#the intrusion corpse is not like him

[admirableadmiranda]

I’m pretty sure it comes back down to the division of souls and what pieces remain versus which ones go onto the next life, which makes it much more that Wei Wuxian was able to restore that.

@jiangwanyinscatmom explained to me that one of the Daoist concepts of the soul consists of ten parts, the three hun and the seven po (for legend of Zelda fans, I’m pretty sure it’s the exact same thing) and the hun is Yang oriented and goes on to the afterlife when someone dies, whereas the yin po lingers on earth and must be settled through proper treatment of the body, being buried within a certain amount of time and dying with few resentments in life to bind it there after death. The more resentments or the worst a body was treated after death, the more the po lingers on earth and must be dealt with in other ways, such as the liberate-suppress-eliminate triad. This is also part of what creates resentful energy in the world in general, all of this is yin energy that lingers after the Yang has passed on. Po souls are especially susceptible to corruption over time, born out of resentment for the living for having what they do not, which is what creates malevolent ghosts. This is relevant for why people wanted to know where Wei Wuxian’s ghost had gone when he died, and what’s really notable about him remaining a peaceful ghost for all of those 13 years that he was dead.

So when it comes to fierce corpses, most of them are going to be purely po or yin driven, the living part of their soul has passed on and this is what’s left over. It dwells on the regrets and grudges the person died with, and can only be settled by handling those regrets and grudges so that the po can feel satisfied and let go. With the Intrusion ghost, his po was easy to satiate, he wanted to find that lost jade necklace and return it as a genuine regret he had at death, but also he needed to punch the asshole in the face for all that he had done for him in order to let out that anger in his heart. Being liberated now, he could move on fully and become a full soul in his next life. However this doesn’t always work, as the larger a grudge you hold, the worse the resentment afterwards and it is possible to make a spirit or fierce corpse that cannot be liberated. This is where Nie Mingjue falls in on this scale, he’s too full of rage and resentment to have his spirit eased by anything now, he’s just walking around hunting anyone who’s living and anyone of Jin blood in particular, and has to at the end of the story be sealed away, or suppressed, in order to deal with his resentment because he’s just too far gone.

Most fierce corpses are just Po creatures wandering around being mad at things, but the problem with that is that they are made up of completely dead, stagnant energy and those bodies and spirits still decay with time too. Fierce corpses rot, specific grudges decay into just pure rage. In order for a body to be preserved and maintain its strength, you need that Yang energy back, you need a balance of some sort.

This is where Wen Ning and Song Lan come in. And this is what Wei Wuxian does that makes Wen Ning unique and scary.

Wen Ning is initially an ordinary fierce corpse, animated by his resentment towards the living and specifically the people in the Wen Prisoner camp who tortured him and others he knew to death, but it’s not really safely focused and he’ll slowly lose what little sense of himself as time passes on. Wei Wuxian is able to, at Wen Qing’s behest and with a lot of experimentation and Lan Wangji’s help, summon his hun back into his body and make Wen Ning in a sense, a living soul inside a dead body. Now his body is preserved, he can talk and interact with the world again, and he is his own person more or less, though since Wei Wuxian is the one who summoned him back, he is in a sense somewhat under Wei Wuxian’s control.

This is completely different from ordinary fierce corpses and it is somewhat terrifying if you are the sort of fool who would think that Wei Wuxian could just do that to anyone or teach others how to do it. Wen Ning is a man who feels no pain, who has some level of healing ability given that we know he breaks his arms multiple times but they never stop functioning as arms, can fight without tiring and has all the rational thinking of a living being to aim and hone these skills. As fierce corpses go, he truly is unique, and perhaps what is most scary is that he and Wei Wuxian fight in harmony as allies, rather than a puppet master and a puppet. Wen Ning is someone who has most all of the perks of being dead and being alive, and the downsides are things that many people would not mind as much as they might think.

Song Lan is like him in the end, but Xue Yang was never able to achieve what Wei Wuxian did as well, hence needing the needles to control him. As for how and why he could do it, he did have access to Wei Wuxian’s notes and plenty of time in order to try and recreate another corpse like Wen Ning for his own use, since as he told us, Wen Ning is too loyal to Wei Wuxian and even his needles couldn’t override that, but even his biggest success was still a failure in comparison to Wen Ning, who defeats him handily in Yi City after fighting hordes of lower level fierce corpses all night and protecting the juniors in the process.

So in answer to your question, he’s special because he has his consciousness and because it was restored by Wei Wuxian and he is not playing by the same rules as ordinary fierce corpses, especially since unlike all the rest of them, he also gets to choose when he’s done and return back to the cycle of reincarnation. He is a true act of necromancy and one who is as fine as someone could possibly be with his current situation, since he has been given a second chance at not just existing, but living.

Was Wen Ning so special as a corpse because he regained his consciousness, or was he special as a corpse because Wei Wuxian was able to return his consciousness?

[13eyond13]

(keep scrollin' if you don't want Disco Elysium rambling with possible spoilers in the tags)👇

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #03. CORPSE BRIDE

𐙚 topic。．when you turn down yandere hsr men’s proposals.

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。general yandere themes, suggestive content, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and boothill. sunday and aven are regular additions to my posts lol, wrote boothills less intense bc he’s too silly to imagine

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ ‘convinces’ you

。he will actually try to coax you into it. he doesn’t want to just force things onto you, that isn’t really what he wants 。“ill make you the happiest pretty bride, doll, just believe in me, hm?” 。continues to sweet talk you, telling you what he can do- buy you pretty dresses, give you anything you want, and he lists luxury after luxury. 。and he follows through his promises. even if you are being really disobedient, he’d still buy you more luxury than you could ever ask for. you will start questioning if you really don’t want this marriage- which is exactly what he wants you to do, to make you doubt yourself. 。his list goes on and on- a vip ticket to the Reverie, first row tickets to robin’s concerts, only the finest things that only his class of people could ever get their hands on. 。but in that list, he conveniently puts out ‘freedom.’ 。if you disagree, he’d pout, asking you why- and when you tell him you want to be free from him, he’d laugh, calling you a silly girl. 。“i already gave you a choice when we met. it was your choice to pick a card from an unknown pile.” 。he’d have the wedding commence in some really luxurious property of the ipc, and he will, invite your family over- he’s merciful. but is it mercy when you know you won’t see them ever again? 。“it would be a shame if they don’t see the happiest moment of your life.”

STANDING there with the most beautiful dress you could humanly ask for, your expression is nothing but a shell as Aventurine smiles at you through those shades. Your eyes are everywhere but on his eyes, when you stare at them, you feel like you’re losing yourself.

you are glad your gown came with a veil over your head, nobody can see your dead eyes, except him.

As the officiant goes on with the questions, you grip your bouquet a little harder to the point you feel their stems crumple, just like your shriveling heart.

You snap out of it after hearing silence- you see his expecting eyes on you and you nod blankly. “I do.”

And your husband smiles even wider, and he steps closer and slowly, while staring at you with uncomfortable adoration through those tantalizing purple eyes, he kisses you. You are expecting a tender kiss in a ceremony; but his gloved hand sneaks onto the back of your head, pulling you in hastily.

“I love you so fucking much, princess—” he breathes into you, brushing aside the saliva that trickles down your chin after his intrusion. “It took quite a while, but you’re finally all mine.” He pulls up your hand that has your forced vow on it, he chuckles and softly kisses your fingers.

“‘m gonna make you so happy, so ecstatic, that you’re gonna thank me for it, love. you will thank me that I restrained you from everything else.” he whispers, and the people clap, cheering; your family too, who smiles, knowing nothing that it would be your last reunion.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ breaks you

。he just takes it on another level (and does not find your struggles entertaining unlike the former) 。he will be, really heartbroken at first. the head of the oak family asking you to be his lifelong sweetheart is almost like him giving you his life. you are his entire world- and the world has rejected him. 。“…I see. was I not good enough for you, angel?” 。although his emotions will be very hard to control, he’s very used to commencing plans. he’d tell you that he could ‘talk this out’ with you. unfortunately, it’s not a choice, but rather, an order. 。sunday is a ‘the end justifies the means’ kind of person. he will do any means to make you eventually accept your fate. that will include imprisoning you in some faraway place and leaving you abandoned for so long, you will be broken, wishing for any interaction. food is only given to you through a remote device, with no human interaction. 。sunday itches to be with you- he is compassionate for you, his heart will ache to see you sob into an endless cacophony. a part of him will be tempted to go to you and be with you physically, not watching you from a screen. 。he will repeat it- he will visit once a blue moon, comforting you, asking you if you changed your mind. when you ask him when he’d release you, his expression will harden. 。“it seems you haven’t learned anything, sweetheart.” 。if you are still stubborn, he will be a little impatient. he will speed up the process by adding new things in- maybe making you dream of a lovely, free life and when you wake up, you’re just alone. he will not resort to anything violent, he cares too much about you to hurt you. although, ‘hurt’ in his dictionary doesn’t apply to mentally hurting you. 。you will sob and show your most dramatic, fragile sides to a descent of madness, thinking you are truly alone until sunday comes to visit. you are wrong, though- sunday has always been with you, just not physically. 。he has always been watching you cry into the void through a screen. always.

MAYBE you have finally lost your mind, because when Sunday comes to visit you and your dull prison, you collapse to your knees and immediately plead him.

“Please,” you sob, clutching his legs desperately- he doesn’t crouch, but looks down- almost like a god addressing its follower. Sunday is no god for you, but you beg like he is.

“Please what?” He looks at you, fingers brushing over your hands, tilting his head just the slightest. His golden eyes glitter in the dim light. He is waiting for only one answer, there is only one correct answer to his question.

But you do not give him the right one. “Please just let me go,” you break down. Your heart is throbbing from all the crying, vision blurry and your head is light with no energy to talk anymore.

His gentle, serene smile immediately warps into that of a cold one. “Try again?” His fingers grip your hands hard, warning you that his patience is running thin.

When you remain silent except for your sobs, he crouches down to stare at you on eye-level, boring holes into your fearful expression. Unlike his deadly gaze, his words are soft and flow out quickly like a river- albeit with a sigh of exasperation. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop this just because you beg.” His hand pushes yours against the floor to knock you down, figure towering over you as he leans in to whisper- “—although, they’re very pleasant to listen to.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why you are struggling right now. It’s so easier to accept your eventual fate. Unless, you do like to seek pain.”

His other hand goes over your stomach, then slides tantalizingly slow up your body- you shiver and tremble at each touch that is too foreign to you. Cold fingers cage your neck and you choke on your breath.

“I’m not planning on hurting you, angel.” His voice is still gentle, but his eyes are telling another story, they seem keen to hurt you again and again. “But I did say I’ll resort to other… methods. Since none of them seem to work, I suppose the only solution would be caging you with a baby.” When your eyes widen, he laughs dryly. “The look on your face tells me that you didn’t expect it. But you will be my loving wife, dear. You will not be able to run or reject me, not when your own child is at stake. It makes only more sense to… make you bear children. My children.”

As he watches you struggle under him, trying to breathe, he feels like he has entered ascension. Soon, one of your pretty fingers will have his ring, and very very soon, he will have his first child- the very thought of him makes him lose his mind. He so wishes to make you his, claim you inside, watch your pretty pussy gush out his cum while he’s pressing deep into your womb- but he also wishes to see a mini version of him, or you. He finds it too adorable to withstand. He will vow that his children will grow up pure and innocent.

“We will be the happiest family in the world,” he purrs. “And I’ll make sure of it.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིOOTHILL ⇢ will try to prove himself

。maybe a little similar to aven. but while the latter will materialistically give you things and spoil you around to convince you, boothill will more likely show himself off instead. 。“i can fudgin’ shoot an ipc lackey in the head from miles away, sugar- ya can’t see that ‘n any other guy.” 。he’ll try to show you his capability to protect you- which will likely end up in multiple people dying but as a galaxy ranger, he has morals, so he will probably use the ipc as his shooting dummies 。overall he’s sweet even if you reject his proposal- he will likely be furious, just not at you. 。oh lord but during the day you rejected him, be prepared for multiple news flashes of dead people across the street. the amount of emotion will be too much for his consciousness to restrain 。when you confront him, he’d apologize, albeit a little too nonchalant. 。“‘m sorry sweetie, got a lil outta hand last night.” 。per your wish, he won’t kill anyone who’s unrelated and innocent- but he’d still go on a killing spree in the ipc headquarters to the point you are blacklisted on their list because he would shout your name and rant why you didn’t accept him while he shoots his gun all around the place.

“BOOTHILL, what the hell are you doing?” You frown when he returns- even after rejecting his proposal, he drifts around you like a lost stray dog. And he is always covered in blood, looking furious- but when you talk, his expression simply melts away like butter to a grin that shows his sharp teeth.

“What do ya mean what I’m doin’? Makin’ sure nobody hurts you.” He snickers. He smells like metal, like he always does, but this time it’s overpowering, which lets you know what he’s been doing.

“I don’t need protection, Boothill. You can just leave me alone.”

You’re beyond annoyed at his clinginess. No matter how many times you reject him, he’d always come back, showing something new off to you, and half the time it wasn’t anything pleasant, but rather his list of crimes.

“Aww, don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He chuckles and flashes a grin and his other metal hand spontaneously pulls you into his embrace— you jump. When did his hand get there? “All I wanna do is to make sure my future wife is safe and sound. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“I told you, I’m not going to accept-“

“Ah ah! Wait and see, you will be, I promise. But don’t drag the chase a lil too long. Even I get impatient.” Something cold pressed against your forehead and you realize it’s his gun. When your expression turns aghast with fear, he barks an amused laugh.

“You scared of this? Nah, I’d never hurt ya. Won’t wanna turn your body into metal like mine.” Although he says this with a dark smirk, he doesn’t remove the gun. “The sooner you agree to it, the merciful I become. Ya don’t wanna see innocent guys die because of your stupidity, hm?”

[starshipsofstarlord]

honey suckle

summary. daryl gets lost in eating his favourite meal between your legs

warnings. smut, oral (female reader receiving), fingering, squirting, swearing, pet names (babydoll, darlin’), some and implied aftercare

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was one of those excruciatingly delicious nights when Daryl had returned home from a long run with Aaron, he was ravenous to be as close as possible to you, and so here he was, large hands splayed on your thighs as his head lay between your legs. His hair was tousled to a haphazard degree, the waved brunette locks splaying in every direction as your fingers sunk into their roots, tugging at the strands in your grip, which only egged him further on.

His face was practically buried in your centre, tongue sliding relentlessly through your folds and swirling with educated concentration around your throbbing clit. You were sure his cheeks were smothered in your aroused essence, however you couldn’t see as he didn’t lift his head once, caring not for breath, his only priority was to taste you for as long as you could handle it.

If he had all the options that rotated the planet at his hands, he would never let up, he would die a happy and breathless man from suffocating himself in your addictive cunt. But even then, after he was a corpse from being delirious to be drowned in your sweet juices, you would be angry at him, needing more from his chapped lips and sinful tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The fall was enclosing at your dispense, your heightened pitch indicated so, as did the clenching of your walls that his tongue thrusted in and out of.

Each of his taste buds were consumed with your aroused honey, and even as you came, he lapped without hesitancy, cleaning up your wetness only to create more to flee from your slick entrance. Your mouth was agape in sensational and pure distress as you thrashed your legs around like a maniac, until you wrapped them around his head, feet locking at the back of his neck.

“Need one more from ya babydoll.” His gruff voice that carried the dry lustre from his smoking habits vibrated against your lower lips, causing you to release an elongated squeal. You weren’t entirely sure if you had one more in you, this felt like it had been going on for hours, and although you were never complain about such circumstances, your body was growing exhausted.

But you would do it for him; one more couldn’t hurt, so as he settled three fingers into your walls, your hips bucked at the intrusion. He’d only been using his tongue the entire time, although it seemed you were drenched enough for them to slide in without much effort, he held them still so that you could adjust to the full feeling, peppering languid and wide kisses against the heated skin of your thighs.

His kisses moved left, closer to your stuffed mound, as he began to rotate his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist as your eyelashes involuntarily fluttered, and deep mewls of pleasure surpassed from your bitten lips. Until finally, his mouth transcended you to another planet, far beyond the reality that you had harshly adapted to, as his lips suckled around your clit, his fingers scissoring in and out of you.

You were hypnotised in the sensations that were floating from your head to your curling toes, you were starting to feel dizzy, a heavy feeling that left you practically unconscious, as you faded in and out of your surroundings. Even when you opened your eyes, straining them to do so, the bedroom was blurry to your sights, and you bit at the air, failing to warn Daryl of the pressure that was growing by the second.

“Ah fuck.” Daryl groaned as a gushing stream that you hadn’t been aware was on its route to escape from your aching cunt, the liquid bursting in Daryl’s direction and coating his face. However he didn’t let up, even as he removed his fingers, leaving your walls clenching from the empty feeling, as he stroked his tongue in long lines up and down your pussy. “Gotta clean yer up.” He muttered almost to himself, as he dared not waste a drop.

You just laid there, breathless and cross eyed even as he finally removed himself, leaning up to stroke your face. “Yer did real good darlin’, so fucking good for me.” The starving man spoke, licking his lips as he started down into your eyes. He reached down, grasping your hips that had invisibly restrained themselves against the bed, as he picked you up, treating you like porcelain as he carried you in his big arms to the shower. He turned the water on, grasping a cotton rag from the side as he sturdied your weight against his, your back facing his front as he began to clean you up whilst the water was warming up.

[acapelladitty]

bereft of grace

Summary: Defeated by Messmer, you find that his plans for you, a mongrel tarnished, are far different than what you might expect.

(tw: non-con, humiliation, forced stripping, restraints, mild tit torment, rough sex, size difference, stretching, vaginal fingering, creampie, overstimulation, pain)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

You feel the infernal chill of his helm pressing against the side of your face as he lowers his head to your own. His words, soft-spoken and laced with cruelty, brush across your ears as your naked back remains pinned to his chest - restrained by both the strength of his arm pulling tightly across your stomach and the unshakeable wrap of the snakes which lace across your wrists to keep your hands useless and pinned against your sides.

"Mongrel tarnished." He growls the words like a slur, silken hatred pairing with the predatory knowledge that you were truly helpless in his arms. "Thy kind are good for naught."

A serpentine tongue slips free of his lips to stroke a languid line across your neck, tasting the sweat of your battle and the fear that had long since laced your skin since he had deprived you of your torn clothing; the shredded materials laying in a discarded pile below your suspended frame. His tongue is warm, wet and the sensation of it brushing along the sensitive skin of your throat is as arousing as it is repulsive.

"Stripped of gold."

Thin fingers force their way between your legs, widening your thighs as they push at and grope the skin there so roughly that you know small, circular bruises will be left in their wake. His hand slides further, your breath hitching with despair as he presses against your most private flesh; lengthy digits stroking along your slit to test the skin there as they tease your slightly-wet hole before slipping up to graze across the ultra-sensitive nub of your clit.

"Stripped of grace."

Gasping as he pushes two of his fingers within you with little preamble, the sudden stretch of the intrusion burns like hellfire and you cry out as he starts to pump them inside your walls. Your body responds despite itself, his long digits stroking areas which were quick to ignite a warmth in your cunt that made your brain feel fuzzy despite the hollowing discomfort.

"Stripped even of thy paltry linens."

The heat is oppressive, the flames which he was able to conjure in an instant making his body feel like a furnace where it touches your own - even through his armour - and it pairs with the shameful warmth which rolls from your own body as you find yourself pressing down into his hand like a bitch in heat.

As soon as he had robbed you of your weapon, you assumed death was to swiftly follow and a genuine fear of being impaled like so many of the corpses which littered the road to the Shadow Keep immediately made you compliant to his commands. You had dropped to the floor and awaited a swift death which was not to come as his hand had stayed, something almost like amusement playing in his drawn face as he noted the instant submission and ordered you to approach him.

He had ripped your clothing from you, tearing it with a demigods strength as you shivered and ignored the hot shame which paired with the fear in your heart. His snakes followed their masters will without verbal instruction, the infernal heat of them as they slid across your skin making you gasp as forked tongues tasted their way across your shuddering frame to lock your hands in place.

After that, it didn't take long for Messmer to make his move. His gaze, split between hues of gold and the abyssal void, had taken its time in your appraisal - peering into your anguish and fear-laced expression before roving across your ample breasts and lower half. A rail-thin hand had struck like one of his many serpents, harshly gripping at your upper arm to spin you in place and allowing him to scoop you close as inhumane strength lifted you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.

Nothing in the face of a demigod.

Thoughts snapping back into the moment as a third finger breaches your hole, a pained howl slips free of your lips as you writhe in place - attempting to pull away from the pleasurable pain with a futile struggle. Sex and bodily pleasure wasn't unknown to you, but the sheer power which rolled from the demigod who seemed determined to amuse himself with your flesh made it difficult to focus on anything outside of the humid air and the sensations he was forcing upon you.

"Thy kind are fit for use as a fleshly pleasure. No more. Strip all thoughts of lordship from thy desires before my hand is pushed to strip thy skin from such soft flesh."

Fresh snakes slither across your chest, the thin bodies wrapping around the globes of your breasts and tightenening to the point of true discomfort - the rope-like restraints making a wicked pressure quickly build up in your abused chest. Sinking their fangs into the sensitive skin just below your chest, the snakes showed no sign of letting up their firm hold and you almost sob with relief as Messmer's thick fingers pull free of your cunt.

It's a short-lived peace though, as his slickened fingers are quick to establish how tight the hold his snakes have achieved and a guttural cry breaks free of your throat as his large hands move to pinch at your chest roughly. Nipples perked due to the pressure and arousal which is rolling through your stimulated frame, he's careful to snatch the sensitive nubs between his fingers, one at time, until fresh tears spring into your eyes and your back arches violently into his chest while your lips form a constant stream of pleas and whines.

"For one so cursed and devoid of all, thy voice is surprisingly sweet." And although you cannot see his face, you can hear the predatory arousal which accompanies the words.

He was enjoying himself, attempting to force you to do the same.

"You are the cursed one."

Finding your voice, you yelp out the words like an accusation - arousal, shame, and mild horror sparking a momentary boldness which you immediately regret as his body stiffens and a sharp chill replaces the cruel warmth of his earlier tones.

"True, little tarnished. My curse is borne in the void of the abyssal serpent. Naught more than a monster, I will force thee to embrace thy oblivion and know such suffering."

Something blunted presses against your hole and your panicked struggle renews as you feel just how big he is, the girth making genuine fear lance your spine as you realise that his earlier rough treatment with his fingers was a necessity more than anything else. Aside from the stretch which his fingers provided, you were horrified to feel just how wet you were as his cock grazed along your slit; collecting your arousal to ensure an easier entry as he forced himself inside such a tight-fit space.

The noise that slips free of your throat is inhumane, guttural and raw, as the head of his cock breaches past your hole. It feels like it's going to split you apart and the sheer burning ache of the merciless stretch instantly overpowers any other feeling in your body - your toes curling as a wracked sob shakes your trembling frame.

"Please! Please, st-stop." The words are a babble, stuttered and broken, as you try to force yourself to relax around him, to adjust to his infernal size. "My lord, please."

The unexpected use of his title earns a rumble of approval and his lips are hot against your neck once more as his sharpened teeth graze across the sensitive flesh while he considers the plea with a low hum.

"Thy slickened folds tell of a differing desire, little tarnished." Messmer growls, keeping his cock still as he allows himself to acclimatise to his gripping tightness of your spasming cunt. "But I am not a rutting beast, devoid of all mercies. Ask it of me and I shall see to thy own pleasures."

Fresh shame flushed through your frame, adding another layer of heat to the already sweat-slicked skin as you listen to his offer. He would force you to ask this of him. To make you accomplice to your own unmaking. A cruel mercy, but a mercy which you would take him on as the alternative seemed impossible to bear.

"I beg you, my- my lord. Please, use me."

His chuckle is victorious and wicked in its joy as Messmer pulls you lower on to his cock, forcing another two inches of him within your aching hole. However, true to his word, his free arm, the one not pinning you to his chest, slips down between your legs and you gasp as his finger circles itself at the top of your cunt, seeking out your most sensitive flesh.

He knows he has found it when you jerk in his arms, an electric bolt of pleasure arcing across your skin as his calloused finger grazes your swollen clit. It sparks him to pick up a slow pace, his cock breaching your hole until it presses flush against your cervix before pulling free until only the head remains. A slow pace, but a brutal one as every thrust makes it feel like he is pulling your walls free with him - the friction immediately sending your body into overdrive.

His finger never lets up the pressure on your clit; alternating between grazing along it directly and gently thumbing circles around it as the dual manipulations forced your legs wider, your body seeking more pleasure to offset the ache of the stretch. Pain and pleasure, both sensations at war within your tortured flesh until his thumb presses just a little too roughly against your nub and you came undone.

Clenching around his cock, your release brings with it a low scream as waves of pleasure roll across your body. Messmer seems to appreciate the forced pleasure, if the growing pace of his cock is anything to go by, but the continued stimulation of his thrusts only serves to make your orgasm draw out until your body twitches from the aftershocks.

"So easily pleasured. Were it not for thy warriors garb and weaponry, I would have assumed thee a courtesan. A temptress, well-versed in the pleasures of men."

Messmer grunts the insult as he continues to fuck you without mercy but his humiliating words barely register within your overstimulated mind as your whimpers fill the large room. His voice is full of excitement and you can hear the slight gasps which exist between the words and how they speak of his own coming release.

His cock having ruined your most sensitive walls, the dull ache of the stretch now only serves to enhance the pleasure and you cannot help but clench around him, pulling him to his finish as his cock twitches within you.

The arm around your stomach tightens, as do the snakes which remain bound across your suffering frame and you feel the heat of his release as it scorches you from the inside out, much hotter than any man you had been with before. Seeking his own pleasure, Messmer pulls you tight, forcing his cock up hard against your battered cervix as his mouth buries itself into your neck - teeth and tongue making a mess of your skin as he marks the territory like a beast.

It all proves too much and you come again, your cunt fluttering and squeezing his cock as low, animalistic noises break free of your lips. Your strength leaves you in an instant after the initial high and the loose limbs of your frame are only supported by his arm and snakes as he keeps you suspended like a puppet until he's finished with you.

His cock pulls out, the movement slow and certain, and the moment his cockhead slips free you feel the heat of his release trickle down your thighs as a gaping emptiness seems to fill the space between your legs. Despite the heat, you feel cold and you whimper anew as his snakes unlatch themselves from your chest and retreat back to their master.

Messmer's breathing is heavy and his chest feels as hot as ever against your naked back, even his armour having lost its metallic chill, as he continues to hold you in place. Aching, twitching, and thoroughly fucked you lay passively in his arm, your entire body feeling loose and untrustworthy.

After a minute has passed, Messmer speaks once more and his hoarse words are delivered to your ear as he lifts you slightly higher.

"My vague amusement with thee requires further consideration." As silken as before, you shudder at the close proximity as you rub your mess-slickened thighs together. "And so my offer is thus: remain in the Shadow Keep as a personal courtesan to myself, a role in which no other man nor beast shall lay hand on thee, or choose to return to ash and I shall grant thee a swift death until thy body is restored by the grace of gold which thee are unworthy of."

Your breath hitches, both options relaying in your mind as you recover from the shock of the unexpected offer. Messmer, however, did not appear to be a patient man and his arm jostled you slightly as he instsntly pushed for a response.

"Well, little tarnished, what is thy choice?"

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

What's in the Woods?

Summary: Task Force 141 crashed down in the woods. Price is missing, while Ghost, Gaz, and Soap found a mansion, where you live.

Masterlist / Archive of Our Own

Content Warning: NSFW, Smut, F!reader, group sex, blowjob/facefucking, anal sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, slight horror elements (?)

• Task Force 141 where they crashed in a remote forest, but somehow survived. Got separated for some time but managed to find one another in the woods, except for Captain Price. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz went around the forest once more to look for him, only to find a run-down mansion where they decided to stay for the night before finding the Captain again.

• The trio entered the mansion and rested before deciding to look around for things that could help them, only to find a girl sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs.

• Gaz was the one to find you when he entered your dark room and realized there was a person in bed. Thought you were a corpse until you screamed and he screamed.

• the other two rushed to where the sound came from and found you threatening to hit Gaz with a lamp. You still hit the poor guy with a lamp. Calmed down after some explanation from them and apologized to Kyle.

• Ghost thought it was weird that a person was living in an abandoned mansion in the middle of the forest and asked what are you doing here and what made you live here.

• You explained that your family built this mansion here because they liked remote places, only to abandon you here. You also explained how you survived despite the circumstances. They thought of you as modern Rapunzel, if not at least a literate female Tarzan.

• You ended up showing them around the mansion and lent them room, but apologized that of course, they were dirty because a single person couldn't possibly clean an entire mansion. Again, you weren't Rapunzel.

• Brought them to nearby waterfalls where you'd take a bath, clean your clothes, and catch fish because the mansion had long run out of water.

• A couple of months into the crash, they still hadn't found Price, only his hat and gear, and there weren't any rescues coming. At the same time, they had somehow gotten used to living in your mansion, even though they still question some things in their minds, but somehow those questions always slip past their minds. Have they always been that forgetful?

• They found you one night taking a bath in the pool of the waterfalls completely naked. How the hell aren't you freezing? However, the longer they stare at you, the more they can't help the growing tents in their pants. When they joined you, you weren't a bit surprised. In fact, you had a smile.

• Soap picked you up and you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, his hard cock leaking of precum, brushing against your cunt, and making you moan into the kiss.

• Ghost grabbed your ass from behind and rubbed his cock, groaning at the friction. He trailed kisses on your nape as Soap worked on your breasts and nipples, eliciting whines and moans from you that soon got muffled when Gaz grabbed your neck, bringing your lips to his.

• Gaz held one of your hands and guided it towards his shaft, letting you stroke his length.

• It didn't take long for you to beg to be fucked and they brought you back to the mansion.

• Soap dropped you on your bed and inserted a couple of digits in you, making you squeal at the sudden intrusion, and he teased you about how wet you were. He started to pump in and out, while Gaz gave your clit maddening circles that got you clenching around Soap's fingers.

• You whined when both men stopped, but Ghost was quick to fill up the loss as he thrust himself inside of your pussy. He let you adjust to his size for a few seconds, before pounding onto you.

• He picked you up from the bed, one hand on your ass and the other around your waist. He sat down on the bed with you on his lap and lay down, stopping for a moment.

• You looked at him in confusion but realized that Gaz had lined up his cock on your ass, hands gripping your waist. You groaned as he slowly eased himself inside your hole.

• Soap grabbed a handful of your hair, kissing you before pushing his cock into your mouth. Your eyes watered and you closed them, bobbing your head with Soap's hand guiding your head.

• After a few rounds of getting your three holes pounded, you and the trio decided to go back to the waterfalls to get yourselves clean and rest in one of the rooms they borrowed.

• Still not too tired to sleep, you talked and talked with them until the moment Gaz asked if you would like to come with them once rescue comes to this place.

• You merely smiled, eyes blank like a void, and answered, "Leave? Why would you leave this place?"

• They stared at you as you said that and a hum left your lips, slowly bringing them to sleep.

Note: It was fun writing this. I wanted to make this more creepy but got lazy halfway through. Totally did not make this next to my grandmother.

[amerricanartwork]

So, I'm looking at your arti and gourmand art (absolutely fucken love the two, you draw them so adorable) and I got hit with an Intrusive Thought that I simply must share:

...

Arti bench pressing Gourm

Firstly, glad you enjoy my Artimand content! I just think they'd make such a funny yet sweet couple, and I love drawing them!

And now I'll address that thought to actually explain a little headcanon I just so happened to be pondering recently along that subject!

It's on the subject of where Arti's greater strength comes from. See, unlike other designs that show Arti as being bigger and seemingly more muscular than the average slugcat, I actually like to imagine her as a little smaller than average (about 2'10", to be exact; average is 3ft.), for both more humor and narrative significance. However, this begs the question of why she's the only slugcat who can dislodge regular spears, which implies she's stronger than average too?

Well, my conclusion was that it was a combination of adrenaline-based strength with the fact, by the time her campaign occurs, she's been in and still remains in very frequent intense combat scenarios, so she gets far more opportunity to train her muscles than even regular carnivorous slugcats. It's especially so if her needing to carry around scavenger corpses to pass through Karma gates is canon and not just a game mechanic.

However, if that were the case it would also mean this extra strength would only exist before she gets with Gourmand. Afterwards, I imagine she loses much of it and reverts to more Hunter levels of strength due to 1. no longer being constantly filled with pure fiery rage and an almost instinctive urge for vengeance, 2. being in a much safer environment where she no longer has to fight troupes of scavs every cycle (I imagine she over time reconciles with them too, but that's something for later), and 3. much of her lost muscle at the time of meeting Gourm being replaced by fat as his eating habits awaken her own bigger appetite.

So long story short, given the big size and weight difference, she might have been able to lift Gourm before becoming his mate if she were that angry and determined enough. But unfortunately, there's no chance of her bench-pressing him after she settles in with him. And I'm sure she'd be at least a little mad about it, too.

But, of course, Gourm still loves her regardless!

[thedinanshiral]

Today is a fine day as any to rise the dead, but first we need to spell something out. We don't know enough about this intriguing necromancer from Nevarra so this one should be shorter.

So far we only have a couple of source materials, the story "Down among dead men" from Tevinter Nights, and the short story The Flame Eternal. And there's already some minor discrepancy between them. Emmrich's last name is Volkahrin in Tevinter Nights and Volkarin in The Flame Eternal. His short profile on the Dragon Age The Veilguard site only calls him by his first name, so until more information is revealed and the correct spelling of his name officially confirmed i'll use the original spelling, the first we got from Tevinter Nights.

Meet Emmrich Volkahrin, a Mortalitasi from Nevarra, member of the Mourn Watch, a seemingly delightful gentleman, described in his short profile as a well-meaning scholar.

Nevarra is a kingdom at the center of Thedas, south of Tevinter and north of the Waking Sea, famous mainly for two things: their unmatched tradition in dragon hunting and their reverence for the dead around which they've built much of their culture. While in most of the Andrastian lands the dead are cremated to avoid possession of the corpses by the spirits that may be drawn to cross the Veil by the array of emotions that usually follow death, Nevarrans do not; quite the contrary, they've built a Grand Necropolis across the ages where their dead are put to rest. Except not all the dead like to be put to rest so some may rise on occassion and wander about a bit. Most mages in Nevarra if not all are Mortalitasi, necromancers, and among them a special group called the Mourn Watch are in charge of taking care of the dead things that won't stay dead enough. They deal with possessions, early possessions, a number of oddities that arise in the deeper levels of the Necropolis, gathering information by making the dead speak again, and gods know what else. Their perception of the dead is different from anything we've seen in Thedas so far. It seems is common for them to even make use of those no longer living, and skeletal assistants or servants are a common sight near Mortalitasi mages.

So far we've learned of very few Nevarran Mortalitasi, and they all seem to be rather.. dry. Emmrich is the first one so far with a certain charm. He enjoys a nice cup of tea, has a skeleton assistant called Manfred, and he very naturally expresses a sincere excitement when knowledge is involved, be it when others express their curiosity or when there's a chance to learn something new. He's not just a necromancer on the clock, he's also a dedicated scholar. In The Flame Eternal he says to a fellow necromancer who's only interested in getting the job done quickly:

“What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?”.

He's not just doing a job, he's interested in understanding the motivations behind it, what drives the dead to act past their time. In Down among dead men his role is a small one, the story is actually about a guardsman name Audric Felhausen who after an attack by a possessed corpse during its funerary rites is sent to accompany a Watcher -Myrna, of the Mourn Watch- down into the Grand Necropolis to catch the running dead man, only to soon learn he's not quite alive himself anymore and the intrusive thoughts and memories of his love for books and architecture were indicative of his own new nature. Once the issue with the Pride-possessed deceassed noble is resolved they returned to Emmrich and decided Audric, who's still clinging to the world of the living for his love of books, takes a position at the Library.

In The Flame Eternal, we're introduced to a younger Emmrich Volkahrin, who alongside fellow necromancer Johanna Hezenkoss, was tasked to resolve the issue of a screaming skull. It turned out the wife of the decesased had recently passed and even in death the love endured and the skull simply wanted to rest by his beloved. When Johanna complains all the fuss the skull did was just for his dead wife, Emmrich responds “Oh, I don’t know (...) It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection."

In the few lines from him we've gotten so far i think he comes across as a kind and charming man, even if maybe a bit odd considering his line of work and how calm he seems about it. Seems he respects the dead too and doesn't just see them as mere tools.

Design wise, he's also very interesting. If he looks like Vincent Price, chances are it's intentional, but it hasn't been confirmed beyond casual mentions from one or two devs who've made that reference. We don't have a specific age for him but one can be estimated, as in the beginning of The Flame Eternal we're told those events occurred thirty years ago in 9:22 Dragon. Inquisition takes place in 9:42, Trespasser events happen in 9:44, and ten years after that we have The Veilguard, so curently they're in 9:54. Knowing this short story was published in 2021, it adds up that in Thedas it was 9:52, and if we presume Emmrich must have been at the very least 20 years old the youngest he could be is about 52. He could be even older, he certainly looks like he could be in his 60s already.

In his companion tarot card we see him in better detail. The skeleton up front may be Manfred, his assistant, and i find the little skeletons on the side the cutest things ever, like tiny puppets. I think that's the idea behind this card, actually, the necromancer rising the dead, his magic as the strings of the puppeteer that will decide how the puppet moves.

Many were suspicious of his right hand from the party's teased picture, because it looks off, red and just generally weird but as seen on his tarot card, that's actually a glove. That he wears rings over the glove must be a personal choice. And that's an interesting one if we look at his left hand and arm. More rings and bangles to last a lifetime. Is it just his style, or does all that jewelry serve a more specific purpose than adding to his looks? Maybe it's all enchanted, one certainly needs protection when dealing with the other side. Guess we'll know in the future.

We don't really know much else about him. Gameplay wise the reveal trailer gave us nothing, he's barely a little guy in the distance during the fight scene..

Yeah, that's Emmrich, chased down by the red lyrium darkswpan. No staff, no green necromancer sparks, no idea of what he might be like in combat yet.

In another piece of official art we see him alongside Manfred and i think Emmrich looks rather confident when facing the enemy here.

I suspect he's the confident and charming scholar type to whom said qualities occur so naturally he is not entirely aware of it or of the effect he has on those around him. Of course as a sholar and a necromancer he surely has a certain aura of that may be offputting to some as well. What little was hinted of him as a companion was in relation to his romance, a dev described it as "intimate and sensual".

Hopefully we'll get more details in the upcoming days. I'm curious to know more about all the new companions but him, specifically, i'm more curious about.

[sammylkcho]

Please.. Forgive me.

Warnings/Notes: vague descriptions of dismemberment, descriptions of gory scenes, angst, deaths, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, mentions of suicide, more questions than answers

"I'm sure we’ll be able to get out of this, especially with Painter’s help.. distracting those disposables Urbanshade brings so we can grab the crystal" you said in a cheerful voice, swinging your legs back and forth from the box you were sitting on.

Sebastian let out an uncomfortable hum, his attention glued to the files marked "CLASSIFIED" in bold letters. He was pouring over the documents without even a glance away, barely even pausing to breathe. You’d seen him work himself to exhaustion like this before, sometimes even passing out from the strain. Secretly, you were starting to worry he’d begin hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

Your face unconsciously tightened into a frown, and your lips pressed into a thin line as you noticed his anxious habit—running a hand through his hair and trying to tuck it behind his fins. It reminded you of when he’d always push the hair falling down each side of his face behind his ears back when he was (well, still is) human.

Quickly replacing your frown, you kept chatting away about all the things you could do once you were back on the surface. You mentioned how living by a nice beach could be a fresh, relaxing start for both of you after everything. Painter could even capture the beauty of the sunsets there.

There was no sign he was listening, but you knew his mind was elsewhere. Still, you kept talking—it was a surefire way to help calm your own nerves.

Listening to Painter ramble on about whatever he liked—a new drawing or sketch he’d made, or even just complaining about the disposables—was one of the only things that could ground you, helping keep you tethered when your thoughts began to consume you. Somehow, it both soothed you and brought back all the anxieties you were left with at the end of each day.

Sometimes Painter noticed the shifts in your mood and asked about them. Usually, you didn’t tell him anything to avoid worrying him, letting him continue his usual ramblings, but today was one of those rare moments when you let a thought slip.

“.. Are you alright? I started complaining about Sebastian, and you didn’t even jump in to defend him or argue about it” he noted, trying to keep the worry in his tone hidden. Being soft or consoling wasn’t something his programming was used to after all his time in a place like this.

You looked down, trying to find the right words to explain to the AI the emotional mess you were in now (and, honestly, always) and to make him understand, even just a little.

“It’s just... Is it wrong that I’m becoming numb to someone dying? I used to feel sick, to gag whenever I saw a disposable’s corpse, and now it doesn’t faze me—their deaths or the brutal injuries. It’s like it doesn’t gross me out at all. I think picking through bodies with Sebastian is getting to me...” You chuckled softly, though it was more out of hollow irony than anything.

“And besides, it’s hard trying to help Sebastian when he only lets me tend to the disposables that end up here. Other than that, he doesn’t let me help him physically or mentally.”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying in vain to calm yourself or slow down the racing of your thoughts. You felt your breathing grow ragged, your hands shaking beyond your control as if they were reacting all on their own.

“It’s exhausting... I want to help him a little because I know the hell he’s dealing with, but I also have no idea what goes through his head, especially when he won’t tell me the full story.”

Your voice wavered, your teeth chattering as a tremor started to take over your body.

“He tells me I can’t help him when I can’t even help myself. I can handle my mess and his at the same time; I know I can.”

You could hear Painter’s voice saying something, but it didn’t register.

“I know I can do it, I’m fine. I wouldn’t get tired of hearing his complaints or thoughts.”

There was Painter’s voice again. What was he saying?

“I can handle it, I’M FINE—”

“You’re bleeding!”

Painter’s voice came through the old computer speakers so loudly you swore it sounded distorted.

You tasted something metallic on your lower lip, and your tongue quickly recognized the taste of blood when you licked it, realizing what it was.

You looked down at your hands, now stained red, with the indents of your nails pressing into your palms.

When you blinked, trying to focus on your surroundings, you noticed your eyelashes were wet, and your cheeks felt uncomfortably damp. You had been crying too.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing or what for. You just felt the need to after putting poor Painter through this, letting him see you unraveling over your anxieties, showing him this sorry state.

“It’s okay... Just.. do you want to talk it over more calmly?” he asked, his words sounding a bit awkward as he wasn’t sure what to say or do.

You quickly shook your head, wiping your tears away with your sleeve. You braced your hands against the floor to stand, relying on it to steady you because your legs were still trembling. You didn’t trust yourself to get up without some support, given how shaky you still felt.

Before Painter could say anything else, you left as quickly as you could, trying to drown out the voices in your head blaming you for burdening him, for voicing your problems aloud. You didn’t deserve even his pity.

You were pathetic—worse than pitiful.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to show up at Sebastian’s shop, the place you called home.

You sprinted quickly into one of the rooms down the long hallway you’d been running through. Instinct drove you under the desk in the wide room, both hands clamped over your mouth and nose to stifle the sound of your heavy, panicked breathing. You needed to hide from this monster.

Scenes of the person you were escaping from replayed in your head like a film.

It was just another disposable who’d somehow made it this far while you’d been with Painter. You’d spotted him at a distance in a dark room before the voices over the speakers cut through the silence, alerting you and the disposable who was now only inches away from you.

“There’s another person inside the facility. They violated company regulations and are complicit with Z-13. Their elimination will yield twice the initial reward.” The HQ voice blared through the speakers, making you gasp when it mentioned your name.

You’d forgotten that some of the cameras still worked throughout the facility, likely monitoring the disposables and reporting on what was taking them down along the way.

The moment you took a step forward and your footfall echoed across the room, you felt a burning gaze on the back of your neck. Without daring to look back at the person behind you, you took off running, a prey fleeing from its hunter.

The sound of a missed gunshot made your blood run cold in an instant. You didn’t even want to ask how he got a weapon, but he had one—and you were completely defenseless.

That’s what brought you here, crouched under the desk, silently praying to God that, just this once, he would listen and spare you from this person.

You prayed to God, to Eyesfastion, hoping they’d appear out of pure chance and force him to look them in the eyes. Or for an Angler to come roaring through the rooms, Chainsmoker to slow his steps. Any miracle.

Of all the times you’d wanted to be six feet under, wished for death to just take you already, this time you didn’t want to go. No matter how often you’d begged for death to come, this time, you wanted to live.

You held your breath, clamping down on it entirely when the sound of firm footsteps filled the room where you hid.

Closer and closer.

The desk creaked as something leaned against it. He was mere inches away. You could hear his breathing and the clank of the gun as he set it on top of the desk.

Your shaking eyes drifted to the glass in front of you, showing a view of the vast, deep ocean no other human besides Urbanshade could ever witness at such depths. Due to your crouched, hidden position under the desk, you couldn’t see your own reflection in the glass, but you could see his. A sharp gasp escaped you when you saw the appearance of your hunter.

His gaze immediately dropped downward as your gasp echoed through the room. His hand swiftly gripped the gun before he moved around to the back of the desk.

Sebastian was tucking away documents and small DNA samples he found into the neoprene suit of the now-deceased expendable, also grabbing the unused batteries. He stored everything in the small pouches strapped along his tail.

When he finished organizing everything and made sure it was all in place, he started heading back to his tent, the quick thought of seeing you there to talk non-stop just to fill the ever-present silence. A humorous smile crossed his face; this time, he’d make sure to join the conversation.

The door indicator’s number flashed, crackling quickly, before the face of Painter appeared on the screen.

"SEBASTIAN."

The AI’s shout disoriented him for a couple of seconds, leaving him confused by its sudden appearance. Painter usually waited until Sebastian visited him in his usual location to relay any messages, so seeing him appear here and shout was odd.

"What’s going on? I’m doing inventory on the expendables, so you can tell me whatever you need later, you stupid—"

"Shut up, you filthy fish, and get to room 65. They’re in danger."

The mention of your name and that you were in danger ignited something inside him.

You had already mastered the dangers of this place, even if you still trembled with fear after an Angler encounter. What had stopped you now?

He didn’t take the time to respond to the AI, instead moving as fast as his instincts could carry him to the room number. He knew the place like the back of his hand and was only six rooms away—just a little more, and he’d be there.

He was greeted by a wide hallway and the stench of blood, sharply invading his senses and nostrils. The smell was sickening, but he could bear it for a few minutes—though this time, it felt disturbingly familiar.

The stench led him to a room where he immediately noticed blood-stained glass, crimson trails streaking downwards. The sight disgusted him more than anything else, for no clear reason.

His third hand moved to his three-barreled shotgun. Although he heard nothing, something told him that wasn’t a good sign.

His breath caught entirely when two bodies came into view, and he recognized yours immediately, even though he tried not to.

You were covered in blood, both your own and your attacker’s. Dried blood streamed from your nose, bruises becoming clear against the pallor of your skin. You had two gunshot wounds: one in your stomach and another in your leg.

Then he looked at your attacker.

The blood on the attacker’s face made it hard to see him clearly, but gray hair and a graying beard showed through wrinkles and lines that marked his features.

He had also been shot, but his wound was on the forehead, and there were a series of scratches on his neck, arms, and face—made with fierce aggression.

Sebastian could almost picture the possible scenario that led to all this.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind, wondering if your pulse might still be beating, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He heard no breath, no desperate gasping for air. Nothing.

The silence terrified him; you were supposed to fill that silence with words, turn that "nothing" into "something."

Had your attacker enjoyed your suffering? Had he even regretted, at any moment, the shots he’d fired at you? Had he seen you lifeless and felt fear at his mistake? Would he have slept soundly knowing he’d killed you?

No.

No, he didn’t believe it.

He would have made him regret being alive. He would have killed him in a worse way than he killed you.

He would have made him swallow his own teeth, fingers, and scraps of skin while he was still alive. Being alive would have been its own torture.

More than anything, he wanted to avenge you, to have done something so that this repulsive creature hadn’t killed or tortured you, even if in some "stupid" way.

…

He needed you.

[lunaralight09]

Hey! based on the recent 096 thing,, what if you were immortal/immune to abnormal affects/effects? How would SCPs (such as 096, 106, 173, 049, and 035) react?

035

They both like and hate it. I mean if something happens to the host when they're near you, you'll just straight up put them on your face which WILL(probably) result to your death. And they do not want that to happen. And the bad thing... they can't read your mind properly(I mean they're probably interested and invested about what's happening in others life. It's the only good entertainment they can get in here).

Other than that, it's going to just adore you and your immunity to it. Like there weren't anyone who could look at it and not fall for their charm(manipulations), but look at you. Standing there alive and it's not even mad at you! Because it cares about you.

049

Oh it's not really a surprise to him, since there were and are some people that aren't afflicted with the pestilence(aren't dead from his touch). And he doesn't even need to lecture his cured patients about hurting you. They are always so docile with you, not getting rowdy. How convenient.

Before anything he does NOT want you to interact with many people(at all), since... what if they infect you? He won't like to see that, knowing that you're suffering from that wretched disease. But he can't exactly make you stay with him forever. He will hint and/or outright say that you need to stay away from certain people, however it's you decision to listen or not listen. You can make your own decisions. Even if that makes Doctor uncomfortable... with those 'intrusive' thoughts.

096

They are the calmest they have been in their entire existence, while someone looks at their face that is. And that does bring them some sort of comfort knowing that YOU of all creatures aren't going to die from their hands(unless some sort of accident happenS- WHO SAID THAT). The hands that killed too many.

And from those thoughts, the clinging begins. Knowing that you're 100% safe from being mutilated and turned into chunks of meat, they would want to spend a bit more time with you. Following, sitting or laying near you, anything. They are going to love it. The idea of listening to your heartbeat as a comfort thing is perfect for them. Whether they lay on you or you lay or rest on them(just don't forget to breathe).

106

Well That's not interesting(for him). His sadistic side fucking hates it. On one hand he can just grab you and squeeze your neck until you stop moving. But on other hand he (likes)tolerates you enough to not do it. Even if everything in his body tells him to fucking do it. Watch as your little life is slowly taken away from your desperate hands.

He'll more often than not will mostly ignore your presence. Especially if in a room/hallway there's a person(really hurt, showing it or 10-25 year old) and YOU, he'll always choose to go after the first option. And there's a possibility that he bumps into you, it's probably not intentional(i mean do you expect this corpse to walk straight and not bump and hit into things/people?)

173

(173 doesn't really have anomalous effects somewhat similar to other 4. But the best i can go is this):

Having 173 practically ignoring your existence and still moving while you look is.. good? Well for you, that is. You can't help anyone else, it's just a cold lie that you can look while they try to get away or clean the cell.

If you want to know it's thoughts about it. Well I mean it's not often that it has any thoughts(Literally head empty). Thoughts that usually appear are how it's next target's face going to look like as they're getting closer and closer. Oh and how their 'resting' face is going to look like.

Going back to your immunity, it knows, kinda acknowledge your existence in it's own weird way. Like it won't push you and just go a different path if you're blocking- let's say a door way. Or if you want to help some poor soul from dying, by just standing in the corner and that person being behind you. And surprise, surprise 173 looses it's interest entirely. How thoughtful of it.

[atomoxxetine]

"Pernicious Present" Pt.1

Feyd Rautha x Suk Doctor! Reader

Summary: The greatest gift from Emperor Shaddam to House Harkonnen is a ticking time bomb wrapped neatly in a ribbon. Warning: Death, Blood, Torture part 2 (I've never read Dune. This is written based purely on the movie and a quick search.) "What a dull knife," you comment. Feyd has just slashed through his servants moments ago. "Since when did I allow you to speak?" The Na-Baron growls as he sharply turns to face your display of intrusive thoughts. It would be a death wish to anger him right after he had exhibited his rage. But to you, it is just another move in your scheme.

You know that Feyd doesn't have the power to kill you, not yet. All the tears you had wept and sweat you had shed through the Suk School were not wasted. The position: Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's personal Suk Doctor is what keeps your head on your shoulders. Reminiscing, the road to this status has been nothing like a flowery path. The school was hellish, and the exam was arduous, but nothing came close to gaining the Baron's trust.

Since you were sent to Giedi Prime as a gift from the Imperial, Baron Harkonnen had suspected you greatly. His Highness has started to view you in a better light when you dedicated yourself to cease the epidemic in Geidi Prime. There was a terrible spread of the black plague, stemming from rotten corpses to grass to trees to livestock. All had come to a stop because of your findings. Burning the dead with flame has been a custom ever since. It was clear that you possessed the qualities of intelligence, diligence, and efficiency. But what remained in the dark was your trustworthiness. So, he put you to the test by making you screen his food to detect any trace of malice, hoping your true nature would be revealed. The first few feasts were fine, intended to lower your guard. He then made Feyd bring out Safran Şerbeti. The cordial was undoubtedly spiked with venom as instructed by the Baron. The Baron suggested that you could waive the inspection of the gift brought by his nephew, as he wished to avoid straining the connection by revealing any distrust. But just from the sniff, you could tell that the drink was laced. You whispered to the Baron, 'Please do not take this drink, my lord.' Lord Harkonnen chuckled loudly. He beamed, 'Are you suspecting my heir? You must be out of your mind.' The Na-Baron added, 'Is this one of your dog's little tricks, uncle?' Feyd quirked to the Baron. 'Do you want to savor my uncle's exquisite food that much?' Feyd mocked with a baby voice. 'Don't touch that goblet, I beg of you,' you pleaded, ignoring Feyd's scoffing. The Baron shrugged you off, stretching his hand to fetch the golden liquid. You frantically snatched the chalice. 'Ha! Even your tail is wagging! This dog really wants to have a taste!' Feyd rubbed the salt to your wound. 'You left me no choice, my lord,' you surrendered. 'I will prove it to you that the lovely nephew of yours meant to take your life.' You drowned the whole goblet in one go. Consciousness left your body as the grail rolled on the floor. The world of black and white turned to a muddy grey. The Baron clapped, impressed by your devotion. You cleared all the rightful skepticism by putting your life before his and saving him. Once the Baron's trust was secured, your plan began.

[younaither]

— IDEA #9(?) ✧

!! THIS IDEA MAY NOT MAKE SENSE !!

this is purely self indulgent.

SAGAU with a carmen!reader (IMPOSTER AU)

maybe a bit of albedo x reader.....

- ...so yk how the usual SAGAU imposter au goes right? they hunt down reader and execute them...

- it seems that albedo, the only one who knows the truth — proceeded to somehow salvage what's left of reader's corpse and preserve their entire nervous system in a cryogenic chamber. that way, reader lives on as a voice. he's doing everything to get the reader's physical body back—machinery, chemically, everything is on the table for him.

- it's just like in the project moonverse, whenever someone is at their lowest — reader's voice seeps in their mind, encouraging them to let go of their worries and ‘live freely’.

- they don't know how much longer they can go on without going insane. they could even hear their voice in the leylines.

- of course teyvat still lives on, but rumors started spreading about the creator's voice haunting them. if it's the creator themself talking to them.. then it must be okay to let go, right?

- this must be a reward for terminating the imposter that dared to impersonate them.

- even the hilichurls, the slimes—every single being can hear their voice. they've become more aggressive to humans, but also at peace whenever they're alone. reader's voice is just like a lullaby to them.

- reader doesn't even see it* as wrong. in their eyes, they were just merely helping the people live happier lives.

(*encouraging the people to let go of their worries and whatnot.)

- reader's voice is omnipresent, listening to the people of teyvat's worries, doubts and whatnot—while giving ‘advice’. they're like a ‘therapist’ that encourages you to give in to your thoughts, whether impulsive or intrusive.

..basically:

person: "i can't do it anymore. i want to abandon everything, maybe even set my house on fire and run away—"

reader's voice inside their head: why don't you do it then? :) you'll be much happier that way.

it's up to the person to reject the reader's voice or not, but their voice will be back to haunt them again whenever they're having doubts.

life is hard being a project moon fan. take this idea with a grain of salt i tried my hardest to incorporate project moon in this 😞

[wereshrew-admirer]

FatT pinup week day 2: Intimacy

duvall had taken first watch on the off chance that a long day of walking would put chine to sleep and keep them there.

but the nightmares were unsympathetic of course, and when chine awoke a few minutes or hours later there stood duvall exactly where they’d left him, back straight and arms limp at his sides like a hung corpse.

he was positioned between camp and the fire and chine was almost surprised by his incompetence until they remembered that he didn’t need his human eyes to be adjust to the darkness to keep watch. duvall, asleep, could probably keep a better watch than most seasoned cleavers.

as if to illustrate this idle thought, a moth had been resting on chine’s cheek and he hadn’t noticed until he began to sit up and it shifted, fluttering its wings and grabbing at the hairs of his beard to avoid falling off.

from where chine sat duvall’s loose night shirt did nothing to obscure his silhouette, the firelight bright enough to render it transparent. chine, uninhibited by exhaustion, was distracted by the space between his bare thighs, a knot in their throat forcing them to swallow down the beginnings of concern for his friend and how thin he’d become, how vulnerable he’d left himself by wearing nothing but his nightshirt; the contradictory stirring of desire as they imagined filling that space themself.

focused on his dark silhouette, chine’s eyes began to pick up the firelight coming through duvall himself. and he wasn’t still at all - insects patrolled his body as they did the area surrounding the camp. chine watched mesmerized as their sensitive night vision opened duvall up until his skin seemed only slightly denser than his shirt.

insects gathered along his skeleton, tended to his heart as it pumped something like blood - visible if chine focused hard enough, following the path of veins through his limbs, mesmerized by the intricacies of duvall’s hands and all the tiny bones and blood vessels and nerves and …. they hadn’t realized it, but at some point they’d laid down again. they stifled a yawn but allowed their vision to tunnel - the world and all of their troubles falling away until it was just duvall and all of his moving parts. distantly they felt the obligation to wonder if he’d be offended by chine’s intrusive gaze or unsettled by the comfort chine took in dissecting him through the light, but the moth fluttered its wings again, beating a soft rhythm against their temple, and they remembered that this too was duvall. at the realization they huffed a laugh that a living, human, duvall would never have heard.

as their eyes drift shut they felt the soft touch of a hesitant probuscus uncurling to sample the moisture at the corner of their mouth.

chine’s dreams took the form of lyke’s black dog dripping with a gandyking’s blood, torn into beautiful crystalline shapes that spread to consume the entirety of the room they were in, and chine, too. and although they woke with a start to the sound of shattering glass they wouldn’t have called it a nightmare, because there stood duvall and chine knew with a certainty they had almost forgotten themselves capable of feeling that they were safe.

[soap-ify]

GLADIOLUS | simon 'ghost' riley x reader

cw — angst, heavy suicidal tendencies, simon is NOT okay, he is depressed, mentions of death, hurt/no comfort but there's comfort too if that makes sense, bittersweet ending. [1.4k]

italic paragraphs mean flashback!

Cold and stale, the tea in Simon’s hand had long lost its heat. Almost like a cruel mockery of his own life, slowly losing the warmth that made him a human, reducing him to nothing but a breathing corpse.

A waste.

“I think my life’s too short for our love.”

His words caused you to look at him with confusion, trying to mask the inner turmoil brewing in your head at his sickeningly vague words.

“Sorry?” Though you had heard him well, you still wanted him to repeat it, to hear his voice once more.

Simon sighed and put the tea cup aside, having no energy left within him to drink anything, or even do anything. Trapped by the chains he couldn’t see, maybe just simply forged by his own brain. Brown irises soon looked over at you, still holding the same fondness as all the other times.

“I…” He paused momentarily, the thoughts in his head too loud yet distant. “My life. S’too short to love you properly in the way you deserve.”

“Don’t say that, Si. It’s more than enough.” You smiled and placed a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder. Your words were like a sweet lullaby, calming him a bit. A bit.

So he stayed quiet and nodded, pretending that he was fine now, letting you stay in this false bubble he had made up for you both — tranquil and domestic. A paradox to his actual life.

Simon had been overly fascinated by knives lately. Even guns. Not by their beauty, but by the damage they could inflict. He’d let his gloved thumb caress the sharp edge of his knife sometimes, wondering what it’d be like to just stab it into his neck at this very moment.

Some poor unfortunate soldier would find him lying in his own blood, completely oblivious to how contentful he’d be.

Other times, Simon would fiddle with one of his guns, awful intrusive thoughts invading his head, making him feel overly sick. What if he just presses the barrel against his forehead, his finger on the trigger. One click and he’d be gone for good.

Was it selfish to want to die? Simon couldn’t even point out why he feels this way, or since when. All he knows is that nothing helps anymore. Well, you do, sometimes. Though he’d rather have you not see this damaged man rotting himself away more and more. He loves you too much for that.

Was it really selfish to want to die? All he wanted was to leave behind everything, leave behind the blood on his hands and the deaths he had seen, leave behind the memories and just fly away, finally free from the chains suffocating him.

He wanted to become the air, and you’d be his sunlight then — both of you dancing around each other everyday, together once again.

Maybe he could be better for you that way.

“Si.” You poked Simon’s arm, momentarily interrupting his quiet reading. Not that he minded though.

“Yeah?”

“I want to ask you something.” The mild shyness adorning your face sparked his curiousity, causing him to put his book aside and turn all of his attention onto you.

“Go on.” He urged softly.

“Um… Do you think we’d be together in every universe?” You felt silly for asking a question like that, blood rushing to your cheeks while your eyes looked away.

Simon paused for a second, brown eyes softening up as he studied your expression. Together in every universe? God, he’d do anything for that. Anything to love you in every life of his.

“Yeah.” He grumbled softly after a while, a poor attempt to appear nonchalant, though it failed as soon as you hugged his arm happily, making him chuckle under his breath.

“I’ll find you in every universe.”

Gladiolus. It’s a pretty flower, though Simon doesn’t like it just for its beauty. He feels oddly connected to it, uncomfortably exposed — even though he didn’t know why. Could flowers even speak to you?

Which is why he decided not to pick them, turning away to look at some other options. It was his little routine to bring you flowers whenever he could. Though this time, it was different.

A mission — a suicide mission. He was dreading the moment he would have to announce it to you, knowing that he couldn’t back out from it anymore. That was his job. All the dirty stuff.

It was hard, too hard. Watching you collapse in his arms while sobbing in pure devastation absolutely tore his heart, his arms holding you tightly while your fingers hardly dug into his arms, trying to touch him whole.

“M’sorry, love. It was just… supposed to happen one day.”

He couldn’t really recognise the words coming out of his mouth anymore, not really knowing what to say. He couldn’t give you false promises, especially when you both knew the severity of this situation.

Laying on the ground, drenched in blood, wasn’t that bad. He felt a sickening relief that made him feel nauseous yet happy at the same time. His hand was pressed against the severe bleeding wound on his stomach, fatal coughs leaving his mouth while he weakly stared at the sky, the sounds of shouts and gunshots too distant and blurry. It was as if he was slowly slipping away into a bubble that carried him away from this battleground and into somewhere calmer.

At least I didn’t kill myself with that damn gun, he thought to himself, smiling weakly. At least there wouldn’t be any nightmare anymore, no more sleepless nights and random outbursts. Peace. The beauty of death slowly engulfed him, wrapping her arms around him and slowly taking him away from this damned life.

You. He lost consciousness thinking about you — about how he left you back at home, about how he wasn’t strong enough to just retire from the military once you moved into his place.

I’m sorry, words he could desperately say, I’m sorry for not being strong for you.

Though right before dying, he made an oath to himself that if there was even a tiny chance of him living another life after this, he’d find you.

It was another one of those sunny days where you wished you had enough funds to fix the damn air conditioner. Your fingers silently put the last gladiolus into the bouquet one of the old ladies around the town had requested, the sweet scent of flowers soothing your senses.

The soft jingle of the door opening averted your gaze from the bouquet, your eyes falling onto your new customer walking into the flower shop. The sheer size of this mine caught you off guard, though you were quick to scold yourself for being so invested into someone’s height.

“Welcome. How can I help you?” You smiled politely and put the bouquet aside. Once those brown eyes of his met yours, both of you went dead silent for a split second, a strange spark igniting somewhere in between you.

He seemed… familiar. You were sure that you haven't seen him ever in your life, but something about him made you feel as if you knew him. Your fingers twitch involuntarily, feeling as if they had run through those dirty blonde hair off his.

He stared at you with, internally equally bewildered. His lips were slightly agape behind the black surgical mask he wore, for which he was glad for since you couldn’t see the soft shade of red slowly spreading on his cheeks. Why were you so familiar? He felt an odd pang in his chest, making him momentarily forget about why he was even here.

Oh yes, flowers.

“Can I have some roses?” He grumbled under his breath, quickly looking away as he reached for his wallet. “S’my mom’s birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. Happy birthday to her.” You looked away alongside him, a soft bashful smile creeping up on your lips as you began grabbing some newly fresh roses.

It was silent for a while between you both before he eventually broke the thickening silence, clearing his throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thanks. Um… My name’s Simon, by the way.” God, he was awkward at this.

You stared at him for a second before letting out a soft giggle, introducing yourself. “Here are your flowers, Simon.”

He felt as if he had been searching for you his whole life.

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (7)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

It seems you'll have to restock some food soon... But is that really your biggest concern?

Reader is Gender Neutral!

You couldn't get the words you wanted to say out of your mouth. How could you be so blind? So naive? It should have been obvious, the way their voices sounded the exact same, the way their characters acted a little too accurate for a fan...

What the fuck could they possibly want with you? You're not the leader of the country, or a famous figure, or.. or...!

"Stop squirming." Capitano ordered you, letting a brief and satisfying hum leave his lips when feeling you move less.

This is really happening. You thought it couldn't possibly get worse after seeing your family massacred in the restaurant. The clear pain and agony on the corpses faces, their screams being silenced by sharp weapons out of this world.

Perhaps if you never felt the need to play that stupid game you'd have been killed along with them, maybe that would have prevented your now never-ending grief.

Let's calm down, rethink things and gather what I already know. There's no use wishing for a different outcome when I can't change what's already been done. You thought to yourself, taking a deep breath.

These... Fatui Harbingers are after someone called The Decider. They used that... compass thing Dottore supposedly made to locate them, and as it pointed to me, they think I'm the person they're looking for. They killed everyone in the restaurant for some unknown reason and now they're trying to take me back to their world...

Arlecchino said 'The Tsaritsa has been searching for someone who can control what can't be seen for awhile now'... What could that possibly mean? As far as I'm aware, I have no special abilities or anything like that.

"You know, this is the quietest I've seen you since first finding you hiding in the toilets. It was very amusing..." Scaramouche taunted you, knocking your head.

You pretended to continue being stuck in your thoughts, and ignored him.

"Well, apart from when I beat you senseless." He corrected himself with a laugh. "How are those mortal bones you have? I should have hit you harder, that way you wouldn't be able to move..."

What a monster. I can't believe the harbingers were my favourite characters.

"Your taunting will break them if you continue." Signora rolled her eyes.

"Rosalyne is correct. Heartless puppet..." Arlecchino cursed under her breath.

"And your arrogance will lead to your demise, witch." Scaramouche snarled at Signora, turning his head to give a warning glare to both women.

"Enough." Pierro warned the two, seperating them with a push. He looked at you staring at the drama for a moment, then continued walking next to Dottore.

Capitano then placed you gently on the ground, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders to stop you from moving.

"Do not think this is a regular occurence," He sighed to himself, grumbling like an old man. "We're all a little unsettled in this world, we're usually more calm and collected in the presencse of prisoners."

Oh, no, I know very well from the game that this is a regular occurence.

"Stupid gadget..." Dottore cursed to himself, taking a screwdriver and tinkering with it.

"Dottore, you've been tinkering with that compass like a mad man since we first arrived in this world." Sandrone eyed the doctor suspiciously.

"Assuring it'll function correctly is all I'm doing."

"Deary me doctor, I'm beginning to doubt your intentions." Columbina smiled at him whilst using her body to block his path.

"You're mistaken in your intrusive comment."

"Miss Columbina is correct," Pulcinella frowned at his coworker. "It's becoming suspicious how you're delaying our departure of this world.

"Do you really think I want to stay here without my lab? Without my clones? Without my life's work?"

You could feel the tension rising as each harbinger began to question the doctor. You knew they didn't really get along in game... but it was frightening to actually view it in real life.

I'm starting to feel sorry for the fatui underlings who have to pretend they don't hear anything...

As they continued to argue, you began to notice where exactly they had taken you.

The park? It's practically deserted, nothing like how you saw it earlier in your aunt's car. The bird's which once flew for their children hid in their nests, the squirrels hiding in their little burrows for comfort.... It truly was something new.

"Hey comrade! We're talking to you." Childe tapped your forehead.

"You definitely weren't talking to me. You were talking to him." You pointed at Dottore, who's arms were crossed.

Although, now that you're paying attention, somethings noticeably wrong. The Harbingers all don't look as confident as they once did, they were all looking at you, some had hopeful expressions whilst some glared at you.

"We definitely were." Sandrone scoffed.

Next to Dottore's feet was a crushed compass... wait, did he destroy his gadget?? How the hell were they going to leave Teyvat without it?

Hold on, isn't that a good thing? That means they can't take me to Teyvat... but it also doesn't change me being held hostage...

Also what happened to the police? They left as fast as they came!

"Stop leaving us." A harbinger clicked their fingers in front of your face. "The Director asked you a question."

"..." You stared at him in confusion, due to you not hearing the question and being too scared to ask him to repeat.

He simply sighed, and realised the context of your conflicted response. "Do you happen to have a house near this area?"

what.

"Of course..." You replied quietly. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, and it wasn't going somewhere you found favourable.

"Guide us to your home, any tricks will not be tolerated."

Are you kidding me? I'm not taking them to my house!

"Do I have the right to refuse due to privacy?" You asked after pretending to think about it.

"No." All the harbingers replied at the same time.

Great.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

You unlocked the front door of your parent's house with frantic thoughts. Good thing you were gifted an extra set of keys for your 16th birthday a couple years ago...

Fortunately, you hadn't encountered anyone who recognised the harbingers. Unfortunately, however, the police still hadn't found your new location. You thought they would have thought to track your phone by now, but it seems they haven't...

Is there something stopping them? Or maybe, they're trying to think of a plan to save you?

Let's not think about that right now, right now you have unwanted guests in your house.

"I'm setting some rules." You spoke loudly, causing the whispering schoolgirls to hush.

"Who said you could set rules? Have you forgotten you're not in control once more of your situation?"

"That's where your wrong!" You smiled. "This is my house. Which means I am in control here. That's just how it works, sorry!"

"What sort of bullshi--"

"We understand." Pierro nodded. "What rules do you plan to set? As long as they are equal I will not stop you."

"First of all, my bedroom is off limits." You glared. "This is because it's a special place for me, and I don't want it to be ruined by Fatui Harbingers whose manners are that of a barbarian."

Of course, you weren't going to tell them the real reason was because of the embarrassing merchandise and a certain Childe pillow and whale plush on your bed.

"Understandable." Dottore glared at Pantalone, who simply shrugged with a playful smile.

"What? I routinely check your lab for good reasons you know."

"Secondly," You shushed the millionare. "Don't fucking break anything or take apart a piece of technology in this house. Any questions must go to me."

"Who do you take me for?" Sandrone crossed her arms.

"Weren't you the one talking about taking apart the giant machinery in the restaurant earlier?"

She stayed quiet.

"Where's the fun in that Decider? How do you suppose I understand this world if you won't let me investigate?" Dottore whined, picking up the TV remote he found next to him.

"You ask, like a normal person."

"How normal do you think I am?" He argued back pressing buttons on the remote with confusion.

"This can't possibly control a weapon, there's too many buttons..." He muttered to himself.

"That's a remote control for the TV. Well, since you'll probably want the full name: the television." You said, snatching the remote out of Dottore's hands and pressing the power button.

The TV lit up, and showed a woman introducing the news of the previous day.

"Woah! That's so cool!" Childe swooned, walking directly in front of it.

"Don't stand so close!... Oh my god, I sound like my mother." You shuddered at the end.

"What exactly does it do?" Pantalone questioned, slightly smiling whilst taking a seat on the sofa.

"One, I didn't say you could make yourself at home. Two, it displays what you want it to display. It's a type of monitor, meaning it's programmed to be connected to whatever you want it to connect it to."

"I don't follow..."

"Alright," You sighed. "This Television screen displays the programming in this little box." You guided the harbingers.

"This remote control guides the programming to show what you want to see at a point in time. For example, if I didn't want to see this woman talking, I go to the menu where I can see all the channels and choose what I want to see! Or, if you know the specific number for that channel you want to watch, you input it using these buttons."

"Like a performance on a stage!" Columbina giggled, her hands clapping with glee.

"Not exactly, but if that helps you understand I suppose the idea works."

"This is genius." Dottore hummed in delight. "But you're absolutely terrible at explaining. Let me try."

Dottore then scrolled down the list you demonstrated, he squinted his eyes at the words... almost as if he couldn't understand them. He then pressed on a random channel which almost seemed coincidental.

"Oh please don't click on that one, I'm squeamish." You sighed, covering your eyes when watching him click on it anyway.

"Dottore get that disgusting surgery off of the... the... thing!"

"The screen." You reminded Sandrone.

"That's right! The screen!"

Finally done! Updates will begin to slow down once again as school holiday's are almost over and stress begins... No need to fear, I won't stop working on this.

Little unrelated note: I HATE THE DESERT. I wanted to finish it before I move to Fontaine but it's taking me forever 😭😭

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @conspicuous-mayonnaise @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[kivino]

SOMETHING FOR YOUR MIND || PLATONIC!JOHN 'BRAVO 0-6' PRICE X F!READER

my cod masterlist || my jjk masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter - 2.2k words

Tags/Warnings – brainwashing, violence. angst, hurt/no comfort, fem reader, canon-divergent, reader’s around Soap’s age, so no “19 year old sniper y/n”, pookies; heavy ooc, we all know that Price is not above cutting losses.

Summary – Task Force 141 mourned your loss when you went MIA during one of the missions, however eventually you come back, but not in the way one would think of.

One second. One second was enough for everything to stop in its tracks. Felt like even the bullets that were flying just moments ago stopped midair to allow for the sudden intrusion in the heat of the battle. The tension in the room was palpable. Screams, directions, orders all halted when four pairs of eyes fell onto a friendly familiar face. Your face.

They all needed but a peek from their cover, that much was enough. It was impossible to not recognize your stature, the distinct features of your face that got etched into their minds as clear as day from many hours spent together: on missions, working, or even sitting at a pub. How could they not recognize you?

Nevertheless, it still felt like seeing someone come back from the dead. Last they heard from you, the evacuation chopper with you and a bunch of reinforcements got crashed by Makarov’s men and yet, you were not confirmed KIA, because the body, unlike the traces of your DNA were not found at the crash site. Still, they might as well have mentally held a funeral for you, closed casket, with nothing to put in the ground. Nobody liked that, of course, but it was just part of the job, sooner or later instead of being connected to faces, names will start connecting to numbers and tombstones.

Even if you held a special place among them, you were flesh and blood, just like anyone else, so holding onto the hope that you were alive was…foolish, to say the least. Especially so, with the screams of panic and terror they’ve heard last out of their radios before the sky was painted gray, with smoke from the crash, flames licking at it impatiently, fueling themselves with flesh and oxygen until the corpses inside were nothing but coals, ash and molten plastic. According to the files that Laswell so generously shared with them, everyone was found, but her. Gaz was the one to suggest with a somber tone that she might’ve burned down completely, if she was right near the fuel tank. Nobody debated that. They needed some kind of explanation tied to what happened to you, and if that one worked, who were they to second-guess something they had no idea about?

Yet Soap remembered all the times he caught Price distracted, submerged so deep in his thoughts that it would border on ignoring people around him. He saw him sit around the radio that night at the safe house, situated not too far away from the crash site that buried so many people. Nobody asked Price what was he waiting for in the frozen night, turning the knobs, nothing but grim white noise flooding the room and only further solidifying what they were all thinking – their friend was long gone and there was no return for her.

But wouldn’t you look at her now - still alive and kicking. All the sleepless nights Simon spent thinking about what might’ve happened to them in the vast forests flooded by snow, all the times Kyle turned back to whisper a joke that just dawned on him, only to find himself alone in the kitchen of their base, and all the times Johnny made one too many cups of coffee for everyone, forgetting there wasn’t a fifth pair of hands to grab the steaming hot mug. All of that for them to finally come back to the Task Force.

But all the relief and rapture that came along with your presence vanished into thin air as the barrel of your gun was slowly rising up, trajectory meeting with your comrades (?). Time started slowing down. Johnny felt a bead of cold sweat trail down his temple at the sharp realization. You’re aiming at Price.

This…this felt wrong. Unreal. Disturbing. To think that you’d aim a weapon at someone who looked out for you like their own blood. Still, Price called out your name, attempting to get to you. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding? (Of course, it fucking wasn’t. How could something like that be a stupid misunderstanding?)

“Put down your weapon now! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Price screamed, after dropping back down behind the cover, a distinct “ding!” echoing right where his head would’ve been a second ago. The crack in the captain’s voice was barely discernible, yet still there. John felt a wave of weakness, the one he had never felt before, wash over him. Out of all of them, John probably regarded you with the most care, his treatment being akin to the tenderness of a doting father over his beloved, but reckless daughter.

“She’s the target.” Ghost’s voice cracks over the comms, stating the very obvious to Price, yet granting Soap a sudden understanding, as startling as a bucket of cold water over his head. They were sent to capture an unknown target that has been making trouble for them in the region. But how in the actual fuck were they supposed to know that it was you who was blowing up their weapon cashes and raiding their safe houses? How would they even come to that conclusion? You hated Makarov probably with the same rigor and fire as Price, there was no rational explanation to this!

“Yeah, you don’t fucking say.” Gaz responds after a brief crack of radio, a thin layer of sarcasm concealing just how disturbed he must’ve felt. The enemies, including you, kept raining bullets at them, barely giving them any room to move or do anything, for that matter.

“What in the fuck did he do to her?” Soap yelled into the radio as soon as he heard the familiar crackling of static once again. There was no way that she sold them out to Makarov, right? But at the same time, the man loved to play around with them. It wouldn’t have been him if he were to miss the opportunity to see the way his actions would deeply shake them. Especially something like buying out someone they considered one of them. Part of their small and very dysfunctional family. Price could only hear the ringing in his ears. Insistent. Maddening. A quiet, arrogant chuckle was the first response he got.

“The correct question would be, “What didn’t I do to her?”. But you’re on the correct track.” Soap’s head snapped to check on Price once again. Eyes wide, hands gripping his weapon even harder than before, he has never seen the man so distraught. Soap, in turn, felt even more enraged, it was like an already burning campfire was doused in gallons of gasoline.

Price’s heart sank even further when he heard that spiteful voice through the static. He should’ve known better than to get attached to you, even if it was from the place of concern and care. However, he never expected the way you’d go would be so twisted and…unbecoming of who and what you were. You would never willingly do that to yourself, and he was well aware of that, and he would never believe if anyone told him that you’d betray them one day. That they’d see your face, clear as day, on the enemy’s side.

Experience came with a lot of blood. Not only his one, but the one that relentlessly stained his hands red, drenching him in a metallic smell, ever-present and eternal. But it allowed Price to be good at what he’s doing it, becoming his second nature, even when his emotions were threatening to break down the wall, built up by him through decades of gradually becoming jaded and desensitized. Taking care of the threats barely breaks a sweat, until you’re the one laying on the ground, disarmed and at their mercy after the strong blow to your forehead with the butt of his weapon makes you see stars.

“Hey!” Price called your name once again, hoping to snap you back from whatever delirium you were drowning in for you to go against your every principle. “What the in actual fuck were you thinking? Did your head get screwed on the wrong way, you fucking idiot?!” Even through the harsh words and Price’s strong hands grabbing at the collar just above the edge of your worn tactical vest, every single one of the Task Force could hear the sheer pain lacing through the man’s words. “Answer me! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Price kept gazing into your eyes, rage boiling within him, too attached to shoot you right where you stood, too much of a coward to cut the losses that wore your face and puppeteered your body. He kept looking, looking for something in your eyes, anything at all – guilt, recognition, misery, cruelty, cynicism, anything at all that would tell him what you were thinking, yet…nothing. All that was in front of him was a rabid animal, hiding right between the coat of your skin, baring its teeth and writhing in his grasp, attempting to shake him off and continue fighting until your final breath.

“What kind of fucking circus is this?! Answer us!” Ghost’s voice roared from his side, urging you to get on with whatever was hindering you from answering to captain and explaining yourself.

“What the fuck do you want from me? I don’t know who are you!” you snarl up at them, and Price almost can’t believe it’s you. After months of only looking at pictures, minor captured fragments of you, hearing the labored breathing, seeing the frenzied stare and the passionate disdain in it… He needed a moment. A lot of moments, actually. If you don’t recognize them, then it can only mean one thing. And God knows, he doesn’t even know what would be worse in this situation.

“You think he…” Gaz finally calls out from the side, sounding just as shocked as everyone else in the room. Tension weighs heavily on them, and Price can feel the strength drain from his grip, powerlessness overcoming him, as he lets go of your collar, letting Ghost take over. The man immediately grabs you by the arm, swiftly twisting it behind your back, not letting even a split moment of faltering give you an upper hand over them. Of course, they were here to do their jobs, but it was still… Difficult.

“Scrambled her brain? No shit…” Ghost rasps, closely observing you, eyes blown wide, multiple very unnatural marks marring the skin on your temples and neck. There is something they could learn from this information, probably.

“Captain. It’s your call.” Soap’s remark does nothing to ground the man, instead sending him into a spiral, as his eyes dig into your form, curled into the dirty ground. So familiar, yet so distant.  

It would be so easy to just…pull the trigger, put the bullet in your skull and be done with it. You wouldn’t be a threat anymore; you wouldn’t come back. The fact of your mere existence will stop being the leading cause of an emotional upstir and deep dissonance within the four men bearing witness to your forsaken, broken mind. It would put your body to rest. It would put Price’s mind to rest. It would be correct. It would be something he would do if it wasn’t you.

But Price simply couldn’t. His hand froze, not even able to reach out to aim his weapon at you. Not when he saw the same eyes, that looked so mischievous while poking fun at him and calling him “old man”. Not when he noticed the same hands, that would press closed his wounds until the medics arrive. Not when he knew, that none of them would forgive themselves for not even trying to get to her.

“Pack her. The objective was to capture her, not kill her.” He gives the final verdict, with a nod towards Soap, giving him permission to carry out the order, even if it didn’t feel right – cuffing someone who used to be there, covering their backs, looking out for them and supporting, no matter what.

“It wasn’t about actually getting an in with us.” Gaz remarks, oh-so-helpfully. The tension from the man was palpable, Price could almost anticipate the moment he would strike if you were to as much as look at them wrong. To think that all the months and years spent together, all the care and concern put into you amounted to nothing, when you’re a prisoner of your own mind. “It was about sending a message.”

“Well, message received, and not fucking appreciated.” Ghost almost spit out the words, holding you by your wrists, while Soap swiftly worked handcuffs around your wrists, through your fruitless attempts to squirm out of their grasps.

“Well, would you look at that. Old man is slowly losing his grip, huh?” A scratchy, unpleasant voice comments, only barely drowned out by the static of the radio, almost spitting poison through the plastic. Price’s hand squeezes into a fist, deeply inhaling the air, laced with too much dust, ash and smoke. It does not ground him, instead making his rage even more scorching.

“I will find you. And when I do, you better pray to the fucking Gods they’ll show you mercy, because I’ve got none to give to you, you piece of shit.” Price hisses after pressing the button quicker than gaining the rational train of thought. His eyes drift towards your form, hunched over, broken and ferocious, unwilling to cooperate with someone you considered your brothers not so long ago.

Maybe Price was making the wrong call. Maybe you’ll break out and make them regret ever trying to save you from Makarov’s grasp. But he’d rather be proven wrong than murder his own daughter.

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