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kabuki-writes · 2 months ago

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An Entertainment For The Gods

chapter: 2 chapter 1 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: Through an invitation from the Emperors themselves General Acacius and his daughter attend one of the bloody Gladiator fights at the Colosseum. But this time it is not only the brutality of the arena that encaptures Geta and Caralla.

Note: -

word count: 2.5k

There was no bigger temple in Rome than the Colosseum. A monument to the Roman Empire, an architectural masterpiece as well as a slaughterhouse for humans and animals. They had to die for the amusement of the masses in the pale white sand and under the eyes of the Roman citizens as well as the Emperor's. You've never visited the arena before, it just wasn't the entertainment you usually seeked as you fancied the amphitheater and stage plays of comedies or tragedies. No one really died from a well-spoken dialogue and the stages weren't drown in blood afterwords. Your father was a similar soul with this. As someone who had seen war and death countless of times, Acacius developed a distaste for the useless killing, which he argued was the mere core of the collosseum's existence.

But while one would despise this form of humanity at its core brutality, other's simply loved it. First under Commodus the fights in the arena became more frequent, while Septimius Severus after him didn't change anything in that matter. Under Geta and Caracalla however Gladiator fights reached an all time high, especially those 'special' spectacles with exotic animals or ships. They themselves had an own Gladiator school under their wings, which was due to their wealth filled with the most skillful warriors and the best equipment, that it was almost unfair.

Given the fact that both twins enjoyed the performance in the arena and the bloody outcome, it wasn't surprising that they were frequent visitors. For the Emperor the colosseum had an own arena box with the best view over the inner pit and with two throne like chairs for each one of them to sit comfortably. It wasn't unusual for them to have guests here either and this time it was a special one. The moment Geta and Caracalla stepped out, the masses greeted and cheered for their Emperors, who - at least in Rome - offered them bread and games to forget the common sorrows of life. Both of them were dressed in the finest, colorful fabrics, while their golden laurel crowns throned on their heads. They waited for General Acacius at the balustrade to come forward, join them and speak to the people. He was still their celebrated hero, their triumph card, so to speak. It was an easy way to win the hearts of the people through a figure like Acacius, who was the ideal Roman.

After your father held a small, yet powerful speech about the braveness of the Gladiators they'll see today, a slave went forward to place a cushioned chair between the thrones of the Emperors. You hesitated a second, since usually you would be seated at the side of your father. "Since we've heard that you had never witnessed a fight in the arena befoe, we thought you might like a good view", Geta suddenly explained to you, before he sank into his own chair. "Please, sit down."

Your eyes went to your father for a quick exchange and you saw in them how he displeased this way of treatment, yet he nodded and you sat down. More and more you understood that the situation had a differnt tone in it. It wasn't mere courtesy why the Emperors treated you like that and given the way you'd read their eyes, it was more than clear that you've captured their interest. Usually any woman of the realm would fight for that privilege, but you had seen how your father acted in front of them, how worried he was when you first made your way to the palace - something was off. You knew you needed to pay attention and be cautious.

"Citizens of Rome, the arena welcomes you! Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla, we the people bow to your greatness and the mighty of our beloved Empire! Under the eyes of the sun the colosseum presents to you a spectacle like no other!", the high-toned, yet thunderous voice of the richly decorated announcer set the beginning of the show and drew all eyes on the white sand down in the arena pit, where a group of men in armor but with a limited equipment of weapons entered through a door from the Colosseum's catacombs. "First we present to you the brave Gladiators that will be our Theseus' today! They may not need to save their Ariadne, but they'll still have to face horde of Minotaurs today in an attempt to safe their own lives!" With those words a couple of other doors opened and six wild bulls entered the arena. Their massive and strong bodies stirred up the sands with every step of their big hooves. They may've been animals, but they had terrible weapons on their head with sharp horns that grew out of their heads.

Caracalla clapped with a joyful laugh. "Oh i love mythological pieces, even though they forgot the labyrinth!"

Your fingers nestled with the fabric of your dress in nervousness as you watched the men prepare themselves for the attack of the angry bulls, which were already pawing with their hooves. More than one set off to ran towards the Gladiators and given the fast but powerful movements of those animals, it didn't take long until the first fighter got overrun by them and another one faced the horns that drilled themselves like spikes into his torso, where blood spilled like a waterfall. The other fighters tried their best to ran or face the bulls with the few weapons they'd been given. One of them even striked down a beast by pressing his sword into its neck, when it was running towards him. You watched the spectacle with a neutral, yet pale face, while the Emperors seemingly enjoyed the show. Geta quickly noticed the way you followed the happenings down in the arena and leaned towards you.

"Are you not entertained, y/n ?", he asked you in a low voice, still loud enough to overcome the cheerings of the crowd. Your eyes went to him, facing the deep blue of his own, while you tried to put on a mask of apathy. "It is hard for me to understand, why useless killing is viewed as entertainment, I'm afraid," you answered, but it just got you an amused smirk in return.

"Oh it is not useless. You see, nothing is as entertaining as humanity itself. What lies more in our human nature than violence, power and the survival of the strongest? Without that, your father wouldn't be able to win all his great victories and our father would not have been able to secure the Roman Empire after the weak reign of the senate."

"And yet Emperor Marcus Aurelius believed that true strength isn't born in violence, but in mindfulness and kindness. The ability to speak, think and therefore to thrive for something higher than mere survival, is what distinguishes us from animals," you responded in a clear, settled tone. This sudden response surprised Geta clearly as his eyes widened and his fingers tensed up. Even Caracalla's eyes had left the arena for a moment and were locked at you. Even though he followed the fight down there, one of his ears had catched every word you'd said. What a sweet, naive woman you were... it made this whole moment even more interesting.

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched and at first you weren't able to tell if he found your words disrespectful or not. In fact, he'd not expected such a bold answer from a woman, especially not against an Emperor. And even though he wouldn't agree with you, it proved him right, that you were not a simple-minded girl. Naive maybe, but not dull.

"Interesting thought, my dear. But would you recite the words to one of these brave warriors down there too? Who will ll earn their freedom, if violence keeps them alive long enough? We offer them a precious gift, and in return they entertain us."

Your eyes went to the pit again, which was mottled in deep red blood now with only one man and one bull remaining. The moment was intense as both animal and human watched each other with intensity, before the bull stormed forward and the speer of the Gladiator, who waited for the perfect moment, hit his opponent. The massive body fell to the ground and the people cheered in Ecstasy. Geta and Caracalla clapped with admiration for the celebrated Gladiator, as he sunk to his knee and bowed to them.

The next round began after the exhausted and wounded 'hero' stumbled through one of the doors, back into the darkness of the catacombs, before he was replaced by a bigger group of Gladiators, who now had to face armed chariots. Their opponents wore the armory of old Sparta while they teared down one after one with their arrows. You leaned back in silence, watched by Caracalla, whose eyes were taking in her side profile for quite a while now. Even though he loved the fights down there, the blood, the violence... you encaptured him more right now. Your stern face, which carried a deep displeasure for this, while you tried so hard to hide it, it was captivating.

Everyone, even his own twin tend to underestimate Caracalla. Even though he was born a couple of minutes earlier than Geta and was therefore technically older than him, his stature was smaller and he wasn't as tall as his brother. This was accompanied by the fact that he enjoyed the pleasantries the god Bacchus had to offer him: wine, music, arts and sex - even more than Geta did. Together with his rather impulsive way of acting, it often led to the false thought that the more capable brother of them was Geta. Oh, Caracalla hated this, it was a misinterpretation weaved like a thread through his whole life. Because he had a gift, he could read people and together with his extensive web of information sources and spies within the city of Rome and beyond, he had a power that lied in the dark. And it was a preparation he did on purpose after he'd learned about the plot that was once set against Emperor Commodus. Some would've said it was paranoia, maybe it was, but he would call it 'preparation'. Nonetheless it came with the pleasant side effect of knowing a lot about the people around him.

"I've heard that you rather choose the theater over the arena", he said with a soft, yet unreadable smile on his lips. "You're a dreamer, aren't you?"

As you heard his voice next to you, your eyes quickly turned to him. "There is nothing wrong with dreaming, my Emperor...", you answered and he nodded quickly as if he'd hoped for that answer. Caracalla even grinned, his golden tooth gleaming in the light. "No, not at all." My Emperor. The way you've said it with your eyes looking at him. It electrified him, so much so that the cheers of the crowd almost faded in the background. You'd faced the pit and the fighters again, but he was still staring at you.

"Which play?"

"Octavia," the name almost shot from you mouth.

"And you consider yourself to be?"

"Octavia. And you?" You didn't even expected him to give you an answer on that, but meanwhile Caracalla's grin grew wider.

"Nero," he said just as fast as you'd answered before.

Your eyes instantly went back to the Emperor, whose eyes were now focused on the deadly fight between a Gladiator and a chariot rider. He couldn't hold back a chuckle, while he watched how the man pushed his sword through the neck of his opponent, ripping off his head.

Nero.

"Why?", you suddenly asked, this time it were your eyes, that watched him.

"I cannot blame him for setting himself free." His answer was almost like a whisper, yet you heard every word. It was a very unconventional way of interpreting the mad Emperor, one she herself would even despise, if he wouldn't seem to be so certain of it. It meant something more.

The arena fight slowly came to an end, when only to oppontents were fighting for the right to claim the victory. Nearly all of the Gladiators and chariot riders were dead, their bodys laying in the pale sand and drowining it with their blood, a weird composition of death that accompanied your questions about Caracalla's answer.

After a final hit, one of the men went down on his knees. He was wounded, severely, and he now felt the tip of a sword against his neck. He surrendered and the gods had to decide what will happen with him. One of the Gods was Geta, who stood up from his chair and approached the balustrade, while the crowd called for a decision. The Gods need to decide, yet Geta suddenly turned his head to you. "What do we say,...? y/n, should he live or die?"

Your face grew even paler than it already was, your fingers were almost digging themselves into the armrests of your chair. You felt a thousand eyes on you, even though it was only Geta and Caracalla watching you, as well as the eyes of your father from behind. The Gladiator waited, while his opponent's arm was cut off and his head was bowed down as if he awaited death. And the crowd screamed and screamend. Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

It rang in your ears, you didn't want to make this decision. But the moment you faced the Emperor, just as you opened your mouth, Geta simply bowed his thumb down - Death.

And the sword went down. Death.

The head dropped in the sand followed by the body, the cheers errupted in the arena, screaming the name of the victorious Gladiator. But you just stared into the nothingness that was in front of you, while you bit your tongue to the point of pain. "Don't pain yourself about this, my dear. There was only one answer anyways," Geta said while he suddenly reached out for your hand and kissed your knuckles, before he took his glass of wine. You didn't move, you couldn't.

Caracalla stared at this scenery and his fingers were shaking as his eyes darkened. The intense urge came up his mind: To simply take his brother and throw him from this box into the pit, his neck breaking from the impact. Those thoughts sometimes came and went, but they got more intense every time he saw Geta interacting with you. And this interaction hit a new high point in him that was only interruped by your form the moment you stood up.

"My Emperors, it was a pleasure to join you, but i need to leave now...", you said in a tone that tried so hard to be polite and not carry any emotion, before you turned your back and quickly stepped out of the imperial arena box, followed by your father General Acacius, who bowed and excused himself in an equally neutral tone.

Both Geta and Caracalla watched them leaving, before the taller one of the twins took a deep sip of his wine. "She'll learn to love it sooner or later."

______________________________

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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ravengards-rogue · 10 months ago

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WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ;

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur.

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun.

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him.

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate.

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy.

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures.

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember.

Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him.

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain.

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down.

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something.

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while.

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately.

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you.

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish.

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting.

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit.

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs.

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,”

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,”

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,”

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.”

You giggle back at him

“What kinda trouble is that now?”

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice.

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.”

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly.

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn.

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted.

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it.

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily.

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show.

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp.

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms.

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine.

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that.

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.)

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did.

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it. It was just all too easy again, to be with you.

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family.

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see. Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street.

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy. John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you.

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you.

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision.

You might turn him into a literate man yet.

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life.

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself.

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck.

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?”

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you.

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,”

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat.

“John,”

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.”

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,”

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,”

“A foolish one,”

John laughs.

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving.

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get. He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently.

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.)

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters.

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living.

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is) loyal to Dutch. To the gang.

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after.

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long.

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time. He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about.

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around.

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen. If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing.

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.)

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit.

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would.

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d never find again.

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves.

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too.

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you.

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him.

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him. You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,”

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease. All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides. You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space.

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words.

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.”

Darling as you always are, you nod softly.

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ;

Wandering.

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on.

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly.

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains.

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few.

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it.

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list.

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are.

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him.

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some.

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you. And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything.

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not.

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss.

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars.

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze.

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks.

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,”

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?”

“Well, I’m not fine with it.”

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?”

“Please, what?”

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.”

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life. “Yeah, that’s good to hear.”

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto.

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head.

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,”

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires.

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you.

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed.

“Kiss?”

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella x reader #charles smith x reader #rdr2 x reader #rogues love letters #red dead redemption 2 x reader #THIS IS THE LAST TIME. THE LAST FUCKING TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 1 month ago

Text

Delusions

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~5.4k

Summary: A familiar proposal is not what it seems

A/N: Realized that there isn't enough...angst

Warnings: angst, violence, blood, foul language, hurt/comfort

You sigh heavily as you escape to the treatment area that’s still hectic despite the beginning of the lunch hour having long passed. You aren’t sure how you got so behind this morning with appointments, but you still have two here that will likely bleed into the afternoon. You’ve figured out a plan for one of them, but you needed to talk to your technician first.

A few minutes later you’re back in the exam room with a treatment plan that you hope this owner agrees with. The reason why you’ve been so delayed is due in part to the fact that this man couldn’t make up his damn mind. It wasn’t even just the indecision that bothered you, mostly because it slowed you down, but the fact that he wanted to know every possible outcome of his dog’s problem just wasn’t realistic.

You’d walked back into the room planning to shut down any attempt to start with the hypothetical questions again, but he’d surprised you in a way that unfortunately rendered you speechless for entirely too long.

“What did you just say?”

You know what he said. Honestly. That said, you needed to be sure before you went off on him, and you needed the extra few seconds to figure out how to do it in a way that wouldn’t cost you your job.

The brunette who was probably older than you by a decade simply smiles before repeating himself. You’re already tense but hearing him proposition you again makes you want to slap him. It’s not as if the rings on your finger aren’t obvious.

“I said that I’d like to take you out for drinks. You’re beautiful, surprisingly smart, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

You don’t even know what to do with the backhanded compliment, but you just shake your head before shooting him a serious look that doesn’t dim his smile in the slightest. Damn.

“I’m sorry.”

You’re not. You’re not sure why you felt the need to say that. Probably your damn customer service experience.

“But that’s not going to happen. Not only is it completely inappropriate because I’m your vet, but I’m happily married and not interested.”

You stopped yourself short of saying ‘in anything you might have to offer’ because that seemed rude, but shit, you are reeling from this proposal. You’d been trying to figure out how to get him to agree to hospitalizing his dog with a foreign body, which he did, but he just couldn’t stop there apparently.

You wait tense and more than a little irritated when he just laughs at you with a glint in his eye that makes you steel yourself for what comes next. You contemplate just walking out, and you’ve actually turned toward the door when he speaks up. Again, his words stop you in your tracks, and you can’t keep yourself from spinning around to face him with an incredulous look.

“Oh, I’m well aware that you’re married, Doctor. Your wife is rather infamous in our shared circles.”

You have to take a couple of seconds to process this because what the hell? Was he admitting to also being a criminal? How would he have found out who you were otherwise? Honestly, you figured it was only possible due to the fact that he had people stalking your wife which freaked you out if you thought too hard about it.

You remind yourself of his name so you can tell Wanda later before you shoot him a smile. Your confidence is feigned, but you’re hoping that he doesn’t notice this.

“If that’s the case, I’m surprised you’re brave enough to ask me out knowing my wife will undoubtedly hear about this.”

He hesitates but recovers quickly as he reaches into his pocket and digs out a card. You scowl as he takes his time to write something down before he holds it out to you. You don’t want to take it, but you don’t have all day and you need to take his dog and prep him for surgery later this afternoon.

“Here, just think it over. I can offer you so much more than she can. I’ll be there from eight to midnight anyway, so it won’t be a huge loss either way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at this as you snatch the card away and shove it in your pocket. You don’t intend to meet him, obviously, but you want as much evidence as possible to give to your wife.

“Wow, flattery like that will get you nowhere.”

You turn to leave again, but you’re nearly hit in the face with the door when it opens suddenly. You startle but manage to hold in your curse when you see a harried technician in the doorway.

“Oh sorry, Dr. Y/l/n! We need you in treatment, it’s urgent.”

You don’t look back at as you follow the blonde to treatment. You try to forget about what happened because you’re only halfway through your day, and you can’t afford to be distracted. You try not to sigh in exhaustion as you think about how hectic the rest of your day is going to be because of this. You’re going to squeeze in a surgery and hopefully send him home by the time you close.

After all, you don’t want your client to miss the opportunity to be stood up by you.

Wanda’s surprised to arrive to an empty house at a little past 8pm. She checks her phone only to see that you haven’t texted or called. This is rare and she realizes you’ve either had a chaotic day, or something was wrong.

She doesn’t get to worry much; however, because after kneeling down to greet her cat, she hears the garage door open behind her. She smiles before turning back around to open the mudroom door to greet you. She’s not surprised to see that you look exhausted as you shut off your car and practically fall out of it.

“Wands, hey. You beat me home.”

You greet her with a kiss before grabbing your things and following her inside. You’re so exhausted you could fall asleep on the couch, but the fact that you have to tell your wife what happened keeps you standing. Wanda smiles at you as she grabs your hands and shoots you a questioning look. You’re far more tired than she initially thought, and she reaches out for you as your eyelids flutter closed.

“How was your day, detka? Busy?”

You nod before stifling a yawn in the palm of your hand. You shake your head in an attempt to wake yourself up, but it doesn’t do much good. You put your bag on one of the chairs at the counter, and throw your coat over it with a sigh.

“It was. I didn’t get a second to breathe which is why I forgot to let you know I was going to be late. I’m sorry.”

Wanda shakes her head before she reaches out for your stiff shoulders. She smiles when you groan as she starts to rub the tense muscles under her fingers. You close your eyes and bask in the attention before your wife reminds you of the less than pleasant task you need to get over with.

“It’s okay, I get it. Did everything work out?”

Initially, Wanda can’t tell if your hesitation is due to her impromptu massage, but when you open your eyes to meet hers and only sigh, she realizes there’s something else on your mind. You nod in confirmation before stepping away so you can grab the business card that you’d kept in your coat all afternoon. You didn’t want to put it down where someone would find it, but you also didn’t want to lose it. The name on it was important.

You have to resist the urge to gag at the reminder of the look Neil shot you when he came to pick up his dog.

“Yeah, it did. Everyone lived and went home.”

Wanda nods, but her gaze has dropped to the card that you’re passing between your hands nervously. She can see it’s a dark red business card, but that’s it.

She’s about to ask when you finally speak up.

“That said, there’s something I need to tell you.”

You and Wanda end up sitting at the counter as you tell her about your odd, disconcerting experience this afternoon. You watch as your wife transitions from annoyed to confused to irate in a matter of minutes. She glances to the card that she’d set between the two of you with a scowl. The utter gall of this man to proposition you at work, and ask you to meet him at one of her clubs of all places. She didn’t have to tell you what she planned to do for you to have a pretty good idea, but that didn’t stop you from worrying about her.

“Can I go with you?”

Wanda turns to you and immediately shakes her head. She hates to deny you, but when it comes to her business, she knows that it’s for the best. There’s no reason you should get involved in this.

“Absolutely not.”

You frown and open your mouth to argue, but you think better of it. You snap your mouth shut and think about what Wanda will likely do to Neil tonight. Despite the fact that they will be in a crowded club, you doubt that your wife is going to let him live, or at the very least leave unscathed. You only worry about what will happen to his dog for a moment before you realize that it probably wasn’t even his in the first place.

Wanda watches you scowl and she prepares herself for an argument, but you just shake your head. You reach out and squeeze her hand with a sigh. You really don’t want Wanda to leave for what you assume will be most of the night, but you did see this coming. You didn’t exactly think that she’d brush off Neil’s obvious insults. You knew her too well for that. You also know that this is likely about something other than you because when it comes down to it, it almost always is when your wife is mentioned.

Sure you’ve been hit on in the past by people who were clueless about your relationship, but you could usually tell when they weren’t. They had a particular air to them, and you could always tell that they were after something other than what they claimed.

You lean forward to kiss your wife’s cheek with another sigh. You glance at the clock and decide that you’ll try to make it an early night. As long as your anxiety about what your wife was up to didn’t stop you of course.

“Alright, Wands. Be careful? I love you.”

Wanda just smiles at you before she meets your lips with a hum. Her mind is already on a plan for the next few hours, but as she sits back in her seat and looks at you, she decides she’s not going to leave yet. She’s going to text Steve so he knows how to prepare, but first, Wanda’s going to make sure you eat something.

“I love you too. Now let’s get you fed. I’m sure you’re starving.”

Neil sighs as he places his empty glass down on the table beside his first. He glances at his expensive watch and scowls when he realizes it’s nearly 11. He had been waiting for nearly three hours for his guest, and he was getting impatient.

He wasn’t foolish enough to truly think that you would show up. No, if you told your wife about his proposal, as he’d expected, he would be graced with the redhead’s presence tonight as planned. It had certainly been a risk approaching you the way he had, but he was hoping that it paid off. Certainly, choosing this place to meet in was a bigger risk considering the amount of preparation that was involved.

He’d wanted to meet on Wanda’s turf so she’d be lured into a false sense of security. His assignment was straightforward, and he was hoping that tonight would be the night he would complete it. He raised his hand for another drink before realizing that he should probably stop. He wanted to keep his wits when facing his opponent after all.

It was almost midnight when Wanda finally arrived at her club. She’d taken more time at home than she planned, but she honestly didn’t care about being on time tonight. She had cared more about spending time with you before she had to get ready to face Neil.

She’d heard his name before and knew who he worked for, but she couldn’t figure out what exactly he wanted from her. The farthest she’d gotten was to conclude that it was likely something she wasn’t willing to give.

After talking with Steve, she’d arranged to have Bucky stay near the house to keep an eye on you while she was gone.

She entered the club from the back as always with Steve on her heels as she made her way to her office. She passed several of her security team on the way and nodded to them as she wandered out into the VIP area.

“He’s over there. He’s about four drinks in.”

Wanda nods as she takes in the sight of the brunette sitting in a chair that gives him full view of the dance floor. There’s an empty chair beside him that she’s sure was intended for her, but she’s not going to be out in the open with him. She has other plans.

“Have Rachel bring him another drink, then tell him I’ll see him upstairs in 10.”

Steve nods before going off to talk to the bartender leaving Wanda on her own. Well, she was never really on her own when she was here, but the two guards nearby blended in with other wealthy patrons. She glanced to the upstairs VIP area that had been closed off about an hour ago for set up. She hoped that her decision to meet Neil tonight wouldn’t bite her in the ass.

Neil’s only had a few sips of his newest drink when a familiar face appears in front of him. He frowns at the sight of the blonde before he shakes his head with a laugh.

“Well, if it isn’t Wanda Maximoff’s errand boy. I guess she decided to show after all.”

Steve only frowns at him before delivering Wanda’s message with a pointed look. They both glance up to where Neil’s going to have to be in just a few minutes, and the brunette’s smile widens when he spots Wanda watching him.

He sighs heavily as he drains the rest of his drink before standing up. He’s not the least bit wobbly as he raises his empty glass up toward the redhead who’s glaring at him now.

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep the lady waiting.”

Steve says nothing as he follows Neil up the stairs after he’d gotten a sixth drink. The redhead is sitting in a booth along the far wall by the time they arrive. She has her own drink and she watches him carefully as he strides over to her with a smug grin.

“If I’d known it was this easy to get a meeting with you, I would have resorted to flirting with your wife years ago.”

Wanda, unsurprisingly, only scowls at him when he says this and waits until he’s slid into his seat across from her. She takes a moment to shake off her anger before she shoots him a menacing look.

“I have to admit it’s not every day that someone tries to fuck my wife right under my nose. Then again, that’s not really what you were after, was it?”

Wanda waits as Neil leers at her in a way that tells her exactly what’s on his mind. She clenches the fist that’s in her lap before she takes a sip of her drink to try and focus on something other than the brunette’s smug face. She takes a breath in anticipation of whatever disgusting thing he’s about to say.

“Although I have to admit she’s quite the looker, you’re right. I didn’t do all of this just to get my dick wet. There was a higher purpose to getting you here.”

Wanda grits her teeth at his words but doesn’t have time to do much else before he throws what remains of his drink in her face. She hisses and instinctively closes her eyes as she reaches for the knife that she’d stashed under the table. She opens her eyes just in time to see Neil dive forward and reach for her, and she brings the blade down in the middle of his hand.

“Ahh, you bitch!”

Wanda leans forward to grab the back of Neil’s head and slams his face into the table. He’s temporarily stunned and it gives Wanda enough time to yank the knife out of his hand before using it to slit his throat. She ignores the gurgling noises and the growing puddle of blood as she jumps to her feet. She turns toward the sound of gunfire. It’s muffled by the music, but an unmistakable sound that puts the redhead on edge. She’s already drawn her gun and is taking aim when a barrage of gunfire forces her to take cover.

She curses as she dives behind the bar, her gun still clutched in her hand. She holds it up, ignoring the burning in her leg as she spots someone in a mask running toward her. She shoots them and the another before she’s able to tap the com in her ear with another curse.

“Steve where the fuck are you? Are you hit?”

When Steve had been standing guard, he’d immediately realized that something was off. He couldn’t put a name to it, but he just knew that something felt wrong. He’d only had to wait for less than a minute before he’d watched half a dozen men in masks storm the stairs. He’d only managed to shoot two before they were on top of him, and then all hell broke loose.

The blaring of the fire alarm was Wanda’s only response, and she cringed at the sound before forcing herself onto her knees. She hissed as she moved her right leg and she groaned at the sight of a slow trickle of blood coming from a wound in her calf.

“Great.”

Wanda’s about to get to stand and try to assess her odds when she hears footsteps behind her. She didn’t get a chance to turn around before something struck her hard and sent her falling onto her face. She cursed and then screamed when hands grabbed her injured leg and dragged her back from behind the bar.

She manages to turn herself over onto her back, but before she can shoot whoever’s dragging her, her gun is knocked out of her hand. She reaches for her second one and uses all her strength to kick her free leg up and into the face of the masked thug who’s still pulling her.

She groans loudly as she falls to her knees and shoots the man who knocked the gun out of her hands. The second one though is already charging her, and they grab her by the shoulders and throw her back into the bar. She hits the counter with a sickening thud, and she’s still seeing stars when something hits her across the face. She reaches back to steady herself on the bar, but she’s too dizzy and she ends up on her knees again.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

The voice is unfamiliar, but Wanda’s sure that even if she could see straight, she wouldn’t recognize them. She’s still seeing double when she’s lifted off the ground again before she’s shoved back against the bar. Her back hits the granite countertop and she curses in pain. She makes the mistake of trying to put weight on her right leg, and she nearly collapses as a result.

It’s only the rough grip that keeps her on her feet. Wanda finally sees who’s in front of her when she tries reaching for a knife at her belt. She’s thwarted though, and the woman grabs her wrist before slamming her hand into Wanda’s nose.

“Fuck!”

Wanda’s head spins and the still blaring fire alarm disorients her further. She flinches when the grip on her wrist tightens before a gun is waved in her face. She’s only seconds away from resorting to her last-ditch effort when the sprinklers start to rain down on them.

“Any last words, Maximoff?”

Wanda can think of plenty, but the sudden disappearance of the blonde makes her jump and then she ducks belatedly once she realizes the shower of water is getting on her too. She curses before she feels her body start to protest being up right, and she starts to sway.

“Wanda!”

Wanda’s eyes fly open and she struggles to stay standing as she turns to see you standing in front of her. Your hands are up and reaching for her, and she watches as you practically throw what remains of a bottle on the bar as you steady her.

You’d been unable to sleep at home even after Wanda left. You’d tried to read and then watch television to distract yourself, but it didn’t work. You had been thinking about the incident with Neil today, and how something just didn’t add up.

You didn’t understand why he’d go to the trouble to get Wanda at one of her clubs tonight. To be fair, you didn’t understand a lot about her work, but the way he went about it just didn’t make any sense to you. If what he really wanted was Wanda’s presence, he had to have a better way to get it, right? Even if it had required a lie, Neil shouldn’t have had to bother you, and waste so much of your time today if it wasn’t strictly necessary. Right?

This is what you kept rolling around in your head until it was nearly 11 and you were still too wired to sleep. You laid in bed for a bit longer just staring at the ceiling before you began to worry about your wife. What if she was walking into a trap? It was this thought that finally made you text Bucky to figure out what he was up to. You were a little surprised to hear that he was hanging out on the third floor, and you sat up in bed before throwing off the covers and running upstairs.

Somehow, you’d convinced your friend to take you to the club because you were worried about Wanda. He’d refused at first of course, but you’d promised to stay in the car while he checked on your wife and called in back up. It wasn’t until you arrived and heard the fire alarm going off and patrons crowding the street that you realized something was wrong.

If Wanda ever finds out that you just ran into the club without a plan, she’d be furious. However, as you hold onto your wife who’s having trouble standing, you can’t help but be grateful that you’d followed your intuition tonight.

You grimace when Wanda cries out as you try to move her away from the unconscious blonde on the ground, and you quickly change tactics.

“Here Wands, hold on.”

You wrap an arm around your wife’s waist and lead her to the nearest seat. Luckily, it’s not far and you sit her down with a groan before you take a moment to look her over. You feel your anxiety increase as you note the bloody nose, various scratches, and the bleeding wound on her leg. You glance over at Bucky who’s helping a pair of medics get an unconscious Steve onto a stretcher. The fact that there’s no blood is the only thing that keeps you from running over there.

When you’d stormed up the stairs, you hadn’t even noticed Steve initially. He was on the ground a ways from the stairs, and given that the bar was right in front of you, it was difficult not to notice your wife first. You’d run toward her and the blonde that was holding a gun to her head with nothing but a bottle of champagne that you’d grabbed from a bucket in the VIP area. You hadn’t even known if you’d even be able to knock her out with it, but when you raised the bottle and swung as hard as you could, well it shattered over the blonde’s head and sent her down hard.

You know that someone will be over to help Wanda any minute, but you aren’t able to just sit by and watch her continue to bleed. You take off your jacket and then your shirt that will be easier to tie around Wanda’s leg. She just watches you dumbstruck until you manage to apply the makeshift tourniquet and she groans in pain.

“Shit! Y/n, what are yo-you doing here?”

Wanda tries to sound mad, but her question comes out breathless and she’s so sore she can barely keep herself upright. Her back is aching and her ears are ringing as she watches you get back to your feet. You put your jacket back on over your bra, and frown as you reach out to wipe some of the blood off Wanda’s face.

“I was worried about you.”

Wanda passes out only moments before the EMTs arrive to take her to the compound. You figure you have two choices, but you decide to drive with Bucky instead of in the ambulance. You don’t want to get in the way, and you’ll probably end up getting there first given how your friend drives.

You don’t speak to Wanda again until the early hours of the morning. You’ve already called in sick for work, but you’re still tense where you sit beside your wife’s bed uncomfortably warm. You’ve only tried to take off your jacket twice to remember that you’re not wearing a shirt underneath it. You consider asking someone for a change of clothes, but you don’t want to leave your wife’s side.

She’s already had surgery to close the bullet hole in her leg, to set her wrist, and her nose. You had talked to Pietro and Nat when they came down to visit the unconscious redhead. Pietro was understandably pissed and already working on figuring out who was going to suffer for this. The blonde that you’d knocked out had been taken in for questioning, but you hadn’t had the bandwidth to ask about this. All you’d managed to do was check in on Steve who was luckily awake, and already back to work.

It’s nearly 4 in the morning before Wanda wakes up from her surgery. You sit up at the sound of her monitors changing only seconds before you hear a groan.

“Wanda?”

The redhead doesn’t respond immediately, but she turns toward you with a pained look in her eyes. She blinks a few times before she seems to convince herself that you’re really here, and she smiles slightly at the sight of you.

“Y/n. Is…Did I imagine it?”

You have to stop yourself from scoffing at the idea, and you stand up and walk over to your wife’s bedside. You want to reach out for her, but no part of her looks safe to touch. Her wrist is in a cast, and she looks so tense and frail that you worry that anything you do will hurt her. You shake your head before you kneel at her side and meet her slightly unfocused gaze. You figure that the pain medications she’s on are responsible for this.

“No, you didn’t imagine it, Wands. I got to thinking about how things didn’t add up, and I came to the club to confirm my suspicions. I’m really glad I arrived when I did.”

Not that earlier wouldn’t have been better. You don’t say this though because you can already tell Wanda is confused. She frowns and she tries to sit up only to curse when she puts weight on her wrist.

“Ow, shit!”

“Wanda, wait. Let me help you.”

Wanda’s too tired to argue, so she lets you hoist her up into a sitting position with minimal fuss. Her back is still tender, but as you prop her up against the pillows on her bed, she barely notices. She looks over to you with an expression that’s torn between gratitude and frustration. She’s beyond grateful that you saved her from being shot, but she hates that you were in danger.

She knows that she can’t protect you from everything. You’ve only had this argument a dozen times, but that didn’t stop Wanda from trying. This is why she’d told you to stay home tonight, but she would be lying if she said that your arrival at the club wasn’t timely.

Finally, she sighs before she takes a deep breath which makes her nose ache. She groans at the thought of it being broken. What a fucking mess.

“Thank you, detka. For the rescue. I won’t say I’m happy that you were there, but I am grateful.”

You realize what Wanda’s saying and you smile before leaning forward to kiss her. You switch to her forehead last minute, and Wanda offers you a sheepish smile. You frown in confusion, but then end up nearly rolling your eyes at what she says.

“I promise I was careful, Y/n.”

You reach across the bed to hold Wanda’s uninjured hand, and you simply shake your head with a sigh. You know that protecting Wanda from getting hurt is near impossible in her line of work. You know that despite having the best security, and more weapons than you can fathom, things like this will happen. You hate it and tonight definitely made you want to ask your wife to quit again, but you can’t. You have to believe that this is a one-off, and it’s simply best to be grateful that Wanda’s already awake and making excuses.

You lift her hand before kissing it with a teasing smile.

“We’ll argue about your definition of ‘careful’ later, babe. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Wanda briefly considers what could have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did. Your paranoia had likely saved her life while her anger may have almost killed her. She tries to consider what signs she’d missed when she’d arrived at the club last night. Had she been poorly prepared, or had there already been a trap in place?

She knows that she has weaknesses. She’s not arrogant enough to think otherwise, but unfortunately sometimes she forgets that you’re probably her biggest and most obvious one. Anyone who knows who she’s married to is able to exploit this and trigger her fight or flight response like they had tonight. She can’t say for sure if she would have acted far differently if someone else had been threatened. If she’d been threatened, but all she knows is that anytime you’re mentioned or you’re potentially at risk, she loses her head a bit.

She should be better than this. After this many years she should know how to separate her personal life from business. She supposes the problem is that others want to blur these lines and use one to influence the other.

She sighs in annoyance at the headache she’s causing, and she turns back to you when you squeeze her hand. She turns to see you shooting her a concerned look, and she can’t help but melt.

This is why she lets herself have a weakness. Being with you, and being able to call you hers is worth it. It has to be.

“Are you okay?”

Wanda just nods as she pulls you into a one-armed hug. You’re careful and barely touch her as you hug her back. She sighs in relief as she just tries to bask in your presence for a few seconds. The rest can wait. She just wants to hold you.

“I will be.”

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #silver springs drabble #silver springs #mob au

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glade-constellation · 2 months ago

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Man, I really feel like today’s LAES episode was an agreement to my character analysis post (not literally but all my points were there). Everything Earth talked about and explained was my exact feelings on the matter. Sun is in immense grief. Moon was doing nothing. Lunar is doing worse than nothing. Solar is the only other competent one in the situation, and he’s also probably feeling like shit.

It’s so upsetting when Earth is hurt because people never ask her if she’s okay unless she brings it up. Solar was the only one to ask so far. He only left her when she told him she would talk with Monty about it, and expressed she would feel guilt about putting her problems on him when he is going through his own. She is always placed on the back burner and is rarely ever comforted outside of when she asks for it.

I almost feel bad for saying she was going to be the best off in this situation because she very much isn’t. She is grieving too, but she’s having to pick up where Moon and Lunar are slacking off and doesn’t have time to process her feelings herself. She expressed several times how upsetting it was that she has barely any help taking care of Dazzle on top of her own work. She’s also had to pick up their slack at the Daycare, since Sun can’t come in and Lunar isn’t actually the best at his job by himself. She needs someone to help her right now, and I’m so glad Monty was able to step in and help. It made my opinion his reaction to all this change very quickly.

Her feelings on the matter are also just heartbreaking. She cares so much for Nexus, and any time she tried to express it Lunar would brush it off. Tell her that he didn’t care about Nexus. That, in a way, probably felt like he was telling Earth “I don’t care about your problems because they don’t interest me”. Stuff like that alongside his already spiraling relationship with her is causing a riff she doesn’t need right now. It’s something she simply can’t deal with on top of literally everything else.

Since this episode was set before Moon started helping, I am glad that Moon finally did help. But Lunar is still dragging his feet on this whole thing. “He wasn’t my brother, I was never close to him, I genuinely don’t care”. Then he’s all surprised when Sun was genuinely upset over Nexus’ death. Like he’s projecting his feeling onto everyone else. He didn’t care, so why does Sun? Every episode I watch leads me to believe more and more that Lunar’s entire sense of being is being changed by this Star power. Even if he is an animatronic, he still used to act very human. After the Astrals entered the picture though, he has slowly began to act more like them. Hearing that Earth feels the same way really validated my feelings on this. Literally used the word apathetic, like I did in my earlier character analysis post.

All in all, I am desperately waiting for Earth to get the help and time she needs. Because I do not want to watch her try and bottle this all up. I am so very thankful that Monty is willing to help her and that she has an outlet. If Monty wasn’t there, I think Earth might have eventually snapped. I don’t think that outcome would have been pretty, especially between herself and Lunar.

#🌟 Ten Talks #late night rambling but I needed to talk about Earth #she deserves everything #tsams #sams #laes #the sun and moon show #sun and moon show #lunar and earth show #tsams earth #tsams lunar #character analysis

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ausp-ice · 11 months ago

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I am Names. You can call me that if you want. To friends… how about Friend? To strangers, Stranger. To those who dislike me, how about Odious? To those I dislike, I can be Vile. If you're unsure, how about Ilk? Or, if you like… you can give me your name, and I'll give you a new one. We could even share. But what are names, exactly? They are titles, they are windows. They are promises and self-fulfilling prophecies. They are identities and they are masks. They are opportunities and chains. Names have power, more power than you might think. So, think carefully… what shall your Name be?

Names (mirrored/any), Edeia of Names. My little indulgence for a fae-inspired Edeia! Definitely just inspiration though. Folklore was not referenced for accuracy.

(They definitely play the "may I have your name" / "may I have your pronouns" game.)

More about them below the cut! And even more about them on TH.

Edeia Site | Edeia Discord | Personal Website

About Names

The Edeia generally known as Names has many names, and many facets of their self to go along with them. Some might think of the countless names as false identities, but for Names, each name they use is one real to them, one in which they'd found themself. They enjoy testing the limits of who they are, who they could be, and who they want to be.

Names also enjoys playing "games"… where they are always at an advantage in one way or another, and/or at no risk of loss. These include deals, gambles, and other arrangements they find interesting. For instance, even if another offers their Name, Names will never offer theirs—if they even have any risk of loss, besides their magic power. One example of a gamble they might play with a human is that if the human wins, they'll give them a name sure to bring them great financial success and stability; if the human loses, they'll give them a name of a pariah. They don't care too much about the outcomes for these humans; they're just as happy to laugh at someone as they are to laugh with someone, generally speaking.

Names does like to give a fair chance, however—or fair enough, however you look at it. They've crafted their abilities so that others' Names aren't immediately revealed to them, for one. They'll avoid finding out others' names and other forms of address outside of interacting with them directly, as it's part of their "game" of getting to know others.

They also enjoy all sorts of music and dance; they collect every kind of instrument and try to learn it, and like to learn all sorts of dances (with a preference for folk dances). They also create their own instruments, compose their own songs, and choreograph their own dances. In their games, a human might find themself relieved that their loss penalty or price for a deal is simply to teach Names a dance, a song, how to use a certain instrument, or an instrument itself. Names might invite others, including humans and Edeia, into their Abstraction for a festival of song and dance.

Names is unrepentantly themself in all their names. They have made themself into exactly who they want to be, after all. They can enjoy good company and friendship, though they don't particularly care if others dislike or grow to dislike them; they are just as happy in solitude, in their music and dance, and in their "games."

History

Names was once an Identity—rather, they were a human that would have become one. Let's call them Ming (名, Míng, meaning 'name'). They were born among the Chinese landed gentry during the Tang Dynasty with the Idea of Identity, and they grew up highly aware of the kinds of identities others had around them. They were particularly drawn to others' names, however: how the names affected them, how those names affected others. Many they knew had two, three, or more—their given name, courtesy name, art name (pseudonyms, or hào), nicknames, and perhaps other titles.

As they grew older and made their own name for themself—or perhaps names for themself—they indulged in the experience of giving and receiving names. Names exchanged with Ming had some magic power imbued in them at that time, though not too much.

It was when Ming met another Actualized Identity, who revealed Ming's state, that Ming realized their magical potential and began experimenting with the extent of their abilities. Through their experimentation, they felt that they did not simply want to be another Identity. They had their own names. They were more than just an "Identity." They sought a deeper understanding of themself, considering each of their names and what they meant; eventually, Ming was, through their magic, able to define their Name. Then, by knowing their Name, they became able to change the essence of themself. Without hesitation, they altered their state of being an Identity to being their own self, and named their Idea as Names.

At the moment of their changes settling in, they felt themself at a threshold, and Actualized.

Names traveled often after that, making their way across various parts of the globe. They stayed for quite a while in Europe, delighted and fascinated by the cultures, and having their fun with humans in certain areas. Names and the activity of some other Edeia around this time led to more and more tales of fae, and Names enjoyed taking on the name of Fae to play around with the people, playing up to that name while still being no less true to themself.

When the time for the Age of Secrecy hit, Names played along with Order's game as well. It was fun to see what they could do within the bounds of secrecy—how for they could go without receiving a warning. As it turns out, quite a bit—so long as humans didn't know there was magic, they could be as superstitious as they wanted, and Names's games worked well in the realm of secrets and uncertainties. They traveled often, sometimes blending their Abstraction with a real forest and inviting in guests to come and get lost in music and dance. After a night of revelry, the human visitors would find themselves asleep in their homes, thinking the experience a fun dream.

After Reunion began, Names continued their games—and was much more open about their existence. They registered with Data and occasionally visited reunited society (often to learn music and dance), but preferred to travel, spend time in their Abstraction, and draw people in to play their "games."

#creature #my species #original species #art #my art #procreate #edeia #spirit #ideation #scheduled

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rottenshotgungames · 11 months ago

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Alright, let’s start with discourse, shall we?

Gatekeeping Combat

Three days ago, the Gorgon Bones blog made this post about fighters in TTRPGs (particularly the OSR): https://gorgonbones.blogspot.com/2024/02/choosing-fighter-means-choosing-violence.html?m=1

I recommend reading the post, it’s fun (and the comments are hilarious). But, for those who don’t have the time or attention span (trust me, I’m lacking in spoons right now too), this is a relatively short joke that suggests protecting the Fighter class’ niche by making it the only class able to participate in combat. This, on its face, seems like an inherently silly idea—because it is—but people have been interacting with it as a serious suggestion. This comedic concept has spawned a legitimately interesting design discussion. So, let’s engage with it as a thought experiment. How would one make this function in a fun and reasonable way? The simple answer is that you have to start with conflict.

Conflict in RPGs, particularly in Dragon Game derivatives (such as the OSR), is often violent in nature. This presents the first hurdle: How do we centralize combat to 1 class when it’s a major source of conflict, conflict that people inherently want to engage in? As I see it, there are two approaches:

Decentralize Combat.

Redefine “Engaging in Combat.”

Decentralizing combat is kinda just what it says on the tin; make combat a less important source of conflict and means of resolving it. The two biggest examples of this—to me—are Investigative Horror Games and Stealth Games, both of which rely on central conceits that CAN involve violence but don’t necessarily rely upon it. A non-OSR example would be John Harper’s Blades in The Dark, in which combat is resolved the exact same way as every other conflict: through a series of dice rolls that result in ticking and unticking a clock (with possible complications).

Redefining what it means to “engage” requires a bit more definition than the prior approach. “Redefining” can be subcategorized into two somewhat disparate techniques: Redefining goals and redefining interactions.

In any TTRPG combat, the party tends to have a list of goals that exist in a hierarchy of priority. For example, in a traditional D&D or Lancer combat the hierarchy of party goals might look like this:

The Contest (express martial superiority, wipe out the opposition, or otherwise win the combat)

The End State (survive the combat and prevent as much harm to yourself or other party members as possible)

The Barrier (achieve the exploration or narrative goal that’s being hindered or prevented by the combat)

“Redefining” these goals is more accurately described as a re-ordering of their hierarchy based upon whether you are or aren’t the Fighter, usually through gameplay incentives. An incredible example exists in the form of Mike Pondsmith’s Cyberpunk 2020, in which the Solo role (through virtue of acting first and being generally able to specialize heavily into combat) can almost singlehandedly decide the outcome of any fight in which they are present. If there is one Solo on the field, their side is probably going to receive a swift victory; your job, as the non-Solo, is simply to not die and accomplish what you actually came here to do. If there are two Solos on opposing sides of the combat, their goals change to winning their private fight; your job, as the non-Solo, is to survive the surrounding combat until the Solo is free again (or to run if they lose). In almost every combat, the Solo will prioritize the Contest while the rest of the party will prioritize either the End State or the Barrier, something aided by Cyberpunk’s lethality and its nature as a heist game.

“Redefining combat interaction” is . . . actually found everywhere. This is your basic class differentiation taken to a greater extreme than you may find in most tactical RPGs. For example, let’s look at the Combat relevant difference between the Thief/Rogue/Mercenary and the Fighter in a majority of games that use such classes:

The Fighter - Deals a lot of damage with consistently accurate attacks (sometimes also makes multiple attacks on their turn). Has high health.

The Thief - Deals a lot of damage with one really powerful attack made from stealth, sneaky (sometimes good at dodging). Has low health.

The differentiation is there, but it’s not really significant (for the purposes of this thought experiment). Both classes focus on damage output, but one makes multiple attacks and one makes a strong attack that requires setup. Let’s try to take this difference and expand it (with a little help from our dear friend Tolkien), particularly by focusing on what makes the Thief unique in comparison to the Fighter:

The Fighter - Deals a lot of damage with consistently accurate attacks (sometimes also makes multiple attacks on their turn). Has high health.

The Thief - Subverts direct combat through the use of trickery and cunning, plays support for the Fighter (sometimes good at dodging). Has low health.

“Subversion,” in this context, simply means fighting dirty. The Thief shouldn’t be engaging in a head-on fight, they’re a Thief. Their interaction with hostile entities should always be tinged by deceit, their goal should always be to throw their enemy off balance, to create openings for others and themselves to use. If your Thief isn’t constantly throwing pocket sand and disarming opponents and knocking chandeliers on top of them and pulling cloaks over their eyes and poisoning them and . . . are they really living out the Thief fantasy? By strengthening the Thief’s core identity, leaning fully into the trickster aspect, we have redefined how both classes interact with Combat in such a way that has made direct, head-on-head violence the apparent specialty of the Fighter.

Conclusion

As much as the original Gorgon Bones blog post is a joke, Jenx does point out a real issue that’s plagued class-based games for a while: a weak niche makes a weak class. Not necessarily mechanically weak (although that can also happen, looking at you CP2020 Cop), but weak in the sense of fundamental design. Strong niches, even if every class has the ability to participate in combat, are born of purposefully and carefully built interactions with the conflicts presented by a game’s rules and environment. If combat is too great of a focus, everyone is going to want to be able to play the guy who’s good at combat; if winning combat is the sole goal of any given encounter, everyone’s going to play the guy that’s good at winning combats; if every class gets good tools for dealing damage . . . well, I don’t really have to spell that one out, do I?

If you’re designing a tactical, class based game: don’t make the Fighter the only class able to engage in combats. It’s lazy, it’s silly, and it won’t be fun for very long. You may notice that, while the two games mentioned here have classes that EXCEL at direct combat, neither of them fully limit it. Instead, the proper lesson of this thought experiment is a far more common one in our field: keep in mind the incentives you’re building into both your game and your classes, and be aware of how all these moving parts interact with and affect each other. After all, the Solo wouldn’t be nearly as good if Cyberpunk wasn’t so lethal, and the Cutter would be far more ubiquitous if Blades in The Dark had a dedicated combat chapter.

Self Promo

Hey! Thanks for reading. Sorry to leave ya with Baby’s First Game Design Lesson, but I hope ya enjoyed the journey there. If you’d like to see my recent attempt at a class based fantasy game, you can click here to check out Hollow Halls. Otherwise, I hope y’all have a great night and a great day!

#ttrpg community #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #tabletop #i actually really like fighters #i am the one who hits

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tooruswhre · 1 year ago

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JUJUTSU SORCERERS BEING PARENTS.

– feat. g.satoru, k.nanami, t.fushiguro.

– footnote. new fandom alert! been having jjk in my masterlist since the beginning of time and finally decided to get a kickstart.

obviously this is arguable, just opinion based and can be interchanged with any characters to your fancy!

– content warning. suggestive (?). implied fem reader.

i can only imagine that SATORU is a girl dad. he knew from day one that he is more than ready to spend the rest of his life with you and create a family sometime down the line. and upon hearing it was a girl, the sorcerer was beyond prepared. he spoils that girl all night and day, and it can only be assumed that she is a daddy’s girl from this behaviour. given that he is a sorcerer, and that alone comes with it’s own difficulties; he made a promise to come back to you and his babygirl in one piece every night. he would give her the world and any star in the sky if she wanted.

++ he is such a good listener when it comes to his kids; which makes me believe that his daughter is always willing to share her gossip and boy problems [ to his disliking lmaoo. may i mention he’s overprotective? ] with him because he gives the best advice.

NANAMI would be such a sheltering-helicopter parent, I can just feel it. protecting his children from the dangers of the world and making sure they’ll be able to protect themselves if he isn't somewhere arms reach away. and when he is arm's reach [ 89.9% of the time he is], he’s really probably sitting a few tables or standing a few people away from the kids, unbeknownst to them that he’s watching over them like a stalker. nanami just wants the best for his kids, just doesn’t truly know the way of going about it, so, they wouldn’t understand in their youth.

++ given that he is quite strict, he’s the type of dad that his kids would be scared to ask him for things. though, he loves them unconditionally; just a bit rough around the edges. you’re always the middleman for things, the kids ask you to ask him for them in every situation [when they want something, wanna go somewhere etc] . nanami is pretty blind-sided to that charade; wouldn’t question it if he wasn’t anyway.

to be honest, TOJI wasnt really looking forward to having kids, simply because of his lifestyle. but the conversation of having kids was in your interest; and knowing him, he’ll do anything to make you happy. nevertheless, your child was welcomed into the world a while later. and now he loves that he has a mini-me running around, showing them all the cool tricks and abilities daddy can do. he can’t tell what he loves more, the process of making love to you; or what that outcome brings. nonetheless, he suggests that the two of you should have more kids.

++ i also want to add that this man is soo laidback, if you haven’t figured that out by now. toji is the type of dad to provide his kids with logical instruction and respect!

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theabysss · 2 years ago

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Hiii good morning/afternoon/evening!

I just saw the event post and I have come bearing a request.

If you do not mind..Can I please request a sagau kinda crack fic where there’s a tournament/competition being held in Teyvat where vision users must prove their love and devotion to the creator by fighting to the death (oooh brave scaryyy fighttt~) and whoever loses a.k.a dies are “punished”

Everyone thinks this “punishment” is horrible. Like they’ll be sent to a place where they can no longer feel their creator’s grace.

But little do they know this punishment actually just turns them into one of the creators thousand of plushies.

So they just sit there in the bed, unblinking, soft and squishy, watching their beloved Grace going on about their day normally

I recently read the Zhongli turning into a plush fic and my mind went “How about the other vision users turning into a plush?” Also I think my request is more like a reverse!isekai than sagau..Sorry..!

Fem or GN!Reader please! (While I prefer fem as I’m a female I would like this to be as inclusive as possible for other people out there..! So GN is most likely more suitable)

I’m not sure who the characters are but..If you can, can you please add any of the anemo boys and Itto?

I apologize for making this incredibly long. Please feel free to delete this request if you don’t want to do it! Anyways, that’s all. Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day!

It's okay about the length of your request, I really liked that idea. I hope you enjoy the way I wrote the fic, this is my first time responding to a request and I'm a little nervous. Of the anemo boys, I chose Kazuha because I'm actively trying to get him c2 now, I hope this fic will help me lure him. If you have any other idea and you like how I wrote this one, you can send another request while the event lasts, I will be glad. ヽ(´｡• ᵕ •｡`)ノ

summary: A tournament in which your allogenes must fight to the death with each other, proving their loyalty and devotion to you Creator. But what fate awaits the losers?

characters: Kazuha, Itto, Zhongli, Raiden + mentions of some other characters.

warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, description of deaths (not detailed).

word count: 2.2k

It was a beautiful sunny summer day, the warm wind playfully ruffled your hair, it must have been Venti's antics. Ordinary inhabitants of the regions came to support the vision wielders from their nations, hoping that one of their people could become one of the seven champions, bestowing glory on the entire nation. For your allogenes, as they said, participation in the tournament was the best way to show their loyalty, love and devotion to you. You chuckled, their willingness to put their lives on the line for a slim chance of winning and getting your confession amused you.

You shifted your gaze to the archons standing next to the throne, they were forbidden to participate, otherwise the outcome of the tournament would have been too predictable, and it was not interesting that way. Although you allowed adepts and youkai to participate, and it may not have been fair, you just wanted… more entertainment. Venti's offended expression popped into your head when he knew he couldn't compete in the tournament. On that day, he followed you like a tail, not unstick for a second, hoping that you will change your mind. The reaction of the other archons was much more restrained, but each of them was certainly upset by the impossibility of participating in the competition. After all, they were your most loyal followers, following you for thousands of years, and the fact that you denied them the opportunity to show their loyalty to you frustrated them. But your desire was above all, so they simply accepted your decision.

Catching your gaze, Zhongli bowed his head respectfully.

"Do you need anything, Your Grace?" The geo archon's eyes were full of awe and willingness to fulfill your every wish.

"Please feel free to tell us if you need anything." Ei joined the conversation. "Perhaps you would like to taste the Inazuma confections? I have specially brought them for you, and I hope they can please your exquisite taste, Your Grace."

"Sounds wonderful, I'll gladly taste them, in that case, Zhongli, could you make some fruit tea?"

"With pleasure, Your Grace." Zhongli bowed.

You smiled brightly at both of them and noticed how Zhongli's breath hitched for a second, and a blush spread across Ei's cheeks. You followed them with your eyes as they went to fulfill your requests. The tournament was about to start and up to this point you wanted to face some of your especially favorite allogenes. So that you instructed the servant to bring the two people you named.

Itto could be heard from far away, explaining something very loudly to Kazuha walking beside him.

"Of course, I will definitely take the place of one of the seven champions, it cannot be otherwise, because I am the great and invincible Arataki Itto, the supreme, the one and oni!"

"Behave yourself, we are in front of the Creator." A smile appeared on Kazuha's face as he met your eyes and knelt down on one knee with his hand on his heart, Itto follows his example.

"I'm glad to see you my allogenes, you can get up from your knees, let's leave excessive formality."

Kazuha and Itto obey your order, you could see a spark of curiosity in their eyes, why did you ask them to come? Just do not think that they were unhappy with this, for them it was only a joy to be next to you, your presence always warmed their hearts.

"I just wanted to wish you the best of luck for the competition, you are one of my favorite followers." Your smile was more tender than the most expensive silk.

"I'm honored to be one of your favorites, Your Grace, I won't let you down, I promise." There was a fire in Kazuha's eyes that should have led him to victory.

"That's right, we will definitely win! With Your Grace's faith in our strength, we will definitely become champions! Ushi and I will show you excellent fights and after the victory, maybe Your Grace will agree to fights with bugs."

"Well, if you win, I'm really up for a couple of fights." You giggled. "I won't delay you, you can go back to the others."

Bowing once more, Itto and Kazuha left, and a minute later Zhongli and Ei returned.

"As you requested your tea Your Grace, the flavor is based on sun-dried mulberry petals and should have a sweet aftertaste due to the addition of zaytun peach juice." Zhongli gave you an elegant porcelain cup and placed the teapot on the table next to the throne.

"It's a dango Your Grace, bon appetit." Ei handed you a plate with colorful balls strung on a stick and poured with sauce.

You take a bite and the sweetness in your mouth. Tasty. The widths are tender and seem to melt in your mouth, you cover your eyes with pleasure. In the blink of an eye, you eat the confection and look at the plate with sadness.

"It was delicious." You put plate on the table and pick up a hot mug of tea and blow on it before you take a sip.

Ei lights up with joy "I'm glad you enjoyed it, maybe you'd like some more sweets after the tournament?"

"I won't refuse such a generous offer." You lean back on the throne and continue to sip the tea, just like Zhongli said it had a sweetish aftertaste. Not the worst tea you've had in your long life.

Soon the iron smell of blood will be in the air and the people will cheer for cruelty. What a rotten world, but how do you like it. Perhaps among all your creations, they were the most bloodthirsty and devoted. Your beautiful dolls, ready for incredible deeds, are all covered in blood and with wide smiles on their faces until the very end. The last sip of tea marks the beginning of a bloody dance from which seven will come out victorious, and the rest… what about them, something much more interesting awaits them.

It's time to start the tournament. Thousands of eyes are attentively watching you with bated breath as you rise from your throne, walk to the edge of the loggia and put your hands on the railing. A wide, joyful smile appears on your face and you begin to speak.

"Today, on this beautiful day, there will be a tournament with life-and-death battles between my precious allogenes. The names of the seven winners will be covered with glory and they will be personally blessed by me. The losers will be punished after the resurrection. The stakes are high and if anyone wishes to opt out, now is the last time you can do so." Your voice, picked up by the power of the anemo, resounded throughout the arena.

You look around the participants and all you see in their eyes is the will to win. Their souls burn with fiery determination and no one is going to retreat. Even if the punishment is excommunication from your divine presence, a terrible event, the thought of which makes their hearts bleed, they were willing to take the risk. Your gaze lingers on Kazuha, his serenity standing out a lot from the nervous anticipation of the other allogenes, which some of them hid just a little more carefully than others. Also striking was Itto's high spirits, whose wide smile was brighter than the sun. No wonder they were your favorites.

"Since there is no one who wants to withdraw, let's start the tournament." You returned to your throne and prepared to watch magnificent battles in which every drop of blood spilled was dedicated to you.

The number of contenders for victory gradually decreased. After each battle, the sand in the arena changed its color to red more and more, and the screams of the crowd became louder. Childe quickly and brutally cracking down on the next opponent, ignoring other people's attempts at resistance and having time to wink at you at the end of each fight, before someone else's head flies away from the body. Diluc whose phoenix mercilessly roasts the next unfortunate to the bones, so that the smell of burnt flesh could be felt a few more fights after. Distracting the attention of opponents with the help of hydro illusions and the swordsmanship of the Kamisato clan brought Ayato victory after victory.

Unfortunately, your favorites' chances of winning were dwindling every second, each of them was badly enough wounded that he might not survive his next fight. However, you never really believed in their victory, but still called them to give them hope. Yes, and then it will be funny to watch how they will apologize to you for losing, when you also personally bestowed your blessing of luck on them. Though they'll have to survive the resurrections to begin with, it's a pity you didn't say how quickly it would happen, so they would have been in a very unusual position since then, but you didn't think they'd complain.

The last fights have passed and the seven winners have been determined, as you thought Kazuha and Itto were not among them. The spectators from the regions whose participants won shout even louder than before, while the residents of the losers are depressed and look enviously. You go down to the arena with Zhongli and Ei, and when you almost slip on the blood-stained sand, you grab Geo Archon's hand. Zhongli's muscles tense up under your touch, and the warmth of your hand is felt vividly even through the fabric. He closes his eyes, hiding his pupils that have become vertical for a second, you were so close to him, exciting close. Your warm palm burned through him, making him feel butterflies in his stomach, as mortals said.

You do not focus on what happened, and without letting Zhongli say a word, you quickly approach the winners. The Allogenes' eyes flare jealously when they notice you are holding Zhongli's hand, but you don't let that feeling flare up and start talking.

"Congratulations to you all on your victory, your strength and devotion have been proven, this evening there will be a ball where you will be honored and I will perform a blessing ritual."

They bow respectfully and praise you, saying that it was only by your mercy that they won. How happy they are now standing in front of you among all the applicants. You smile favorably at them, allowing them to enjoy your presence next to them. When you leave, they sadly follow you with their eyes, but it is not so strong because they know that you will see each other again in the evening.

You dress up in beautiful clothes made of expensive fabrics to your taste, smile at the mirror, knowing that the eyes of all those present will be turned to you. After all, you were their Creator, their precious Creator for whose sake they were ready for anything. You enjoy the ball, drink sparkling wine, which, unfortunately or fortunately, did not affect you in any way and dance with some winners. When one of them manages to make you laugh, all those present eagerly absorb this sound, recording it on the subcortex of consciousness in order to reproduce it later.

You return to your chambers and fall on the bed without undressing, you may have been immortal, but emotional fatigue still affected you. There were a lot of plush toys in your room, they were everywhere, on the bed, sitting in armchairs and on bookshelves. Their eyes seemed to be watching you intently. Well, there was nothing surprising in the fact that they did it. You took the toy in which Kazuha was supposed to be. A cute charming toy for you, silent, but understanding, seeing and feeling everything. And there were a lot of those. You gently kissed the toy, if you had done this while he was a human you are sure that he would have been redder than boiled cancer. The lack of reaction was frustrating, so sooner or later you were going to put them back into human bodies. In the end, it would be a real loss of so many insanely loyal and devoted followers. But for now, they could just be your cute toys.

Night or day they are always watching, greedily absorbing every little thing, every gesture, everything that you want to show them. Your sleepy expression in the morning, the way you stretch before finally getting out of bed, the exposed areas of your skin when you get out of the bathroom. They enjoy all these and are infinitely glad to be here in your chambers so close to you. Getting to know you better and better, remembering all the little habits. They don't want it to end, you won't let them get that close if they become human again, will you? So they'd rather be here with you in that state, just please don't leave them alone don't put them away in dark wardrobes or closets, let them watch. Please.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

#theabysss sagau event #theabysss writes #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau x reader #sagau #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #sagau cult au #sagau zhongli #sagau kazuha #sagau itto #sagau ei #genshin cult au #genshin impact #genshin #theabysss answer

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laundryandtaxes · 5 months ago

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I think it's bizarre to believe that one approach to any problem (especially problems we know to be partly biologically mediated or constituted and partly socially mediated or constituted) is likely to universally fit every single person impacted by that problem. And I think there are many situations that have revealed that plenty of people really do prefer magical thinking and lack of any scientific knowledge if they are able to garner some hope from a perspective that is based entirely or mostly in magical thinking. I don't even think this is necessarily a problem, or at least a solvable one- it's essential, as I see it, to the continued existence of religion in humanity, which even I cannot claim has never done any good for any person or for people as a group. So long as this tendency doesn't win out on a large scale as a meaningful approach to problem solving, I don't exactly think it's a threat to humanity.

One of the most interesting examples to me, largely due to my work background and the prevalence of alcohol abuse within restaurant workers, is how absolutely vitroilic a lot of abstinence-only recovering alcoholics become when they make any contact at all with individuals who are trying to lower but not eliminate their alcohol consumption, especially in a systematic and controlled way. It is not just that they claim it is irresponsible to promote programs other than abstinence-only programs to active alcoholics (and even that I find nonsensical- less alcohol is almost always better than more alcohol, because we know for a fact that a lot of the negative health outcomes from alcoholism are a direct result of too much alcohol itself, regardless of whether it was consumed alone at night or while binge drinking at parties, which tells us that the obviously important social element itself does not mediate the biological damage) but that they often claim that it is universally the case that someone who finds themself problem drinking will only ever become more of a problem drinker until they quit entirely. The reason this is so especially striking to me is that it is so obviously and easily proven untrue by experiences which many people have outside of the bubble provided by abstinence programs. It is simply not the case that every individual who drinks more than they're comfortable with during a certain time period is destined to develop cirrhosis if they don't put down alcohol forever, and most people know several individuals whose alcohol use patterns obviously disprove that theory. Almost everyone who drinks knows someone who drank too much for their own personal comfort at one point and had to reel their consumption back in. But, of course, when most people know that someone is an alcoholic, they limit how often they talk about alcohol or their consumption of it out of respect or a desire not to trigger that person into craving alcohol, and the end result is that many alcoholics find themselves just totally cut themselves off from the alcohol use perspectives and experiences of anyone who isn't currently trying to be totally abstinent or doesn't believe that abstinence is the only way to deal with alcohol abuse. And I suspect this will only become more sparkly apparent as doctors begin to try, for instance, off label use of the GLP-1 agonists along with other medications to try to lower the desire for alcohol in patients, etc, or as more and more slightly science-backed but ultimately still pill mill or subscription peddler programs pop up aimed at helping people lower their alcohol consumption. I'm excited to see new perspectives become mainstream, and I think a lot of the pushback is quite literally an attempt to ostracize new perspectives by presenting them as irresponsible, cruel, dangerous, etc.

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ageingfangirl2 · 1 year ago

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How Many Knives Are Too Many! Mihawk (OPLA)

You are a bounty hunter and friends with Mihawk. He finds your presence intriguing because of how open you are but deadly when you have to be. Drinking some wine together you recount an encounter with a few marines and Mihawk is not at all surprised with the outcome. Mihawk x Reader (Female) FLUFF!

MIHAWK

I'd finished my business in town when I bumped into y/n of all people. They weren't collecting any bounty but simply enjoying some time off. On the outside, they weren't very intimidating, rather short and unassuming with their actions, but when they went to work a switch flipped in them and you didn't want to be on the other end of their blade. They had no alliance and worked for the highest bidder. We'd crossed paths multiple times over the years until on one encounter they suggested getting drinks, and we bonded over a shared interest in fine wine.

I wanted to leave this town and get home but they convinced me to get a drink and to catch up. Due to our reputations rumours spread of us dating but we had more of a teacher/student bond as y/n did come to me to ask for training. I was impressed with their skills and decided to keep them in my life. After a few drinks, they would joke around and intimidate people around us, but we'd never done anything more than simply kiss, both of us having too much respect for the other to ruin our friendship.

I enter the local tavern and everyone falls silent at my presence. I ignore them and glance around until my eyes land on y/n who was waving at me obnoxiously enjoying the scene I'd created. I stroll towards them and sit down opposite them, placing my sword against the wall but still within reach.

'I already ordered. Don't worry the wine here is decent, not the best but not the worst for the price,' y/n babbles, and starts pouring me a glass.

I bring the glass up to my nose and sniff, it doesn't smell bad, 'I never doubt your ability to pick a good wine no matter the location.'

They smile and raise their own glass towards me, 'I do love your compliments Dracule, makes me feel special, it's been too long.'

We clink glasses. y/n was one of the few people I openly complimented, 'yes it had been too long. Anything interesting happen?'

Their eyes light up at my question and they nod, 'Oh boy, I have a story. Happened yesterday, bloody marines getting nosey. I play for both sides sue me.'

I raise an eyebrow, 'what did they do?'

y/n sips their wine, 'a random search in the middle of town, so I put on a show.'

They would let many things slide, but Marines had a way of rubbing them the wrong way, and I knew this story would end with embarrassed Marines and a smug y/n. I motion for them to continue.

'There were four of them. One took my bag and asked if I had illegal weapons knowing I carry knives without even announcing they were doing a search. I was annoyed but I played along,' they say calmly, but a glint in their eyes gave away they were more than just annoyed, 'they opened the bag and tipped all the contents on the street.'

'Then what happened?' I enquire, swirling the wine in the glass.

y/n smirks, 'I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled a switchblade out of my bra telling them we were going to do this search properly, they got flustered and tried to backtrack but I insisted.'

I shake my head and a smirk graces my lips, y/n had a nice body and a tonne of confidence, so it was easy to imagine them stripping to their undergarments to prove a point, 'you would have reported them, wouldn't you? If you're going to start something see it through to the end.'

y/n hums in approval, 'I told them I keep two strapped to my thighs and one in either boot. I got my fly open when they called off the search and apologised to me, but I got the final laugh.'

I put my glass down on the table and lean in closer and they mirror my action, 'what was the final laugh?' I ask.

They snigger, 'One of the marines looked new and young, poor kid got an erection.'

I bring my hand to my mouth to cover my outburst of laughter, needing to protect my brooding image, but y/n's eyes twinkled knowing they are one of the rare people to have made me laugh on multiple occasions. I kind of wish I'd been there to witness the scene since I imagine y/n keeping a straight face half undressed embarrassing the Marines because people in town would talk.

I lean back and pick up my glass, 'another toast, to dumb and horny marines. I approve of the amount of knives, better safe than sorry.'

We clink glasses again and y/n giggles, 'I'm just thankful I chose to wear a bra.'

I nearly spit out my wine, y/n would happily undone my image for their amusement. I hoped they'd be in my life for a long time.

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bananasfosterparent · 8 months ago

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The difference in AA is his soul being irreversibly gone. That is the point and this is what Larians writers have been hinting at and this is what irks people about AA. The oversexualisation and erasure of his trauma, effectively erasing him as a person. I know we're talking about a fictional character, but if we're gonna go off on the topic, saying something "doesn't matter" is just a cop-out. Astarion didn't need to be "fixed" to the point of emotional lobotomy.

I don't think it's wrong to like or prefer him, but I think it's valid to have opinion on the matter, much like you have yours.

I started to apologize for the length of this, but honestly, since you sent the message, I'm going to respond to every part of it. I'm not sorry for the rambling lol

"The difference in AA is his soul being irreversibly gone."

Okay, show me the quote/scene/dialog in-game where this canonly is said and confirmed? Where does it say the ritual will ever touch his soul or any part of the game talks about his literal soul?

And if by soul you mean the "lose who you are inside" as a metaphor, that's still a matter of opinion and not actually canonly what happens. Astarion is still himself. The "changes" in his personality are shifts to simply adjust to the company he is around. He's essentially code switching.

That is the point and this is what Larians writers have been hinting at and this is what irks people about AA.

Got it. So the point of Astarion's romance is for Larian to write a singular story that has one ending you're "supposed" to enjoy with a "morally good" conclusion, and one ending that's fun and sexy, but "supposed" to be a cautionary warning of how things "shouldn't go". Because that makes sense for a "choose your own adventure" game and that's why the romance stops with AA as soon as you ascend him, and he enslaves and compels your character and you can't continue the romance with him--OH WAIT.

The oversexualisation and erasure of his trauma, effectively erasing him as a person

"The oversexualization".... So you know my Tav's personal motivations and why she chose to ascend him? And you're confident you know I made the roleplay decisions I made because you know it centers entirely and solely around it being to sexualize him?

Interesting.

Because that couldn't be further from the truth. My Tav has an entire story for why she chose to ascend him and it has nothing to do with how sexy it makes him. And it was a story I came up with well before I knew about any of this "sexualization" concept. And as a player, I didn't ascend him because I wanted a sexy vampire. I went into his romance blind and had no idea what would happen when I did it. I ascended him because it narratively made sense for my character and their relationship. But even then, if I wanted a sexy vampire, why is that a bad thing? He's not real.

And I find it so ironic that a lot of spawn fans who are anti-AA only enjoy AA for the sexual parts of that ending. Yet, we're the ones "oversexualizing" him lol

As for "erasure of his trauma"... where do I even start? What does that even mean? lol I'm not gonna lie. You sound young or unaware, but believe it or not, in real life there is more than one way to deal with trauma. And dealing with it in a way you don't agree with doesn't erase the trauma or mean the person is pretending it never happened. Ascended Astarion very much addresses his trauma and exercises a different form of healing.

In a fantasy world, you can actually explore those other options and have the outcome work FOR you, even if it wouldn't in real life. Accepting your fate and trying to align yourself with "morally good" choices is certainly not a bad thing and one way to go. In real life, that's what I agree with, as a Christian and believer in Christ. But Faerun doesn't have a Jesus. They don't have the same real world ideas of morals. They have their own gods, their own history, their own moral perspective outside of our world. Bringing in (your perspective of) our real world morals is a valid way to roleplay, but it's not the "only correct" way to roleplay.

There is the route of overthrowing what was meant to control and destroy you, and taking control of it yourself. Taking what was meant to be against you and making it work for you instead. For me, that's what Astarion's ascension means.

A smaller example of this is if you give Astarion Gandrel's crossbrow to use.

This weapon was designed to work against vampire spawn. It allows for its user to possibly inflict Turn Undead on enemies and gives them advantage in a fight against monster types. And yet, Astarion can wield it and use it effectively. He can take what was created to hurt and destroy him and use it to work for him.

Ascension can be the exact same thing. It's not a matter of which opinion of ascension is morally right. It's a matter of which decision on ascension is right for your Tav and their story with Astarion.

...saying something "doesn't matter" is just a cop-out.

Can you show me where I said "something" "doesn't matter"? Cause it wasn't in any of my recent posts. Are you referring to one of my older ones?

Not only do I not know what part of what post you're referring to, BUT I also don't know what I was talking about, if I even said "something" doesn't matter. I don't know what that "something" is.

Astarion didn't need to be "fixed" to the point of emotional lobotomy.

I'm glad we agree on something. I've seen people claim ascension is "fixing" him (because it eliminates the negative traits of vampirism) and therefore it's weird to call anti-AA spawn fans "fixers". But the difference is trying to change(fix) his morals and view of the world to reflect a "good" worldview (the spawn ending) VS trying to change (fix) his circumstances and lack of control (helping his ascend).

AA fans do not want to change his personality or his mental/emotional state. We want to change his circumstances so that he has a place to be able to make those decisions on his own. And for most of us, Ascension provides that perspective.

Spawn fans want the same thing. But the approach is more to convince him from the inside out that he can make those decisions without ascension. And that's also true. But not more valid or the only way.

But his personality does not change in either ending. In one (spawn ending), he is able to find freedom in just being free of Cazedor and exist the way he always has with a newfound confidence and peace.

In another, he is able to find freedom in taking the helm himself, and holding all the cards to be the one on top. He finds confidence in having the power and being able to wield it, without fear of anything he's had to fear with the negatives of vampirism.

But in both, he is still the same person. He still gets joy out of the same things (killing people, having/causing/observing bloodshed, and causing some chaos), he still has the same personality. The difference is in his circumstances and how he presents himself.

I don't think it's wrong to like or prefer him, but I think it's valid to have opinion on the matter, much like you have yours.

You don't mean that. Because if you did, you wouldn't have a reason to send this anon message in the first place. You wouldn't care enough. It wouldn't matter. You wouldn't have this opinion. You would be able to see value in both endings and respect the positive perspective of ascension even if you don't understand it, without arguing headcanon points like "his soul is irreversibly gone".

Your entire message is literally you trying to tell me it's wrong to like him and that the opinion I have of him is invalid and wrong. I already respect your opinion on both sides of him. Because it's your right to how you roleplay and see him. If you respect mine, you're doing a really awful job at showing it.

Regardless, if that is your intention or not. That's what sending this message says. If you really want to say you respect AA fans for enjoying AA, then stop sending AA fans messages like this and either completely avoid AA and the fans or refrain from trying to argue against it. We can discuss it and not agree while also respecting each other's roleplay choices.

This is not a wrong vs right conversation. It's a "what's your preference?" conversation. Spawn vs Ascended should be like "what's your favorite Pokemon type?"

The sooner that is realized, the better off this fandom will be.

#anon #anon ask #ask #ascended astarion

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