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wikiangela · 2 months ago

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when I say I love your mind (I wanna steal your heart)

huge thank you to @evansboyfriend and @beefcakekinard for alllll the help, you're the best <3

prompt: Halloween - couples costumes rated: G tags: fluff, established relationship word count: 1.8k

[also on ao3]

“So maybe vampires? Classic.” Buck suggests, hoping they’ll finally settle on something. But one look at Tommy’s face tells him it’s another no.

“I don’t know. It’s kinda basic.” His boyfriend says, and, okay, Buck can see that.

“Yeah, okay.” Buck hums, taking a second to come up with something else, as he and Tommy walk through the park, taking the long way to Tommy’s car. It’s a late evening, the moon illuminating their path, Tommy’s hand warm in his. They’re just finishing up date night, and at the end of their dinner the subject of Halloween was brought up – which is what they’ve been on for the last fifteen minutes. “So I guess ghosts or zombies or, I don’t know, clowns or pirates are also a no?”

“Uh, they might be a maybe?” Tommy shrugs, but clearly he’s not very into it.

“What about superheroes? Ooh, you could be Superman. You kinda look like him anyway.” He says, bringing their clasped hands to kiss Tommy’s knuckles. “My own personal hero.” He whispers, and Tommy laughs. Buck’s sure if it wasn’t dark, he’d see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“And what would that make you, Wonder Woman?” There’s a skeptical but amused tone in his voice.

“Maybe.” He shrugs and Tommy doesn’t even need to say anything for Buck to know he’s not a fan. “Okay, so Batman and Robin.”

“Hm, that’s one to think about.” Tommy responds. Buck takes that as a win, but they could do something more fun.

“Luke and Leia.” He says just because maybe Star Wars will be something to agree on – though, on the other hand, that might just spiral into another disagreement they’ve had before about those movies in general, so maybe better to leave it alone. Buck loves Tommy so much, but his Star Wars opinions are… not good. He can look past that, though. No one can be perfect.

“They’re siblings. We’re not doing a sibling couples’ costume, Evan.” He says decisively, shaking his head. Bossy, for someone who can’t decide on a costume. Buck rolls his eyes, kinda fond but kinda annoyed.

“So Leia and Han Solo. Oh, or Han and Luke? To put a bit of a spin on it?”

“Uh-” Tommy makes a face – to his credit, he does try to hide it – and Buck sighs in frustration. He doesn’t even want to hear the reason for the no. He pauses, trying to think of something else, the silence always pleasant between them. Whether they talk for hours, or are silent together, in Tommy’s company every second is the most comfortable and enjoyable. Buck just feels like he can be fully himself, and lean into his silliest side.

“We could be Venom and Eddie Brock.” He says, mostly joking, the image that popped into his head so ridiculous he laughs.

“Hm. And how would that work, exactly? One of us in regular clothes and the other in costume as Venom?”

“Yeah. You as Eddie, and I dressed in all black, on your back.” He gives Tommy a shit-eating grin when he glances at him disbelievingly. “You know, like when Venom pops out of Eddie’s back?”

“And, what, I’d carry you on my back the whole night?” He laughs, but Buck just nods. “Sweetheart, I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. Best I could do is a few minutes.” He sounds almost apologetic, and Buck needs to kiss him about it, so he presses a quick kiss to his lips, stopping them briefly.

“I know, I’m kidding.” He whispers, resuming walking. “Would be cool, though.”

“It would.” Tommy admits. Silence falls over them again, as the gears in Buck’s brain keep turning, going through every movie he can remember ever seeing, or any fun and cool couples they could realistically dress up as.

“Beauty and the Beast? I could do a yellow suit. And you can be my Beast.” Buck leans closer to Tommy, his chin brushing Tommy’s shoulder as they walk, almost at the car now. He whispers, “You already are.”

“That’s a leap from Venom.” A laugh escapes Tommy. “I don’t know. It’d be cute, but I thought you wanted scary.”

“True. We could make it scary.” He says, but then another idea pops into his head. “Oh, how about the Addams family? You know, to keep the spooky vibe.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Tommy’s.

“Well, I do love the Addams family.” Tommy nods. “Who exactly, though?”

“The best couple ever, of course. Morticia and Gomez.” He says, and watches Tommy’s face for his reaction. “And you hate it.” He sighs, and rolls his eyes, starting to get a tiny bit annoyed. It’s like the fiftieth costume he suggested, Tommy has to like something.

“No, I love it, really, but, you know, if we’re doing a couple, maybe it could be a gay couple instead?” Tommy suggests, pulling Buck a little closer to him. Well, that was the idea at first, before Buck spiraled where he is now, because someone kept shutting down his ideas. At least now he gets why some of those were a no from Tommy, because Buck thinks some were really fun.

“Yeah, sure. If we could agree on any.” He shoots Tommy a pointed look.

“Okay, any other ideas?” Tommy asks, a hint of fond amusement on his face. It’s not funny, though, they need to figure it out quickly, Halloween is right around the corner.

“Salt and pepper shakers.” He throws out. “Or ketchup and mustard.”

“Are you serious?” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving him his signature ‘Evan’ look, version exasperated. Buck just shrugs, trying to hide a smile, the thought of his boyfriend having specific smiles and looks reserved for him making his heart swell.

“I’m running out of ideas, Tommy. Oh!” He exclaims, a new random idea popping into his head. “Tom and Jerry! Get it?” He grins, looks at his boyfriend expectantly, and sees a tired but very fond and amused smile. “Tom-my.” He drags out the first syllable, just to get his point across.

“Yeah, baby, I get it. You’re adorable, but no.” He says, and then chuckles when Buck pouts.

“How about the emotions from Inside Out?” He grumbles, the movie popping into his head randomly – probably because he and Tommy watched it with Jee on their latest babysitting duty. They did a whole Pixar marathon. “You can be boredom.”

“Oh, really?” Tommy gives him one of his looks, and, damn, Buck almost melts under his gaze, even when he’s annoyed with him. He loves him so fucking much. “You calling me boring?” He tugs at Buck’s hand, stopping them and bringing him closer, so they’re face to face, his hands settling on Buck’s hips, Buck’s landing on his huge arms, now covered by a jacket. There’s an amused smirk on Tommy’s face. “I thought I was cool?”

“Nah, you’re not. You hide it well, but I know now that you’re just a huge dork. And very, very boring.” Buck teases, trying and failing to say it with a straight face, a smile breaking through. “And I love you anyway.”

“I love you, too, Evan.” Tommy says, his smile forming into that fond, loving ‘Evan’ smile that Buck can never resist kissing off. So he does. He kisses Tommy once, twice, the kisses soft and chaste, both smiling into each other’s lips. He’s about to go in for a third, intending on deepening it, but Tommy pulls away, face a bit more serious. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Buck frowns, not wanting or needing any apologies, genuinely wondering if he missed anything.

“For being such a pain about this whole costume thing.” Tommy explains, and Buck wants to laugh. Yeah, okay, he was a little annoyed, but it’s just a little teasing, bickering, about Halloween costumes of all things. He can take the most ridiculous things seriously, but this? Nothing to get overly upset about. He’s about to say all that, but then Tommy continues, “I don’t know, maybe Halloween is just not my thing. I’ve never really been too into it.” He shrugs, a flicker of something wistful crossing his face, but it’s gone too quickly to decipher. “But it matters to you, and I love you, and I want you to be happy. So, I’m done being a party pooper, let’s do a costume. Next idea, no complaints, I promise. Whatever you want.” He says so sincerely, but there’s a hint of a ‘I hope I’m not gonna regret this’ in his eyes. Buck grins, a random, brand new idea showing up.

“Woody and Buzz? From Toy Story.” he clarifies, as if that wasn’t obvious – and clearly it was, from the look he gets. “What? You said gay couple.”

“I don’t think they were. And I thought you wanted scary- but fine, okay.” Tommy sighs, that fond look back on his face. “I said whatever you want. You wanna be the cowboy or the astronaut?”

“Hm.” Buck takes a second to think – and realizes that, actually, there’s an even better, easier idea. “Or we could just be cowboys.” He shrugs, and then he can feel his eyes go wide as the full picture pops into place.

“Zombie cowboys.” He says, at the same time as Tommy, though Tommy’s sounds more like a question.

“You know me so well.” Buck beams, leaning in for another kiss. “Let’s be scary cowboy zombies. See, was that so hard?”

“You’re the one with a thousand ideas for a second. I didn’t even say no to everything at first, you just went through so many it was hard to keep up. I’m pretty sure you said cowboy back at the restaurant, too, and I didn’t even get a chance to say anything.” Tommy points out, pulling away from Buck, grabbing his hand again and starting to walk, his truck already visible in the distance.

“Not my fault my brain works like that.” Buck says mock-defensively.

“I know, honey, I love your wonderful brain.” Tommy smiles, lets go of Buck’s hand to wrap his arm around his waist, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “And I love you, my silly zombie cowboy.”

“Halloween is gonna be so much fun.” Buck is smiling widely, excited like a kid for his first Christmas – or, his first Halloween, more like. It’s seemingly no big deal, but also it’s his first Halloween with Tommy, and he’s excited – he’s excited for all the firsts with Tommy. He can’t wait to do everything and anything with him. “Are you gonna come by the station?”

“Of course, if I can. Gotta see how scary you’re gonna make it.”

“Wanna bet I can scare you?” He asks, just as they near the car.

“In the haunted house for children?” Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Sure, you can try. What are we betting on?”

“I have a few ideas.” Buck grins wickedly, crowding Tommy against the car.

“Oh, really? Well, I’m all ears.” Tommy grins, his arms wrapping around Buck’s neck, pulling him closer. Buck smiles into Tommy’s lips, kissing him, quick but lingering.

“Well, why don’t we go home and I can show you what I have in mind?”

[read on ao3]

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peggyao3 · 6 months ago

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Night Crawler - Pt. 1

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha welcomes a nocturnal visitor in his chambers, who is plagued by the symptoms of her artificially induced condition.

WORD COUNT: 3,558

TAGS: 18+, smut, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, implied violence, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1 ↓, Part 2, Part 3

The nights on Giedi Prime are inky black, not midnight blue like on her home world. Inky black are also the sharp-edged pillars that frame the hallway. Jagged polymer giants that intersect the row of windows like alien artifacts. The view outside is not much better. Where one might expect palace gardens are only industrial plants that stretch past the horizon. They are the only source of light.

This corridor is solely occupied by the na-Baron. She has been here many times. But never alone. The corridor where she resides is not far away, yet the path seems to stretch on forever, the Harkonnen palace a hostile monster that pierces her marrow and bone with every barefooted step on cold, black tiles.

She hates this so much. Tonight will be her personal disgrace. That she goes to him willingly, and in the middle of the night no less, is a first.

Though willingly is a farfetched word. No servant has reacted to her request for some pain relief remedy, mumbled then shouted into the transmitter panel in the wall of her chamber. It could be because she had uttered a wrong word in the afternoon or he didn’t like the way she held her fork and knife at dinner. It is hard to tell with Feyd-Rautha.

What is also not under her influence is the chemical cocktail in her veins that tricks her body into believing something has taken root in her womb. The symptoms are manifold, but what torments her most is how her breasts have grown bigger and heavier with milk that no one drinks.

At first glance one might think the fine lines that frame her enlarged breasts are stretch marks, but many of them are scars, placed by an enraptured Feyd-Rautha who loves to lap up the crimson beads, from base to peak. Sometimes his mouth and teeth ghost over her pert nipples.

The na-Baron seems to find sick enjoyment in her condition, fantasizing about the idea without the commitment. It is still better than being forced to carry the his real spawn.

The corridor ends in a dead end and she raises her hand, knocks on the door with cold knuckles. “My Lord?” Her warm breath is a ghost swallowed by the hallway.

There is no sound to be heard, nothing moves aside from the rise and fall of her ribcage. She swallows her pride and knocks again.

A mechanism whirrs and the door slides open. Out comes Feyd with a knife. That much was to be expected, but she still gasps when the icy edge of the blade finds her throat. The na-Baron’s frown dissolves into surprise when he recognizes her. Her throat is one of the few he wouldn’t slit right away for disturbing him.

“Feyd-!” She gasps and flinches away from the blade. Its tip tickles her jaws.

He was asleep, she realizes and is somehow surprised. The slight touch of puffiness around sharp eyes gives him away. She has never seen him sleep and she believes no one has, except for his own mother perhaps, who is now dead by matricide. This pinch of vulnerability on Feyd-Rautha’s face makes her heart stutter, as she hadn’t expected to wrest a triumph from this wretched night.

“What do you want, night crawler?" He sheathes the knife and drags the tip of a finger down her throat instead, to her collarbones, making a shiver roll down her spine. She prefers the knife.

“I am hurting, my Lord.” She stares straight ahead at Feyd's throat while gesturing at her breasts, avoiding his face. Tonight she can't stand to see the sickly joy that lights up his eyes whenever she's in pain. “They are… Too full, or so it feels.” Her bosom sits heavily in the snug night gown, warm and aching.

“Oh. Do they hurt badly?” Feyd wants to hear a yes. Fatigue and ire about being woken are gone now and he stares at her cleavage. The scars he made stare back at him.

“Would I come to you if they weren’t?” She spits. Feyd-Rautha smiles eerily and in the black of the night, his maws look like they possess no teeth.

“Come inside then.” He steps aside, clearing the passage into his chambers. The hairs in the nape of her neck prickle.

“Actually… “ She takes a step back. Even the alien pillars at her back emit more warmth than Feyd's den. “I only need you to call a servant for me. My panel seems to be broken. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I can get no rest like this. And I would…” She cringes. “I would like to be well-rested for whatever my Lord has in store for me tomorrow.” There is always something.

“Is that so?” Something about his voice reminds her of stepping on wet gravel. “You already woke me. No need to wake a servant now.” A hint of a smile creeps over his visage, a threat in one eye, glee in the other as he holds out his hand.

She chooses not to take it, so she can retain some dignity while entering his bed chambers. The door whirrs shut at her back and she knows she won’t be able to exit until he places his hand on a hidden panel. Slowly she walks into the center of the bleak room, walls made of polished stone, steps in the back leading down to a basin that is sunken into the floor. A double bed is at the right hand side and the ruffled sheets are the only sign that something lives in this room.

Feyd-Rautha moves like a beast of the night. She feels his breath on her neck before she hears his footsteps. Wiry arms circle her from behind and pull her against his chest. He is the warmest thing in the room, but as long as she isn’t freezing to death she prefers not to throw herself into an embrace that can warm her one second and scorch her the next. He kisses her neck and softly slides the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders.

Assuming Feyd’s intentions are as they most often are, she shuffles away and pulls the straps back up, trying to sound stern. “F-Feyd-Rautha, I don't know what you think you can do about my predicament, but I-”

“Sit on the bed with me.” His voice cuts the air like a Fremen crysknife. He is going to cut her breasts open to drain the milk, she thinks when she sits on Feyd's bed. The sheets are still warm.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him approaching and notices the wrinkles in his sleep shirt. Such everyday imperfections look bizarre on a man so atrocious. His bare feet pat on the tiles now and fabric rustles when he climbs on the bed. He sits and leans against the sleek headboard, a single pillow in his back and waits.

“Come.” Reluctantly she turns, gathers her nightgown skirt and scoots closer towards him. Too slow for his liking. His pale fingers brush against her throat. “Why aren’t you wearing your collar?”

“I don’t wear it to sleep!” She spits. “You’d know that if you ever-” Slept with me. Cold sweat breaks out under her armpits.

Feyd’s head tilts to the side, disgusting curiosity in his eyes. He pulls her in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips and then pulls down her night gown with one harsh tug so her right breast pops free. Even the soft scrape of fabric over her nipple makes her whimper and she hisses at him to be gentle.

Seated in his lap, her chest is roughly at Feyd’s face level. At first, she thinks he is only going to ogle the plump shape of her, taking sick pleasure in her visible pain as a reimbursement for disturbing him at night. But then his mouth starts ghosting over her and a trail of nips and feathery kisses leads him to the apex of her breast. One hand curls under the taut flesh and lifts it carefully.

Oh. Now she understands.

How grotesque. How humiliating. She should have expected nothing less.

With horror she watches his plush lips close around the nub. Dark eyes lift to scrutinize her face and when she utters no complaints (although God knows they’re clawing at her throat, they just can’t make it past the lump inside), Feyd closes his eyes.

Her face is scrunched, nails digging into Feyd's shoulders when he creates suction, hesitant at first but greedier as soon as the first drop of white milk decorates his black tongue. She cringes, thighs flexing around his which encourages him to cling to her hip with his free hand.

The sensation repels her at first, alien and encroaching, as if a parasite was latched onto her teat. She has never nursed anyone before. It takes her fear-conditioned mind several moments to realize no harm comes from Feyd’s mouth this time. He only suckles on her breast and his cock twitches against her core, which she ignores. In the chamber’s nocturnal silence, she hears him quietly gulp and with each moment, the torturous pressure in her breast abates. A tear almost slips down her cheek, that’s how thankful she is, even if Feyd-Rautha only helps her for his own pleasure.

Minutes pass and she almost grows used to the sensation, the pressure of his tongue against the underside of her nipple and the occasional scrape of teeth. The tender flesh however is starting to ache, not used to such a long assault of his mouth.

“That's e-enough, it h-hurts now.”

Feyd growls and his hairless brows twitch over closed eyes. He squeezes her breast, mouth latched over her nipple. Greedily, he suckles, ignoring her wincing. Shivering, she realizes that trying to take away his toy from him will always spark ire, so she gently scrapes her nails over his scalp instead until his ravenous mouth relaxes and strangely, she relaxes too.

“You can have the other one instead, okay?”

That works. His mouth slides over to her left breast, tongue swirling around the nipple before his lips close around it. He suckles more gently now and the relief makes her moan this time, spine arching against his face as milk flows into his mouth.

“Thank you, this is… So good. “

Feyd's hand still cups her right breast, as if scared she or anyone would steal it from him if left unattended. A bead of milk still clings to the nipple. With a spark of hope she wonders if Feyd-Rautha would ever be willing to share her breasts with an heir.

No, she sees him throttling his own spawn, just so he can have everything for himself.

In the dead of night, a sly little smile tugs on her mouth and she encouragingly wraps her arms around Feyd's neck, hugging him close. Willingly, he sinks into her chest, drinking with abandon. “Keep drinking,” she hums.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron, the gladiator, is temporarily docile at her bosom.

The silent victory makes heat grow in her belly as pressure is released from her breasts. She shuffles against his lap and the hardness that rests against his belly. Feyd's hand squeezes her hip, nudging her closer. While he drinks, the other pale hand lightly fondles her right breast, catching the drop of milk with an unusually gentle index finger.

Her spine arches and her hips curl against his pelvis, head and hair falling backwards. The cool of the chamber is now pleasant on her heated skin.

“Feyd, please…” A quiet sigh, nearly swallowed by the midnight hour. Her core curiously grinds against his length.

He seems to know better what she pleads for than she does. The hand on her hip sifts through the layers of silky gown to get to where he needs, finding her flesh unobscured by undergarments. Slick essence coats her gown where she had sat and Feyd’s hand stutters when his knuckles brush through the wetness on the silk.

Instantly, her cunt bucks against his fingers and Feyd's eyes snap wide open. His digits glide through her folds, stunned to find them so wet and hot. Her entrance weeps and yields so easily when he prods lightly with two fingers.

“Don't say anything, just-” She shakes her head, realizing Feyd hasn’t said anything at all since he discovered the milk from her breasts for himself. Fascinated, he gazes up at her from coal-black eyes, pouty lips puckered around her nipple still when two calloused fingers sink into her cunt. Languidly, he thrusts, finding her walls willing and soft to the touch. She meets each thrust, sighing as she brings her hips up and down.

Looking down at Feyd’s pale skull latched to her breast, she also looks at the scars that paint them. They taunt her now.

‘Does he make you wet now?’ They seem to ask. ‘Has he finally cut you into submission, into the shape he wants?’

She doesn't feel overly submissive right now, however. The pace of her hips quickens, as does that of his fingers. Her nails dig into his scalp when a third finger eases into her cunt without her request. The stretch makes her moan and her hips needily rut against Feyd’s hand.

Even if she is not truly in power, she can at least pretend she is.

“Take yourself out of your pants!”

Determinedly, she sits up straight and leans back, breasts feeling almost light now, compared to before. Her nipple slips out of Feyd’s mouth and he gives it a parting gift, sharp teeth nipping at the tender bud. Probably the punishment for her bold tone. Still, she grows nearly euphoric when he does as she says, sliding his trousers down to his mid thighs, so his daunting cock comes to rest against his navel. It doesn’t daunt her today.

She shuffles and pulls the silky layers of her nightgown away, so her pelvis can rest on the smooth, milky expanse of Feyd’s hairless thighs. His balls rest hotly against her weeping cunt until she raises her hips and kneels, grabbing Feyd’s cock to line him up with her entrance. The size of him makes the angle awkward and she has to lean forward to try and shuffle the thick head between her folds, one hand wrapped around the shaft.

“You can ask for help, you know.” Feyd chuckles, fingers gliding over her thighs under the gown. She hisses and resists the urge to tell him to shut his mouth, lest he ruins the night. It had been so nice without the talk of his foul tongue. Finally, she has him angled like she needs him and her entrance yields for his head.

Feyd knows she struggles to take him, despite the preparation. Her soft cunt stretches around his obscene length and she tries to be strong, play it tough, so her whines can’t give away the challenge it still is for her to be a fitting sheathe for his cock. Amused, he watches her toil away in his lap, slowly sinking down, then hissing and jerking back up. He gives her the time she needs, curiously watching her face shift into triumph when their pelvises come flush.

Up and down she goes, sighing and moaning and her grimace slowly relaxes as she grows accustomed to his cock. Feyd-Rautha sinks into his pillow, sliding down the headboard as his figure becomes more and more horizontal. Her breasts are out of reach now, but he still marvels at the marks and puffiness left by his mouth. His jaws flex. He already misses the taste of her milk. Tomorrow he will instruct the authorized doctors to tweak the formula of her injections, so she will produce more.

Unbeknownst of his thoughts but well aware of his wolfish gaze on her tits, she rides him as she pleases, hands pushing up his sleepshirt so she can grope his pale torso, leaving angry red marks on his belly and on the small dent between his pectorals.

Her shoulders roll forward and her thighs hurt a little from lifting herself so repeatedly, but she tirelessly grinds against his pelvis, chasing the pleasure sparked by power that kindles in her belly before it’ll inevitably go out by something he says or does. If he had pubic hair, perhaps it would be easier to get some friction against her clit. She is missing that extra stimulation to quite push herself over the edge.

Feyd’s hands on her hips have been docile, but the moment she falters, he strikes. Her weak knees buckle when his thumb finds her clit and her wrists are gathered in his other hand.

“I… No!” She stubbornly pleads, the figment of control wrenched out of her grasp. Not even by his hands that overtake her body, but by the mean midnight-smile that decorates his face.

“That’s alright,” he coos sweetly. No one likes gravel mixed with honey.

Hot tears gather in her eyes when she fights weakly against his grasp but still moans from the pressure of his cock. She wants to tell him that nothing is alright. It’s not alright that she can’t even fuck herself to completion without his help. It’s not alright that her legs give out because of the medication he’s put her on to induce false pregnancy. It’s not alright that her tits hurt and she gets sick in the mornings and It’s definitely not alright that he’s taking her little victory away from her.

She is close to tears but doesn’t start crying. Feyd’s hips dictate the rhythm, driving up into her cunt so she no longer rides him, she only helplessly sits as he fucks her. And to her dismay, it feels better. He just does it better.

The pressure of his thumb on her clit is just right, as are the short, hard thrusts against her cervix.

This whole night still counts as a victory, she reminds herself as her head falls back and a climax rolls through her body, walls fluttering around her tormentor’s cock while he pours sweet, gravelly honey in her ears. It’s the softest he’s ever been with her.

Feyd prolongs her climax, drawing tight little circles on her clit so her walls keep milking him until he has spilled his seed harmlessly against the entrance to her womb. A throaty groan rumbles in his chest and then the chamber falls silent.

His cock twitches and relaxes against her walls while his thumb still lazily plays with her clit. Uneasily, she shifts in his lap and her squirming draws wet noises from their conjoined pelvises.

“Stop smiling,” she demands.

“I can't.” If only his smile was prettier. Feyd releases her wrists and his thumb abandons her overstimulated clit and ghosts over her abdomen, the bunched gown, her plump breasts. A flutter of warmth follows his trace as he presses into the dip between her clavicles and then brushes over her throat, perhaps still mourning the absence of her collar.

“I… I need to go to the bathroom.”

Abruptly, Feyd sits up and swings his legs over the edge, catching her before she can fall backwards off his lap. He turns his head and nips at the hand that had instinctively latched onto his shoulder. “Don't be long.”

She denies him the satisfaction of seeing her sway and buckle when she slips off his cock. It smacks against his abdomen and black seed sullies his pale stomach and shirt. Feyd doesn't mind, but if she insists on getting cleaned up, she shall.

For a moment she fears he will follow her, just to make sure she doesn't flush herself down the drain to escape him, but he remains docilely on the bed.

She just barely makes it to the bathroom before the thick rivulet of cum that rolls down her leg reaches the ankle and stains the floor. Awkwardly, she cleans herself with cold water from the sink and paper towels, then hovers over the toilet and waits until most of Feyd's release has exited her body. Some of it still stubbornly clings to her womb, she's certain.

For a moment, she regards her reflection in the mirror, little more than a shadow in the dark of night, but even now she sees the shape of her hard nipples under the silk. She feels obliged to clean the cum stain on the floor, even though that's a task for the maids.

Once she comes back out, she almost expects a knife against her throat - foreplay for what Feyd-Rautha might consider the real fun, but the na-Baron's breath chimes calmly and steadily from the bed. Could it be?

Almost as silent as a beast of the night, she slinks to the door, knowing it probably won't budge for her but it's worth a try.

“Where are you going, night crawler? Come here.”

He lifts the covers and wordlessly she resigns and climbs underneath, like a bird into an alligator’s open maws, hoping she will be useful long enough and her wings not broken when the maws snap shut.

Feyd-Rautha sleeps on her bosom that night and she cries for a good minute while caressing his scalp. Why does every triumph, no matter if big or small, always come at the cost of feeling dirty?

[If you enjoyed this fanfiction, a comment would mean the world to me! <33]

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd #feyd x reader #feyd x you #house harkonnen #feyd smut #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune fanfiction #dune #austin butler #peggysuave fanfics #feyd x oc

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kaiser1ns · 5 months ago

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KIKI'S CHARACTER ANALYSIS ON TAKIISHI CHIKA

BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ i want to clarify that this is my opinion and my take on his character before we get to know more about him in the manga. i know that the way i write about him is not what he really is, and that can cause conflicts but i am trying my best! contains small spoilers ahead! anyway hope you will enjoy!

Written on August 9th 2024. Posted on August 10th 2024. Edited on

Takiishi Chika is expressive only when he wants to be, but most of the time he is with that bored expression making it look like he is some kind of robot or haunted doll. As already known his face changes when he feels anger or when he fights with someone at his level or higher, it's when he gets happy and excited, because there is someone who will not bore him and keep up with the adrenaline.

He will not listen to anyone in whom he finds no interest. People can talk to him, but he will pay no attention to them. He will listen, catch a sentence here and there, and when someone mentions something that intrudes on him, he will listen without hesitation wanting to know more.

Strikes me as a type who is also very observant. Not only in a fight but when around people in a calm setting. Also intelligent, may not show it because he acts on impulse but everything is calculated.

Likes to light up fireworks when there's nothing better to do or people to fight. It's nice and something he can do on his own.

He likes to sit on the rooftop of buildings and look down on everything and everyone, either enjoying the view or the feeling of power. We again don't know why. But in Chapter 134: The Moment Longed For, when Endo Yamato receives a punch to his face because he stopped Chika's sudden charge at Umeniya, the conversation goes as such "But hey, Umemiya told us to go to the roof with him. It's been ages since we have been there. You like the roof don't you?" and then Chika freezes agreeing with what Edno said "Right. That's true." Then he walks past Umemiya telling him to go there, leaving everyone behind.

The question here is why Chika likes roofs so much, and what exactly does Furin's rooftop that Umemiya wants to show him? My mind directly goes to the garden. Is it to see one's growth despite its roots? What if Chika used to take care of the garden too? I know, it's a laughable idea and seems impossible but what if? So many questions, but not many answers. This is normal, seeing as how their battle is just beginning and the characters' internal and external conflicts are yet to emerge.

As stated, he is violent and short-tempered, he would never let anyone or anything block him from doing what he wants, it doesn't matter if it was a friend or an enemy. He is capable of destroying everything in his path. But personally, I think he won't hit someone if there's no reason to or if he isn't provoked in some way.

He doesn't care about the others, he only cares for himself and his enjoyment.

Of course, he knows many people and many people know him. But he isn't close with anyone besides Endo Yamato, even if they are childhood friends and their friendship is weird, Chika just lets Endo do whatever he wants — buy him clothes, paint his nails, find him opponents. He probably never asked for him to do such things but Chika knows how devoted the tattooed fool is to him, and so he played along. That leads me to a theory that he was spoiled as a child, that's why he doesn't question Endo, because he is used to getting what he wants and if something goes in his way, he will eliminate it.

Endo stated that Takiishi "began to fizzle out when he left Furin" meaning he was slowly losing his spark and maybe fighting out of boredom and not excitement. Chika is "The Strongest Man in Furin History". Probably in his first year, there wasn't anyone worthy enough to keep up with his pace and cause that fervor to ignite his flames.

Two years later when he dropped out of Furin Highschool he became a shadow and it was a few in the school who knew the truth about him, including Umemiya, the person Chika probably wanted to fight from the start.

In Chapter 142: Revelation, we see Takiishi in Endo's memories, and he has always been so aggressive towards the world, but unfortunately, we still don't know the reason why — perhaps a family conflict that indicates him being abused as a child; himself being bullied and then turning into a bully, or he was a prodigy too doing everything before other kids his age making him develop faster and he took advantage of that. So many theories. Hope we know in the future! [this part will be edited once his backstory is out]

God complex which may also be associated with mania or a superiority complex. Someone with a god complex may exhibit no regard for the conventions and demands of society and may request special consideration or privileges. GD is linked to Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) with a diminished ability to empathize with other people's feelings. Even tho we don't see Takiishi being 'in love' with himself, he only cares about himself, and thus I will say he is probably narcissistic but not to such an extent.

But here I think the right word which should be used is Egoist — a self-centered, selfish person or arrogantly conceited person. Egoism comes in different forms as there are several reasons as to why someone may act in their own self-interest, such as ethics or rationality. The three main types of egoism are physical egoism, ethical egoism and rational egoism.

1. Physical Egoism

This type of egoism refers to the basic, instinctual drive for self-preservation and personal survival. It is often associated with natural instincts and physical needs, such as hunger, thirst, and the avoidance of pain. Physical egoism emphasizes the inherent tendency of living beings to prioritize their own physical well-being and survival above all else. In this view, self-interest is rooted in biological imperatives.

2. Ethical Egoism

Ethical egoism is a normative theory that suggests some individuals act in their own self-interest. It is a prescriptive approach, meaning it provides guidance on how people should behave. Ethical egoism posits that morally right actions are those that maximize one's own welfare. Unlike physical egoism, which is based on natural instincts, ethical egoism is a philosophical stance arguing that self-interest should be the guiding principle of moral decision-making.

3. Rational Egoism

Rational egoism posits that it is rational for individuals to act in their own self-interest because doing so leads to the best outcomes for themselves. This form of egoism is based on the idea that reason, rather than mere instinct or moral obligation, should guide self-interested behavior. Rational egoism suggests that acting in one's own long-term interest is not only logical but also the most reasonable course of action for achieving happiness and success. It often involves considering the consequences of actions and making choices that best serve one's goals in a rational, calculated manner.

In conclusion:

Takiishi Chika is impulsive, violent, and primarily concerned with his own physical needs and desires, aligning most closely with physical egoism. He doesn't seem to consider the long-term consequences of his actions, nor does he follow a moral code that dictates acting in his self-interest in a socially constructive way, which would be characteristic of ethical or rational egoism.

The behavior could be indicative of several potential mental health conditions or personality disorders, but it's important to note that diagnosing someone, especially when a real person requires a qualified mental health professional. However, I am not a professional and I am doing this only for my entertainment in the fictional world. There are a few possibilities that might align with the characteristics of Takiishi Chika.

1. Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD):

Individuals with ASPD often exhibit a disregard for the rights of others, lack of empathy, and can be prone to aggressive, violent behavior. They may engage in fights, show little concern for the safety or feelings of others, and may be manipulative or deceitful.

2. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD):

While not always violent, people with BPD may experience intense emotional reactions, including anger and aggression. They can also have a pattern of unstable relationships, self-harming behaviors, and fear of abandonment, which might be linked to masochistic tendencies.

3. Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED):

This disorder is characterized by sudden, explosive outbursts of anger or violence that are disproportionate to the situation. The person might feel a sense of relief after the outburst but may also feel remorse or regret later.

4. Sadistic Personality Disorder:

Although not recognized in the DSM-5, some traits could align with what was previously considered Sadistic Personality Disorder. This involves deriving pleasure from the suffering of others, which could explain sadistic tendencies.

Chika's behaviour is explosive or volatile sadism. This type of sadism is characterized by sudden outbursts of aggression and violence, often triggered by frustration or when the person feels someone is in their way. Individuals with this type of sadism tend to lack empathy, and their violent behavior can be unpredictable and intense.

In addition, his potential sadomasochistic tendencies suggest he might derive some pleasure from both inflicting pain on others (sadism) and experiencing pain themselves (masochism). This combination can make his behavior particularly volatile, as he may be drawn to situations that allows him to express both these desires.

5. Conduct Disorder (in younger individuals):

If the individual is younger, this could be a sign of Conduct Disorder, characterized by aggressive behavior, a lack of empathy, and a disregard for rules or the rights of others. This condition in youth can sometimes progress to Antisocial Personality Disorder in adulthood.

6. Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD):

While not typically associated with overt physical violence, individuals with NPD can display aggression when their ego is threatened. They may lack empathy and be manipulative or exploitative in relationships, only caring about others when it benefits them.

7. Psychopathy:

A more severe form of ASPD, psychopathy involves a profound lack of empathy, superficial charm, and often a tendency toward manipulative and violent behavior. Sadistic tendencies may also be present.

8. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

Individuals with PTSD may experience anger as a response to trauma reminders or as part of the hyperarousal symptoms. Irritability and angry outbursts. Feeling constantly on edge or easily startled.

PTSD develops after exposure to a traumatic event, and anger can be a coping mechanism or reaction to perceived threats.

9. Trauma and Childhood Experiences:

Anger issues can also stem from unresolved trauma, especially if it occurred during childhood. People who have experienced abuse, neglect, or abandonment may develop anger as a defense mechanism. Difficulty trusting others, leading to anger in relationships. Feeling easily threatened or provoked. Chronic irritability or anger without a clear cause.

This is all I can think of when I did my research. Chika definitely has something traumatic happened to him or he was someone's trauma.

But there can be a scenario with him just being born like that even if love and kindness were shown to him. We will know more once Satoru Nii drops his full backstory like he did with Endo and Umemiya.

TAKIISHI CHIKA'S CHARACTER IN MY WRITING STYLE

I don't want to make him too out of character for the sake of the people who like or will like him, as I want them to have the best experience while reading any of my works that includes him.

In many of my drabbles readers will get to see him being more soft towards the female character or his girlfriend as stated in the most scenarios. He is being vulnerable towards you. It is simply the way I imagine him when he gets to like someone who catches his attention: he wants to know everything, is being possessive, is more expressive, making space in his heart only for you, though his ego and pride would no go down but instead they will go up because he has something the others don't.

As I stated earlier, he will not listen or look at anyone in whom he finds no interest. That being said, and as a cliché as it sounds, you are different, he wants to have you to either a) play with you until you break or b) learn about the way you are making him feel, because his heartbeat only rises when he fights.

When Takiishi Chika learns to love, or at least tries, he realizes that he can tolerate people who get in his way, meaning he tolerates you and is extremely important for him to see you everyday. And if his nonchalant behaviour is due to a trauma, you are his free therapy.

I saw people who think he doesn't talk much, again he does, he chose to who, how and when. Even if it's one word, sentence or a punch, he will talk.

In my opinion the way he loves is unique, everyone has their own way to express their longing for the other. He doesn't know what love is, its a new term in his vocabulary, and you teach him the ways of being soft and tender.

He is protective of you, very fond by the way you show him how to do things and he acts on instinct. If he wants a kiss, he will get one no matter what. If he wants get intimate or just to initiate a physical touch, he without thinking twice would. Takiishi Chika is not a person who waits, unless necessary, because when he wants something he will make sure to have it. If he wants you he will get you. He is the living prime of "If he wanted, he would."

But then again he has another dark, manipulative and toxic side. Again he is not good or used to expressing his emotions that well, if he wanted to hurt you, unintentionally or not, he would. I know I'm repeating myself a lot with words, but it's true. Was it with a real or non-existent person, if they wanted to, they would do anything to or for you.

This is mostly what I have to say about him, in hopes of your understanding and if you got to the end of this long post, thank you! Takiishi Chika is not that complex of a character, he is pretty easy to understand in my opinion, as long you want to do it.

But it's my profile, my own way to express myself amd how i view a certain character. I would be happy if someone wants to discuss further issues with our blazing inferno Chika <3

And as the manga will continue and more will be understood, I will give it my best to describe and write not only about Chika, but also about all the other characters. I hope this was a hopeful guide to answer questions if you even had one.

Thank you Chika nation for the support, and thank you for reading and following through my writing journey! More is yet to come (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

#✧* ꜝ kiki's rambling #✧* ꜝ takiishi chika #wind breaker #windbreaker satoru nii #windbreaker #takiishi #takiishi chika #chika takiishi x reader #character analysis #wind breaker manga #windbreaker x reader #i hope this helps as much it will help me #spend my whole night #to write this #so enjoy

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 5 months ago

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Worlds at War | Yandere Thor

The world as you’ve known it was on the crux of war. Your father and mother fought hard to support your older brothers who were intent on leading the kingdom's various armies. Though your father seemed fairly indifferent, he didn’t bother to hide his anger when you received your first injury.

“Never again.”

“But Dad!”

“Nope, you’re far too unprepared to be on the battlefield. Just let your brothers handle this.”

“Dad it was just a little scratch!”

“Please Adam, darling! (Y/n) just going to run away if you forbid them entirely!”

You doubt your father would have let you do even that but it convinced him to let you take on smaller tasks like leading the transportation of goods. Usually on an already conquered route, once again secured by your brother’s army.

On the day you met him, that was exactly what was happening. Following behind Lu Bu’s enthusiastic army you were sure this would be another uneventful mission. You’d be incredibly wrong.

Diverging from the usual plan, Lu Bu’s army had not cleared the route. Instead, they were still battling the enemy on the path. All too eagerly you directed your unarmed troops to run, retaining half of your army to aid. Being on the level of your brother, you easily tore through the enemy army. It was exhilarating. Like your brothers, you found the enjoyment in a fight but of course, it just wasn’t on your level.

No one on the battlefield was until you got to him. Hair flowing like the tail of a phoenix and eyes gleaming a yellow-green like the moon of a lunar eclipse. His hammer swung with power that could be spotted miles away. But what stood out most was the smile on his face. It matched the one on Lu Bu’s face when he made his last charge.

Despite the grief that threatened to clutch your heart you found yourself grateful. For if anyone knew of your brother’s burden it was you. While you may have been able to go toe to toe with him in theory your father once again would intervene; ordering you both not to take it any farther than light sparring. It only fueled your excitement.

You quickly ordered the remains of your brother's army to retreat or continue fighting along with your own, launching yourself off the back of your horse to immediately commence in battle with the silent giant.

“You’ve given my brother a glorious end, I’d love to do the same.”

He only grunted but his smile persisted.

For the next ten hours, this duel of yours would commence. Both of you smiling ear to ear as you both parried, blocked, and occasionally slashed at one another. An unspoken comradery was born when he fought your brother and the same could be said for you.

It only slowed when the sun began to rise and a hawk came with a warning cry. Breaking out of your trance you jumped away listening to the chirps of the birds–something your father taught you fervently. The message they sent was one of warning. The warning of a specific someone’s wrath.

“Rats, I have to go. He’ll chain me to a wall if I don’t.” You whistled for your horse who dutifully trotted to you. Before you snapped their reigns to return home, you turned your head.

“So what’s your name so that I can look forward to fighting you again?”

For the first time since the fight had begun he spoke.

“Thor.”

You smiled and bucked at your horse; yelling over your shoulder. “Then until next time Thor! I’ll beat you then!”

From then on the story of your love would begin. To the average person, it would seem bizarre that you’d both go from fighting for days to making out during an ambush. It was truly a marvel that heirs of warring kingdoms would find such comfort in one another but you two did. Against the warning of those who suspected, both of you ignored it for the euphoria you gained with each other.

“Thor, I’ve been thinking about what we’d do after this war.”

His eyes opened looking up at you, who was running your ungloved fingers through his hair. He took a moment to speak, admiring the small smile on your face.

“What will we do?”

You chuckled ducking low to share a kiss with the Norse warrior, lovingly trailing your hands from his crimson tresses to hold his chiseled chin. He, in turn, held your cheeks lightly running his thumbs over your cheeks.

“We’ll go live in a forest or a mountain, or maybe we’ll travel.”

He smiled at you nuzzling his head deeper into your stomach as though trying to close the distance between your bodies. Hugging him closely you let his hands trail further down as you spoke in whispers.

“Maybe we’ll have a family or a bunny. Though I wouldn’t want mjonirr to be left out.”

He hummed turning himself around hold you in his lap to trail his hand along your back and the hem of your scouting uniform, playfully toying with the small opening. Distracting you from your protests he nuzzles his nose against yours swallowing your moans with his own.

So encapsulated in each other it was beyond either of your thoughts that those who were suspicious now had finite proof of your allegiance to each other. It was true that no information had been betrayed or secrets shared but still an allegiance to the enemy would bring some concern.

________________________________________________

“From now on you’ll be put on the back side of our defensive front.”

“What?!”

“I no longer trust you on the front lines.”

“What why?!”

His usually indifferent cerulean eyes looked out the window to the east as though glaring at the one he’d been told of. His gaze softened when he looked into his child’s pained eyes forcing him to close his, he appreciated Eve’s grip on his hand.

“How can I trust you’ll come home if you're distracted?”

“....Dad I can explain–”

“I’m sure you can but I won’t be leaving my baby in the hands of an enemy warrior.”

Their head hung low before they ran out of the settlement. Adam could hear the confused shouts of the guards as he heard the swift gallops of his child’s horse. He knew they wouldn’t run too far because they knew he wouldn’t let them.

“Adam, my love how do we know he isn’t as equally in love with them? How can we be sure their love isn’t true?”

The father looked wistfully at the apple on his plate holding it up high before squishing his hand and turning it to mushy paste.

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

Meanwhile, Adam’s child was now running to the meeting point. The abandoned wasteland of unconquered territory had been the meeting place for the couple. By now vegetation had begun to grow over the remnants of a town caught in the crossfire. It provided just enough cover for a letter that (Y/n) would only hope Thor would receive in time.

Finishing up the remains of the letter when they saw the hulking shadow cast over them they thought it was Thor. So they didn’t protest when a large hand pulled them by their waist into a deep kiss. Faster than they could register they’d already slashed at the man’s cheek, immediately causing the man to flinch. He still held tight around their waist this time digging his nails spitefully into their sides.

“You think I wouldn’t know the taste of my lover? Loki.”

At the call of his true name, the face and figure began to morph revealing the adopted mage with a twisted expression.

“Well, it appears you do. My bad for underestimating you.”

“What do you want?!”

“So cruel. I only wanted to give my regards to the fallen hero.”

Already suspicious (Y/n) attempted to jump back fully drawing their weapon only for their arms and legs to buckle. Looking at the pinch of a syringe in their side, they glared at the giggling mage. Their vision went black as they saw the mage come in close.

With the last of their strength they called for the one they yearned for,” Thor.”

The mage chuckled with glee as he kicked the limp body below him. With ease, he lifted them turning to their sleeping face with a triumphant smirk.

“What should we do with the damsel hero then?”

_____________________________________________________

On the battlefield, Thor found he didn’t recognize the attack patterns at all. They weren’t familiar. He forged on finding that his troops were being brought down in record time. The pattern was incomprehensible. If he didn’t know any better he’d say whoever was leading was making a path right to—

“Found you.”

–him.

The punch he received was devastating. Knocking him through the waves of his armed troops and ground below; leaving him frantically standing in a crater. The owner of the attack wasted no time knocking him back before he could actively use Mjolnir, already pinning him down with a heavy foot on his chest.

“You and I need to talk.”.

Thor tried to lift the man’s foot off of him for that same foot to deliver a striking kick to Thor’s jaw. Shaking the initial shock to digs his boots into the ground, lifting himself to stand in his favored position with Mjolnir. Sensing the sentient hammer Adam jumped away, expertly dodging the weapon which happily returned to the hands of Thor.

Without hesitation both men commenced in a battle where neither held back, undeterred by the odd unspoken connection between them. Thor especially remained in the dark as he found certain attacks hitting harder when the blonde had a cold expression on his face; as though he was holding back. It only seemed to click when his trusted hammer seemed to trill when his opponent successfully caught him. It was so apparent it caused the warrior to pause.

“Who are you?”

It was obvious he was the enemy king…which would mean:

“(Y/n)’s father.”

The immense shame that came over him was devastating. They were no longer fighting but it worried him that he hadn’t recognized the similarities before. It was silly that he hadn’t noticed how MjonIner was behaving the way it did when fighting his beloved.

“Don’t get cold feet. I’m proving your worth.”

Similar to his battles before he found it dragging on, but unlike his battles with his love he was filled with the nervousness of a groom. The battle only slowed when Adam pulled away standing with a bored expression as he looked at the dwindling armies.

“Fine. I guess I’ll admit you are strong.”

Thor didn’t relax his stance. The animosity teeming off Adam wasn't ceasing.

“If you wish to leave them with your life this is your chance.”

“Excuse me?’

Adam put an indignant hand on his waist.

“If you want to leave them. Now’s the time. I’ll release you back to your army, and (Y/n) will never see you again. You can avoid the drama, the accusations, just agree to leave them.”

The tension between the two was palpable. A withstanding obstacle that kept their armies far away.

“I’m not leaving (Y/n).”

Adam scoffed,” So you say.”

“I promise it. I’ll abandon my duties to be with (Y/n). I’ll leave all of that behind. I’ll kill anyone who stops me.”

Their silence returns. The kind that came before a great storm.

“....”

“...Good. I’d want nothing less.”

Or a great agreement.

Adam was quick to demand Thor leave immediately. He had an inkling something had happened and that was all Thor needed. Before he took MjonIr he bowed his head, darting in the direction of Adam’s army. More accurately past them at speeds rivaling their horses.

“That boy better better protect them.” Adam turned his disinterested gaze at the remaining army.

“So who’s dying first.”

__________________________________________________________

When the Norse warrior first laid eyes on his beloved, he knew he’d never forget them. The warmth overtook his already aching body when they called to him. Or the way MjonIr trembled when they withstood its electric blast.

It was perfection incarnate.

Even better, their affection was like air. Thor found his mind wandering to them when his army was desperately calling out to him. Or when he faced a barely equal opponent he could hardly refrain from thinking of their arms, their praise.

This is why he immediately aimed to slice off Loki’s arm at the prospect of his love being unsafe.

“I-I-I was only trying to do what was best for our k-k-kingdom!”

His lies were of no comfort encouraging Thor to raise his hammer and begin to swing down.

“WAIT! Wait! I know where they are b-but you have to be calm!”

“Speak or I’m going to kill you.”

“R-r-right! Well—”

Loki told of a defective group on the enemy’s side that seemed to worship him. In their various interpretations of his vague orders, they required a sacrifice chosen by him. It was a passing punishment. One he wasn’t sure if it’d kill the ‘hero’ or not. Admitting to his weakening of the fighter he suspected that within a few hours, they’d ritually burn the incapacitated hero.

Thor could barely keep still when he was told. He graciously sliced the adopted mage’s arm instead of killing him. He marched out of the ruins determinedly; he had to save his beloved before it was too late.

______________________________

Waking to the muffled sounds of chanting and fire roaring was never a good sign. The humid enclosure of a woven bag around your head made it hard to breathe. Closing your eyes was a better option than the odd passing of light within the small holes.

It didn’t help that you could feel your body weighing heavy, a constant reminder of the drug-induced sleep you endured. The unfamiliarity that comes with your forceful sleep. The burn of new cuts kept the feeling fresh, feeling them littered all over your body. It didn’t make it better when you realized there was the chilled coolness of something wet.

No doubt your blood.

The cacophony of different voices rang out, eventually joining together to chant a name that left you like this.

“Loki! Loki! Loki!”

Feeling yourself being laid down you could recognize the biting knot around your wrists and feet being reinforced. Getting small touches of your bound hands you could feel wood, curved into a pole. From there you could guess the fate these people had in store.

As you were made to stand up straight on a pile of wood, you naturally thought about your plans to escape. The poison you’d been given might have put a wrench in your usual plans. Which would just be you easily kicking those handling you and snapping at your binds.

But you couldn’t do that.

Hearing the chants get louder you figured that your best bet would be to run the second you felt the rope and subsequently your body catch fire. Doubting you’d come out of this unphased, you prepared yourself for the searing pain to be. Minor burns when cooking would be only a small taste of what you planned to survive. You were sure you could.

You only wondered if Thor could love you charred.

Speaking of him, you were sure you could hear the beating of Mjonir…or was that you’re own heartbeat? It couldn’t be because you could feel your heart speed up as you realized the hammer was actually here.

The joyous rambling of the crowd became a hoard of gasps and questions. It desperately had you wishing someone would lift the bag from your head. Alas, you could only garner Thor’s entrance from the crowd’s reactions. While it was surprising it’d be expected, rarely do others after seeing Thor, believe they can attack him to any degree. For as comforting as you’d find him, his hulking size, giant hammer, and stoic expression make him intimidating long before the fight begins.

You expected a few war cries before the slam of their deaths. Then a scream would ring out and all would disperse in a panicked flurry.

Except that’s not what happened.

You felt the warbling heat of a fire being ignited at your feet. In seconds, there was a gust of wind that killed the slowly increasing warmth. The previously hushed crowd began to devolve into screaming. You could feel what remained of your clothes to warp and pull in the direction of the wind.

Along with slicing, there were crackles of thunder and the furious thrum of MjonIr. Hearing the wet sounds of blood splattering and the thumps of flesh falling to the ground. The smell of iron filled your nose and the screams continued to ring out.

For people as touched in their minds as they were, you felt pity for them. Hoping to quell your love’s anger you called for him or you tried. The pain in your throat was something you’d never felt before. Feeling as though a thousand pins were stabbing you from within. When you did muster the strength of your voice, the screams had stopped and the wood around you was crunching under a boot.

Hearing the rope around you snap and unravel you let your hands naturally reach for the chiseled face of Thor. Already looking in his direction as you felt the bag on your head pull away. It is then you feel the cool and sticky coating on your lover’s face along with with the desperate look in his eyes. Wide and distraught, his eyes looked as though you’d be gone any second now. His arms wrapped around you expressing the same sentiment. You held onto him just as tightly bringing your lips closer to his, happy at the reunion alone.

Entwining your fingers in his vermillion locks, you pressed your forehead into his. Filling your vision you were surprised to have him draw you into his body once again, hungrily biting at your lips.

The love of your life was insatiable as always even among the corpses of your people.

He is your world.

And it will forever be comforting to know he’d do anything to keep it that way.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere record of ragnarok #yandere ror #yandere record of ragnarok x reader #yandere ror x reader #yandere thor x reader #yandere record of ragnarok thor x reader #yandere ror thor x reader #yandere writing #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere male x reader

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separatist-apologist · 4 months ago

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Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

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It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much.

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes.

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper.

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips.

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband.

A good lay, though? He could give her that.

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones.

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course.

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

–

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe.

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again.

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first.

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions.

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead.

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive.

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre.

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose.

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth.

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help.

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned.

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball.

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant.

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims.

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin.

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again.

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape?

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on.

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window.

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside.

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy.

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him.

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would.

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her.

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then.

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs.

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed.

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away.

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking.

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin.

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid.

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety.

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs.

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin.

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it.

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled.

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite.

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going.

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth.

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone.

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest.

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

#feysand #can i get this uploaded by 1pm #with a minute left look at me

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xbomboi · 9 months ago

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yapping about Briar. fellow Briar enjoyers assemble.

okay okay i don’t make it too obvious (or maybe i do, i wouldn’t know) but briar is my personal favorite character. i think about where the stories of all the characters would go and what their arcs would be a lot, but hers in particular is really important to me.

so i wanna talk about it.

first of all, she’s narcoleptic coded, right. we all know that. but her mom on the other hand reads to me, like, an alcoholic mother? and her dad is just willfully ignorant. either way, there’s a huge sense of neglect going on in that family. i mean go figure why briar would be the one doing most of the work raising her brothers. and of course she’s a party girl, because who’s gonna stop her? her parents? see yeah exactly.

so i don’t think it’s unreasonable to say she doesn’t have very strong parental figures in her life, at least not at home. but, and now you have to really hear me out about this one, i think baba yaga could take up a parental role in her life.

i know it isn’t much, but the seeds for her having at least a hint of a connection with baba yaga are there.

in the webisode “Stark Raven Mad”, baba yaga scolds briar for rambling about her party, and then as the commotion picks up she’s still exercising authority over briar in particular.

then there’s thronecoming, wherein, when briar is sulking at the dance, upon noticing the picture on the projector, she asks baba yaga for answers, who provides them.

and then skipping all the way to epic winter, after the girls become a little creeped out by her mannerisms and book it, briar is the one who makes sure to peak back in and give a parting remark.

so i think there’s potential there to be explored. her feeling neglected at home and then finding solace in another adult at school would be neat.

but the fact that it’s baba yaga is important, so just put a pin in that and we’ll circle back to it.

now, i think out of the core four, she was (at least at first) the hardest to actually pin-point what the future of her story could look like. with raven, i think it’s pretty clear her journey is just continuing to combat the prejudices of the world as she fights for change, apple is now pretty much on a path to figuring out her own future as ruler of a kingdom and what that’s going to entail, and maddie is the goofball that’s there to have fun and be supportive along the way.

then there’s briar. and, let me be clear, no, in my mind that girl is not sleeping for 100 years with where things are heading; in the main universe of the story, briar will be free of the sleeping beauty destiny.

but it’s like, if she’s not gonna sleep, what more is there to actually do with her? what direction COULD her life go in? because if she’s no longer fated to sleep 100 years of her life away, then she can’t just party like there’s no tomorrow anymore. she’d need to decide what she actually wants to do with her life.

and i think i have an idea.

i mentioned her narcoleptic coding at the start with intent to bring it up again. see, you might notice that a lot of the fairytale aspects of ever after high can be read as allegories for real-world problems. for example, hunter and ashlynn’s relationship is treated in their world the same way society may look at queer couples or biracial couples. or how raven’s mom being trapped in a mirror is their world equivalent to not paying child support.

with that kind of correlation in mind, i think treating briar’s curse as a condition could open up an interesting opportunity. i think, in their world, curses as a whole could be viewed as a separate branch of medical specialization, with briar spearheading this notion of thought.

we know briar is well-versed in chemythstry already. in the webisode “Briar’s Study Party” she makes note of the fact that she’s been studying forever-after, and she demonstrates enough knowledge in the subject to enthusiastically teach it to her friends, who all end up acing their tests on it as a result.

i think this is something she could potentially make a career out of. i think she could come to the conclusion that she wants to be able to help break curses for people everywhere, and could pursue learning to develop potions and elixirs to do so.

which could happen under baba yaga’s tutelage.

picture this: briar declares her newfound goal, to which baba yaga offers to teach briar all she knows in order to achieve what she’s set her sights on. briar—with an ounce of hesitance—accepts, and baba yaga officially takes her under her wing with the intent of mastering sorcery.

obviously, she wouldn’t lose who she is in this. she’s still gonna be an impulsive, adrenaline junkie who desperately needs a screentime limit on her mirrorphone. but in this process, she’d be rounded out by baba yaga and would in turn mature a bit from the experience. she’d get serious about life, but she wouldn’t let go of who she is at heart.

this could lead to her becoming the resourceful one in the main group. like on adventures, she’d be able to pull out a potion or whip something up (because i’m not going to let raven’s magic make her too o.p. she’s gotta have limitations) as a solution to problems. she could really have a role that proves useful and important to the story.

that’s my ideal pitch for where to take briar’s character.

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countlessofvoids · 4 months ago

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I know I'm five years late on this and frankly this conversation is really fucking annoying at this point, but I gained analytical skills just recently, got hyperfixated on HTTYD again and have few things on my mind;

There's a ridiculous amount of bad writing decisions regarding the third movie's main antagonist and even more in the entirety of the film. However in my opinion, Grimmel's character could improve even if you kept all other aspects the same by getting rid of one plot point. And that is "drugging deathgrippers with their own venom".

One the dumbest parts of THW, only beaten by Toothless & light fury's boring romance and the movie's message. But the difference between those is those at least serve some purpose. This could go unmentioned and much wouldn't change. Sure, it shows us Grimmel uses their venom for his crossbow arrows, other than that, the "slavery" aspect is useless. All it does is make him ridiculously evil. Because the audience forgot he's not nice, apparently.

What I'm getting at is - I believe a better alternative would be the deathgrippers serving Grimmel not because they're forced to, but because they want to. Make them have genuine bond like Hiccup has with Toothless.

In universe justification: Deathgrippers are said to be intelligent dragons, so they'd probably understand that working with some creature who helps them hunt is beneficial for them. And since they're pack animals, hunting also works as a bonding activity. This would be a perfect gateway for Grimmel to make them more loyal to him. They don't necessarily need to have Hiccup & Toothless' bond (although I would personaly prefer it that way). Think of it like the speedstinger in RTTE - Despite not liking Snotlout at all, it defended him against the other speedstingers because it considered him a part of it's pack.

Writing/narrative justification: Having a group of dragons take part in killing simply for their enjoyment portrays them as intelligent creatures, which emphasizes how similiar dragons are to humans. Some are assholes just because! Also it means them dying at the end isn't a horrible way of making your audience question your protagonist's morals, since in this version they kinda deserved it.

Grimmel being friends with a bunch of dragons while hating all the others gives him depth as a character - it makes him a hypocrite.

But most importantly, Hiccup and Grimmel being parallels would be much clearer. It shows how they're the same person on different paths, that he could be like Hiccup but choose not to. Or it could lead to him being a parallel to Valka. Older person who doesn't like other people and prefers living with dragons? Sounds like Valka to me!

Now this could create a plot hole with the whole Alpha thing, since in canon they don't listen due to being drugged. However I choose to ignore that because I don't like the idea of every dragon mindlessly following Toothless no matter what personality and concept of the alpha in itself.

#user countlessofvoids don't mention valka in a httyd related post challange (impossible)#v/iggo fans DNI #<- joking #or am I #deathgripper #deathgrippers #grimmel #grimmel the grisly #hiccup #hiccup haddock #valka #valka haddock #httyd #httyd 3 #httyd movies #httyd thw #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon 3 #how to train your dragon: the hidden world

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spiral-lemur · 3 months ago

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OK THE ANNUAL’S OUT AND I JUST NEED TO BABBLE ABOUT STUFF SOOO SPOILERS AHEAD READ AT UR OWN RISK ETC ETC ETC

OK STORY NUMBER 1.

Ok wow. No it’s fine really. Go ahead. Go ahead and BREAK MY FUCKING HEART right off the bat. They don’t even know later in they’re subconsciously Still following the path Starline mapped out for them by still aiming to replace Sonic and Tails. Like yeah this time Eggman is on the chopping block for real which would make Starline lose his gay little mind but GODDDDDDD

Also it’s really funny that the general perception is that Kit is the more mellow of the two. Appearance wise? Yeah. Mannerisms? For the most part yeah. But deep down this little guy is FUCKED UP.

Like every so often the comic just reminds you “see this cute little guy? he can and will drown you for nothing more than surge’s happiness if he sees fit.” Lil dude does NOT care. Genuinely curious as to how this plotline will develop later on since Kit is clearly misguided. Yes he wants to help Surge and she’ll be happy for a while with this arrangement…as long as she doesn’t find out. What happens when she finds out though? I doubt she’ll be very happy to know all her “accomplishments” were part of a carefully constructed narrative set up by the very person who was meant to support her. I’m just RRRRRRRRGGHRGGHHHRTHHHHHH about them yknow? Also I think it’s interesting that this is set sometime after issue 75; very curious about what “he had to drag them out of there” means for the safety of Restoration HQ and I’m even more curious about where Surge and Kit are right now. Are they still there? Bunking somewhere else? What happened with them and their ties to Clutch and Mimic? Lots of questions to wait and find out. Very excited to see how this goes.

Now for the Knuckles story; admittedly this one isn’t spinning around my brain as much because of the other two stories, but it’s still a lovely read. It serves as some insight for Knuckles’ thoughts about his current life and relationships with his friends and it brings a good ol’ smile to my face.

The art FUCKS as usual when ABT is involved. Like this page? This page right here. Gorgeous. Would be a very fun redraw I think. And I feel it says a lot about how Knuckles feels about these characters without having to say anything which is nice. Rouge, for all the trouble she gives him, also gives him an outlet to blow off some steam and a reason to keep up with his training(aside from Eggman of course), and she obviously wouldn’t be there if he didn’t respect her to some degree. Sonic is someone Knuckles views as a worthy rival, but he’s also a treasured friend alongside Amy and Tails. They may clash, but he knows that at the end of the day they’ve got his back, and he’s got their’s. The Chaotix are a little trickier to pinpoint, but they’re here for a reason. I believe they add a dash of excitement and companionship to his life. They might be a bunch of clowns, but they’re HIS clowns and he cares about them just as much as everyone else here. He knows he can depend on them when it comes down to it, which is what I believe the Master Emerald was trying to get at here.

Also Sonknux enjoyers got a little snack here. A little treat even. But it’s nice to see that just like these guys are still on Knuckles’ mind, he never left THEIR minds either. It’s nice to see that they aren’t just trying to get his help for something and just giving him a friendly visit because 1.) We get to see Knuckles and 2.) The dude could use a day where they don’t bring trouble to his doorstep LOL

Also what the FUCK happened to the Tornado guys I JUST said you weren’t bringing trouble to his doorstep you better keep it that way—

And then it ends with the gang catching Knux up to speed on their latest shenanigans. Like I mentioned earlier I think this story serves as a look into how Knuckles views his current situation, and it’s very heartwarming in my opinion. I think this sequence really sums up the big takeaway from this story:

sorry the quality is ass it’s hard to do these things on a phone

There was a moment where I thought that bright light echidna was Tikal, and I’m a little disappointed it wasn’t. It’s still nice but if it’d been her, you’d best believe I’d have a lot more screamy words about it. It’s not a bad story at all though, and if you’re a Knuckles fan who loves digging into his deeper thoughts I think this story is a good read for you. Also YIPPIEE KNUCKLES CONFIRMED FOR ISSUE 80!!!

Now for the story that I(and I’m sure many others are) am currently foaming at the mouth the most over. It’s no surprise at all that a look into Mimic’s backstory would be something I eat the fuck up as a massive fan of Tangle, Whisper, and everything relating to them. But holy WOW this story had everything I could’ve wanted and I will be using this as fuel for my Diamond Cutter Autism™️

Okay, starting off with him being an actor before joining the Diamond Cutters. This may not seem as relevant to people compared to literally everything else in this story BUT you guys. You guys. When I tell you I lost my shit. Why? BECAUSE I FUCKING CALLED THAT SHIT.

This excerpt is from a (now scrapped) fic where I tried tackling a possible redemption arc for Mimic. We hadn’t had any backstory for Mimic so I’d tried making one up that tied into his shapeshifting. I ended up scrapping the whole thing because Mimic kept getting worse/more irredeemable as a character and I didn’t feel like trying to keep it going; and I feel the need to bring up that Tangle and Whisper would’ve never fully trusted or forgiven him(like. at all), he just would’ve gotten over trying to kill them by the end. I swear I wasn’t aiming for a “you did this horrible shit but it’s ok you feel bad about it so we’re buddies now :3” type deal. Anyway, that useless bit of info aside, I wrote this thing back in 2022. It’s not EXACTLY the same way obviously, but seeing this after having written him as a former actor made me actually stop and gape for a second before scrambling to find that old draft. I guess I could just SMELL the washed up actor on him. And yeah maybe it was the most plausible thing, but I’ve been given an inch and just this once I’m going to run this mile in circles.

After the whole acting thing, the war started, Mimic wanted to show off, left some other teams for dead, etc etc and then he met THEM.

This…houghhhhhhhhh

Do you think Whisper ever thinks back to this day? Do you think it’s ever crossed her mind that if she’d never invited him, her friends might still be alive? Do you think this thought eats her alive on bad nights? Whisper honey I am so fucking sorry. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known how fucking shitty this guy really was. You didn’t deserve that.

FUCK!!!

Ahem. It’s really bittersweet looking into how these guys acted not just as a team, but as friends. We got a better look as to how these guys were personality-wise and it just stings knowing that this little found family is no longer here because one of them just couldn’t handle vulnerability. Smithy was like an older brother—wise, but just as goofy and playful as the rest of them, and just as ready to tease his little twerps. Claire was like an older sister; similar to Smithy, always looking out for the others, but just as ready to make fun of them. She was probably the straightman in a lot of their antics, but with that loving “oh, you” sense to it. Slinger was the goofy, cocky younger brother. Ready to go for the biggest thing he could find, and usually needing to be saved from his own ambition. He’d make up for that trouble by bringing in a lifetime supply of laughs for all of them. And Whisper…honestly I’d go as far as saying Whisper back then was just like Tangle is now. Optimistic, eager, bubbly. I wonder if that might be why she gravitated towards Tangle rather than the other characters she was friendly with; even before their miniseries. I’d show more images for this part but apparently I can only use 10 images on a phone and my computer still isn’t up so that’s just SWELL. For the last image I’ve got, I’ll just use this:

It just stings so HARD when you really think about what was taken from her. We might have gotten the Whisper we know and love because of it, sure. She may not have met any of the people she holds dear now if it hadn’t gone the way it did. But the fact that she had this little family, the fact she loved them so dearly, the fact she’d put so much trust into them—only to have it ripped away in one selfish decision? That’ll hurt forever. That’ll haunt her for the rest of life; it’ll haunt me too. God the Diamond Cutters sting so good.

Now let’s get Mimic’s little monologue in here. Ahem.

“I got what I wanted. Did I just crave validation? Was it ever about the spotlight? I can’t be myself around them. They don’t know what I’ve done…friendship is supposed to feel good. Solid. Like a foundation…so why does it hurt so much? They don’t see I’m a walking contradiction. One look p-past my facade and I’ll be thrown away! I can’t afford to be so fragile. I look back at my acting days with a soul-wrenching truth staring back at me. The more things change, the more they stay the same. It’s a rehearsed charade! They are all mirrors, saying what I want to hear until they get what they want. They can’t be trusted. I refuse to play this game anymore.

The moment an opportunity to be rid of these nuisances came, I readily took it. The Diamond Cutters would be gone from this world and mine. I could clear my mind and never feel such visceral pain from their fake smiles. Attachment was erased, like weeds pulled from a garden, as they perished. The pain inside nearly vanished, a good sign for my healing journey. Yet…there was a single, terribly annoying headache left to deal with. I can’t fix what that team did to me until I shatter every last one. Only with this knife, will I finally be cleansed.

I can’t think straight tonight. What is the point of reflecting on all these memories? Am I afraid? Or am I just…tired? Soon, that pain deep within myself will be washed away. And this can all be a bad, bad dream. I’m selfish, arrogant, and colder than a frozen lake. I enjoy the chase, watching others struggle, and I love that about me! I know what I am, so…who are you?”

Man…a LOT to unpack here.

Mimic is a coward. There’s certainly vitriol to my words, but it’s also just a fact based on the evidence we’ve seen. He’d been burned so many times chasing the spotlight in the past, he’d grown to view it as conditional. No one ever truly valued his contributions in his eyes. He was just another part of an act, and when that act was over, no one would need each other anymore—so whenever he felt done with putting on the “show” of contributing to a new team during the war, he quickly cut ties. Some ways more permanent than others—we’ll never know for certain if he got those people killed like the Diamond Cutters, but he certainly didn’t care if he did. The show was over. It didn’t matter.

Then the Diamond Cutters came along. The show was going well, it was a broadway smash! Then the actor’s nemesis began to creep in; imposter syndrome. Mimic knew deep down, he didn’t deserve this success. How many people did he really cut down as he chased the spotlight? How many people had seen his previous work? How long until that all came back to bite him? He didn’t know. It terrified him deep down, judging from the moments of hesitation he’d shown in his monologue. Surely it began to gnaw at him more and more towards the end. He can’t trust them, his smiles were fake so they all had to be faking too, right? There was no way there was such a thing as genuine friendship, teamwork, or any of the like. If it didn’t exist in his world, it couldn’t have existed at all. It began to be kill or be killed; and Mimic intended to be the one doing the killing. So he cut them down too.

But Whisper survived. Whisper was a present reminder of the horrible, selfish things he’d done. As long as she’s around, he can never fully ignore what he’s left behind. He can never truly run away from all of it. So he has his sights set on her; killing her will surely solve all the pain within himself. It has to. It has to.

And he still hesitates. Maybe it’s the way suppressed guilt is manifesting itself, maybe it’s being overly cautious, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Perhaps once there was a time he could’ve gone back on everything and reinvented himself, but it’s gone now. And he’ll run away from that possibility for the rest of his life. He just has to get rid of that last poster before he can move on to his next big show.

Or I could easily be reading way too much into it but who cares I’m having fun this way! Really enjoyed this story—easily my favorite of the three if you couldn’t tell from all that word vomit. This annual might just be my favorite of them all so far, and I’m excited to see how these characters continue to develop as the comic runs on. That’s just about everything I can think of to say, so that ends my babbling. Thanks to everyone who read this far! I don’t normally get so wordy but this annual really just activated something in me.

#idw sonic spoilers #idw sonic #surge the tenrec #kit the fennec #knuckles the echidna #whisper the wolf #slinger the ocelot #smithy the lion #claire voyance #mimic the octopus #mar says a thing

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crabdrabbles · 11 months ago

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Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them.

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers.

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction.

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you.

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you.

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’.

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough.

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying.

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course.

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price.

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141.

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade.

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend.

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough?

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation.

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality.

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status.

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them.

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs.

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company.

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you.

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name.

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team.

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–”

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect.

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now.

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain.

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you.

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.”

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered.

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.”

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

have a request? send one in!

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #platonic task force 141 #platonic task force 141 & reader

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the-xolotl · 8 months ago

Text

What I think your Hazbin Hotel fav says about you

Pt. I ; Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Lucifer, Angel

A/N: these are entirely my opinions based on what each of the characters have meant for me. i’m a psych major and like doing lil analysis of things so it’s for funsis nothing else XD and i’m writing these with adult personalities in mind ! just fyi

it’s kinda long, fair warning, lots of text.

—• TAGS: none, completely sfw

ᯓ፥Charlie ꪆ

Starting off with the MC herself; I can see her being a fav bc you are the sunshine coded individual that likes to do things diplomatically first, handles situations with words first and foremost as well as enthusiasm and optimism. You’ll always see the bright side of things and like to see the good in people.

So probably relate a lot to her.

You have a tendency to put others way above yourself and your own needs, most of the time unconsciously so.

Maybe you’re the mom-friend of the group. You’re the most caring and giving out of your surrounding friends or family.

Which kinda makes me think you may have a mix of daddy and mommy issues.

However sometimes your kindness is taken for weakness and naivety when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re not unaware of the world around you, in fact you’re probably someone who understands a little too good, so you choose to give positivity to the sea of negativity.

You’re highly emotionally intelligent, mature and likely find yourself always taking the reign in things. You’re a doer, determined to see everything you put your mind to to completion, lots of initiative in many aspects.

A WORKAHOLIC. Completely unaware of that aspect tho. Or just unintentionally so. Bc you are so determine on projects you give 120% and don’t stop until it’s completed.

You probably find comfort in her character in some ways; either bc you see yourself in her or strive to find a person like her who will see your redeeming qualities when you can’t, and want to help you grow as a person.

You aren’t a strict planner or someone who sticks 100% with a plan but do like to have an outline at least. Even if you have to improv further down the line at least you have an idea of wtf you’re doing.

So you can also roll with being spontaneous, you can easily think of a loose path to follow and roll with it whenever.

You’re very enjoyable company !! Smile and laugh is contagious, it’s impossible to not feel good around you.

ᯓ፥Vaggie ꪆ

You struggle a lot with imposter’s syndrome so let me be the one to tell you; you deserve good things, you belong in good places and with the people you love and love you back.

You’re likely the person everyone turns to for a voice of reason.

You’re very headstrong, you’re the decision maker in whatever circle you run.

Ms./Mr./Mx. Hyper-Independent™️

You’re likely also the mediator. Are you the middle child in your family?

You’re a perfectionist to a fault, and fear failure. Sometimes you need a little reassurance.

However, you’re an exceptional lover. You’re loyal, attentive, your love language might be acts of service and/or words of affirmation.

You greatly value those around you and just want to help them be successful.

Sometimes you’re too strict with yourself, even with others but you mean well.

Despite anything though, you have a pretty firm grasp in your sense of self, you know who you are and what you want in life.

You stand up for yourself, you don’t let anyone push you around; you’re the scary dog privileges.

And even if you sometimes come across as hard around the edges, you’re quite soft on the inside. You still choose to act with kindness even if someone doesn’t deserve it. But you’re good at killing with kindness.

You give me Taurus energy. And despite the bullet-point above you have made grown men cry. You’re kind but you are capable of hurting with your words if you so choose.

ᯓ፥Alastor ꪆ

I’ll just get it out of the way: raging daddy issues

But the kind of daddy issues that come from resentment and anger at a fatherly figure or men that remind you of that fatherly figure.

You neither want fatherly comfort nor find someone that is a good fatherly figure. You don’t need it, you’ve been this long without it so what’s the point ?

Maybe you’re likely even the type of person who comforts others but don’t want/let others comfort you. You don’t need others, others need you.

You value your privacy, very reserved about your personal life. Keeping everything close to the vest do to the load of trust issues you carry.

Definitely into older partners (more specifically older men)

Unless you don’t do dating or physical relationships. In this case you maybe find yourself being the older friend of a group of friends.

You don’t have a parental bone in your body but you have this innate need to make sure others never feel the way you did; alone, helpless. This whether you admit it or not.

Much like our resident Radio Demon you have an appreciation for the entertainment and may take some sadistic pleasure in watching the people you don’t care for fail (especially those who have wrong you in the past).

But if not giving a fuck was an olympic sport you’d be a gold medalist. You are winning the 'idgaf war' every time, bc you don’t need to retaliate immediately when someone does do you wrong either, remaining unbothered knowing that person will do themselves in.

You like to play the long game in some situations, waiting for the right time to make a move.

You don’t have time for bullshit, time costs and yours comes at a high rate. You rather get to the point than run circles. And the biggest pet-peeve is getting lead on in any way just to ultimately waste your time and get nothing out of it.

In most circumstances you don’t do anything without receiving a benefit from it unless it’s the people you truly care about. Everything has a price, a lot of things you do are for self fulfillment (Not in a negative way. You value yourself and know your worth)

You’re also a go-getter. Not waiting around for opportunities to just fall on your lap you go and make your own opportunities and open your own doors.

However one of your biggest flaws is overestimating yourself which ultimately leads you to feel like you failed at something when really you didn’t, you didn’t reach the intended goal even if the outcome was fine. Pride comes before the fall, for sure (And you’re trying to work on it. Kinda).

But you do have an issue with feeling like you’re absolutely invincible no matter what.

You have your own skeletons in the closet. Things you don’t like looking back on, decisions you regret to this day bc they shaped more of your life than you intended. But here you are persevering in one piece. If maybe a little jaded to the world around you, but in one piece. Good job.

ᯓ፥Lucifer ꪆ

You and Alastor fans are two sides of the same coin but with marked differences.

Daddy issues here too, but the ones who actually want a good fatherly figure. One you often find from a mentor or someone to give you affection and/or guidance.

You’re less likely to seek these out in romantic relationships as really what you want is to heal your inner child.

You heard More Than Anything, cried bc it’s a beautiful song than cried harder wondering why couldn’t someone love you like that.

More than anything (ba-dum-tsss) you crave to be protected, you can do it yourself, you have been. But you’re tired. You want someone else to do it for a changed, see you for who you are and love you unconditionally.

I have the feeling you’re the oldest child of a broken home that had to be a 3rd parent at a young age to your even younger siblings and it hurt like a bitch having to leave them once you were able to get out of your parent’s house. But you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

It’s also likely in your upbringing you were seen as the black sheep of the family, whatever the reason may have been. That’s something that still hurts to this day even through the no-contact you’ve likely established.

You have a lot of love to give but often don’t know how to express it or measure it. In the sense that you love too hard or too little, but you care so much. You really do.

And this is why you probably have a lot of people coming to your for a shoulder to cry on, because what you will do is protect the ones you care about the way you wish someone did you in your worse times. This is where your over abundance of love comes the most handy.

BUT behind all of this there’s also a high spirit that can be the life of any party. You have a unique magnetism and easy going personality despite anything that makes people gravitate towards you.

ᯓ፥Angel ꪆ

You have likely been through some awful shit (I’m sorry you had to go through that, me too 🫂) and that has shaped you a lot as a person today.

Probably came out of those experiences a hyper sexual that has to constantly advocate for those of us who don’t cope the same ways others do.

Angel is like a breath of fresh air because for once you get to see a representative whose bad experiences aren’t romanticized or glamorized.

The level at which you relate to him when he yelled “It’s not an act! It’s who I need to be!” was spiritual and it left you a little broken bc you likely use your persona as a shield bc if you don’t laugh you’ll cry

You don’t like letting your past define you but the line between who you are and who’s the persona built for the public keeps thinning more and more.

The trust issues you carry are so deep sometimes you accidentally push people you care about and who care about you away.

Because you do care, so much but it’s hard to let people in not knowing who’s truly going to treat you well.

Sometimes the only was you let in are the ones who go above and beyond to climb the tall thick walls you’ve put around yourself.

But life has made you strong, resilient. You know how to defend yourself and you take no shit from anyone.

You either want Angel’s rambunctious confidence or you have it and know how to work it. (work it 💅)

Don’t forget you’re more than what you can offer people. There’s genuine value in you as the person you are, not for what you can offer.

a/n: thank you for reading. i’ll probably take a while to upload the next parts tbh !

—

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slashthrashandcrash · 2 months ago

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Give us the dad thoughts please!

HERE ARE MY DADDY JOHNSON SR THOUGHTS..................

So it's heavily implied enough that Daddy Johnson was a war vet, and most likely the war he would have served in was Nam. If we assume Danny is like 30 in 1993, he would have been born 1963-ish, which would have been smack in the middle of all that. We don't know when his dad enlisted or was discharged or how long he served though, but clearly not all the way through. Could have been honorably discharged after 10 yrs, could have gotten a purple heart after a year, who knows--

But I'm also thinking about Mama Johnson. Danny did not spawn into existence as we all might like to believe. Daddy Johnson had to have met a girl long enough to get a kid out of her and keep him, but also Danny never seems to harbor any resentment towards women or mommy issues or anything of the sort, which leads me to believe she was out of his life completely when he was still a baby. Did she willingly leave? Did she die? Did Daddy Johnson have a say/hand in her abandonment? Because also think about that fact that he kept his son and raised him as a single father, in the 60s no less. Not unheard of but definitely uncommon, and Danny clearly had a level of respect for him even if he thought his dad was crazy and made him his first victim.

A theory I read on Reddit that I really like is that Daddy Johnson wasn't actually training his son to be a ruthless serial killer, he was just a war vet telling overly graphic stories with enthusiasm to his young child, hoping to turn him into a "real man", maybe steer him into the same path of enlisting in the military to get a taste of the violent action. Yes, he was still psychopathic and got way too much enjoyment out of his time during active duty, but he only killed when he had a license to do so overseas, and he yearns for the freedom of those glory days again. But Danny was the one that took those life lessons too literally. He was a child raised on his father's PTSD, of course he's going to idolize this way of life his old man seemed to thrive in. He made those foreign stories a reality. He wasn't meant to take those lessons to heart unless he had a gun in another warzone on the government's dime.

And then a bonus idea...we know Danny has white skin by virtue of a few sleeveless cosmetics, but we can't say for certain he's 100% Caucasian, especially without a face model. There could be a very real chance Danny is half Vietnamese, curtesy of his father's rampant debauchery during his enlistment that earned him his own personal war trophy to take home. But the fact again that Daddy Johnson kept the baby and raised him alone without any outward hostility (abusive, yes, but not because Danny was unwanted) tells me he was willing to be a father, maybe simply because it was a son.

#ask #anon

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assortedvillainvault · 1 month ago

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I have a question that pops into my head all the time. What would happen if Lord Shen found love after dominating Gongmen City…

type. a beautiful young peahen with enchanting beauty appears in the city, and Shen decides to make her his servant... and then he feels something he has never felt... and that leaves him with more kindness in his heart

Always good to ponder that would happen if ‘toning it the fuck down for love’ was an option in these films! I’ve left this one on a bit of a cliffhanger, because I...kind of forgot the whole 'more kindness' thing in my enjoyment of Shen being a creepy powertripping asshole...

Lord Shen x Beautiful!Reader

- You’re a noble who is here to pay your yearly city respects, as per tradition. You’re part of the ruling family in a province that supplies much of the food to Gongmen city in exchange for military protection in case of invasion, and are well acquainted with the ruling council after the abdication and death of the previous ruling family.

- When you arrive, instead of the usual warm greeting at the gates – it’s to legions of wolves and new decals of stark white and crimson peacock feathers emblazoned over the city walls.

- With a sinking heart, you meet your guards wide eyes and swallow as the head wolf barges through the doors to shunt your convoy through the occupied city, straight to the palace.

- Lord Shen received you in his throne room, the decorations stripped bare down to the wood and metal, his cannon standing proud on the dias with the albino bird himself looking boredly out of the window at the city below. You couldn’t help but shiver as cold red eyes scanned the streets – knowing that he was calculating the worth of everything he could see not in the value of lives, but money, materials and conquest.

- Said red eyes widened considerably upon turning to face you.

- He was, infuriatingly, dismissive of the length of time your two families had had your alliance, but upon examining the treaty down the most minute of details he agreed to keep your agreement for protection.

- The fact he insisted you discuss this in person with him, instead of your clerks, alone except for your most loyal guard as Shen stood a shade too close to you and even dared to brush your feather train with his own… you were sweating fit to enough to mimic a run in the rain when all was said and done.

- You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath as he declared the alliance to still be beneficial, swanning about his throne room with a great sweep of his tail. Politeness dictated that you bow as you thanked him, but not before you felt his gaze trace your form like a physical weight.

- With a snap of his steel tipped claws he called for your entourage to get packed and prepare for the journey back home.

- You fight not to sag in relief and turn to follow your servants – only to be met with two gorilla guards, spears clashing as they cross in your path – your guards crying out in alarm as the small rams couldn’t gat back to you, the wolves jeering from the guards posts.

- Shen coughed, chuckling as he strode forward. “Apologies my dear, I’m afraid I might have misspoken.”

- He leaned forward and gently tucked a stray feather of yours away, crooning. “I said your servants can leave. You, my dear, will be staying for a Very. Long. Time.”

#thank you so much for the ask!!#Love Lord Shen and his extreemely thin veneer of politeness #over the most petulant unhinged and desperate series of decisions he's ever made #thalassa responds #Lord Shen #Lord Shen x reader #kfp lord shen #x reader

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fernlessbastard · 6 months ago

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You guys aren't ready for the conversation of how Quackity sincerely loves bottoming

I'm not at all saying he wants to always bottom, I'd say he still prefers topping most of the time, but whenever he's down to get something up his ass, he's DOWN to get something up his ass, if you know what I mean

(the switching applies to position only, tho. I sincerely can't see him genuinely enjoying subbing, and neither can I see Wilbur actually domming unless they're both being influenced by years of internalised homophobia and patriarchy and all that bullshit, but even then it's just cringe and they're just both pretending it's not cause it's easier that way (and the sex itself isn't like, actively bad, not to mention that it provides some degree of an emotional connection which they both desperately crave), plus it's still basically vanilla just with a little bit of dirty talk - that's how i see them in Pogtopia (with Q bottoming - if you want another huge post on their Pogtopia dynamic let me know cause I have so many thoughts on it and how their traumas affected them and their relationship and how complicated it all was))

That being said, man's 10000% intensely fucking traumatised

(tw personal hc and following the logical path from canon implications idfk)(also exaggeration) like, if he were ACTIVELY evil and had ZERO (even personal) moral code, then the amount of anger he feels towards Schlatt for taking away the enjoyment of it is probably enough to ignore all ethics and torture Dream so utterly unimaginably he ends up violating entirety of the Geneva convention, and then having 50 new ones written specifically to condemn his actions, just to break every single one of those as well on the way, just so that Dream gives him the revival book so that he can re-kill Schlatt with his own hands

Also he absolutely re-traumatised himself with Karl and Sapnap cause he was for sure like "I shouldn't be having an intense panic attack right now, I'm going to push all my energy into pretending that everything's ok and that I don't want to cry and scream and rip my skin off. I'm just being silly and dramatic anyway ha ha" which just resulted in them unknowingly hurting him all over again. I take no criticism. Q's got MASSIVE communication issues when it comes to validating his feelings and Karl and Sapnap are "everything's fine"-ing way too much on the daily. And whole Quackity should work on his issues, it IS a partner's job to at least try to check up on the other(s) (and vice versa), and Karl and Sapnap clearly always preferred to ignore any hints that something might be wrong as a general life rule. The relationship was immaturely focused on "fun and good vibes" from the very start, so any bad topic obviously felt out of place. It started off with lack of communication and it died cause of it too.

That's also actually why I will always firmly stand by the fact that Wilbur (during las Nevadas era) is the only person with whom he could ever heal, btw (yes, including Charlie as a hypothetical romantic interest). Cause Schlatt's abusive, Karl and Sapnap "deserve better" in his eyes (so he pretends to be fine until shit hits the fan and everything falls apart)(that also applies to his hypothetical relationship with Charlie). But with Wilbur there's enough distance to feel safe and call out his bullshit without retaliation in form of abuse, and on the other hand he doesn't care to pretend to be perfect - hell, he probably purposefully shoves his issues onto the guy cause he's like "you think you're so strong and stubborn you can handle me??? You think???? Think again." (Wilbur does the same btw). They're purposefully trying to push each other away, destroy the "relationship", show each other just how fucked up they are. They're psycho-competitive. Even being the first one to be "too much" and get abandoned turns into a competition.

But it backfires. They bond. They're real with each other. They're stubborn, they're determined enough to stay just long enough to see each other's walls crack. And once they do, the feelings are quick to spill. They're each other's only people to be GENUINELY themselves with - no masks, no manipulation, no bullshit. Just themselves. And that's the first, CRUCIAL step to developing a healthy relationship (or at least healthier than all their other relationships).

So with Wilbur he probably only tries to bottom either once he ACTUALLY begins to feel like he could maybe try to reclaim it, or even if he tries it in a self-destructive way, (considering their history+patriarchy and shit) Wilbur'd know and care enough to realise Q's just trying to hurt himself. And as shitty as Wilbur can be sometimes, he's not a bad person - he'd stop Q if things'd go too far, or give him (at least a temporary) safe space to safely go through a breakdown without hurting himself like that. He wouldn't take advantage of such a low moment, and he would know enough to recognise it's a low moment in the first place.

Anyway once they figure all that out and Quackity's genuinely comfortable with it again, it's for sure not uncommon for him to enjoy some nice aggressive pounding, all the while having one hand in Wilbur's hair, pulling it to hold him close, and the other hand on Wilbur's neck, lightly choking him as they're intensely making out

All that to say Q's a massive sadist but he's also a huge massochist and he'll absolutely have Wilbur on a nice leash and call him a pathetic, desperate, horny dog or something like that as the man's (purposefully) sloppily thrusting in and out of him, causing the most "carnage" he can (Wilbur will be double fisting Quackity and Quackity will be just looking at him unfazed like "your hands are small" (they're not)/hj)

Oh btw to clarify [TW ok more direct talk of SA so please be careful and take care of yourselves]- yes, I'm absolutely saying Q got repeatedly SA'd by Schlatt throughout their relationship. The guy was canonically generally verbally and physically abusive, AND basically the whole point of his character is that he's like, the epitome of everything wrong with society. Add to that the sexual comments which were constantly used to demean, insult, and objectify Q, as well as Quackity's intense, palpitable discomfort which noticeably grows each time the topic comes up when they meet after Schlatt's death during Las Nevdas era, it's a pretty safe bet to assume Schlatt didn't stop at "just" verbal and physical violence. Sexual violence is almost a guarantee when you consider all that context - it's hardly even "reading between the lines". And you can't tell me that in our society that views being penetrated during sex as something negative, especially for men, while viewing penetrating someone as an act of "conquering" and "winning" and all that a character who's supposed to embody as many of this world's faults as possible wouldn't shove his dick where it's not wanted, even just purely to prove he can despite lack of consent.

#tbf i think it's low-key the human condition to enjoy penetration #like obviously there'll always be people who don't enjoy it for whatever reason (and that's perfectly valid)#but i think the majority of people enjoy/would enjoy it (looking at you cishet men with internalised misogyny/homophobia)#like literally going by the most common and normative anatomy of both afab and amab bodies most all of us have the parts to enjoy it #this may or may not be what you'll read in my gay people fanfiction #quackbur headcanons #anyway #tntduo #dsmp #tnt duo #quackbur #quackity #dream smp #tntblr #c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot #revivedbur #revivebur #las Nevadas #dsmp wilbur #fernless rants #fern rambles #ferns spicy art #anyway gonna get to art soon enough (?) I'm really sorry to all asks in my inbox I'm oniy finishing up a pretty hectic irl period

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aishangotome · 6 months ago

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Elbert Greetia: Mad Love Epilogue

Mad Love Chapter 25

♡———♡

After the promised month had passed, I moved into Elbert's mansion.

Elbert continues his duties at Crown, going back and forth between this mansion and the castle.

Elbert: ...Are you really going out in that outfit?

As I changed into my outdoor clothes and adjusted my appearance in the mirror, Elbert, who had been watching me from behind, muttered anxiously.

Kate: Yes. ...Is there something wrong with it?

Elbert: No... You look so lovely, I'm starting to think I should stop you from going out after all.

Elbert looked so troubled that I couldn't help but laugh.

Kate: Hehe... You always say that, so I've started to feel like I'm a peerless beauty.

Elbert: It's not just a feeling, you are...

Elbert: You're the most beautiful woman in the world.

Elbert took my hand and gently kissed the back of it.

Elbert, who looks perfect with such gestures, is the most beautiful person in the world.

When I first came to this mansion, I made a proposal to Elbert.

"I won't leave this mansion while you're away on duty or for other reasons."

"When I go out, I will basically go with you."

Kate: How about we make that a rule?

Elbert smiled happily... then furrowed his brow in slight distress.

Kate: Do you not like it...?

Elbert: No. I'm happy... but a little scared.

Kate: Scared?

Elbert: ...Someday, you might want to run away from here.

Elbert: I... I can't live without you anymore.

Elbert: Even if you run away from here... I think I'll find you and bring you back here for sure.

His deep sea-colored eyes stared at me.

The dim obsession seemed to burn my skin... It made me happy, and my heart fluttered.

Elbert: But... if possible, I want you to stay here because you truly want to.

Elbert: So, for that...

Elbert: I think you need time to go out alone, too.

Even as he said this, Elbert's arms hugged me tightly, as if they wanted to take back his own proposal.

Kate: Hehe... You don't really hate it, do you?

Elbert: ...I hate it more when you suffer.

Elbert's obsession and kindness.

Feeling both of them struggling within his chest, I can't help but feel an overwhelming love for him.

Kate: I understand. Then... I'll go out alone sometimes.

Elbert: Hmm...

Kate: Are you sure you don't want to come with me?

Elbert: ...Yes.

Elbert: It wouldn't mean anything if I followed you.

Elbert gently let go of my hand and clenched his fist tightly, as if to resist the urge to touch it again.

(Elbert...)

My love for him grew in the palm of his hand, and I returned a kiss to the tip of his fist.

Kate: Thank you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ...Kate.

Kate: Well then, I'll be going.

Elbert: Yes... Have a good time.

I walked along a path where only the chirping of birds and the sound of distant waves could be heard.

When I looked back, there it was--his and my quiet box garden.

Victor: It was nice to see you, Miss Kate.

Kate: Thank you too. I was surprised to be able to see the play from such a good seat.

It was Victor who had sent me a letter inviting me, saying he had extra tickets.

Victor: Is life at El's mansion going well?

Kate: Yes, very much so. Elbert has been eating more than before lately.

Victor: Oh, that's good news.

Kate: Alfons was surprised too. How is everyone at Crown?

Victor: As always, they're fulfilling their evil deeds like the cursed ones they are. The other day...

...

The city of London was bustling, the play was as enjoyable as ever, and the news from Victor was very exciting.

But-

(Oh... those flowers are beautiful.)

I found a bouquet of blue carnations being sold on a street corner, shimmering in the streetlights.

(I wonder if Elbert would be happy if I decorated the windowsill with them.)

Imagining the swaying blue petals decorating the mansion, my cheeks loosened.

Suddenly, I felt a longing in my chest, and I realized that I wanted to run to that quiet box garden right now.

Victor: --If you like those flowers, I'll give them to you as a gift. As a thank you for accompanying me today.

Kate: Huh? Oh no, the tickets are more than enough.

Kate: I want to give the flowers... to Lord Elbert as a present.

Victor: Ah, I see. Then it would be rude of me to help.

Victor smiled, as if he was happy about something, and watched me buy the flowers.

Kate: I'm home.

I returned to the quiet mansion and looked for him. I found light leaking from the study.

Kate: ...Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...Welcome back, Kate.

Elbert looked up from the sofa where he was sitting.

Kate: Were you reading?

Elbert: Harrison lent it to me during the last mission... He said it was interesting.

Elbert: He said it would help me distract myself from the loneliness while I was away from Kate.

Kate: ...You were lonely for me during the mission?

Elbert: ...? Of course.

He tilted his head in wonder, as if I had asked something obvious. His affirmation made the longing I had felt in London today shake my heart violently.

(When you leave me and go out... Do you always feel the way I felt today?)

(I wonder if Elbert always feels that way.)

He put down his book and stood up from the sofa. Elbert came up to me.

The sound of his unhurried footsteps was pleasant, and my longing grew stronger.

Elbert: Did you have fun today...?

Kate: Yes... I had a lot of fun.

Elbert: I see... That's good.

Kate: But...

Elbert:...?

Kate: ... I missed you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ...............

I missed this little world with you more than our old daily life.

No matter how exciting the new stimuli were, I was always looking for you by my side.

Elbert: ...What's that bouquet?

Kate: Oh... I saw these in town.

Kate: They were so beautiful... I thought you would like them if I put them by the window.

I held out the bouquet of blue carnations, and Elbert smiled with a troubled look.

Elbert: ...Even though we were apart,

Elbert: You were...thinking of me, weren't you?

Kate: ...It seems so.

Elbert: Thank you... They're the most beautiful flowers I've ever received.

Elbert: I'll put them up properly later... But for now, let me hold you.

He put the bouquet on the table and hugged me tightly.

Elbert: ...You smell like the outside.

He buried his nose in my neck and muttered.

Kate: Hmm....

Elbert: .............I want to erase it all.

His tongue licks my neck, the wet sensation sending shivers down my spine.

Elbert: Until the scent of anyone but you and me disappears from you...

Elbert: ...Can I hold you?

His feverish gaze seemed to convey the longing he felt while we were apart, and the depths of my stomach ached sweetly, so I nodded slowly.

Kate: Yes, Lord Elbert...

Elbert: ..........Kate.

Our hands crawl over each other's bodies, planting heat like embers on our skin.

Kate: Ah… Wait, Elbert… Ah…!

I was trying to unbutton Elbert's shirt, but my fingertips trembled with the pleasure running through me, and my hands just clung to him.

Elbert: ....You don't have to take it off.

Elbert: I will undress you... All the clothes that smell of the outside.

His tongue and fingertips leave a sense of pleasure on my ears, the tips of my breasts, the wet spot that follows down my stomach--all the places that make me feel good.

Kate: Ah, ....

Stripped naked, my body melting into a puddle, I was laid out on the sofa while Elbert slowly draped himself over me.

Elbert: I'm sorry, Alice.

Elbert: I probably... won't be able to let you go until morning.

Kate: ... Don't apologize.

Kate: I... don't want to be apart either.

As I wrapped my arms around him in acceptance, I felt Elbert's hot breath on my neck.

(There might still be a lot of happiness I don't know about outside.)

Just like I found a precious love in the darkness I stepped into.

(Even so, I... like it here.)

(I like it inside the cage of your arms.)

Elbert: Kate...

Elbert: Stay here forever.

--We greeted the next morning together.

He smiled as he gazed at the blue carnations swaying by the window.

Just that made me feel like all the happiness in the world was in this quiet miniature garden.

----

Both Ending Clear Epilogue

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[Return to Ikevil Masterlist]

#ikemen series #cybird #cybird otome #cybird ikemen #ikemen villains #ikevil translations #elbert greetia #elbert greetia main route translation #elbert greetia main story translation #elbert greetia mad love translation #elbert greetia mad love epilogue

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cinderflower · 6 months ago

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Thoughts on SotE now that I've seen/explored essentially everything the DLC has to offer.

This post is quite lengthy so I've put it under a read more.

Overall, I did enjoy this DLC and most of what it included. There were only a few major issues I had with it and most of it is from a lore perspective (wow guess about what!) and a lot due to my own personal preferences. So I'll start with the positive, because there is actually a lot of positive with this DLC.

Gameplay: I really enjoyed the gameplay and world design of the DLC, the new weapons, etc. Overall from a pure gaming perspective this is primarily peak FS. While the bosses could be excessive at times with how few openings you get and how short those openings are, that didn't bother me at all for the most part. Most bosses felt fair and rewarding to fight and defeat and tbh at the end of the day that's mostly what I care about when playing these games. Metyr, Rellana, & Putrescent Knight in particular stand out as the two I enjoyed learning the movesets of and fighting the most (except Metyr's lazer beam spin attack, good god).

Level Design: The levels acting as self-contained areas similar to the base game was definitely appreciated and I did enjoy having to figure out how to traverse the map to get to the various places. Each area was unique and visually stunning - though the lighting and saturation at times was jarring. The frenzied flame area in particular stood out to me as something I'd love to see revisited again from a design and mechanics perspective. Also the Cerulean Coast and Trina's area were gorgeous.

Lore: Trina!! The main standout that I enjoyed was the Trina lore. Also the lore regarding the shadow realm, frenzied flame, the fingers, Ymir, Messmer, and Marika all felt mostly seamless with the base game with most having callbacks to lore scattered around in the main game itself. There's a few things I disagree with fandom's interpretation on already but that's to be expected.

Most of the positive is a lot of what people have already been saying so I'm not going to belabor the points too much.

Now, what didn't I enjoy?

Gameplay: The excessive re-use of base game mini-bosses, specifically the ones I already hated fighting (dragons, death rite bird, fallingstar beasts) ended up all feeling like a chore rather than being rewarding. Similarly, the furnace golems got really old really fast and the gimmick ones weren't even enjoyable to figure out - I'll absolutely skip them if I play through this again. Lastly, I'm convinced the Commander Gaius fight was designed in a lab to be utterly miserable to me specifically because it had every single mechanic I hate in a fight.

Level Design: Some areas were so incredibly barren it was a chore walking through them. As mentioned above the shadows and saturation at times was jarring so I do wish that had been cleaned up.

Lore: By far the lore I was most excited for is the lore that disappointed me the most, and not even necessarily because of the story it was trying to tell, but how it told it. I've always from day 1 been onboard with a version of Miquella that strives to make the world better from a sense of naive idealism that ends up leading him down a similar path as Marika once he sees that everything he tries fails to come to fruition, that he cannot undermine the Golden Order and the state of the world with what power he has and with the power he has at his side. I am onboard with a Miquella who piece by piece compromises his ideals in an "end justifying the means" kind of way - so my complaint is how they actually went about trying to tell that exact setup.

Before even the Radahn debacle, the heavy heavy heavy leaning into the bewitchment aspect of Miquella was so incredibly disappointing because it strips his character of what I personally found so intriguing about him: a character who lured people to his side for his sense of idealism, people who then had to come to terms with their own atrocities committed on his behalf for the sake of this ideal future, and all the complexities that accompany that. I always find that mind-control, bewitching, etc in fiction is an incredibly difficult tool to use in a way that is narratively satisfying which is why I detest the use of it so much, because it does exactly what it did here - it took the characters who had their own motivations, lore, and complexities pre-DLC and stripped them down to being either one-note, victimized, or it trivializes their own lore entirely. Primary casualties of this lazy writing choice: Miquella, Mohg, Radahn, and Malenia

Moving into Mohg - I just hate it, what can I say. It's all the above. The whole reason Miq needs his body is such a weak plot point that I have no words. The bewitchment takes this character who was such a beautiful narrative foil to Morgott, strips him of that complexity, and is now forever cast into the victim role. I'm not saying he isn't a victim, don't get me wrong, but to me it was more compelling when that victimhood was at the hands of Marika and the Golden Order. It felt satisfying seeing a character in contrast to Morgott who rose in the Erdtree's defense trying to make something new in response to being outcast and shunned. Sure, were the means at the hands of an Outer God? Yes. Was the blood cult cruel and wicked? Also yes - in fact, as I write this, Mohg seems more of a mirror of Marika than anyone else. Suffering under the current regime and creating an empire to overthrow it; but unable to claim godhood himself like Marika did, he needed a surrogate candidate for godhood, specifically the Formless Mother's godhood: Miquella (assuming only empyreans can become gods and Ranni's body is gone and Malenia is already under the influence of the Rot God). The reasoning for his kidnapping of Miquella is already there, so why did the DLC feel the need to cheapen everything about that narrative to just go "haha jk he was bewitched this whole time" ! Unsatisfying. Deeply disappointing.

Radahn is baffling, even now after sitting on the lore for a few days, it is utterly baffling to me. I get how the DLC set everything up so please don't try to explain it to me, I get it, but it just makes no sense when looking at what the base game set up and even Miquella's ideals? If Miquella is looking to build an age of compassion, why choose the character who wants to be a warmonger? They even re-state numerous times how Radahn finds that war suits him, which makes sense, because his character was about aspiring to be like Godfrey who was The Warmonger Extraordinaire. It made sense that between his allegiance to Sellia and his tutelage under the Alabastor Lords that he would hold back the stars (which control fate, though the DLC did muddy this up too, a post for another time) and would use that power to defend the control he had and seek out more control. But why would he seek it out at Miquella's side and make a vow for an age that would end in the lack of war? That would put him docile and complacent, nothing more than a tool, at Miquella's side?? Especially because if he idolizes Godfrey, surely he would have seen how when Godfrey no longer served his purpose, when there were no more wars to fight, that Marika cast him out - so why would he ever agree or make any sort of vow to that end? It makes no sense to me. It also absolutely makes the whole battle of Aeonia so trite and meaningless, so utterly devoid of any of the dynamic that made it compelling.

Which brings me to Malenia who actually got me interested in ER lore in the first place. It was her character that got me more interested in Miquella and consequently Mohg as characters. So what the DLC has done to her character is nothing short of tragic to me. What was the point of it all? Obviously for her scarlet rot to be cured is a big part and her loyalty to Miquella is as well and I do still believe she would go to would go to devastating lengths in his name (at least pre-DLC). But post-DLC? With the Radahn lore? Why would she entertain the battle of Aeonia in the first place? Why would she nuke herself and Caelid to try and kill Radahn if it was all "according to Miquella's plan"???? It cheapens the devastation, it cheapens her character, and it makes her look worse. Also Miquella was there as well as we see from dialogue with Freyja where he cures her of her rot so ??????? Why did Finlay have to single handedly carry her back to the Haligtree???? If this was all planned???? Someone please explain this to me because I cannot make it make sense.

The most glaring sins of all the above is that while the other lore the DLC expanded upon had roots and foreshadowing in the base game, the whole of Miquella's story in the way they decided to tell it - with the exception of Trina and his core motives - had nothing in the main game. It was all net-new information added in the DLC. And sure, DLCs are supposed to expand upon the base game and give new information, I don't disagree, but when everything else in the DLC has tie backs to the base game and this plot point doesn't? Not an item description? No environmental story telling? It's just bad writing. I refuse to believe the Haligtree statue is Radahn not Godwyn based on the base game lore, that's lazy as fuck justification. Similarly, I've seen people point to Loretta, and sure if Loretta was encountered in Caelid where all the Radhan lore was but she wasn't, she was with Ranni in the Ranni area so that's weak as hell too.

In summary: if this was the version of lore and Miquella that had been presented in the base game I would have absolutely no interest in the story or the character. If anything this DLC has served to actively sap out a lot of the excitement and joy I had in the series because it handled the main lore I was interested in so poorly (my opinion).

I'll probably still finish Field of Reeds as well as Truth and Blood especially now because I want to see the story through with the care that the DLC should have given to the characters, but beyond that? I can't see myself remaining invested in Elden Ring moving forward, especially not if the DLC canon seeps into the main fandom. I already dislike seeing the few Radahn/Miq things I've seen because of all the points above. If you liked the DLC and the Miq lore, more power to you, but I'll be cleaning up my feed to avoid a lot of it moving forward.

And my one last petty gripe: it's like they wanted the radahn/miq fight to echo the vibes of twin princes, but they utterly missed the point of why the twin princes fight from a mechanics and lore perspective was so interesting in the first place.

#cinder rambles #SotE spoilers #sote commentary

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