#will slaughter your child without a second thought

[pupstim]

thinkin abt codehalo made me curious so i went to see what people had written on it and there is nothing on ao3 :(

When you're in rarepair hell

[bachiras-toaster]

our girlfriend : ̗̀➛

RYOMEN SUKUNA x f!reader x YUJI ITADORI

wc: 2.4k

cw: somnophilia, sukuna and itadori fighting over control of itadori’s body, voyeurism? sukuna fucks the reader while itadori watches, sukuna’s dirty, dirty thoughts… yuji is of age

Yuji had been fighting a demon. A literal demon.

Yuji was never afraid to admit how much he loved you. He adored being close to you and never wanted to spend a single second outside of your presence, and this included during times like sleeping. He had completely lucked out when it came to his relationship with you and loved it when you stayed the night in his room to simply watch movies before dozing off in his arms. In the purest of ways, Yuji Itadori loved sleeping with you.

However, tonight seemed to be a little different. The atmosphere was warmer, the room was quieter, and all in all, it just left someone with the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation that they were in.

Being the big spoon, Yuji had always slept with your back facing his stomach and his arms wrapped around your waist. It made him feel closer to you and it meant that he could bury his face in the gap between the back of your head and your spine. Although, it seemed that you had gotten a little too close for comfort tonight with your body shifting minor amounts in your sleep, causing your ass to grind gently against his crotch as your snored softly through your pleasant dreams. This had usually never been a problem for Yuji and he never ever minded whenever you moved against him, but tonight, it was someone else who took the initiative to make the move.

He tried to fight back, really fight back, to prevent Sukuna from taking over his form, but it was no use. He felt weaker in his tired state, yet awake enough to want to keep Sukuna from doing anything stupid, especially to his girlfriend. It was like he was battling the worst of his nightmares, all while he was still very wide awake.

He tried his best not to shift against you, praying that you wouldn’t wake up, as he screamed at Sukuna in his own mind for even thinking of doing something so wrong ans perverted. Although, the taboo of it all was what enticed Sukuna in the first place. That, and the fact that you just felt so good when you grinded up against him like that. He couldn’t help but think these awful thoughts, after all, he had never been able to take over Yuji while the two of you… Did anything.

Eventually, Yuji had lost the fight against Sukuna, which allowed him full control over his body. Though tonight, he had no murderous intention on his mind, no thought to kill or slaughter any woman or child. No. This time, his head was caught up with feelings of pure lust, which was arguably even worse to Yuji as it meant that he was surrendering his body to allow some monster to violate his girlfriend without her knowing. It didn’t stop him from yelling at Sukuna from the back of his mind, but king of curses was surprisingly good at ignoring all cries for attention and pleas from the man of the body in which he had stolen.

Sukuna, still laying behind you, slowly ran his hand up your shirt until his palm was able to cup a handful of your breast in his palms. The wicked smile that appeared on his lips as he steadily shifted up from his position to look over your slumber form was one that displayed pure evil. Yuji couldn’t help but watch from his own eyes as Sukuna’s fingernails gently tugged at the hem of your shirt to pull it over your chest to reveal you soft tits to his lustful eyes.

“We have such a pretty girlfriend, don’t we, Itadori?” Sukuna grinned as he settled his hands on your plush thighs, which had barely been covered by your short pyjama bottoms. The sound of Sukuna addressing you as their shared girlfriend was enough to make Yuji’s blood run cold with anger and frustration at the fact that he was still trapped behind the screen of his eyes, not being able to so anything but watch.

“If you don’t stop touching her I’ll drag you back here and kick your ass myself!” Yuji yelled inside his own head, causing Sukuna to chuckle softly.

“I’d like to see you try that.” He simply let out as he began dragging your shorts down, your panties going down with them. “It’d give me some entertainment seeing you try to fight back as I have my turn with our girlfriend.”

“Stop calling her ‘our’ girlfriend! She’s mine, not yours!” Yuji shouted, almost breathlessly as he fought endlessly for control again, to no avail.

“Stop being so selfish. Just give me twenty minutes, at least.” Sukuna’s grin had faded and his eyes darkened at the sight of your pussy on display to him after he had dragged your shorts and panties down to your ankles. “You’ve had her to yourself all this time. It’s time you learn how to share.”

Sukuna promptly ignored Yuji’s helpless and frustrated cries as he pushed down his sweatpants and boxers just slightly to allow his erection to spring forward. Unfortunately, even though Yuji himself felt no lustful thoughts, Sukuna had control over his body, which meant that his dick was now hardened just at the sight of his girlfriend’s sleeping beauty.

As he held your legs slightly further apart, he watched the space between your cunt and his cock with extreme focus as he lined himself up between your thighs before pushing himself in slowly, forcing a short grunt to fall off of his lips. His eyebrows widened as he felt himself push further inside of you and his eyes quickly darted to your face to see that you were still sound asleep- No reaction whatsoever. Seeing that you could still snore through the situation, that dark smirk creeped up onto Sukuna’s lips.

“Fast asleep and she still takes us so well.” He groaned in a humoured tone as he began to shift his hips back and forth, drawing his cock in and out of your pussy. “Never before did I think that it would feel this good to be inside our girlfriend while I’m in control.”

His hips began to buck into you at a steady pace now, the sound of the bed creaking and skin slapping against each other as well as Sukuna’s low grunts filled the room. He was admittedly a little disappointed that he wasn’t able to hear the same loud moans and calls for his name the same way he could hear them when you had sex with Yuji, but it was still just as good to be in this position. There were faint whimpers that danced into his ear as his cock found your g-spot every time- Must’ve been from you subconsciously feeling the sensation in your dream.

Sukuna’s hands greedily gripped at your thighs, your waist- Wherever he could see that he could touch. He was really taking advantage of the moment where he saw fit and pawing at any bit of plush skin that he could find as he drove his cock into you.

The clenching of your gummy walls around his veiny cock was enough to make Sukuna go wild. Although he was technically fucking you with Yuji’s dick inside his body, it was all the same to him. He could still feel that pleasurable sensation, the feeling of his climax building up after about fifteen minutes of pure euphoria as he pounded into your sweet pussy.

“If this is how it feels, it makes me question why you’re so reluctant to touch her this way more often.” Sukuna growled hungrily as his thrusting began to grow even more violent as his palms squeezed both of your thighs on either side of his hips. “Doesn’t she look so helpless? I know you have the strength to pin her down and fuck her whenever you want to, so why don’t you?” His eyes trailed your stomach before going back up to your silent face. “If it were me in control 24/7, then she wouldn’t even get a chance to say no before I have her underneath me.”

That one line caused Yuji to let out another mental scream of anguish as he felt like punching a hole in his own mind. He couldn’t believe that this was really a situation that he was watching right now. It was like watching another man having his way with the person he loved.

“Fuck…” Sukuna laughed out as he lifted his head a little rewards the ceiling, chuckling huskily as the feeling of adrenaline washed over him. “It’s even better when she doesn’t fight back.”

“You’ve had enough time, now let her go!” Yuji pleaded.

“You’re too gentle with her.” Sukuna interrupted, once again ignoring Yuji’s attempts at trying to reason with the disgraced one. “Asking her if ‘this is okay’ and being overall really soft with her like she’s a piece of glass. How does it not drive you wild? How have you never had the urge to just do whatever you liked with her without asking if she’s okay with it first?”

“Because consent is important and I care about how she feels!” Yuji spat out. “Surrender your body back to me now!”

“I haven’t even gotten to the good bit yet though…” Sukuna smirked, obviously referring to the opportunity he’s about to get to cum inside of you. There was a sort of madness that sparked within Yuji after hearing that, now even more than there had been since this whole thing started.

Wanting to reach that high even quicker, Sukuna picked up the pace and pounded himself now even more desperately into you. Watching your breasts bounce up and down as his cock slid easily in and out of your soaking cunt, it made him wish that the moment could last forever. He felt at a pure high in the situation he was in and it made him genuinely consider forcibly switching out with Yuji whenever he liked simply to have his way with you more often without being fought on it.

You probably wouldn’t understand what was going on if it happened, and you would just think that Yuji was a little more hornier and touchier than usual if Sukuna felt like fucking you, but that made the idea sound even better to him. If Sukuna could simply swap out with Yuji and get to fuck you while you simply complied thinking it was your loving boyfriend, then that practically gave Sukuna all of the freedom in the world— And it excited him. He never truly understood how beneficial it was to him that Yuji had a girlfriend until now.

Sukuna could feel the sensation building up in his balls, and he was just seconds away from release. He gripped onto your hips tightly and licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the graceful moment to arrive.

However, he was eventually met with disappointment as Yuji had finally won his body back from Sukuna.

As soon as the mental marks of Sukuna’s presence over his body had faded away, Yuji immediately pulled out of your body. Unfortunately though, he immediately felt the effects of being denied his own orgasm, which admittedly caused his to whine at the fact that he couldn’t cum. Though, it was more of a loss to Sukuna who had been so close to releasing his cum inside of your pussy and admiring you as you slept soundly with your cunt leaking with his seed.

But Yuji spared no moment to try and go back as if nothing happened, trying desperately to suppress the memory of that moment and the view of Sukuna forcefully fucking you in your sleep.

He swiftly grabbed at your shorts and panties to pull them back up the where they were before and lower your shirt once again in a gentle manner to cover the parts of you that had been exposed to Sukuna just moments prior. As he also tried tried to stuff his erection back into his pants, he felt himself groan with frustration as he saw that he was still hard, despite having his body taken over by the lustful one. He supposed it was because he was feeling the after effects of orgasm denial and the fact that he was still knelt hovering above his girlfriend, but there was no way that he was going to take advantage of you the same way that Sukuna did.

Though, as he shifted slowly to make his way off the bed with the intention to go to the bathroom and get rid of his boner himself, he felt your palm latch onto his wrist and prevent him from leaving. It had seemed that you had just woken up, completely unaware of the fact that Yuji and Sukuna had just previously been fighting for control over your body and just knowing that you had woken up to see your boyfriend with a tent at his crotch.

“Yuji, if you felt that way, why didn’t you wake me up?” You softly smiled at him, your eyelids still half-closed from just waking up as you gestured towards his erection.

He gasped and stared back at you with surprised and widened eyes as he saw that he had woken you up with all the moving. His face flushed with a bit of embarrassment.

“I just… Didn’t want to disturb you.” Yuji gulped.

“So you were just going to leave and take care of it yourself?” You pretended to frown as you pulled him back against the pillows of the bed. “That’s what I’m here for, right?” You hummed softly against his ear as you very steadily went to climb on top of his lap, straddling him.

Although it was completely consensual now and Yuji did at least want his boner to be taken care of, he hated that Sukuna could still watch from behind his eyes, especially after what he had done to you.

As your hands slowly roamed his hips and stomach before grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them down once again to free his pulsing cock, Sukuna watched with clear, dirty intent from the back of Yuji’s mind, wondering if there was ever another perfect time to jump in again and take the pleasurable moment all for himself.

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 3

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of killing/death, naked concubines (man and woman), threats via penis manhandling

A/N: I have a vague idea of where I’d like the story to go because I love the fun in discovering different things when writing on a loose plan. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be but Feyd is just so damn fun to write😂

You tried not to linger on the implications of your shared quarters.

Angrily you strode after Feyd-Rautha. “What is going to become of my parents?”

“I don’t care.”

You wanted to grab his arm and spin him around, force him to face you. But you were afraid of touching him again, afraid that any little contact would result in an even trade — and you did not want to confront the flicker of attraction you felt when the Harkonnen dragged his lips across your skin. A second reaction would be indicative of something more, and you were determined not to let another scenario arise to find out.

The best you could do was stomp after him. “Well, I do.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

You mull over this response. Would he tell you differently? You sensed that Feyd-Rautha tended to be brutally honest. Probably because he never had to deal with any consequences in his life. How could he, as na-Baron?

You fail to think of anything else to say and lapse into silence, trusting that he is telling the truth and your parents will be fine. Besides, you comfort yourself, the Emperor would be furious if the Harkonnens just slaughtered one of the other Noble Houses like that. There were laws in place to discourage such atrocities.

Feyd-Rautha continues his unofficial tour, winding through a complicated series of interweaving corridors without speaking. You see several servants along the way, all who keep a cautious distance from you both. You couldn't ignore their curious looks. How strange you felt among them - pale and unblemished like stones smoothed over by a river's constant force. It didn't aid in your comfort.

"Do you not know any of them?" You ask. Feyd-Rautha is anything but a pleasant conversational partner, but at least if you're talking you don't have to listen to your rampant thoughts.

"Who?"

"The servants," you reply, brow furrowing.

He grunts in a noncommittal fashion. "Why would I?"

"Because they work for you." You were on friendly terms with the staff back on Caladan and trying to befriend the Fremen employed to you on Arrakis. The natives were untrusting of you, rightfully so. But you couldn't imagine just ignoring them.

"They're disposable," Feyd-Rautha comments with a wave of his hand. A pair of servants scurry by.

You watch them turn the corner and vanish. "They're afraid of you."

"Hm."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Disposable."

He casts you a sideways look. "Everyone is disposable once their use has expired. Thus is the way of the Harkonnen."

You contemplate this, frowning. "Even you?"

A dry, brittle laugh erupts from him.

"Are you planning on killing me already, wife? Perhaps you'll adapt just fine here."

That wasn't the compliment he thought it was.

You pointedly ignore him. "Are you telling me that there's not a moment that would make you disposable like the rest of us?"

"There is," he says, seemingly unbothered by the threat of his mortality, unlike you. "My uncle has promised the Baronship to me. If I am an unfit ruler then I would be challenged. Thus is the —"

"— way of the Harkonnen," you finish.

Feyd-Rautha flashes you a smile as sharp as the blade of a dagger. "You are quicker than you look."

"But what of the Noble Houses? The Emperor?"

Feyd-Rautha lifts a shoulder. "House Harkonnen has proved powerful for many, many generations. No one dares challenge us. Nor will they," he adds thoughtfully. He pauses. "Do you fret for our children?"

You inhale sharply, swallowing, and it sticks in your throat. You cough out an unconvincing, "I'm fine!" then set to composing yourself, confident that your sanity would be doubted by anyone who happened by. What a way to be viewed by your subjects. Feyd-Rautha just stares at you in poorly veiled amusement.

"I try not to think of our children," you say after you're sure you're done coughing. Something akin to embarrassment burns you skin.

"Pity," Feyd-Rautha says. "These are our quarters."

Feyd-Rautha's quarters are much more grand than your room on Arrakis. He leads you into an antechamber with a skylight, pouring the strange light from the black sun into the space. There's a sunken level in the floor furnished with dark colored furniture — two love seats and a sofa. A handful of glowglobes float aimlessly by.

Feyd-Rautha crosses the room, forgoing the sunken level, to the other side of the antechamber. You have no choice but to follow.

You don't know what you expected from his — your — room. Perhaps a chamber of torture. But it's not the sleek, elegant display before you, a full sized bed with plush bedding and tasteful curtains covering a bank of floor-length windows. It's impeccably neat.

And, to your abject horror, features three naked figures sprawled out on various surfaces. Two women and one man.

Feyd-Rautha ignores them, even as they slink from their positions to greet him, bodies slender and completely hairless, free of any visible blemishes. You feign an interest in the ceiling. It's not that you're naive to nudity or sexuality, but the sudden exposure to it roots you in your place.

"Do you need an invitation?" Feyd-Rautha asks.

When you force your gaze from the ceiling, you find him settled casually in a chair with a low-slung back, the two women kneeling on either side of him and the man behind. You follow their hands as they wander his body.

"No. No."

Where are you supposed to go? If he believes you will worship him like the others than he's sorely mistaken. You walk to the bed, ghosting your fingers over the bedding and confirming its softness. You hate the way that you can feel him watching you, clearly amused by your discomfort; you rally your courage to meet his stare, refusing to acknowledge the naked bodies draped across him.

"Are you quite alright, wife?"

"Fine," you grit out. "I didn't realize we would have company."

"Would you like me to tell them to leave?"

A loaded question, one that you were aware would set the tone for the rest of your life with Feyd-Rautha. A challenge. You control the slight quiver in your voice, "Leave. I wish to be alone with my...husband."

The concubines hesitate, obviously waiting to hear from Feyd-Rautha. He continues to hold your gaze. "Leave."

Uncurling themselves from around him, the women and the man are all white limbs and smooth skin, a multi-limbed creature. Whether or not they are disappointed by this development, they don't reveal, simply sauntering out of the room to wherever they go when they aren't waiting naked for Feyd-Rautha. A feeling of annoyance stirs.

"There's no need to be jealous," Feyd-Rautha says as the door closes.

You bristle. "I'm not."

“Then come here, wife.” Feyd-Rautha spreads his legs, indicating his lap and his powerful thighs. You resent yourself for noticing. “If you dismiss my concubines, then you must come to me now and offer me your warmth instead.”

Another challenge. You wonder briefly if he is playing with you, testing your boundaries, but just as you refused to show weakness in the throne room, you refuse now, crossing the carpeted floor. A surge of bravery — or maybe stupidity — prompts you to wedge your knees on either side of his waist, straddling him, the skirt of your dress hitched up to ensure mobility.

The look on his face is worth the cost of the heat reigniting in the pit of your stomach. You chase it away in pursuit of the heady high you receive from asserting your dominance. He might’ve had the upper hand but you were in control now.

“Warm enough?” You ask him innocently.

“Not quite,” he replies. He’s tipped his head back to examine you, leaving a blazing trail where his gaze goes.

Brazen beyond you imagination, you work the buckle to his pants just enough to slip your hand inside and grab his cock.

That bastard. He was already hard. Not fully erect, you observed with conflicting feelings, but clearly you had your effects on him. Feyd-Rautha showed no shame or guilt about this, however. Like it was expected — normal for women he’s just met to reach into his pants.

And it probably was.

Injured hand screaming in defiance of your actions, you grab the head of his cock and twist, slightly backwards and to the side. You apply pressure, hopefully enough to hurt him, he wouldn’t dare reveal it to you anyway.

“Do not,” you hiss, “embarrass me like that ever again. I will not tolerate looking like a fool.”

Feyd-Rautha’s throat bobs. Except instead of agony he looks totally enthralled. “Or what?” He mocks. “You’ll wrap your pretty hand around my cock?”

“You won’t have a cock for anyone to wrap their hand around.”

“Is that a promise?”

You release him and climb off his lap, figuring it would be more impactful to leave him wanting then lustful. His utter indifference, his arousal, gives you pause to just who you’ve been arranged to marry.

“You disgust me,” you spit out.

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth twitches slightly. Did he really have to find everything funny?

He says, “We’ll see.”

A month passes at Giedi Prime in a disconcerting blur. To your surprise, besides the first afternoon, you hardly ever see Feyd-Rautha. Always busy with important meetings or sparring sessions. Or whatever he did in his spare time. You didn’t ask.

Ever since that day when you’d straddled his lap, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had said clearly that you were even after the slap but then you’d unexpectedly turned the tables — did he intend on returning the favor?

You informed him that you would sleep on the couch in the antechamber until your wedding, to which he never remarked upon. That first night you lay awake, afraid and absolutely convinced that he would try something. But he never came.

The days passed without event and your anxiety dwindled. Besides, while Feyd-Rautha was busy with na-Baron affairs, you were forced to schlep through a mountain of preparations for the wedding ceremony. You didn’t care, frankly. You chose the first sample of whatever you were offered — tablecloths, menu items, decorations — until one of the servants accompanying you threw down the sample booklet and scowled.

“This will be the most horrendous wedding in the history of the galaxy,” the servant said in exasperation. “And all of them are too afraid of your husband to say anything.”

You had raised a brow, secretly thrilled by this confrontation. At least it broke the monotony of your life here thus far.

“Do you question my taste?”

The servant glared at you. “What taste?”

A moment passed. The other servants stared in horror, undoubtedly convinced that their demise was imminent. Perhaps that was one benefit to being betrothed to the na-Baron. He wielded a certain type of power.

You busted out laughing. In fact, you laughed so hard that tears stream down your face.

“You’re right,” you said, laughter weakening into an uncontrollable giggle. “It will be a horrendous wedding, but that has nothing to do with the decorations. Will you help me?”

The servant’s name is Asha, and in her you found a companion. She chased away the other servants that day and set to work rectifying your wedding decisions, weighing in on current trends on the planet and admonishing you for your Caladan tastes. “Absolutely not,” she deadpanned when you inquired about floral bouquets.

Out of everyone on Giedi Prime — well, really just the Harkonnen fortress, as you weren’t permitted to leave — Asha became your friend. No one else bothered or cared to talk to you, and now that you had bonded over wedding preparations, you spent infinite amounts of time together strolling the halls arm-in-arm and whispering about servant gossip since you had nothing to contribute.

Asha made your miserable new life interesting.

“Are you scared?” She asks you one day, plucking at your eyebrows.

You outright refused to shave them off in order to conform to the hairless style of the Harkonnens, but regrettably agreed to a touch-up. You kept one eye on a nearby mirror just in case she got any ideas.

“Of what?”

Asha yanks at an eyebrow hair, and you cry out in surprise. “Oh, stop, you’re fine — I mean are you scared of Feyd-Rautha?”

“No. Why would I be?” You avert your eyes from her probing stare. Asha, unfortunately, is able to read your expressions better than a trained Bene Gesserit. You learned that this stemmed from the combat trainings that all young children received on this planet.

“Because,” Asha stresses. You frown when she fails to elaborate, and your friend issues a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve heard things about him, you know, in bed.”

“Oh.” You twist your hands in your lap. “What kinds of things?”

Asha grins triumphantly. “I knew you were scared!”

You laugh and shove away her hands as she playfully jabs at your sides. “I’m not scared,” you say, fending her off. “I’m just curious. Aren’t all brides?”

“Just you. We aren’t all Noble daughters with arranged marriages. We fuck —”

“I get it,” you interrupt. “Consider yourself lucky.”

You’re about to prompt her again about the things she’s heard when there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. Asha shoots to her feet. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes — of course she’s respectful to Feyd-Rautha but not you. But you supposed it was the basis of your only friendship, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

“You’re back,” you say, standing up slowly.

Feyd-Rautha rests, hip and elbow, against the doorframe into the antechamber. He hungrily drinks you in.

“Indeed,” Feyd-Rautha replies. Last you’d heard of him he had left for an offworld obligation without saying goodbye. Something stirs in you at the sight of him after so long.

“I hope your trip was well.”

Feyd-Rautha scans the room before his gaze returns to you. “I would prefer to be here. The Baron seems determined to keep me occupied until the ceremony.”

Did you detect a trace of resentment in his words? And why would the Baron keep him from you? The heir wouldn’t exactly conceive itself; though he would have no way of knowing that you had been sleeping on the couch all this time.

“Retrieve the present I’ve brought back for my wife,” Feyd-Rautha suddenly instructs Asha. She secretly meets your eyes before dashing away.

You fold your arms over your chest. “A present? And I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

If he picks up on your anger, he doesn’t show it. Feyd-Rautha crosses the room to you, replaces Asha in the chair across from you.

“It’s for tonight. The Baron has requested our attendance for dinner.”

You bristle slightly. “The Baron? Tonight?”

You had been exceedingly lucky to avoid the monstrous head of House since your arrival. But perhaps it was because you ran the other direction at the mention of his name, or the fact that you hadn’t strayed from your quarters.

“Yes. You needed something…acceptable to wear.”

“My clothes aren’t acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I have no doubt that my uncle has planned something magnificent for tonight. You will need to look the part.”

Your careful, fragile existence on Giedi Prime was crashing at your feet. From wiling away the hours to suddenly being thrust into the explosive political landscape that was House Harkonnen.

But no matter. Jessica had raised you for this very purpose.

“Fine,” you agreed coolly.

Both of you turn as Asha returns from her errand, a garment bag folded over her arm. She goes to deliver it to your closet but Feyd-Rautha halts her in her tracks. “I want her to open it here.”

Part 4

Tags:

@moonsoulk

@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

@mamawiggers1980

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hitchhiker || The End

warning: this chapter contains content that some may find offensive and/or triggering. viewer discretion is advised.

You tried to listen.

Truthfully you considered yourself an obedient person. When it came to your boys, you’d do anything for them. Anything they’d ask of you, you’d do without another thought.

Watching Tim dart away into the winter night to fight The Operator, was one of the hardest things you’d ever seen. Being asked to stay and wait for Jack to come get you? Was the hardest thing you’d ever been asked to do. You switched your weight on each foot, gripping your knife. You could hear screams in the distance, Nova’s lifeless corpse the only thing you could see besides blinding white snow. You hated that Tim ordered you to stay put. Nova was the second person you had slaughtered for them, yet they still found you precious enough to conceal from the real danger.

Exhausted you glanced down at Nova, her once caramel skin now fading into a pale white like the snow. You crouched down beside her, gently shutting her eyes with your fingertips.

“I love you.”

As you muttered the words you realized that you loved them. Tim. Masky. Brian. Hoodie. Toby. You loved all of them and then some. Describing your admiration and endless love for them was impossible. It was a different kind of love, the kind that one comes once in a lifetime. You couldn’t be with one and not the others, that was incomprehensible. They were your lovers. Soulmates. Twin flames. No matter which way you translated it, it all ended the same.

Where ever they went, you wanted to follow them.

And if they died, you wanted to die with them.

You boldly stood to your feet, your head throbbing as you began to run. Snow crunched beneath your weight as you followed the path of the screams. Their voices became louder and louder, your heart pounding in your chest. The static was almost overbearing, tentacles flying in the air as you approached the gruesome scene. Toby was attempted to chop one of The Operator’s tentacles off, while Brian was stuck in its suffocating hold. Tim’s gun was out of bullets, the small golden shells scattered across the snowy floor. Tim was currently dodging his attacks, his feet being to slip on the ice below. “You can’t have her!” Brian, no, Hoodie screamed, the edge of his voice revealing the alter switch. You assumed The Operator to be communicating telepathically again, the boys growing more angry by the second. “F-fuck you!” Toby growled, the insult sending the odd creature over the edge. You gasped as more tentacles appeared, wrapping themselves around your lovers throats.

Your feet carried themselves in front of The Operator, the proxies thrashing and kicking in the air. If you didn’t do something he was going to choke them to death. “Stop it! Enough! I’m right here!” You exclaimed. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping your knife was tightly. You felt your heart race in anticipation as The Operator studied you.

“My dear foolish child. Your humanly emotions have brought you to your demise.”

His voice was cool and crisp, the creepiness he possessed lacing each and every word. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Let them go,” You said. You felt the boys eyes staring at the back of your head, watching your every move. “Y/n, run!” Masky tried to advise, the tentacle wrapped around his throat restricting his airway.

“No more. No more running. You guys deserve more than this,” You say. You looked over your shoulder, admiring Masky’s features. His skin was turning red from suffocation, his hands grasping at the sticky tentacle that stuck to his skin. “Let them go. They don’t deserve this,” You barked, your attention now centered on the The Operator.

“If I do that, i’ll have no proxies at all. Considering you slaughtered not one, not two, but three of my other ones!”

His slimy tentacle shot out towards you, wrapping itself around your neck. You could feel its suction cups gripping at your skin, burning it harshly as it pulsed around you. “Please! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll replace them!” You managed to sputter out, your fingers desperately clawing to free yourself from his grasp. The Operator lifted you into the air, your feet dangling hopelessly. You kicked at the air, struggling against his strength.

“What could possibly make you believe that you could replace all of my proxies combined? You self centered fool!”

His voice boomed in your head, causing you to see stars. You blinked them away rapidly, your lungs beginning to suffer from the lack of oxygen. “I killed Cat Hunter. I killed Nova. I caused Kate’s death. I did all of those things and i’m not even a goddamn proxy!” You argued. The creature brought you closer to him, his empty face inches away from yours.

“What is supposed to demonstrate my dear?”

You gritted your teeth, your mind spinning as he restricted your airway. “It means you should’ve anticipated this!” You hissed. With the last bit of strength you had you lifted your knife, stabbing The Operator in his shoulder. For a brief moment the creature stumbled, before waves of overwhelming static flooded your ears. You gasped as you felt something fly through your stomach, causing your mouth to fall open. You looked down, one of The Operator’s tentacles impaling itself through your stomach. You faintly heard Hoodie letting out a horrified scream, seeing his tentacle emerge on the other side of you. You choked on air as he yanked his tentacle out, mountains of blood and organs sticking to his suction cups. The creature then dropped you, your body thudding to the ground. He dropped the proxies as well, the three of them scurrying to your side.

They huddled around you, Toby immediately taking your hand and cradling it. Hoodie lifted your head, placing you on his lap. He stroked your hair out of your face, your vision becoming darker by the minute. Many ripped off his mask, his eyes welted and full of tears. “Dont cry, it’s alright,” You whispered. You began coughing, sputtering up blood as you did so. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, your vision becoming blurry. “Dont do this. Please don’t go,” Hoodie said, his face becoming red from crying. You reached up, using your last bit of energy to stroke Toby’s and Masky’s face. “I’m glad it was you guys in the end,” You said softly. Hoodie cradled your head, your fingers falling from Toby’s face first. Streaks of crimson red decorated his cheek, your attention turning to Masky. You gave him a sad smile, your hand falling from exhaustion. You looked above the tree line at the sky, the moon staring back down at you.

“I love you,” You whispered to all three of them, before allowing yourself to let go.

\/

To say life was different after your death would be an understatement. Tim and Brian didn’t front anymore, your trauma too much for them to handle. Masky and Hoodie fronted permanently, taking over the shared bodies entirely. Your death brought The Operator exactly what he wanted. His proxies were back to being obedient, heartless killers. None of them were ever the same, hardly uttering anything at all. They were all haunted by the ghost of you. You lurked in their dreams, their minds. Forever and always.

Jack felt an incredible regret, upon hearing of your death. He was too blindsided by finding Nova’s corpse, his focus completely shifted. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave her body, even though her heart had stopped breathing long before he found her. The boys had decided to bury you both beside each other, far away in one of Jack’s hidden cabins that he had secluded in The Operator’s forest. Your graves sat side by side, both of you still together, even in the afterlife.

The proxies were never quite the same after your death, each of them feeling like they had lost the only thing they had ever truly loved.

Masky stood in front of your grave, watching Hoodie arrange flowers around your makeshift headstone. He inhaled his cigarette deeply, seeing Jack come around the corner from the corner of his eye. Silently Jack stood beside him, extending his hand. Masky gave him a cigarette, all of them picking up the nasty habit since you and Nova had died. “How are you holding up?” Jack asked. Hoodie’s head cocked upwards towards the window, the sound of Toby’s sobbing concerning him. Toby could never bring himself to visit your grave after the first time. Instead he opted to stay locked in his room upstairs, staring down at the grave that was now becoming overgrown with grass. Hoodie abandoned the site, walking into the house to check on the youngest proxy. “I can’t explain how I feel anymore. My thoughts are so scrambled I can’t even understand them,” Masky grumbled. Jack lifted his mask, allowing him to place his cigarette between his lips.

Masky handed him a lighter, the two looking down at their lovers graves. The two stood in comfortable silence, understanding the other one now more than ever. Jack didn’t have it in him to admit he knew your death was his fault. If Nova’s corpse hadn’t side tracked him, you’d still be alive. He tried to examine your body, to save you. But you didn’t have the proxies immortal properties and sadly, your body had long since shut down by the time he arrived at the gruesome scene. Jack knew it was his fault, even if none of them would ever admit it. His guilt led him to keep an eye on each of them, parenting them in an odd way. He had no control over The Operator, but he owed his life to them for introducing him to Nova and for failing to save your life. “It’s not your fault EJ,” Masky finally said. Jack furrowed his eyebrows, looking over at him. “We both know it was and you have no idea how much guilt consumes me everyday,” Jack replied.

Masky exhaled through his nose, the smoke evaporating into the air. “The Operator was never going to let us have her. To let her live. We tried to change our destiny. And sometimes, it’s our destiny whether we like it or not,” He grumbled. Masky couldn’t help but remember your sweet face, soft smile, doe eyes. He’d give up anything to touch you, even just for a moment.

Love is short. Forgetting is long. When you’re a hitchhiker, you’ll spend eternity remembering, no matter how much you wished you could forget.

[reticent-writer]

rengoku adopts sweet, timid 4yo reader (who’s the child of a civilian who died and had no other family members to care for them, so rengoku decided to adopt them) and gets a second wind during his fight with akaza because he wants to live to see reader grow up :’)

demon slayer masterlist

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

"Mr. Kyo, I don't want you to go." You whined as you held onto his pants leg, tugging on him to take at least a day an attempt to get him to stay. You had followed him to the edge of the village before latching onto him as a last resort. He picked you up and placed you on his hip, heading back to his house. "I'll be back soon, don't worry. You'll be in the good hand of Senjuro." He attempted to cheer you up. "But I'm gonna miss you." You cried into his shoulder. Since he adopted you, he had noticed your fear of losing people you were close to. A clear example of this was when you wouldn't let anyone leave the house without you and vice versa. This mission that Rengoku was on was going to take at least a day to get to the station. Kyojuro patted you on your back humming a tune that his mother hummed to him and continued on his way to drop you off with Senjuro.

Broken ribs, a busted eye, and almost completely exhausted. Rengoku was not doing so well, this fight was definitely one of the hardest for him.

The moment he was able to stop and take a deep breath, he did and it hurt. He closed his good eye and relaxed, and image of your crying face popped into his

"I will see my duty fulfilled. No matter what it takes no body will die here." Rengoku was tired and everyone watching could tell.

Smoke clouded the vision of the trio as tension settled in.

When the smoke started to clear and Rengoku could be seen with a pained expression. It had taken the rest of the strength he had left to cut both of Akaza's arms and cut his neck.

"I Will Not Die Here." He screamed as his blade slowly made its way through the demon's neck. "My daughter is waiting for me."

"You won't have to if you become a demon then you could go back to her, safe and sound." Akaza panicked as he tried to persuade the Hashira.

The sun was coming up.

As the sun touch Akaza's skin he winched and kicked Rengoku away from him. He ran into the safety of the trees, taking Rengoku's sword with him.

The flame Hashira laid on his back as the trio surrounded him asking if he was okay.

Rengoku didn't respond instead, he just smiled.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

'I had only one thought before the slaughter, this man will not make an orphan of my daughter' - Aaron Burr

[cressidagrey]

Welcome to the World - Chapter 2

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour, a disgruntled Donkey named Thistle

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

He heard the door open and his mother’s voice, in conversation with another woman…and then steps on the staircase and he knew that the midwife had arrived. 

Finally. Thankfully. 

Somebody that actually knew what they were doing, because Azriel for sure did not know what he was doing. 

And still, now there was a very different kind of anxiety running through her, because…because that meant that he would need to go, to leave her alone and to wait until the baby was born…and he knew all that could go wrong during a birth. 

Snapshots of Nyx’s birth were seared in his brain, rearing their dark, ugly heads when he only dared to think in that direction. 

Everything could go wrong. 

He lifted his hand to Ciara’s cheek, feeling the soft, warm skin underneath his gnarly fingertips…everything beautiful in the world was right there in front of him. He didn’t understand why the mother had thought it prudent to give her to him. Didn’t think that he had done anything in his fucking life to deserve her. 

He had bathed in the blood of the enemies, and Ciara had burst into tears at only the mention of killing, her whole body shaking. 

But he knew one thing. He knew that he was going to fucking slaughter anybody that would ever put a hand on her or her child. 

He leaned forward to press one single kiss against her forehead, feeling her soft hair…breathing in nutmeg and clementines. 

Even now, with the notes of pain and anxiety running through her scent, it was the best thing he had ever smelled. 

It was so…perfect. So utterly warm and comforting and perfect. 

“It will be fine,” he promised her, forcing down the anxiety he was feeling. He wasn’t quite sure who he wanted to assure, him or her…he said it nonetheless. 

She really had enough of her own to worry about. She didn’t need Azriel‘s fear to bleed all over their bond. So he needed to get a fucking grip on himself so it didn’t get any worse. 

Ciara nodded, holding his hand tighter, small nimble fingers interlaced with his own. He was surprised to find callouses on hers as well, though they were concentrated on the top of her fingers, the sides…he had seen them on his mother's hands, on Rhys’ mother's hands his whole life. 

Needles pushed through fabric, again and again…one glance at the blanket lying carefully folded in that little wooden cradle made him wonder if she had made that.

And then there was a knock at the door. It opened…Nora, the midwife, was a female his mother’s age, greying hair shorn short, carrying along with her a massive bag, and bundles of linens. 

“So it seems like we’ll have a baby tonight,” she said brightly and Ciara sighed as he stood and Nora entered the room, putting her bag on Ciara’s desk. 

“How are you feeling, Ciara? You can wait outside,” she dismissed him without a second glance and he let go of Ciara‘s hand to leave the room…to force himself to walk downstairs, even when he wanted nothing more than to stay. 

He wanted to stay, but she hadn’t asked that of him and he was not going to put her in a situation where she thought that she needed to agree. 

So he walked downstairs. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked his mother who was bustling around the kitchen, needing something to keep busy or the nervous energy under his skin would drive him insane. 

“No, not really. Towels are in the armoire…I’ll put water on near the fireplace in her room…If you could take care of the animals…” she trailed off. He inclined his head. “Don’t let Thistle bite you,” she warned him with a grin, though it didn’t make him laugh. 

“You are jittery,” his mother said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his arms and he turned his hand so that he could hold hers. As always, she swallowed whenever she felt the scarred texture of his hands, even centuries later still giving herself the fault for what had happened to him.

He had never given her the fault. Not for one second. They had both been stuck in a horrible situation.

And what his half-brothers had done to him, was not his mother's fault. He had told her that…multiple times. And still, still she thought differently. 

Thought that because she was his mother she needed to protect him against everything and anything. 

And it didn’t matter what he did, he couldn’t change her opinion…she still gave herself the fault.

“The one and only birth I saw didn’t end particularly well,” he answered honestly. 

Nyx’s birth was seared into his brain. He just prayed fervently that Ciara would have an easier time than Feyre had. 

Granted, she was a full-blooded Illyrian, but she was built slight but tall…what if the baby became stuck while passing through her pelvis and…

There was no Nesta here that could give up half her powers in exchange for Ciara’s life and the life of her daughter. 

“She’ll be fine,” his mother promised him. He gave her a doubtful look. 

She couldn’t promise him that. Something could always go wrong…and he couldn’t lose her. Not when he just got her. 

He had waited 5 centuries for Ciara. 

 “Females give birth to babies all the time, Azriel,” his mother pointed out drily.

He knew that. Of course, he knew that. But still. 

“Granted it’s her… first,” his mother’s voice shook and not the first time he wondered if he had been…if he had been his mother's only pregnancy. Or had there been more…maybe girls that hadn’t even been allowed to take their first breath before his father had…he shoved these thoughts away because they would do nothing but make him furious. 

“At least the first full-term one…that often is the most difficult, but Nora has delivered hundreds of babies,” she assured him quietly. 

“What do you mean?” he asked immediately. Why was it the most difficult one? 

Was it riskier? Why? 

“Her body doesn’t know what to do yet,” his mother said calmly, her hand tightening around his. “Ciara’s anxiety has been for weeks, which doesn’t help…Scared of the unknown. She’ll be fine , Azriel,” she assured him again. 

“But…” the protest was on his tongue before he could even think about it properly.

“But nothing,“ his mother said drily. “She will be fine.” She looked out of the window and he saw the snowflakes slowly drifting to the ground outside. 

Afternoon had come and evening would be there in less than a few hours, the sky already darkening. “It’s a good night to be born.”

It was. Icy but peaceful. 

His mother went upstairs and Azriel forced himself to go out to the barn in the back garden…

With no small amount of apprehension for his first meeting with Thistle the donkey. 

It was better that he got out of the house, before…Before the labour started in the earnest. 

He blinked twice as he saw the barn, which looked much better than it had the last time he had visited. 

Thistle the donkey wasn’t the only animal his mother had acquired. Though it was definitely the one in the worst mood. 

If he had ever met an animal that seemed to match Amren in both size and general behaviour…Thistle it was. 

Thistle had no hesitant to kick or bite and even tried to go for his wings when he wasn’t quick enough to pour grain in her trough for her liking

The wings were definitely beneath the fucking line of dignity! 

He glared at Thistle when she finally stuck her head in her trough and munched her way through her dinner. 

Which left him with the rest of the animals to take care of. 

Two more Goats were also waiting for their dinner and apparently to be milked…he couldn’t say that he had much experience with that, though there was a horrible diagram drawn on the chalkboard hanging on the wall…together with written instructions on what to feed which animal, and clearly whoever had last milked the long-suffering goats it had put everything back into place. 

He wondered if it had been Ciara or his mother…if it had been Ciara who was clearly willing to pull her weight and to work hard, even as pregnant as she was. 

Still, when he finally had a bottle filled with goat milk and the poor goat ran away,  probably happy to not have him pull at her udder anymore…he had a newfound respect for farm work because Azriel clearly wasn’t talented at it…give him some rabbits to hunt any day. 

He moved on to the chickens, who were clearly not amused by the fact that there was somebody with bigger wings than them. They blustered while screaming at him because he wanted to steal their eggs.  While being pecked to hell and back, he still reached out for the mental tether he had to Rhys, shoving any thought of Ciara and the baby far, far away from himself. 

* Rhys ?*

* Is everything alright? * his brother’s mental touch appeared nearly immediately . * Cassian said you are in Rosehall ?*

*Can I have the rest of the week off?* Azriel asked, keeping his voice even. 

* Is everything alright ?* Rhys repeated . 

*I need to take care of my mother’s donkey. * It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the complete truth but he wasn’t ready…wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet. 

And especially not right now, when it felt like he was hanging on by a thread. 

*Her donkey.* Rhys repeated unbelieving and Azriel pushed a memory of Thistle biting at his wing at him. 

The laughter was immediate.

*Yes. And her chickens and her goats and whatever other poor creature she has apparently now saved,“ he said drily. He wondered if his mother still had a cat. She used to always have one, but he hadn’t yet come across a mouser.

*Is Esmeray alright?* Rhys asked him, worry edging his voice.

*Just busy. You know how she gets ,* he deflected. 

Also not a lie. Just not the whole truth. 

* Take a few days, Az.* Rhys agreed.

At least Rhys‘ bad conscience was good for some things .

***

“You’re in labour, child.” And with that, Nora took away any hope she had of a stay of execution.

Labour. Her daughter would be born soon, regardless of what Ciara wished. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hold her baby or that she wasn’t looking forward to meeting her, to see her growing up…

It wasn’t that she didn’t want love on her, didn’t want to press kisses to her little head and see if she looked like Ciara…see if her hair curled or her nose scrunched and…

But once she was born…Ciara couldn’t protect her anymore. As long as she was safely in Ciara’s womb, Ciara could pretend she could protect her. 

But…

 “Up you go,” Nora said easily, helping her sit up on the bed and then stand, Ciara grimacing in pain at the change of position. 

“Good. Walking will make the pain the most effective,” Nora told her calmly. 

Right. She had told her that before. 

Something to do with the pull to the earth, making it easier for the baby to drop into position…

Ciara’s hand wrapped around the wrought metal of the footboard of the bed, hissing in pain. Another one of those pains, coming like waves of the ocean to crash into the shore… or crashing into her. 

“How do females do this multiple times?” She asked weakly, as another one of these waves of pain crashed through her and then receded, giving her a moment to catch her breath. 

“You’ll forget it once you hold your baby,” Esmeray said gently. “Move your wings to the side, sweetheart, I’ll rub your back.”

She did, weakly twitching them to the side…hers weren’t clipped, but she was quite sure that she did not have enough strength in them to fly. She couldn’t remember ever having done it anyway…and she hadn’t been willing to try while pregnant. Too worried to crash to the ground and hurt her baby. 

Esmeray’s hands pressed over the base of her spine as the next contraction built and she moaned softly in relief. Better. Still painful but better. 

And so it began. 

She walked her circles in her room, returning to lean against the footboard or against the walls when another wave hit her, letting Esmeray and Nora gently ply her with water to drink and then whatever weird tea it was, sweetened with honey and herbs. 

“You’re doing well,” Nora promised her, even when it was felt like she was making no progress at all, as the sun sank behind the horizon and night reigned. 

It was maddening .

She felt herself grow seemingly insane with every new wave of pressure that seemed to grow and grow and grow with nowhere to go…her legs growing weaker until finally, another wave of pain forced her to her knees in front of her bed, panting with breath, her mouth opening into a silent scream…her hands fisting into the quilt she had made out of fabric scraps at the shop…

The pain peaked and she groaned as a rush of warmth ran down her thighs, soaking the clean blanket beneath her with clear fluid.

What…she didn’t even have time to think about it before another wave of pain crashed over her, leaving her gasping for air.

“Your water broke,” Esmeray said, sounding delighted, still rubbing her back. "She will be here soon, sweetheart." 

No. No, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. Ciara just wanted…

But she couldn’t even finish that thought, because there was more pain. 

“Could you fill the bathtub, Esmeray?” Nora asked quietly. 

What? No, she…

“What’s wrong?” She gasped out between more rolling waves of pain.

“Nothing is wrong, Ciara,” Nora soothed her. Something was wrong. Something…

“You didn’t think I would need the water because the baby isn’t that big,” Ciara whimpered. What had changed? Why did she…

“She’s not. It will help you,” Nora assured her. “You’ll have less pain and could heal quicker.”

She should be able to stand it. She should be able to…

She went back to rocking, breath coming hard gasps, trying to find something to hang onto…

“In the tub with you," Nora said calmly, helping her stand, her legs shaking. Esmeray came to her other side and somehow between the two of them, she made it to the bathing chamber, every step agony. 

She leaned on the side of the tub, “I can’t get in there,” she whispered weakly. 

“You can and you will,” Nora told her, accepting no argument.

Ciara didn’t know how she managed it, just knew that somehow she slid into the warm water and for a moment it was pure relief.  She could still feel every contraction, but with the water helping her be buoyant, they didn't seem to hurt her nearly as much. They weren’t quite so maddening.

Still, exhaustion took over as her head lolled against the warm porcelain of the tub. Something inside her belly twisted and the sudden feeling of nausea made her start to move her hands over her mouth. 

Nora immediately placed an empty bowl under her chin as she vomited. “That’s alright, Ciara,” she said soothingly, Esmeray gently running her hand through her hair, holding out of her face as she reached again. "Your body knows what to do. It's getting rid of the food so it can work harder.”

Harder? Everything seemed to be tipped in black, her eyes closed…the pressure mounted. 

She couldn’t do this.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” it left her mouth in a weak chant. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. 

“Yes, you can,” Nora disagreed. “You’re doing so well.”

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t. It didn’t feel…

She couldn’t do this. She was too exhausted and nothing made sense, and she wasn’t strong enough. Not strong enough to do this and…“If I die, can you get her out?” She whimpered. 

Just her. As long as her daughter could live, she would die. That would be fine. It would be fine. 

She would die if it meant her daughter would live. 

The smell of cedar was suddenly there, a broad hand gently, touching her face, cupping her cheek. 

“You are not going to die.” 

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC or Marvel: The Help of The Dead

I won't lie this could work for either

When Phantom joined the team almost everybody had the same thought; "He's just a kid, how could he help?"

They insist on protecting him in fights, especially when he makes it clear more than once that he wont fight living humans. So when it comes to armies of people they have to deal without the child on the battlefield, which is fine by them. One lest child on the front lines is one less ass to save when shit hits the fan.

But then one day that suddenly changes.

An evasion with scales unlike anything they had ever seen before which is saying something. Together the teams had fought countless battles but in that moment things seemed truly like they were too much.

Until Phantom finally clapped, jumped off the table. "These aren't living humans right?"

They weren't human, far from it. The team had mentioned this more than once but it was hard to tell if he was just double checking or if he hadn't been paying attention to anything.

"Great. Pull the team back, I got it."

"You really don't expect us for you to fight this alone, do you?" Superman or Captain America would ask as Phantom just laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, who said I would be doing it alone. Now pull them back. I won't say it again." Then Phantom simply vanishes.

The orders are given, timidly but their given. Moral of the people left in the 'danger zone' drops and things seem to drastically change when a massive green cloud begins to swirl in the sky before ripping open into a portal that sends chills down the spines who see it.

The heroes fear it's a second wave or some kind of superweapon going off, but then a figure flies out, does a flip and strums a guitar.

"HELLO, WORLD! WELCOME TO THE SHOW! FOR THE BASTARDS TRESSPASSIN' I SUGGEST YOU GET CRUISIN' BEFORE YOU GET ONE HELL OF A BRUSIN!"

The team is confused until the portal explodes, a large mass of things fly out filling the sky blocking out the sun to the city. The heroes panic, the heroes don't know what to do. But the mass isn't attacking, in fact there's a wave of movement until who shows up at the front of the lines, a regal cape, a flaming crown and a glowing ice covered ring.

"Phantom." Nobody knows who breathes the name when they all realized what was happening.

Phantom simply waves his hand, a green megaphone forming out of thin air as he speaks into it.

"Attention invading forces. You have trespassed on territory claimed by the King of the Dead. You were given your chances to leave, and since you chose to stay then this must mean you have enjoyed your visit and wish to make your stay permanent. Don't worry, we'll help you with that. If you wish to leave, now is your chance. Either evacuate or drop your weapons of we will drop you."

The invading forces refuse, hell they even go so far as to scoff at the idea. Phantom simply shrugs then gestures to the one with the guitar, as she begins to play again and Phantom bops around for a second before he holds up his hand.

"By the order of the King of Death you are here by to protect the living souls of this world and destroy any who are not human, animal, or under our protection. There will be no ransacking, no obsession chasing, and no harming of the living. This is the decree now... take out the trash."

The slaughter is over before the one with the guitar finishes her third song. Two days of fighting over in less than nine minutes with no human lives lost in the attack, more captured enemies than dead, and without Phantom having to lift a finger.

The team is surprised, not only was Phantom working for the King of the Dead but the Army of the Dead was fuckin' terrifying. When Phantom was confronted with this information later, he simply laughs, shrugs and says;

"What can I say? Sometimes you have to let the kids outside to play or they'll go stir crazy."

"Why didn't you fight?" Another one of the heroes would ask as Phantom looked at them.

"You heard the decree, didn't you. 'No obsession chasing', my obsession is 'Protection'. I stayed back because if I was involved I would have probably caused more damage then our enemies."

After what the heroes had seen... this threat was terrifying.

Suddenly they realized that Phantom did help - by staying back - and the day he was actively in the fight...

Not even the mysterious 'King of the Dead' would be able to save the souls who went against Phantom.

[third-generation-female-warrior]

Okay, so, fair warning, this is an anti-Reylo, anti-Kylo Ren, long analysis of The Acolyte, so if you choose to read this and get mad at me for bashing Kylo Ren, that's called a you problem.

Basically, seeing people compare the "situationship" between Quimir and Osha with whatever the fuck Reylo was and putting them on equal pedestals gives me the ick and I think I figured out why.

For clarity, I can't fucking stand Reylo for a lot of reasons, but for the sake of my analysis, I'll keep it condensed for why I can't stand Kylo Ren.

He is the warm mayonnaise of characters.

Don't get me wrong, he was generally interesting in The Force Awakens, when he was framed as the monster with a human face, and that's because the narration in TFA treated him like the goddamn villain he was supposed to be.

And then the pants were shat and the spine was broken when the narrative with The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker was doing backflips on a trampoline trying to give him pathos, trying to make him empathetic, while also decimating literally every other character to put him on a pedestal he didn't deserve on his spit-washed "redemption" arc.

To me, it was like they didn't know what to do with him. Those movies might have been okay if they just stuck with making him the villain and continued to treat him as such. But they didn't, even when he was making bad choices and did nothing but make BAD choices up until the actual last fight, and instead, framed all of this BAD CHOICES as "he's complicated~~ <3" and that's where it all fell apart because the narration didn't like, punish him AT ALL for making these bad and barely even framed these as objectively bad choices.

Now, the Acolyte is different.

In the middle of lavishing us with the eye candy that is Manny Jacinto, and Qimir's apparent lack of threat and honesty to Osha, the narrative did something interesting and brilliant that I hope they continue to lean into.

While showing us how non-threatening Qimir can be, we are given a very rude awakening.

When we cut back to Khofar, it is a very long, very uncomfortable lingering shot of Jekki's dead body, as she is positioned towards the audience with open eyes, not quite looking at the camera, but forcing us to look into the eyes of Jekki all the same.

It is a rude awakening, a reminder that Qimir is a deceiver, and, most importantly THE VILLAIN OF THE SHOW!!!!

Under the facade of the hapless sidekick to Mae was the Sith Master waiting to strike her down should she fail.

A reminder that, through his honesty and intentions with not harming Osha, he is a murderer who could remorselessly justify his own slaughter of an actual child.

We look on as it shows Yord in the dirt, and the pile of dead Jedi bodies and we see that what Qimir has done was terrible and devastating he does not care, even if we do.

And THEN, ohohoh!!! AND THEN! We see how his dark deeds were not solely committed on Khofar, but he is continuing to do terrible things on Ahch-To the Unknown Planet.

Oh, we thought, we thought Osha was safe because she could pin him with his own lightsaber, she could kill him, she could leave!

But it becomes very evident in the last 30 seconds that Osha was never safe as she puts on his helmet, surrounds herself in dark, and symbolically succumbs to it as she closes her eyes.

He has been corrupting her this whole time and that's treated AS A BAD THING, and THAT'S where The Acolyte succeeds and The Sequels failed!

Qimir for his apparent defensiveness, is still treated as the villain, his act of corruption and seducing Osha to the dark side is treated as a scary thing, where you shake your head at the t.v. and beg her to not do it even if you know she's going to anyways.

And then you realize the answer to his riddle to Mae.

You realize this is how you kill a Jedi without a weapon.

And it's all very very wrong.

And, better yet, to finish this off, even though the narration establishes MOTIVE for his anti-Jedi stance, with his scar leading to his supposed backstory of betrayal (that we have to take at face-value for now, even if I think there's more to reveal), the motivation is just narratively justifying him or his actions, and he is STILL THE VILLAIN WHO MUST BE STOPPED!!

[belit0]

Indra being presented with a line up of girls to thoroughly “inspect” and choose from. Then selecting Y/N as the lucky one to bear his child? 👀

I still find myself unable to express the love I have for this man😩❤️‍🩹

(Y/N) stands nervously but with her head held high, unable to stop playing with her coat sleeve between her fingers. Her mother would scold her, tell her she's wrinkling her clothes, but nothing stopped her parents from surrendering her to the treacherous ideas of a man with more wickedness than soul.

On either side of her, two rows of at least 15 women seem to be even more affected, some even sobbing quietly. Everyone knows who Otsutsuki Indra is, no one with any common sense would want to get in his way, but what can you do when you are literally shoved under the shoe of a giant, ready to be crushed by him and unable to run away?

About 35 women undergo a rigorous inspection, and only 1 of them will make it out alive. The procedure has been going on for days, and so far none have survived.

(Y/N) is not overconfident, no, but dying at the hands of the greatest villain in history is better than dying at the hands of her abusive mother, either good fate if it ends her existence. She must only wait, meet the man's gaze, and feel a slight sting as her throat is slit.

She has watched that sequence play out over the past two days, having arrived with one of the last batches of women and observed as at least 100 spilled their blood in the main hall of the Uchiha palace. Indra is ruthless, killing without a second glance on more than one occasion, ruling out possibilities by standards only he is aware of.

There is no way to survive his inspection, so far no one has succeeded.

The girl next to her faints from fear, and a guardsman drags her body to the back wall. (Y/N) doesn't need to turn around to know where that wet, stabbing noise came from, thought that at least the girl died without being awake to experience it.

The place, already almost completely silent in itself, falls into a haunting lack of sound when the infamous Uchiha leader enters the room, followed by two assistants, those who help when inspecting.

The man takes a few minutes to get started, perhaps building momentum or simply enjoying dragging out the agony, but when his eyes finally settle on the first lady, it doesn't take long for him to start dismissing them. Standing in the middle and not daring to look in his direction, she hears that deep voice say "no" constantly, followed by the screams of some girl begging for her life and blood hitting the floor. The cries increase, and it seems to escalate Indra's anger as well, for he himself slits each sobbing woman's throat.

A girl away, (Y/N) feels him pause.

He takes his time with the poor lady, circles around her and moves her hair, looks at her face intently, her body. "What is your name?" He asks without any remarkable emotion in his voice, and (Y/N) thinks the moment of truth has finally arrived. The Otsutsuki chose the recipient of his heirs, and all the rest will be condemned like a cow to the slaughter.

"K... Ku-uro." The girl answers, but it is the last sound heard from her. Her throat is mercilessly reamed by those evil hands, as the poor girl falls dead to the ground.

"Ugly."

(Y/N) feels beads of cold sweat roll down her lower back, having convinced herself that it was all over once and for all. She raises her head again to rectify her lack of fear in front of the man, and when he finally stands in front of her, she looks him in the eye.

Not many people can say they lived to tell the tale after facing those black orbs, but Indra seems to approve of her bravery in not killing her instantly.

The man is tall, intimidatingly large and with a reputation to match his frightening physique, needing to hide behind no one and carrying the weight of his actions on his shoulders, imposing. He glares at her intently but unreadably, and she struggles not to lose, not to let herself be won over.

One hand is raised to her face, and a long finger moves hair from the middle, an overly delicate gesture considering the context. Neither of his two assistants speak, but both take notes. "What is your name?"

"(Y/N)." Her voice does not tremble and she is proud of it. She will die with bravery, honor, power.

"Show me your neck." He demands, doesn't ask, and assesses intently as she moves the fullness of her hair upward, exposing a smooth expanse of skin any man would desire.

"Turn around." Again, (Y/N) follows his intrunctions as if a faithful dog, thinking how ridiculous her last moments of life are. Who can say they played the jester for Indra himself before they died? Not many.

Minutes go on forever, and staring at the wall does not allow her to decipher what is going on in her surroundings. If only someone would speak, if only one of the women who are still alive would make a noise, something....

She thinks she is about to be executed from behind when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively closes her eyes to prevent at least the final displeasure. Her lungs deflate in a nervous exhalation, finishing releasing what will be the last air in her body, when she senses a mouth too close to her ear.

"Are you scared?" Indra asks as if the answer is not obvious, enjoying the terror he creates in his audience. Every move, every action, is one more brick solidifying the terrible reputation he carries with him, and seems to love how people fear him.

(Y/N) doesn't answer, having seen too many women fall into that trap and lend themselves to a quick execution. The Uchiha leader doesn't like to be spoken to without permission. She tries to stay as still as possible, frozen and filled with a new survival instinct that runs through her veins.

Resignation to die slowly washes away, and she begins to think that maybe she should fight, at least try to slap him before perishing.

The world would remember her differently if she managed to sully the man's untouchable reputation, if a woman managed to hit him even once before being destroyed under his hands. People would have reason to stop fearing him with their lives, see that he is reachable, and perhaps even begin to laugh at him. Once he proclaims his hateful "no", once he rejects her, she will jump on him before any of his guards can kill her.

She is ready to listen, to react quickly, but not to what finally reaches her ears. "I want her." Those words echo against the four walls of the great hall, and suddenly the man's two attendants are holding her by the shoulders and arms, forcing her to walk in the opposite direction from the one he takes.

The girl instantly feels blood spilling onto the floor, those women still waiting to be inspected after her being killed mercilessly but at least quickly, body after body falling limp to the floor and staining everything in their path.

(Y/N) can't decide if she was lucky, or if she would rather be dead.

[anamericangirl]

I saw Stephen Fry say once, "If I ever met God, I'd spit at his feet. I'd curse his name. I'd tell him how dare you. I'd say how dare you let children suffer with diseases that rot their eyes from their heads."

I saw the comment section filling with people going "YEAH, FUCK YOU GOD"

And I saw one comment, buried in the middle of the sea of hatred towards God, that said "And what are you doing to help those children, Mr. Fry? You're sitting on a talk show blaming God. You're trying to push an anti-Christian agenda, nay an anti-Creationism agenda. You're using your fame, your fortune, your power, your voice, to actively curse the name of God instead of expending the same energy to help those children you claim you care about."

It was a moment very early in my religious journey from atheist to theist that really made me look at these vicious anti-God people who will blame Him for literally every problem on earth no matter how man-made that problem is.

A school shooting happens and it's God's fault that children died.

A baby is killed and it's God's fault for letting a pro-choicer get pregnant.

A war breaks out and people are being slaughtered and it's God's fault for giving people the freedom to kill each other.

And now, I look back on Stephen Fry and his "I'd spit at his feet."

What does he think God's response will be? Crying? Begging Mr. Fry for mercy? "I'm so sorry Mr. Fry, you're right, I'm so evil, I'm such a bad person, you should rule Heaven instead of me, please don't hate me, please, I'm disassociating, oh no!"

I think God would look at him and say, "All of those children, who died because people like you chose to do nothing to help them, are here with me now in Heaven, being nurtured and cared for. You spent your life and your wealth attacking my worshipers who were going to those countries and helping those children. You spent your life cursing my name with an ego so inflated that you felt as though your words would scorn and hurt me. Have you considered, Stephen, at any point in your life, that if a disease from the land is killing children, you should move the children away from that land? You should cure the disease? You should do something, anything, to aid those people, instead of spending your millions of dollars going on talk shows and flying around the world in your private jet to preach about how evil I, your creator, am for not solving all of the hardships that I gave you? The issues in your life are meant to strengthen you. When you are hurt, it is so you may inspire an impetus to fight back against that which hurt you. If I stepped in to sweep up every problem, what would life teach you? You would be complacent, lazy, and would die without ever having known hardship."

I know it's blasphemous to put words in His mouth, but, really, I think God teaches us time and time again that life is hard and that we have the tools He gave us, our freedom, our hands, our voices, to learn from those problems and do something to fix them.

Here we are 2000 years after He sent us His son, and we have machines that can do surgery, skyscrapers, planes, virtual reality, the ability to communicate across the planet, people in space stations, people going to the moon, we've accomplished so much and overcome so many obstacles. We learned to fly, we learned to breathe in space, we learned to breathe underwater, we learned to transmit our voices across the world in split seconds.

And yet Mr. Fry thinks that because children suffer and God doesn't intervene, there must be no God.

I'm sorry this took me so long to get to but I think it's such a great thought!

It always irritates me to hear people like Stephen Fry go on a pseudo-intellectual rant about how, if God exists, He's evil because children get sick and God will somehow be intimidated or humbled by Stephen Fry shaking his fist at him. When, if Stephen Fry truly believes it is evil to not stop a child from suffering when you are capable of stopping it, then he is just as evil as he accuses of God of being because Stephen Fry certainly is capable of helping more children than the average person and he is thus an evil person for spending any time not doing just that.

Who is he to curse God for not doing something that he is capable of doing and chooses not to? It is the worst kind of virtue signalling. Stephen Fry does not care about suffering children. He just wants to use them in his seriously flawed argument against God and Christianity.

It also exposes a deep ignorance of God. Stephen Fry has spent no time attempting to explore or understand Christianity or the nature of God before criticizing it, which makes all his criticisms irrelevant nonsense.

God is not evil because bad things exist, bad things exist because we created bad things by going against God. All suffering, including sickness, is a result of the fall of man. It's our fault.

And also, we are the body of the Christ. We are supposed to be helping our fellow human beings when they are suffering or in crisis. God has given us free will and let us reign over the earth and that means bad things will happen because people make bad decisions and God's not evil because he doesn't intervene and put a stop to every bad thing.

When people like Stephen Fry don't help a suffering child and we lose that child, that is sad, especially for us here on Earth. But that child ends up with God. That child is alive and happy and in a place with no pain and suffering. God is doing what Stephen Fry did not. And we just don't like it because it separates us.

And those are also the people who want to blame every bad thing that happens on God but will never give Him the credit for anything good that happens.

They try to put God in a box and say "if he was real then this wouldn't happen." They are trying to create the perimeters of what they think God should do if he were real instead of studying God and his word to determine what would actually be the case if he were real.

Those people are so fake and their criticisms stem from ignorance. I would respect them a lot more if they took the time to learn and understand what the teachings are before trying to criticize them. Instead of trying to address what the actual belief is or understand who God actually is, they create their own standards and then use them to try and debunk something that their standards don't accurately present.

[drama-trauma]

LEVEL 72

Tw:short smut,manipulation,plot twist,minor character deaths,daddy issues,suggestiveness,a little grooming if you squint, consent

You were the illegitimate second heir to a dukedom.Born from an affair whose mentions were swept under the rug by your father — not for your well being but for his status.

What made you stand out the most was your intelligence. Being labelled as a child prodigy and remaining to be a genius while growing up.You were chosen to be a royal advisor to one of the princes,Atticus de Margalline.Being the sixth child, he didn't really have a chance for getting the throne unless through slaughter. But you highly doubted if he could do it, considering the way he follows his other siblings around, in hopes of a single glance from them.

You knew all too well what power could do to a man. Alas, to survive —one must first be willing to die and kill. And you were willing to do whatever it takes to survive.Even if it means to guide a naive prince in a world of darkness and show him just how cruel the world can be.

From the first meet alone, you could tell that the prince did not want the throne one bit. What he wanted was affection and attention from his father and siblings.Yet there was always a longing for something far beyond his reach that shined through in his eyes. For what? you didn't know and you were not interested in finding out either.A wish that would always remain unfulfilled was what it would be.

It was hard to gain his trust at first. He looked at you with eyes filled with naivety yet a kind of suspiciousness at first. After a while of being with you, he had come to terms with your presence. He started to seek you out more. You had seen the smiles that followed after each request fulfilled. But you remained unaware to the cold and calculating gaze he had on you at times.

To ensure both his and your survival, slowly but surely , you had started to spill the poison of envy and greed.His mother will die soon of sickness, his father could care less and his siblings are too busy trying to save themselves, so who cares about him other than you? They would all leave him without a single thought but not you. You will be his guide.He only has to follow your words and you will be with him? You will protect him? You will cherish him? Only you would do that.

You started tempting him with the luxuries the throne has to offer, the way no one will take their eyes off of him and how the people will kneel and follow his every word . And lastly, how you would stand by his side through it all.He gave into your words and massacred his family. They were nothing to him, right? So why are there tears from his eyes as blood falls everywhere?Atticus knew this moment was inevitable yet the grief of a sin committed haunted his mind.

That was the night where you first held him.Taking Atticus to his room and pushing him down on the bed. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant ,to be comforted by entwined bodies.

He was crowned King and you stood by his side. You got rid of pests that came in both your ways. And that included your family. Years of your planning led to their downfall and you, to your success . The people threw rocks at them while they admired your righteousness.Your greatest desire was being fulfilled right now.

You could see the horror stricken look on your father's mistress. The look of grief , hatred and regret on your siblings. Yet the expression you wanted to see the most was your father's.On his face was a look of acceptance. He knew that his schemes couldn't be concealed forever. Not with a prodigy like you in the house. Right before the execution, for the first and last time in your life, he smiled at you.

Tonight, it was you who wanted comfort. For the first time in years, you cried. That man couldn't spare a glance at you when he was well off but smiles at you as he's about to die!? What in the world was his problem!? Does he hate seeing you happy? Does he hate seeing you alive? Does he hate your very existence?

To Atticus, who only knew comfort by intercourse, that was what you needed tonight. You did or said nothing as he lubricated your hole. He kisses you, one filled with gentleness. He kisses you again, one filled with passion. And he kisses you once more, one filled with hatred.

He enters you gently. You wanted nothing more than to have your mind blown out. For a genius like you, the curve of his dick, it's size or the vein at the top meant nothing more than a tool for pleasure. For a fool like him, the crevices of your hole, it's twitching and the moans you let out were the only good things in his boredom filled life.

As he went rounds after rounds, your brain was turning into mush. Too tired to keep up , you fall into slumber. After spilling his seed inside you one more time, he covers the blanket over you two.

Tonight's events will be kept a secret just like any other of your shared nights. Yet what makes tonight special is the small light emerging from the room, one Atticus states at intensely. And it's source is a screen which says

★★★[MISSION COMPLETED]★★★

[COMPLETED QUESTS: COMFORT AN NPC

EARN THE TRUST OF AN NPC]

[REWARDS: 1500 EXP

5000 COINS

<<FATE'S PENDANT>>]

[ LEVELLED UP ]

[tokoyamisstuff]

gn! Reader | not proofread | angst | happy end

A/N: Did Headcanons since my askbox is overflowing at this point thank you, I love creating for you guys!! 💌

No one's sure what evil might attacked the Judas Priest, but even his abilities have their limit. He can't withstand anything.

You haven't left Anderson's side ever since the incident. He's been unresponsive for days already, and you insist to care for him all by yourself. Reading to him, praying, tending to his wounds.

By the end of the week you're still there, holding his hand as you pour your heart out, crying about needing him to come back and how you can't live without him. Finally, he begins to move, but your relief won't last for long.

Before you can even register it you're tackled to the ground with a bayonet pressed against your throat, furious eyes staring you down.

You try to reason with your boyfriend, tell him he's ill and confused and you don't want to hurt him, but any word of yours is deflected by spiteful insults and accusations.

The shock sits too deep for you to defend yourself, but gladly Heinkel and Yumie notice the turmoil and come to your aid. It's only due to his weakened state that they manage to tear him off of you, yet he continues hurling vile threats at you in his demented wrath.

There's not much left but fleeing the scene, heart scattering as you hear him scream after you, ordering his foster kids to let go off of him so he can "slaughter this abomination". You never thought to hear such words coming out of his mouth ever again.

He only calms down after the Vatican officials confirm their explanation. Yet it remains absurd to him, he refuses to believe that he willingly fraternized with a rotten monster like you are one, even bringing it back home to lurk among innocents. Sacrilege.

Whatever led him to such shameful deeds, god must've given him a second chance to correct this mistake through this twist of fate.

He tries to rationalize the decisions he cannot remember, to repel everything that feels like an entirely different person has committed it. Yes, certainly he was under a spell this whole time and only now it was broken! How could the others not see, why did no one stop him - worse, even allowed it to happen?

Nonetheless, you were an official member of Iscariot as it seems, so his hands are tied for now if he doesn't want to face repercussions. But having an enemy right in front of his nose and being unable to cleanse the world off of this filth only further feeds into his anger and madness.

You on the other hand remain heartbroken and even slightly terrified of your former lover, feeling his vicious bloodlust oozing off of him whenever you meet. Which is quite often, frankly, with him always observing you from afar.

The more he learns, the more this whole situation enrages him. He sees his room full of your belongings, photos that prove how far your enticement had defiled him. He tears it all off the walls in a fit of rage, throws everything he didn't destroy out, yet Yumie stored it away safely shall he want it back someday.

What's worse is that while his mind can't remember, his body certainly does. He can still feel your touch lingering on him like something not even holy water could cleanse, the sound of your voice like a siren and your scent lingering everywhere driving him insane. His body reacts against his will, being drawn to you no matter what.

He's disgusted just looking at you, seeing that beautiful face as nothing more than the alluring mask of a predator. You can act innocent all you want, but he's certain to know what you really are...and he'll make anyone else see the truth as well.

Even though it's hard, you try to avoid him as good as you can, no matter how much you yearn for things to go back to normal. Nothing had seemed to work until now and you seriously consider just leaving this life behind alltogether. Being so close yet so far away was torture...

One night he sees you carrying a young child through the hallway, calming the boy down after a nightmare. Yet his blinding hatred twists logic into thinking the kid in danger. He practically tears the boy out of your arms as he cries and pleads to stay with you, making you finally snap.

You order the kid back to his room and punch Anderson's face so hard that he loses a teeth that instantly regrows - yelling at him to just put an end to your misery if he really wants things to end this way. He doesn't, he can't.

After that encounter he's even more shaken up than before, and not knowing what else to do he finds himself rummaging through your belongings. He had thrown it all into a box and disposed of it without looking at anyhting first back then, but gladly Yumie didn't ask any questions as he wanted them back.

There's small gifts inside like a handmade rosary, books he cannot remember having read, an incredibly ugly shirt that said 'fluent in prayers and dad-jokes'...and a photo of you two in front of the cologne cathedral. It's dated two years back, and there's something scribbled on the back in his own handwriting: "I have found the one whom my soul loves." (Song of Solomon 3:4) The longer he looks at it, the more painful his guts twist. He seems so...sincerely happy back then. Unlike the miserable wretch he is now.

At this point it's more a mental block than anything, and it's up to Anderson to overcome his own bigotry and allow himself to break down those walls.

Soon after Maxwell has the glorious idea of assigning you two to the same mission so you'd at least find some common ground again. It'll be the most awkward travel you've ever been through, but at least he's quiet for a change. Truth be told he's not in any state to argue, being far too busy ignoring his resurfacing affection for you despite still not remembering a thing. Seems like some things are just predetermined.

Just before diving into the actual fight you pray besides each other, and Anderson breaks the silence with a heartfelt apology for his behavior and a promise to make up for the sorrow he caused you. He doesn't voice all of his thoughts, but deep inside he hopes that maybe the two of you can become close once again, even if he never remembers.

During the battle however the enemy got you cornered, and upon witnessing you getting seriously injured Anderson sees red. He comes to your aid, slaying himself through to you while catching several bullets in the process. It's not the first time this has happened, and as soon as you're safe he murmurs the words he always reassured you with in the past: "We've got each other's back."

It won't be like in the movies, with that one big moment instantly healing him, but almost losing you certainly got the process starting. He'd fall to his knees and give you a bear hug, his mind still foggy yet some memories slowly returning.

From then on you'll recapture everything together, dwelling in old memories of your relationship through evidence or long conversations. Things will take a while, but no matter how contradicting his actions were, Anderson had never really stopped being yours. His heart is always only ever roaring your name.

[madam-whim]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you for the tag, dearest @illumiera! <3 I had to miss last week unfortunately, but this time, I'll share the prologue to a fic that will one day (hopefully) be a sequel to Arri's story, once I finish that. Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this little experiment, though I don't know when I will actually be able to write the entire fic - for now, it's just a file in my WIP folder, somewhat tragically titled "Sanguine's 11".

The Dancer in the Fields

A cautionary tale from the early first era, translated from Nordic and annotated by Hypatia Salonia, researcher at the University of Gwylim, in 2E 337.

Long ago, in a lakeside village the name of which has long since been forgotten, there lived a young man.1

He had been ever so bright and happy even as a child, and had grown into a handsome and kind man, always ready to lend a helping hand or listen to the villagers’ troubles. During the summer months, he would entertain children and elders alike with clever jokes and sleights of hand, and nobody had an unkind word to say about him.

It was the wintertime, though, that he truly loved, for that was when the lake would freeze over, and it came the time to step out onto the ice. For the young man had been blessed with a graceful manner of moving and a great love of dancing. So when winter came, he would pull on his skating boots2 and dance across the ice, graceful and quick as a bird in flight.

He was mesmerizing to watch, and word of his gift spread far and wide, and many came from far away cities to see his elegance and skill for themselves. The young man was happy living his life just like that, but it was not meant to be, for one day, the raiders came.3

The villagers were peaceful, and so had no means to defend themselves. Those who were not slaughtered or taken captive were left to die in the flames as the raiders burned set the houses on fire. But the young man, who had been preparing to step out onto the frozen lake and was already wearing his boots, somehow stumbled down to the shore, despite the fire searing his flesh and a sword biting into his side.

Out on the ice, there was no one who could catch him, and so the young man got away from the flames devouring his home. But injured and bleeding as he was, he could not keep moving for long, and collapsed onto the ice, shivering and in pain, and he knew his time was short, even though he was not ready to die.

And so he prayed for help to any gods that would listen, but no answer came from the gods that day.

But then, a stranger approached him, clad in a dark cloak and with a dog by his side.

“I can save you, if you so desire,” he offered, holding out a hand to the young man. “I have but one condition. If I save your life, will you dance for me in return?”

The young man readily accepted, but he was blinded by his pain, for he did not recognize the stranger for who he was: Clavicus Vile, the Prince of Trickery.

Vile, for his part, had long watched the young man, and, desiring to have a mortal performer of his own to rival the talent of Sanguine’s entertainers and the beauty of Meridia’s collection, had thought on how to entrap him. With an opportunity now presenting itself, Vile took it without a second thought.4

And thus, the Daedric Prince swept the young man away to the Fields of Regret. He healed his wounds and gave him a mask to cover his burned face, for Clavicus Vile demanded perfection of his newest servant, and it would not do to leave the ugliness of a burn scar on display for the other Princes to see.

From then on, the young man could no longer leave the Fields of Regret, for the Prince of Bargains had never specified an end to the deal, and so he was forced to remain and dance whenever Vile demanded it. He was trapped in the Daedric realm, never aging, never dying, and to this day, there he remains, forever dancing against his will.5

You who hear this story, let this serve as a warning to you – do not make deals with the Daedra, not even to save your life, for you might soon find yourself longing for the good cheer and merriment of Sovngarde.6

1The protagonist of our story was likely a snow elf. There are several passages within the text (likely unintentionally) hinting at it, which will be pointed out accordingly, but he is never referred to as an elf. This is likely glossed over due to the intended target audience, presumably Nords given the original text is in Nordic.

2Here, we find our first lead pointing to the Dancer being a snow elf. The oldest surviving writings containing this tale date back to the beginnings of the first era, making it likely that the events inspiring the story took place quite some time before that. There are no archaeological records proving that ice skating was known to the Atmorans at the time, who relied on sleds and snow shoes instead. However, there are recent findings from the Antiquarian Circle that indicate the snow elves regularly used ice skates.

3The raiders, in this case, are more than likely Atmorans. As the story originally seems to have been intended as a cautionary tale primarily for Nord children, whoever wrote it down likely had no desire to name the Atmoran invaders the antagonists of this story. Therefore, the genocide against the snow elves remains a side note. Other scholars, most notably Skadi Storm-Seeker of the Winterhold College and my esteemed colleague Okan-Hei, have put forth the theory that the raiders may also have been of Dwemer origin, suggesting the lake mentioned in the tale to be lake Yorgrim, with the dwarven city of Irkngthand in close proximity. Recent digs in the area have not produced any signs of snow elven villages, however, given the size of lake Yorgrim, the existence of such settlements cannot be ruled out as we cannot search the entire shore.

4We can only assume that Vile was indeed on the lookout for an opportunity to get at the Dancer, and likely capitalized on the fact that a mer near death would not ask for the fine print on any deal offered to him.

5Interestingly enough, I did encounter a skaafin once while on a visit to Fargrave, who told me of a masked, rather pale elf in his master’s employ. It would be most interesting to visit the Fields of Regret one day to try and find this individual – if it should truly be the young man from the story, he should be able to confirm or deny many of our current theories about how this cautionary tale came to be.

6This last sentence seems out of place and not consistent with the style of the rest of the text. It might be a later addition to the text, maybe to solidify its function as a warning to its audience.

I would like to tag @bostoniangirl21, @thequeenofthewinter, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and @pinessydr in case any of you wish to share something! <3

[ms-scarletwings]

Other people: *mocking the assumed foolishness and negligence of Clockwerk to knowingly pull a Batman’s parents on Sly Cooper* *complaining about what is assumed to be a cheap writing excuse to explain Sly’s survival of the Fiendish’s Five’s attack on his home*

Me: But actually? No? It wouldn’t have been smarter on Clockwerk’s part to “finish the job” with Sly back then. Clockwerk pigeonholed himself into a fruitless job that is not meant to be finished.

Like if you really want to ponder on it, Clockwerk could be forced, in a way, to ensure the continuation of the cooper line, not the end of it. When you define and depend your whole existence on that which you hate, what do you have left when the object of your ire is no more? Clockwork would have died if his hate was ever allowed to diminish or find resolution. He’s like a ghost bound only to his power and body by a single remaining tether, and that tether is the drive to tread on the grave of the Cooper Clan’s legacy.

He doesn’t loathe them personally, he hates everything they represent and stand for, because he once envied it to the point of madness. That’s why he sundered the Thievious Raccoonus and left our Cooper untouched. He told you so himself. Notice how coincidentally the attack was timed on the very day Sly was meant to inherit the book? It was all about letting the boy learn what it meant to be a Cooper and then ripping away from him the access to everything his ancestors learned and built to help him carry that torch.

This gamble of his, this experiment he planned out that involved letting Connor’s son escape the slaughter, that’s the way he keeps himself going while staring down the barrel of the only real threat to his immortality. Killing them all, he reckoned in his centuries of reflection, wouldn’t fulfill his vendetta. He wanted to prove without any shadow of doubt that there was nothing about the Coopers that made them inherently superior to him- who himself was once only an owl. He was after their reputation. Murder was one of many methods, but complete humiliation was the actual goal. Clockwerk was probably snickering to himself all the way from the volcano for years, giddy at the thought of this child he reduced from the son of a master thief to an orphaned pauper. What he wanted was for Sly to live on… live on and be the last pathetic, miserable shred of the Cooper memory that Clockwerk could compare himself to once he has achieved everything him and the Five had set out to accomplish.

Giving their line the final glory of a tragic and sudden end like that after one unlucky slip of Connor’s vigilance was more than he could stomach. His greatest enemies don’t deserve to be remembered with that honor intact. Had Sly moved on and done literally anything else with his life but successfully take up that mantle and reap revenge, then the bird would have won. He would have never been bothered again by the owl either, I bet. Clockwerk just had to take that (astronomically unlikely) risk to see the boy’s potential through. It’s the only reason that dark force has kept him going literally up to and through the second game.

[vaguely-concerned]

Before all of the everything with Jowan happened, Sophia Amell was SO ready for her step up into adulthood to be about basically properly becoming Irving’s second in command/right hand gal/well not semi-official heir exactly that’s not how these things work in the Circle and she’s still so very very young of course ahaha (...unless?). Her readiness to be the Dragon carrying out all the dirty work and be in on ALL the mostly-benign (?) machinations as a trusted co-conspirator and equal finally, unreal. She feels such an immense depth of gratitude, and such a desperation of loyalty (and love, which she finds harder to find the right space and gestures for) to Irving as the closest thing she’s ever had to a father, and as a teenager it pained her for the longest time that she couldn’t really pay him back for any of what he’d done for her. (Sophia had a real rough time in her early teens, and Irving is probably the only reason she survived it.) But aha! now, once she’s a full mage and not just a promising student, she’ll be the most terrifyingly useful lieutenant that ever — what the fuck do you mean you’re sending me away to join the wardens dad. Dad. what. What does that mean. I — thought we had a plan here, was that not… was that not what I was meant to… Did I do something wrong? How badly did I fuck up for it to be so easy for you to discard me? Did I mean so little to you, when you and your regard mean everything to me?

And it makes me feel all oofie doofie inside because it takes her the whole game and maybe a bit more to really unpack and understand that what Irving is trying to do is to save her, not get rid of her. Because ultimately he values her chances for greater freedom and happiness in life more than he does her possible utility to him or even her company, and staying cooped up in the Circle much longer with all her power boiling right under her skin without purpose or outlet might have killed her. The Taint is going to kill her eventually, sure, but staying in the Circle would end in her devouring herself in desperation much sooner than that. 

(Having a protégé in the Wardens who proves a national hero for the ages is certainly not a bad political outcome for him or the mages in the end lol, but he could hardly have known the insane line of events that had to spin out for it to end like that — if that was his main goal, he would surely not have wasted someone he’s invested so much in on such a wild and uncertain gambit, even if he did believe the first whisperings of a new Blight and that the Wardens were about to regain some long-faded prestige. And yet… that image of the Blight entering her bloodstream as a consequence and proof of precisely love. We poison our children to save them, no matter how much we try to avoid it. Hhhhhhhhhngh the metaphor of it all I’m in pain) 

He sent her away to walk out of hell, and he won’t let her glance back at him, not even once, until she’s all the way out into the real world and can never go back to where she came from. Because he loves her!! that’s his CHILD!!! (the way Uldred taunts him with his little apprentice being back for the slaughter… ough! The way he keeps telling Surana/Amell that the Circle (he) will always welcome them, but doesn’t need them — I made as much freedom for you as I could figure out how; go live your life, child.) The love is there, the love is THERE and it’s vast and it’s mutual, and yet it has to be kept small and hidden between the lines to stay safe, it takes so many rounds of decoding and unveiling and retracing all the hidden meanings and obfuscations that the social conditions of the Circle (as well as their natural psychological tendencies as individuals) enforce to see the message written out cleanly and simply. But they do understand each other on this eventually, and they keep up written correspondence even during the times Sophia has to leave Ferelden on missions. (You are never too old to write home to go ‘hey dad I mean first enchanter hope everything’s fine at home. now what the fuck is this glyph I’ve copied down I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before’, and to be able to do so is a great comfort even when you’re the warden commander of your nation and not so secret power behind the throne lol) 

And all of that is probably why Sophia is the way that she is (affectionate). Diagnosed with chronic heritable allergic-to-saying-everything-I-really-mean disease. hey Alistair I made you king. please infer that it means I trust you more than anyone in this world or the next and that I would not put the fate of myself or my people in the hands of anyone else alive. I would lay my whole being at your mercy. also I love you forever and would die for you. btw.

(In the end she does end up having that sort of partners-in-crime, co-conspirator, absolute trust, in it until the end, ‘I’ll be your strong right hand and protector’ relationship she so badly wanted with Alistair, which does provide a more equal power balance between them at least in private than what could have been possible with Irving. and with alistair she eventually does learn to be straightforwardly honest and unfiltered because she knows she will always be welcomed, and thus the family curse is broken. So. You know. You never know where personal fulfillment might yet be found, I guess! Fry some darkspawn, make your man/best friend king, be the Merlin to his Arthur and make it real horny, see where that takes you)   

[mjrtaurus]

CW: Murder. Poetic, but very gruesome.

After making a meal out of Outlook the Third, Dark!Dragon took a bit of a different approach when it came to his equally reprehensible wife and the obnoxious little toadie they had deluded themselves into thinking was better than Sabo. From all Dragon had heard from Sabo, she and her now very much dead husband wanted their son to ascend quickly to high society.

So, he would grant their wish.

Dragon's men dragged Didit to the highest point of the wall in Edge Town overlooking the Grey Terminal and forced her to watch as Dragon took Stelly in his Amaru claws and flew up to the point where he was only a speck. Then he did what comes naturally to lammergeiers. Dropped the shrieking little noble to the ground below.

Repeatedly.

Didit had to watch as her precious new golden child became more and more of an unrecognizable red smear on the stinking trash heap of Goa's own making.

When it was over, Dragon flew back to ask Sabo what he thought should happen to his mother now. She looked at the boy she threw away without a second thought and pleaded for her life.

And as casually as if he were asked about the weather, Sabo just points up.

I actually disagree, at least on half of that.

Stelly is- first and foremost- a child. An absolutely insufferable little prick of a child, yes, but still a child. Children change with time and experience. Dragon is aware of this more than most should ever have to be.

Dragon is willing to give the brat a chance to change. If he doesn’t, then the option of killing is on the table. He does this because one, as stated before, children can change, and two, Kuma.

Kuma… adores children. He does his best to help them however and whenever they need. Killing Stelly without giving him so much as a chance for him to change would hurt him.

Dragon can’t do that to Kuma.

As for Didit…

It’s such a fascinating phenomenon to witness… how quickly she is willing to turn on her shining star child…

Dragon listens with feigned interest as she begs and pleads for her miserable life, telling him all about how taking Stelly’s would be so much more satisfying to take. Her bloodline is noble, yes, but Stelly’s? Stelly’s is of Goa’s royal family. Stelly is the crown prince of this kingdom! His blood would be the prettier shade smeared on the cinders of Gray Terminal, surely!

Dragon looks at her. Then he looks at Stelly.

“Your mother wants you dead, boy.”

And that… that’s the truth. He’s just heard his doting mother bargain his life away like he was pocket change.

Didit starts spouting off apologies that nobody buys, and when she knows that’s the case, she changes her tune.

This is all Sabo’s fault, dear Stelly. He should have known better than to associate with commoners, and now look at him! Scarred and ugly, clinging to the beast that slaughtered and ate his father! Do you want to turn out like that?! Then you’ll forgive your mother right this instant!

Stelly turns to Sabo. Sabo looks back at Stelly.

There’s an understanding that passes between them.

“What do we do?” Stelly asks his brother.

Sabo looks to Dragon, and gives him a nod.

In the end, Stelly has to look away before his monster of mother hits the earth. He isn’t as secure in the understanding of who she is as Sabo is. He isn’t as used to the sight of carnage as Sabo is. He isn’t as used to being abandoned like Sabo is.

Kuma guides both boys away as Dragon makes his descent with the carrion birds. Neither should have to see what came next, even at a distance.