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utterlyotterlyx · 9 months ago

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Four

Summary - The consequences of your defection to the Autumn Court become clear as you realise how deeply rooted the betrayal of your family lies within you.

Warnings - angst, self-doubt, trauma, depression, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three

Nesta's toes curled uncomfortably.

Rhys was pacing before her and Lucien who was sunken into the seat beside her, Azriel and Cassian stood as still as stone to the side of Rhys' desk as he walked the length of the room behind it. Anger burned in his eyes, the violet orbs that Feyre loved so much now blazing with infantile fury at what he had lost.

The power pulsating around the High Lord was nothing compared to yours, but it was still uncomfortable to swim in; it was migraine-inducing, it made her eyes feel heavy and limbs weak, and she knew the power within him was teetering on the edge of unleashing.

Rhys, as calm as he was portraying, lay his palms flat against the table surface, staring Nesta and Lucien down, but neither of them relented, neither of them would dare falter in front of him, "Tell me where my sister is," his lips curled into a smile, a sadistic thing of psychotic beauty, his eyes were demanding, and Nesta stole a glance to Lucien whose fingers were ripping at the leather arms of the chair.

You had disappeared from Helion's birthday gathering, your scent floating away in the breeze, and you hadn't told a soul of where you were going. Rhys had assumed you were ashamed of yourself and had returned to Velaris, that he would be able to deal with you later. But when Eris' note had landed in Lucien's lap that evening, he had never felt such simmering relief.

There was history between Rhys and Lucien, they weren't exactly the best of friends, but they weren't enemies, Lucien dealt with him for Elain and Rhys delt with him for Feyre, but if he had it his way Lucien would cease to exist.

"Y/N," Lucien bit, to remind them that you were y/n, your own person, and not just known to be his sister and executioner, "Has denounced her place in the Night Court, she is residing elsewhere."

Azriel scoffed, his finger trailing along the sharp edge of Truthteller, "She can't denounce her place so easily."

"Well she has," Nesta smirked, her stare barrelling into Azriel whose pupils flared in response, "I suppose this is what happens when you raise a female to be nothing more than your dirty little secret."

Rhys bristled, "I would watch how you speak if I were you, Nesta."

Rolling her neck, Nesta drawled, "I think you forget how little I care for your opinions, Rhysand," Lucien hummed low in agreement, legs lax and open against the confinements of his seat, "It seems as though y/n finally realised what you've done all these years."

"And what's that?" Rhys challenged.

Nesta could have smacked that smirk from his lips, but she restrained herself from doing so. Unfortunate.

"Lie," Rhys' eyes darkened, "All you've done is lie to her. You had never hidden her to protect her from what happened to your mother and sister, you used it as an excuse so that no one would find out just how powerful she is. You hid her so that she would never realise her full potential, you never trained her abilities and yet her power still drowns you, and instead of caring for her and helping her, you locked her away in this city and silently forbade her to ever leave."

Lady Death rose to her feet and approached the desk, paying little mind to the daggers shooting from Cassian's eyes. Fuck the male who would let their master manhandle their precious mate. Nesta mirrored the High Lord, palms flat across the table and leaning in so that she could feel his breath on her cheeks, "You have raised y/n to be your executioner, you have spread this vile word of her ferocity and violence so that no one would ever wish to be around her. You created the image of a bloodthirsty monster that lays dormant in the Night Court until her master calls upon her, and y/n has realised just how much you have betrayed her. All she knows is what you reared her to be, not what she actually is or can be."

Lucien shuffled in his seat, opening his mouth and voicing, "You stole away her chance to choose her own path by manipulating her into believing that her place in the world was to be nothing but the Feared Princess of Velaris," he leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the way Cassian took a step forward, "The mere mention of her name strikes fear into the souls of every traveller, they sing songs around fires of her, she is the monster in the nightmares and the one dying men wish they never meet on the other side, and she has been allowed to be depicted like that because you wished it."

It was masterful really, how Rhys had manipulated everyone to believe that you were an awful abomination of a thing when in reality all you wanted to do was see the world and curl up with a good book. You hadn't experienced anything good or soul-awakening, Amarantha had stripped your essence from you the moment she carved your wings from your body, and that had been the moment that Rhys had wrapped his talons around your mind and bent you to his will.

"Tell me where she is."

Nesta cocked her head to the side as she scrutinised his face with horror laced in her orbs, after all they had said all he cared about was knowing where you were, he had no interest in acknowledging or accepting anything he had done. She looked to Cassian, "Do you not understand how disgusting this is? She grew up with you, you said she was like a sister to you that you loved her as much as him," Nesta pointed at Rhys who pulled back from the desk, "How could you stand by and allow this?"

"Y/N's power poses a threat to us all, I did what was necessary to ensure our safety."

"If that's truly what you think then you are no mate of mine," she spat and his eyes rounded as his forehead creased, his façade was cracking. Nesta turned her attention to Azriel, "You. You're supposed to be her best friend, she loves you more than anything, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you, Az."

Azriel shrugged, "My duty is to the Night Court."

"You're a pig," she took in the sight of Rhys who had taken a step or so backward and had found a place to lean against the fireplace, her anger bubbled and there was little she could do to stop the truth from stabbing him in his soul, "Y/N is in the Autumn Court. The one place you physically can't go, where none of you can and I'm so glad she got out of this shitshow of a city because she would have died if she had been locked away for another moment longer being treated like nothing and no one."

"Watch it."

Nesta chuckled lowly, "Or what, Rhys? You'll kick me out of the Night Court? It's a good thing that I'm already leaving."

What have I done?

The thought was on repeat in your mind, an overlapping record jolting with the same phrase.

A pit had opened inside of you, a gnarly black hole full of anger and hatred that had dampened the moment Eris had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a flurry of light, and you could distinctly see the world as you knew it warp before your eyes.

The dress you had worn was draped over a standing mirror, the skirt of it brushing against the glass in the breeze swelling through the room Eris had led you to that night. Flowing water from a babbling brook sounded from beyond the window, harmonising with sweet birdsong and the rustling of autumn leaves. Sunlight speckled through the room and streaked across the thick brown carpet that made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

For a moment, you stopped thinking of how your life had momentously changed in the space of one decision. It was a peace you welcomed before the reality of it came crashing down on you.

Rhys would be furious once he found out that you had denounced your home court and title, so furious that he may not allow you back which wasn't exactly a bad thing. But nothing would made that vein in his forehead pop more than when he realised where you had gone. To Autumn. With Eris.

Your heart raced at the thought of it, your hands went clammy and damp, and you couldn't stop thinking about what exactly would happen to Nesta and Lucien because of your reckless decision.

You are the author of your own story.

A soft knock rattled on the door, pulling your mind back into the present. Lifting yourself from the larger-than-life bed, you padded over to the door, knowing that Eris would never just let himself into the safe space he had gifted to you.

Eris stood on the other side, the sunlight brushing over his face and turning his eyes into molten shimmer bronze, he looked handsome, dressed in tight taupe pants that were tucked into his riding boots, a cream shirt loosely poked into the waistband.

His gaze travelled down your figure that was half-hidden behind the door, specifically at the shirt he had leant you that barely fell to your mid-thigh which left the rest of your leg exposed to him. Your hair was messy from the night full of tossing and turning, but he thought you looked radiant, that it made you look rather adorable actually.

"Good morning," he told you softly once he was done examining you, there was a box in his arms along with a few folded pieces of fabric, "I went out this morning and got these for you," he offered, "You don't have any clothes here so I thought these would do for now until I could take you into town."

Taking the box and tower of clothes from his arms, you smiled, "Thank you," you suddenly felt naked in front of him, the breeze drifting inward and up your legs reminding you of that fact.

If he knew of your realisation he didn't let on, "Our fashion isn't like that of your former court, but I'm sure you'll look incredible in it regardless," his eyes sparkled and your racing heart began to relent, "I'll be in the gardens when you're ready, Fawn."

Eris left you after that, he left you with the lingering speckles of his scent, the same scent that you had drifted to sleep bathed in thanks to the large shirt he had given you. The arms of the shirt drooped on you and you knew that it was due to his large arms perfectly fitting in the fabric.

The clothes were lovely, a mixture of dresses in a variety of styles and hues that you knew would mould against your skin perfectly, tailored shirts and tight leather pants, feminine waistcoats of forest green and red wine with golden embellishments, and undergarments that you knew Eris wouldn’t dare pick himself. Even the thought made heat rise to your cheeks.

Deciding to embrace your defection, one that Eris had been careful not to voice directly, you dressed yourself in a pair of high waisted black pants and a fitted artic blue blouse. It was so unlike anything you had ever worn, but it was beautiful in its own way. Turning to the box, you lifted the lid and gasped at the oyster coloured riding boots that must have cost a small fortune considering the intricate stitching. They weren’t just regular riding boots, no, when you slid them up your calves and found yourself adjusting them to your thighs, you knew they were a statement piece if you’d ever seen one.

Pulling your hair back into a low and messy bun, you found your reflection and grinned.

Eris was right, you did look incredible, like Velaris had been dispelled from you long ago and was nothing but a horrible dream.

Fir Manor was a special place, you could see why Eris chose to live there over the Forest House. It was light and bright and full of warmth from the whispering sun, ornate furniture was littered everywhere, the library was the personification of comfort and grace, exposed wooden beams loomed overhead and the windows were large and clear enough that you could see to the edge of the estate and the woodland beyond.

Your sun-starved skin cried in relief as you stepped outside, drinking in every vitamin offered to it, a low whistle caught your ear and you found Eris stood before a pair of large but stunning stallions, his hounds chasing one another and running between their legs which didn’t phase them at all.

“You look,” he trailed off as he approached, a jacket now completing his outfit and fingers raking through his red hair.

“Like Autumn threw up on me?”

“Something like that,” you huffed out a laugh and looked to the beasts, “I thought you’d like to explore the woodland today, get you out of the manor for a few hours?”

It was an offer than you wanted to say yes to, but at the same time couldn’t, ashamed of your oncoming admittance, “I would love to. It’s just,” you faltered, your eyes moved from Eris to the towering midnight black stallion that had craned its neck to look to you inquisitively.

Eris caught on, “You don’t know how,” a solemn finish to the sentence you were trying to voice, his heart clenched slightly at the defeat in your eyes, yet another thing that had been taken from you, “Well I can teach you,” he spoke, “Today you can ride with me, learn the basics, and you’ll be on your own stallion in no time.”

The High Lord of Autumn stood beside you, elbow to elbow, and even through the fabric of your clothes, you could feel his fire prickling across your skin and work its way into the woven fibres of your soul. He stood there seemingly unknowing of it, and when he looked down on you, waiting for your answer, all you could do was nod.

The stallion, Axos, shuddered under your touch as your fingers drifted over his side and around the curve of his saddle. Hands curled around your hips and you almost fell backward at the touch, Eris was behind you, his chest moving against your back and you glanced backward at him, "Don't get too excited," he smirked, and you wished you could have seen the muscles in his arms rippling as he lifted you up, instructing you to swing your leg over before he settled in behind you with ease.

The reigns became wrapped between his fingers, his breath was hot against your neck and Axos was moving onward after a curt click from Eris' mouth, his hounds trotting happily alongside you, "You have to roll your hips with each step he takes," his voice was gruff in your ear, low enough to send shivers flowing down your spine, "Like this," he unwound one of his hands from the reigns and placed it on your hip, gently moving it back and forth to the steps of Axos beneath as the stallion carried you both into the woodland, through the arched hanging branches and grasslands.

Awareness washed over you at how close Eris truly was, you were nestled at the centre of his open legs, his thighs encased your own, his entire chest shrouded you, and a shadow fell over you from the sheer size of him. He was pressed up to your back to the point you could feel his heart beating through his shirt, a thing you had become extremely aware of but didn't dare shudder away from in fear of him pulling away from you.

The landscape was picturesque, mounds of fresh earth, dainty flowers and fallen branches, leaves of orange, brown, and red, and water flowing through the small brooks, trying to find their way to the river. Even the sun felt surreal, it streaked through any respite of bark that it could, its golden glow spreading and infecting the land. Soft scampering of tiny paws ran through the trees, squirrels jumped from branch to branch, following you and paying no attention to the swarm of hounds keeping an eye on them.

It astounded you how a place so beautiful even existed.

It scared you how place so beautiful could turn into the most vicious of battlegrounds.

"Are you afraid, of Rhys coming here?"

Eris tensed behind you, his hand still lingering on your side, "We don't have to talk about this, y/n."

"I know," you told him, smiling softly as you watched a small bunny poke its head above its burrow, "I just know him, and I don't want to put you or your court in danger."

"I'm not afraid of him, and he will never step foot in my court. I won't allow it," he was stoic, and you knew he was telling the truth, Eris had faced worse than Rhys, he had endured worse.

"I can go, I don't have to be here, Eris."

Axos stopped moving, your brows itched together in a frown and you turned to capture Eris' gaze which was riddled with confusion, "I would never dream to keep you from doing whatever it is you wish to you, even if you wish to leave, I would not stop you. But I would like you to stay, and I think you would like to stay too."

Eris' amber pools softened and he smiled sadly at you, knowing that you didn't wish to leave but wanted to protect him and his home from whatever it was that Rhys could inflict upon it, "You will always have a place here, y/n. No one can take that from you, whatever you wish for is yours."

"Who knew that the fox could be so sweet?"

Eris tilted his head back and laughed, a pure thing of serenity, he moved his hand to your thigh and squeezed it gently before grabbing at the reigns once more, "Keep going, Fawn. You're getting warmer."

The hours ticked by, idly chatter filled the air, he told you the names of his hounds, you had unmounted Axos and delved further into the woodland, touching every tree that you could as if you wouldn't see them again all whilst Eris trailed you with a distant grin on his lips. Sunlight began to wane into its mid-afternoon position, the warmth replaced with bristle breezes and the birdsong drowned out by the emerging chirps of crickets.

Golden hour.

A moment you had heard of, when the sun reached its most comfortable resting place before it beckoned the moon to start its ascent, where the world was coated in the golden autumn glow that consumed the land. You had heard the stories of its beauty, but nothing could prepare you for it as you watched the light shift to a different angle and a shimmer cling to everything that moved. The waters glistening, sparkling and reflecting against the bodies of the trees, and that sparkle bounced all over the clearing where you stood.

"It's beautiful," your voice was a whisper but your eyes floated about the clearing, your body turned where you stood and you drank it in.

"It is," Eris confirmed from where he stood, dry branches creaked under his feet as he approached, "It's something that I take for granted, when you see it every day you forget how special it is."

"I wish that you could see it again for the first time."

A weight shifted at your feet and you peered down to see one of Eris' hounds, Willow, perched atop your toes, looking up at you with a lopsided grin as she panted. Reaching down, you scratched the spot beneath her shin and between her ears, your heart swelling as her tail swatted at the floor and her eyes screwed closed as she accepted your touch, "She likes you."

Willow was an elegant beast, long brown lashes, deep brown eyes, shining fur of tan and black, and shaggy ears that fell down the sides of her face, "I like her too."

Eris' eyes glowed, with what you couldn't quite tell, "We should head back to the manor, you must be starving."

When you thought of it you were hungry, you didn't remember the last time you ate, perhaps the morning of your departure but you couldn't be sure of it. The ride back to the manor felt too short, you were relishing in his company far too much, so much so that you wished that the day wouldn't end.

Fir Manor approached in the forefront of your vision and you sighed, ready to be in more relaxing clothes, but also ready to eat something. You could only imagine how incredible the food would be if even the landscape alone brought you happiness. Eris dismounted first and held his hands up to you, not even straining as they gripped your waist and placed you back on the ground delicately.

Eris' finger reached to tuck a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear, one that must have fell loose from the effortless bun you had thrown your hair into that morning. That same finger lingered, ghosting over the curve of your jaw and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. His eyes were on you, waving themselves over your face.

You could have stayed there for much longer, in his arms with his fingers dusting over your skin. It seemed that others were too impatient to allow the moment to continue as the door to the manor swung open and you turned your head to see Nesta and Lucien stood on the porch with Elain in the doorway.

"Nes?" Eris' grip on your waist tightened slightly but relented as you moved away, pacing up the pathway and flinging yourself into her open arms which wrapped around you tightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Our place is with you," she muttered and you pulled away, looking between her, Lucien and Elain as Eris fell to your side.

"What about Cassian?"

Nesta shuddered, she took a moment to glance at Eris and the apprehension he wore as he inched closer to you, "I can't be mated to someone who could allow something like this to happen."

"I'm so sorry, Nes," guilt pooled within you and she could see that as clear as daybreak, she took a step closer to you, taking your head in her hands and stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.

"Don't be," she shushed, "I chose you. I will always choose you."

Lucien placed a hand on your shoulder and offered more detail, "Rhys is furious, but he knows that he can't get to you here," he glanced to his brother and his lips tilted downward, "He's asked for you, for a meeting at the boarder."

The High Lord growled under his breath and took a protective step to you, it was clear that Rhys was going to attempt to barter for your return, that he was going to use his manipulation tactics to steal you back, "Fine," your blood ran cold and Nesta's fingers gripped at your wrists as Eris rounded your figure to stand beside her, "You're not going anywhere, alright? It's in our best interests to see what he has to say. I'll never let him take you," Eris turned his head to peer over his shoulder at his younger brother and Elain who had drifted from the doorway to entwine her fingers with his, his eyes faltered in want before he spoke, "You'll accompany me."

Lucien nodded stiffly and once, "For her, I'll do whatever you need me to."

"Thank you," Eris' words were sincere and he found Nesta's gaze, "You can all stay here for however long you'd like," then he found yours and he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles, "Forever if it suits."

The sun hung low in the sky, the moon was pushing itself through the clouds and your heart raced with anticipation for the moment Eris and Lucien would both leave for the boarder, "Please be careful."

Eris nodded, rubbing your clothes arms in his hands to allow his warmth to run through you, "We will. Go and get changed, I'll see to it that food is on the table for you three by the time you're back."

"Us three?"

"The boarder is hours away," Lucien spoke for his brother who couldn't bare to tell you that they would have to leave imminently in order to meet with Rhys, "If we don't leave soon then we risk missing the window altogether."

"You're safe here, y/n. They can't get in."

In that moment, all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him, just to bask in his scent and warmth for another moment longer, but you couldn't. Instead, you nodded and allowed Nesta and Elain to lead you inside, and you continued to look over your shoulder up until the moment when Lucien closed the door with a tight lipped smile cast in your direction.

It would not be the last time you'd see him. If it was, then you'd decimate the entire of Prythian with your fury.

Author's Note

Here we are!

Hope you love it x

Someone told me that 'Who's Afraid of Little Old Me' by Taylor Swift is so The Fox and The Fawn reader coded and I cannot stop thinking about it

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @iamjimintrash @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10

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cosmictheo · 10 months ago

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𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐟𝐞𝐲𝐝-𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐧

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: feyd-rautha was used to have whatever he wanted, it was well known, but so were you; what you desired, was already yours. and what you crave right now, is him. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!reader —word count: 1.5k —warnings: death, mentions of killing, blood, fighting (yk the usual feyd), just the reader and feyd-rautha being horny and a slut for each other.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

yes, i'm finally back!! dune part 2 has dragged me out of my cave and has given me inspiration like never before.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. Everyone knew it, perhaps the whole galaxy was aware of his very eccentric... preferences and appetites. He was well known for his immaculate and animalistic way of fighting, of destroying anyone who dared to present themselves as his enemy, of anyone who would dare to challenge him. But he was also honorable, proud and loyal to his beliefs, perhaps too self-confident for your own liking.

But every strong man had a weakness, a weakness that could bring them to their knees, to yield, to be left vulnerable. You were Feyd's weakness, rather, his strength, his fortitude, the fire in his veins, the beating of his heart. And it was quite strange and utterly unimaginable to think that someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen would have any feelings at all, there were those who firmly believed that he didn't even have a heart, not even a soul, that he was a demon in human form, a ruthless and bloodthirsty beast, the worst of the worst.

But there you were to prove otherwise.

It had been your idea to actually take him as a husband. Your parents disagreed, of course, for they thought you would be better off alone, after all, you were one of the strongest women alive, you didn't need any man or woman by your side. They called you the Golden Dragon, someone with too much power for this world, you had abilities that the world could not really understand yet, connections with the universe that could not even begin to be explained, the last descendant of one of the most ancient Houses, one that had vanished in time, detached from battles and senseless wars for power, a House that was recognized by that flag with the roaring and menacing red dragon on a golden field. That ancient beast that many thought extinct... until you came to Giedi Prime riding one.

And you had arrived just on his coming of age day, where his favorite ceremony was battles, of course.

You watched him fight the Atreides men from your seat, your mother and father sitting at your sides, watching him as well, all in silence. Your eyes followed his every move, not even pausing for a second to watch the other poor men being annihilated, no, for your attention was solely on Feyd-Rautha, noting the predatory nature of his steps, his precise and powerful movements, eyes darkened with delight, eager for more death and blood.

"He is a good warrior" Your father commented looking at him in awe as well.

"Too much so, I'd say" Your mother added in a naturally stern voice, distrustful dark eyes, observing the gory spectacle.

"He was born for it" Your father continued to comment, turning his head so he could look at you for a few seconds "For slaughter and death. Only to bring that."

"I think he's cute" you finally stated your opinion, voice low and serene, not even having the audacity to look at your parents, for you didn't have to look at them to know that they were both giving you horrified and scandalized looks now.

Your father muttered your name in a warning tone of voice.

"He would look good in our home. He's built for fighting and protect, just like us." You explained, finally detaching your eyes from Feyd-Rautha, who had just killed the last Atreides standing, unleashing a wave of applause, praise and cheers from the audience. "Don't you think so, father?"

Your look was almost defiant, and yet composed, and your father took it as a challenge, but he would never be so foolish as to show any disagreement with you, for what the dragon princess desired, she had.

So, after sharing a short glance with your mother, he gave you a short nod of his head.

"I do."

And so it was settled.

Feyd-Rautha, for his own part, saw you and knew you were meant to be his. He had heard of you, of course, his uncle used to insist that he must behave himself once your family arrived, for you were worthy of having the full respect of House Harkonnen, and that losing you as allies was not an option at all. So behave he did... or at least he tried to.

"I dreamed of you last night."

Was the first thing he said to you, both found in one of the large, dark halls of his home, just a couple of hours after his victorious fight in the arena. The Baron and your father were in an important and pending meeting in which neither your presence nor Feyd's was required, because the whole focus of it was the two of you, and a possible marriage to ensure the alliance and heritage.

His eyes were barely distinguishable with the all the thick blackness surrounding him, his pupils dilated with desire, hands clasped behind his back, as inflexible as ever. He had put his all into making a good impression, his uncle had ordered him to, and Feyd was quite obedient when it came to the Baron's wishes. He was so loyal to that foul man that you thought it was something no better described than adorable.

The thing was that, as powerful and menacing as he was, he was just another man, another pawn into this colossal game of power and thrones. And you felt rather pity for him.

"Na-baron." You greeted him somewhat pragmatically, turning fully towards him, golden eyes gleaming even amidst all the darkness through your gold mask. "It was a good dream, I hope."

"(Y/N) Pazuk, princess." He just took the satisfaction of deliciously savoring the name of your House, pronouncing it in that husky, deep voice of his. He also had the courage to move closer to you, rising from the wall and stepping cautiously, holding your gaze, looking down on you as if you were prey, a small helpless animal under his looming shadow. He then reflected, thinking about choosing the most suitable words... and the most appropriate ones "It was a very good dream."

You were in his territory, his planet, you knew it well and so did he, you were walking straight into the mouth of the hungry beast. Everything that was there belonged to him, he controlled it all and saw it all.

And everything he was seeing now was you. And he was intrigued, captivated even. Because he usually encountered boring and vulgar people, people who were nowhere near his level, people who he liked to torture and make bleed to death. And the thing was, you happened to stand on his level, and even higher.

"Tell me more." You had the courage to order him in a soft tone of voice. He knew instantly that you were testing him, he was smart and knew how to read people well... but you, you were different, he could see it too, you were much more complex than other people. And he was delighted.

A hint of a phantom smile tugged at the corner of his lips just as he stood in front of you, posture rigid and dominant. "You showed me the way. The right way. The way of victory, the way of life."

You swallowed spit slowly and he noticed it, for his eyes descended to your throat for a few moments before rising again to your face, analyzing every expression that passed through your gaze, every gesture of your lips, every sign you allowed him to see.

Then he twisted his head slightly, face turning somewhat mischievous. "You think I'm scary, princess?"

Now it was his turn to test you.

He watched as your lips parted before responding, raising your voice with pure confidence, naturally, holding his dark gaze. "I think you're quite the opposite really, Feyd-Rautha."

He was silent for a few moments, long moments in which he simply gazed at you intently, with his full attention on you, on your body, almost as if he was looking at your pure soul.

"You are my destiny." He finally uttered, you could hear how his voice had wavered more for softness than harshness this time. "Show me the way, my princess."

You managed to feel the warmth of his body against yours. For someone so cold and distant, his body was hot and warm like fire.

"Are you going to ask for my hand?" You ask in a small voice, feeling suddenly intimidated by his closeness. There were very few who dared to stand so close to you, yet there he was, threatening your personal space. "Because here I am, na-Baron."

Before I could answer you anything, you spoke again, twisting your head slightly, barely narrowing your eyes. "You think I'm scary, my lord?"

He had never been so profoundly proud and thrilled by his title as he was at that moment, when you slowly modulated it with your tongue like a purr, your voice tastefully savoring it.

"I think you are beautiful." He immediately responded. "And I want you to be mine."

And so, fate had done it's work.

#dune #dune part two #dune 2 #dune movie #dune imagine #dune x reader #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha one shot #dune one shot #cosmictheo

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origami-trust · 9 months ago

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Elias: *winding down after about an hour* and then after all that considerable effort, perhaps of years, and careful, subtle machinations and manipulation that even the Web would envy, I can begin to set into play the actions that will complete the ritual for the Eye. I'm thinking of calling it something that demands awed respect and trembling fear, like the Watcher's Crown. Lena: We have Mr. Bonzo. He's like a bloodthirsty mascot we can unleash on people. I was thinking of putting his themesong on youtube because it summons him, and making it go viral. Elias: There's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Lena: There is. Forms 31.2.L through 31.2.LAAAC Elias: ....Oh. What, ah, Entity does Mr. Bonzo serve? Lena: Me. Elias: ....Ah.

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #elias bouchard #lena kelley #Mr. Bonzo #should I say I'm back on my bullshit if I never left #that's about how that would go I imagine #tma #tma spoilers

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echoisquiet · 13 days ago

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“That’s not the same thing. You got trapped in a troll pod, because you helped unleash a bunch of bloodthirsty newborns. I got strapped to a magsidian throne and had an ethertine crown shoved on my head and…”

I love reading fantasy books because this sentence would make no sense to anyone in real life

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc unraveled #unraveled spoilers #Keefe sencen #alvar vacker

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osunari · 1 month ago

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⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.5

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

"Human Emotions”

The previous mishaps marked a turning point in your journey, revealing the horrifying consequences of the curse and the bloodthirsty state it provokes.

Remembering the time you lost control and succumbed to the primal urge to kill, mr. machete was forced to draw his blade. Though his decision seemed cold, it was the only way to stop you from unleashing destruction—not just on him but on everything around. His actions, however brutal, carried an undercurrent of conflict.

Killing you wasn't anything about hatred or punishment but about halting the spread of the darkness consuming you. In a place like this, survival never bothered to leave room for sentimentality.

What had made this revelation even more chilling is the cycle it implies. As your memories fade like old scars, the curse doesn't just hollow you out—it strips away every trace of humanity, leaving behind the raw instincts of the killer you once were. Never not a simple transformation, but a distortion of identity. The urge to kill is all that remained, as if the curse thrives on feeding the worst parts of you. The truth finally exposed; every time the bloodlust takes over, someone must intervene to "reset" you through none other but death. The dark process becoming a twisted means of survival, forcing those around you to make impossible choices.

For mr. machete, this act of "mercy" carried its own weight. Despite his stoic demeanor, the act of killing you hinted at an internal struggle—one he hides beneath his scarred and bandaged exterior, masking any emotion that he failed to suppress. Through deep analysis, you began to realize that his past actions, even his first violent encounter with you, were not random acts of aggression but calculated measures to protect you from something far worse; yourself. His quiet resilience in the face of such moral ambiguity revealed that he may not just be a companion in this cursed world but someone who understands its horrors better than a few at least.

The world felt brand new, free of the gnawing dread that had once consumed you. Your skin glowed with a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons, your reflection no longer a haunting specter of decay but a vision of vitality. Your hair was sleek, strands flowing with a softness that caught the faint glimmer of the ghostly light around you. It was as if someone had pressed a reset button on your very existence, erasing the physical signs of corruption that had once taken over. You moved cautiously, your hands trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from the sheer disbelief of feeling whole again. For the first time in a while, the weight of despair didn’t feel like it was crushing your chest.

But despite the warmth of your newfound state, memories from before lingered on the edge of your mind. You couldn’t erase them—the bloodthirsty haze, the loss of control, and the moment mr. machete had been forced to strike you down. The image of his weapon glinting in the faint light before it pierced through you replayed in your head, and you shuddered. I really did die, you thought. And yet, here I am, alive… better… human again. But at what cost? The curse had reset you, as if wiping a slate clean, but it didn’t erase the growing fear that this new clarity wouldn’t last.

. . .

The creak of a door broke through mr. silvair’s territory. You looked up, and there stood mr. silvair, his calm demeanor faltering ever so slightly as his gaze swept over you. His usual confidence gave way to a flicker of astonishment, a brief widening of his sharp covered eyes before he spoke. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 几ㄩ(you) 乃乂几ㄚ千(healthy) !” he murmured, stepping closer, his crimson-tipped syringe forgotten in his hand. He hesitated as if unsure whether to come closer, his gaze shifting between awe and curiosity.

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped as you noticed a familiar severed head perched on a nearby counter. Mr. chopped’s expressive eyes lit up, his voice cutting through the tension with playful disbelief. “几ㄚ(my) ㄚ乃ㄩ乇(woman) ! ! 几乇(me) ㄚ几乃(miss) 几ㄩ(you) !” he exclaimed. “几ㄩ(you) 丂匚ㄚ乙(beautiful) , 几ㄚ(me) 卩ㄥ几(like) !”

The sight of him ignited something within you—a surge of joy and relief that propelled you forward without thought. “Chopped!” you cried, rushing past mr. silvair. The sound of your feet on the floor filled the room as you scooped the severed head into your arms, holding him close. “Me miss you! Me like you too!” Your voice cracked slightly, the emotion catching you off guard. It had been far too long since you’d felt anything this pure, this simple.

Mr. chopped chuckled, his tone teasing but warm. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乙ㄩ(touch) 乇乂(me) ! ! 几乙(maybe) 几ㄩ(you) 乃匚ㄩ(want) 乃尺几ㄩ丂几(marry) 乇乂(me) ?” You laughed, the sound so unfamiliar that it startled even you. “You cute, so cute!” you said while pinching his puffed cheeks, dodging his question. “几ㄚ(me) 几乃尺(want) 尺几(be) 乙ㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) ! 乇乂(me) ㄩ丂几(wait) !” For now, you just wanted to revel in the reunion, to push aside the lingering questions and simply exist in this moment.

From behind, mr. silvair approached with quiet fascination. He watched your interaction with mr. chopped, his usually cold gaze softening as he observed the genuine happiness on your face. Gently, he reached out and twirled a lock of your hair between his gloved fingers. “ㄚㄩ爪乇(soft) .” he muttered, almost to himself, before letting the strand fall back. “几ㄩ卄(i see) 几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃ㄩㄚ(found) 丂几卂ㄩ(answers) .” he said, his tone warmer than you were used to. His smile, though faint, was genuine.

You nodded, offering a small smile in return. “Indeed.” you said softly.

“乃ㄚ尺(good) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃几ㄩ尺 (happy) .” he murmured, reaching out to ruffle your hair in a gesture that was surprisingly comforting. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乂几ㄚ千(healthy) .” Mr. silvair had been hovering for a while, watching the two of you with a knowing, but unreadable expression. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and smiled, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “几ㄚ(me) 丨ㄒ(in) 乃千(the) 山ㄚ卂(way) . . ?” he remarked in a tease, his gaze flicking between you and the severed head in your arms. “几ㄚ(me) 卩山几乂(leave) 几ㄩ(you) 丂乙ㄚ乂(both) 几乂丂乙(alone) .”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, pausing for a moment. “ㄚ乃(no) ㄩㄖ卩爪ㄒ(pressure) .” he said, offering a faint smile as he opened the door. “几卩ㄥㄒ(take) ㄩ几(your) 尺卂ㄚ乃(time) .” With that, mr. silvair left, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly felt quieter, the tension that had been lingering between you and mr. chopped now almost palpable.

The two of you sat in the soft silence for a moment. The absence of his male companion instantly turned him into a huge orange ball of shyness, unable to show the same excitement as he did earlier now that his vulnerable side was exposed to your dominant ones. You noticed his cute flushed state as he laid peacefully against your soft lap—eventually deciding to ruin it by picking him up and cradling him close to your chest, closer to your beating heart. Despite the occasional flicker of uncertainty in the air, it was oddly comforting as you started to notice his shyness slowly melt away.

“几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 卂ㄒ乃ㄚ(a lot) !” he said, his voice breaking the elongated silence. “几ㄚ(me) 乃ㄚ乙(need) 几ㄩㄚ(more) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 几ㄩ(your) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) ! . .”

Mr. chopped turned his head toward you, his orange braid swaying slightly as he did. He gave you a soft look, his eyes unreadable but softening as he did. “乃ㄚㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃卩ㄖ几(happy) !” His usual sharp, straightforward demeanor seemed to soften in the quiet of the room, almost like he was allowing himself a moment of peace—away from all the other lurkers which he hid a side of him from.

. . .

In the dim corridors of the ghostly apartment, a faint sound of weeping echoed. Its high-pitch would lead anyone to think it could belong to that of a small weeping child—but in reality, it was someone far from small. It led to an empty cabinet tucked away in a forgotten corner of the building, its doors rattling slightly with each shuddering sob. Inside, twisted and contorted in ways that defied logic, was none other but your hurt loyal companion. His lanky frame folded over itself as he wept uncontrollably, his jagged teeth clenched together in anguish.

He clutched his head with his elongated fingers, shaking it back and forth as though trying to dispel the dark thoughts clouding his mind. “几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) , 几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) . ! 几ㄚ(me) 山丂乙几爪(useless) . .” he muttered to himself, his voice cracking. “几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乙ㄩ(fail) 乇尺千ㄚ(protect) .” The thought of you out there; hurt, lost, or worse—gnawed at him relentlessly. It had been two days since he’d last seen you, every second feelinh like a dagger to his heart.

Images of you flashed through his mind—the way your genuine smile would comfort him in any given situation, the way you mimicked their language in the most broken way possible, and the memorable moments you two had shared together. Just as a smile could creep up to his face, darker memories crept in; the way you had looked at him during your last encounter, the anger in your voice, the distance between you. “ㄚ乃(she) 卩几爪ㄩ(hate) 几ㄚ(me) . .” he whispered in a cry. “ㄚ乃(she) 乃几(no) 乃乙ㄚ丂(accept) 几ㄚ(me) 山尺千ㄩ(apology) . .”

The thought of you hating him was unbearable. But worse was the fear that you might be gone. What if mr. hugeface had taken you? What if mr. scarletella’s selfish tendencies had claimed you as his own? The possibilities clawed at him, his overthinking spiraling into a pit of despair. He curled tighter into himself, his lanky frame trembling as the cabinet creaked under the strain.

“几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) . 几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) .” he whispered to the empty air. “几乇(me) 几ㄩ卩(want) 几ㄩ(you) 乃ﾌㄖ(back) . .”

. . .

The halls of the ghost hotel stretched endlessly before you, dimly lit by faint, flickering lights that lined the walls. It wasn’t a place you’d expect to find solace, but somehow, you felt a lightness in your step today. The goodbyes with mr. chopped had been heartfelt, though tinged with sadness, you left mr. silvair’s territory with an odd sense of closure. The past days had been a storm, an endless cascade of misfortunes, yet here you were, walking with a renewed sense of purpose.

I’m going to leave this place for real now.

A soft smile played on your lips. It was true what they said—there was always a rainbow after the storm. You glanced down at your new outfit, the one mr. silvair had offered after coming back from leaving you and mr. chopped alone. It was a gift, he’d said, found among the otherworldly remnants scattered across the strange plane. Somehow, he knew it would suit you.

The skirt hugged your thighs snugly, its fabric moving effortlessly with your stride. The white tank top, adorned with a small strawberry design at its center, felt oddly fresh against your skin. Minimal yet stylish, it was a far cry from the oversized raincoats and makeshift dresses you’d worn before.

As you walked, you adjusted the hem of the skirt, feeling it rise slightly higher than you were used to. A small, almost mischievous chuckle escaped your lips. It wasn’t something you’d normally wear, but today… today, you didn’t mind. Tucked in your hair was the pink hairclip mr. chopped had given you. It was whimsical and a bit childish, yet it added an unexpected charm to your appearance. Did he and mr. silvair plan this? It got me thinking…

You ran a hand through your now well-groomed hair, the clip holding back your bangs from falling into your face. Everything felt so… new. The world around you still loomed with shadows, but for once, they didn’t feel as heavy.

But as your thoughts wandered, a prickling sensation began to creep up your spine.

Someone’s there.

Your steps slowed, the faint echoes of your shoes against the tiled floor now joined by something faint, something subtle. The softest rustle, a shift of air. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was. You’d felt this presence before—silent, watching, waiting.

"Mr. scarletella," you called out, your voice steady despite the small tremor in your chest. "I know you in there."

Silence.

You sighed, turning to face the direction of the presence. There he was.

He stood just a few feet away, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow on the wall. His red hair, straight and slightly disheveled, fell across his face in a way that framed his sharp features. Those round black eyes; half-lidded, piercing, and unyielding—locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. The light in his gaze was unsettling, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of curiosity, admiration even. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on the subtle curves the outfit revealed.

He was definitely sure about one thing—you knew about the curse, and how to combat it. But from whom you’d learn it from, he hadn’t a clue—he didn’t care anymore. He wanted you and that’s all he knew, all he needed to fight for.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin, the air between you thick with unspoken tension.

You shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the hem of your skirt once again, feeling his gaze like a physical weight on your skin. “This one hell of a weirdo…” you muttered under your breath, your native tongue soft but biting.

His grin widened ever so slightly, unbothered by your insult which he understood with your behavior alone. If anything, he seemed amused.

“What you wan—” you began, but your words faltered as he took a step forward.

There was a fluidity to his movements now, no longer the eerie teleport—glitches you were accustomed to. He moved like liquid, smooth and deliberate, crouching lowly to bring his face closer to yours.

You froze.

His umbrella clattered to the ground, abandoned, his fingers reaching up—tentatively and curiously. The glint in his eyes remained, but his touch… his touch was soft. He gently brushes his fingers against the pink hairclip, his thumb tracing the small shape with unexpected care.

“ㄚ卩几丂(cute) .” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers moved from the clip to your hair, running through its silky strands. He seemed fascinated, almost in awe, as if seeing you like this was something entirely new to him. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃(not) 尺ㄒ几(run) 乃ㄚ卂山(away) ?” he finally asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, the motion slight but enough to convey your answer. Despite the unease his presence usually brought, there was something different about him now. He wasn’t the predator lurking in the shadows. He was… something else. You were used to stereotyping him into a psychotic weird maniac that followed your steps like a dog, but seeing him be the opposite of that—it made you less uncomfortable around his presence.

You discreetly leaned into his touch— just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. His eyes widening briefly, as if caught off guard by your unspoken permission. For a moment, he looked as though he didn't know what to do with the gesture, his usually composed demeanor faltering ever so slightly. Yet, his fingers remained in your hair, brushing gently against the strands as if testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy.

Then, his hand moved lower, slow and deliberate, his fingers grazing your shoulder before stopping at the embroidered strawberry on your shirt.

He tilted his head, the faint light glinting off his curious eyes as he traced the delicate stitching. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though the small detail fascinated him in a way you couldn't understand.

“Strawberry… you like?” you questioned, pointing at the imagery embroided in your shirt—to which he nodded.

His fingertips glided over the textured design, the soft friction of fabric against your skin sending a faint shiver through you. It was so subtle, so precise, that it left a lingering warmth in its wake. The way he handled even the smallest details—like the weave of the thread or the curve of the strawberry-felt oddly intimate, as though he were exploring a part of you that was uniquely yours.

“Strawberry.” He muttered, copying the way you had said it in your own language—uncontrollably leaving you smiling.

Your breath hitched slightly when his thumb brushed over the fabric just below the design, his movements unhurried yet deliberate. He was savoring every moment, every inch of this small, simple contact. His eyes flicked back to yours, catching the faint tremor in your chest, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’d noticed how deeply he affected you.

“几卂山乃(nice) .” he said, his grin softening into something more genuine, though his gaze remained fixated on you.

You couldn’t help but notice how intently he admired just about everything about you, his fingers carefully exploring every detail about you as though it were some rare, precious artifact. There was something oddly endearing about it, the way he cherished even the smallest details with such genuine fascination. For a brief moment, you found yourself smiling softly, realizing just how fitting it was—if he were to turn into any fruit, he’d undoubtedly be a strawberry. With his striking red hair and that subtle sweetness hidden beneath his mischievous exterior, it just made sense. The thought lingered for a moment, and then it hit you—he was actually… cute. You blinked, startled by the realization, and quickly looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the strawberry comparison or his red hair; it was the way he paid attention to the little things, the way he seemed so childlike in his wonder despite everything else about him being so overwhelming. The thought made your chest flutter in a way that was both embarrassing and oddly comforting, you silently hoped he hadn’t noticed the shift in your expression.

But he didn't stop there. His hand wandered down, his fingers brushing the hem of your skirt with a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through your body. He paused, his gaze snapping up to meet yours, as if asking for permission, his dark eyes now soft yet piercing, searching for any hint of resistance. You didn't say a word, but the way you stood still, your breath hitching ever so slightly, told him everything he needed to know. You weren't stopping him—you weren't pulling away.

That small, unspoken signal was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, his fingers began to explore further, grazing the delicate fabric with deliberate care. The warmth of his touch seeped through the material, his movements slow and purposeful as if savoring every moment. You felt your heart race, a flush creeping up your neck as he drew closer to the sensitive skin just above your thighs. His actions weren't rushed or greedy; they were curious, almost respectful, as though he was discovering something he wanted to remember forever.

He glanced up again, his expression unreadable but intense, his lips parting slightly as though he was going to speak—but hesitated. Instead, he let his hand linger just at the edge of what was decent, his fingers brushing the barest hint of skin beneath the hem. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable, your breath quickening as his touch sent small jolts of electricity coursing through you. His gaze never left yours, and in that quiet exchange, the air between you felt heavy, charged with something you weren't sure either of you fully understood yet.

His touch grew bolder, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs. Your breathing quickened, the warmth of his hand leaving a trail of heat wherever it went. His agape mouth faltered slightly, replaced by a more focused, almost reverent expression as he watched your reactions.

You tried to keep your composure, but the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. His fingers pressed against the fabric of your skirt, tugging it gently upward, exposing more of your skin with each passing second.

“Scarlet…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He instantly paused, his gaze snapping back to yours, dark and searching, as though gauging your every reaction. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might put an end to his sensual actions, but instead, his hand shifted, moving with deliberate intent after confirming your allowing expression.

As if he could sense the unspoken tension between you—he leans one hand to the wall behind you for support, his other hand slid to your waist, settling there with a possessive ease. His thumb brushed the bare skin just above your skirt slowly, deliberately, sending a jolt through you that felt almost electric. The pad of his thumb traced small, languid circles on the exposed skin, his touch both tender and teasing. The contact was light, yet it felt heavy, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that had your mind racing. He leaned in ever so slightly, close enough for you to feel the faint warmth radiating from him, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every second of the moment he held you.

His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to blur. His touch, his gaze, the proximity—it all became too much, too intimate, yet you found yourself rooted in place, unable and unwilling to pull away.

The heat between you was noticeable now, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. His fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly to reveal the smooth skin of your upper thigh. His touch was deliberate, savoring every inch of you as if committing it to memory.

Your heart raced, the flush on your cheeks deepening as you let him explore. You weren’t sure what this was—curiosity, lust, something more? But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

His thumb ventured higher, the path it traced growing bolder with each second, leaving a blazing warmth in its wake. Every inch he ascended felt like uncharted territory, your breath catching as his touch teased the edge of your self-control. You could feel your heart pounding, a rhythm that matched the deliberate, calculated movements of his hand. His thumb hovered dangerously close to your most sensitive place, the anticipation thick enough to drown in.

But then, he stopped—his entire body tensing, his hand frozen in place. The moment hung in the air, thick with tension, as if time itself had paused. His fingers hovered at the edge of something forbidden, the barest touch brushing against a boundary he hadn’t meant to cross. The shock hit him in a flash, his thumb barely grazing that intimate threshold, a realization dawning on him that what he’d just touched was beyond anything he had expected. His breath caught, and for a split second, he seemed unsure whether to pull away or give in to the unexpected temptation. His gaze snapped up to yours, searching for any hint of permission, his mind scrambling to make sense of the electrifying moment he’d just created.

Mr. silvair’s gift did not come with panties.

[ Route 1 : SFW (Shows a route wherein NSFW content are replaced by SFW scenes.) Skip to the next chapter for NSFW(18+) version. ]

He didn't pull away immediately, as if caught in the struggle between instinct and restraint. The intensity in his gaze softened, the heat of desire tempered by a fragile sense of guilt. You didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at his hesitation, but one thing was certain—this moment had shifted something irreversibly between the two of you.

He stepped back, letting your skirt fall back into place. His grin returned, though it was softer now, more restrained. He fixed your clothes with surprising care, his hands lingering briefly before pulling away.

The silence that followed was deafening, your breaths the only sound in the still hallway.

Scarletella’s sharp gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, as though he was piecing together a puzzle only he could see. His lips parted, the strange, melodic cadence of his voice breaking the silence. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 乂几卩ㄚ(feel) 几爪尺ㄚ(things) .” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue like a revelation, yet spoken almost to himself.

It was as though he wasn’t just stating it—he was savoring the realization, testing the weight of the truth in the air between you. His tone carried a curious mix of intrigue and satisfaction, as if your human emotions were a puzzle he’d just begun to understand. It sent a shiver through you, his words more intimate than they had any right to be.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

But deep down, you knew he was right.

—ch.5

➤ e n d

"Human Emotions”

#homicipher #fanfiction #mr scarletella #mr crawling #horror #romance

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streets-in-paradise · 2 months ago

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Gladiator ll crafted a rivalry for the main heroes splitting the two stages of Maximus' character, exactly like Troy did when trying to emulate the first Gladiator.

Tags: @wildsaltair

GLADIATOR ll SPOILERS BELOW

This won't have the lenght this topic requires, but is the first thing I wanted to touch because I noticed it inmediately.

Given you know I am a huge fan of Troy, Macrinus didn't have to compare Lucius to Achilles in direct callback to the " Hector reborn" comparison Maximus received for me to cook this idea in the back of my mind through my first watching. The Lucius vs Acacius fight on the arena only solidified this perception that kept growing on me as the film advanced, and is that the sequel emulated the original in the very same way Troy did when trying to copy its success twenty years ago.

Taking advantage of some superficial similarities in the original characterization of the heroes from the Iliad, Troy crafted two lead heroes from the one of Gladiator: Hector, shaped in General Maximus, and Achilles, very obviously inspired in Maximus as his gladiator persona. In this last case, the callback is so obvious that the movie has its own version of the "Are you not entertained?" moment in the " Is there no one else?" the warrior yells at the enemy crowd after he easily took down their strongest man. These two men tecnically have an enemy in common, villian that comes from the political plot of the film, but war has put them against each other when one suffers the loss of a loved one in the hands of the other. The narrative shows very explicitly that the good commander didn't feel proud of his actions, but the bloodthirsty warrior can only think of revenge untill killing his opponent.

Stopping the movie's summary here, what I find interesting to revisit is the way the rivalry was constructed. There are no good guys vs bad guys in the Achilles vs Hector fight. Brad Pitt himself, on the film commentary, said that it was presented in a way that keeps you rooting for both. Hector and Achilles are heroes, and it's tragic that they are going to fight. Their true enemy is Agamemnon, who is actually going to profit from this battle when Achilles would take down his first great obstacle to conquer Troy. In fact, it's stated before that at the beggining of the film Agamemnon trully feared Achilles could side with Troy, so he is the only winner here. Seeing all the paralels between the heroes bringing them closer and closer despite their differences, you are left to wonder " This could have worked, if Hector and Achilles would have meet differently/ had an oportunity to see they could be on the same side". They even share a connection with a woman too! Briseis is the cousin of Hector, and Achilles' love interest.

Isn't this the exact same feeling that Lucius and Acacius give you, untill the general manages to convince the prince turned gladiator that he is not his enemy? They accomplished what Achilles and Hector couldn't, but it's too late because the good general will die anyways and chaos will be unleashed from this point. In one movie, this leads to the fall of Troy, while in the other it's implied Rome was saved after all once the villians fall because Lucius continues the task Acacius started.

I find fascinating how, willingly or unwillingly, this sequel's startpoint to recycle from the original follows the same central idea in one of those movies that tried to be like the original back in the day :

Split Maximus' character journey in two characters, and put the two halves against each other for personal reasons that deviate from a political trama where otherwise they would be two potential allies.

#side note: pedro pascal in bana's shoes is a blessing. this generation deserved its own bana hector and we found him #gladiator ll #troy 2004 #gladiator 2000 #lucius verus #marcus acacius #maximus decimus meridius #achilles #hector of troy #paul mescal #pedro pascal #russell crowe #brad pitt #eric bana #gladiator ll spoilers #gladiator spoilers #gladiator 2 spoilers

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 year ago

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ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔟𝔞𝔩 ℭ𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 - 𝔘𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔶

#Cannibal Corpse #Live Cannibalism #Unleashing the Bloodthirsty #Live album #Release date:#September 26th #2000 #Genre:#Death Metal #Themes:#Gore #Death #Torture #Cannibalism #Zombies #USA

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darklydeliciousdesires · 10 months ago

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Nobody's Girl - A Luca Changretta/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I got the message quite clearly that just a few of you are more than a wee bit excited for this, so regardless of the poll results, ya bestie over here is giving you the first chapter. Everybody gather round and meet Emily Jane. She shyly says hi.

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,224

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Brooklyn, 1923. It was a dangerous place to be in certain areas of the New York borough, where bullets fell like rain and crimson bled plentifully into the gutters. Its misdeeds were becoming famous, the mob swelling like a well-fed beast, prowling the streets unleashed, snarling and hungry. In Brooklyn, the mafia were the kings, whether you, your mother, your cousin or the cops liked it or not.

It was generally advised that you did not protest.

Wiseguy compliance was safer than the alternative, and everybody knew it. When they came knocking, offering fistfuls of dollars to store barrels mostly containing contraband beer, gin and whiskey within the warehouses of legitimate businesses, the proprietors knew that you either said yes or you died. That money you were so generously handed would be earned back, though.

“So look, uh, you gonna be lookin’ after this cargo for us, right? That means there are gonna be certain guys on the street who ain’t gonna be too pleased about you working with us. So, what I’m gonna do is have a few of my guys lookin’ out for ya. Fifty bucks a week and nothin’ happens to your business, or your family.”

The story was the same for any other business within the radius of their turf, racketeering forced upon you whether you guarded contraband alcohol for them or not.

It was generally advised that you paid them the fifty bucks.

Of course, when it came to the families going to war with one another, there was nobody there to protect you, whether you paid into a protection racket or didn't. If the police were called, they generally – and purposefully - arrived too late, the large wedges of cash stuffed into their back pockets by whichever mob crew were buying their compliance ensuring that.

No, when the gunfire erupted and turned the silent streets into a bloodied cacophony, you knew there was only one thing to do.

It was generally advised that you duck.

On that particular chilly November night, though, with the threat of snow hanging heavy in the air from the thickened clouds above, one young woman opted not to duck. Instead, she chose to walk right out into the carnage, for it was perhaps the only avenue she could tentatively tread upon in order to save herself from hell.

The Changretta’s and the Calabrese's had been at war with one another over turf for months, disputes rife over what mob presided over which area, promises of blood come good after negotiations had failed, leading to the shootout between both crews in the dead of night.

Bullets peppered the air, tattooing the buildings and cars along the street, screams and shouts only just about audible over the thrum of heavy machine gun fire, men diving and dying left and right. The sins they fought and died for knew no difference, but somewhere in the madness, these men of bloodthirsty savagery had a line they would not ever cross.

The Changretta mob scanned the desolate street, high alert agitating their blood, neurons firing rapidly as they watched the area, looking, waiting for movement. The enemy had been thinned to what appeared to be nothing, their bodies littering the ground, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more lying in wait.

Luca’s unblinking eyes toured the darkness, daring to slowly rise from his concealed place behind the front wing of a shot-out Ford, each step crunching the shattered glass beneath his feet. Nothing. They’d accomplished the extermination mission sufficiently, not a single Calabrese goon left breathing.

“Boss! On your left!”

At his right hand’s call, Luca spun, directing his gun at what his eyes picked out through the inky night, a glowing light splitting the dark, his men beginning to fire.

“Stop, fuckin’ guns down, now!” he bellowed, his cadence rising sharply, way above his usual silky, rumbling drawl. “It’s a girl, you dumb fucks.”

She seemed to glide over the ground, her feet bare, platinum hair matted and tangled, the white lace of her dress torn and bloodied.

“What the fuck? Is it a trap, or what?”

Luca turned to view Enzo with a slight shrug, his hand reaching out to grasp his arm when he raised his gun. “Ah, aspetta, aspetta.” At being told to wait, his right hand once again lowered the machine gun, both Italians watching as the girl continued her walk, her eyes wide and dazed, her face bloody, purple welts marking her features. The closer she got, the more of them Luca noticed, angry and swollen upon her pale skin, the infliction of brutality tarnishing much of her body, a body that buckled as she suddenly fell, collapsing in the middle of the street.

“Ain’t no trap.” Moving out fully, Luca strode through rivers of blood and bullets, removing his long, wool coat, wrapping it over the barely dressed blonde as he crouched at her side. “Hey, what the fuck happened to you, huh?” He gave her cheek a few gentle slaps, trying to rouse her. “You with me? C’mon, wake up.” This truly wasn’t the time or place for damsels in distress. He had himself and his guys to think of before all else.

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly a few times as she came to, curling herself smaller. Her mouth opened, and Luca was sure she said something, but her voice was ghostly, so quiet he was scarcely sure she’d spoken at all.

“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned closer, craning his ear, just about able this time to hear her words.

“There’s a bomb under your car. Twenty seconds.”

With widened eyes, his head spun round to where his assembled crew waited. “Move! The fuckin’ car is live, move!” Pulling her up off the street and into his arms, he and his men began to run, covering the ground rapidly. They’d gotten a good hundred feet away, yet their eardrums still all but ruptured when the TNT blew, reducing the Buick to an inferno.

They took cover behind another car, a car Enzo rapidly broke open the door of, cranking the engine into life. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, eh?”

So, it looked to Emily like she was leaving one set of wiseguys and going with another as the tall, slender man who held her jumped into the back of the car, three other guys piling in, the car shuddering out from its spot and being directed in the opposite direction to the blast.

“Hey boss,” Dante piped up from the passenger seat, nodding at the blonde. “Who’s the dame?”

“You know as much as I do.” He was just about to ask her that very question, looking down to see her head lolled over his arm, out cold once more. Whatever the fuck she’d been through, he could gauge it was a lot. Giving him the kind of information she had, though, information that had saved him and his crew from being blasted to smithereens, he wasn’t just about to let he be on her way.

If she knew about the bomb, then what other information might she have? The firefight had not exterminated all of the Calabrese mob, just a mere handful of foot soldiers.

Exiting the car on the corner of Third Avenue, Luca strode towards the doors of Bella Vita, the bar turned speakeasy he owned, the doormen nodding to him and swinging the doors open. He took an immediate right, the thumping blare of jazz music and patrons having a fabulous time hurting his still fragile, bomb-blasted ears, another large man employed for security purposes opening the next door he came to.

It closed with a heavy thud behind him, the wall of noise muted, Luca beginning to climb the stairs that led to his spacious apartment. It had only been home for seven months, since he had the former three dwellings gutted out and fashioned into something more resembling the comfort he was accustomed to. High standing members of the mafia did not reside in shabbiness.

His former abode, a sprawling townhouse upon the Upper West Side of Manhattan, was now solely home to his ex-wife and three children. For a quicker divorce from the wretched, screaming harpy whom he had once loved very dearly, he considered it a cheap price to part with for the sake of his sanity. Her alimony was also eye watering, but it wasn’t like Luca didn’t rake in serious bank.

He’d also never deprive Milania, Guiseppe and Alessio of anything. His sons were the apple of his eye, and his daughter, well, she was quintessentially daddy’s little girl. He just wished she had a smidgen less of her mother’s hot-headed temper. Then again, he supposed he deserved every ounce of it, not being a particularly good husband to Filomena.

Well, it was subjective, really. He provided for her, took her out regularly, bought her an abundance of luxuries from expensive jewellery to beautiful furs, but he did have somewhat of a predisposition for sticking his cock where he most certainly should not have stuck it. Filomena had all but turned a blind eye to his philandering ways, and Luca knew that was why he’d continued to do it, because she'd let him. She didn’t care, it seemed, so why should he?

Maybe if she’d have been the kind of woman to crack his jaw and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was hers and hers alone, he might have fixed up and adhered to the fidelity he’d promised her, but she never had. It went right over his head that this is what he should have pledged without the threat of violence in the first place.

The final straw finally drove her into action, though, arriving home earlier than he’d expected one day to find him in bed with two whores, one astride his face and the other riding his cock. There weren’t many women out there who could witness the man they loved in that kind of scenario and still continue to love him. She’d given him nothing but pure, unfiltered hell in the time between, Luca agreeing to all of her demands, just as long as she didn’t touch either his car collection, his speakeasy, or his home in the Catskills.

Carrying the mystery blonde over to the lounge area of the open plan apartment, he placed her down on the dark, oxblood leather chesterfield, noticing that she’d come round again. “You wanna drink, sweetheart?”

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. “Hey, you’re alright. I ain’t gonna do nuthin’ bad to ya.” Emily doubted his sincerity, knowing wiseguys as well as she did. His voice was half salty rumble, half viper’s hiss, but each word was delivered with the kind of hush that made her feel soothed, she had to admit. The quietness of his tone made a nice change from being yelled at. “Whaddya drinkin'?”

“A water, p-please,” she stuttered, Luca nodding. He’d been offering liquor, but water he could do, too.

He paused before going to fetch it, crouching before her, studying her wounds a little more closely now she was under the brighter lights within his home. “Those cuts are nasty, doll. Who fuckin’ did this, eh?” He reached for her face, regretting it instantly when she shot across the couch, curling into a ball at the opposite end. “Woah, hey. Like I said, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help you, and for you to tell me what you know about the Calabrese guys. I’m guessin’ you know a whole lot, to know one of ‘em stuck a bomb beneath my car.”

She trembled, her eyes wide, her silence profound. “I’m gonna get you that water.” He rose to his feet slowly, knowing he had to treat her as if she were an injured fawn, everything slow and steady, save her from becoming furtherly spooked.

Caring for another, though, was somewhat beyond his usual skill set. Luckily from his own scrapes, he both knew how – and possessed the necessities - to clean up wounds before they became an infected mess, going to the bathroom and pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine, returning to the kitchen to fetch her requested glass of water.

He handed it to her, moving to his drinks cabinet then and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey, returning to sit in front of her on the coffee table. “You gonna let me clean you up?”

She shook her head, spilling several drops of water as she lifted the glass to her lips, downing it in its entirety.

He nodded, sucking the matchstick he was chewing before removing it. “Alright. You gonna tell me what you know?”

Again, she shook her head.

He shrugged, a little agitated, but knowing he had to play his cards carefully. “I got all night, doll. Could start with your name, though, if the rest is too much to ask.”

She wanted to trust him. Hell, he could have simply dropped her from his grasp and left her there on the street, but he’d taken her with him, back to the safety of his apartment, no less. Of course, though, it was to gain information. Then again, if it was solely that, why was he trying to help her? Men who sought only answers to their questions seldom had the interest to clean wounds. Hell, they usually jammed a gun to your tonsils and told you to spill all as soon as they removed it.

Who was she to him that he’d care whether her cuts were bathed? Still, it took him a patient wait of just over a half hour until she finally spoke.

“Emily Jane,” she finally replied, swallowing hard. “Emily Jane Mortensen. Most people just call me Emily, though.”

He lifted his chin, pointing to her water glass. “You want another in there, Emily?”

“Please.”

Well, she had a name, at least. It was as good a start as any. “You know,” he began, long legs extending as he rose to his feet, walking back over to the kitchen area, “the Calabrese’s won’t do shit to you with me around. If that’s why you’re scared to talk, ain’t no mind, doll.” Returning to her, he resumed his seat upon the coffee table, handing over the glass. “Like I said, though. I got all night.”

Protection. Something she’d longed for, but could she truly trust it? She knew exactly who he was; Luca Changretta, the big boss, the number one apex predator at the top of the mafia hierarchy. It was either the very best, or the absolute worst place that she could have ended up. “Gino Calabrese ordered Joey, his youngest son to have the bomb planted, so that if the firefight didn’t kill you, the blast definitely would.”

His eyebrows rose a little, chewing the matchstick slowly. “And you know this how? Who are ya, to Gino?”

Finishing her water, she reached to place it upon the coffee table, Luca taking it from her, resting his forearms back to his thighs as he leaned forward, looking expectant. “Um, nothing to him, but to his son, I – well, I was his card counter. That’s kinda moot now, though, since you and your guys put about sixteen bullets in his chest.”

His lip curled slightly. “Card counter?”

“Yeah. I have a real fast brain for math, so technically I can’t ever be beaten in a game of blackjack. I won Joey thousands upon thousands at games all over, from Vegas to Reno. Illegal games, too. Women don’t usually get a seat at the table, but I got to, because...”

“Cuz’ Joey boy was partially sighted, I’m guessin’, right? You were his alleged eyes, but truly, you were there to tell him when to make his moves, amirite?”

God, he was very sharp. “Correct,” she confirmed, although Luca still looked slightly dubious, reaching behind him and grabbing something. He turned back to reveal a deck of cards, sliding them from the box and giving them a rapid shuffle.

“Show me.” Standing, he moved to sit beside her on the couch, dragging the table nearer and dealing out as he were the house, Emily moving a little nearer.

“Alright, so I mostly use the Hi-Lo strategy. It means if the ratio of high to low cards is higher than normal, the player can make bets that are larger when the deck is favourable.”

He noticed it instantly, how when presented with the opportunity to show off her skill, she unwound from the nervous, tense little waif he’d carried into his home just over an hour before. “How’d you know if the deck is favourable?” he asked, a frown knitting between his dark brows as he pointed at them on the table.

“You have to track the ratio of high to low cards by assigning them with a value. You begin at zero, then as each card comes up, you add it to your tally. Cards two to six have a value of plus one, cards seven to nine have no value, and cards worth ten and also aces have a value of minus one, so you keep adding and subtracting, betting accordingly. Watch. Hit me.”

He dealt her another card, Emily tapping it. Another was placed. “I’m holding.” Turning the other cards, he saw she would have won her hand had they been playing for cash. He made her do it another five times before he truly believed what she could do, sitting there with slightly widened eyes.

“Look at that, huh?” he spoke, gathering the cards from the table and returning them to the pile. “No wonder he kept you around.”

She shrugged. “Shame it wasn’t of my own free will. All of this mess I’m in, it was because I tried to get away from him earlier, so he took a set of brass knuckles to me. Wasn’t the first time either.”

He studied her face, his jaw tightening. Luca had few codes of honour, and not taking his fists to a woman was high upon that list. He hissed a breath, his eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ asshole. I’m extra glad I shot the living fuck outta him now.”

Dropping her gaze, she folded her arms, looking at her bare feet. “So am I.”

Reaching for his drink, he knocked it back, truly feeling glad that Joey no longer breathed. If there was one thing he truly detested, it was a woman beater. He didn’t have much to be proud of in his life, morally speaking, but he had never and would never raise a hand to a woman. Ever. “Fuckin’ brass knuckles, Jesus above. I know how much those fuckin’ things hurt only too well.”

She snorted softly, her eyes finding his again, her heart doing a little somersault as she watched the peridot shards glint at her through the low light. Hoo boy, he was a handsome one. Deadly, but handsome nonetheless. “Who on earth is brave enough to take a set of brass knuckles to the famous Luca Changretta, and live to tell the tale?”

He smirked, rising to his feet. “Nobody these days, but when I was still comin’ up, plenty of guys.” Moving back to the drinks cabinet, he took the bottle of whiskey, turning to her. “You want another water in there, or somethin’ else? I got just about everythin'.”

Peering at him over the back of the couch, he felt his inside pinch a little. She was so tiny and cute. “Could I have a vodka rocks, please?”

“You can, but ice I don’t have. Gimme a sec.” He strode across the space again, heading back down the stairs, the sounds of music growing louder and then returning to the dull rumble, Emily moving to pull on the long coat around her, feeling chilly. It smelled of him. The woody, musky, yet slightly spicy notes of whatever cologne he wore filled her nose as she held the soft lapels to her face.

The sudden blare of music signalled his imminent return, the tall Italian appearing from the stairwell once more, carrying with him an ice bucket he placed upon the table, going back to the cabinet and collecting the whiskey and vodka bottles, pouring a large measure into her glass, dropping the ice in and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she spoke, Luca noticing her manners were impeccable, also watching her face as it twisted into a grimace, Emily hissing before straightening her leg, examining her grazed knee.

He gestured to her injuries with a sweeping hand. “Gonna let me help you with that yet? You’re kinda bleeding all over my couch.”

In an instant, she looked horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, and probably your coat, too. I’m an idiot, I'll sit on the floor.”

He moved swiftly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ain’t no bother, doll.” In truth, it was, but he kept that to himself. Blood cleaned off, he had to concede. This girl, he needed to keep her sweet in order to keep on feeding him further information that he sensed she possessed. Joey Calebrese might not have been high up within his criminal family, a street guy who was not yet elevated at the time of his death (and which was why, Luca guessed, he’d used Emily for her card counting skills to make the kind of bank his lower standing didn’t allow for) but being around them, she was bound to know more.

She was a valuable asset, and he’d treat her as such.

He picked up the handful of gauze and iodine, moving back to the coffee table. “It’s gonna sting like fuck, but you likely know that.”

She did. Bracing herself, she clenched her teeth as one by one, Luca dabbed each cut and graze with the iodine-soaked gauze, wincing, hissing at the burning, sharp sting. “Gonna be a little black n’ blue for a while, honey,” he drawled, his mouth tilting into a smile. “Still pretty, though.”

He winked, and it sent a spark through her, although the rational side of her brain told her that allowing herself to be charmed by a dangerous mobster was the last thing she truly needed right then. He didn’t make it easy, though, being attentive to her, looking as good as he did. She’d always had a thing for older men, and she could guess he likely had at least a decade and a half on her twenty-three years.

“So, you gotta home I can take you to, people wonderin’ where the fuck you vanished to?”

Home. It was a word she didn’t really have any true comprehension over, the place that to everyone else acted as a sanctuary, a safe haven, had truly been anything but to her. “No, I don’t.”

“No port in a storm, huh?” he asked, gently lifting her leg to rest upon his slender thigh, smoothing her dress up a little to reach a cut beneath. His hands were so hot. Yet another spark flared within her belly.

“No, no port.” She paused, meeting his eyes, knowing he was expecting more. “I’ve no idea who my father was, and my mother was a drunk, still is for all I know. I don’t have any siblings either so when I was eighteen, I left California and made my way across the country to New York. Wanted a better life for myself. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I have a habit of trusting the wrong people.”

He looked away from her then, eyes flitting to her knee, pressing the gauze onto an open cut. He was definitely a man she shouldn’t have trusted, and he wasn’t entirely sure why that suddenly prickled quite sharply at his conscience, but it did.

“You probably don’t trust me, but if you wanna crash here until you find your feet, you’re welcome to.”

She looked at him with big, grey eyes full of hope. “Really, you don’t mind?”

He sniffed. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Placing the cork back into the iodine bottle, he moved to take a seat beside her again, picking up his drink. “Might be better if you do, actually. The Calabrese’s are likely lookin’ for ya. If you vanished and didn’t wind up as a dead body, and I didn’t get blown up, then it don’t take no genius to work out that you ratted on ‘em.”

Shit. She hadn’t even considered that. It was a fear Luca was banking on playing upon, and it had worked flawlessly. “S’okay, though, sweetheart. As long as you’re with me, they ain’t gonna touch ya. You’re fine.”

Was she, though? Emily truly had to wonder. She pondered over it for the rest of the night, Luca telling her she could go take a bath and clean up, loaning her one of his shirts to wear that absolutely buried her, telling her he’d take the couch while she slept in his bed. She tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I ain’t exactly a gentleman in a lot of respects, but you ain’t gonna sleep on the couch. Nah. It’s fine.”

Was it, though? As her tired eyes fluttered, lying in the comfort of a big bed that smelled like her host, she truly did have to wonder.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #luca changretta #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily #adrien brody

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 1 year ago

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A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 1

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Note: This story will eventually include bits from the Anime, so you should expect some Spoilers if you haven't watched it. However, everything written here is purely based on the liveaction adaptation.

Please consider that Mihawk is 41 when he first appears in One Piece, which means that the Reader is supposed to be in her thirties at best, even if the age isn't mentioned.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Read on AO3.

CHAPTER 1

The day you headed out to sea from your place of origin, you didn't anticipate the course of your life to take a turn for the worse. Of course, in a world infested by piracy, riots, and wars, you were conscious of the potential perils that lurked in the horizon. However, you did not foresee that you would end up with a bounty on your head for taking the life of a Marine Admiral, who had put you through numerous days of torment and barbarism.

If anyone had conveyed to you about a similar possibilty, you would have deemed it to be a matter beyond your wildest imagination. You? A wanted criminal with the blood of another person on your hands? You were renowned for your compassion in your hometown. You could never harm a fly, no matter how hard you tried. And yet, the time you spent incarcerated for a minor food theft in the East Blue brought forth a substantial change in the person you used to be.

You had no desire of becoming a pirate, least of all taking someone's life the way you did. The legendary treasure, the One Piece, didn't entice you in the slightest, as it could very well be a falsehood concocted to unleash disorder on the world. You were seeking nothing but an outing, a break from the monotonous cycle that had exhausted you for quite a long time. You yearned to be on an adventure, to observe the marvels of the ocean, and to gain your financial stability through ethical methods.

You were once the pride of your family, and the thought of how profoundly disappointed they must have felt for your sullied repute overflowed you with mortification.

For a while, everything was as normal as it could be. You worked from one tavern to another, gathering information about the most formidable pirates setting their sights on the Grand Line. You heard several tales from inhabitants and wayfarers, even from the Marines themselves. You were thoroughly pleased with the experience and the wisdom you were acquiring for your own good during your travels.

Unfortunately, things started to deteriorate when your ship developed a massive leak, to the point where you barely managed to reach the next harbor before capsizing and sinking down. The funds available to you weren’t nearly enough to buy a new one, and thus you had to depend on occasional fishermen or merchants for transportation, still paying them handsomely for their help.

On a day when misfortune struck, you were robbed of all your Berries and supplies due to your naivety. You were unable to report the incident to the authorities as the culprits fled as soon as you set foot on land, leaving you without a single coin in your pockets and no food to sustain you during your wanderings. Without money, you could no longer afford passage by ship or meals at local taverns. You were obliged to begin from the outset, tracking down employment opportunities that seemed increasingly difficult to come by.

And then the harassment began, with unscrupulous dealers or pirates demanding a certain type of payment in exchange for their services, which you naturally rejected. As time passed, you had to resort to adopting a defensive stance the hard way, procuring blades and handguns via questionable channels.

You were tired, demoralized, and desperately hungry. Your suffering clouded your judgment, pushing you towards a path you never thought you would accept as your only option.

And then, you had the not-so-brilliant idea of stealing a piece of bread from a market, thinking that just one time wouldn't really be the end of the world. Little did you know, you were about to seal your own fate, as the Marines happened to walk by just as you committed the act, completely unaware of their presence.

You begged for your freedom, spelling out justifications in the hope that they would provide you with the considerate treatment that innocent citizens were supposed to receive. You were gravely mistaken.

The discovery of two sharp daggers and a fully loaded pistol in your backpack certainly did not aid your predicament. Despite numerous attempts to convince them that you were not a pirate, they refused to listen to your reasoning and brought you directly to the Marine base, where a cold cell awaited your arrival.

They left you there without food and barely any water for three days, until the Admiral in charge finally decided to acknowledge your presence. You had hoped that they would recognize their grave misinterpretation and offer you the justice you were due, but you were astonished to find that the conditions of the enstablishment were just as oppressive as the enclosure of your prison.

The commander wished to gain knowledge pertaining to certain fugitive pirates, whose heads were carrying substantial rewards for their crimes against the Government. In view of this, the man put forth an offer that he reckoned would be difficult for you to refuse; join forces with him in return for your liberty.

The hitch was that, besides knowing their names, you were not well-informed concerning these outlaws. The Admiral was convinced that you were withholding more than you wanted to disclose, referring to you as a member of those despicable parasites. The Marines didn’t even put in the effort to corroborate your innocence prior to deeming you officially guilty, using their prestige as a weapon and exerting power over those who were vulnerable.

Ultimately, after realizing you were unwilling to cooperate, the Admiral employed brute force in a bid to extract any secret you were keeping to yourself. In the confines of your cell, you were left to starve and decay as your body continued to weaken. The man would make daily visits, sadistically using his blade to inflict deep wounds on your back, your shirt being ripped in the process. One slit progressed to two, then three, and then ten, until you were unable to keep track of the number. The persistent agony was compounded by the dripping blood, which formed a revolting pool on the floor and stained your uncomfortable bed.

He was a sadist, twisted by madness, using your body as his canvas.

On the brink of abandoning all your hope and acquiescing into rotting in that prison, a guard entered to release you, apprising you that the Admiral had a final proposal ready for you. By then, you had already lost a considerable amount of weight, and you could barely remain standing on your enfeebled legs. The oldest scars on your back itched as they recovered, though the fresh ones were still moist and soaked with blood.

You were forcefully shoved into the office as the guard closed the door behind you, leaving you on your knees, alone with your jailer. Once again, the Admiral attempted to coerce you with promises of salvation, threatening a proper execution the following day if you didn't comply.

It was evident that he had grown tired of toying with you. The Admiral's obsession with pirates seemed to be a severe mental illness, as he saw evil lurking in every corner, when in reality, he was the only monster in front of you.

The moment he turned his back to you and placed his arms across his torso while looking at the window, you became aware of an opening directly upon his desk. There was an empty plate sitting there, with a fork and knife neatly arranged upon it.

A knife, sharp enough to effortlessly cut through a thick steak.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears as you swallowed hard. Time was of the essence and you needed to act swiftly, without any hesitation whatsoever. Summoning every ounce of energy left in your frail body, you stood up from the polished floor, careful to make minimal noise with your tattered boots. Advancing at a steady pace and with a calculated gait, you went up to the large table, your eyes fixed on the back of the Admiral's head.

Ignoring his eccentric speech, you stealthily grasped the knife by its handle, slowly leading it away from the dish and carefully concealing it inside the sleeve of the meager garment you were still wearing.

You could barely take a couple of steps back before he turned to face you once more, a malicious grin spreading across his lips. He taunted you, expressing his pity for your miserable state and remarking how much fun the two of you could have if only you were smart enough to choose his side.

He walked past the table, extending his big hand to touch your shoulder. You acted on pure instinct as the hunger, resentment, pain, and fear that had consumed you for the longest days of your life surged to the surface all at once. You let the knife slip from your sleeve, tightly gripping it in your hand before delivering a quick and effective stab to his neck, slicing it open.

For a brief moment, you felt nothing. With cold, deadpan eyes, you stared at him as he gurgled and collapsed to the floor. It was only when you saw the blood pouring forth around him that you abruptly snapped back to reality, realizing the gravity of what you had just done.

Panic surged through you when you heard the guard knocking at the door, and from there, everything happened in a blur of rapid movements. As the knob turned, you ran to hide behind the door, seizing the opportunity to slip away when the guard discovered the Admiral's lifeless body in the room. In a rush of agitation, you escaped through the halls and stumbled upon a Marine uniform that was slightly oversized. Fright filled your heart as the shrieking alarm carried on blaring through the base, until at last you managed to end up outside as a disguised cadet.

You discovered an unattended boat moored at the port, which you promptly took control of. Embarking on a journey to an unknown destination, you discarded the stolen uniform in the middle of the ocean, allowing yourself to finally collapse and rest.

The more you pondered on it, the less determined you felt to adhere to the regulations. You believed that the laws and policies of the world were established to serve a better code, but those who worked for the government, meant to become an example to admire and strive to imitate, turned out to be even more despicable than the scum they vilified.

Whenever your scars itched, or someone asked about them to satiate their curiosity, you were reminded of the little trust you could bestow on anyone in your proximity. In the event that even a senior official had the power to pronounce fatal verdicts and physically torment a civilian without carrying out an adequate examination, to whom could you turn for protection?

Ultimately, you realized that the most logical option available for you was to return to your hometown. But then, as you began preparing to leave your life at sea, a wanted poster bearing an image of your disraught face was displayed on the walls.

In that moment, you felt as if you had been shattered into a thousand pieces. You were now persecuted like any other pirate the Marines wanted to capture, and you could no longer travel to your island for the sake of your family and friends. You were alone, lost, on the run from the authorities and bounty hunters.

If they were going to treat you like a pirate, then you would just become one. And so you learned, fought, stole, cheated, and fled, over and over again. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you found yourself living in a way that would prevent you from falling and drowning, training extensively and gaining muscle. You became adept at disguising yourself on the spot, and acquired a set of skills that you never imagined would be fitting for your old, innocent self.

All you could do was endure and survive.

Between your shady deals and overheard conversations, you learned about a certain Warlord of the Sea, and none other than the strongest swordman in the world. A man whom you, with your existing notoriety, should have never dared to cross paths with.

And yet, you did.

Dracule Mihawk, once a dangerous pirate known as the Marine Hunter, had now formed an alliance with the World Government, allowing him to carry out his questionable deeds while putting on a facade of indifference. The first time you laid eyes on him, you were casually strolling down a bustling street. He leaned against a stack of wooden crates, seemingly at ease as he carefully surveyed his surroundings.

You could only identify him based on an outdated, revoked bounty poster that could still be spotted here and there on walls or scattered in the streets. However, at the outset, you didn’t know that he was specifically targeting you of all people.

It became increasingly clear to you that he had been dispatched by the Marines to pursue you relentlessly, as you began to notice his presence wherever you went. You couldn't comprehend how he managed to track your every move, as you were confident that no one was tailing you. Yet, he displayed the stealthiness of a bird of prey, meticulously observing your actions before launching his ultimate assault. You couldn't help but feel intimidated, especially in the presence of his colossal sword and menacing yellow hawk-like eyes, albeit beautiful and captivating.

He didn't even pay you any evident attention until you met his gaze by chance, sparking an electric and unsettling connection between the two of you. Despite his detachment, showing little interest in his surroundings, you couldn't help but notice that the more you tried to hide, the closer he seemed to lurk nearby.

One day, as you hastened your pace, you arrived at a bustling village market, with Mihawk still trailing a few steps behind. You quickly veered towards a clothing stall, feigning fascination in the assortment of hats and dresses on display. The merchant, a friendly middle-aged man with long hair and a sumptuous beard, warmly urged you to explore more of his wares in the privacy of a fitting booth.

In order to alter your appearance, you donned a voluminous, frilly red dress that gracefully swept the floor, effectively hiding your outfit underneath. To further conceal yourself, you completed the look with a matching hat that kept your hair securely tucked away.

As Mihawk strolled by the stall, you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror before you. Maintaining your composure, you intentionally raised the pitch of your voice, exclaiming with exaggerated enthusiasm about the vibrant colors and exquisite materials of the dresses, even altering your accent.

The merchant's genuine excitement warmed your heart despite your act. After paying for the clothing, you bid the man farewell with a gentle wave and walked in the opposite direction, leaving the stall and stealing a final glance behind.

You caught sight of the Warlord’s sword and the white feather of his hat vanishing amidst the crowd. With a satisfied smile grazing your lips, you turned on your heels and dashed towards the docks where your new boat awaited you.

Just over a month later, you found yourself once again face-to-face with the swordman, this time at a tavern in a different part of the East Blue. Despite his distance from your position at the bar, the frequent glances you exchanged with each other evoked a completely different sensation.

In a peculiar manner, he seemed to be savoring the chase, never resorting to his strength or speed to corner you. Instead, he engaged in a game of hide and seek, seemingly finding amusement in the pursuit.

Naturally, you weren't foolish enough to approach his table and engage in conversation with a man who was likely plotting to hand you over to the authorities. After emptying your glass, you rose from the bar and made your way outside into the open air. Without bothering to check if he was following, you skillfully maneuvered yourself through corners and darted down alleys, searching for the most efficient shortcut you could find. Finally, you arrived at your vessel and embarked on another voyage, mustering the courage to look at the docks as the boat moved further away.

Mihawk stood there, unmoving, his expression void of any emotion, his golden eyes piercing into you without a single blink.

And just as it had happened before, a grin spread across your face. It was a triumphant gesture, a deliberate provocation to show him that you were also thoroughly enjoying the game. Mihawk remained unfazed, turning away and retracing his steps without making any attempt to pursue you by sea.

This pattern continued for quite some time, with more encounters scattered all over the East Blue. Each one of them ended with your successful escape, leaving his intense gaze fixed upon you. At some point, you began to suspect that he was intentionally letting you get away. It seemed unbelievable that a skilled fighter with his reputation would consistently be defeated by a novice like yourself.

While it was initially exhilarating and you liked the thrill of the challenge, in the end, it left you with a profound emptiness in your heart. Dracule Mihawk was undeniably a handsome man, but his attention proved incapable of filling the void that lingered within you. This was primarily due to his unfriendly intentions, as he solely aimed to capture you eventually. The truth was that you deeply missed your family, friends, and the mundane life that you could no longer reclaim. Ever since obtaining that bounty, you had to sever all contact with your loved ones for their safety. The overwhelming sense of loneliness and the feeling of being trapped in an endless cycle weighed heavily on you, leaving an intense craving for a definitive way out that appeared impossible to find at the time.

Your reasoning led you to the conclusion that if Mihawk's true intention was to hand you over to the Marines, he would have to kill you in the process.

While you didn't necessarily desire death to befall you, the life of a pirate had its limitations when it came to joy and fulfillment. It simply wasn't the path meant for you, and you couldn't help but wish you had known what awaited you beyond your familiar surroundings before leaving behind everything and everyone you held dear.

You were utterly exhausted, drained both physically and emotionally. The scars on your back had fully healed and partially faded, but they still left behind a collection of unsightly, rough marks that marred your skin. You were so desperate to avoid setting foot in another Marine base that you would have willingly allowed Mihawk to annihilate you.

And so, the next time you saw him, it was meant to be the very last.

Voices reached your ears, hinting at the existence of a cave brimming with wonders on a small, inhabited piece of land. Given the prevalence of pirates eager to seize anything valuable, you didn't have high expectations for what you might discover. fueled by curiosity and with no pressing obligations, you made the bold choice to embark on this adventure, inspect the cave and fearlessly delve into its depths.

As you had anticipated, there were footprints marking the sandy and muddy terrain within the cave. Empty treasure chests were scattered about, their contents long since plundered. You could only salvage a few scattered pieces of gold and jewelry that had been left behind in various locations.

Though the loot may not have been plentiful, it was still a satisfying outcome after such a long journey. Your focus was captivated by a ring that could have easily been overlooked, partially buried in the sand with only a corner of its metallic surface peeking out. It was a stunning golden band embellished with a raw emerald gemstone, a piece that felt perfectly suited for you and one that you eagerly anticipated wearing once it had been thoroughly cleaned.

Silver chains, leather strings, sparkling gemstones, and ethnic rings. You cherished collecting these pieces from your travels as mementos, a way to etch every experience into your memory, symbolize your personal growth, and serve as a reminder that you were alive and thriving.

With your bag partially filled with your newly discovered treasures, you gracefully emerged from the cave, feeling the gentle breeze caress your hair. Lost in contemplation, you strolled along the shoreline, your eyes set upon your boots as they sank into the sand, making a satisfying sound with each step.

It took a moment for you to realize that you were no longer alone on the island. Someone stood just a few feet away, observing your approaching figure with a composed expression.

As you finally raised your gaze, your heart started pounding, and a sense of unease coiled in your stomach. Standing before you was Dracule Mihawk, his piercing golden eyes locked on you.

Gradually, your movements slowed until you finally came to a halt. Despite the noticeable distance separating the two of you, he made no attempt to close the gap. His stance exhibited no hint of malice; his hands rested calmly at his sides as he observed you, not even reaching for his sword.

The longer you locked eyes with him, the less inclined you felt to leave. With a subtle smile, you displayed unwavering determination and proceeded to walk forward with confidence. Mihawk remained motionless, offering no indication of initiating combat as you drew nearer, leaving his intentions cloaked in enigma.

You walked past him, deliberately avoiding eye contact and redirecting your attention to the path ahead. Your ears remained vigilant, attuned to the surrounding sounds, making sure that he wasn't closely trailing behind you.

However, shattering the silence, his voice suddenly reached your ears, and you heard him speak for the first time since it all began.

"You are quite challenging to track down.”

You stopped abruptly, clutching the bag tightly on your shoulder. Swallowing hard, you fought to suppress the lump that formed in your throat. His voice, like liquid honey, flowed effortlessly, captivating your attention and exuding a calmness that instantly alleviated your nerves.

You took a deep breath, reluctantly acknowledging that the sound of his voice was stirring emotions within you that you weren't ready to confront at this moment.

You turned around, meeting his golden eyes once again. “Not that much for you, apparently,” you retorted, your words laced with a hint of defiance.

For a brief moment, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the corners of his lips twitching, as if hinting at a smile. However, it immediately disappeared, leaving only a trace of its presence.

"Now what?" you asked him. "Are you finally going to capture me and hand me over? If that's the case, then you'll have to kill me. I won't put up any resistance.”

“Is that so?”

No matter how much you strained to interpret his expression, he appeared remarkably disinterested, showing no signs of engagement or emotion.

You shrugged, "We both know that I wouldn't stand a chance against your sword. The bounty poster states 'dead or alive,' and I doubt they would be concerned about the state I'm in as long as I'm eliminated.”

Casting a fleeting glance at the sword at your hip, he emitted a curious hum, tilting his head slightly to the side, almost imperceptibly. Silence settled between the two of you, accompanied only by the gentle rhythm of the waves, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the atmosphere.

You waited patiently, but he made no indication of taking any action against you.

"Well, that was quite the delightful conversation," you remarked sarcastically, pivoting on your heels and resuming your stride.

As your eyes landed on your boat in the distance, you suddenly realized that the urge to hasten your steps had dissipated. The weariness of constantly running away had taken root in you, leaving you with a profound sense of homelessness, unable to find a place where you truly belonged.

To your surprise, you heard him steadily moving behind you, his footsteps synchronizing with your own in a deliberate and unhurried rhythm. You continued along your path, maintaining silence, a part of you anticipating a powerful strike that would bring you down. However, to your relief, the enigmatic man made no attempt to impede you. Not even a hint of hostility could be sensed.

As your nervousness heightened, you made a deliberate choice to pause, silently inviting him to draw nearer. With caution, your hand moved to release the dagger from its secure holster on your belt. A quick glance at the subtle shadows cast on the sand confirmed that he was now mere inches away, in your immediate proximity.

In one seamless motion, you spun around, positioning your blade against his throat without applying any pressure. It served as a warning, your glare speaking volumes without the need for words.

Mihawk remained unaffected, appearing to disregard the presence of the dagger entirely. Frustration surged, causing you to tighten your grip on the hilt of the knife, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

"Are you seriously planning to follow me around without making a move?" you demanded, your voice tinged with exasperation. "How much longer do you think I can endure this game of cat and mouse?"

"You can lower that knife," he replied, his tone filled with discontent. "I have no intention of causing you any harm.”

As you observed him up close for the first time, you couldn't help but feel a slight infatuation with his striking appearance. His eyes held a captivating allure, his face partially shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, and his dark hair cascading in soft curls at the nape of his neck.

In an effort to regain composure, you cautiously withdrew the blade from his throat, though you kept your hand poised and prepared.

"Didn't the Marines send you after me?" you asked.

"Oh, they certainly did."

"And you're not going to obey the orders?"

Mihawk let out a quiet scoff, looking away from you and briefly gazing upward. "I don't take orders," he stated firmly.

You instinctively took a step back, regarding him with suspicion as your eyes carefully scanned him from head to toe. "They say that the Warlords of the Sea are nothing more than lapdogs of the Government.”

His golden irises locked onto you once more, seemingly a threatening gesture. However, undeterred, you pressed on. "Enlighten me, then. What should I believe? What other purpose could you possibly have in relation to me?”

You allowed your hand to fall to your side, although with a tight grip on the hilt of the dagger. Mihawk contemplated his response, ultimately giving you the most nonchalant look imaginable.

“I’m just killing some time.”

You took a moment to process what he had told you. "I'm sorry, what?" you responded, seeking clarification.

"Although I do find you intriguing,” he added.

You were left speechless, your mouth hanging open. "You don't even know me," you replied with incredulity.

"I’ve seen enough. And I am aware of your reputation.”

Crossing your arms, you took care not to accidentally cut the leather sleeve of your jacket in the process. "What's so intriguing about my reputation?”

Mihawk pressed his lips together before responding, "A woman escaping a base full of Marines, completely unarmed? That's not something you hear every day.”

You rolled your eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those sexist bastards who think women can't handle themselves.”

"Quite the contrary. Not even most men would be able to escape that situation unscathed.”

You stood there, a smug grin adorning your face as you watched him. It would be a lie to say that it didn't give your ego a significant boost.

But deep down, the memories of those days still twisted your insides. "Who said I came out unscathed?" you retorted. "And this doesn't explain much either. You said you have no intention of handing me over, so what's your motive, Warlord?”

"Perhaps I wanted to personally verify your worth.”

Unable to contain yourself, you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "In other words, you were bored.”

"I can become quite laidback when I don't have anything interesting to occupy my time," he said casually.

A part of you found him entertaining, but at the same time, his way of speaking to you continued to irritate you. "Well, at least you can afford to be laidback now that your bounty has been cancelled.”

Your retort was filled with venom and resentment, yet once again, Mihawk appeared unfazed by it. "With or without a bounty, I wouldn't do anything differently.”

You started to question the authenticity of the rumors surrounding this man, considering how different he was from your initial expectations. The fact that he hadn't made any aggressive moves towards you made you wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Evidently, his immunity with the Government held little importance to him. He exhibited a keenness to discover something, anything, that could captivate his time and attention, disregarding any orders he may have received. He pursued his own interests, driven by personal motivations above all else.

"That's a shame," you murmured. "I'm afraid I'm not as interesting as you may have assumed. The only thing I excel at is disguising myself.”

"You are underestimating yourself.”

"How so?”

"You mercilessly killed a Marine Admiral. You managed to evade all pirate hunters who pursued you and successfully escaped from me multiple times.”

"All I did was survive.”

"And you have been successful in that, so far.”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a gust of wind swept through your hair. "Do you know what it's like? To be separated from your family, unable to even reach out to them because you're constantly being chased wherever you go?”

Mihawk remained silent, attentively observing your reaction.

And then, he spoke. "Such are the perils of a life on the open seas, I'm afraid.”

"I made one mistake, and I've been punished in the harshest way possible. How is that fair? They left me with no other choice. I had to do what I did.”

"You don't need to justify yourself to me," he replied calmly, his tone devoid of judgment.

"You say that, yet here you stand. No offense, but why should I place my trust in you?”

As your heart raced in your chest, its strong beats reverberating through your body, you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, Mihawk remained as calm and serene as ever.

"Do as you wish," he said with a casual shrug. "But I must say, you are quite unrefined. Your movements are predictable, and unless you learn to control them, you won't last much longer.”

You raised an eyebrow at his statement, letting out a laugh that was a mix of amusement and surprise. It seemed like a blend of criticism and advice, leaving you intrigued by his words.

"What's this? Now you suddenly want to offer me your help?" you questioned skeptically. "I never asked for your guidance. Whether I live or die is my own concern," you declared firmly.

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying as if he were scrutinizing you closely, studying every detail.

"Unless," you continued, leaning forward and bringing your face dangerously close to his, exuding confidence, almost brushing his lips with yours. "-you want to be the one to push me to my limits," you added, your words carrying a daring challenge.

His typically stoic expression, always composed and unwavering, appeared to subtly shift in response to your audacious gesture. You could catch a whiff of his captivating scent, a blend of cologne, sea salt, and earth, filling your senses.

You had to quickly pull away from his taller figure, concealing the faint blush that was starting to creep onto your cheeks.

"What's the final verdict, Warlord?" you taunted. "After all, you were given explicit orders to capture me.”

Your blade made contact with the golden cross he wore around his neck and pressed against his chest, the sound of metal against metal resonating in the air. The open coat he wore left little to the imagination, revealing that he had indeed chosen not to wear a shirt underneath.

You returned to your serious and sincere demeanor, looking up to meet his hawk-like eyes once more. Your stern and courageous facade was starting to waver, but you were determined not to let a stranger see your vulnerability, especially when your life was on the line and his intentions remained uncertain.

You chuckled with amusement as you securely placed the knife back into its holster. What am I supposed to do?" you pondered aloud, more to yourself than to him.

“Grow strong and keep fighting,” he declared. "If you don’t wish to die sooner rather than later. Certainly, it won't be by my hand.”

His words left you speechless, leaving you without a proper answer as he walked past you, now the one departing. You turned around, staring at the intricate details and embroideries adorning his coat. With each step he took, his sword lightly swayed on his back, creating a graceful and mesmerizing motion.

"They won't be pleased with that," you raised your voice, ensuring that he could hear you. This prompted him to pause and briefly turn his head, acknowledging your words.

"They never are," he replied with a tone of resignation before resuming his journey, leaving you behind.

A smile of relief and respect formed on your lips as you reflected on the man who had relentlessly chased you, only to ultimately allow you to go free. Somehow, he perceived something valuable and worthy in you that led him to defy the orders of the Marines, opting for a confrontation that didn't resort to physical violence.

As he became a tiny speck in the distance, you readjusted the bag on your shoulders and set off towards your own ship. A newfound sense of confidence coursed through your veins like never before, propelling you forward into the unknown.

Yes, you had firmly believed that seeing him at that moment would undoubtedly be the ultimate encounter.

Except that it wasn’t.

Go to Chapter 2 ->

#one piece #dracule mihawk #one piece liveaction #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #opla fanfiction

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felassan · 5 months ago

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BioWare Blog post: 'Unveiling The Veilguard: Cast and Characters Detailed at San Diego Comic-Con' [July 31st]

"San Diego Comic-Con has come to a close, but not before delivering mountains of Dragon Age fun for the amazing fans in attendance. The highlight of the week was the panel we hosted on Friday featuring some of our cast of companions who – in conversation with host Lucy James – shared new insights into their characters and revealed even more lore about Dragon Age: The Veilguard. We also joined our partners at Dark Horse on the showfloor for fan signings, giveaways, cosplay photoshoots, and more. In case you weren’t among the lucky attendees who got to experience this year’s convention in person, don’t worry – we’re here not only to recap all the action but also to share photos from throughout the weekend. Everything kicked off Wednesday night with the Dark Horse booth opening and some giveaways. Our team also enjoyed a celebration of Dragon Age with our partners at Fandom on Thursday night. Then on Friday came our panel “Dragon Age – Meet The Heroic Companions of The Veilguard,” which featured voice actors Zach Mendez (Lucanis), Jessica Clark (Neve), Nick Boraine (Emmrich), and Ali Hillis (Harding) and highlighted the heart of every Dragon Age title: the companions. The panel opened with a bit of background from Creative Director and 16-year BioWare veteran John Epler and Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow, who helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations and brought hundreds of characters and storylines to life."

"As Epler explained, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships. “Companions have always been such a big part of this franchise,” Epler asserted at one point during the panel. “You’ll navigate some of the most compelling individual storylines you’ve seen from BioWare. I’m really excited about the bonds players will form.” Barlow later added, “I feel like you can fall in love with any of them. Everyone that has touched this project has put a piece of their heart into it and into all of the different characters you could cross paths with. I know for me at times, in the companion stories, it seemed like I was watching a scene out of my own life. It’s a powerful feeling to have something or someone to relate to on screen.” Meet the Cast With that, the panel shifted towards the companions themselves, as well as the actors who brought each character to life. First up was Zach Mendez (Horizon: Forbidden West, Married Alive), who voices Lucanis: an expert assassin of the Antivan Crow faction. Bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic, Lucanis was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. “As soon as Zach was cast, he deep dove into Dragon Age and read everything he got his hands on. He did it all to create that depth of character you can really feel,” Barlow remarked. “Zach’s a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying. And sometimes I’d have to remind him he’s a deadly assassin and to stay bloodthirsty, but I think he found this cool way of finding the light in the darkness.”"

"“After I finished [The Wigmaker Job], I realized this might be the coolest guy I ever get to play,” Mendez said. “What struck me was his mind is as dangerous as his knives. He’s constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. And also, he’s kind of hilarious. I mean, if you look at his relationship with his cousin Illario in The WigMaker Job, they’re constantly giving each other crap. But there’s a lot of love there. So I got to pull from my relationship with my brother, because we love each other dearly but we can be ruthless with each other.” Mendez also revealed to fans that, in addition to voicing Lucanis, he actually recorded lines for a variety of other characters, including the Grey Wardens. “I can go ahead and play a bunch of characters, so I had to really steep myself in the understanding that, okay, the Grey Wardens go through a lot to actually do what they do. They make a pretty intense bond. So, I tried to bring that as best I could to the physicality… I cannot wait to see how it plays out the game.”"

"Following a few more quips from Zach, the conversation moved to Jessica Clark (True Blood, Pocket Listing) and Shadow Dragons rebel Neve, a cynic with a heart of gold who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. She also has ice powers to halt an enemy or take advantage of the environment. “I’d describe her as the working class hero trying to make her hometown better,” Epler commented. “I love her loyalty,” Clark shared. “I love her dedication. I love how much she loves Docktown and its people and how she really sees a different vision that I’m into, as John said, and then what’s previously been depicted, and she’s really really fighting for those people and she loves those people.” Clark also commented on her experience with the casting and recording process: “Even though [the cast members] were all separate disembodied voices a lot of the time, we really all bonded. I know in a lot of projects they’re like all ‘we love each other,’ but we really do! And it just evolved so organically. There was something magical about it just being our voices in the beginning.” Full of Character Next up was Nick Boraine (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, Black Sails), who plays Emmrich – a sincere, friendly, and scholarly necromancer who comes complete with a skeletal assistant, Manfred (voiced by Matthew Mercer of Critical Role). “He’s part of the Mourn Watch,” Epler explained, “an elite group of necromancers who are revered in Nevarra, but outside it, they are odd at best and evil at worst. He’s your well meaning but oblivious academic – assumes everyone has an academic’s curiosity, so can be pedantic on select topics.” While Boraine agreed, he found another aspect of the character even more remarkable: “I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this.” Barlow chimed in to share insights from her time working with Boraine: “Nick encompasses Emmrich; his sophistication, and eagerness to teach and learn, his hot nerdiness. Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch.”"

"Finally came Ali Hillis (Mass Effect 3, Naruto) and everyone’s favorite dwarven scout Lace Harding, who returns with a big heart, positive outlook, and some unexpected magical powers. “The world’s changed a lot in the time period since Inquisition,” Epler observed. “She returns as an excellent scout and archer, and has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle.” “My favorite things about Harding are the little things like she loves her mom,” laughed Hillis. “You know, she loves to write letters home and she’s always talking about her mama’s stupid stuff like that. I love that relationship. She likes plants and raising plants which is inspirational since I kill them. But just the texture they add to the characters. That’s in general, but for me, it’s those little things that really kind of give me a bunch of stuff to work with in my brain.” Barlow effused, “Ali brought a weight and a history to this project as an anchor of the series. There was a growth to Harding. She’s a veteran now. She’s a trusted voice at the table, and the writers did such a great job of integrating her with the new team and finding the relationships with each of the unique characters.” Photo Opps Our panel ended with a crowd Q&A, but SDCC was just getting started. Our team spent the rest of the weekend giving away posters and exclusive Discord pins, signing those posters, and of course, meeting fans out on the show floor. Footage of the full panel should be available in a couple weeks, so for now we hope you enjoy these photos of our favorite SDCC moments! We’ll have more to share next month – including a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and our official release date (!) – so don’t forget to follow our BioWare and Dragon Age social channels. – The Dragon Age Community Team"

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #long post #longpost #video games #dragon age: tevinter nights #mass effect

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cutechan555 · 4 months ago

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Okay so uhm let me make one thing clear-

This is just a concept not an AU

Seeing many people making infection AUs I decided to give it a try

CW // blood, disturbing imagery

So our first victim

Peppino (obviously) after being bitten by Fake he started off weird he was always moody, angrier than usual and aggressive and he seemed to be hungrier? On one fateful day he attacked Gustavo like some kind of a rapid animal

Fortunately he was pushed away by Brick the bad news a mad Italian was unleashed

Peppino was eventually caught and restrained but after what? After biting several tower's residents and the bosses and now there are bloodthirsty infected people on the loose

It turned out Fake Peppino was carrying a virus all along as he never bit anyone before all he bit are clones, clones thankfully can't get infected but they can still carry the disease

and Fakey feels really terrible for starting this (it wasn't really his fault he wouldn't have known)

Now it's up for Noise, Gustavo and Fake to find Pizzahead as he seemes to be the ONLY one who can solve this while trying to get away from hungry bloodthirsty tower residents and bosses

What do you think?

New to the blog? Check this out! .

🩵Art requests🩵→CLOSED

❤️Art trades❤️→OPEN

🔁Reblogs are appreciated🔁

#cw blood #cw disturbing imagery #pizza tower #art #pizza tower fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr #peppino spaghetti #ibispaintx #gustavo #the noise #fake peppino

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mageknight14 · 2 years ago

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Sometimes I often think about Nagi Usui and how she’s one of the best characters to have come out in the past few years.

-One of her main motivations to get back into the real world is so she can play more of her mobile gacha game.

-She gains an instant crush on someone just because he resembles one of the main characters from said mobile gacha game.

-She’s the only one of her team to actually like the Grilled Alligator meal from SBY BBQ.

-The kanji on her shirt changes for every situation she finds herself in whether it’s for fights or eating.

-Some of her other kanji shirts reference The Art of War, kendo, Buddhist proverbs, JRPG terminology, and chuuni terms, among other things.

-One of sayings on her shirt translates to "Now I'm motivated" when in battle which means that yes, Nagi is a DMC Vergil fan.

-In the Field Walk RPG, Rindo wonders about how the letters of her shirt keep changing and Nagi tells him that she changes her shirts in between fights and food. He then wonders about how he never notices and Nagi tells him that she’s mastered the art of changing them in a millisecond before saying that she’s just joking.

-Is the only one out of the team with a dedicated maid outfit.

-Brags about being a one time Quiz Academy Queen Quizster after going head-to-head with a DRS member over the title and winning over him in the manga category.

-Accidentally intimidates other EleStra fans from approaching her through sheer aura.

-Her English VA based her performance off of Peridot from Steven Universe and Entrapta from She-Ra.

-Said VA also confirmed that Nagi would most definitely be a Sonic fan, with her being a fan of Shadow the Hedgehog in particular.

-Surprisingly, she has the most connections on the Social Network outside of Rindo due to her natural ability to understand people

-Gets into a pissing contest in Another Day with a ojou-sama, metalhead fan over who’s the bigger Takeharu Ishimoto fan

-Owns and is raising at least 10 snakes in Another Day

-Only knows how to cook sunny-side up fried eggs from the box, with the yolks described as 'frozen' and the eggs described as unpleasantly chewy.

-Is insanely competitive at fighting games

-She considers video game arcades to be the perfect date location.

-All of her "gurgly sounds" combined make for more than two minutes straight of audio.

-In Japanese, her personal pronoun is a neetspeak version of a pronoun usually used by sagely old male characters.

-In general, she uses a lot of netslang, including the Japanese equivalent of "kek" basically.

-She's too anxious to use a phone and to work a job that requires her to interact with people regularly such as retail.

-She’s the most bloodthirsty of the Wicked Twisters when it comes to fighting Noise and even lets out an evil laugh when unleashing a Grenade Launcher pin

-She really likes jigsaw puzzles and finds them calming; more specifically, the "1000-piece" type of jigsaw puzzles.

-Even with her eccentricities, she’s one of the most emotionally intelligent and empathetic characters in the series, and is never once treated as off-putting for her interests and actually uses the life lessons she took from EleStra to help out others in need.

-Is more than capable of killing a man with her psychic mind powers.

#twewy #the world ends with you #ntwewy #neo the world ends with you #NEO TWEWY #nagi usui

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cringe--is--dead · 2 years ago

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Peaceful Paradise Interrupted

Type: One Shot

Gohan x Reader, Reader is the adopted daughter of Vegeta and Bulma

Summary: Your peace wasn't often challenged, but when someone came to earth to challenge your father and/or Goku, you end up more annoyed being in the middle of it than fearful.

Your life had settled into a routine, though after most of your childhood and adolescence, you weren't complaining. The structure gave you a peace of mind, minus the occasional extraterrestrial being hell-bent on revenge against your father or challenging Goku.

Those spats, at this rate, lasted a day at the most, an hour at the least. You hardly ever knew of them until after the issues were resolved.

Safe to say you enjoyed your peace, you enjoyed your routine, you enjoyed everything your life had become. Minus this.

The barrel of some weird, foreign gun looking at you had become your new common view. The alien man who had broken into your home, looking for one of the several (like five) Saiyan life forms, only to find you lazing around in your pajamas while attempting to finish some paper due for some class you were beginning to hate.

You craned your neck to peer around at him, studying him as he spoke into whatever communicator his people used, before speaking up, more annoyed than anything, "You realize how stupid this is right?"

He blanched, taken aback by the calm demeanor in which you spoke. He barked some orders before turning his full attention towards you, "Excuse me?"

You shrugged, "This was dumb of you to do." Your legs were beginning to cramp up under you, and you were at least grateful you had worn longer pants, "Haven't you even heard of what happens to people who come to earth looking for a fight?"

He sneered, "They end up choosing life forms far beneath them, yes, little lady, I've heard the stories."

Rude. "I'm just saying - "

"You are not the one I'm after."

"I kind of figured," He narrowed his eyes at you, pressing the gun closer towards your face, "I can't imagine I did anything wrong enough to piss you off."

"Do you know of the Saiyans Vegeta and Kakarot?"

"Hard to not know them," Your voice was dry, and you knew that after the scolding your mother would unleash on you, she'd have some pride in how you were keeping your cool.

"My readings had indicated that they had been here, though upon arrival, I only found you. What is a weak, earthling like you doing around two of the most powerful beings on this planet?"

"Don't let them hear you say that, my father's ego is large enough already."

His eyebrow, or where you would assume an eyebrow would be, twitched, "Your- your father?"

You hummed, introducing yourself casually, before sending a sarcastic smile, "Vegeta's oldest."

"Your power levels are far too weak to be - "

"Adopted," You could feel the energy before anything else, the feeling of your hair standing up on end alerting you that your fiancé had gotten the emergency signal sent to his phone, "But, still."

You braced yourself, the door launching open with the sounds of splintered wood falling all around. Gohan was standing in the doorframe, hair still black, but eyes livid. You glanced at the shocked man before you, if Gohan didn't feel the need to power up than this guy was weak- what had he been hoping to do?

You watched as your fiancé smiled, something cold and dark, a look that was so foreign to see on him. It sent chills down even your spine, "Hi," The cheeriness was forced, "Honey you didn't tell me we had guests."

"Surprise visitors." You glanced sadly at the remnants of the front door as Gohan walked inside, you'd have to ask Goku to fix it again.

The energy coming off of your fiancé was beyond suffocating, and the blaster fell from where it had been pointed at you, trembling in the alien's hand.

"W- Who are you?"

"I should be the one asking you that considering you're in my house." Your fiancé's anger was getting harder to hide, the smile bordering bloodthirsty.

You flexed your hands from where they were bound, sighing, catching his attention, "Please don't destroy anymore of the house."

Gohan didn't look away from the man, who was frantically trying to contact some of his men. You assumed they had all scattered- and odds are some ended up coming across your father and Goku.

They might fare better than this man was about to.

"Of course," You blinked and he was across the room, grabbing the man by the front of his tunic, before lifting him up, the gun dropping to the floor.

"Let's take this outside, shall we?"

Just as quickly as he had gotten across the room, your fiancé had taken the offending man outside, the sounds of shouting growing muffled as they left your home.

You sighed to yourself, twisting further as you remembered the self-defense classes your mother made you take. It felt almost pointless at the time- who was stupid enough to do something to piss off your family? But as you managed to free your sore wrists, you were grateful.

By the time you moved on to untying your legs, Gohan strolled back in, not a hair out of place. He smiled at you, moving to crouch down in front of you, softly batting your hands away to undo the rest.

"Are you alright?"

He paused, laughing softly at the question.

"I should be asking you that," The rope fell, and he helped you stand, hands moving softly across you, feeling and searching for any indicators that he should go out and end that man.

"I'm alright," You smiled, "You got here just in time."

Gohan nodded, eyes falling shut, and he leaned down, forehead pressing against yours. You remained quiet, letting him process everything.

"I was so scared when you sent me that signal," He spoke quietly, eyebrows furrowing as if reliving the moment, "I wasn't sure what to expect. And dad and Vegeta were already dealing with their own stuff at the moment."

"He didn't hurt me," You reached forward, pulling your fiancé closer, allowing him to burrow into you as best he could, "I think he was more confused than anything to find a human here."

Gohan laughed, a wet sound from the back of his throat, "Right. Not the terrifying Saiyan legends he was expecting."

"Just a human college student who probably would have hit him with a frying pan had I been in the kitchen," You glanced at the dishes laying in the sink- had you been closer you definitely would have.

"I assume the others are taken care of?"

Gohan nodded, "Dad and Vegeta are on their way here - "

The sound of your name being shouted outside alerted you that more company had arrived, and the sounds of an engine being killed let you know your mother had arrived with them.

You watched as Goku made his way to the front entrance of your house, peering down curiously at the broken door, hand rubbing the back of his head, "Aw man, I feel like I just fixed - "

He was interrupted by your father barging by, snarling an, "Out of the way Kakarot", before he made his way inside. You saw your mother trailing close behind, eyes wide and worried, hand clutched to her chest. Goku had enough smarts to step out of the way, moving to stand where you saw your brother and Goten in the yard, the later of the two poking the unconscious assailant with a stick.

"Oh, my baby! Are you hurt?" Gohan stepped back, hands up in defense as you shot him a glare.

Your mothers arms wrapped around you tightly, your ribs wincing at the strength of her hold, "I'm fine mom, he didn't do - "

"And this is why I still think you and Gohan should have taken one of the homes near us!" She huffed as she let you go, arms resting on your shoulders as she glared at you, no malice behind her eyes, "My security would have ensured that that man never even looked at you - "

"She moves back in and Gohan can go home with Kakarot, everyone's happy," Your father snarked, arms crossed over his chest.

"Vegeta," Your mother turned to glare at him, arms never leaving their place around you, jerking you forward with her.

"To be fair dad he was the one who got here first," You rolled your eyes as your father pointedly ignored this remark.

"Still - with the damages done I think it's best if you two come stay at home for now!"

"Mom, it's literally just the front door - "

"Perfect!" She squeezed you tighter- a warning not to argue.

You glanced helplessly at your fiancé, who only shrugged in response. The man who more than likely stopped himself from killing moments ago, fell powerless in the face of your overprotective mother.

#gohan x reader #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z x reader #dragon ball super x reader #adopted reader #briefs!reader #gohan x briefs!reader #vegeta and reader #bulma and reader #vegeta x bulma

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