chest, his eyes glittering at the show of obedience.

“That’s it, that’s good. Now, no teeth, sweetheart, or you’ll regret it,” he warns, turning your head so that your gaze falls to the branding iron that he had knocked to the floor. You swallow thickly, nodding silently. All you can do is give in at this point, and hope that it makes this process remotely less traumatic.

Gus slides his fingers past your lips and deep into your mouth, making you gag as they brush against your throat. You push past the discomfort, sealing your lips around him. Your mouth is bone dry out of fear and disgust, so you wriggle your tongue along the underside of his fingers, trying to stimulate saliva production. Gradually, it begins to work, and Gus gives you a feral grin of approval.

“Oh, good girl!” he leers, pumping his fingers into your mouth. “Yeah, just like that!”

Eventually he pulls his fingers free with a ‘pop!’ before turning to position his hard cock just in front of your chin. You resist the urge to flinch.

“Spit on it,” he commands, and you obey, doing your best to force saliva out of your mouth, a string of drool connecting your lower lip to the head of his cock. He greedily gathers it with a finger, coating his cock as he moves to walk around the table. You brace yourself, but are unable to keep your body from shuddering. You feel his slippery fingers at your entrance and reflexively lurch forward, the lip of the table digging into your stomach, and force yourself to relax – you didn’t want to give him any reason to be rougher with you.

“That’s right, honey, just relax,” Gus croons, watching you fight your instinct to escape him. He enters you with two fingers abruptly, stretching you out, and you let out a cry of pain. His other hand runs down your spine, the light touch still managing to exacerbate your injuries.

“You look so good like this, Y/N,” he groans, keeping his hand at the small of your back as he withdraws his fingers from you to line his cock up at your entrance. “With every inch of you marked as mine. I’m gonna own you inside and out, so just relax and let me in.”

His hips surge forward to meet yours, his cock feeling like it’s splitting you open and you groan, your nails digging into your palms as you try to distract yourself from his intrusion. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back so he can whisper in your ear, his hips thrusting slow and deep as they open you up. You swear you can feel every part of his cock rubbing at your inner walls, claiming you as his, and every pump of his hips makes you gasp, whiny little ‘ah, ah, ah’s that punctuate his movements within you.

“Oh fuck yes, baby, you’re so tight,” he grunts through gritted teeth, his breath hot on the back of your neck. “That’s it, just let me have you, let me make you mine. Now moan for me, like a good little whore, or I’ll give you something to moan about.”

Something about his words makes something within you snap, and you find yourself dissociating from the experience, feeling like you’re in an almost trance-like state. You moan low and loud, the sound devoid of passion, and simulate making love with him, following his instructions in your ear mechanically. You try to keep your body relaxed and close your mind off to what you’re doing, but his thrusts keep bringing you back to the present.

“Tell me who this tight little cunt belongs to,” he snarls, straightening up and gripping your bruised, bloodied hips in his large hands, kneading and pinching at your tender flesh. “Tell me that you’re mine,” he demands, punctuating every word with a thrust of his cock.

“Ahh yes, Gus! I’m yours, I’m all yours!” you scream, your eyes shut tight like you’re trying to block out your own words. Just when you start to hope against hope that this is almost at an end, Gus pulls out, coming back to stand in front of you.

“Hearing you scream for me is music to my ears, baby,” he purrs approvingly. “Arch up for me.”

You do your best, fighting the ropes and your injured body to straighten up, lifting your head and torso off the table; it’s a deeply uncomfortable position. Gus immediately reaches for you, fondling your chest with rough fingers. You fight to keep yourself upright, staring up at him through your tears. This couldn’t go on forever; you just have to hold out a little longer.

“Suck my cock, Y/N,” he murmurs, the threatening tone out of his voice, and you know that he's testing your obedience. “And you’ll want to be thorough to help you handle what’s coming next.”

Your whole body tenses up at the implication, and he gives you a patronizing smile, lightly slapping at your cheek to get you to open your mouth.

“Never taken it in the ass before, huh? At least there’s one first left for me to have.” He seems insanely thrilled at the thought of claiming any warped form of your remaining virginity, outright grinning at you now as he brings his cock to your lips. “And remember, no teeth, or I’ll change my mind about letting the crew have their turn with you.”

“Gus–” you try to cut in to plea your case, your little dissociative bubble popping at the thought of him taking you in the ass, but the moment you open your mouth he’s thrust himself inside. It’s impossible to even try to speak around his cock, so you don’t bother, saving your breath as he fucks your face.

Tears are pouring down your cheeks and mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and he hums in approval at the depraved scene before him.

“That pretty little mouth was made to please,” he moans, his balls hitting your chin with the force of his thrusts down your throat. “Do that little thing with your tongue, like you did to my fingers.”

His request has you thinking that if you can get him off, he won’t be able to rape you anywhere else, at least for the moment. Pushing past your mangled pride and dignity, you force yourself to please him as best you can, moaning around his cock, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue around his length like you couldn't get enough.

Gus notices the change immediately, throwing his head back as you let him push past your gag reflex and take him fully into your mouth and throat, your eyes watering. He thrusts into you three more times, holding himself deep inside you before pulling out reluctantly, giving you a wicked smile.

“You almost had me, sneaky woman,” he confesses with a wry grin, tapping your nose almost affectionately. “Almost had me losing control and coming on that tongue.”

You look up at him guiltily, hating that you were caught, and that you’d just willingly sucked the bastard off for no reason. He seems to be able to read your thoughts like they’re written all over your face, and he knows just what to say to make his words sting.

“But I’ll keep in mind how eager you are to give head, my little siren. I’ll make sure you get lots of opportunity for it,” he winks at you conspiratorially, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “But not even your willing, desperate mouth is going to distract me from finishing your punishment, Y/N.”

“Gus, please!” you scream frantically as he starts to walk around the table. “Please, I can’t take anymore! I’ll be good, I’ll be yours, I’ll be anything you want, just please don’t!”

“Oh, baby girl,” he coos, pausing to spit lewdly on your puckered hole, the head of his cock immediately pressing against it. “I know you’re gonna be good, gonna be mine. This is gonna guarantee it.”

It feels like he’s using his entire body, all of his strength to hold you down and spread you open as he forces his cock inside your ass, your throat burning and raw from the force of your shrieks. You dig your nails into your thighs until they bleed as he works his way inside of you, bottoming out after what seems like an eternity.

Gus stills, panting from exertion and sweat dripping onto your battered back and making your cuts sting, though the pain is nothing compared to the sensation of having your organs rearranged from his cock inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “and I thought your cunt was tight. Fucking hell, baby, this body was made to take my cock!” He lets out a breathless chuckle, and you feel it inside of you.

“I’m gonna pound your ass so good, princess, and I want you to beg. I want you to beg for more, beg for me to come in you until I do. And if you don’t, I’ll find something else to fuck you with until you learn to do what I say.”

This was it; you had nothing left. He had taken everything from you. Once you did this (and you would), you’d belong to him.

You don’t try to resist; instead, you fight your body’s instinct to scream and cry and instead force yourself to give him what he wants, screaming his name, begging for him to use you, your moans of pain almost sounding convincing as cries of pleasure. You’ll give Gus what he wants, you’ll do anything to keep this from ever happening again.

Finally, his hips start to stutter, his grip on you tightening, and you know he’s close.

“Guuuus,” you groan, his name one long, pained syllable. “Please come in me!”

He does with an inhuman roar, and you feel him shoot his load deep inside you, marking your insides as belonging to him. His large body pins you down as he catches his breath, and then he shoves off of you, pulling out and gathering his clothes while you lay boneless over the table. You barely notice when he cuts you loose, your body slumping to the ground. You whine, not speaking, not thinking; there’s nothing to think.

Gus comes to stand in front of you, gently wrapping his leather jacket around your mutilated form and lifting you into his arms. Your body is shutting down, your eyes closed as you try to focus on your breathing, and it takes you a moment to realize that he is kissing you, his lips and tongue claiming you as well.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, baby,” he coos down at you sweetly. “Then we can start over.”

He carries you out of the room slowly. You’re not sure of what you're leaving behind, of where you’ve been this whole time; you pass out before you reach the door. [No picture with good enough quality to be worth including - feel free to send one if you have it!]

---

Epilogue

[semper-legens]

115. The Assassins of Rome, by Caroline Lawrence

Owned: Yes Page count: 198 My summary: It’s Jonathan’s birthday, and he’s not having a good day. Everything seems to be going wrong - especially when his family gets news of a dangerous assassin heading towards them. But the assassin turns out to be his uncle, and he has a dangerous mission for Jonathan. He’s heading to Rome, to the Golden House…where Jonathan’s mother Susanna is alive and well. My rating: 3.5/5

More Roman Mysteries! We're getting into the meaty stuff now, as well as including more real historical figures like Emperor Titus, Berenice, and Josephus. This is where the series starts to dabble in these-four-kids-are-present-at-every-notable-event style writing - sure, we've already had Vesuvius, but a lot of people were affected by the eruption and it's reasonable for these kids to have just happened to be in the area. But now, they're dabbling in the Emperor's affairs, something that will have wider-reaching consequences as the series goes on. I don't say that as a bad thing (one of the goals of this series is to teach kids about history, after all, and it certainly worked on me) but it is worth noting as we progress through the series that the stakes are getting higher, and more political.

This book centres Jonathan, and hoo boy, it's a doozy. Poor Jonathan's naturally pessimistic, but when he predicts that something bad's going to happen on his birthday, I don't think he's expecting to discover his mother is alive thanks to his assassin uncle, be part of an assassination plot, get caught, get branded as a slave to the Emperor, learn that his mother is the Emperor's slave/lover, lose her again when she refuses to come home with him, and return to Ostia without her. It's a lot for a poor kid. I like that Jonathan reacts appropriately to the situations he's in, while still keeping some of his sarcasm and wit. He could so easily have fallen into that trap of becoming so morose that he isn't interesting anymore, but instead he remains sympathetic and engaging to read about. It's a fine line to walk, and Lawrence does it well here!

Again, I have to praise the maturity of the series. Simeon risking being tortured and crucified is portrayed in a matter of fact manner, and Jonathan's transition into slavery is almost banal in its evil, to creepy effect for the modern reader - but this is just what it was like back then. Similarly, Mordecai's poor treatment when he is arrested is a bureaucratic evil, and one that Aristo and Lupus can do little about. And the series doesn't shy away from referencing the fact that the Jewish slaves in the Golden House were likely raped when Jerusalem fell. Rispah, a child Jonathan meets in the Golden House, very pointedly tells him that she belongs to a cohort of almost thirty kids born near exactly nine months after the fall of Jerusalem. The narrative doesn't linger too long on the point, but the implications are clear. Now, my six-to-eight year old brain would not have fully got this when I first read it, but at the same time, I understood it as 'these women were made to have babies by the Romans', which is basically the truth. Kids are smart, and pick up on implications even if they don't fully get it; the book gets to portray the whole evil of the Roman Empire's assault on Jewish people without necessarily exposing kids to concepts beyond what they can understand at their age. I didn't know anything about sex or sexual assault, but I got the gist of what had been done to these women regardless. And in a series meant to teach about history, I like that it's being explicit about the darker underbelly of Ancient Roman life.

Meanwhile, there's two shining stars in this book that I've saved until last. The first is the uncomfortable realisation that maybe the reason I like damaged men in fiction so much is because of Mordecai ben Ezra? Poor man loses his wife and home, flees to a foreign country where he's treated as a second-class citizen at best, and in the events of this book his son runs away to Rome and is enslaved. It's a nightmare for any parent, and yet he still approaches everything with kindness and grace and understanding. There's a story behind Mordecai that could definitely carry an adult novel, and it's always interesting to see an adult character being given this amount of depth and understanding in a book that is for children. Second is the prince of my heart, the gaycoded character I never knew I needed, Sisyphus. He's enslaved to Flavia's aunt's family in Rome, acting as her uncle's secretary. As the uncle and aunt are away, he takes in Flavia and the gang when they come to Rome and help them find Jonathan. He could easily have been a very drab, nothing kind of character, but he's honestly one of my favourites. He just sparkles from the page, full of wit and enthusiasm and silly over-the-top mannerisms and, yes, barely-subtle gay coding. I love him to pieces and I always wanna see more of him.

Next, a man from a cannibal clan tries to fit into the human world.

[ourstoriedinsight]

Audio Drama Sunday III

Woo! Been a good week with many walks beneath the cherry blossoms. Weather has been kind of exceptional but weird with the early season trees all seeming to have not flourished this year but the mid seasons are out in full flush. Podcasts have of course been my companions on my walks though I've sprinkled in a bit more music into my headphone time than usual.

As is becoming my usual going to go over my week to week waits.

Magnus is of course on hiatus which I think everyone is keenly feeling. Stay strong friends.

@innbetween released their patrons only episode and hoo boy I just got socked right in the feels. I know I can't get too spoiler-y but the portrayal of bullying, ableist horse pucky was so well done! I can't keep changing my favorite character episode to episode right? Y’k’ty currently has the top spot. Something about Emma's voicework being so deliberate and acerbic makes me feel like I am sitting watching a character speaking with the physiology of a dragon muzzle with some wicked sharp teeth. I hope that comes across as the compliment I intend it to be... Anyway brilliant writing, wonderful acting and you guys on the regular release are in for a GOOD time and maybe a few cathartic tears shed.

And now onto my won't stop can't stop listen of the week which continues to be Spiritbox Radio! So far I am approaching the deep end of season 2 and it's held up beautifully. Still a sucker for that slow burn mystery of what the heck is going on with the Man in The Flat cap's ultimate plan and getting increasing worried about m'boy Oliver who seems to have knowingly signed up for the most complicated romance dynamic out there. Definitely rooting for those crazy kids as things with Sam seem to be a rollercoaster of unpleasant discoveries. Hoping against hope still there will be no further iterations of human soup!

Show editing wise it's been a bit chaotic. We've done a whole bunch of recording sessions this past week and we just need one more to complete getting everything we need to start polishing off our doozy of a season finale. It's literally an episode and a half to work on ! Anyway the day is too nice to spend much more of it inside. I hope everyone has an awesome week in audio ahead!

[old-danmei-fan]

Just finished volume 3 of Heaven Official's Blessing and even though the first half was a little hard to read for me, I Ioved it. There's such a great mix of humor, trauma, fighting, and love.

I'm going to post my notes/ all the random shit that popped into my head as I read from volume 3 below the cut so don't read below if you don't want spoilers.

Also, before my notes, I know who Jun Wu is and more or less his roll in XL's journey so I make references to him in my notes when I shouldn't know what's going on with him at this point.

I would try to block out the whole your country dying and literally nothing you do helps thing too XL

Xianle state preceptor really got to the point with the whole you "ascended too soon because all your people are still alive" bit. I get it where he's coming from, but damn that was a lil harsh.

I love that XL is of the mind set of "what the fuck is the point of being a god if I don't help my people?" I was kinda wondering the same thing my dude.

This is the first series where I am having to put the book down and walk away after every 10 pages. Poor XL is making every possible bad decision he can even with everyone screaming at him not to.

JFC the land of tenders was NOT what I was expecting 😬

I understand why HC is such a snarky prick to FX and MQ lol they were always such assholes to the poor lil guy. He just wanted to make heart eye and protect his crown prince.

Ok so Lang Ying is obviously working with white no face (jun wu), but he's obviously gotta be someone in present day right? I feel like he's too prominent at the moment to not come back in the present.

I'm fucking stupid lol Lang Ying -> Lang Qingqiu. Lang Ying is obviously going to be the first king of Yong'an

Lil soldier kinda disappeared?

Man body horror is gonna be an ongoing theme throughout this huh?

XL is really too pure for this world.

Damnit Qi rong. You and your big mouth

FX - "that brat will definitely grow up to be a good man" bro aren't you the one that kicked him out of the army lol

Oh it's because he's just happy not everyone hates XL 🤣

Hoo boy. 1st half of volume 3 is a doozy. Everyone is getting a big ol helping of trauma and suffering. Hong'er/ Lil soldier breaks my heart when he's telling XL he won't forget him.

Lmfao XL threatening QR with siccing HC on him

I do not like Shi Wudu 😡

Lmfao HC being so extra for his man at the festival he wrote a play and sent up 3k lanterns. Pei ming being all I told you guys HC didn't take XL to be mean 😏

Pei Ming is like that himbo that everyone doesn't like cause he's fucks around, but then you talk to him and he's kinda funny.

Hahahahahaha HC and XLs "first kiss" is killing me. XL pretty much saying he'd stab anyone who did that to him but HC and he's confused about why. Hmm I wonder why XL?

Oh this poor boy lol getting so flustered he's trying to run away only to be caught because he's bleeding from his foot. Poor guy is panicking over his cursed shackle on his ankle isn't he 🥺

I'm so glad the second half of volume 3 is not quite as traumatic as the first.

Dying at everyone thinking that ghost baby is Pei Ming's

I don't like Jun Wu's sword. That's icky

☹️

And then on the flip side, Rouye and E-Ming fighting for XLs attention is adorable lol

Poor Qi Rong being subjected to the torture of watching XL and HC flirt. Maybe if they laid it on a little thicker they could get him to leave the body he's in.

[children-of-the-sun-au]

Hey guys! New ask blog!

1000 years after the Journey, the Jade Emperor realizes how low the security is so tries to create an army that would combat any enemy, their first choice? Sun Wukong.

Sun Wukong created OffSprings by the gift of the Goddess Nuwa’s magic to create Heaven’s very own, Stone Monkey Army.

———————————————————————————-

Rules:

-No NSFW, Blog runner is a minor.

-No Homophobia

-No Toxicity, respect all ships

-No spam please

-No Anon Magic (Unless it’s to gift a character something)

-Have fun!

Additional Rules:

Address me as Sunny! You’ll know I’m talking if I speaking in this: ‘font’

Arc 1: Welcome! When MK gets arrested by the Celestial Realm things get a turn for him and he learns things about his mentor he thought never existed.

Arc 2: after they are invited to a party by Tang’s obnoxious parents. Shenanigans ensue when the Celestial Realm’s own party gets crashed

Arc 3: Surprise surprise! A two-parter arc, MK and Zammy’s birthdays are coming whoo-hoo! But what’s this? Something lurking in the corner? Well strap on folks cause this one might be a doozy!

Arc 4: Part two of Arc 3! Shi Ku strikes at the heart of the Celestial Realm endangering it at last! But what’s this? A secret revealed from the Zodiac himself?!

Arc 5: A trial is held for the Zodiac Monkey’s fate and the fate of his child…but when biases and corruption play a role in the fates, will there be true justice to this all?

Arc 6: MK and Zammy end up in a bit of a scuttle with the Zodiacs. However this lands them in the Monkey District where MK learns a bit of information of his mother and father.

Arc 7: MK begins training with Chikao and a family bonding is in session

Arc 8: Years have passed and MK has mastered his training, however, it seems as if he’s caught himself in a middle of a warzone

Arc 9: The battlefield has shook, Destiny will finally be destroyed…right?

Arc 10: All out war is coming for the Monkey King’s Children against the Celestial Realm. As the balance gets shaken even further, how will fate once more be saved?

Arc 11: Mysterious forces are at play…luckily, we’re trying not to traumatize Wukong even more!…right?

Arc 12: Zammy and Rin try to find a way to have separate souls…meanwhile Erlang gets a coronation…temporarily…no seriously the Jade Emperor hates him

Arc 13: The New Jade Emperor gets corrupted by the power and thus does an Adam against the Stone Monkey Army…battle ensues as a Constellation has fallen.

Arc 14: Shenanigans ensue when the fallen has arisen and some more love drama

Arc 15: Being the Jade Emperor is tough man…

Arc 16: A deal gone wrong, when Dragon defects and tries to defy chaos.

Arc 17: Let’s get into the season of LOVE with some Valentine’s Specials.

Arc 18: Let’s continue the Season of Love with a crazy er…can we even call her an ex?

—————————————

!REBOOTED!

Arc 1: MK gets arrested by Jidu for Season 2 and afterwards accidentally breaks a rule against his Constellation.

Arc 2: Azure escapes, a secret is revealed and ooh, more Wukong lore.

Arc 3: Rin and Zammy go to trial. Ling becomes MK’s constellation and we get a slight preview of the Zodiac Monkey’s past…also Wukong and Rin might have a baby

Arc 4: After the trial Wukong and Rin settle down. However, MK gets captured because of a stunning surprise from Wukong’s other family.

Arc 5: It’s Con Swap Day! And okay Li Jing is being a jerk nevermind

Arc 6: MK finds out there’s more to himself than he seems when Zammy reveals a secret…also Pigsy tries to flirt with Rin despite Tang’s annoyance.

Arc 7: Zodiac Monkey’s secret is revealed and we get Zammy backstory.

Arc 8: The Trial has commenced however. It seems like Zodiac Monkey has something up his sleeve

Arc 9: Seems like things are getting a little…tense…the New Jade Emperor seems to have gotten himself an army

Arc 10: Azure is defeated…and Zammy gets a funeral.

!Spoilers for Season 5 in the Next Arc!

Arc 11: Dang a long arc…welp basically…it’s Season 5…but with a lot of twists.

Arc 12: Short World MK Arc except MK accidentally breaks the fourth wall…

Arc 13: Multiversal war arises…looks like MK’s in for a real treat.

Arc 14: A new child returns…oh hi Mei Gui…glad things were sorted out

Arc 15: The New Zodiac Race Commences!

[nothinggathers]

For the ask game 12, 16, 24

(I completely forgot who all I asked so sorry if this is my second ask)

It wasn't your second , but oh, boy, you asked for it...

12. Unpopular character you actually like and why more people should like them

You know, I don't actually know for this one. Mostly because I don't really know who the unpopular characters are. North is an easy answer, because she's hated, but she's hated because of the way she was written, and she was written by a stupid white dude that likes to sexually abuse female characters in his work and then have them cleansed through relationships with the male hero. But this isn't supposed to be about why DC should have been smacked over the head with a hardback copy of his three hundred thousand word script. And North has quite the ardent defence squad, and honestly, the fact they can pick a salvageable, likeable character out of the mess this script made her is awesome, and good for them.

When it comes to characters that I think the game wanted us to like that a lot of the fandom, justifiably, doesn't, I think I'd choose Carl. I kind of like Carl. I don't think the game wanted you to examine his relationship with Leo too closely, and they clearly wanted you to view Carl as Markus' father figure, including having Markus breakdown and call him Dad. And of course, it's a DC game, so all of that is handled with the nuance and subtlety of a railgun. But the thing I like about Carl is that he's trying. He knows he fucked up with Leo, and I think he took Markus as a chance to try and do better, and yeah, Markus was absolutely trapped in that gilded cage and required to take orders he may not have agreed with right up until he deviated, but Carl is one of the few humans that is not a total piece of shit to his android. I think more of us would probably be like Carl if realistically humanoid androids became commonplace. We'd get attached, and we'd treat them like members of the family, and we'd make mistakes and do shit that's insensitive in hindsight, and I think most of the humans in the game should have been more like Carl rather than the humans we see. Where the next closest thing we see to a human being decent to an android is Hank, and I adore Hank but hoo boy. I mean Hank gets there quickly (a week! a week! he goes from "If I had my way I'd toss the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it" to "So if I don't potentially aid and abet something I'm starting to think might be a genocide then you personally are going to be killed? Aight, lemme just end my career and punch this FBI dude in the face" IN A WEEK) but he sure doesn't start out as pleasantly supportive as Carl does.

So yeah, Carl. I think Carl is how most of us would be. His ownership doesn't come from a place of malice, but one of ignorance, and he's willing to learn.

Of course his proselytizing can get in the bin, but, again, DC, railgun, hardback copy of his own script until he stops twitching.

16. I have already answered here and that one's also a doozy.

24. Topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

Oh god.... Uhh...

Yeah, it's Hankcon. The anti-hankcon shippers have some fucking takes. If you see it as a father/son relationship then crack on, you do you, but that's not how I see it, but I'm a groomer, or a paedo, or I support incest, or whatever the fuck else take I'm gonna hear next.

Connor is an android modeled after a 30 year old (at the time) man. He is smarter than Hank, and he has programming based in manipulation and ingratiating himself with humans.

Hank is an actual human being, a police lieutenant, and his age is given as 53.

These characters are not physically related. None of these characters are children. None of them are emotionally equivalent to children, and the next person to tell me that Connor is functionally only a few months old is gonna be told to go for the Reed900 shippers because the RK900 is barely days old.

The main reason I don't go in for father/son with these two, aside from the fact that I think they have a very different chemistry together than that, is that I don't like what that implies for Hank's story arc as a character. I like Hank. I want him, in the happy ending of the game, to walk away from it learning that he has a reason to live, and that androids are people, and moving on to live his life and deal with his grief over the loss of his son in a healthy way. He still has something to contribute to the world, and there are still things in the world worth making the effort of contributing for.

I do not want him to latch on to Connor as a replacement goldfish for his dead child. The fact that Connor can come back from death only makes that worse. It means Hank isn't growing and moving on, he's just using Connor as a crutch.

And I don't like that. It feels icky.

But tell that to people and ho lee shitballs do you get some bullshit fired back at you.

[mused-like-roses]

⭐️!

MULTIMUSE MEME: Send a " ⭐ " and I will list muses I would be interested in throwing at yours, or potential muse combinations if you are also a multi. ~ @hauntedreality

// Under read-more cuz hoo-boy, this one's gonna be a doozy-

Ace Attorney ~ Any/All muses (For Aya Brea your Resident Evil, Dead Rising, Devil May Cry, and Metal Gear Solid muses)

Bayonetta ~ Bayonetta & Jeanne (For your horror-related muses)

Black Lagoon ~ Any/All muses (For Spike Spiegel, John Price, and your Metal Gear Solid & Rainbow 6 muses)

Bleach ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

BNHA ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

Castlevania ~ Any/All muses (For your horror-related muses)

Catherine ~ Any/All muses (For Spike Spiegel)

Chainsaw Man ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

Dino Crisis ~ Any/All muses (For your Resident Evil muses)

Dragon Ball ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

Fairy Tail ~ Any/All muses (For your Final Fantasy, Genshin Impact, and Honkai Star Rail muses)

Final Fantasy ~ Any of my Final Fantasy VII muses (For your Final Fantasy, Genshin Impact, and Honkai Star Rail muses)

Fullmetal Alchemist ~ Any/All muses (For Spike Spiegel and your Final Fantasy, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail muses)

Gears of War ~ Any/All muses (For Isaac Clarke and any of your horror-related muses. Delta-One would easily fit like a glove in Dead Space)

GOTG ~ Any/All Guardians (For any series of your choosing)

Hunter x Hunter ~ Any/All muses (For your Final Fantasy, Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail muses)

Kill Bill ~ Beatrix Kiddo (For any series of your choosing)

TLOZ ~ Any/All muses (For your Baldur's Gate III, Final Fantasy and Genshin Impact muses)

Life is Strange ~ Any/All muses (For your Until Dawn, The Quarry, and House of Ashes muses)

Mega Man ~ Any/All muses (For your Resident Evil, Dead Rising and Devil May Cry muses)

Naruto ~ Any/All muses (For your Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail muses)

Persona ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

Sonic ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

Resident Evil ~ Any/All muses (For your Metal Gear Solid and Rainbow 6 muses. But mostly/mainly any and all of your horror series!)

Spec Ops ~ Any/All muses (For John Price and your Rainbow 6 muses)

Spider-Man (Insomniac / Spider-Verse) ~ Any/All muses (For any series of your choosing)

[mcsquared789]

Update: Act III is fully completed. Hoo boy, this is a doozy... and the last chapter I just finished is the longest one of the entire fic. Man, I cannot wait for you all to read it.

Update at End of May

Right, it’s been a while since I gave you guys an update. So I figure I will outline what the schedule looks like for the next slate of projects! On an essential level, things are looking really promising for wrapping up Phase 1 way before the end of the year... but we'll see. It all depends on whether I can be prepared with a good backlog of chapters.

So, here’s the rub:

Widowmaker: This was finished well over a week or so ago, and now it’s probably my biggest fic so far other than Iron Man and Hulk??? Not surprising, since sequels require a lot of context and this is... actually a really good entry point into the series. To that end, I am super happy with it — and will definitely be making more of these novella-length fics that focus on original/interim stories. I think they will balance the other fics with more stakes and more complicated plots, and the one-shots as well.

Thor: That leads me to my current project, Thor! I am in the swing of this, and having a blast — writing Jane, Erik and Darcy has been lots of fun. And I am also writing chapters from Loki's POV which have been really interesting, to say the least... hopefully, it's a nice, appropriately tortured perspective. (Can't wait for you Loki lovers to read them. 😉)

Starting in June, I plan to upload chapters regularly every three or four days — and aim to have this fic completed by the end of the month, or somewhere halfway through July. Act I is fully completed out of a planned five, and has seven chapters. As a teaser of what to expect: Act II will have six chapters, Act III will have five, Act IV will have seven and Act V will have eight. (A little uncertain on that last one, but again — we shall see.)

I am really looking forward to you guys seeing where this will go! It will be familiar, I admit. But hopefully, fresh and exciting at the same time, as there will be lots of little changes that might sprout out into big changes... but you will see how it all shapes together when I get back to it in June.

Which leads me to the next project — and the last big one before The Avengers.

Captain America: The First Avenger. Yep, I'm finally getting around to it — and considering how popular Captain America is in particular, I suspect this will find a lot of people. It will be a little dark and gritty, but also with a hint of science fiction that has made this subseries in particular so interesting... but I won't say anymore until it starts getting posted. I'm hoping that will be in the second half of June once I've written enough chapters, and then be completed after July. From then on... we'll see about where Steve Rogers goes next.

As well, I also will be working on two one-shots after both these projects... and one of them will lead directly into Avengers. But I'll talk more about that later. 😁

Alright, I think that's everything! Thank you all for being followers and catching up with what I'm doing. It's not really summer where I am, but I hope there will be enough here to create an exciting summer for you. See you soon!

— (M)

[sylvainjosegaytier]

Me, innocently writing: :D

Me, accidentally mentally tapping into the deep well of sorrow that exists at the heart of Hubert von Vestra: *sobs*

[runictrolls]

1, 16, 21, 28 for Jerath and Pertha!

Readmore because holy moley there’s a lot

1: What does your OC feel is important to be talented at?

Jerath puts a lot of emphasis on literacy, and considers trolls who are well-read and well-spoken in high regard. He enjoys arguing points of history, literature, grammar, and foreign language with anyone who will give him the time to do so, and the more heated these exchanges get the more Jerath considers them to have been a rousing success. He also believes that martial prowess is a must for a troll, and if a troll is incapable of defending themselves (at the very least) his respect for them tends to plummet--though his pity levels might go through the roof. Jerath also holds art and industry in high regard, so if your troll can create something beautiful or useful then Jerath is usually very impressed--especially if it’s something that he could never do.

Pertha recognizes that each person is unique, and possesses their own innate skills and talents. That said, she does think that each person should be good at something. Trolls who have no discernable talents, or who are content to sit around watching Grubtube all day, rarely get any respect from her (not that she’s generous doling that out in the first place). Like Jerath, she considers fighting skills quite highly, though she tends to prefer flash over substance--she’d definitely rather watch the WWE than the UFC. It’s the one talent that she would actually enthusiastic support; a lot of the time she tends to react underwhelmingly, even if she privately is impressed by somebody’s talent.

Fame, too, is something that Pertha is generally in awe of. Somebody who is renowned, especially online, will get instant respect from her.

16: How openly does your OC show their emotions?

Jerath has a veneer of civility that is actually quite easy to break down. It’s not a facade, he just has a rather rigid idea of how a Blueblood Must Act, and this includes a degree of stoicism. Among friends, however, Jerath opens up a lot more; and even in public, whether pleased or displeased, Jerath is rarely shy about telling people how he feels. He just does so in as measured a tone as he can muster; swearing notwithstanding, Jerath tries to remain ‘civil’ in discussions. He is also not shy about heaping effusive praise on his friends. Jerath is almost always genuine; he never lies, and at worst he’ll tell a half-truth, or he may lie by omission if he has to. Jerath is also very gullible for this reason, and tends to take everything at face value. The only detail in which Jerath may not be totally genuine are the self-aggrandizing, braggadocious statements he sometimes indulges in; Jerath has a big ego, but it’s very fragile, and it’s unclear how much of this is due to genuine confidence or to cover up his own insecurities.

The only time Jerath really completely loses his cool is when he goes Berserk, which is like an actual state he enters related to his SGRUB Aspect. I haven’t used it literally in years, it’s more of a plot device than anything else, and it hasn’t come up recently. This is called Jerath Gets Mature and Gets a Handle On His Rage Bullshit.

Pertha is very open with her emotions, when her typical emotion is “disdain.” This can quickly change to “joy” or “excitement,” especially when fighting or eating. These, however, are more surface feelings, and when it comes to talking about actual emotion, she tends to get tripped up. Actual red or pale emotions are hard to draw out of her, partly because she thinks she’s ‘above’ feeling these emotions or expressing them--or, more likely, she feels she’s incapable of them. This has been challenged recently in her moiraillegiance and budding matespritship, and since she’s pledged herself to trying her best in the pale quadrant, she’s trying her best to open up more. She’s finding it somewhat difficult, but I think she’s made some very important progress.

Pitch emotion is different. Because a large component of it is ‘disdain,’ and the other component is flirtation, Pertha is very comfortable feeling and expressing these emotions. As she settles into her pale and red quadrants, I think she will find a great deal of satisfaction in opening up as a genuine person. Pertha seems to consider herself something of a joke, or an instigator of A Good Time; I’m hoping that, as she gains healthy quadrants, she will consider herself a troll of value and become more in tune with the side of her that craves genuine interaction. However, I don’t know if she’ll ever settle down in the black quadrant; it may be her one outlet for aggression, and it seems unlikely that she could remain committed in that particular quadrant.

21: How much of an attention seeker is your OC?

They both are huge attention seekers. The biggest difference is that Jerath craves positive attention; he wants to be beloved by everyone, and not necessarily because of his caste. In his own, awkward way, he tries to reach out to other trolls and really wants a close group of friends who have each others’ backs and admire one another. This is why he sometimes flips between arrogant and obsequious; he thinks that bragging will elevate his position in the eyes of his peers, and if this fails, he will stoop to any level to regain a modicum of respect or amity from his peers. This often backfires as well. He willingly gave up his eye to avoid losing the only friend he thought he had left. It’s kind of sad!

Even in rivalries, Jerath thinks a healthy level of respect is important; otherwise the rules go out the fucking window, people get hurt, and collateral damage is inevitable. For this reason he tries to cultivate some measure of decency, even amongst people that he despises. In trolls that he has designated as Worthy Enemies, however, he will revel in negative attention, which he often couches as ‘jealousy.’

Pertha constantly seeks attention from everyone around her, whether this is positive or negative. Negative attention is easier for her to get, in her mind, so that’s what she often goes for. This is why Pertha’s current M.O. is to just show up at peoples’ houses and start eating their food (she does this to Jerath particularly); it’s a very easy way to immediately piss people off and get their eyes on you. She also keeps up a presence on social media for the same reason, and is addicted to garnering as many views, likes, and shares as she can, by any means necessary. Recent and near-future events will cause her to re-evaluate this stance, however; again, getting settled into the conciliatory quadrants will calm her down somewhat, and she’ll appreciate genuine warmth and affection a lot more than attention just for attention’s sake. Right now she has to be the loudest, brashest, cussingest person wherever she is; being around other trolls who are popular and love attention (such as Starla) who don’t resort to just screaming and fighting everyone in sight has altered her stance on this somewhat. Soon she will be getting alternate, casual outfits; part of the reason she continued to wear her current attire, which she is not shy about saying she hates, is that 1) it’s distinctive, and often leads trolls to comment on it, 2) it’s not what trolls would expect her to wear, leading to further commentary, and 3) it gives her something to complain about--loudly. It’s another outward manifestation of her unhealthy relationship with her lusus, and changing her wardrobe will allow her actual personality to shine through and give her a more understated way of getting attention--namely by actually meeting trolls and getting to know them on a more genuine level.

28: Is your OC loyal or more prone of take advantage of people close to them?

Jerath is the least likely person to take advantage of somebody close to him. As I mentioned above, he is very trusting of those around him, to an almost naive extent, and he constantly seeks their adulation and praise. As I mentioned in earlier asks, Jerath also thinks it’s his job to look out for other trolls, and sort of assumes that the people around him are looking out for him as well. He is incredibly loyal, to the extent that he’ll make oaths upon meeting a new friend and punish himself if he ever goes back on his word, even by accident (see the above incident with the eyeball, which was because he didn’t show up to a friend’s house at the time he was supposed to). This can have even more disastrous consequences; Jerath killed Vide’s lusus because she was 1) abusive toward Vide, and 2) preventing her from becoming matesprits with their mutual friend (or so he thought). Womp.

Jerath’s loyalty should also be evident in his quadrants; Jerath firmly believes that all of his quadrants are serendipitous, and betraying their trust is not a thought that even enters his head. He’s kind of the Dale Gribble of trolls; outwardly suspicious and wary, but almost stupidly loyal to people he considers “trustable.” Jerath only loses friends when they leave him, or when they do something absolutely unforgivable. In short, Jerath is far more likely to be taken advantage of than the other way around.

Pertha, on the other hand, takes advantage of everyone she knows--to an extent. She’ll use them to get information, or food, or for entertainment value, but that’s about the extent of it. People she ‘likes’ get this treatment, in which she is more of an annoyance than anything else. She has no qualms about messing with people outside of her ‘friend group,’ and while I wouldn’t describe her behavior as overtly malicious she certainly doesn’t seem to have many scruples when it comes to trolls she isn’t personally invested in. Interestingly, Pertha seems to think that all trolls have inherent worth, whether this is as an individual worthy of some manner of respect or as someone she can ask for a favor of later--this is part of the reason she stopped using guns, and instead favors a nonlethal approach to combat.

All that said, though, and I’ll sound like a broken record here, she is at least trying to change her stance when it comes to her very first quadrant ever--her moirallegiance with Vide. Pertha has kind of taken the lead, and retained her ‘annoyance’ status, but this time with the intent to help! Vide, I’m sure, is trying to cope with this rather aggressive meddling as best she can, and has made it clear to Pertha that this relationship cannot be a one-way street. Pertha is gradually opening up, however, and is beginning to realize that she isn’t beyond reproach, either; rather than trying to ‘fix’ Vide, she has to open herself to being ‘fixed’ as well. This includes, among other things, trying to see trolls as trolls, and people that she can have a genuine connection with--rather than just a means to an end.

[1007xf]

Ohoho you don't say, sir

[avelera]

🍴Chapter 18: Le Plat Principal🍴

Chapters: 18/26 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless & Hob Gadling Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Death of the Endless, Robyn Gadling, Calliope (The Sandman), Jessamy the Raven, Destiny of the Endless, Desire of the Endless, The Endless (The Sandman), Despair of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless Summary: In 1689, Hob Gadling and Dream meet once more, after Hob has lost everything. That night, their meeting goes on longer than expected when the conversation turns to what it means to live, to lose, and to be the fathers of dead sons. Unable to bear the thought of sending a man who so echoes Dream's own grief back into the night alone, Dream breaks his own rule and invites Hob to stay with him for a time, at least until he can get back on his feet. The story of two grief-stricken, divorced, and widowed fathers to sons they lost too young truly seeing one another and there, at their lowest point, doing their best to put themselves and each other back together.

-- We have finally reached it the main course, if not the end of the meal for this arc in Giving Sanctuary. Hoo boy, it's a doozy, so buckle up. I hope you all enjoy! Major thanks to all the wonderful people who stepped up to help beta read!

[420technoblazeit]

Goof strean - kgcydel

HTANK YOU IT WAS GOOD HANGING OUT WITH U GUYS AGAIN. I MISSED DANGANRONPA FRIDAYS/SATURDAYS. we didtn get quite as far as i expected this time around but im fine with that bc hoo boy is chapter 5 a doozy. had a lot of fun voicign kokichi though he gets some good moments. spoiler under hte cut

too bad that was his last scene im gonna miss this fucker. man. ive always said this about hcapter 5 but they do a really good job setting hits guy up as an inredeemable piece of shit and then turning it on his head. it's so fucking tragic that by the time you figure out he was trying to save everyone he's been dead for hours and hours. like goddamn dude