#while killing each other with how to write blood GOD

[thehauntedetheral]

YANDERE ASSASIN

Requests are open !

• You and your husband has been married for 2 years now. And you were happy with each other.

• You are an accountant for a company while your husband is an engineer.

• You were like any other normal couple working, eating dinner together, going out on weekends, doing the usual day to day stuff.

• But one thing you didn't knew was that well your husband is an fake engineer who pretends to be one.

• In reality he is a most sought after assasin who is hired to kill top level people.

• The "I have to go out for two days for a project darling" is nothing but a excuse he gives you to go and kill his target in another state.

• Have guns hidden in various places in your shared home for " safety purpose ".

• One time you found one of his gun and asked him why is it here? "Hehe well darling the crime rate is increasing day by day I bought it for us for our safety I even have a legal licence for the gun." (Yes a licence for being an assasin)

• This is the same man who melts into your arms, follows you around the house like a puppy, looks at you like you hung the moon and stars and also the same man who doesn't miss his target even from miles and shoots them mercilessly.

• Hits all the target in a shooting game giving you a huge stuffed teddy bear while saying "Beginner's luck, baby."

• Yan vowed in the beginning phase of his job that he would never get married due to his job risk but you entered his life, made him break his vow as he asked you to marry him after falling so desperately in love with you. How couldn't he? You are just so damn perfect.

• You mentioned in a conversation to him casually how a co worker creeped you out by his staring. Boom from next day the co-worker now always avoids you like plague. (Because some unknown assasin threatened his life if he ever came near you)

• He has never been guilty in his life for killing people or having it as job but becomes guilty in a millisecond when he sees you sad thinking how bad of a husband I am? And to make all the clarifications clear you were not sad due to him you were just having your usual period mood swings. Because no way in hell this man would ever make you sad. Before making you cry he would shoot himself with his own gun.

• You both were watching an assasin movie on a weekend and you said how good looking and skilled that assasin the movie character is.

Meanwhile Yan's Mind : Control your self yan no need to be jealous you are better than that freaking stupid looking loser assasin. y/n just doesn't know. Control.

• Yan at a Halloween night comes home after shooting his target with a little blood on his clothes wearing his assasin black clothes and a gun in hand knowing full well that you are at your friend's house. Only to be surprised that you are at home throwing him a suprise Halloween party with others. You looking at him with a confused look as he stands on doorstep shocked.

Yan : Suprise baby!!! I came up dressed up as an assain that you liked in that movie. I hope you like it. (Saying with an akward smile while telling himself to not be so reckless next time)

Meanwhile the people at party who know the true Yan : 🧍‍♂️

• Is so damn protective of you due to his work line that whenever he leaves for days makes sure your friend stays with you and making sure you are safe through all the hidden cameras spread all over the house.

• He loves you a lot. He might be a deadly assasin to the whole world but he is just a normal engineer madly in love with you who just wants to devour you whole so no one else can have you.

• Reader to their friends : My husband won't ever hurt a fly.

Meanwhile Yan listening to this conversation: 🧍‍♂️

• When he is off duty he just spoils you with his cooking and spending all his time with you cuddling watching shows and just talking.

• Prays to god that you never found out about his true job afraid that you would get scared and leave him.

For more yandere reading :

[cyripticchronicler]

Healing

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You had spent years in pain and agony, wanting nothing more than to go home to your mate. But now that you are home, you're unsure if he still loves you.

TW: Torture, wanting to die, potential SA, depression, crying, short mention of needles and blood.

A/N: This isn't my best work ngl but I was malaptive daydreaming about it this morning and figured I should make it into a fic! It's also my first Azriel/ACOTAR fanfic which is crazy! I love this dude and I'm definitely going to write about him more <3 It's a short fic but I hope you still like it!!

Masterlist

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ten years. You’d been gone ten years. 

Ten years of excruciating torture. Of being poked by needles. Touched by strangers. 

You’d always loved humans. You found them fascinating and tried to learn as much about them. But they wanted to know about fae as much as you did humans. 

You were sent on a task by Rhysand. It was simple; go to the human lands and see if it’s possible to form an alliance with them in the future. Everything was going smoothly until you were taken by an older man who spent his life researching fae and was determined to find the answers to his curiosity. He was a cruel, evil man. He took away your life. Your freedom.

You used to be happy. A blaze of sunshine that not even the biggest clouds could cover. And you had many reasons to be that way, the mating bond between you and Azriel had snapped; not yet accepted but you had planned to do it soon. You had a place in the IC. You worked hard for your court and created a home for yourself in Velaris. 

If you had known how quickly everything could be taken from you, you would have worked harder to protect it. 

You had almost given up, almost begged the man who hurt you to finish you off. To kill you. But the Gods weren't finished with you, and, no matter how much you wanted to die, you were found before you could. You were thankful, of course, but, despite being home with your loved ones once again, it doesn’t remove the long-lasting memories of agony and longing. 

Azriel hadn’t stopped looking for you ever since you went missing. While you spent ten years being tortured, he spent those years in his own sick form of torment. Each night he was plagued with dreams of you and each day he was troubled with worries of how you were doing and where you were. It was a never-ending cycle of you. 

When he found you, bound in chains with blood running down your cheek, he swears his heart stopped. You were back in his arms, wrapped around you so gently like you were made of glass. You’d melted into his warm body, tears freely falling down your scarred cheeks as you quietly sobbed. 

That was the only time you allowed yourself to cry in front of him. In front of anyone, for that matter. You didn’t want to worry anyone with your problems. They’d already spent years worrying about you, they shouldn’t have to anymore. So you jumped straight into your old self. You were talkative, made friends with Feyre and the other Archerchon sisters, and smiled and laughed when expected to. 

Despite your happy facade, Azriel hasn’t done more than hug you. He’s slept in the guest bedroom in The House of Wind while you’ve stolen his bed, his silk sheets nice and familiar. You’re unsure how to approach him. Does he still want to be with you? You’ve seen how he looks at Elain, eyes soft and caring. 

Ten years is a long time. And you’re worried that during that long time, he’s moved on. Maybe that's why you’re trying to act like yourself again. If he sees that you’re the same as you were before when he loved you, he’d love you again.

Your last straw was a month after you came home. All the tears you’d been holding back, and the emotions you’ve ignored overflowing one random night. You were lounging in the living room with Elain, Nesta and Feyre. You were nestled in an armchair, arms wrapped around your knees that are pressed up against your chest. 

You’ve already zoned out of the conversation, eyes glazing over as you stare at your frail hands, still so thin and shaky, like you never left that place. You only tune back into the conversation when a certain someone mutters your mate's name. “Azriel is a really good kisser. I bet he’s better than Rhys and Cassians,” Elain states casually, as though this was a normal thing to be talking about. Feyre and Nesta immediately jump in and defend their mate's skills but you’re already standing. 

Tears blur your vision, unable to be stopped with your usual pinch on your arm. Your fears had come true; Azriel, your mate, your love, had moved on. “Honey?” Your walk to the door abruptly stops, your lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes downcast. “Hey,” You’re embarrassed by the way your voice cracks. 

Azriels scarred hand tentatively reaches up to grip your shoulder, his other hand gently gripping your chin. He tilts your face, forcing your eyes to meet his own, warm caramel making your heart melt. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head moving away and wiping the tears from your face. “Nothing. I’m going for a walk.” He doesn’t respond and you take it as your sign to leave, hands eagerly reaching for the door handle as you escape into the chill night. 

Azriels footsteps were silent, a habit from being the court’s spymaster for centuries. His silence was why you didn’t notice him, loud sobs breaking free since you figured you were alone. By the time he makes himself known, your loud sobs have quieted to quickly falling tears and you’ve found yourself a bench to sit on and think. 

You let out a squeak when he sits beside you, jumping up from your sitting position. You whip your head around, letting out a sigh when you notice the familiar face. “You can’t just sneak up on me,” You mutter, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you sit again. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers genuinely, eager eyes tracking your every movement. “We need to talk.” You sigh, slumping against the bench as your heart beats faster. “Do we have to?” You’d rather live in oblivion than hear what he has to say. He’s going to tell you he’s in love with Elain and that he can’t be with you. Then you’re going to have no one and you’ll end up alone and sad forever-

“-I’ve been trying to give you space. To let you process what happened. But I don’t think you are processing things, honey.” He sighs, hand reaching up to rub at the back of your neck. “I want to be there for you. I’m your mate and I love you. Let me in.” His eyes are pleading, begging. 

Your breathing turns ragged, heart pounding in your chest. “Don’t-” You shake your head, turning away from his face. “Don’t lie to me.” You shrug his hand off your shoulders and scoot further down the bench but he doesn’t let you go far, hands holding your face as he leans into you, desperate. “I’m not lying to you, baby. Why do you think I’m lying to you?”

“B-because Elain-” You can’t finish your sentence, breaking into desperate sobs before his eyes. His eyes are knowing, laced with guilt as he pulls you into his chest. “I was planning to talk to you about this when you were feeling a bit better.” He ensures your eyes are staring into his when he speaks. “Elain and I kissed once. A year ago. I was- Gods I was so lonely without you and I was drunk and she was there. I swear when I squinted she looked like you. But as soon as I kissed her I regretted it immediately.”

He’s desperate for you to understand, voice pleading as he as he grips your face tighter. Tighter but never hurtful. “You are it for me, baby. I don’t want anybody else. I’d rather spend hundreds of years alone than be with someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, hanging your head in shame. He’s quick to calm your worries with another hug. “Don’t be sorry. I should have talked to you about it sooner.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face. “I am sorry, though. I should have talked to you sooner. I just-” You’re sick of the way your voice thickens with tears. You’re sick of crying.

“I’m so tired.” You break, pulling him tighter against you. He hugs you just as tight, not wanting to let you go. “I want to be myself again. I want to be happy again but I’ve changed, and I’m scared you’re not going to like who I become.” You spill all your deepest worries, holding onto the lightness in your chest that you’re afraid won’t last long.

His breath fans your ear, a warmth that makes you shiver. “I’ve never expected you to stay the same. Even before you were taken. You’re changing but I’m changing too. That’s okay. You’re okay.” You pull away with a shaking sigh, hands moving to wipe your tears but Azriel pulls them into his own. 

His soft lips kiss your forehead, evoking another shaking breath. His lips then travel to your cheek, hot breath fanning against your flushed skin. As he places a kiss on your other cheek you can’t help the soft smile that lights up your face. Excruciatingly slowly, his lips graze down your cheek and to your jaw, light kisses making your skin heat.

He pulls away ever so slightly, breath fanning across your lips. He stays still, eyes eager as he waits for your response. He doesn’t have to wait long, your hands moving up to fist his hair. You quite practically yank him to you, lips greedily searching for his.

The kiss is warm and gentle and perfect. Love pours through him with each touch of your lip and swipe of his tongue against yours. You haven’t felt this loved in so long. So cared for. You keep him close, each touch mending the frail cracks in your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper, smiling your first genuine smile in years. “I love you, too. I always will.” Butterflies fluttering in your stomach, a sense of comfort washes over you. 

You know you’re not okay. But for now, you feel like you are. And that one moment, spent cuddled up to Azriel while the stars glisten down on you, gives you faith that you’ll be okay one day. As long as you have Azriel on your side.

[cryptidghostgirl]

hiii can i request a silly little scene i have in my head? ok so!

alastor x wife! reader- theyve been together since they were alive, legit partners in crime they both encouraged eachother to kill and when they reunited in hell after around 8 years they were independent once again UNTIL They got in trouble with Lilith and she took reader to be like her slave until Alastor finished helping Charie with her dream (until he helped prove that demons can be redeemed) so they didnt see each other for another 7 years (his absence)

And all throughout the first season hes like “I miss my wife, Husk. I miss her a lot” (while drunk-) like that one sonic dub meme and starts shaping his shadow creature into reader and talking to it and everyone is like “m yep he’s officially lost it.”

BUT then Sir Pentious is redeemed and Lilith sees and shes like “damn :/“ and send reader to the new hotel via portal and reader just. falls on the ground in front of the big entrance and everyone hears it and they rush out and Alastor is quiet, wide eyed and reader goes smth like “i know- i shouldnt have accepted it in your name but-“ blah blah she rambles on about it and Alastor just goes “Youre as beautiful as the day I los you.” LIKE THAT HEARYBREAKING SCENE FROM HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON 2 ;-; and everyone reacts in their own way

I REALLY NEED THIS BUT I LACK THE ABILITIES TO DO IT HEEELP (love u)

A/N oh bestie,, i got you. I was actually planning on something similar where Alastor was getting drunk at a bar and talking about the love of his life (I'm still gonna write that one too but I really like this prompt!!) You guys really come up with the best requests, please keep sending them in.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: ANGST also bad words (idk why i wrote the warnings like this). Also Angel Dust is in this one and I love him but he is a warning on his own.

Word Count: 2,392

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor and Y/n, partners in crime, the fuel and the fire. On a first glance, it would be assumed she was his fuel, the coal and dry leaves he fed himself by. Once anyone got to know them -- and god, what trouble a person was in if they got to know them -- they quickly realized it was the other way around.

Hand in hand from day one, from childhood. Running from the cops, washing the blood off one another's faces. In the living world and life after death, nothing could tear them apart. He was the soil she planted herself in, he was her rock and Y/n? Well she was Alastor's everything. He'd do anything at all for her, all she had to do was ask.

For a decade, they terrified the living world. They were the reason to double check the lock on the door before bed, they were the ominous shadow at the corner. When cold death wrapped them in his reckless grasp, they turned their terror on Hell.

The pair made a name for themselves quickly, filling up the airwaves and making waves in the underworld. For generations, they reigned supreme. For generations, they knew no fear. Then one day, they simply disappeared.

When Alastor reappeared on the streets seven years later without his shadow, the town was alight with gossip. No one knew where he had been, where she still was, or why he had returned but Alastor quickly rebuilt his operation, setting up shop at Lucifer's daughter's Hazbin Hotel along with several of the souls he owned.

The hotel's other residents and workers were distrustful of the man, to say the least. He was shifty, wore a constant smile, and rumors circled around him like birds of prey. That was until about three months into his stay, at least.

Angel hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been coming down to the bar for a drink and a rant of his own when he'd heard the familiar, crackling voice of the Hotel's host.

"I just... I miss her so much, Husk."

He sounded sad, utterly dejected. Angel crouched down on the staircase, hiding his slim body behind one of the ornate posts supporting the railing.

"You keep saying that but do nothing to go find her. She disappeared the same time as you, you know." came Husk's gruff reply.

"I know she did."

"You keep saying that, acting like you know something. Admit it: you don't know shit, Alastor."

Alastor's radio waves faltered, squeaking slightly. Angel tensed in terror, wondering if he'd been found out. This was clearly a private conversation, and the Radio Demon was testy at the best of times. Right now he seemed positively furious.

"Don't test me, Husk." Alastor said after a moment, breaking the tense silence, "She... we both got roped into something. I am doing my part, she is doing hers."

Angel straightened himself up, deciding it was high time he entered the room. He still wanted that drink, after all. He let his feet fall heavily on the stairs, alerting the others to his presence. Husk turned toward the sound, meeting Angel's eyes as he entered the bar. Alastor, on the other hand, kept his back to the spider demon.

Taking a seat beside Alastor, Husk immediately poured Angel a drink and slid it across the counter towards him.

"So, tough night, Smiles?" Angel asked, turning to Alastor who downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my good fellow." Alastor hummed in response.

There was a threat in his voice, but Angel could tell the demon's heart wasn't in it. Everything was just, odd.

"Yeah... sure..." Angel scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Radio man was crying to me about his wife five seconds ago." Husk grumbled and Angel's eyes went wide.

"You have a wife?" he asked, turning back to Alastor, "I mean, I get it. I'm in to the whole 'tall dark and creepy' thing too but, you care about someone? I don’t know if I can see it.”

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he turned on Husk. The cat demon rolled his eyes in a brazen display of disrespect. He knew his master well, knew this was the only thing he had any leverage with the man on. With a deep breath, Alastor placed his hands firmly on the bar top and pulled himself to his feet. Not saying another word, he disappeared into his shadows.

That had been the first odd occurrence. Of course Angel had told Charlie and Charlie had told everyone, had even approached Alastor about it. The Radio Demon brushed it all off with skill and for a while, things were quiet.

About a month later, the second strange thing began happening. Alastor had always had a certain sway over shadows, everyone knew that. However, he very rarely used them, brought them out if it wasn't to hide him or take him where he needed to be. Then, suddenly, one began to follow him.

"Uh, Alastor?" Charlie had timidly approached him the first time she saw this happening.

"Yes, Charlie my dear?" Alastor asked, turning to face her as he tossed his microphone in the air, catching it neatly in the center of the stand.

"Well, we were just wondering if everything was... okay?" she asked, her hands behind her back and a pointed gaze on the shadow.

"If everything..." Alastor trailed off, following the path of Charlie's gaze and realizing what was going on, "No, no my dear. Everything is quite all right, quite alright indeed."

"Well, okay... If you say so." Charlie had relented after a few moments, unsure of what else to do.

Eventually, the members of the Hazbin Hotel grew used to the shadows, they too slipped out of their minds. Overcome with impending doom of the extermination just a month away, Alastor's strange behavior was no longer a priority.

That had been until the third odd occurrence came into being. It was Sir Pentious who had noticed it first, drawing it to the group's attention as Alastor walked through the lobby and past the group doing trust exercises there on his way to some meeting or another with the other overlords.

"Sir Pentious?" Charlie had called, trying to bring him back to earth as he watched the place Alastor had occupied, "Sir Pentious?"

"Pentious!" Vaggie yelled and his head snapped to her, "You're not coming up with some new plan to attack Alastor, are you?"

"No!" he quickly exclaimed, waving his hands frantically in the air, "Not at all just..."

"What?" Vaggie asked through gritted teeth, advancing a step forward, her spear in hand.

"It's just... doesn't that shadow Alastor has had following him well.... doesn't it kind of look like a woman?"

Husk broke out into wild laughter while Angel widened his eyes.

"Oh, he's definitely lost it now." Husk exclaimed as he calmed himself, clutching his stomach, "If I knew Y/n was the secret to breaking him down, I woulda done something about it years ago."

"No you wouldn't have, ya big talker." Angel teased, elbowing the cat demon lightly.

"Y/n?" Sir Pentious asked.

"Alastor's wife. That was her name." Husk replied.

"Did you know her?" Charlie asked.

Alastor had left the hotel, the threat that had held their questions at bay for months was gone and the topic was right. Husk nodded.

"So, what's she like?" Angel asked suggestively, "Is she more of a dom? Does deer boy like to get dicked down by his lady?"

"Gross." Charlie shook her head, her hands to her temples, "I do not want to know that."

"She's a good kid." Husk said after a moment, "She's nice..."

He trailed off.

"But?" Vaggie prompted, sensing there was more that he wanted to say.

Husk sighed.

"If you think Alastor is trouble, she's a fucking house fire set for the insurance money."

"So probably not interested in being a guest." Charlie dejectedly stated.

Husk shrugged.

"You never know. It has been seven years since anyone has seen her. Alastor allegedly knows where she's at but, he hasn't gone after her. Just keeps whining to me about it so, I don't know. Maybe she's changed. I doubt it though. Sweet as a pea, sharp as a knife."

Charlie had never felt such relief as when she learned Alastor had not died in the chaos of the battle. The hotel was destroyed, heaven was pissed, Sir Pentious had died but, at least he was alright. They rebuilt the hotel, Alastor's same shadow of a woman trailing after him wherever he went. After about a week, thanks to all the angelic and demonic powers involved in the construction, the new Hotel was finished.

It was just as they put the finishing touches on the place, hung the portrait of Sir Pentious they'd commissioned above the fire place, that a portal opened in the lobby. Everyone tensed, banding together behind Charlie and Alastor. Angels were coming, they were sure of it.

A crash echoed from the other side, a sharp yell and then something tumbled through the portal. With a flash, the portal disappeared behind the shape of a person huddled on the floor. She coughed violently.

Alastor's eyes went wide. Everyone else was too distracted to notice, but if they'd have been paying attention, they would have seen his shadow disappear.

The girl was filthy, her clothes torn and her hair tangled. She let out another, sharp cough before slowly lifting her head. Alastor took a trembling step forward.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice soft in disbeleif.

A smile, wide and sharp, split the woman's bruised face in two.

"Hey hun, I'm home."

In a flash, he was at her side, helping her to her feet, checking her for wounds.

"Jesus, Y/n." he sighed, "You're a mess."

"I know."

"Y/n-"

"I know. I shouldn't have done it, you don't need to lecture me. I didn't have a choice. It was you or me, Al. I couldn't... I can't... I had to. You've gotta understand."

"Sweetheart-"

Y/n cut him off again, her speech a single, constant, stressed-out stream.

"It was stupid, I know. I know. I really do but, she gave me the option and I couldn't say no cause then if I said no you'd really be the one in trouble a-"

Alastor raised a hand gently to her cheek and Y/n's words caught in her throat. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes at last.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

His voice was soft, so quiet the others could barely hear him. Y/n's cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, holding them lightly.

"I.." she stuttered, her mind racing.

With a sigh and a slight shake of her head, she gave up in the search for words and buried herself in his chest. Alastor wrapped his arms around Y/n, pressing her tightly into his frame.

"God, I missed you." she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Alastor pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I love you." she continued, "I'm so sorry."

Alastor pulled her off of him, leaning down the slightest bit so they were eye to eye. Y/n, wiped a stray tear away, letting out a slight, sad laugh. Alastor's eyes traversed her face, caressing every crevasse.

"I'm so glad your alright but, I don't understand." he said at last, "How are you back? The deal..."

Y/n nodded and Alastor's eyes went wider still. Leaning on Alastor's shoulder for support, she turned her eyes onto the rest of the group.

"You must be Charlie." she hummed softly, meeting the young demon's gaze.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, I am. I run the Hazbin Hotel, which is where you are, to help rehabilitate sinners."

"I know." Y/n nodded, her voice quavering slightly, "I've heard so much about you. You... my dear, it worked."

"I- what?" every other question died in Charlie's throat, shock shot through her body like a bullet.

"It worked." Y/n confirmed, "You did it. I had a deal, a deal which Alastor went to your side to get me out of. If you succeeded in redeeming a soul with his aid, I would be free. And here I am."

"Here you are." Alastor repeated, spinning Y/n to face him once again.

She wobbled unsteadily on her feet. Catching sight of this along with the numerous wounds all over her body, Alastor scooped Y/n up into his arms like he did when they had first been married, when they had crossed the first threshold together. Y/n looped her arms around his neck, exhaustion seeping in with the relief as she let her head fall on his chest.

"Vaggie..." Charlie began as she turned to her girlfriend, "you don't think..."

"Pentious?" Vaggie asked and Charlie nodded.

"It's gotta be." Angel confirmed.

"You did good, kid." Husk smiled, patting Charlie on the back.

Y/n raised her head at the sound of a familiar voice, her eyes opening.

"Husker?" she asked with a smile.

The cat demon stepped forward, bowing slightly.

"Husker! I-"

"Enough of that, my love." Alastor cut her off, tapping her nose gently, "You need a shower and some rest. You can meet everyone in the morning."

Y/n crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at her husband.

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise." he sighed.

"Does that mean you're staying?" Charlie asked tentatively and the couple turned to her.

"Whatever the little lady desires." Alastor stated, looking back down at his wife in a lovestruck daze.

"Yes, Charlie. We're staying." Y/n laughed, "Things need to start changing around here and I don't see anyone else doing a god damn thing to make that happen except for you."

"I.." Charlie was speechless, the kindness this fear inspiring woman was directing towards her, having never met her before. What Husk had said made sense, she smiled, "Thank you. I don't know what you did, but that you both so much."

"Anything for my favorite girl." Alastor kissed Y/n softly.

"Oh, get a room." Angel scoffed, rolling his eyes.

[keferon]

im glad that my first submission was enjoyed. this was meant to be a part of it, but i struggle a lot more writing first aids pov than vortexs. its still not perfect, but i figure i should let it out into the wild before it drives me crazy.

some further questions: what exactly are the quintessons made of? are they techno-organic? entirely mechanical? or like...synthetic materials mimicking biology? and whats up with the program that produced vortex? did it shut down? or is it still operating (maybe under shockwave now?) did jazz go through it?

______________________________________________________________

His head is killing him. 

Felix comes to in the unyielding dark of Vortex’s cockpit, squinting uselessly before giving up, letting his head lean back against the seatrest. It pulses in time with his heartbeat- elevated- sending waves of fresh misery through him. But he’s alive, Vortex let him live, and the realization pulls a miserable laugh from him. 

Vortex saved him.

Vortex saved him.

Vortex saved him.

From Pharma.

The thought is like ice water poured over his head washing away any lingering exhaustion. Pharma. What the hell was going on? Why did he-? Had the irritable CMO finally lost it? Or was there something else going on? 

Felix’s stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of Pharma obeying another- who would order this? Who could order this? To what end? How had none of the other medical staff noticed? Or did they notice and not care?

His stomach lurches again, and Felix fumbles at the restraints- looser, now- and finally manages to hit the quick release clasp, practically flopping forward before he catches himself, swaying pathetically in the dark- pulling his helmet off is a welcome relief, the cooler air of the cabin circulating around his abused head. All of his muscles are sore, each joint something just a little firmer than liquid. The only light comes from the running lights, blinking on like soft red stars against Vortex’s night, and Felix lets himself stare blankly at a particularly interesting assortment of them, trying to will the nausea to subside. 

It does not. In fact, it strikes back with a vengeance, and Felix presses a fist to his mouth to stifle his suffering. It works, somewhat, his gorge settling slightly. He needs to get out of here, out of the blood-and-bleach scented warmth of Vortex before he overstays his welcome. Maybe he already has, and Vortex is just biding his time before he kills Felix gruesomely. Right on cue, he can feel the familiar faint prickling sensation of cameras and infrared sensors being trained on him, the behemoth paying its quarry its undivided attention. 

“Vortex,” he says, or more accurately, tries to say. All that comes out of his mouth is a pathetic little groan. His stomach is churning again now. 

“Vortex.” he tries again while fumbling for the canopy hatch- God, movement was a bad idea- and while it still fails the benchmark of being a word, it at least sounds like Vortex’s name. 

His gorge rises again, and Felix can’t stop the faint whimper as he runs his hands over the instrument panel, looking for the canopy release lever. He is not going to throw up inside Vortex, even if worse things have been thoroughly ground into the panels and seams of the mech. Felix still has some pride. And he doesn’t need to risk Vortex’s wrath any more than he has. 

“Vortex.” and now it sounds like a proper name. Felix can feel the hum of Vortex’s machinery and wiring change underneath his palms. His head spins, and the tug of exhaustion has returned, borne on the back of the enveloping warmth of the cockpit.

His stomach flips again.

“Vortex, open the cockpit.” Felix tries, giving up on fumbling in the dark for the lever. “Please,” he amends, because apparently his manners have left with his health. 

The darkness takes on a vaguely threatening feeling. Vortex must have spent all his goodwill on not killing Felix earlier. 

“Vortex, please-” he gags, pressing his fist to his mouth again, “I- I’m going to-”

He gags again, and this time- thank you, Vortex!- the canopy lifts, barely a few feet before coming to a stubborn stop, the dull halogen glow of the docking bay lights breaching the cockpit. The opaque filter over the canopy bleeds away, returning the familiar blood-red hue to Vortex’s visor. Felix barely makes it to the edge of the cockpit before throwing up, practically lying out over the instrument panel as his arms fail him. It spatters, worryingly dark against the burnished metal of the catwalk. He lies there bonelessly, his throat burning and head spinning. How the hell had his life ended up like this? Cosmic punishment for stealing organs still? Felix had thought getting demoted to nurse and resident Vortex-cleaner punishment enough.

He eventually rolls off of his stomach and carefully (gracelessly) slithers back to sit on the floor of the cockpit, head resting against the instrument panel, staring up at the cockpit ceiling. The dark plating is smooth, almost seamlessly jointed together, only interrupted by the explosion of wires and cording comprising the neural connectors. It’s…almost peaceful, in the cockpit, with only the purr of Vortex’s systems humming through the panel that Felix is resting his head on interrupting the silence. The halogens filter through the red polycarbonate of Vortex’s canopy, staining the light bloody ruby. 

His mouth is dry. Horrifically dry. He needs water. Getting water means leaving the relative safety of Vortex’s cockpit. 

Water can wait. 

Pharma might still be out there, lurking. 

His head swims, stomach vaguely threatening to rebel again. Felix turns his head, pressing his cheek to the warm metal of the instrument panel. It feels pretty nice. This particular piece of Vortex only smells like metal and circuitry, not blood. If he closes his eyes, it’s just pleasantly dark enough to settle into a half-sleep slumped against Vortex’s plating. His skin prickles faintly.

The pang! Of a piece of plating hitting the floor wakes him from his doze, sending fresh gouges of pain rippling across his skull. Felix blinks, headache settling squarely behind his right eye socket and encompassing his entire skull. Where had that come from? Was something wrong with Vortex? Or more likely, had Vortex tired of his presence and was preparing to finally kill him?

The plating sits on the flooring, looking as deceptively innocent as any non-sentient sheet of metal can. Felix huddles back further against the instrument paneling. The canopy was shut sometime while he was drowsing, completely locking him in. Light ripples across the cockpit, and Felix slowly twists around to squint up at the display.

[OPEN THE BAG]

Bag. Open the bag. What bag? 

Felix casts helplessly around the cockpit space, searching- there! In a shadowed cubby against the far wall, which- if he remembers from the pilot’s manual correctly- should not be there. Felix attempts to stand, legs wobbling, before giving up and crawling over to the alcove. His skin prickles again, and he refuses to feel shame underneath Vortex’s mechanical gaze. It’s because of the stupid medical boot. Not him. He pushes the loose plating aside and is rewarded with a screech of metal-on-metal that sends his head throbbing again. Felix sags against the wall with a groan before throwing what’s left of his caution to the wind, sticking his hand into the alcove and dragging the bag out. Vortex does not take his hand off. Not even a finger gets scraped on the exposed metal. There’s not a hint of violence from the mech, and Felix sneaks a glance at one of the cockpit cams. It’s trained directly on him, lens shadowed in the claret gloom. He gives it a weak smile. 

The bag is the heavy black polyester duffle ubiquitous to military installations, and it takes a bit of fumbling for Felix to find the zipper and tug it open. Inside is a fresh pilot’s uniform-the Nomex base-side kind, a small toolkit, a radio, a number of MREs and-

Water. 

Felix grabs the first bottle, twisting the cap off and chugging the water down. It’s warm, with a strange plasticky aftertaste. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He drinks another just as fast, water settling heavy in his stomach and washing the taste of bile from his mouth before leaning back against the wall again, the steady rumble of machinery behind it a small comfort. The ex-medic checks the cockpit display, but it remains a steady blank. Another check to the camera confirms that it’s still trained directly at him. Felix gives it a second awkward smile. 

“Vortex- I ah…I- thanks.” He finishes lamely, rubbing his face. His skin is disgustingly oily to the touch. What do you say to a thousand-ton killing machine when it doesn’t kill you? “For-”

Not killing me. 

Saving me from the evil clutches of Pharma.

Giving me water. 

“For everything. Yeah.” Felix cringes at the awkward words. He’s never been particularly well-spoken, but this is just embarrassing. He almost wishes that Vortex would try to kill him again, just for the possibility to escape this torture. 

They sit in silence, Felix’s gaze focused on the floor, skin prickling. His stomach clenches, water threatening to make a reappearance. 

He should’ve known better to drink anything Vortex offered. He slowly stands, one hand against the wall of the cockpit for stability before slowly crossing to the front. “...can you please open the cockpit?” He hazards, one hand pressed to his openly rebelling stomach. 

There’s the distinctive sound of the locking pins dropping. Felix winces as his stomach clenches again.

“Please-” he retches, throat burning as bile forces itself back up his worn esophagus. “I-I don’t wanna-”

The canopy lifts with an almost petulant hiss of the hydraulics, only a few feet again. And again, Felix barely gets his head out of the cockpit before throwing up. The water burns as it leaves, and Felix spits a few times after it to clear his mouth, hand pressed to his cramping stomach. His head pounds under the unrelenting light, and he slips back into the welcoming dim dark of the cockpit. For the second time that day, Felix finds himself sitting on the floor of Vortex’s cockpit, mouth sour and throat stinging, staring up at the ruby wash of light across the ceiling. The canopy hisses shut, locking pins ch-chunk-ing into place with finality. The red light ripples, disturbed, and Felix can’t stop the weary sigh as he lifts his head to read Vortex’s words.

[FELIX-BABY, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SWALLOW]

Felix feels his cheeks heat, and he looks away from the chiding display. He’s not sure which is worse, being called baby by Vortex or the joke. 

“I threw up. That's different.” He mutters, running hands through his sweat-stiff hair. 

The ventilation stutters, on-off-on-off, like human laughter. His cheeks heat more. 

[DRINK MORE. SLOWLY]

Felix gawks at the screen. He must have brain damage- there’s no way Vortex is giving him medical advice. Advice in general, actually. This must be a trick of some kind. 

But he is thirsty. 

He shuffles back over to the bag.

Opens another water bottle. 

He drinks slowly, stealing small sips each time until the bottle is mostly empty and his stomach settles into a kind of low-grade simmer. His headache eases some. Immediate crisis resolved, Felix’s attention wanders back to the medical boot. Why does he have it? His leg doesn’t hurt- he wracks his brain, did he injure it sometime before Pharma got to him? Or did he put up enough of a fight to injure himself? Was that why he was drugged? 

His memories are not forthcoming, but it makes sense. Many sedatives interfere with the formation of new memories; if it was put on at around the same time as the IV, his brain might not have had the ability to recall why.

It leaves only one course of action. 

Felix fumbles with the buckles and straps- thank god Pharma only used one of the temporary, removable braces rather than something more permanent like plaster or fiberglass. Otherwise he’d have to stick his leg into Vortex’s machinery to get it off. He pulls the boot off with little difficulty, studying his leg. A simple check; wiggling his toes, rolling his ankle, flexing his knee. No pain. Not even any cuts or bruises cross his flesh. Which means…Felix pokes around the wads of cotton padding pulled from the brace. There!

A small metal device, no bigger than a coin, nestled into a fold of gauze. A tracker? Or some kind of…recording device? He holds it up for inspection, skin crawling as Vortex’s cameras and scanners snap to it. A surge of malevolence fills the cabin, Vortex’s wrath roused by the discovery. Plating rattles, the low purr of the mech’s engine climbing to a dull roar. Felix draws his legs to his chest, curling against the bag for its flimsy protection, device clutched tight in his fist. Another panel pops loose, clatter of metal half-drowned by the increasing volume of machinery grinding. 

[DESTROY IT]

Felix does not need to be told twice, scrambling to toss the cursed thing into Vortex’s grinding gears. It’s shredded immediately, fragile circuits ripped apart and ground to silicone dust in the face of his fury. There’s a high pitched whine- Vortex’s weapons systems charging, oh god- before it all subsides. The silence is profound against the pain in Felix’s head, the mech’s engines and drives settling down towards their previous quiet purr like nothing happened. The plating stills, returning to inert, the gap where Vortex had offered Felix a place to throw the thing the only break in the metal.

The medic carefully replaces the panel covering the humming machinery, plating hooking into place smoothly, seamless. No response from Vortex. He casts a glance at the cockpit canopy, but there’s no chance that Vortex will let him out, and he’s not about to ask after all of… that. There’s only one thing for him to do, other than try to sleep- which is not happening.

He goes through the bag again, trying to regain some semblance of calm, hands clammy. The toolkit is compact, but it has a surprising number of tools, most of which Felix has no idea how to use. He's a medic by training, not a mechanic. He carefully checks each one anyways to occupy himself, pristine metal warm and smooth against his fingers. Next are the MREs. Still sealed and within expiry date, no obvious signs of tampering. He puts them back in the bag. But the real prize is the pilot’s uniform, fabric stiff with disuse and heavy across the shoulders and chest with patches. Felix pulls the suit out of the bag and half unfolds it over his lap, running his fingers over the patches crowding the suit. Different patches for different bases, various military campaigns from all over the world, rank, even for different specialties. The owner had been cross-trained as a helicopter mechanic.

He lingers over the name, petting over the coarse thread picking out VORTEX over the right breast of the suit. Felix toys with the velcro; his own pilot patches haven’t come in yet…

It’s a dirty thought, stealing a dead man’s name tape for his own use, especially if the dead man in question is watching and prone to fly into fits of rage. Felix might’ve sunk low to reach this point in his life, but Pharma must’ve really dosed him up with something if he’s this out of his mind to even consider such a thing. He shouldn’t even want Vortex’s name emblazoned over his shoulder. But the thought lingers the longer he stares at the patches. 

Pilots typically wear number badges to denote their mech anyway, what’s the harm in wearing a name instead? Vortex is already known better by his name than by his serial number. It’s fitting for his pilot to wear his name too. Vortex seems like the kind who’d like that sort of thing.

Felix hastily folds the suit up, stuffing it back into the bag before temptation can overwhelm sense. His unfortunate predilections aside, stealing from the dead is a violation of numerous ethical codes, and he’s pretty sure Vortex would kill him for even considering taking something so personal from the remainder of his belongings. Even if the mech has been almost…tame towards him so far. Not a pinch or a threat. Even some banter. No, this must be the calm before the metaphorical vortex sucks him in and kills him. 

He casts a reluctant glance towards the exit again, skin prickling. He’s just going to have to wait this one out. It’s not a terrible concept, waiting here in the dark and warm for Vortex to make his mind up. It’s not like Pharma can find his way in. Whatever happens, it’s at least a break to figure out what he does next. Whatever that is.

ANON. ANON LET ME PICK YOU UP AND HOLD YOU FOREVER. ANON I DONT KNOW YOUR NAME BUT I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAND FKFKGKMRJFKFNDJKSK

Haha mmm. I'm fine I'm okay I'm normal

Yeah so about Quintessons. I imagine they can be all kind of creatures. Organic, techno organic, straight up just techno. Tf:one, Cyberverse, straight up Pacific rim Kaijus. All kinds of monsters haha

Also, Vortex was the part of the first batch of pilots for Mecha program. The technology was very new and VERY underdeveloped so...yeah, Vortex was part time pilot and part time lab rat.

The whole process of making someone into a pilot was a lot more dangerous and painful back then because no one really knew what they were doing. But after some time it became safer and less painful. So when Jazz joined he didn't suffer as much as Vortex. And when later Blurr joined he didn't suffer as much as Jazz.

(You didn't ask but. I like to think that Vortex knows quite a lot about all kinds of side effects of neural connection. Also about side effects of physical procedures and all kinds of weird fucked up experiments. Just because. You know. He went through it all. A lot of times.)

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[alwaysmoncheri]

can I request something for spencer?? I know you haven’t written for him in a while but I love him sm🥺

I literally forgot decaf coffee existed when writing this. thank you for requesting, muah! <3

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, slight lack of self-care, fluff, 1k

<3

Derek watches you walk through the office doors—if you could even call it that—you shuffle through the doors, hand resting on the bump of your growing stomach. The other clutches a stack of files to your chest. There’s a frown upon your lips, you look exhausted. Hair slightly disheveled, and blouse partially untucked, you’re clearly in need of some time off, but you’re trying your best. 

On a normal day, Spencer would be right by your side. Brushing the hair from your face, leaving a lingering kiss to your temple. He would take the files and gently guide you to your desk. You’d beg for a small coffee, and he’d remind you that, “Drinking more than 200 mg of caffeine per day during pregnancy has been linked to an increased risk of pregnancy complications, such as low birth weight and miscarriage.” You’d shut up after that. Not that Spencer meant to scare you—but you always are. 

You’re scared about those things, the what-ifs. At the beginning people are happy for you, always wishing you congrats and sending smiles your way. It’s supposed to be that way, it’s exciting, you’re carrying the result of yours and Spencer’s love—another life. But the whispers always find their way to you. You’ve heard the talk about the chances of miscarriages—that no pain could ever compare to carrying a baby for months only to lose it during childbirth. 

On a normal day, Spencer would be there to silence your worries. But, today he’s in a meeting. A stupid meeting. It makes you want to cry. 

Derek notices your eyes tearing up and stands from his desk. Blocking the path to yours. He grimaces when you almost collide into his chest. You blink a couple of times, like you hadn’t even known he stood up. Now, you’re exhausted, sad and embarrassed—not a good combo. 

 “How’s our girl doing?” Derek hums with a careful smile, offering a hand to guide you to your desk. You grumble something incoherent, shooting him a quick look. A second later he’s out of your path, allowing you a straight shot to the coffee machine.

You clutch a mug, the heat against your hands comforting. A sigh leaves your body, and your shoulders relax. You’re about to take a sip of your coffee before it’s snatched away from you. You pratically moan at it’s absense, before narrowing your eyes at the traitor in front of you. 

“You can’t be having this,” Emily says simply before taking a sip of your coffee. Your blood boils. 

“Give it back,” you demand, placing your hands on your hips to look as threatening as possible. You can’t imagine how effective it is, though, given your current state—but you’re determined.

“Nuh, uh,” she tuts, pulling the mug away from you. You watch her step back and dump the hot liquid into the sink. God, you’re too tired for this. 

“I can just make another.” you shrug, reaching for the other mug resting on the counter. When Emily snatches that one from you too, your head lulls back, and you groan in annoyance. 

“Nope,” she shakes her head with an amused smile tugging at her lips. You swear, this has to be her deah wish, “Spencer will kill me if I let you do that.”

“He wouldn’t.” You argue, but it’s really a desperate plea. 

Emily raises her eyebrows at you, “Yes. He would.” she says, emphasizing each word. You roll your eyes but give in—you know she’s right. 

“Fine,” you mumble, throwing a final glare in her direction before turning to hobble over to your desk.

The rest of the day is long. Your co-workers watch the way you wince when Hotch calls someone into his office, voice booming across the room. They watch as you slump at your desk, your head propped up by your hand, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep your eyes open enough to focus on the documents in front of you. After a while, Penelope approaches, her smile wide, and a glass of water in hand. Her cheerfulness only makes your head throb harder. You gently brush her off, taking the water with a quiet sigh. You wish you didn’t feel this way—but your sour mood only worsens by the hour. 

Then, finally, your savior arrives. 

Almost the entire office visibly relaxes when Spencer emerges from the meeting room. He looks panicked, like he’s more worried about being without you than you without him—the truth is the latter. His eyes sift through the office before finding you at your desk, slumped and half asleep. His eyes soften and his shoulders drop. You’re still breathtaking—though when he tells you that, you only protest. Long strides bring him to you, and just like on a normal day, he’s by your side. 

A gentle hand in between your shoulder blades brings his presence to your attention. You tilt your head up while his other hand brushes your hair out of your face. Then, he presses his lips to your temple, like he always does—it makes you smile. 

You wrap your arms around his waist, and Spencer’s bent at an especially awkward angle, but it doesn’t bother him. 

“Spencer,” you sigh, the weight of every negative emotion from earlier lifting off your shoulders. Pressing your face into his chest, you breathe in the comfort of his warmth.

“Hi, honey.” he returns, rubbing small circles on the small of your back. You say something into his chest that doesn’t quite reach his ears. 

“Hm?” he hums, asking you to repeat yourself. Nearby, Derek’s mouth hangs agape when you do without protest. 

“I missed you.”

Spencer presses a kiss into your hair, “I missed you too.”

You’re both silent for a moment, wrapped up in each other’s embrace. But eventually, Spencer shifts, wincing as his back aches, and gently pulls away. In turn, he kneels in front of you, hands resting on your thighs. 

“Have you had anything to drink today?” He asks simply—out of habit. Your smile again, he’s always trying to take care of you. 

“A little.”

There’s no hesitation before he’s on his feet, “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

“No, no, wait.” you protest, catching his hand, “Just stay for a minute.”

Spencer can’t bring himself to say no. 

So, he pulls up a chair, and the two of you settle in, working side by side at your desk until the end of the day. Hotch, watching from his office, would normally call out the inappropriate behavior—but today, he decides to let it slide. Just this once.

<3

masterlist . spencer reid masterlist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[kupidachillea]

KUPID!! GIVE US MORE TELEMACHUS HCS!! AND MY LIFE!!! IS YOURS!!!!!

Hear me out, Tele boy x reader who stands up for him n stuff ⁉️ she's definitely the fighter of the 2. Probably has had to defend him against antinous before. Maybe?👁

Telemachus x Fem!Reader Hcs (Romantic)

Author note: Thank you for the request! I tried to do this justice. I’m still getting use to writing and all this but I hope you and everyone else enjoys!

Trigger warning ⚠️ : Mentions of fighting (to the best of my ability to write), violence, Antinöus being a jerk, slight mention of blood and broken limbs, but fluff is definitely apart of this.

🕯️- It’s no lie that you love Telemachus, everyone can tell. You both are courting after all. There is nothing that can separate you both. You’re just too tightly knit together.

🏵️- Telemachus loves you dearly too..he sees a future with you. To him, you’re a blessing from the gods..and maybe you are. You’re always standing up for him, taking care of him as if you were the one ‘wearing the pants’ in the relationship.

🕯️- The prince obviously didn’t mind this; and most didn’t bat an eye(not too much anyway).

🏵️-The only person that seemed to give a damn and have problem was Antinöus…He’d tease and taunt Telemachus about how he’s letting a woman do a “Man’s job”. He was always saying how shameful it was for you to be defending the prince and how he could cut you down to size if he so choose.

🕯️- Telemachus didn’t appreciate the other man’s words at all. Often telling him to watch his tone or else. This would make the other male grin and get up in his face- going as far as to grab the prince by his chiton.

🏵️- You happened to walk in on one such encounter and you felt your blood boil at the sight of Antinöus grabbing Telemachus like that.

🕯️-You watched for a few seconds as the prince and Antinöus got into a little fight, clawing at each other and landing blows. Until you finally decided to step in, already having enough of the other man picking on your partner.

🏵️- You didn’t say anything as you grasped the nearest object you hands could get on- in this case a bronze tray, and you took it and hit Antinöus over the head with it.

🕯️- This caused both men to freeze up- but not for long as Antinöus stood to his feet and glared down at you. Clenching his hands into fists as he threatened to sock you right there..and he would’ve if it weren’t for the fact you beat him to it.

🏵️- He cursed loudly and Telemachus’ eyes widened as you shook your hand of the pain. “You disrespectful wench!! I’ll kill you!” He hissed as he felt his nose, blood flowing from it while you chuckled, though your own fist was in pain.

🕯️- Before things got worse- Telemachus had rushed over and made sure you were at a safe distance away from the bleeding man, his eyes filled with anger as he shoved Antinöus. “I don’t ever want to hear you speak about my partner that way again, do you understand?” He didn’t wait fir an answer before having his escorted out of the room..Antinöus giving you both a lingering glare as he cursed under his breath once more.

🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️

🏵️- That afternoon, Telemachus sat with you in his room tending to your hand that clearly got a bit fractured from when you punched Antinöus…

🕯️- He sighed while you sat there with a smile. “I could’ve handled that, y’know?” You told him and he gave you a slight look of doubt..he didn’t doubt your ability it was more so doubting the overall outcome..

🏵️- “I know you could..but still. I had that under control, and now you’re hurt..” He spoke softly, gesturing to your hand that was slight bruised and looking a bit fragile. Your gaze softened and you would rest your head against his shoulder. “It was worth it..for you at least.” You replied, which caused a small smile to form on the prince’s lips.

🕯️- He rolled his eyes before resting his head on yours in response to your previous action of affection. “You always say that…” He mutters and you only nuzzled him in response. Eventually , Telemachus finished up bandaging your injured hand and planted a gentle kiss on your lips.

🏵️- Which you happily returned before pulling away. A bright smile on your face as you both went back to cuddling.

🕯️- To you, Telemachus was worth all the trouble..even if he wasn’t too fond of you getting hurt..you didn’t mind at all.

Author note: Eeee sorry this one took awhile, but I hope you like it. I’m posting this after my birthday lol even though I was working on and off on it during the week. Anyway! I hope you all enjoyed this. Feel free to leave a comment and reblog or even leave a request if your own. I’ll try to get around to them all.

[storywriter007]

HI OH MY GODS!! your writing drives me INSANE in the best way possible and i'm so obsessed with your fics. i was wondering if you could somehow make a fic based on the "no one touches her!" line in the book??

i'm just imagining maybe an argument between percy and reader before the big fight and then the line happens and then maybe end in fluff?? ofc you can take this however you want to!! THANK YOU A MILLION!!

No One Touches Her - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: OMMGGG TYSM!!!! im so glad you like my work!! thanks for the request! i'm sorry it took a while and i hope you like it :)

warnings: cursing, battle, mention of bloof

genre: fluff

word count: 1.1k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

"you don't care about me!" y/n yelled from across the room. "you never have!"

"do you even hear yourself right now?" percy retaliated, just as loudly. "you know damn well i'd do anything for you!"

a battle was on its way as percy and y/n had their loud disagreement in an unknown sector of camp. she'd loved him for too long. she'd kept faith in him for too long. she'd been "friends" with him for too long.

"really percy! than answer my one fucking question, what are we?"

"you're my best friend!" he answered.

"that's what i mean! you know damn well we're not just 'best friends!'" she said angrily. "i can admit what i feel for you, why can't you do the same?"

"because i don't know!" he confessed. "i don't know."

of course he didn't know how he felt about her. of course he didn't consider the countless nights they'd stayed up and held each other while they wept about their lives. of course he didn't count how many times they'd almost kissed. of course he didn't count her.

"i'll put in words for you." she said softly, her eyes welling up with tears. "more than friends, less than lovers."

a war was about to begin. and now if she died, he would know how she'd truly felt all these years. percy looked at her with empathy and guilt in his eyes, but she turned away, preparing for the worst.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

good thing she had prepared for the worst, because how else would she have been able to fight off four monsters, by herself, with a sprained ankle, blurry vision, and intense fatigue.

she felt herself wobble as she swung her sword, but it made no impact. suddenly, she felt herself drop to her knees as spots of black began to fill her eyesight.

was this it? was this how it was going to end?

she looked around at the hideous faces that surrounded her. she'd die a martyr, a warrior, maybe even a hero. she wondered what her legacy would be; if anybody would remember her. she felt a monster slither closer to her.

"she can't fight anymore." it chuckled. "she's giving up."

"she's worn down." another monster added. "let's finish the job."

dying at the hands of a vicious beast wasn't exactly her top choice, but she couldn't do anything to prevent it. her limbs felt weak, her mind fogged up. she felt herself collapse on the ground. this was it. this was how it was going to end. she took one final look at the warzone around her.

"goodbye y/n." a monster chuckled.

suddenly, the monster began yelling in pain. her eyes fluttered open as she watched the monster float into the air, choking and gasping. then it happened to the next monster, and the next, and the next.

"no one touches her!" an angry, powerful voice yelled.

y/n fluttered her eyes open, squinting so she could see. there he was, in all his glory. percy jackson. she heard a pop sound, realizing that the monsters had exploded. he'd killed them. but he didn't slash and stab them, he bent their blood.

she faintly heard percy's voice as he knelt down next to her.

"y/n? y/n!" he screamed, stroking her hair. "fuck fuck fuck."

she felt herself get moved as her eyes shut.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

she woke up with the same blurry vision. she blinked a few times to clear it up before checking her surroundings. she was in the infirmary. she looked around, and saw someone across from her on her bed. he was looking down at the ground, anxiously bouncing his leg. his hand rested atop hers.

"percy?" she asked, looking at him.

he quickly turned to look at her and his eyes lit up.

"y/n!" he smiled. "you're awake, you're alive!" turning to face her.

will solace came in.

"she's awake!" percy said enthusiathically.

"i know." he smiled. "i heard you from across the hall."

"what happened?" y/n asked

"you were hit, and passed out from losing too much blood." will explained.

percy was still wearing the same tattered clothes from battle.

"i'll give you guys a few minutes, y/n, i'll be right back to check your vitals." will said, exiting the room.

"how long have you been here?" she asked, sitting up a little bit.

"i dunno, twenty-somethin' hours?" he guessed.

"non-stop?"

he shrugged in response.

"percy, i-"

"listen, i know we had a fight beforehand. and the truth is, i wasn't confused, i was scared. i didn't want to ruin everything we had for a relationship. and the thought of losing you freaked me out, so i-i was a dick and i lied."

"percy-"

"just hear me out, y/n. you almost died, and i, i don't know, i just don't think i could live if you weren't here." he admitted. "when you said 'more than friends, less than lovers,' you were wrong. we are more than friends. i love you, i always have, and i'm sorry that i made you doubt that-"

her heart fluttered as the three words left his mouth. she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. his arms gently wrapped around her as her hands cupped his face. he tasted like smoke and salt-water. his hair reeked of battle, and she could feel how rough his skin was. he pushed her back a little, deepening the kiss. it was passionate, it was sweet, it was long overdue.

"holy olympus, get off of her. it's been two minutes since the girl woke up." will said as he returned.

percy, very annoyedly, was forced to pull back as will checked y/n's vitals.

"all good, y/n." he smiled. "you're free to go whenever you're ready. stay light on the sugar. don't push yourself too hard just yet. get plenty of rest."

"thank you will." she smiled back.

"where's my thank you?" percy asked, offended. "i saved your life."

"you ruined my shot at a really cool death." she laughed.

"i'm sure the sugar will get to you before the monsters do." he chuckled, before leaning in to kiss her again.

it was a little more needy this time. it was clear percy had heard will's clearance, because he was a little more firm this time.

"sorry, forgot my stethoscop- for the love of gods jackson." will commented, grabbing his equipment and hitting the back of percy's head.

"ow!" he remarked, rubbing the back of his head.

y/n couldn't help but laugh. percy laid his head on y/n's chest.

"i love you." he said, quietly.

"i love you more." she smiled. "but you've gotta get up before will comes in and yells at you again."

[lady-ashfade]

Hi, I wanted to request something platonic with Percy, with him meeting his older half-sister after he finds out he's the son of Poseidon.

Sorry for my English, I'm using the translator to write, and sorry if you don't understand my request

Pictures On The Wall

Percy jackson x older!sister (platonic)

-£ this was the first thing that came to mind and it’s such a cute idea! thank you.

-£ words: 700

-£ warnings: short, nervous percy, cool reader, sassy and kinda grunge reader, siblings bonding, fluff.

the wall across from his bed was covered with many things. pictures of people he didn’t know along with a bed half made and clothes piled up. “that’s y/n’s” a name he never heard but yet was family. his half sister was somewhere on a quest and didn’t know that he was snooping round her things.

he looked at the pictures all the time, liking the smile you had. he knew that smile, a distinct memory in his mind but you wore it with pride. you looked so cool and by all the stories he heard you were one of the most awesome person at camp.

every cabin knew you, it was like he needed to fill some sort of shoe now that you walked in but he didn’t know the first thing.

“percy,” grover peaked into the cabin and looked around for his best friend, when he found him he looked nervous. “I think you should come.” percy jumped up at the sound of his voice that sounded like something horrible had happened.

percy walked along his friend while his heart raced, “what happened?” had another monster attacked the camp, what could have happened that he had to come.

“she’s back.” Grover muttered while sighing, “And we thought you should meet her.” oh,- oh gods. you were back so soon? he didn’t have a clue on what he would say or do. would you like him, would you hate him and somehow kick him out of the cabin? he’s never had a sibling before.

“she’s getting patched up and I’ll warn you,” Grover patted his shoulder with a kind smile, “she’s unpredictable at times.” Yeah, that makes me feel much better Percy thought.

as soon as the walked into the infirmary all they could hear was yelling and arguing making the young boys look at each other. they walked to the door and saw the girl on the bed glare at the other around her age.

he knew you. the picture he looked at every day you seemed to be exactly like that, but you didn’t look happy like all of them. the shirt you wore had rips in it and a bloody bandage wrapped around your arm. the redhead girl in front of you held a spoon up to your mouth but you kept fighter her off.

“I’m fine! It’s just a few scratches, I’m not a child!” it was ironic that you looked like a bratty child that wanted to stomp their feet. your lips pouted slightly. percy didn’t know what to think at the scene.

“take it. you’re just keeping yourself from leaving, so do it so I can leave!” the other girl seemed to knock some sense into you as you huffed and took the spoon in your mouth. if looks could kill then she would be on the ground by now, you looked so angry.

humming the redhead walked out of the door and looked at the boys before rolling her eyes and kept going down the hallway. you didn’t seemed to notice them as you started to take off the dirty bandages.

Grover was the first to speak, “excuse me,” you looked at him quickly but your eyes were now soft and no longer sharp. “Grover, come in!” you invited him over but your eyes soon fell on the boy next to him. and immediately the connection between the two of you went off in your head.

“you must be percy?”

he shifted closer and awkwardly not knowing want to do, “yeah. how do you know?”

“I received letters telling me of the idiot brother I seemed to have,” you chuckle and throw the dirty cloths in your hands on the bed. The cut was gone but dry blood still stayed on your skin, “you have dads eyes.” You pointed to your own.

“really?” he asked quietly as you hopped on the floor and stretched. “Oh yeah, less disappointment in them but I’ll give it time.”

you yawned and picked up the black jacket and your backpack, “I’m starving,” you stood between the two of them and then swung your arms around the two of them.

“Now, tell me what you did to Clarisse!” You smirk at the brother you just met, “my favorite sibling already.”

[maliro-t]

The highlight of Veilguard for me is the relationship between Solas and Rook- and I don't know how to write about this on the internet without being acutely aware of other peoples' criticisms (such as there not being enough of it)- so I'll just say up top that I'm not actually intending this as a refutation of any of those. I just want to talk about my experience with the game and why I like it so much, which will probably make obvious where I disagree with some reoccurring critiques I've seen. *

The thing about Solas in this game is that he plays the role of the trickster perfectly. As much as Fen'Harel is a myth or a persona, and the stories we know of him invented or twisted, his role in Veilguard feels like it could slot in so, so easily with the myths, and in many ways directly parallels them. He is sinister and noble, monstrous and sympathetic, ruthless and compassionate, all at once. He spends the game trapped and humbled but can be almost gleefully condescending at times. He conflates outsmarting an enemy with being right, even as he plays the long-suffering martyr, tortured by countless mistakes. He falls easily into the role of advisor but is quick to note your foolishness. To sneer and declare the problem yours and yet still impose upon you an appraisal of your conduct.

But more than any of that, for most of the game, he's...passive. Dormant. He seems to make no moves, other than as a glorified consultant, despite starting as the main threat.

In Blood of Arlathan, when he finally rears his head again as major a player on the board, it's with a gallant offer of help. As an ally. He is exactly what you need, right when you need it, and you don't even have to ask him to be. And- because you don't have constant access to him, you maybe haven't even considered him an option!

He feels extremely intentionally sparing to me before this in service of a) making you think you're the one with power over him and b) causing you to forget he might contribute at all, so that when he finally does, it seems wholly benevolent. It comes in a moment where your goals are exactly aligned, and indisputably noble.

It's a waiting game. A classic of his, harkening back to stories we've heard time and again about Fen'harel and traps.

As Felassan tells it in the Masked Empire:

Fen'Harel was captured by the hunting goddess, Andruil. He had angered her by hunting the halla without her blessing, and she tied him to a tree and declared that he would have to serve in her bed for a year and a day to pay her back. But as she made camp that night, the dark god Anaris found them, and Anaris swore that he would kill Fen'Harel for crimes against the Forgotten Ones. Andruil and Anaris decided that they would duel for the right to claim Fen'Harel. He called out to Anaris during the fight and told him of a flaw in Andruil's armor just above the hip, and Anaris stabbed Andruil in the side, and she fell. Then Fen'Harel told Anaris that he owed the Dread Wolf for the victory and ought to get his freedom. Anaris was so affronted by Fen'Harel's audacity that he turned and shouted insults at the prisoner, and so he did not see Andruil, injured but alive, rise behind him and attack with her great bow. Anaris fell with a golden arrow in his back, badly injured, and while both gods slumbered to heal their wounds, Fen'Harel chewed through his ropes and escaped.

He goads his enemies into fighting each other for his benefit. Anaris, who had hunted him, succeeds with Fen'Harel's advice, exploiting a weakness he could only see with his aid. In turn, Anaris himself is left exposed. The victory goes to Fen'Harel, who has now dispatched two enemies at once and cleverly won his freedom.

He who was both Creator and Forgotten One. Who could walk amongst both as kin, and who in the end turned his back on them all.

Another tale:

The god Fen'Harel was asked by a village to kill a great beast. He came to the beast at dawn, and saw its strength, and knew it would slay him if he fought it. So instead, he shot an arrow up into the sky. The villagers asked Fen'Harel how he would save them, and he said to them, 'When did I say that I would save you?' And he left, and the great beast came into the village that night and killed the warriors, and the women, and the elders. It came to the children and opened its great maw, but then the arrow that Fen'Harel had loosed fell from the sky into the great beast's mouth, and killed it. The children of the village wept for their parents and elders, but still they made an offering to Fen'Harel of thanks, for he had done what the villagers had asked. He had killed the beast, with his cunning, and a slow arrow that the beast never noticed.

Felassan is everywhere in the Crossroads, in memories, in regrets, in notes that speak to a time you can barely fathom and traces of a friendship that is never once brought up by Solas directly (to my knowledge at least). I think Felassan serves a lot of purposes; he's a window into history, into Solas' mind and ideals, someone who challenges moments of ruthlessness but is loyal, an advisor who keeps Solas grounded even as he pushes him to become something larger than he is, a lingering notion of a loss that you can never really see the full scale of, and so on. And I think, too, that he's written carefully to be a meaningful presence from the rebellion without explicitly spoiling what eventually happens to him, which I wouldn't be surprised if was a legit consideration made for people who might go back and read the Masked Empire after dav lol- in the same way that Trespasser only really spoils the book if you already know what happens.

But for me, every note signed with his name is almost a tongue-in-cheek warning about what's to come. Felassan. A slow arrow, fired apparently mockingly into the sky, only to strike true when it's least expected. A solution executed with neither kindness nor explanation, serving first and foremost the interests of the one who fired it. Felassan's presence in the game ever so slightly encodes a reminder of who you're actually dealing with and what his core tenants are, whether as an ally or an adversary. You only know if you know, but it doesn't seem an accident to me that this reoccurring name of a general who shaped himself in honor of the Dread Wolf's unorthodox cleverness is so key to these traces of Fen'Harel's past, despite, again, never directly being discussed.

Anyways, to Rook. First, I gotta give a shoutout to Bryony Corrigan, whose voice I used for mine- she honestly made the game for me, especially in moments where I felt unsure of it. I love Rook, I love how they're written, and I love how they're performed. While a complete blank slate protagonist can be really fun, I find putting myself as a player in conversation with limitations given by the game really fun and interesting, and often surprising! And I do feel there's still plenty of flexibility.

My perspective on the relationship between Rook and Solas in Veilguard is specific to how I played of course, and I haven't seen other versions of their dynamic at this point to compare so I can't speak to them. But my experience was as such:

I didn't come into the game wanting to intentionally antagonize him. If he rose at me, I rose at him- and those moments of tension were really, really fun. But I tried to accept what he gave me with a fairly open mind. Skepticism, sure, but also the knowledge that ultimately, we both wanted Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain gone, and he knew them better than I did.

It was really gratifying, then, to see our rocky partnership evolve over time into what seemed like a genuine respect. But it didn't really feel straightforward to me either. For example, the conversation before Weisshaupt held a lot of weight for me: listening to him tell that chilling tale about undermining an enemy with persistent laughter and finding that 'Do whatever it takes to remove those who oppose you' was something we came out aligned on was.... There was an element of foreboding to that. Like, I had found myself actively trying to impress him here! And feeling good when it seemed like I had, but uneasy about how I had done it, even when I agreed with what I'd said.

And of course, after that comes Arlathan. Solas' big hero moment. This is the point in the game where our alliance finally felt comfortable to me. The conversation in the fade after was the first time that it really seemed like we were on even ground. And the game- not just Solas- told me here outright that I had earned his respect! After that, I didn't consider betrayal a possibility for a moment. Honestly, I barely even considered him an antagonist at all, because he had become a partner instead! I was expecting something clever down the line, but I wasn't worried about it hurting me. Our disagreements had been set aside, and the goal of his that I had initially opposed had been so thoroughly usurped I had forgotten that he was even pursuing it. And yes, that's perhaps naivety on my part, but I was so distracted by that not at all being the main plot that I forgot that it actually still was. Which is the whole point, right? He waits until your head is turned the other way to strike.

All this to say, my reaction when you kill Ghilan'nain and Solas uses the instability of the Veil to force you into his prison went beyond shock and confusion. It wasn't until well into his villain monologue that I was able to accept that he had betrayed me at all- having been thus far trying desperately to convince myself that the sequence I was seeing was Elgar'nan playing mind games in retaliation, and not actually Solas.

That prison moment is his Slow Arrow. You are Anaris to Elgar'nan's Andruil, the dagger the chink in her armor, and Ghilan'nain's death the golden arrow striking you in the back.

The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap.

And I should say, I was coming at this all from the meta perspective of someone who loves Solas and empathizes with him and has never seen him as irredeemable or evil- and I, the player, who believed that all game and is ultimately satisfied with the resolution I got- felt hoodwinked as fuck in this moment lmao!!

There's a line in the prison that Varric has about it being easier for Solas to play the villain when he knows he's causing harm- so I do think he plays up his sinisterness here on purpose. But it's such a slap in the face coming straight off of "You have earned the respect of the Dread Wolf." A true and profound betrayal, at least for me.

And it doesn't stop there! His trickster maneuvers and half-truths aren't done until the credits roll. I love that when you meet again, he is nothing but apologies. He makes every concession- that Varric was a good man, that every victory in this fight has been yours, that he needs you and not the other way around, that he was wrong and made mistakes and betrayed people who never deserved it. And of course, we know from experience at this point that this won't stop him from doing it again anyways. But he never holds back from placing the blame on himself. Agreeing with you. Telling you you're right, and that Elgar'nan must be stopped. He only ever says things that are true. Things that are aligned with your point of view.

"[The veil] will never come down by my hand." Well, yes. Because it will fall on its own when Elgar'nan is dead. You won't hardly have to do anything at that point, Solas, will you?

It doesn't matter if Rook isn't falling for it, because if they don't accept his partnership, they lose! That's it! It's the same as it was at the start, but with the added sting of knowing it probably won't work out in your favor this time.

I remember before launch John Epler saying that Solas sees himself in Rook, which really echoes throughout the whole game for me. There are some ways you could say Solas seems opposite to Rook- and of course this can wax and wane depending on roleplaying choices, but the central conceit of Rook as Varric's recruit is that they are a specialist in being willing to act. And on the surface at least, that's kind of counter to Solas' Slow Arrow, right? Blunt force versus delayed gratification. But not entirely! Because every backstory we have for Rook revolves around a kind of heroism that is unorthodox enough to have left you ultimately punished for it. Like yeah, yeah, you saved some lives.... The optics were kinda bad though, so maybe you could go on a sabbatical for a while?

Rook is, from the start, an unconventional and unsung hero, admonished by some for ruffling feathers that they shouldn't have in pursuit of a noble goal. Not unlike Fen'Harel.

I find, too, that there's kind of a nesting doll of parallels around Rook and Solas as foils that the whole story hinges on:

We see Solas, his regrets plastered on every wall, each of them tied to Mythal. At every turn he seems to warn her that this is not the right path, but he follows her down it anyways, until he is left with nothing but an overwhelming need to fix what they have broken.

We see Felassan, who still wears Mythal's vallaslin on his face, challenging Solas' judgement and methods, but still standing by him through the rebellion, after the Veil, for however many thousands of years they slept. Ultimately, in the Masked Empire, the thing that makes him falter is his admiration for someone else's pursuit of freedom. His admiration for Briala.

"I suspect you'll hate this, but she reminds me of-"

Solas is Rook. Solas is Briala. Upstarts, flawed defenders, people who are made into leaders because of their willingness to fight for something. Who see injustice and cannot rest.

Solas is Felassan, the devoted general. One who pushes against his orders but cannot deny them. Someone who loves the cause, but more than that is dedicated to the person who champions it. A voice of reason who, in the end, turns away.

Solas is Mythal, a pragmatic leader, responsible for uncountable deaths. Someone who has relied on partners and power structures that have led her down a dark path, partners whose mistakes in their pursuit of power have become her own. Partners who in the end betray her.

Solas is trapped in his regrets because they are not all his. He struggles with having been failed and with how he has failed others, and in his mind the two become conflated. He carries these contradictory roles on his back- perpetrator and victim, betrayer and betrayed- and cannot see how to overcome them. He is ultimately freed by Mythal's absolution because the foremost factor in his crusade is not belief but guilt.

The ends have to justify the means, because there is no other way he can live with himself. And at every step, he is trying to redeem Mythal as much as he is trying to redeem himself.

He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He wanted to give wisdom, not orders. I will always follow where you go.

He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

It was all for her. It was always for her.

Solas' duplicity is unending, but so is his devotion. And there is such an earnestness to a Rook, always betrayed, that sees and empathizes with that and uses it to free him.

* I will say that during the game I was definitely wishing you could show your hand to him a little more and press him about his memories prior to the endgame (and separate from this I have quibbles with the impact of some of those memory reveals- like wrt the delivery just not feeling as weighty as I would like. The payoff is absolutely still there in the end, it just felt to me like they were too nonchalantly getting a ton of info out that had to be established moving forward, despite these being like earthshattering reveals that people have Correctly (!!!!) theorized about for up to 15 years). That being said, in retrospect it would have lessened the impact of the finale to have pressed Solas about, for example, his relationship to Mythal prior to absolutely pulling the rug out from under him with it at the 11th hour. And additionally, it's a structural nightmare because you can uncover the memories at almost any point in the story, and you don't have constant access to Solas to chat with him about them. Which you shouldn't imo, in service to the story being told!! But it's also true that early on I found scenes with Solas super gripping, and scenes with my team often...not. And that was initially disheartening, but developed positively over time on all fronts once the game didn't have to worry about setting things up. So, I did wish for more here at first, but I've revised my opinion now that I can see the whole arc.

[supernova41st]

Hear me out... TF2 mercs with an easily flustered s/o, like so easily flustered even purring out petnames makes reader bright red and stammering like a school girl with a crush

Blush Crush! ᥫ᭡⋆࣪

Tf2 x Flustered!Reader

A/n: I know I made a poll and everything but this req was so cute I just had to make it!! I tried not to do the wattpad “her face was blushing bright red” stuff so I just said rosy a whole bunch. Enjoy!!

Warnings: None

Medic

❥ Definitely takes him some time to catch onto what’s happening.

❥ You had admired him from a distance since he seemed more attached to his projects than some lovey dovey crushes, but that didn’t stop you from yearning!

❥ Once it was your turn to take the Uber surgery your pulse had been rushing since you sat in that waiting room

“Let’s see.. your blood pressure is pretty good”

“Oh stopp! 🤭”

“..alright then”

❥ He did notice how rosy your skin gets when you’re in the same room, and whenever anyone mentioned his name.

❥ If he Ubers you you’re always on straight PANIC MODE.

‘gasp Oh my god. okay okay, is my stance good? Forget that-do I look good?? I don’t wanna die in front of him but I also don’t want to look stupid!! His eyes are practically glued to me right now! Oh, he’s dead.’

❥ Once he did catch up to what was happening he felt embarrassed himself for not noticing sooner since it seemed so obvious.

❥ Has no idea what to make of it, this guy spends his days experimenting on beheaded spies what do you want him to do?

❥ All of a sudden he was the one blushing and getting all flustered.

❥ He started avoiding eye contact while healing you, kicking the dirt all shyly 😭

❥ He’d deliver love notes via Archimedes, you can barely read it tho cuz he has that doctor hand writing <//3

Scout

❥ oh em gee 😒

❥ Don’t even get him started, he loves making you blush and giggle

❥ Scout is quite bold so as soon as he saw your face turn slightly rosy he became so flirty

❥ He’d do the classic lean against the wall type flirting before matches just to feed his ego before entering battle

“Yeah I’ve been hittin’ the gym recently, gotta get these babies ready for the summer”

“Oh wow! You’re so cool, Jeremy..”

❥ The rest of the team feels like a disappointed dad. “You could’ve done better” type shit

❥ Scout would steal your kills to look like he was “saving” you, you’re too flustered to notice

“Whew, you okay (Y/N)?”

“Oh my god, thank you Jeremy…”

❥ First date was at an arcade so that he could impress you with winning some claw machine prizes *he ended up losing 5x and you got him something instead

❥ Neither of you can get enough of each other, especially after dating. You two are always linking pinkies while the team goes over a plan of some sorts

❥ Y’all are that one hallway couple in high school.

“Alright team, we read- euah.. 😟”

“Sorry Engineer, just giving sum goodluck kisses”

“Eugh creepy, could you get neutered you dog?”

Engineer

❥ Engie does catch on to you being so flustered around him but he sorta doubts himself because he’s unsure if it’ll be a distraction from his work life.

❥ After a few weeks he thought “Hey, why the hell not?”, with how hard you were crushing on him, he was sure that soon enough you’d guys be together

❥ He is quite old fashioned, he’s the type to show up to your door step with flowers and would ask to go out for milkshakes

❥ On your first date he got you a bouquet of flowers he sculpted from metal

“Aww you got me flowers? How sweet..”

“Sure did sugar, my love for you oughta wilt away once it does.”

“….”

“..you good?”

You died.

❥ At least you were able to give him his sunflowers. His favorite kind!!

❥ He’s happy he was able to build up the guts to put himself out there again, he adores you, thinks you’re cute for the most part but also charming in a way.

“So do the sentries build themselves or?”

“Nope, I just gotta be quick with buildin’ then between fights, keeps me sharp”

“You’re so amazing Engie! I could listen to you talk all day ༯”

❥ You’re lucky he finds your swooning cute, otherwise he’d probably build some sentries to make sure you weren’t watching him sleep at night.

[abigailmoment]

It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

-

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

-

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

-

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with  great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly. 

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell. 

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground. 

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover. 

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin. 

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear. 

-

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him. 

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked. 

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way. 

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy. 

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

-

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him. 

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes. 

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells. 

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush. 

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly. 

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form. 

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side. 

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly. 

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly. 

And that was a precious thing.

****

Other stories like this.

****

[mihii-i]

CAN I PLEASE REQUEST A MIZU X FEM READERRR

The reader gets captured by Fowler and Mizu rescues her, the reader is basically another medic, very kind and sweet, polar opposite of Mizu, but she knows Mizu is a woman and the two of them fall in love. Meanwhile when she sees the condition that the reader is in (beat up, used, etc) she literally is like for a second "lowkey I don't need his info lemme kill him." But ofc doesn't do it, comforts the reader, taking off her blue kimono and giving it to her, wrapping her in it and picking her up and carrying her out of the castle <3 while whispering words of encouragement to her. This time it's Mizu taking care of the readers wounds, and she like becomes ringos little assistant to help work on her.

If you want to have them have a pre established official relationship you can! And if it's not too much trouble, please work on this as fast as possible. Thank you so much for your time!

animosity of an onryō.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, wuh luh wuh, mention of injury, violence, blood, gore, tw fowler he will always be a tw in my eyes, reader got fucking crucified my gods, basically like how taigen was being tortured but worse, guys I’m still recovering from the fact that I found out people ship mizu and fowler unironically sendnhelp, mizu goes genuinely insane like she did in ep 6, mikio is mentioned I hate him more than fowler, I should’ve censored that old bitch’s name sorry guys, not proofread.

A/N: I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE IM CRAFTING A SPECIALLY MADE MEAL FOR A QUEEN IN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME PLACED AS A SPECIFIC TIME BASED ORDER YK also this is how well I write when I’m not rushed and don’t have school and enjoy what I’m writing I’m so glad I have the free time and motivation brain blast to write this rn anyway mizu come home the kids miss u 🕯️

Blurry figures writhed in the line of your fogged periphery, the burning ache of your wrists seared into the wooden board being accompanied by screams of pure anguish and rage in the background. You couldn’t utter a single word as you caught sight of the two people pushing against each other with a heightened murderous intent clouding the area, harboring an awful atmosphere of bloodlust in the vicinity. It wasn’t difficult to immediately identify the figure on your left as Fowler, his broad shoulders and bulky stature quickly making him recognizable.

Coughing out, you uncomfortably writhed against the board, back dragging along the splintering wood as each crimson trickle of blood dampened your clothing. The noise in your ears only vibrated in an agonizing ringing sound, reverberating through every fiber of your body, etching itself into the confines of your skull as your head began to spin from the sheer ache tightening your muscles.

“Where the fuck is she?”

You recognized that voice.

It was one which you found yourself bounding through several stages of affection with. One that you feared, yet also adored. You used every bit of strength you had to tilt your head up, focusing your bleary vision onto the leaner fighter looking up at Fowler with nothing but pure hatred. You were far away from the two, yet you could recognize those piercing blue eyes anywhere, taking note of the bloodthirsty glint that always shone in them at the mere sight or mention of her targets.

You could only watch in your crucified state as Mizu’s elbows dug into Fowler’s push back on her, teeth grinding together as she let out a breaking yell before driving her katana into his shoulder, earning a hiss of pain from his throat. You only found yourself, drowning in the infernal fury of the ongoing fight between them, masking the air with a deathly thirst that could not be quenched.

“You really..really want that damned girl back don’t you? Pitiful little lady wouldn’t even open her mouth no matter what we did, might as well cut her tongue out.” Fowler rasped out, voice morphing into a chuckle gurgling from the blood rising in his throat as he grasped his wounded shoulder. Mizu’s anger only heightened at his degrading words, each movement of her sword against his torso becoming more and more intense as her temper thinned. “Abijah Fowler. You will tell me where (Name) is before I make you regret the very moment you decided to be born.”

Suddenly, a wicked smile quickly replaced the flash of fear in his eyes as soon as it appeared, his head nodding off to the side in your direction as he seemed to raise his eyebrows toward you like some sort of signal. Mizu followed his eyes as she kept her menacing demeanor up, glancing over in the same direction he was locked on. Her eyes widened with nothing but absolute terror.

Her grasp on her sword briefly faltered, almost clattering the metal against the ground as she took in your battered form, loosely hung from the two nails confining your palms into the bloodied wood like a butchered animal. Nearly every single inch of your skin was doused in crimson, various wounds tainting each limb. Whether it was a slash from a knife or a flattened bridge of skin from a hammer, any horrific type of torture that could possibly be conjured up was present across your body.

You parted your lips weakly as you caught sight of Mizu’s racing sights fixed onto you, attempting to call out her name despite the sting that bit at the back of your mangled throat.

“Mi..zu..”

She only felt her heart sink at your brutalized stature, your life barely hanging by a thread as you were practically mauled—rendered to the point of being unable to even scream. A sudden flare of contempt erupted in Mizu’s eyes, feeling a bubbling sensation of fury finally snap within her as she saw you hanging like a ragdoll. Slowly, her head turned back to Fowler, fueled even further by the smug expression plastered across his face.

You couldn’t even register what was happening anymore past the screams, only being able to hear the sodden rips of flesh and blood alongside Mizu’s remorseless onslaught of cries, bashing Fowler in with a blinding wrath which left even her unrecognizable in your view. The well-trained and cold samurai who seemed calculated with every move she performed, no matter how brutal, was now tearing at a man with no coherent thoughts present in her mind—only hate.

The rancorous barrage unfolding before your eyes nearly made your chest ache. Sure, despite your sweet nature completely opposing Mizu’s unfeeling one, you had always acknowledged the importance of her revenge. You knew that she had to kill the remaining three men who had potentially soiled her very existence by bringing a monster into this world, and you were supportive of it.

But this? This wasn’t what she was aiming for. This was just her lusting for blood, seeking to make them suffer more than her own satisfaction required. And it made your pulsing veins nearly run cold and stop.

“Aha. You need me to get to the other two..you can’t get to them without-“

“I don’t care.” She snapped, tightening her hand around the tsuka of her blade to dig through the first layer of his forearm and saw at the bone; earning a scream from Fowler which seemed as if it was elicited from genuine terror and pain this time. You finally hunched your shoulders back to use every drop of energy you had left coursing through you, yelling out for her to stop.

“It’s no..t worth it..stop it, please..”

Your choked out noise almost instantly made the scorching fire within her subside down to a tiny flickering flame, her blade embedded in Fowler’s side pausing at its cut midway. Looking down, it had finally seemed that she had come to her senses, breathing ragged and shallow as she yanked out her katana with a grunt as Fowler toppled to his knees.

Using his immobile state as an opening, she quickly rushed toward you, hands swiftly twisting at the nails hammered into your palms as you whined out hoarsely in pain. Her heart only clenched at your strangled noises, taking your holed hand in hers tenderly as the nails cluttered onto the floor. Mizu wanted to circle her arms around you tightly, squeeze your body against hers and dig her face into the crook of your neck while whispering sweet promises to never let you go again. Yet there was no time to act on what she wanted now. All that mattered was getting you out of that god awful castle where you had been abused past a breaking point.

Your head spun as you focused on Mizu’s face splattered with blood, her worried expression contrasting the violence that she had put on display not too long ago. “It’ll be okay, (Name). Hang on.”

Shrugging off the dark blue kimono fastened by her obi, she scooped your limp body up in the fabric, allowing you to bask in the warmth of her tattered clothing as she held you to her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She paused, muttering against you once more.

“I should’ve never left you like this. Thank you for being there for me.”

Her uncharacteristically soft whisper brushed over your cheek, hand ghosting the blood seeping through the blue fabric shrouding your wounds, yet she couldn’t care any less about how messy her clothes got. As long as she could get you back.

…

“Now let me be there for you too.”

In one swift motion, Mizu clamped her teeth around the blade of her katana while you were swayed up in her grasp, using her own body to ram into the window and shatter it as the two of you descended down from the ninth level down into the freezing waters below.

Shards of glass flipped through the air, spinning as they scattered in all directions and occasionally grazed your already broken skin. You felt yourself swallowing your own breath in the icy pits of water engulfing both you and Mizu, her arms fastened around you like a lifeline as she held you close. She wouldn’t get caught up in her revenge to let someone precious die. Not this time. Perhaps she had changed from who she once was, transitioning from a cold blooded killer who clear out anything blocking her path, into someone who poured her heart out for a woman who was her polar opposite.

You couldn’t stay awake much longer, the border between life and death currently wavering in and out of sight and disappearing into an uncertain gamble between the two. Eyes shutting as the numbness spread to every inch of your body, you laid back, allowing yourself to be submerged in the blue embrace you had tainted a sickening red.

—

“Is she alive?”

“Master, be patient..she has a pulse but I don’t know if she’s even conscious right now.”

“How can I be? She practically got ripped open by Fowler! Even then these wounds look far too gone to even come close to healing..”

“They’ll heal, trust me.”

Muffled voices exchanged between two people echoed in your ears, a sharp sting interrupting any train of thought you had going on as you became well aware of your consciousness. A sore ache throbbed across every inch of your muscles, contracting tightly as you could quite literally feel the slits ingrained into your body. From what it felt like, they seemed to be stitched up, with a damp cloth pressed against the formerly open wounds.

You slowly blinked open your eyes being met with the dim light of a candle bouncing off the wooden floor. Your back was pressed against a tatami mat as you lay still like a corpse, the biting throb still twitching across your taut muscles. In an instant, you caught the sight of Ringo’s face hovered above yours, his eyes looking off in the distance as his blunt hands were situated on his lap. He was humming to himself while staring elsewhere, possibly waiting for you to wake up.

As soon as he looked back down at you, his expression contorted into one of surprise, delight following up almost instantly. “Master! She’s awake!”

You heard a rush of footsteps thudding across the floorboards, before the silhouette of a lithe woman’s shadow loomed over you, hands planted by her sides. Her slender fingers traced over your battered knuckles, thumb brushing along the torn off ridges of skin still healing before breathing out a long awaited sigh of relief.

“Mizu..?”

She nodded, squeezing your hand a bit and urging you to not strain your voice too much. Her downturned expression harbored a light of vulnerability striking off her cerulean eyes, as if she was mortified at the possibility that she would never see you open your eyes again. Ringo nodded in her direction with a smile, standing up and heading out the front door into the front of the unfamiliar cabin-like structure you were enclosed in.

Wasting no time, Mizu bit at the thread in her hands, pinching the needle between two fingers in the other. “Hold still.” Snaking her hand below your sagged arm, she lifted up with ease, pushing the needle and thread in tandem as you sucked in a breath to endure the searing push of the needle through your skin each time. She carefully stitched up the exposed wound, looking up at your face twisted in pain with her own expression of pity.

Your breathing came out in shallow gasps for air, the wounds still having a profound impact on your body as it was quite difficult to move your limbs without it feeling like being torn apart, much less retain your ability to walk around normally. You found that you were still curled up in her kimono, serving as a sort of padding against your back, layered atop the tatami mat. Honestly, it was a great substitute considering there wasn’t a futon anywhere in sight around here.

Ringo came back in, holding a bowl between his stubby hands as he carefully set it down beside your head to cool, harshly blowing at the steam wafting from the bowl. Once he deemed it was cool enough, he signaled Mizu to lift your head up—to which she did, as he held the bowl carefully, making sure it didn’t slip from his grasp. You swallowed each pour of the soup-like meal down your throat, being able to drink a bit easier after each swig.

—

Ah. What you would do to go back to those times.

You had always trailed behind Mizu with a smile, never leaving her side no matter how many times she had grumbled out for you to leave. Every moment spent with the stoic samurai had held nothing short of your heart racing beside her, as if you were in a realm of bliss no matter how harsh she was with you at times. No matter how many gruesome battles you found yourself walking into at her side, no matter how many times you stood at the brink of death and nearly toppled off the edge, you didn’t regret even an ounce of what you experienced.

For some odd reason, you found yourself captivated by Mizu, drawn in by the cold blue eyed samurai. At times, you even suspected that there was more beneath that ‘unbreakable’ exterior than she was letting on. The two of you had found yourselves closer than you could ever imagine, heart to heart with every wretched and dark secret burrowed in the crevices of your souls, yet still choosing to adore even the most monstrous sides of one another.

Even when you found out that it was a woman who lingered beneath the facade of a man, your view of her didn’t change at all. In fact, your trust only grew, knowing full well you saw a vulnerable side of her that very few had experienced.

You had taken the parts of her she deemed as impure, the parts she kept hidden from others along with the raw hatred engraved into her very existence, and huddled it into the warmth of your affection. Allowing the supposed animosity of an onryō to be hemmed between your arms as you poured our every drop of love you fostered within you to the demon.

You recalled a bunraku puppet show you had once seen, depicting the vexations of a woman who had fallen to once again arise as an onryō. Yet it was clear, that the tempestuous being had only risen from anguish. From the fact that it had been betrayed once, torn apart and trust crumbled right before its very eyes.

Perhaps that’s what you saw in Mizu. A broken woman who seeks nothing but satisfaction, completely shooting down the prospect of happiness at all. Despite how truly shattered she was from the inside, you didn’t mind it at all. You wanted to pick up each shard yourself, piece it back together slowly & carefully. Even if it slit your palms and stained them red.

The supposedly hardened walls she had gradually came down around you, her vulnerability shining through her guarded front. You were right. She had been betrayed by everyone she knew to ever exist, one of them being her late husband.

Mikio. You never knew him, yet his name alone left a bitter taste in your mouth. You promised—no, swore on your own life that you would never betray her in the way that man did. She was your top priority, the only one in this world you would ever feel so strongly towards. So strongly to the point where your bones lit up with a roaring flame of passionate adoration whenever you were in her arms. Mizu was everything to you, and you would rather die than let that change.

Till death do us part was a silly phrase, as you knew that you would grasp onto her, even after your pulse ran cold.

—

“Are you feeling any better?” Mizu inquired, her hand still supporting the back of your head. You mustered up the strength to nod briefly, returning her a smile which made her chest flutter just from the sight. Leaning into her chest, you breathed out a huff of air, clearing up your chest as you were slowly recovering and regaining the ability to breathe. Finally, you were able to speak up, albeit in a strained and raspy voice.

“You know..I never thought that the one whose injuries I always treat ended up treating mine.”

“I suppose that’s life’s cruel way of throwing irony in our face.”

Mizu’s face beholded a somber expression, one that made you tilt your head in confusion as you opened your mouth to ask.

“Hey-“

“I put you in danger. And even then, you endured all that just to stay alive.” She cut you off as if she predicted that you were about to ask her what was wrong, her voice seemingly held up as if it was threatening to break any moment. “I shouldn’t have. I thought that was the last time I could ever tell you that I love you.”

Your still discolored hand reached up to brush against her cheek, to which she was met with a look of surprise.

“(Name)-“

“You know that I would rather die than ever stop loving you.”

Mizu only hummed in response, carefully taking your recovering frame into her arms as she pressed a chaste kiss to your temple. To which you held back onto her with shaky hands, fingers weakly digging into her back.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you for my ember.”

A/N: I am deep fried rn this took so long but I love how it turned out I was far too passionate in writing this I’m screaming yippee

I listens to every bes ost while writing this (and ended up crying at some of them) forgive me but this deadass took like a whole ass 5 hours to write but tbf I did take like a 30-40 minute break at some point sooo

Anyway I love this request so much thank you for making a special request too cause that just fuels me to write good ily

[warmcookiepuff]

RESTART ( badly timed reunions suck ass when you leave your best friend behind)

— gn!reader, jason, wingman roy, mentions of dick

tw: curse words (many), jason dealing with his mental health and hyper independence (i hc he never properly deals with it)

p.s: raw writing skills after a year of retirement (it sucks).

p.s 2.0: Yes i rewrote this

---- ⭐ ----

"You've got a type," Roy jokes, lightly shoving his friend as he swivles his cup of juice. His eyes turning to the newbie vigilante across the room, stressing over the cups knocked over on the table.

"Yeah? What's that?" Jason rolls his eyes, adjusting himself on the wall. His eyes never leave your back.

"Scary," Roy hums, taking a sip of his juice as he watches you stack the cups again annoyingly.

It's been a while, you know. Probably a decade. Last you checked, he upped and died after getting adopted from the Alley you both grew up in. His shirt used to be as dirty as yours. Your smarts still match his, even more actually. Both were practically inseparable before--

Well.

"I don't know why you guys don't just talk," Roy muses. "It's not like you don't know each other."

"We don't," Jason answers harshly, his eyes looking away from you to his friend. "I'm not the kid that played mechanic anymore. Besides, I've got blood on my hands."

Its quiet. The house is still buzzing with friends and family. Wayne's mansion was grand as always. Jason always looks out of place in a space like this. Especially in celebrations, he typically never shows up. Not even for his own birthday. Much less Dick's.

Where he currently is.

The real question is: "Why is he here?"

Dick knows Jason won't come to the party. Everyone does. In typical Jaybird fashion, he'd send a text a few days late wishing his family a 'happy birthday' (if they're lucky).

He's a self-sufficient guy. The hyper independent, gruff, bad boy vigilante with a few screws loose. He does fine on his own.

So Dick brings in his screws; you. Jason fell for it like a sheep.

"How did Dick even--" Jason starts, feeling frustrated over the situation. Roy cuts him off.

"I told him."

"Honest to God I could kill you right now, Roy."

"In my defense, it sounded good at the time."

"I almost chopped their head off? What the fuck do you mean it sounded good?!"

"They threw like 15 bombs at you. Something tells me they don't just die easy."

"Christ, you're insufferable," Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. Needing silence above all else at the moment for the migraine that was shooting up his psyche. "i need some fresh air. DON'T follow me. I'll shoot your ass."

Jason leaves before Roy could say a word.

The balcony doors push open. Cold air pricks his cheeks and he takes a deep, deep breath of the polluted Gotham air. He rests his elbows on the railings, overseeing the city raining with crime.

Home.

There's a beat of silence. Before he sighs heavily, holding his head in his hands.

"Why am I like this," He asks himself in a low, tired voice. One he uses when he's sure he's alone. "Fuck's wrong with me. Can't be normal for five fucking seconds."

"Honestly, it was like 46 minutes but who's counting?"

Jason arms himself with his gun as swift as possible, his eyebrows furrow angrily as he makes sense of the silhouette standing by the balcony door behind him.

"Better than beheading, I'd say," You roll your eyes, walking up to him unfazed.

"You-- I-- Give me like 5 seconds," He locks in, immediately stuffing his gun in his holster. Fuck, since when did he stutter.

"Time's up," You answer smoothly, leaning on the railing with your body turned to his own rigid stance. "Speak, big boy."

"How'd you know I was out here?"

"You're a big guy," You answer, shrugging. "Also, Roy."

"Fucking ginger," He sighs, massaging his temples. "Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"Pretend we're talking. Like we're friends again."

"I'm not doing anything you don't want me doing," You put your hands up in surrender. "Talk when you want."

It felt like hours had passed by in the quiet that the cold had started to nick at your skin. Cars had passed, small amounts of people had left. For once, Jason didn't want to disappoint someone more than he already has -- he's stuck in his own head. He had to say something.

Anything.

Anything that isn't so fucking stupid.

"I... I missed... you," He says through gritted teeth, his eyes never meeting yours -- his heart pounding and nervous.

He should've died in the Pit.

The second of silence you left had him consider every escape option possible.

You snort loudly and burst out laughing. It catches him off guard. It was noisy, loud -- full of life. You grip the railing as you hold your stomach.

"I--," You heave, snickering through your words. "I-- I missed you too."

[fun-k-board]

Happy New Year!! 🎉

If it's alright, could I request Loki Headcanons about a Shy Lover or Secret Admirer? I imagine something like that wouldn't stay secret for long, knowing Loki, but I love the idea of the Lover in question being flustered beyond belief at being found out 💕

MARVEL RIVALS - LOKI LAUFEYSON With a Shy Secret Admirer Headcanons!

Note(s): I'm sorry this came out a bit late, college stressed me out so bad my body and mind did a factory reset. I'll be trying to finish the rest of my requests weekly.

"Oh?" Loki's eyes are light, something unusual for the trickster. Almost eager, they flick between you and the paper that's held loosely in his hand, the usual hint of amusement in his upturned lips. "You wrote these? Well, I can't say I'm not flattered, but you are aware I've been courting you for quite some time, yes?"

You and Loki would most likely know each other prior to you becoming his secret admirer, after all, he is a bit of a flirt and you're most likely one of many that he's charmed over the years. But, for him to accept your proposal, which is how I intend to write this as to avoid angst, he would need to reciprocate your feelings. In short, he'd probably be actively courting you while you do this.

It'd mostly be insignificant things, not killing you, maybe paying you a compliment every now and then, and maybe, just maybe, if he's feeling generous he'll find it in his heart to give you a gift. Typically it's jewellery, something that reflects him, gold with green jewels are his favourite. Necklaces are a no brainer, they're so easy to spot, and it's so easy to tell who it's from, too (You'll be lucky if he doesn't engrave his name on the damn thing).

Of course, he loves to tease you. It's so fun to see you squirm and try to hide away, even if he can't see the effect of the blood rushing there, he likes to hold a hand to your face every now and then to see if it's hot. One of his favourites is to whisper plans of mischief, and maybe try and get you to tag along in his next prank or attempt to steal the throne, it depends on his mood, really.

Infuriatingly, however, you don't seem to pick up on his obvious flirtations. He immediately decides that's an issue on your part, but he'll indulge you and give an extra flirty, witty remark every now and then. Wait- you're still not- oh you frustrate him endlessly! He's got half a mind to smite you, you know!

The thing is, Loki enjoys a good mystery and a thrilling hunt, but what he wants most of all is to be adored, worshiped, have thousands at his feet begging and pleading just for him to spare them a glance. So, when he starts getting little trinkets wrapped in bows, with papers written full of heartfelt devotion... Well, how can a God refuse such wonderful praise?

It's around that time of annoyance and pining, his stubbornness refusing to allow him to confess first, you must make the first move as it's obviously you who is obsessed with him, that he actually begins to receive your gifts. In such random places too, sometimes even tucked in the pocket of his clothes! Not that he doesn't admire the bravery to do such a thing.

At first he doesn't really look deep into it, he's content to find the very obviously placed gifts and doesn't care much for where they're found. As long as he's getting the attention he rightfully deserves, he doesn't care who it's from. Why should he need to know who loves him when he's being loved either way?

But, when he does want to find out this secret admirer's identity, perhaps in a ploy to make you jealous and confess, it's when he realises that it's you. The handwriting, the way of speaking, grammar, punctuation, and the nail in the coffin is when he catches you placing a note in his quarters while invisible.

This works out brilliantly.

Not only does it confirm in Loki's mind that you're utterly infatuated and obsessed with him, but it makes him believe that you were secretly aware of his courting all along. That you, given your shy nature, had done this to play into his trickster personality. He can't say he isn't impressed by your wits! (Someone please get him a reality check...)

Naturally, Loki plans something sweet yet embarrassing for his your confession, and despite his want for love and attention, he supposes that he'll make it a private affair. After all, he does want you to admit your love for him and giving you a panic attack would probably only drive you away.

The gardens are certainly beautiful this time of day, not bright enough to burn your eyes but not dark enough so you can't see, it's perfect. Not to mention quiet. Many people prefer to admire the gardens after their meals, either in the morning or in the night, but strangely never the evening, which leaves you by yourself. It's peaceful.

Yet the peace, as usual, is interrupted by a certain prince.

You turn around when you hear your name being called, your brows shooting upwards when you realise it's Loki. What could he need? Is he planning another prank? No matter, either way you're clearly involved. So, you wave a friendly hand and hope that you can ignore the sickly butterflies in your stomach that flutter harder when the sound of his shoes click closer and closer towards you.

"I want to speak with you." Loki hums, coming to a halt only a meter away from you.

You ask what he wants to speak with you about and he searches in his pocket for a moment until he finds a small piece of paper, holding it out in his palm almost like an offering. It looks familiar. Hesitant, you feel your fingers pinch a corner and take it for yourself, dread setting in your stomach as you realise. He figured it out.

When you look up sharply to explain, his face is inches from yours. The action causes your cheeks to get unbelievably hot, and even if the blood rushing to your face isn't visible, Loki knows you, he knows your tells. "I admire your worship, darling." He whispers, eyes narrowing as a sly grin grows on his lips. "But I would prefer it to be in person."

[lotusloong]

Do you have specific headcanons for the different Monkey Kings? Do you have a favorite? Mine is Dasheng from Hero is Back :3

Hi hi!! Specific headcanons hmm? I guess I do have a couple that are general as well as some that are relationship specific! Honestly if people want to request specific headcanon lists and reactions I'm happy to write those too!

General headcanons about miscellaneous monkeys!

Out of all the different Wukongs that exist, MKR!Wukong is the best cook. I think this purely off of vibes, the fact that in his movie we see him savor the flavor of the immortal fruit and literally travel across China to get the most luxurious bowl he can for his master to drink water out of…It comes off to me that he’s a Wukong who cares about food and how it's presented.

Which is good for his S/O, you will have the best meals while traveling on the road with him. The only other person he shares food with would be his Master, and even then it’s on a rare basis. You? You’re eating what he makes every night and you best believe that Bajie is practically crawling at your feet begging for a taste cause he knows MKR!Wukong is the best cook in the group, who also refuses to share with him.

Contrary to this, LMK and NGNR!Wukong are both the worst cooks. Not that they don’t know how to cook, they can whip up something decent, the problem is do they have the patience and desire to do so? LMK will literally subsist on those peach chips, eating only that, if he was allowed to. Its not like it’ll kill him, but it would affect his fighting and general stamina levels so fine, he’ll eat a proper meal…

NGNR!Wukong is similar but the reason he doesn’t care about eating properly is because of that general hopelessness and depression he’s fighting through. It’s hard to convince himself to actually get out of bed some days, he definitely doesn’t care about standing in front of a stove to make a proper meal for himself. This does get better after Li or an S/O enters his life. Having people who care about you and encourage you to keep going definitely helps.

Netflix!Wukong would so totally have a skin care routine in modern day. He is all about face masks and sugar scrubs. If he and the Eastern Dragon King ever settle their differences and become friends, they would go to the spa together and gossip about other gods the whole time.

Speaking of, if his S/O is having a bad day, Netflix!Wukong would hold up a finger, telling you to wait just a moment as he leaves the room. When he comes back, he’s wearing a plush robe (with one for you thrown over his arm ofc) and a bottle your preferred drink after a hard day. He’ll settle down next to you and pull out his beauty care stuff, anything from face masks to nail polish, and encourage you to “spill the tea”, as the kids say in the modern day, while you pretty each other up.

Now BMW!Wukong is extremely protective. Not to say the other Wukongs aren’t, but BMW is probably the most…feral about it. Other Wukongs would simply bash your attacker on the head and glare before turning to you, asking if you’re okay, you’re not hurt right, etc-

But BMW? He’s not hitting your attacker on the head to knock the guy out, he’s lifting the stupid fucker high above his head and suplexing him back into the dirt. If your attacker is still twitching and groaning after that, Wukong will go for the throat. With his teeth. It’s a messy and bloody death, and after giving the corpse one last kick for daring to upset you, he’ll turn back to you with these big ol’ vulnerable eyes and ask if you’re okay.

There’s blood coating his entire front half, but you’ve never felt safer.

Now HIB!Wukong is so goddamn tired, but this monkey will do anything if it makes you and your adopted little ones smile. He’s probably the most “responsible” Wukong to exist, but that's still a very loose “responsible”. He’s still a Wukong, through and through, and has his moments of mischief.

An example - HIB!Wukong is notorious for stealing your things and holding them hostage till you give a “proper” amount of kisses. What is the proper amount of kisses? Who the hell knows, he never says. It changes every time he makes his demands. You’ve learned as his S/O to just pull him close and give him kiss after kiss till he’s a puddle in your arms. Then you’re free and clear to take your stolen item back and he won’t even complain.

I hope you like these! If anyone wants me to expand on them or wants to start a convo with me about any of the monkeys I’d be ecstatic to answer!

As for my favorite version of our monkey…Honestly I don’t know if I can choose? I really like them all for different reasons! I like how certain versions focus more on Wukong’s flaws and how he has to work to overcome them, like Netflix, LMK, and the OG Book version. But I like how other versions focus on how lonely he is and how he struggles to make genuine connections with others because of the life he’s lived, like HIB, NGNR, and MKR.

I also love how each of them has their own unique style that fits them! You would think there's only so many different ways you can draw a monkey, but the different sources (and even fans!) have so many unique ideas that really shine and make each Wukong their own! 

I could say my favorite Wukong is Black Myth/Destiend One because he’s the one that got me to nose dive into Chinese myth and lore, but I also have a soft spot for MKR because he was the first movie version I watched and I adored how they tackled his inner struggle with caring about those around him. But NGNR is veeeerrryyyy much my type. I love his casual swagger and nonchalant attitude towards everything, because he knows he’s the baddest bitch in the room and no one is going to challenge him and his strength. (That scene where he’s walking through East Dragon’s foyer and is messing with all the goons? Stealing their drinks and hats and calling them dumbasses as he passes by? Holy shit I was ready to get on my knees for him right then and there.)

And I could go on and on with the others like how I love HIB because the English version has him voiced by the legend Jackie Chan himself! And he loves his kids soooo much and my breeding/pregnancy kink loooovveeess that about him. Same with LMK! He tries so hard to be a good role model for MK, even if he messes up, because he genuinely cares for the boy!!! AAHHGGG-!

Honestly I don’t think I can choose just one as my favorite. They all have so many good points ♥

[sysmedsaresexist]

The Big "Is RAMCOA Antisemitic?" Debunk Post

Because I have to stay relevant, here we go

Let's start with a little speech. A bit of positivity.

You know, there is something good to said about this RAMCOA antisemitism discourse. The majority don't seem to be falling for it at all, and many are becoming more educated about the panic, RAMCOA/OEA and its history (the good and the bad) than ever before

RAMCOA/OEA a very real issue that deserves awareness and advocacy, and so far, I've noticed a massive surge in members of the community researching the ISSTD and the OEA sig's work.

It has brought antisemitism into light in a way that hasn't really been talked about on a large scale in system communities, and most don't know ever existed. Many, genuinely, had no idea that the satanic panic was antisemitic in these ways, and it's putting a lot of pieces together and adding a lot of context that'll help us grow and be better people going forward.

It's been really nice seeing such a positive shift to open, educational conversations, with people genuinely wanting to know the truth and unlearn harmful associations.

SAS stands with RAMCOA and OEA survivors.

So let's get into it.

SRA and The Memory Wars, lasting results

SRA started with Michelle Remembers, a book, in 1980. It resulted in thousands of unsubstantiated claims of abuse, daycare hysteria, set CDD research and OEA abuse back decades, affected millions, and to this day conjures images of cloaked figures sacrificing children.

The ISSTD was formed in 1984, amid the panic, with the goal of quickly developing an effective treatment and documenting the disorder as thoroughly as possible. Many mistakes were made. Clinicians aren't immune to societal panics, and lessons were learned the hard way.

I think an important distinction that many have forgotten is that the ISSTD's principal controversy isn't SRA. SRA didn't start or end with the ISSTD.

While the “Satanic Panic” played out in courts and in mass media, the ISSTD entered “The Memory Wars”, and it's this that they're most controversial for. False, implanted, and fostered memories weren't solely related to SRA. It was used to discredit all types of abuse and violence and is still used to this day to silence victims.

By the 1990s, therapists were being sued, licenses were being revoked, and members were fleeing the ISSTD. The False Memory Syndrome Foundation wouldn't be created for another couple of years, but that doesn't mean its founding members weren't already wreaking havoc.

The FMSF would be created in 1992, and their bigger and better attacks on therapists were brutal and persistent. The legal battles would be especially effective at causing therapists to refuse to work with victims of abuse.

Research on ritual abuse, CDDs, and repressed memories came to a grinding halt.

The Satanic Panic eventually fell into relative silence by 1995, but false memories lived on, loud and cruel.

The FMSF would eventually begin to write college textbooks for the next generation of clinicians. It would survive until 2019.

The ISSTD is still trying to regain its membership. It's only recently that they reached 1500, the highest since 1993.

Antisemitism, blood libel, and the satanic panic

If you're confused about how everything is related, I'm going to make it very simple so you grasp the basic idea.

This is not a history lesson.

Blood Libel, or ritual murder, is the idea that Jewish people sacrificed Christian children in religious rituals. Cloaked figures performing rituals and killing children and animals. The same thing you picture when you think of Satanists and rituals.

For those who recognize the connection (racists), this fuels their sentiments and creates a language for them to speak to each other.

It is true, a basic fact, that for many people, Satanists are anyone who doesn't worship the Christian god. Including and especially Jewish people.

SRA and RAMCOA

Depending on who you ask, the connection is either that:

MYTH: the ISSTD originally called their RAMCOA sig (Special Interest Group) the SRA sig. FACT: The RAMCOA sig, one of twelve ISSTD sigs, was created in 2008. There was never any kind of satanic ritual abuse group or association within the ISSTD.

FACT: Ritual abuse, the RA in RAMCOA, still has ties to SRA and brings to mind everything from the panic. ALSO FACT: That's why the ISSTD has renamed it to the OEA sig.

Hopefully we're all on the same page now.

Who's Grey Faction?

Grey Faction is a group of the TST (The Satanic Temple) and is closely related to the FMSF. While the FMSF generally attacked all types of abuse, GF, being related to Satanism, is focused on recovered memories and the (still alive) satanic panic. They believe that all reports of false memories supports satanic panic conspiracy theories. They continue the FMSF's work.

How did we get here?

Well, TST and GF are on reddit. Syscringe is on reddit. And now syscringe is here.

This is what syscringe bot says every time RAMCOA is brought up.

That link goes to Grey Faction.

So is RAMCOA Antisemitic?

Kind of yeah. It was a really good move of the ISSTD to change the name to OEA sig. They talk about the association on their website and stated they wanted to get away from that. No one won the satanic panic. Ritual abuse is real, but its history is tainted.

The discourse around RAMCOA isn't about helping Jewish people. At least, not for the people pushing the false connection that the ISSTD started and continues to maintain the panic to this day.

It's about discrediting the ISSTD and the trauma theory. It's about silencing victims, even Jewish survivors.

It's about ignoring that the ISSTD is making moves in the right direction.

It's about continuing the idea that false memories exist and that trauma memories can't be trusted or taken at face value. It's about downplaying the depravity of abusers and the lengths they'll go to.

I want to finish this post with a letter from a very dear friend. It's not a mod on this blog, simply someone wishing to stay anonymous.

Uplift Jewish Voices

Hello, I’m Noam, an ethnic and religious Jew. I face antisemitism on the daily and deal with having DID. I am not a RAMCOA survivor, but I have a number of friends who are. Today I’m here to talk about the recent discourse going around regarding whether claiming to have RAMCOA experiences is inherently antisemitic. TLDR: no.

Let’s start with understanding why people think this. The term ritual abuse originated from the term satanic ritual abuse and is often associated with the satanic panic. The satanic panic in the 80s and 90s was extreme and yes, did involve a lot of antisemitic conspiracy theories. People would suggest certain symbols or music or groups of people (often vague, or calling it a nationwide conspiracy) were “brainwashing” these “good Christian children” into satanic practices or straying from rigid Christianity. Jews are often stereotyped as Satanic, controlling things, and murdering and cannibalizing children/babies.

Ritual abuse nowadays is often still associated with Satanic cults, but it has a much broader and less accusatory definition in medical/therapeutic spaces. Per Schröder et al. (2018), “ritual abuse occurs when a religious, political, or spiritual authority uses its position of power and the sovereignty to interpret the respective belief system to manipulate and dominate its followers.” Some examples include repeated forced creation of CSEM, religious and other types of cults (yes, including satanic, but also Christian and other religions), and being forced to abuse others (Schröder et al., 2018). Trafficking is also a type of organized abuse. We know these types of abuses happen. But given the history of RA as a term and the harm claims of SRA caused, how does one determine whether something is a conspiracy theory or actual trauma someone experienced?

This page by the European Commission does a good job of talking about identifying conspiracy theories and the harm they do. I won’t recount the whole thing, but here are some basic things they state conspiracy theories have in common: a secret plot, a group of conspirators, unfounded/unreliable evidence, suggesting everything is connected, dividing the world into good people and bad people, and scapegoating certain groups (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020).

What makes (many) stories of RAMCOA different from antisemitic conspiracy theories? I’m glad you asked!

• The secret plot in conspiracy theories often involves a large group of people in on some secret changing something about the world or identifying a secret thing that must have happened to lead to unfortunate current events. RAMCOA tends to stem from people or organizations working on a much smaller scale, and the things they are doing mostly affect the person/people experiencing this abuse. Abusers may try to instill in victims a sense that they control a lot about the world and the events that happen within it, but they don’t.

• A big question I like to ask people who spout conspiracy theories is “who is they (the group of conspirators)?” If they is some generic big bad, the government, “elites” (see the AJC’s Translate Hate Glossary section titled “cosmopolitan elite”), or vague and unknown, it’s usually a dogwhistle for Jews. The person themselves may not realize this, but perhaps they never looked further into the evidence behind these accusations and who those being accused are. RAMCOA perpetrators are not vague to their victims. They often have familial ties or other close relationships with them that allow the abusers to gain their victims’ trust (Schröder et al. 2018). The things they do to abuse people and the methods they use are not vague or mysterious actions to achieve an end. There are specific actions and tactics that cults and authority figures use for RAMCOA.

• Whether evidence is unfounded is a harder thing to distinguish, since many survivors of RAMCOA cope using dissociation or have an amount of dissociative amnesia around traumatic events (Shröder 2018). The Europe Commission suggests three main things to check for in regards to evidence about a claim. Who is the author and why are they writing this? Is the source reliable/reputable? Is the tone and style “balanced and fair or sensationalist and one-dimensional?” (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020). I also like to think about, especially with regards to abuse survivors, if this is a conspiracy theory, why are they telling me the things they’re telling me? Most RAMCOA survivors I’ve met avoid talking about their trauma and are more focused on figuring out if what they experienced is real and how to heal from it. They are not trying to convince me of something; they are just sharing their story and looking for support.

• RAMCOA victims I’ve talked to, particularly those with DID, also have a more complex view of their abusers or are trying to come to terms with all the bad things someone they admired, trusted, and/or loved did. Conspiracy theorists tend to separate people into conspirators or innocents. There is no middle ground. Healing for a lot of abuse victims involves realizing that good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things; the world is not black and white.

• Scapegoating often involves generalizing and demonizing certain people or groups of people. I find a lack of seeing these “others” as human or wanting anything other than a single, unified goal. It also tends to involve assumptions much more than any personal experience. Anyone with even the slightest connection to a certain ideology is evil. RAMCOA often involves many victims, many of whom understand that other people involved with the organization that hurt them are also victims or have been scared or brainwashed into further perpetuating abuse.

• Also, while satanic panic was largely about going against Christianity, many religious cults are associated with particular sects or communities within Christianity, and they use certain ideologies within the group to deter people from leaving or reporting abuse. Perpetrators claim some sort of punishment or betrayal will be involved in these actions.

Anyways, I want to put emphasis on healing in RAMCOA survivors, where many of the points and purposes of conspiracy theories are antithetical to such a process. People should be allowed to find support, community, and reliable resources about what they have gone through (if it is physically/mentally safe for them to do so). Please do not insist that these traumas aren’t real on the basis of antisemitism from the satanic panic. The survivors I’ve met who talk about parts of their trauma are working hard to come to terms with it themselves and how to cope, and while they may be angry and upset towards their abusers, they do not try to insist to me how evil a group is and that there is a need to take direct action against them. They are just trying to survive.

Now, ritual abuse as a term and the history of its use is something I think needs more discussion. I would love to see more research about how the term evolved within medical/therapeutic spaces and how much of a connection the current definition and use has to antisemitism. But regardless of what we end up calling these types of abuses, there are real examples of them and people who have empirical evidence that they have been through such experiences.

Furthermore, I have a problem with a lot of the claims of antisemitism in relation to RAMCOA coming from goyim (AKA non-Jews). You are not the authority on antisemitism. You do not get to claim to defend us while not speaking to us about the topic. There is so much antisemitism going around, but I find so few people willing to listen to Jews when we talk about the struggles we face. (The SAS mods are an example of exceptions to this. I appreciate the amount I’ve been able to talk to them and how open and supportive they are. I love y’all.) Encouraging hate and disbelief is not helpful to us. What’s helpful is doing your research and learning about how to recognize and combat antisemitism. Take your energy where it’s needed, thank you.

European Commission. (2020, August 12). Identifying conspiracy theories. European Commission. <https://commission.europa.eu/strategy-and-policy/coronavirus-response/fighting-disinformation/identifying-conspiracy-theories_en>

Gerke, J., Fegert, J., Rassenhofer, M., & Fegert, J. M. (2024). Organized sexualized and ritual violence: Results from two representative German samples. Child Abuse & Neglect, 152, 106792. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chiabu.2024.106792