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fangbangerghoul · 10 months ago

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Snippet Sunday!

It is currently 12:07 AM EST and I am going ahead and post this bad boy, so I don't have to worry about it later!

This week has been full of lots of changes and honestly it has helped motivate me to write chapter 9 of Fleeting Pleasures a lot! I cannot believe I am on the second to last chapter of this long fic. It's blowing my mind.

Under the cut will be a portion of Sam Coe's POV after the events of Chapter 8 (which I highly suggest you read to understand the context!)

I am going to go ahead and tag my writers crew (if I didn't catch you, please let me know so I can add you!):

@bearlytolerant @silurisanguine @eridanidreams @a-cosmic-elf @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @therealgchu @5oh5 @booburry @atonalginger @aislingdmdt @thatsgoodsquishy0 @spookyspecterino @lisa-and-shadow @samcoesclub

Chapter 9: bad decisions

Snippet of Sam's POV:

He heard a knock on the bathroom and it pushed him out the sinkhole of his thoughts. Whenever he thought about it he would run himself in circles and ride a rollercoaster of emotions that always finished with a new kind of despair he wasn’t used to.

“I’m coming out.” He grumbled, throwing his toothbrush back into the cup that was on the sink and took one last minute to splash cold water on his face. Something to shock his system back to normal. Sam reached to grab the door, ignoring the glimpse of his dull blue eyes in the mirror and when the wood door opened, Barrette was on the other side. He gave his usual awkward grin and did a small wave.

“Good morning, Sam! Have you been sleeping better since Noel gave you that herbal tea to try?” He asked so casually about a subject Sam had never remembered mentioning to him. Normally he would have shrugged it off but this time it irked him in particular. The members of Constellation were more prone to talk to him in soft voices or speak about his business more openly when he wasn’t around. It made his skin crawl.

“No.” Sam said plainly, staring Barret down for a moment before relaxing his shoulders. He was trying to get comfortable around those he considered family again. However the transition from consistently raiding and interrogating Crimson Fleet members to having normal mundane conversation was an adjustment. “Good morning though.”

Sam walked past him, careful not to bump into Barrett as he walked by. He didn’t like it when someone brushed against his left side even after the wound had fully healed. Sam also didn’t like to think about that fact so he just kept on moving. He was ready to eat.

On his way to the eating area he stopped by his room one more time to grab a mahogany robe to wrap around his loose white tee and baggy gray sweatpants. The elastic sometimes didn’t stay around his hips and would occasionally sag so in order to protect everyone around him from seeing the moon so early in the day he liked to wear his robe. His slippers dragged a bit as he walked like he was taking a sunday stroll through a park. Sam was never in a hurry to get anywhere, to do anything really.

“Dad!” He heard the young squeak of his daughter from around the corner and Cora ran up to him and hugged him tight. He winced instinctively but tried to catch himself so she wouldn’t think she hurt him. Her curls were bouncing and wild and the smile on her face was brighter than any star he had seen in a long while. Seeing Cora always gave him a little bit of his life back especially after being separated from her for as long as they were.

“Hey sweet pea.” He rubbed her back gently in the embrace and kept his arm around her as he led them forward. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Dad it’s noon.”

“Oh, what are you doing up so late then?” He smiled at her teasingly.

“Daaaad.” She said in protest as she pushed herself away from him gently. “Were you going to come to the meeting later today?”

“Meeting?” He was puzzled at her question. Sam didn’t know of any meeting, not one that needed to involve him.

“Ms. Morgan was talking to Walter earlier and I heard them say when Andreja and Vlad arrive they were going to have a discussion.” Cora said with a bit of concern in her tone. Sam knew if she had heard that much then she was all too aware that the meeting was about Ghoul.

“Is that so?” He asked with a cool tone trying not to give away any concern he may have felt. He still didn’t have the heart to tell Cora that Ghoul did this to him. Even though the other’s had continued their recent pattern of talking about his well being behind his back he figured how much further would that subject be?

“Yeah! Dad, what are you eating for late breakfast?”

“Cheese pizza, if you are asking.” He said with a sly smirk.

#starfield #sam coe #starfield fanfiction #coemancer #sam coe fanfiction #starfield fanfic #fang writes #snippet sunday #cora coe

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nosafeharbour · 11 months ago

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Encyclopedia Eorzea III: Werlyt thoughts

How is this the second Werlyt thoughts/reactions post I've written in 2023. The Sorrow of Werlyt ended over 2 years ago

This is literally just Werlyt (so also Gaius and Raen) musings, I'll actually finish reading the rest of the book later...

It's beautiful. I've looked at this for 24 hours now

Holy shit, all this Werlyt lore… Gaius was viceroy of Werlyt for TWENTY YEARS?? In-game it sounded like he led the invasion during the epidemic 10 years ago, when you see him adopt the Raen kids, but otherwise wasn’t too deeply involved... but it was under Garlean control since the very start of the Empire? Gaius came into the picture midway through, after it briefly rebelled.

"A young Gaius van Baelsar" capturing Werlyt when he was 30... I guess him being legatus in his thirties makes complete sense with the timeframe of Ala Mhigo, but having it spelled out so plainly… wow

Thinking about the memory of Gaius in the Emerald Weapon trial being a 30 year old is so funny. You jumped-up little shit

It’s hard to pin down dates because everything is measured in years after Werlyt was taken, without it ever giving a starting date, but you can work backwards… the rebellion 30 years post conquering + 20 years of Gaius as viceroy + 5 years before ARR when Gaius begins advance on Eorzea in 1.0 = 55 years ago. The Empire is also 55 years old, which lines up:

Between 55 and 455 years ago: Werlyt is founded (happens after Gyr Abania is unified, but Werlyt is still described as “newly formed” when it was conquered, so definitely closer on the scale to 55)

55 years ago: Werlyt falls under the Empire

25 years ago: While the Empire is stretched thin conquering the Far East, the Werlytians stage a revolt and retake the province. Gaius comes in to quell it, and becomes viceroy after the previous one is killed (Gaius is 31 yrs old) (This is also the year Doma is conquered, so that also lines up)

20 years ago: Ala Mhigo is conquered, Gaius is also made viceroy there

15 years ago: Gaius’s fuckup at the Battle of Silvertear, and when he starts to lose favour in Garlemald

10 years ago: The epidemic, when the Raen kids are orphaned

5 years ago: Gaius leaves for the invasion of Eorzea (1.0), which eventually leaves Valens as viceroy after the events at the Praetorium

Did the epidemic happen under his watch? The flashback of him first reaching out to Allie and Alfonse makes sense to be 10 years ago, but the energy of that scene was very much “arriving to a situation” and not that… it was already under his jurisdiction…

I don’t know how I feel about the change of context here, at least in my understanding of it. It honestly feels a bit of a shock that Werlyt has been under the Empire for 50 years? They never stated any specific years, but I always read it as a decade or so? Long enough for it to become their new lives, short enough that people still remember life before. Gaius coming in to “save” Werlyt from the epidemic by way of conquering it was this mixed bag that ultimately did build towards his character thesis of “good intentions stuck in a bad system”. To think the epidemic technically happened under his watch is new and strange, I dunno. I need to replay it with this in mind to see if it checks out

Especially with that one post-Emerald scene where Gaius is all “Things were shit in MY legion? But I ran a tight ship” lmao… I know a lot of people take the piss out of that scene thinking that he was only discovering racism for the first time in his life (he literally has scenes in ARR about stamping out discrimination in his Legion), but I always read it as his ego meaning he believed that his influence and word over his Legion was immovable, that nobody would behave that way because he told them not to. It complements his view that he always thought he was doing good, but not yet having had the blinders of being a cog in the fascist system removed. These things will always still happen. It would be good to see that scene again, with all this context of the epidemic happening during his time as viceroy... If the times are all correct, I feel like him being stretched thin between Ala Mhigo and Werlyt is a part of this

The “all the good Gaius had achieved” line in regards to him building up Werlyt as viceroy makes me wince, while I do like engaging with Gaius having good intentions, just talking about all the good he did and not the fact it was still a conquered territory + the epidemic? Even I’m balking at that, and I’m a Gaius enjoyer. Slow down here. I’m looking at the artwork of destroyed Werlyt from when he re-conquered it right below this paragraph LOL

The Raen of Werlyt migrating there directly from Corvos, to the point that their religion and food is still Corvosi-inspired... seeing it spelled out so plainly after this incredibly fleeting and brief image from FanFest... wow. I get to feel even more insane over Corvos, now

Really curious about the timeframes, still. If Raen only arrived in Werlyt a little over 50 years ago, in one fell swoop they have turned Albi's Welytian grandmother into a Corvosi grandmother

Werlyt religion being polytheistic, seemingly a fusion of the Twelve and Corvosi religion… I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT CORVOS…

I love the kind of demographics you get from these books:

Werlyt currently undergoing negotiations with Ul’dah for ceruleum, so they can continue mining… Gaius overseeing said negotiations in Ul’dah, Ul’dah is Albi’s turf... Thinking about them in Ul’dah together. It’s actually so fun thinking about Gaius visiting so many Eorzean city states as an envoy. He’s helping, but also he’s keeping his god damn head down (or in a chicken suit)

Werlyt’s main food being stewed dishes is just another thing that lines up with what I imagined, mostly just because it’s what I figured Albi and Gaius would eat a lot (both from cold places, they both know how to cook simple stuff but aren’t master culinarians)

Cheese being a major export to Garlemald, and there being a major cheese presence in Garlemald already (via Ovibos milk, so native to Garlemald itself and not all imported)... cheese lore

There’s way too much dairy talk in here, “dairy enthusiasts” pleeeeasseeee stop making my favourite place like this when I’m lactose intolerent

After The Sorrow of Werlyt says that Terncliff is too high above the ocean to fish, but then Tataru’s Grand Endeavour had orphans collecting seashells, I was so confused on whether or not Werlyt has beaches or not. I’m glad they clarified that there are a few harbours amongst the cliffs.

All of this geography and agriculture lore is neat just in that it’s showing that Werlyt is really quite big. You never really get a full sense of scale in-game, between Terncliff and what we see of the main Werlyt town (?) during Emerald trial/post-Diamond

We have three Werlytian surnames – Hunte, Souther, and Horne!

Severa Souther and Valdeaulin Ganathain… I care them. Severa is only 23, bless her heart. Valdeaulin being 48 is just exactly what I’d assumed/hoped.

The leader of the interim government is Talbot Hunte. Have we seen him..? I’m picturing the Revolutionary Commander in my mind when I read that, but I don't think he was ever named

All of these Werlytian names (surnames, and Hyur first names) have a Germanic feel, while Severa and the Raen kids have Latin-based names. The Raen in Werlyt originate from Corvos, so I am hoping it’s because they are sticking to Corvos being the root of the Latin-based Garlean language, as it should be? Severa had a Garlean parent? Hmm

Bereft at the casual mention of “the bravery of the Baelsars and the Warrior of Light��… THE BAELSARS

Kind of sad they straight-coded Milisandia by giving her a crush on Alfonse. That lizard was one of the gay ones :/

I think Gaius is possibly the first character to get a second Encyclopedia Eorzea entry. I was hoping he would, but had low expectations bc they've never given any other recurring characters new entries... but they did this, for me

“... and though his quest for vengeance would claim the masks of Altima and Deudalaphon, the hunt for Ascians was quickly set aside when he learned of the Empire’s plans to produce the noxious weapon Black Rose” – Black Rose is important and thematic, but seeing the Ascian plot dropped so abruptly even in this book is breaking my heart all over again LMAO

So extremely cool that there are 6 pages just about the Ultima Weapons!! Including the Allagan iterations, the original ARR project, and the second project during Werlyt

I do like the line “According to the testimony of Gaius Baelsar…” in the section about the Ultima Weapon, about how Lahabrea guided them to it. Gaius sat and gave testimony to the Alliance about a lot of things, huh!

I also like the confirmation that Proto-Ultima is the last iteration the Allagans made, and that all the visuals of the Ultima Weapon are magitek and Garlean-made. It’s hard to tell, since the earlier Ultima Warrior has them too, but the fact that Ultima Weapon’s horns look like Gaius’s helmet means it was done on purpose… kinda moe. Nero trying to impress his legatus

Interesting that the Heart of Sabik is mentioned so clearly, and that Valens knew he couldn’t recreate it… but still acquired a piece of Ivalician auracite to base the Oversoul system on. Reading this all post-Pandaemonium is enlightening

Seems that the “third eye” looking chestpiece on the cuirass of legatus armour is the synthetic auracite they used for the same purpose as soul crystals! Having a visual on that is neat

Another extremely obvious hint that Nero made the second (red) G-Savior, which only makes Gaius not finding out he was still alive until Tataru’s Grand Endeavour so funny/weird. Nero literally must have been in Werlyt!! The Ironworks were talking about him constantly! Gaius, are you stupid! (yeah)

#lore #the sorrow of werlyt #reactions

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donnerpartyofone · 9 months ago

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I always seem to make myself the expert of something I really don't like, and this is simultaneously producing good work and sucking the life out of me. I started working on Amityville because I had a question about why so many have believed in a patently ridiculous story, told by plainly dishonest people, and most frequently heard in the form of a bad movie and an even worse book. When I started working on THE ENTITY it was because I love the movie so much, but then I had to deal with the unforgivable novel and a lot of infuriatingly bad and unethical pseudo-scientific reportage--and like it was important to understand and contextualize that stuff, not just dismiss it, the nature of that was part of my focus. Now I'm working on this Phantom of the Opera project and it's like...it's not just that most iterations of the story are bad, but the book is actually REALLY bad. I'm not unfamiliar with this kind of antique pulp writing either, this is just a particularly bad example and I swear to god reading it is making me stupider. It's not just a dumb story with shallow and unlikable characters, it also has the quality of someone inarticulately explaining something that happened last week; it's sort of vague and there's a lot of summarizing, and it's distinctly unthrilling, like it's just really uneventful for the most part. And this is going to be a key part of my analysis, I'm not torturing myself like this in order to be judgmental and superior. The question is about how even though the basic foundations of this story are unsound, there is something about it that compels people to retell it endlessly, even though few ever get it right (and I'm arguing that one particular unlikely candidate manages to make proper use of it, and it's not the Lon Chaney one which of course is great on its own merits). My goal is never to monologize about how moronic and inferior something is, even though that's a temptation that everyone with internet access can probably relate to. In a way I think that flawed work can provide really fertile ground for exploration and discovery because there there are a lot of questions to ask about it, about what it's trying to do, what it does by accident, what makes people react to it. A work of art always has subtext, but it also has a subconscious if you know what I mean, and there's a lot of interesting stuff in there especially with less polished products. Discussing a work of genius can have the quality of a foregone conclusion unless you're the first person to do it. I think that taking something imperfect really seriously and trying to understand its effects is a good thing to do, and I think I'm particularly suited for this--but I do sometimes wish that my life's work were more focused on something I just unconditionally love so I wouldn't have to spend hours and hours and hours analyzing stuff that gives me brain damage.

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malvenor · 5 months ago

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alright, i'll give you benefit of the doubt. i'd like to hear exactly what's wrong with my breakdown if you dont mind! i say this with genuine interest in what you have to say, and curiosity, no malice at all. but i do think that if you're gonna say "everything in this is wrong," you'd do well to explain just what is so wrong, or at least just one example. just saying something is wrong without providing explanation also serves to make one look silly! ...hopefully i dont sound pretentious saying that.

i knooooooow i said i didnt wanna argue. i still don't, honestly. but well, debate is ok.

i do also want to give myself just a little defense and say that my post is a casual person's criticisms, rather than a huge big one meant to be taken seriously. emotions are in there, dyeing my commentary unsightly colors at times. not the biggest defense, but hey, its there.

so yeah, all that wordy preamble to say: yes, i'm probably wrong. in the interest of self-improvement, i'd like to know why!

I expected no response and got a genuinely respectful one! Sorry if I sounded snippy - plenty of things I like get a lot of odd and unfounded criticism, and it's very easy for little things to get under my skin. I can give a bit-by-bit breakdown, for sure! And I get that it's from a casual perspective, but such a lengthy review even from a casual perspective should have a tad more than the first third of the release version of a game completed, y'know?

Ahem, anyways! Preamble out of the way, and with all due respect (which is a fair amount thanks to your stellar attitude!), here are my nits and my picks:

Less a correction and more a tip for anyone who read that post: You can re-access the tutorial at any time by going back to Selva Oscura, the game's prologue chapter, under the same menu where you access the Cantos. I recommend everyone do this anyways because you can collect some Lunacy just for visiting the map.

Next bit, I actually half-agree with. Yes, Limbus Company has a stubborn and poorly-explained learning curve, and it is less immediately intuitive than Library of Ruina. It is, however, also an intrinsically less complicated game than Library of Ruina. Having a base understanding of "when my side's numbers are higher, I win more often" will be learned quickly, and the fight against Ebony Queen's Apple will tell you the rest you need to know (since I believe this to be the game's only halfway decent tutorial). However, I will also point out that the intuitiveness is the only part of the previous two game's learning experiences that were actually good: LC and LoR also had pretty fuckin' bad tutorials.

From a casual perspective, the ins and outs of exactly how clash values are calculated are wholly unnecessary, but the basics are pretty plainly laid out, I find. It gives you a big number that will always be the starting number, a smaller number with a plus sign, and 1~5 little symbols that the game calls coins next to those. I feel like most people pretty easily grasp that when the coins flip heads, signified by the glow, they add their value to the big number. Even if this isn't understood by the player immediately as that, it becomes more obvious once you get to, again, Ebony Queen. I'll admit, this is more subjective, but it still stuck out as something people tend to grasp pretty quickly, especially former Ruina players.

aha okay yeah that's fair. the game does not, in fact, inform you how to upgrade your units.

However! It does not take two cantos to unlock Luxcavations. Now I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you dropped the game before that update, but a few weeks after launch they removed thread and exp from the Mirror Dungeons and added grindable micro-stages for them instead. EXP Lux is unlocked I believe around stage 1-10, an upgraded version around 2-18 (?), and Thread Lux after clearing Canto 2, where you also unlock Mirror Dungeons, which is where you get Lunacy and BP Exp. So, while that may have very briefly been true, this has been cleared up and fixed!

Defense skills are probably the only truly well-explained thing in the Prologue tutorial, so I'm sorry to say that this one was purely a personal issue on your part. While the circumstances of their use are not made immediately clear, that's less an issue of the explanation and more an issue of the game's balance, a discussion to be had that is far outside the scope of this post.

Nitpick among nitpicks, dungeons do not have a different combat system! Normal battles still occur within them, and starting in Canto 4 the Focus Battle system (reminiscent of Ruina's battle system) will also occur on overworld stages on occasion! Just a matter of "not quite as cut and dry as immediately laid out"

Ah, the classic victim of the tutorial and it's vague misrepresentation of the purpose of Resonance. This will have multiple parts, so starting off with the most understandable misunderstanding: Resonance does not, in fact, increase the damage you deal. Weird, right? It increases the Offense Level of skills in the chain, which is a small but extremely important distinction, since Offense Level can also affect Clash Power. Is this ever explained? Fuck no. Not your fault, just a bad tutorialization moment again.

While this is not made immediately obvious to the player, Sin does carry more weight to the battle system than you may think! First and foremost, adding a second layer of resistance really highlights how powerful the game's multiplicative damage scaling can really be, and allows some units to still be useful even if their primary damage type is resisted by the enemies.

It's not just that, though! Even on release, the sins did sort of have their own little niches like you described in your post, but you didn't quite make it far enough or get a large enough roster to really notice the patterns. The most obvious example of this is the difference between Envy (purple) and Gluttony (green). Envy is basically the plain and simple damage color, associated with multiple "nuke" skills, as well as being the primary color for Charge, which is Damage: The Archetype. Gluttony, on the other hand, lacks "nukes" altogether and is often used as a technical, status and self-healing type Sin, and also has a fair bit of Paralyze for some reason? Regardless, there's identity with each Sin, which I think is cool!

There is, because Limbus sort of fails at gacha-ing, still an odd sense of progression in Limbus! Not only are the LCB Sinners automatically upgraded as you finish the initial batch of Cantos, but the feeling of getting bigger, better, stronger options comes from not only expanding your roster, but the feeling of more complex teambuilding and additional gameplay mechanics through gameplay-story integration. Eventually we even get new story-locked toys to play with! There's also the micro-progression in Dungeons (including Mirror Dungeons, arguably especially so) but even on a grander scale, there is a nice sense of it. Less so than Ruina, of course, no denying that, but they go out of their way to make it still feel good to play through.

I will not be touching upon the story comment because you already included that edit. Yes, anon is right, it does give you the tools you need to understand what is present.

Some more subjective things, but I tried to tackle them in as objective a manner as possible. But as we are all experiencing art here, there will inevitably be these subjective matters to discuss! Many of these things weren't your fault either as they were added later in updates to the game, but such things are to be expected in live service titles.

To circle back to the original point, sometimes you just have to sit back and wonder if what you're saying will hold water, and if you happen to know enough to speak at length. I'm sorry you had a negative experience with the game to start, and I am morally obligated to not recommend gachas to people in general if they don't wish to play them, so I'll not be asking for your return. I just like clearing things up!

I hope this was informative, and I thank you for reading!

#limbus company #ask

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rn-zane · 11 months ago

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SETTING: emilio's apartment TIMING: early november PARTIES: @mortemoppetere + @rn-zane WARNINGS: suicidal ideation SUMMARY: emilio promised to teach zane a few moves to protect his own undead ass

Emilio had never been much of a teacher. Maybe it was because of the way he was taught. The ‘all or nothing’ method that Elena Cortez had used to mold her children into weapons didn’t translate very well to non-hunters. On the rare occasions he’d seen fit to recount his training to people not raised in a similar way, they’d found the methods cruel. Emilio didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t, especially not when he’d been unable to justify using them on his own daughter. It was different, he thought. When it was him, it was different.

But it still made him a shitty teacher. Still, he wanted to try. Zane wanted to learn how to watch his own back, and Emilio figured he owed the guy something after everything. He didn’t like owing people, didn’t like having outstanding debts to worry about. He told himself that was the only reason he was doing this; he almost believed it was true.

There was a knock on the door; Emilio called for Zane to come in. When he did, the slayer tossed him a knife. “Here,” he said. “Try to stab me. Need to see what I’m working with.”

—

The thought of this was mildly terrifying and mostly just dumb and something Zane would have never even considered if this wasn’t a literal matter of life or death. He’d never wanted to know how to fight, always more interested in healing or trying to deescalate a situation. At least he had been, before the start of this ever growing list of people he’d punched, people who had hit him and one person he’d done more than just knock out.

A part of Zane was scared of being better at hurting people, despite all internal arguments that this was simply for protecting. It was but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make him better at inflicting damage if necessary. Once upon a time, he’d thought it was never necessary but living here, being what he was, had proved that wrong.

These fears wouldn’t get belayed to Emilio, who was graciously offering to teach despite being the farthest thing from a teaching figure. Proven so very eloquently the second Zane entered the door and got tossed a knife with no warning. If Emilio wanted to see what he was working with, the fact that Zane cringed away from the knife and let it clatter to the floor was probably not the start he’d been hoping for. “Woah, yeah. Okay. Hi.” Great start.

“I don’t know why I expected this to go any different,” he muttered, reaching down for the knife, uneasy at the sight of it in his hand. Zane knew well enough that arguing on Emilio’s tactics was about as pointless as banging his head against a brick wall. So he stepped closer, skeptically holding the knife, reminding himself that he’d seen Emilio fight, that there was no way for Zane to actually manage to wound the slayer, before thrusting the blade in the direction of his stomach.

—

The knife clattered to the floor and, for a moment, Emilio just stared at it. Expression blank, eyes blinking slowly. He lifted his head to look back at Zane. “You are already bad at this,” he told him matter-of-factly.

He hadn’t been expecting much else, though. It had been clear from the first time he’d come into contact with Zane that the guy wasn’t much of a fighter. He’d run from Emilio rather than stick around to fight him, making it clear that when it came to fight or flight, he was the sort of person who defaulted towards the latter. And that was fine, if you were a normal person. But for someone who lived in this world, someone who was a part of it? You needed more than that.

He waited as Zane bent to pick up the knife, watching him carefully. The way he held it in his hand, the way even its slight weight seemed uncomfortable to him… There was a lot of work to be done here. Emilio could see that plainly, even without Zane actually making his move.

When he did make his move, it was an easy thing to avoid. Emilio took a step back, casually twisting to the side so that the blade cut only open air. Then, a hand shot out to grab Zane’s wrist and twist it. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to be uncomfortable. The other hand, already sporting a stake, brought the weapon up to rest against Zane’s chest. “You’re dead,” he said flatly. Then, he dropped the vampire’s wrist and pulled the stake back, spinning it absently in his hand before shoving it back into his pocket. “Try again. Something different. You have speed on your side, use it.”

—

Despite knowing Emilio, the overbearing sense of vulnerability constricted Zane’s throat the second his wrist was grabbed. It was honestly a wonder the slayer hadn’t managed to take him out that first night in the hospital, with the way the stake found a place at his chest with such ease. More than vulnerability, this first attempt was all it took to awaken utter hopelessness. He didn’t want to learn how to attack but could he even be taught how to defend himself?

Zane stumbled back a step once his arm was released, resisting the urge to rub at it, already feeling weak under Emilio’s steely gaze. The cacophony of emotions were at the very least making him grab the hilt of the knife tighter, concerned gaze taking in the slayer’s stance as he simultaneously tried to shake the weight of feeling useless off his back. “Speed,” Zane muttered back, allowing himself a moment to try and let useful memories to the forefront of his mind. Action movies, watching Emilio fight, remembering anatomical weak spots.

With a hint more conviction this time, Zane swung the knife, now fully convinced that Emilio would in no scenario end up getting cut. It sliced through the air where the slayer’s chest had previously been, followed right away by a second swipe, an attempt to push Emilio back, maybe get him off balance enough so when his own leg actually made a move to sweep the other’s, there’d be a sliver of a chance of it actually doing something.

—

He watched the expressions flutter across Zane’s face. The anxiety, the vulnerability, the hopelessness. This kind of thing wasn’t easy; Emilio could hardly pretend to relate to Zane’s struggle to learn to defend himself when, as a slayer, he’d practically been born with a knife in his hand. The same blade that looked unfamiliar and clunky in the vampire’s grip was like an extension of Emilio’s own arm when he held it, something as easy to control as the fingers on his hand. He didn’t remember learning the things he was teaching Zane now; he’d been so young when they were beaten into him that it sometimes felt as if they’d been there all along.

Zane repeated the word, and Emilio nodded. “Everybody you fight’s got a weak spot,” he said, falling back a little. “First thing you want to do is figure out what it is. Speed is mine. Not as fast as I used to be, and even if I were, you’d probably be faster. Take in the person you’re up against. Figure out what they’re bad at. Use it. Won’t be the same every time, but you’ll get good at picking up on it. And know what you’re good and bad at, too. You’re fast, but you don’t go as fast as you could. You hold back. The people you’re fighting won’t. Speed doesn’t mean shit if you’re too afraid of hurting anyone to use it.”

He fell back into a defensive position when it was clear that Zane was ready to go again. This time, it was smoother. The swipe was fast, the second faster. Emilio had to push himself to avoid them, to the point that the sweeping leg actually did knock him off balance a little. Not enough to take him off his feet, but enough to send him stumbling backwards a few steps. He righted himself quickly, ducking under Zane to get behind him. This time, the stake rested against his back. “Better,” he said, in a tone that made it less of a compliment and more of a statement of fact. “But you’re still dead. Gotta protect yourself after an attack. Hope it lands, but assume it won’t. Hitting them when you assume you won’t is less of a risk than not hitting them when you assume you will. One gets you tired, the other gets you killed. Attack, then fall back into defense. Get ready for them to come back at you.”

—

Too afraid of hurting anyone. That really was what all of this boiled down to, wasn’t it? Zane was terrified of hurting someone, whether on purpose or by accident. Way back when, he’d made somewhat of a promise to the man currently teaching him to fight that if he ever went off the deep end, starting hurting people, Zane would give himself up for the stake. The sentiment still stood yet the fear of that scenario becoming true had only grown since then.

His head felt heavy when the pointed end of a stake found his back, Emilio’s words slightly muffled. A shame, since he seemed to be providing some good tips but Zane’s ears were rushing, the sharp staccato of the slayer’s words making everything unreal. He swiveled on his heel, arms moving at a speed that jolted even himself, shoving at Emilio’s chest with a force he hadn’t expected. Although he hadn’t even expected to shove the other in the first place.

“Sorry, that was - sorry,” Zane spluttered, pulling his hands back to his chest just as sharply, retreating back a few steps. Nails dug into palms as he balled his fists, unaware of his eyes changing hue. “This is a bad idea.”

—

He wasn’t expecting another attack. It caught him off guard, more than a little. The force of Zane’s shove sent him tumbling backwards, the wall behind him the only thing that kept him from falling on his ass. The stake fell to the ground, and Emilio let it stay there as he straightened. He shook his head at Zane’s apology.

“Don’t be. It was a good hit,” he said, propping himself against the wall and studying Zane’s features. The eyes going red, the look on his face… Some people weren’t built for violence. It was something that had taken Emilio a long time to understand, something that hadn’t clicked at all until he’d come here, met people who were more people than weapons. There were people who weren’t compatible with the kind of shit he’d come to know as commonplace.

Unfortunately, there were also people who didn’t get much of a say. Plenty of slayers out there didn’t give a shit how Zane felt about violence. They’d stake him just as quickly as they would a mindless spawn. And Emilio was coming to realize that he didn’t want that to happen. “Look,” he sighed, “I know you don’t like this. Not your thing, I get it. But you’re going to have to learn how to handle yourself if you don’t want some asshole to come along and turn you to dust. It’s not what you would have picked for yourself, I get that. But it is what it is. This is what you are now. You gotta learn to go with it.”

—

Zane’s eyes moved to the stake on the ground, finding it easier to focus on the piece of wood than Emilio straightening himself after the blow. The feelings of shame, mixed with success at what was probably the closest he would ever get to a compliment from the slayer, were making his brain go a bit haywire. And Emilio speaking in a way that was almost… empathetic? It did prove what Zane had suspected all along, that the hardass attitude was just a big cover, but boy, was it making everything feel a bit unreal.

His gaze finally returned to Emilio, eyes back to a soft brown but still creased with worry. This is what you are now. Someone who could hurt people. Who had hurt people, both bad and good. “What if I can’t?” Zane asked quietly, shoulders dropping in defeat. It was a rhetorical question, and one that Emilio had pretty much answered already. He’d be nothing more than dust if he couldn’t. So instead of waiting for an answer, Zane moved instead to pick up the knife he’d dropped in the process of shoving the slayer, holding it with an ounce of determination that hadn’t been present before.

With a heavy exhale, eyes closing for a moment, he let himself feel the weight of the knife in his hand. Nothing else except to go with it, huh. Eyes opening, Zane squared his jaw before giving Emilio a nod. “Okay.”

—

“Then you die. Again. For real, this time.” It was blunt, and maybe a little harsh, but it was the truth. After everything, Emilio thought that Zane deserved that. He’d been lied to by his sire already. He deserved a little honesty, even if it was something hard to hear. And while Emilio might not have been good at much when it came to human interaction, he was good at the truth. He was good at telling it how it was, regardless of how much trouble it landed him in or how unpopular it made him. Reviews of Axis Investigation might condemn him for his bluntness, but at least the people writing those reviews got the truth they’d asked for.

He watched Zane’s expression, watched the determination slip into place. As the vampire leaned down to pick up the knife, the ghost of a smile flickered across the slayer’s face. He leaned down, too, picked up the stake and positioned it carefully in his hands.

“Okay,” he repeated. He tilted his chin up, falling easily into a defensive position. “Throw away your thoughts. Don’t worry about the damage you’ll do. I’m a hunter. I tracked you down. I’m going to kill you. How are you going to stop me?”

—

Like other things Zane has struggled with, repetition seemed to be the key. It seemed obvious now but the second he’d failed to catch the knife, he’d been sure this was a lost cause. It definitely didn’t feel like a win yet but it was… something.

Emilio was a surprisingly decent teacher. Zane knew better than to mention it, had a feeling that any sort of genuine compliment wouldn’t exactly go down the right way, but it did make the vampire try harder than he thought capable. Maybe a bit too hard at times if the black eye on Emilio’s face was anything to go off, having met Zane’s elbow at some point. Luckily for Zane’s guilt, the slayer served as good as he got - obviously holding back seeing as Zane was still alive but he was definitely sore.

It felt different from the other times he’d felt the aches of a fight. He didn’t feel scared.

He was too sore to care about the status of the couch he was currently sitting on but the company of Perro was definitely helping. Distractedly scratching behind the dog’s ears, Zane watched Emilio, faint fondness visible in the tired eyes. “Why’d you agree to this?” he asked softly, turning his eyes back to Perro at the sound of complaint when the petting was no longer up to standard.

—

Zane did all right. Not amazing — it was clumsy and unbalanced, the way he fought, but Emilio could certainly see some improvement by the end of the session. And, if he was being honest… the whole thing was more fun than he thought it would be. He’d been dreading it, when he’d first agreed to help Zane train. After all, he’d failed to train his daughter and hated himself for the assistance he’d given his sister in training his nephew. Training, before this, had always been so much more brutal. Tossing children to wolves and seeing if they survived without having their throats torn out. This was different. It felt kinder, more productive. He didn’t hate it.

He limped back to the living room from the kitchen, carrying a pair of glasses and setting the slightly less full one in front of Zane before settling onto the couch beside the vampire. The glasses would be familiar to Zane, of course; he’d been the one to buy them, after all. Emilio lifted his to his lips with a sigh, reaching his free hand out to rest lazily on Perro’s back.

He glanced over as Zane spoke, shifting a little where he sat. “You need to know how to defend yourself,” he replied. “Lot of people out there who’ll kill you if you can’t.” Emilio used to be one of them. He tried not to focus on that too much, tried not to dwell. “I’ve… seen a lot of people die because they didn’t know how to hold their own. You don’t deserve that. So if I can help, I’ll help. Probably owe you that much, after everything.” Zane was his friend. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he knew it was undeniable now. And Emilio, for all his faults, took care of his friends.

—

At the sight of two glasses being brought over, mixed emotions flashed across Zane’s face. He was pleased to see that his donation to Emilio’s cupboards were still in one piece but not really looking forward to drinking whatever was in the glasses. It had only taken the one time to learn that the slayer seemed to prefer strength over quality of taste when it came to his beverages. Even so, he attempted a grateful smile, which turned into a grimace the second he brought the drink close enough to smell.

Emilio wasn’t a man of many words, very to the point, never one to say anything he didn’t mean. It was a change of pace for someone like Zane, who almost always said too much with too many words, so in a way he envied the slayer. The amount of words didn’t matter because the meaning, the conviction, was there. Emilio cared whether or not someone shoved a stake through Zane’s heart. It was dressed in a feeling of owing the vampire something, which was ridiculous considering all the help provided at the barn, but still.

He was smiling, there was no stopping it nor hiding it, so Zane settled for a sip of the disgusting liquid. “Well,” he coughed out, the first sip no easier than the last time, “thank you. Honestly. Like, I kinda want to hug you right now - don’t worry, I won’t - but, uh… it’s nice. That you have my back.” He paused, putting the barely touched glass of alcohol back on the table. “And I do want to have yours, y’know. If we’re talking about owing people something. I get that you’re not exactly the type to ask for help but… well, I’m here.”

—

Zane didn’t look entirely pleased with the beverage choice; not many people were. Emilio liked his whiskey strong and cheap, and that tended to be a combination that warded off most other people. He rolled his eyes as Zane made a face at the smell. “You don’t have to drink it,” he said, taking a long gulp from his own glass. If Zane didn’t want it, Emilio would drink it himself… which he figured would only prompt the vampire to insist on braving it out. He had a strange habit of worrying about Emilio; the slayer couldn’t pretend to understand it.

He was beginning to think it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. He thought back to what Rhett had said not long after coming to town, when he’d still been pissed as hell that Emilio was making friends with people who weren’t as human as he might have liked them to be. The question of whether or not the existence of these friends meant that Emilio no longer wanted to die still wasn’t one he knew the answer to. He still had a hard time mustering up much will to live on the bad days, and even on the good ones it was fleeting. But… He didn’t hate the idea of people caring about him quite as much as he used to. Maybe that was a step in the right direction.

Still, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Zane smiled in response to his statement, couldn’t stop himself from letting out a huff of air as the vampire coughed around the taste of that cheap whiskey. Coughing, Emilio thought, was awfully dramatic for a guy who didn’t even breathe. “Do not hug me,” he warned with a dubious look. He watched that glass of whiskey go to the table, stared at it so he wouldn’t have to look at Zane. People caring about him wasn’t the worst thing, but he still wasn’t sure how to react to things like this. To people who wanted him safe, wanted to protect him. It felt strangely backwards, like something that shouldn’t be. Emilio was the protector; it was what he was for. “You’ll have to get better with a knife first,” he said, because it was easier to make one of his stupid jokes that no one else ever found funny. “Otherwise, I’ll just watch my own back.”

—

It was subtle, but there. A small shift in Emilio, more easily spotted now that Zane wasn’t dodging punches or figuratively catching his breath after being slammed into the floor. It made the vampire happy, hopeful, which Emilio would probably hate if he knew but… maybe he’d hate it a bit less than he would have some weeks ago. Whatever was spurring this change, Zane was glad for it.

The glass stayed untouched after that first sip, even though Zane knew it would mean more alcohol for the slayer but at this point, liver damage killing the man felt about as likely as a heart attack killing Zane. So he let himself not worry about that for now, allowing himself instead to bask in how weirdly nice this was, how accomplished he felt at having completed something he’d been terrified to do. A step towards forging his own path, with some unexpected help. “Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, amused by the almost doubtful look in Emilio’s eyes, like he wouldn’t quite know how to react to a hug. It made Zane want to hug him even more for some reason.

Huffing out another laugh, Zane smiled at Perro and shook his head, as if the dog might understand how silly his owner was being. “Alright, fair enough.” He paused before glancing up at Emilio, a bit of hope in his eyes. “Same time next week, then?”

#writing #mortemoppetere #thread:emilio #emilio.006 #suicidal ideation tw

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kazoosandfannypacks · 1 year ago

Text

"Wishing it Wasn't" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 12/18: Try Something New, Darling Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: Teen (for gun violence in later chapters) Word Count: (1K/19.5K) Summary: Season 2 Canon Divergence: When Neal tells Emma he has a fiancée, she claims to have a new boyfriend of her own, and blurts out the first fairytale name she can think of: Captain Hook. Killian agrees to this ruse, but when feelings grow between the two, will the con be more than they can handle? Chapter Summary: Killian warns Emma about Tamara's evil plan. Tags: season 2, canon divergence, gun violence in later chapters, angst with a happy ending, fake dating, mild character death, mildly anti neal Author's notes: none Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

Emma sat in the Sheriff's station alone while her dad was out getting lunch. She'd been staring at the notes app for half an hour, trying to draft a perfect way out.

"Killian and I broke up this morning."

That sounded like a pathetic cover story, especially after how lovey-dovey they'd been the past two days.

"Killian's going out of town for the week."

Yeah. Like she could convince him to leave that easily, with unfinished business here in town.

"I'm going out of town for a week."

Even more ridiculous. She had responsibilities here and no excuses outside of town for her sudden departure.

"We've been lying to you this whole time. Killian and I aren't really together."

A confession like that over text message? How much lower could she stoop?

"We need to talk."

Bad move. It'd only make Neal feel so much more anxious- not to mention her anxiety at having this conversation in person- and what if he just didn't show?

She sighed and set down her phone, then crossed her arms on the table and threw her head on them. This scheme was spiraling out of control faster than she could stop it- and it needed to end now. Every step she took to ensure that she and Killian looked like a perfect couple only made her wish they were. She enjoyed taking refuge under his arm a little more each time. Her smiles at him were becoming more and more genuine. She thought of him with every song that came up on the car radio.

That's why she had to abandon this ruse. She couldn't stand falling for someone again- especially someone who she was sure didn't have feelings for her in return- that would be a big mistake.

And even if she was sure he liked her back, even if he told her so plainly, even if he confessed love for her in dramatic speeches- not that he ever would, of course, and Emma scolded herself for even considering it- she'd heard all those words before, and they meant nothing anymore. She didn't know if she ever could trust him, and was almost thankful she wouldn't have to, that her feelings really were unrequited.

Emma expected the interrupting footsteps entering the station behind her to be her dad's- and she never would've expected them to be Killian's- so when she saw him, she was hit with a sudden shot of panic, and wondered how to breach the conversation of their inevitable fake breakup.

"No one else is around." Emma reminded herself, turning away from him after she saw he entered. "He'll be cold and distant again. I'll need to match that."

"Hey, Hook." She said, pretending to be very interested in the stack of papers on her desk. "Something I can do for you?"

"Swan, there's something I need to tell you." Killian said, almost sounding sincere. "But I'm not sure if you'll believe me."

"I just found out two months ago that my parents are Snow White and Prince Charming." Emma deadpanned. "I've gotten a lot better at believing things recently."

"Good." He said. "It's about Tamara."

That was one of the last people she wanted to talk about right now. Tamara was one of those people. She could do no wrong. She had this air of pleasantries and perfection that Emma found unsettling. She drove Emma's superpower haywire.

"What about her?"

"She knows about the fairytales, about the magic at the heart of Storybrooke, and she's out to destroy it."

As much as Emma would love to believe that her ex's new fianceé was an evil mastermind, she didn't buy it.

"How do you know?"

"She thought she could trust the legendary Captain Hook to help her." Killian said. "She thought I'd leave this whole town to die just to defeat the Crocodile."

"Wouldn't you?" Emma asked.

She noticed that he didn't respond. She turned around to see him looking at her, staring at her, face tinted with hues of betrayal, shaded with despair.

"Is that how you see…" he clenched his fist ever so slightly and shook his head, eyes closed, whispering almost to himself, "That's not important now." He then addressed Emma, "The point is, you, your family, and this entire town are in grave danger. Tamara's working with that outsider, Greg, and they're planning…."

Emma's instincts had been telling her to trust him, and so did her superpower, but she was sure they were wrong, that her gut feeling was colored by her emotions- until he mentioned Tamara and Greg were in league.

"She!" Emma interrupted him, then began digging through papers in her desk.

"She?" Killian asked.

Emma looked for her case file on the Greg Mendell crash. "Greg kept getting these phone calls while he was unconscious- calls from someone saved in his contacts as 'She.'"

Emma found where she'd written down "she's" number, then pulled out her phone and pulled up Tamara's contact profile.

"That's why that looked familiar." Emma said. "They have the same phone number."

"What does that mean?"

Emma grabbed her keys and gun off the desk.

"It means whether or not you're right, Tamara's definitely not who she says she is." Emma said. "Can you take me to her?"

"Of course." Killian said.

She started to leave, but she was stopped by a hook around her arm. She looked down at it, then back up at Hook, readying to defend herself if this was the inevitable betrayal.

"Why are you so quick to trust me?" He asked. "Aren't you afraid this could be a trap?"

"I used to think everything was a trap." Emma said, "I still do. But last time I didn't trust you I was wrong, back on the beanstalk." She looked up at him and noticed some kind of genuine understanding in his eyes, then added. "I'm gonna have to trust you this time."

He removed his hook's grip around her arm. "Thank you, Swan."

"Don't thank me yet." Emma said. She turned away from him to build up a wall against his penetrating gaze, then tacked on an emotional barrier as well. "I could still be wrong about you."

#once upon a time fanficton #cs fanfic #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #season 2 #canon divergence #kazzy writes

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voraciousvore · 1 year ago

Text

Bucky's (18/44)

***Contains some soft, safe vore***

Chapter 18: Strange Feelings

After that fateful night, Patty couldn’t get Ronny out of her mind. She was obsessed. She believed he was the key to her escape. If he could get the tracker off her wrist, she might have a chance to get away. She couldn’t see herself convincing any other Giant to help her take it off. He seemed sympathetic to her plight as well. She hoped he would come back soon. She was desperate to get away, and she felt renewed vigor with the vague outline of a plan.

Her revelation that he thought she was an employee at Bucky’s, working voluntarily for a wage, stunned her. She had assumed that all the Giants who came to the restaurant to feed on humans knew the humans were prisoners. It had been plainly obvious to her, but perhaps not to the customers. She saw the restaurant in a different light now. Maybe not all the customers were so ignorant, but at least some of them must be under the same delusion. Maybe not all Giants were as bad as she thought. Perhaps, if she did successfully escape, she’d be able to survive on the large side of the city—especially if she had Ronny to help her.

Ronny. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. His hot temper and sullen attitude scared her, with him being so incredibly large. Plus, he was a Giant, and Patty didn’t have the best experiences with Giants. From observing his interactions on his dates, Patty sensed that Ronny had a lot of baggage in his past that he was trying to work through. Yet, underneath that rough, edgy, gruff exterior, she saw good in him as well: buds of compassion, gentleness, motivation to be a better man. There was something about him that made her heart flutter, that made her feel warm inside. These feelings alarmed her, and seemed wrong and inappropriate to her when directed toward a Giant, so she made an effort to deny and reject them. She couldn’t accept that any of that made sense. She needed him to help her escape, nothing more.

The humans arose in the morning with Bucky’s usual banging on the ceiling and ate their breakfast, which consisted of leftovers from last night’s dinner service. Patty found herself next to Cesar, of all people. She hadn’t talked to him much, even though he was always hanging around in the common room since there was nowhere else for him to go.

“Hey, Cesar, why do you bother to get up with the rest of us this early in the morning? It’s not like you have to be present for Bucky’s morning inspection,” Patty pointed out.

Cesar shrugged. “Just to be with everyone else, I suppose. A little community time before I’m alone again here. It’s awfully boring with little company and nothing to do, day after day.”

“But at least you don’t have to be eaten, right?” Patty said, trying to look on the bright side. She had to admit, Cesar’s situation sounded abysmal, being trapped in the same rooms indefinitely, pointlessly, perhaps for life, with no stimulation. As terrible as it was to be served as live food in a restaurant, at least Patty got some variety in her life and had a function, a purpose, a role to fulfill.

Cesar sighed and gave Patty an intense look. “The irony is painful.”

“Huh?” Patty replied, confused.

“I’m probably the only human in here that WANTS to be eaten, and I’m the only one that won’t be. The universe truly hates me.”

“Wait. You WANT to be eaten?” Patty balked.

“More than anything!” Cesar exclaimed passionately, a dreamy look in his eye. “I don’t care if it’s a Giant or a Giantess, to be honest, as long as they’re sexy, with nice teeth. I just want to be eaten so badly. It sounds so hot, so intimate, to be inside someone like that. To pleasure them with your whole body. And you know, a lot of Giants get erotic pleasure from eating people, which makes it even better.”

Patty stared at him with bafflement. “You’re nuts.” She was grossed out at the thought that Giants that ate her might be doing it to satisfy lustful, not just gluttonous, urges. Just then, Bucky opened the ceiling, and the humans scrambled into rows. Patty happened to be standing next to Graham Cracker this time.

“Graham, your glasses!” she hissed.

“Shit,” he muttered, removing them from his face and hastily stashing them on a couch nearby. He moved back into line just in time for Bucky to pass over him with his glittering eyes. He sighed with relief and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Thanks Patty.”

“No problem,” she whispered back. After studying each human with painstaking detail, Bucky dismissed them to the tank. The day started off fairly typical, with a few humans being chosen for breakfast. The breakfast shift was always the worst, because humans who were eaten early in the day were always returned to the tank later, where there was a good possibility of being picked again for lunch or dinner. On the other hand, fatal ingestion was very rare in the morning, so at least the humans had that for consolation.

Patty hung out with Slim Jim and Little Debbie most of the time, since they were such nice people. Patty had no idea how Little Debbie kept up her cheery demeanor despite the empty despair they all suffered from, but she appreciated her attempts at positivity. Many of the humans couldn’t stand Little Debbie’s chipper attitude, and preferred to wallow in gloom. Patty didn’t want that: She knew the importance of not giving up hope, if she ever wanted to escape, and she was feeling more optimistic than ever today.

Patty learned more about Little Debbie as she spoke to her. She was the youngest of three sisters. Her mom was too sick to work, so she had been forced to step up to financially support the family and help pay for her mother’s exorbitant medical bills. Working as a prostitute, on top of her other job, proved to be lucrative. Unfortunately, she had been caught. She worried about her mother, in her sickly condition, and hoped she was still doing alright.

Slim Jim talked about how much he missed his wife and children. He had two young kids, a girl and a boy. He hoped they were doing okay, but of course he had no way to contact them. He wasn’t optimistic, considering how desperate he had been to provide for them when he was arrested. Jim was normally a respectable man, not a hardened criminal, and he berated himself for the bad decisions he had made. He was full of regret and beaten down after his failed escape attempts.

Patty tried not to get too close to anyone, for obvious reasons, but it was impossible not to get to know people and make friends. There was nothing else to do in the tank except talk to each other, huddle in fear, and watch the selected humans get eaten. Honey was one of the first unlucky humans of the day. Patty, Jim, and Debbie watched as a Giant slathered her with butter, stuck her inside a blueberry muffin, and wolfed her down, rubbing his belly with contentment afterwards. Pepper was next, accompanying a southwestern-style omelet and some hash browns. The Giant whose plate she was on delighted in tormenting her, stirring her up with the food on his plate, picking her up with his fork and dropping her, before finally scooping her up with a forkful of hash browns and tossing her in his mouth. After playing with her on his tongue for a while, he swallowed her whole and licked his lips.

Despite the distractions, Patty continued to daydream about Ronny coming to rescue her. Little did she know that Ronny was thinking about her as well. Much like Patty, he was ambivalent about his true feelings. He figured she was an inferior human, a small little nothing designed to fit on his dinner plate and inside his belly. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why did he feel so strange when he thought about her, so excited and euphoric, like he was floating? Such feelings made him exceedingly uncomfortable, yet at the same time the heavy darkness that was constantly crushing him down seemed to vanish. He felt light and sunny—perhaps even happy. What the hell was wrong with him?

He could hardly focus on his work the next day, thinking about her. He typed on his keyboard, mechanically going through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere. When he ate lunch, his food seemed tasteless and bland without her in it. He barely touched his macaroni and cheese, so by the end of the day he was already starving. At first, he resisted the strange impulses in his head, and went home. He changed out of his suit into more comfortable clothes and checked his fridge. Nothing looked appetizing. He only had eyes—and an open mouth—for Patty.

He thought about how delicious she tasted and began to salivate. How good she felt, tumbling down his throat. Moving around inside his belly. His stomach growled. He was disturbed to find himself aroused, his pants growing tighter around his groin, his insides and lower half reacting in a visceral, carnal way. This feeling wasn’t right, not when directed towards a human. He sat down on the couch, turned on the TV to distract himself, and tried to cool down. He needed to put a stop to his racing thoughts and his heart throbbing in his chest.

He stared at the TV for a good fifteen minutes before he realized he hadn’t paid attention to any of the programming. He couldn’t get Patty out of his head. He wanted her—and not just to eat. He wanted to be with her, to get to know her. To hold her in his hands, up to his chest. He was burning with an unexpected passion that was almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to rescue her from her terrible confinement and be her hero. He had felt whole with her, in a way that literally nothing else could.

Ronny sprang up from the couch, slicking his black hair back with his hands. He was sweating. He needed to get these thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t possibly feel this way about this woman, this human. Could he? And what would she think about it, if she knew his true feelings? About him? Some despicable, barbaric, man-eating Giant who ordered her up on a plate to be eaten? There was no way she could feel anything for him beyond fear and revulsion.

He reflected on how he had aggressively, angrily scarfed her up in his pasta the first time he met her. Chowed down on her with chicken wings. Drank her up in his beer, even after she begged him to have mercy on her (though, to give himself credit, he had stopped himself initially, until Bucky interfered). And, the whole time, unbeknownst to him, she had been a prisoner at the restaurant, forced to suffer and submit to his whims. He had been such a stupid jerk to her. He wondered, if he had known the truth, if he would have treated her any differently upon their initial encounter, if it would have changed anything. He honestly wasn’t sure.

Ronny started to spiral. He was drowning in guilt. He recalled memories from further back, all the horrible things he’d done. He thought about that sweet human girl back at the office, Candy, whom he had tortured and almost murdered. She had done nothing wrong to him except make him bitter because she was pretty and he resented humans. He had a long, long list of cruel actions he had inflicted upon her: dunking her in his coffee, playing with her in his mouth, flicking her in the head to knock her out, stashing her in the perverted boss’s laptop bag to take home, smashing cake all over her, belittling her with insults, trapping her in a refrigerator, wrapping her up in spaghetti, putting her in a microwave—the list was endless. He had done so many objectionable things, he couldn’t keep track of them all. Sure, he had saved her from the boss’s savage lust and gluttony in the end, but that hardly made up for all the horrors he had committed. He knew he had sinned beyond what could be forgiven.

He looked down at his hands, shaking. He couldn’t go on like this, continuing to be the monster that he was. He needed to change. He realized he wanted to save Patty for selfish reasons, but a good deed was a good deed. She needed help, desperately, and he had the means to free her. At least, he hoped he did. He wasn’t sure if he could steal her away from the restaurant and get away with it. The owner had seen him before, knew his face. Bucky had taken precautions. The trackers. There were obstacles, but Ronny was certain, if he were gutsy enough, he could overcome them.

Full of determination, Ronny left his apartment and made his way over to Bucky’s with purpose. He didn’t have a clear plan in mind, but he knew he had to try. He needed to feel, in his heart, that he could be redeemed.

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #Bucky's #g/t story #g/t vore

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nerendus · 1 year ago

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Spice, moonlit, ghost

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

The house I spent most of my childhood in, I 100% believe was haunted. Maybe not by the spirits of dead people (especially since no one every died in that house), but at the very least the residual remains of a person who once lived there. An elderly woman lived in the house before us, and just on the overall vibes felt in the house, it definitely felt like a grandma was occupying the space around us.

I only ever really experienced the sound of soft breathing over my shoulder and someone sitting at the foot of my bed, but my mother and sister have been so much more lucky in experiencing things. My mother has heard someone quite plainly say hello back to her when she's alone in the house, and my sister becomes plagued by like, seriously bad vibes whenever she doesn't clean her room.

And whilst this isn't exactly about the house itself, when our neighbour across the street passed away under extremely suspicious conditions, that night before anyone found the body, my sister had an extremely bad dream of a figure standing over her—and the vibes were bad not necessarily in the sense that the figure wanted to do her harm, but more of her experiencing their pain. Doesn't exactly mean anything conclusive, but I think back to that time and time again.

Another time, me and my family left our house for about six weeks, and the place was left clean and tidy and all the lights were turned off to conserve energy. But when we returned, there was an empty pizza box and half-eaten apple in the kitchen and random lights in the house were on. Maybe not a ghost, but it certainly was weird.

moonlit - are you a neat or messy person? Is your room / house orderly?

Oh, without a doubt, I am extremely messy. I clean my room and not a day passes before it's trashed again. I still have tons of boxes from when I moved to this house a few years ago still stacked up and not moved an inch. One day I'll get to properly unpacking my stuff. One day.

ghost - is there someone that you miss having in your life?

Plenty of people. Especially from my Instagram and Wattpad days, I had a lot of friends that I kept in close contact for several years. But as I got older and interests parted from them, there never really became a reason to still talk to them, and while I genuinely don't feel compelled to reach out to them, I still do quite miss them.

#texts from the underbrush #📬

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lesbianbreastmilk · 1 year ago

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Still thinking about the Emperor's romance and how it spans across the three acts in such a subtle but strong way. Like with Badri, she definitely didn't know what to believe at first, didn't immediately start using the tadpoles. Every time they met in the Astral Prism, she felt drawn to the guardian in a way that went beyond her understanding. No one had ever wanted to protect her; she has a pretty conflicted past in which she has sought to help others to the point of her own suffering. And I think the martyr pov comes from the fact she's a half-aasimar with an enstranged connection to cosmic divinity. That's why she sought to learn magic often, even the magic looked down by others, like necromancy and its uses for medicine and investigation. (The murder mystery in the Act 3 is her jam because she's good at it with Speak with the Dead lol and technically her job if you take away the tadpole mess.)

BUT what I'm trying to say is that she knew the guardian was lying to her. Plainly. She can tell. She went the crèche path just because she wanted to know more about the prism and test the waters with the guardian. As much as their conversations were pleasant and her presence was warm, Badri lived a life that she got to know the minds of the strangest people you could find; being a private investigator does that to you. In the prism, when the Emperor thinks you're about to kill her, it really dawned on Badri that this was a situation where she had to trust this guardian she knew little about because despite all subterfuge she really seemed to want to protect her and her companions. I think this is where the similarities between the Emperor and Badri start because they're both pretty strange people in their own way. Both sacrifice a lot for others with a goal in mind - and sometimes their good intentions fall short because they can't anticipate every angle. No matter how much they claim they might.

With Badri, she had a strange-ass friendship with my durge, and they met while she was investigating murder sprees in BG; Badri tried her best to try and bring my durge out of her pact with Bhaal. She could see the person beneath the reigns of a bloody god. But never managed, especially since Orin is particularly nasty and obessesive. And to her, Badri's meddling was annoying even if it proved to be an opportunity to get Solemn and Equinox (my durge's name) captured and tadpole'd. I envision they travel together, but Badri never tells Solemn and Equinox about her past because she believes this is her break to make a change. So you get why I think the Emperor and Badri are alike. Both omit things because they believe it'll help in the long run; given Badri is a beacon of shiny light with mostly noble intentions and the Emperor is a shady little shadow with personal goals. They make the whole puzzle fit.

The first time the guardian/Emperor is vulnerable with Badri, she hugs her without a second thought. Because Badri has made up her mind, that whatever her secret is, she'll have a good reason to keep it hidden for now. When they touch, it feels so serene for a second and stirs a connection between them that was already taking shape, like a cord made of gold among a starry realm. Every time they meet the scent of vanilla and garlic is present which is a smell she attributes only to the guardian's presence. And that's when she tells the guardian: "You protect me, I protect you." It's almost like sealing their destiny as intertwined. I know the companions often wonder why she is such a jovial soul, but a bit of a loner, and it's really because she seldom connects with others. But when she does? It's until the end.

When it's finally revealed that the guardian is a mind flayer, she is surprised, but not in a bad way. Because finally, everything made sense. She had humored the hypothesis in her mind, but it seemed so far-fetched. But now standing next to it, helping it, and hearing its voice as they are, she understands the visage. She sees how it mirrors each other; the glowing eye and scar, the purple and red tones of her make-up. The guardian is as much as part of the Emperor as anything else. But this form is its essence. Where the warmth and care come from. So Badri does stare, but unlike the Emperor's self-conscious comment, "stop looking at me like that," it's just because she gets it now. And it excites her. She wants to know everything it may be willing to share.

The Emperor is squid over heels with Badri and it is very evident when it shares everything they were in their past life. It wants her to know, it wants her to be its star amidst the darkness of thoughts and tiresome loneliness. I firmly believe it seeks companionship because it wants to love so badly, but mind flayers have no blueprint for it. Enslaved by an Elder Brain and driven to enslave others, so to the Emperor, freedom is everything. And Badri is as free as they come, with an insane background and species. She is as weird as it comes in a package of humanoid. Star-like eyes, always topless, wings of celestial nature, and a job unfit for her kind. At least in the eyes of the gods.

She likes mortality and people. And the Emperor does too, albeit it sucks at connecting with others while Badri is pretty good at it. It is madly in love with her because she is so accepting of who they were, who they became, and who they are now.

I think the romance/sex scene is the first time the Emperor got intimate with another person while being a mind flayer (those desperate squid moans are sub-mode sorry 🫵🏻🦑), and it holds probably a meaning beyond words. That's why their mind connection fills the gap of words. They mean the world to each other. And the pleasure they derive from this love is endless.

Badri is not scared of its predator nature, and the Emperor can fully embrace itself in Badri's arms. Tentacles in the pussy and all.

Oh, and also Badri didn't particularly care the Emperor didn't tell her it was Balduran before becoming a mind flayer. It's something that clearly brings him mixed emotions, so she respects that it didn't want to share such painful aspect of its past and who they were (and no longer are). Also, she thinks Ansur is kind of an ass for trying to kill his friend because it was a "mercy death" instead of becoming a ""monster."" She tries to be neutral, but it's the same thing with Lae'zel where she's like "that's not a ""ghaik"" it's my beautiful purple wife 💜 🥰🫶🏻"

#hello yes im back #throws a 10ft long thought post #bg3 spoilers #badri the starstorm #the emperor bg3 #otp: You protect me; I protect you

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myybelovedghostandme · 1 year ago

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You’re Losing Me

I just think that as someone who is currently going through the ringer with my m*rriage, You’re Losing Me might be one of the most gut-punching songs she’s ever written and released, especially when held up next to Cornelia Street.

There is something so tangible about a line that says, “you say I don’t understand,” and I say, “I know you don’t” because of how often communication falling apart is just the first step to the downfall of a relationship. You plead, and beg, and explain over and over and over again what you want and need. And then nothing changes.

He told me to get out of the house. I begged him to try counseling. He relented—but only because he didn’t want to look like the bad guy. He didn’t want to be accused of being unreasonable.

Those first few months, he tried to get me to leave.

The signs are always there, whether you see them or not. Sometimes, it’s just refusal to accept what’s plainly in front of you: the end of a relationship. Sometimes it’s denial, sometimes it’s thinking, “If we can just make it to XYZ, we’ll be able to fix it.”

Six years (how long I’ve been married) is a long time, especially when it’s been spent building a life with someone. “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” WRECKS me because it reminds me of a conversation where my spouse sat me down and told me how he wanted to divide assets. Taking a life built together and ripping it in half as if that will ease the ache left in the wake of the destruction.

I turn this song on in the car and scream it at the top of my lungs. There is something healing about having a song that encapsulates exactly how a moment/relationship feels. I cry when I reach the line, “I know my pain is such an imposition.” I can’t breathe when I hear the bridge.

My spouse looked me in the eye told me he didn’t love me anymore. He told me my mental illness was a burden. He told me I wasn’t pulling my weight (untrue, he just wasn’t paying attention). He told me I was dark, troubled, and painful to be around. He told me I was a piece of shit. That I was embarrassing. At 29, he believes I am too old to love things as broadly and loudly as I do—and especially so of Taylor Swift, as if she hadn’t been there are every single pivotal moment of my life. As if she hadn’t gotten me through the absolute worst days I’ve ever lived through. In order to be accepted, I had to become less.

A lot of this is because I don’t want kids, which is something I was very clear about before we stood at the altar and said, “I do.” Now, it’s gasoline on the fire. I’m a miserable bitch because I don’t want a family—as if it’s only family when there are children in the picture.

There was a moment, months before he asked for a divorce, where I gave up. Deep down, I understood that it wasn’t just that we weren’t on the same page. We weren’t even reading the same book. We were even in the same genre. I understood then that we didn’t understand each other, we didn’t want the same things anymore, we were no longer compatible. The things he used to say he loved about me, the things he said that helped him fall in love, were now reasons why he hated being with me.

I stayed because I love him. He agreed to counseling. The two of us, sitting across from a marriage counselor once a week, splitting open our chests until our hearts lay raw and bleeding on the floor. Learning to communicate. To forgive. To understand.

And it’s working.

Last month, he asked me to never leave him.

Last week, he said he was so happy we never got divorced.

I am left with a husband who loves me again but a marriage I no longer believe in. I don’t know what love is anymore because I can’t understand how someone who claims to love me would have said the things he did or done the things he did. When he tells me loves me, I can’t trust that he means it.

I feel like I’ve lost more than the illusion of a happy marriage. I’ve lost myself along the way.

It’s just crazy to me that midnights came into the world two weeks after my marriage fell apart, an album that I listened to and immediately said, “this album is the opposite of lover.” A breakup album, whether it was intended to be so or not. Full of complex emotions, skipping between love and loss, loneliness, anger, confusion. A variation of the stages of grief played out over the course of 19 songs. A heart laid bare.

You’re Losing Me feels like the song that ties the entire narrative together—and completely eviscerates Lover. And it nails home that, once again, Taylor Swift albums are the landmarks of my life.

#taylor swift #you’re losing me #midnights #from the vault

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multipleoccupancy · 2 months ago

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Theo and Andrea just exchanged a short glance at the worry over barbers doing stitches. Theo was about to offer to find a physician but Violet said she trusted them and he took that as permission that the barber would do, if he was even needed in the first place.

As she went to sit up, both Theo and Andrea moved to try and offer support and help for her to do so. While they disagreed with her attempt they thought she might as well try and learn it was a bad idea than believe they were coddling her. She had clearly used up a lot of energy to do just that and Andrea held onto her arm to support her in an upright position. Seeing the beads of sweat on her brow, Theo moved to the wash basin, emptied it out of the window unceremoniously and then poured clean water from a jug over a small fold of cloth.

"Well I am sure he will be mighty grateful for a knife like that," Theo mused while he rung out the cloth a few times, catching the water in the bowl. "I hope we don't meet a Hound either," he said plainly and honestly, "if just one shard can do that, I hate to think what the rest of it is capable of." He noticed her checking the corners of the room, quietly and slowly doing the same curiously.

"Bacon and potatoes," Andrea repeated for Violet's order, she turned to Theo, "No candies, you can have beef with dried fruits." Andrea insisted, brushing a hand across Theo's back before she headed to the door to go and collect some hot food for them all. "You just stay right here, I'll be right back." She promised before letting herself out of the door.

Theo approached Violet with the cool damp cloth and gently pressed it to her forehead to cool her down and to wipe away the beads of sweat. "You have gotta take it easy for a few days," he said quietly, his voice low and while concerned did hold notes of relief, much like her father in the mine before his confessions. "You can rest here, ain't nothing going to happen to you in a town and especially not with Andrea and Chief around." He cracked a smile but he was clearly worried for her. "I've also got more dynamite sticks but I don't think folks here would appreciate that all too much."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"I thought barbers only... cut hair and trimmed beards," she admitted, "At least, it's the only thing they do in my timeline." She had never heard of anyone going to the barber to get stitches! "But if you say the barber can do it, I trust you." After all, this wasn't her timeline. Things were different, here.

Violet sat up to try and see if she could spot Chief out the window. Unfortunately, sitting up in her current state was a complicated endeavor. She had to be very careful, each motion sending jolts of pain down her back. It took her a long, laborious minute, before she could sit on the bed -and even then, she had to awkwardly stay away from the pillow, worried it would hurt if it touched her back. At the end of all this effort, she hardly had the energy to crane her neck. She'd have to wait before she could see Chief.

She managed a smile, but there were beads of sweat all over her forehead. "I made another knife like that, for my dad. I'm happy to know it'll come in handy if he ever needs to slice a monster." It was a comforting thought if her Hound Knife could keep her father safe, even while she was away and unable to help him. "If we encounter a Hound, I could make knives for you, too. Though I would rather not see a Hound again." And with that, she checked the corners of the room. No billowing black smoke. Phew. "But if people here are used to using monster parts, maybe we'll come across someone selling Hound Shards!"

Andrea's list of hot food made Violet salivate. She was very hungry! And very relieved that the saloon didn't only serve monster meat. After her encounter of the day, she didn't want to eat monster meat at all. "Some bacon and potatoes would be great," she replied, encouraged by Theo.

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au #& Andrea

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applesontheground · 3 years ago

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Hello!! I saw that your requests are open and 👉👈 Could I possibly get just a small little imagine? Look look, I know Patrick Bateman is a jerk and would kill me but like.. Imagine if you were dating him and one day he comes home from work tired and worn out and actually gives you the chance to be soft with him! Forehead kisses and all as he sleepily grumbles. Sorry if thats a lot 🥺 Thank you so much!!

- @slasherb1tch

oh...oh i actually enjoy this idea a lot!! let me see what i can do for you. >:3

also, i know you said ‘small’ but. kinda went off, my bad 😬 i apologize in advance if you wanted something with more straight fluff, but i’ve been kicking around other ideas about him for awhile now, so i tried to balance that out with your prompt! let me know how i did ;-; thank you for giving me an excuse to write for this fuckin’ guy.

every night you stay 💼

SFW | Word Count: 1,258 | Patrick Bateman x GN Reader

contains: mentions of cheating, bateman comes as his own warning

🎼: look at this really cool playlist ❤

Where could you even fucking begin with this?

Tracing the crystalline edges of a few CDs sitting on his coffee table, you looked up at the clock on the wall with a twinge. You knew it wasn’t right to see him as much as you did, especially after realizing where you stood in such a two-toned life. Even in the moment, you could sense that there had to be something wrong about that smile, something that turned to pure manic spite the second the lights went dim and no one besides you was left looking.

The revelation that he was engaged wasn’t what you expected to be the thing that made you uncertain. If you had known he had other commitments, you wouldn’t have looked twice at the damn guy to begin with...or at least, that was something repeated to yourself until you believed it.

Could you say no to him? You’d seen what happens in the face of denial towards Patrick. It never ended well, but the aftermath at your feet was also something you couldn’t deny: the obsessive need to control it all, to hang the picture over these dents in the wall that was his image for everyone else. He had to use such a painfully smooth affront that no big shot coworker or unsuspecting acquaintance would even try to see past.

You knew you were someone who could -- and here you were, still walking around with a pulse. He let you exist in this strange grey area because you could ignore it, even play along when necessary. That was all he would ask from you.

Even now, you were paying no mind to the way that your skin would shoot up and down with bumps of fear whenever you remembered he would be home any minute. Why he had handed you his spare key that day and walked off like nothing had happened was enough to know that he had expected you to be here, and that something was going to be different after you walked out.

His fiancée looked so sweet. That thought alone made your fingers flex harder as they curled against the arm rest of the sofa -- his sofa -- and the stupid crossword that you had mentally occupied yourself with to fade further into the background of your awareness. Your focus was on the man who was due home, and for whatever reason he was trusting you in here without him.

Just as that curiosity to look around tapped on your shoulder, the door clicked to open. You didn’t even look before he muttered, “Don’t ask me too many questions. I’ve had a long day.”

You hummed at the familiar hostility, and when you knew he was looking, you merely nodded and kept your eyes on your lap.

“...Nothing to say?” He prodded, and you replied plainly, “That’s alright, I won’t ask.” You stood slowly, settling the magazine back on the arm of the sofa.

Breath against the back of your neck, seemingly out of thin air along with the dark suit caught in your peripherals, startled you into silence again. He didn’t have to lay a finger on you to get everything to freeze. Even your blinks were slow and careful, like you had to think about them before you let them happen. You stared straight ahead, but the late afternoon Sun was reflecting off of the window so that you saw the shadow of his face hovering over your shoulder, his brow scrunched together and the rest of his body rigid.

The only indication that he was alive was the shallow breath in your ear, soon broken by his methodical voice. “Don’t go anywhere.” He cleared his throat, trying to hide the remnants of exhaustion. Your eyes cast down, but what he said next made the breath you had held in your chest tumble out. “I want you to stay the night. Not for anything like we normally do, I…”

You turned slightly, meeting his unattainable gaze and not sure how to take his twitching expression. It was like a malfunction in his very nature, sliding between cold, desperate, sad, tired, and then giving a final flash of approval when you slowly replied, “O-okay, if you say so. I’m here to alleviate your headaches, Bateman. Not make more of them.”

You turned, swiveling away to find something to distract you again. Every thought you had was making it hard to breathe in his presence, but you did your best to disguise it as the disinterest. He commented sharply, and you heard him step to follow you, “I deal with my headaches just fine, [Y/N]. You know that.”

You hummed again, this time stopping abruptly and letting him get close to your backside again. The breath on your ear was wavering, even more shaky with a second attempt. At what? What usually happened when he got like this wasn’t ideal -- but you then considered that between this debacle between love and violence, you were in that pocket.

The next time you were coming back to earth, your hands were on either side of his face, daring to ghost a kiss over the side of it. He sneered at the gesture, but the only hands he laid on you were against the outsides of your shoulders, holding you at a distance that he couldn’t commit to breaking yet.

“I don’t need a companion, [Y/N].” He muttered, sounding more of a statement to himself rather than something you should take in, “I just need someone to help alleviate these urges I have. I’ve told you before.” You hummed in affirmation, kissing his jaw next, “I can’t let them loose on the woman I’m going to marry. Do you know what that sort of behavior would make me out to be?” You froze at the reminder, but then replied, “I can imagine.”

He sighed deeply, and you realized that he believed that. You pressed another kiss onto the middle section of his neck, and shied away before being asked. The way that his eyes sought yours out immediately along with the intensity that he still held onto you made it impossible to turn away. You took another leap of faith and set your head against his shoulder.

He adjusted uncomfortably, but seemed to allow it as he muttered, “The only reason I don’t hurt you too badly is because you’re a constituent, I mean-“ You could hear it in the way his voice had faltered, saying it only to keep you out of these strange emotions you hadn’t seen before. Even the ones he had shown in public were contrived in a sort of way. It made him fit in rather uncannily, but this was ugly. It was selfish, and it was the most human you had possibly seen from the guy. No wonder he was on edge: he was once again just covering a base he wasn’t ready to reveal.

Still, you were merely a person allowed within that grey area, and there you would stay. You could never leave to the better side, where the man before you was still an unsightly VP with a picture perfect appearance and a raving social prowess that could sell anyone on anything he needed. If you ever got let out of this, it would be into the other side. It’d be dark. It’d be painful.

Maybe this pocket wasn’t the worst spot to be in after realizing what waited there.

Maybe he knew that just as well as you did.

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher requests #requests #✏️#💼#slasherb1tch

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cullen-rutherford-wifey · 2 years ago

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The Young Justice boys with a physically affectionate partner

Will Harper

~Having a child means Will’s have to get comfortable with giving a lot of hugs, pats, caresses', the works

~So he’s caught a little off guard by his special someone being even more physically giving than he can be

~Not in a bad way, when you sit on his lap as you two watch the tv; your eyelids becoming closer and closer until the gentleness of his embrace takes you to the land of sleep. Nodding off in his arms with your breath traveling across his chest. Cautious not to disturb you as he plays with the ends of your hair still. The flashing hues and images on the tv couldn't distract him.

~Not before turning off the tv he sneaks his left arm under your knees, effortlessly carrying you across the hall to your room. The lavender accented sheets and comforter drawn over you by him as he kisses your forehead

~He wasn’t careful enough because your eyes are wedged open by the sounds of him going to the door. After calling out to him weakly he explains he has work to do.

~You whine there’s always work but you want to cuddle him; he chuckles and knows full well you’d threaten him by saying you’d let Leon in on where the candy jar is if he doesn't. So he gives him by taking off his shirt; allowing his body to be the perfect human heater. As he funnels his arms around you again, you nod off immediately in such a quiet euphoria of attentiveness

~His beard brushes the top of your head as he whispers “I can’t believe I’ve done enough to deserve you.”

Kaldur’ahm

~Touch starvation is a given when your in the Justice league or professionally aligned with them. Giving up hope for romantic relationships in favor of objectivity; as much as it doesn’t stop everyone. Dominates the social order of the hero’s

~Kaldur took that seriously more than most, too seriously everyone can agree on in and out of the league

~He froze up as if he was a deer in headlights when you came for a hug, though he stood his ground as he felt your chin barely make it to elbow length. And that was before you two were romantically involved

~You two had discussed your romantic feelings a couple years into your friendship, many trials and tribulations were shared between you. Several close to death experiences as well as incessant teasing from comrades towards your obvious fondness for one another

~Kaldur never acted on it, or asserted you two shouldn’t at least. His actions spoke differently for long enough for him to confess he wanted to be with you

~Your dynamic didn’t change much at all on the surface or even emotionally, partners didn't mean you two stopped being best friends.

~But now your head pats, your nuzzling of his hair by your chin, the caress of the side of his neck by the bridge of your nose. All meant something different now. It will never be the same again. It means he could get hurt again, it means he could lose you like he lost Tulip.

~It’s what’s caused him to squeeze you back a little tighter each time; not by a lot. But just enough to remind himself it could be his last, as he tells you everytime “Thank you for being here my heart.”

Brion Markov

~Brion knew he’d have to give his people a queen; it was an avenue of cultural niceties of tradition and appealing to his legitimacy. He hoped to find someone he could at least synergize with politically and socially. What he got was-

~You yelling at his staff for letting him stay up late when he’s only had two hours of shut eye in the past 2 days. Stating plainly you overrule him when it comes to his sleep and mental health. And. He couldn't say you were wrong. So the staff now grasp partner rules his schedule more than he does

~He’ll get a mouthful if he doesn’t fulfill his mandatory weekly downtime quota, written and enforced by yours truly. Most of said downtime spent playing board games, making fun of bad movies, or messing around with your powers and destroying the tennis court again

~He wouldn’t have it any other way, especially when the bottom of your finger tips massage his head. After days of nonstop political trouble shooting and squad missions. Making the pained waves of headache disappear by but a couple of motions of his skin by your touch.

~Its like an angels flown down to rule beside him, and cure his mental/physical ailments by but a gentle contact of skin.

~The tightness inside his skull dissipated by the humming in his ear as you flowed the tension from his body. Its worth more than any wealth his family's hoarded

~Such massages sessions usually end with him scooping you beneath him on his bedroom couch. As you two greedily kiss and hug one another, never able to be close enough

Connor Kent

~You and Connor when you first meet were the fire brands of the squad, nothing could cool you two down. Not even the shared air of you alongside one another.

~In the sense of playground insults thrown as well as fists if anyone else could help it; the brats of the big friend group. But in essence you two had many things in common, Connor was treated as a thing even by his friends. When they started off not grasping his nature or unable to dissuade his temper. You could though, as he was able when the same happened to you

~Soon the flames grew into a softer hue as well as the gentle dancing of a campfire. Sparks flying between your eyes whenever you could spend time with one another. You two would joke therapy did its wonders as you two can now express you don't actually hate one another. Anyone could see see the lie.

~One day you and Connor were sparring outside, the breeze of an early summer was cool enough to fend off the starting heat. As well as the rise and fall of the waves was soothing. You two were done with practicing kicks, deciding to sit next to each other on a sand pile overlooking the blue dancing between the sun and where you sat.

~You remarked the beauty of the landscape, in a moment of brashness of heart he said its probably jealous of you then. All the movement in the world seemed to collapse in place as he said that.

~You looked so deep in each others eyes those moments of silence following. You could spot the faintest hue of brown in his iris’s.

~You planted the arm closest to him forward, to support your body as you leaned in for a kiss. He reacted immediately and pushed you from the sand onto his lap. You towered over him to get the best angle for the kiss. You two’s limbs sewn into one another and never wanting to part. You havent come back down from earth since. And Connor felt more human than he ever believed he was

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