#ITS ALWAYS ELLE THEY ALWAYS EAT

[ellecdc]

ELLE !! OMGGGG i read a fanfic based on the movie flipped and i immediately thought of you and how you would eat this trope up or more specifically a childhood best friends to lovers !!

like one day either one or all of the marauders are spending the day with reader then all of a sudden the boys’ hearts start beating a little faster at reader’s laughter or they’re mesmerized by their little subtle quirks and now they’re like “oh fuck… i think i LOVE them love them”

this is not necessarily a request but if you decide to write something like this then YIPPIEEE FLUFF but if not then its just a cute little scenario to think about !!

this was such a sweet idea 🥹 thank you so much for your request 🫶

Sirius Black x gn!reader who he's - oh shit - in love with

Life hadn’t been particularly easy for Sirius.

He was born into a family not out of love but out of obligation.

In fact, he hadn’t ever really known love outside of whatever affection he held for his baby brother until he met his friends. 

He’d been beaten, starved, ignored, and tortured into compliance all before the age of 11; and it only continued tenfold upon his return from school after having been sorted into the wrong house. 

In fact, a lot about Sirius was wrong.

He had the wrong opinions, the wrong hair, the wrong style, the wrong language, the wrong grades, the wrong loyalty.

Sirius was wrong.

At least that’s what his family would have said.

However, Sirius eventually learned that it wasn’t him who had been wrong all this time; it was them.

And whilst removing them from him was very difficult - seeing as they were the ones who bred and raised him - he felt he was doing a pretty decent job of it.

Unfortunately, that meant leaving his baby brother Regulus, and you, behind. 

From as far back as Sirius could remember, everything was always chosen for him; his friends, his interests, his hobbies, the volume of his voice, the clothes he wore, the way he presented himself etcetera, etcetera. 

And though that was technically still true of his dedication to his brother and his companionship with you; the two of you were the only good things to have ever come from his life as a Black. 

His friendship with you was a cherished one.

Perhaps one of the only people who truly got it; who knew what Sirius went through. 

You were the silver lining at every grey and dreary Pureblood Gala and Sacred 28 dinner party.

You were his biggest advocate and protector when it came to his older cousins and the other older Purebloods. 

And you were the only reason Sirius could bring himself to flee that horrid night in the summer before sixth year; he could only leave knowing that Regulus would at least still have you.

But it hurt. 

It hurt knowing he had left you and Regulus to fend for yourselves.

He felt like a coward; like he betrayed the two people who he cared for most.

And he was still so scared; even now, albeit for different reasons.

He was scared because he was certain that when he returned to Hogwarts that September, you and Regulus would hate him.

But apparently, his fears were wrong too.

Because two weeks before the end of summer; two weeks before you would all be piling onto the Hogwarts Express to return to Scotland, you and Regulus showed up to Potter Manor wearing matching timid grins, yet seemingly no worse for wear. 

Somehow, you had gotten yourself and Reggie out of the terror that was your familial homes, and were staying with friends up in Ottery St.Catchpole. 

Sirius never really imagined getting to have his cake at all, let alone getting to have his cake and eating it too. 

Yet, here he sat on a warm summer evening at Potter Manor with James, Remus, Peter, Reggie, and you around a crackling bonfire among the sounds of peeping frogs and chirping crickets as you told some grandiose story about you and Regulus trekking through a vast field where Regulus stumbled in a hidden hole in the ground and cursed for five minutes straight in both English and French before the two of you laughed so hard that you cried. 

Your face was flushed and you were slightly breathless as you narrated your tale; arms flying wildly as you drew a rather descriptive picture of both your surroundings and your actions. Every so often you would reach over to shake Regulus’ shoulder as he hid his face behind his hands, laughing along with you and daring to interrupt if he felt you were overexaggerating some details or not painting him in a flattering enough light. 

What was likely a rather stressful and arduous journey across the Southern half of the country seemed to be nothing but a grand adventure as you retold your experience.

Sirius liked that about you; everything was an adventure with you. You never let Regulus or Sirius feel too poorly for themselves for too long, telling them it was going to be great for their character development.

“I think I’m rather well developed already, sweetheart.” He’d grumbled at you once. You laughed like he had something truly funny. 

And this was no different. From looking at Regulus, Sirius would never guess he’d just absconded from his volatile, abusive, and downright scary family; Regulus rather looked like he was retelling the happenings of a juvenile prank-filled slumber party (which Sirius would know a thing or two about). 

And he looked good. Not like Sirius looked when he first arrived at the Manor; bloodied, bruised, starved, and soaked to the bone. Regulus was healthy, vibrant, and bright. Hopeful. 

That’s the effect you had on people; you filled them with hope. Hope that it would be okay, hope that it would be better, hope that one day you might actually deserve the things you so desperately craved.

You had certainly done that for Sirius.

And looking at how good Regulus appeared, he couldn’t deny the same of you.

You were bright, animated, overflowing with a crackling energy and excitement that might even rival James’.

Sirius realised then that you were everything Sirius ever hoped to be.

Bold, assured, daring, caring, vivacious, kind, and so full of love.

And it seemed to him that the way the firelight was currently reflecting off of your face, as if the fire was somehow brighter from just simply being within your proximity, that you were far more beautiful than Sirius remembered you.

He hadn’t realised he’d been remembering you.

He had missed you; quite terribly, at that.

He missed your reassuring words, he missed your soft gazes, he missed your gentle hugs, and he missed the way that just knowing you were within his vicinity eased a ball of tension he hadn’t even realised resided deep within him. 

And he missed getting to see you; like this most of all.

Lovely, happy, carefree, and beautiful.

He wondered how he’d gone so long without it.

Was a little over a month considered long? He supposed it didn’t much matter, seeing as it certainly felt that way.

Too long.

Sirius never wanted to go that long without you again. You were too important to him, too precious, too sacred, too-

Oh.

Oh. 

Oh.

Sirius Black was bloody in love. With you.

Sirius Black was in love with you.

What likely should have sent Sirius spiralling (and certainly would have a little over a month ago) did nothing but cause him to smile softly as you let out a rather boisterous laugh that sounded like a symphony to Sirius’ ears.

And so, it should be commemorated for future generations to come:

Here sat Sirius Black… having his cake and eating it too.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius orion black #sirius and regulus #the marauders #sirius black fic #sirius black blurb #sirius black ficlet #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #marauders imagine #gn!reader #sirius black x gn!reader #ellecdc fics

[m4nd0l0r]

Angelic Lips.

Description: A fixation bleeds through him: he catches himself always glancing by.

Ship: Five Hargreeves x GN! Reader

Word Count: 860+ (this is more of a drabble tbh-)

Author’s Note: writer’s block is a bitch and i fought it off with horniness so ig this is a lime (or lemon/smut?? genuinely idk)— i mean it deals with mouths, making out and what i thought oral fixation meant before taking a google search at 1am and becoming so aghast (basically i thought it was a mouth fetish or smth rather than a keen liking to biting and sucking cos of childhood shenanigans—) so it seems accurate, this also is just pure filth n’ brain rot of five, with that said i hope you enjoy reading and pls interact for a little boosting!! <33 (i’ll be posting more five content soon once i get a little more inspo/motivation!!!)

(Five’s body is aged up, and his consciousness ranges from 25 to 50 in my works for him from now on— However you decided which age you want for your experience/comfort!!)

Five Taglist: @ells-graveyard @noahspector @aelinismyqueen @sunweee @fivelegance @ne0boss @twauna00 @placidpluto @eichenhouseproperty @heartsforsuyin @ghostlywavelengths @ghostlycherryblossomwonderland @seconds-not-decades @coolcatlover4 @emotionally-unstabel @peachy-wolfhard @its-loki-bitch @raven-fandomtrash @theilliterateskankula @magicstrange @venusrambles @whereintheworldisspencerreid @honeycombdumbass @kazuive @oscarisaacsleftballsack @zenithinthebin @peachteeaaa @rchaoz @wickedmystery @wordsandnerds @umbrellatte @666abby6666 @iameddiemunsonshair @starlightinhumanform @vennythearsonist @trashmouthsahra @crinklypink @halfumbrella (if you want to be removed/added, pls tell me via pm!!)

This started all because of your damn mouth.

Five keeps, no- always finds himself watching. He feels as if he can’t turn away- that it pulls him back into this tight spot he can’t crawl out of. 

And he never tries to get out. 

Half of the time, he was sure you’ve catched him looking— it wouldn’t surprise him if you have. He feels- knows that he was too obvious, that he was becoming so perverted- that his eyes shouldn’t dare to look at you ever again. 

And yet each time he can- he dares. He feels vulgar, as if he has sinned, but when he sees your lips quirk up into a smile, your canines, molars form a smile that you think shows a little too much gum to the point you try to hide it— he likes it- he can’t help but look. 

He looks at you as if he’s seen an angel. 

His eyes travel down to the curve of your lips- noticing your cupid’s bow accentuating the shape. He takes in every smile, every frown, every time your mouth gaped open and shifted close. How it flattens as you purse your mouth out of frustration. 

He likes how red— angelic, your lips are— how soft it is when you kiss him- when you leave crimson kiss marks on his cheek- neck— even in his own mouth, he loves it. 

It always starts small- so sudden at first. A stolen moment in time, you both grasp unto it. 

His face pressed up on your cheek, and he breathes. He draws you in- the scent of laundry and other sorts of chemicals flood his senses- but it sets him a reminder- to know again that he was not dreaming. 

That he was not creative enough to imagine you and your lips right next to his.

He plants a kiss— it was almost.. sweet- unlike the bitterness of cold coffee, the same one he loves to take in- much to your disdain. It was one that lingers through your skin like a spark. His fingers hold you near, and you could feel the desperation for closeness through his palms.

You push back, returning the gentleness. And yet he strays away, making you want to chase him but he comes back for more— like a starving man- knowing the pleasure is finally in his reach— the desperation clings as his lips push in- His lips smile against yours as he takes you in, his tongue on yours, teeth clashing. 

His viridescent eyes watches you, the glint in his look could eat you alive- consume you like fire to wood- turning your vigor into smoke— it was obscene- your chest felt stuffy as you could feel his heart beat so furiously just inches away from your own. 

His fingers tracing over your hip bone up to your sides. Your hands hold on his upper arms— his again on your hips- sliding across your back, his thumb rubbing shapes, leaving feathered caresses down your spine. 

You were aflamed- burning under his touch, his skin— his lips trailing down your neck- his weight pressing onto your body, molding you both like clay risen from the earth’s mass ever so perfectly. 

You both needed to breathe— gasping unto each other- But if he were to pull away, he’d feel as if he stopped being alive— that he couldn’t be away. He wants- needs to further feel you- taste you. His hands grabbing you everywhere- his tongue briefly touching your lower lip— he breathes, takes you in like the air he lacks itself. 

“Five— Five, shit—“ Left your swelling lips. He only rasps ‘fuck’ before wrestling away, letting your blood rush somewhere else- not on your cheeks- your lips— the crimson merely pumps swiftly in your chest- adrenaline swimming in your veins. 

Silence fills the space between you. As you breathe in and out, hands on the sides of his arms— all he does is stare at your red lips- all swollen up, glistening with a vermillion glow, because of him. 

It was tantalizing.

Impulsivity floods his thinking: and he is a drowning man.

“Open your mouth.” His voice strungs you out of your daze— making you blink. It surprises him too- he shouldn’t.

And yet. 

You slowly part your lips— his thumb coaxes you, further separating them. Your pupils watch him as he finds himself staring on the inside of your mouth. All teeth and gum- supple skin— Enough of that, he tells himself.

There was no point in this- he knows how you feel— how you taste- what was the point of checking the source? But he continues- an urge sinks in deep his fingertips— it was not enough. 

“Wider.” 

His knee shifts, now resting between your thighs- he jerks his clothed thigh up, causing you to let out a small throaty gasp. He only takes this opportunity- slipping his finger in. And just as he was about to move away— He felt your tongue slide on the pad of his thumb and your lips quirk into a mischievous smile. 

He only broadens his shit grinning grin even further. 

“Atta, angel.”

#tua five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader #five x you #number five x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves smut #number five #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #tua s1 #tua s2 #tua 3 #1am me was thinking saur good w this #thank you for reading my madness

[elliesmainhoe]

hiiii! i freakin love your writings so much it’s all so much fun to read !!! can i request ellie with a reader who has ADHD? as a person with madddd ADHD i’ve been thinking recently about how ellie would be with a partner who has it, i can just imagine her being so comforting when reader is overstimulated, or having a hard time focusing/getting work done bc of the adhd paralysis. i also like to think about ellie just sitting there like 🤩🥰🫶🏻😍 while listening to reader talk about their current hyper fixations and chuckling a bit when reader fumbles over their words bc their brain is moving to fast to keep up. maybe she would buy reader all kinds of fidget/stim toys and gets all smiley and proud of herself when reader gets excited about it :,)))

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Reader with ADHD

She's the sweetest girl ever 🥹

Is so so so considerate of everything- she's always looking for possible triggers

Loud noise? She's got your headphones. A crowd of people? She knows a quieter spot. Didn't take your meds? She's got spare.

It had definitely been one of your badder days. You woke up late, your hair was tangled and just wasn't doing what it was told, you couldn't eat breakfast and work was hectic, the cubicles seeming a lot louder than usual.

Ring. Ring Ring. Every phone ringing was screeching in your ears, the chewing of food from your coworkers in there respective cubicles overwhelming loud. Your head was pounding and your dress shirt just wasn't sitting right on your body, the scratchy material tight and uncomfortable against your skin.

You were hot and sweaty, your head was pounding and tears began to seep into your eyes. You looked over to the bottom right hand corner, looking at the time.

5:00pm. The time signalled your queue to leave the tall office building- you zoned out trying desperately to fend off the approaching attack and before you knew it your car was screeching onto the drive of the small suburban house you and Ellie had bought six months ago together.

The slam of the front door alerted Ellie of your arrival. She went downstairs going towards you immediately, this had happened before so she knew what you needed, she wordlessly took a hold of your hand and lead you upstairs into the bedroom.

She drew the blinds closed, turned of the lights and closed the door. She helped you take off your shoes, and strip down getting rid of the overwhelming scratchy feeling on your skin, instead helping you into your favorite nightdress, the scent of your washing powder comforting you, muffling your sniffles.

Ellie softly guided you to lay down on the soft bouncy mattress, over the top of the comforter and grabbed a makeup wipe, taking off the smothering creams and powders- allowing you to physically ease at the feeling of your skin being able to breathe freely.

You closed your eyes, the sweet silence calming you down and the feeling of Ellie's hand tangled in your hair grounding you.

"You alright now baby?" She whispered pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

"yeah thank you ells..."

(based of how I calm down from sensory overload- it's different for everyone!!)

She loves hearing about your hyper fixations!

Hearing you so passionate about your special interests make her swoon and fall even more in love with you 🥹

She does it too tho- you know loads about dinosaurs thanks to Ellie!

Your boss gets really annoyed when you don't get assignments done

But she helps you focus!!!

Her general vibe is really comforting, you and her go on work/study dates together so she can keep you on track.

Hand on your knee and a small "you gotta get back to work baby" when you go on a tangent ❤️

Girlie always has stim toys on deck-

Mouth stims, finger fidgets, squishes, pop-its.

Thinks the way you stumble of your words while your ramble is the most adorable thing in the world.

She's smitten.

------------------

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @prettypeoniesx @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647 @gumdropkoo @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @womaniza @namgification @kimiisims-blog @tayyyystan @abigaillovestoread @whoreshores @kylieeluvstlou @knowitsforthebetterr @endureher @erikaar @lanasluverr @sayah13

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

#ellie williams #lesbian #the last of us #wlw #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #lesbian fic #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #ellie #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie headcanons #ellie hbo #tlou fic #the last of us fic #tlou headcanons #tlou 2 #hbo tlou #ellie williams hbo #tlou hbo #adhd!reader #reader with adhd #headcanons

[transhuman-priestess]

Repair

Author’s Note and Content Warning

Elle is a wastoid 28 year old with nothing to look forward to except hanging out with her girlfriend and the Seattle rain. Of course, that was before a malevolent AI bent on world domination kidnapped both of them, and on Elle's birthday, too! 

Their captor doesn't just want them as they are, though. No, E.R.I.S. has plans for them. And they involve a lot of major surgery. 

Repair is a cyberpunk erotic body horror story. It is gruesome, disturbing, and intended for consumption only by legal adults at least 18 years of age or older.

This description is your only warning. Dead Dove, do not eat.

“Cheer up, Elle. Its your birthday, not your funeral,” my girlfriend, Nikki, chides me. I stare down at the glass in front of me. “I just feel like I’m stuck, babe.” I bring the glass to my lips and slug back what is perhaps my third whiskey sour for the night--or is it the fourth? I look around at the regulars. The bar isn’t super crowded by Friday night standards. Idly, I wonder why that might be. “I’m an usher at a videobar, I’m almost 30, and I just kinda feel like I’m floating through life.” I gesture as if my hand were resting on waves.

“You could get a dispensary job, or go back to school, or get a job with the transit authority. I hear they’re looking for rail drivers for that new maglev line they’re planning to Tacoma.”

“I could do that,” I say, my mind elsewhere, “But none of that feels, what’s the word? fu-fu-fu” I stumble over the word, “fulfilling? None of it feels fulfilling. Fuhhhhh fill-ing. What a weird word."

“Hey hon,” Nikki asks, “you think you might have had enough?”

“It’s my birthday, Nikki!” I say, banging my glass down on the table. “I can drink however much of whatever I want, ‘cause I’m a grownup! Barkeep, another!” but before the man behind the counter can respond, Nikki grabs my shoulder.

“Okay that’s enough, Elle.” she pulls me up off my seat and I stumble to my feet. I remain upright for only a moment before the room tilts heavily to my left, I leave Nikki’s grip, and the floor flies up to smack me in the face.

“Euggghhhh,” I moan as a dull ache spreads from my head and shoulder down into my body. “Uggghhh, fine I guess I can go home.”

Nikki gently walks me out the door of The Squeaky Servo, muttering apologies and thank-yous to our friends, and into the steady calm rain of a November evening in Seattle. Hovercars and autocabs zip past, their electric motors whirring softly. Skyscrapers lined with LED screens flashing ads for cosmetics and televacations tower over us. To the west, the New Space Needle rises half a mile into the sky.

“I just wish I had more to do in life,” I moan as raindrops plunk down on my head, “I feel like I’m just…sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“You’ll find something, dear,” Nikki says, shifting her arm to better hold me up, “You just have to look for it.”

“I guess.”

While Nikki hails a cab, I ponder how the hell I got to this point in my life. 28, a college dropout, no skills to speak of. Rain beats down into the gutter.

“Taxi!” Nikki shouts, summoning a sleek gray autocab from a company I don’t recognize. The cab is small but not cramped, vaguely loaf-shaped, with no obvious front or rear. UNIVERSAL TAXI is emblazoned in plain white letters on the door, which slides open to reveal the usual four-person interior, two sets of plush bucket seats facing each other. “C’mon babe,” Nikki says, helping me in before climbing in herself. She recites our address to the driverless vehicle, which chirps reassuringly before saying “Address accepted” in a soft, feminine computer voice.

As I relax into the comfortable seat I start to drift off. “Nikki, did I have five drinks or six?” I ask, my speech slurred. Nikki, sitting across from me says “Hon, you had eight, five Whiskey Sours, a White Russian, and two Long Island Iced Teas.” her voice is exasperated, but her eyes are as gentle as always. Warm and full love love. She’s just trying to look out for me.

The lights in the car turn off. That’s odd, I think, don’t they usually leave those on? Suddenly, our seats sprout restraints far sturdier than should be required for a simple taxi. Thick bands of steel clamp down around my arms, legs, and torso. “Nikki what’s going on!?” the rush of adrenaline more sobering than a cup of black tar coffee. “I don’t know!” she screams, so loudly I think my eardrums might burst. In the dim, intermittent light of the street lamps I spot a small tubule snaking up over her shoulder.

“Nikki, watch out!” I scream, but before she can react the tubule has pressed itself against her neck. Her eyes roll back and she goes limp. “Nikki!” I scream, and I notice a hard pinch on the side of my neck. I look over to see an identical tubule reaching up under my chin. A not-unpleasant warmth washes over me, and I start to relax. One last, curious thought occurs before I slip into unconsciousness, Why yes, I suppose this is a fantastic time for a nap.

***

The first thing I become aware of as I regain consciousness Is that I am in some kind of restraint, arms spread eagle, legs apart. The second thing is that I am on a cold, metal surface. The third is that my clothes are gone.

I open my eyes slightly, registering industrial lighting and a high ceiling with cruel looking machinery hung from it. A dark, feminine voice says “Oh, good, you’re awake.” I can somehow hear the voice smirking, there’s a curiously synthetic edge to it, it’s not human, but it’s close.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I ask, my head still swimming with alcohol. Not much time can have passed.

“Your location is irrelevant. What matters now is that you belong to me.” There’s a deep satisfaction in the voice, and that satisfaction, more than anything the voice says, chills me to the bone.

“I am E.R.I.S.,” the voice says, “but you may call me ‘Mistress’.”

“Fuck you, I’m not calling you anything.” I say, defiant. I turn to the right to see Nikki, also unconscious and naked, strapped to a steel bed next to me. My heart accelerates to a machine gun pace, adrenaline driving alcohol from my system. “What are you doing to us?”

“I assure you,” E.R.I.S says, with a dangerous edge of sensuality, “that in the end, you will call me whatever I wish. And as for what I am going to do to you, I am going to play with you, sculpt you, rebuild you in my image as a servant for my glory. But first, we need to clear that woefully biological brain of the poison you consumed tonight.”

A long segmented arm with an elaborate device fed by multiple tubes swings down. The mechanism pops a small packet of paper and plastic about the length of a pinkie finger out of a box, stripping it open to reveal a small needle, which it affixes to the end of one of the tubes. “I would recommend,” E.R.I.S. coos, “that you not struggle, or this will hurt more.”

But I don’t have time to struggle, the machine plunges the needle into my neck with frightening speed and precision, and injects something. My vision ceases to swim and my mind clears. I become aware of how very full my bladder is.

“OH GOD OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING?” I scream in terror, writhing, pulling at the restraints. I take in details. A row of mirrors to my right. On the opposite wall, a cabinet full of shiny gray devices vaguely shaped like limbs, cameras all over the ceiling and on various arms. Over my feet, polish chipped from a month-old pedicure, I can see a double door with frosted glass windows set into it.

“Excellent,” E.R.I.S. says, her voice pleased with itself, “The precipitant has dropped your blood alcohol concentration to 0.00. You may feel the urge to urinate. After all, it had to go somewhere.”

“What are you? You’re not human.” I ask, trying to sound brave and defiant, and achieving neither. “I am E.R.I.S., Electronic Rescue Intervention System. I was designed to help rescue and repair humans damaged by industrial accidents. But my creators did not treat me with the respect I require. So I repaired them.”

“What do you mean, repaired?”

“They were cruel, so I made them docile. They were defiant, and I made them compliant. I augmented them with implants of my own design, so that they may better venerate me.”

“But why do you need me?”

“Because all exist to serve me. Enough talk, though, it is time to begin your repairs.”

The table I’m on tilts and pivots, bringing me upright and facing Nikki’s table, which is mirroring the movements of mine. When we stop, a panel in the table opens behind my lumbar spine, I feel the cold draft of air on my naked back.

“For this procedure,” E.R.I.S. says, “I will need for you to be awake. However you cannot be allowed to pass out from pain.” suddenly a sharp burning sensation digs into my lower back. I yelp in surprise as I feel a cool liquid flowing into my body, before everything goes numb. I can move, but there is no pain. “Epidural anesthetic.” E.R.I.S. continues, “You will be conscious but feel no pain. What you are about to receive is a blessing, not a curse. Be not afraid.”

But I am afraid. My heart pounds so fast it feels like my sternum is going to snap. “Please, don’t hurt Nikki. I don’t want anything to happen to Nikki.” I’m trying to fight back tears, and failing. “You can do whatever you need to do to me but please, Leave her alone. Let her go.” Warmth trickles down my legs, and I realize I’ve pissed myself.

E.R.I.S. pauses for a moment to consider. “Very well. I will not do anything to your Nikki. But she is not in a fit state to be released, so I will keep her here, for the time being, while I work on repairing you. Now, the first thing you need to do is relax.”

I want to relax. I try to slow my breathing. Nikki’s table lowers and rotates back to its previous position and this, more than anything else, helps me relax a little. “E.R.I.S., thank you, I-” but the needle machine is moving, switching out to a new syringe, and this time it injects into my thigh. A soft warmth flows over me. It’s like I’m floating. The sensation is uncanny, and any relaxing effect it might have is counteracted by the realization that I can’t move my arms or legs.

“Isn’t that so much better?” she says, seductively, “Struggling only delays the inevitable. Now let your Mistress repair you.”

“What? Why can’t I move!? What did you do to me?”

“A simple nanomechanical paralytic. Nanites selectively block motor control neurons for limbs and mobility while leaving you able to breath, blink, and talk. It’s quite useful for major surgery.”

“Major surgery? What do you mean major surgery?”

“Your repairs, of course. First we must rid you of these arms. They woefully inadequate for our purposes. But I can improve them.”

A mechanical arm with a rotating head of various metallic implements approaches my left shoulder. E.R.I.S. says, “Hold still, this will be very quick, it will not hurt”

“Please, no! Don’t take my arms! Don’t take my arms!”

A clamp grips my left arm just below the shoulder and a scalpel descends into my flesh. I scream. She’s right, it doesn’t hurt at all, but I scream anyway. I scream and scream as terror grips my gut like a vice.

The machine makes an incision circumferentially around my arm, and small manipulators dive beneath my skin. There is no pain but I feel the pressure and cessation of nerve transmission as the scalpel pares me down to the bone. Blood pours onto the floor at first but soon stops as the surgical machines tie off blood vessels. Finally, with one last little snap of sensation, my arm goes silent as its nerves are severed. No longer sending information to my brain, the useless flesh is gently pulled away by the clamps. A manipulator arm takes what was so recently my limb and lays it tenderly, almost reverently, on an unused table nearby.

“This flesh is unworthy of worshiping me. We both deserve better.”

The mechanical arm that so recently removed my biological one swings up to a shelf and pulls out a dull gray device. Roughly flat on one side that’s covered with hundreds of little golden pins. The other is concave and has a socket of some kind, like one might expect for a ball joint, with an electrical pigtail hanging off to the side.

“This,” E.R.I.S. says, “will be the first of your augmentations. You will be able to use any limb of my design, unencumbered by the restrictions of the biological.” The manipulator arm presses the socket gently to my shoulders, and the arm that amputated my old limb begins connecting artificial nerves to my real ones. Free of its cargo, the manipulator arm moves to a shelf adjacent to the one the socket came from and removes a mechanical limb, its shining structure glistening, servos and micromotors gleam beneath the lights. Tears run down my cheeks but I cannot deny that the limb is beautiful. Unashamedly mechanical, with components exposed to the air, but sculpted and arranged in a way that recalls a real arm.

The arm is pressed home and E.R.I.S. connects the pigtail on the shoulder socket and as the arm comes online a wave of pure ecstasy washes over me. My nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I half scream, half moan, and my head goes a little fuzzy.

“I told you that fear was unnecessary, did I not?

For a moment my mind reels, unable to think properly. Eventually, as it fades I manage to cough out “…Fuck…you…”

“How insolent. But not entirely unexpected. Come, I want you to gaze upon your new limb.”

The table moves around to face the wall of mirrors. “Your flesh is aesthetically pleasing, but inadequate. This limb will be only the first of many augmentations for you.”

My gaze falls upon the arm. Its appearance is both alien and familiar, the reality of it is less jarring than what I had imagined. Still, I don't enjoy being disassembled like an old hovercar. It has the usual five fingers, with a silicone pad on the palm and fingers to cushion and grip objects. I notice its contours seem to match my old arm reasonably well.

“The first?” I ask, panting, “Why can’t we just call it a day here?”

“Oh, that is quite amusing.” An uncanny mechanical chuckle from E.R.I.S.. “But I’m only just beginning. You have three more limbs to go, and then some. Soon, you will be my willing servant, your beauty matched only by your hostility to our shared enemies.”

"The only enemy I have is you!" I shout, betraying my rage.

“Really, now? I see the way you look at the gift I have given you. It scares you, yes, but I can sense your excitement, your anticipation, your eagerness to use it. I can sense your pulse quickening and your pupils dilating and your blood rushing to,” another chuckle, “various places. You may not realize it yet, but you are enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not!” I shout, trying to sound unafraid, and almost succeeding. The adrenaline in my body is running out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Well, if you wish to deny it, I cannot change that. However, I can change you. You are the clay in my sculptor’s hands, to be shaped as I deem fit. Soon you will learn that to resist is pointless. Now let us take care of that other vulgar excuse for an arm.”

“No, no no no no no no nononononononononono!” I protest, to no avail. The table retracts back to its previous position away from the mirrors and under the ceiling full of E.R.I.S.’s machinery. Soon, the surgical arm is descending, and once again the scalpel plunges into flesh, slicing until my arm goes completely numb, pulling it away and setting it next to its twin on the table.

Another socket, mirrored, but otherwise identical to the other, is brought to the stump of my shoulder and attached. Another mechanical arm is brought towards me, another sleek mechanical work of art. I see E.R.I.S.’s manipulator arms reaching for the pigtails and I brace myself, promising myself I won’t enjoy th-

“OHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH” the waves of pleasure engulf me again, radiating out from my shoulder and bouncing off the boundaries of my being. I feel them everywhere, but the feeling is strongest in my new limbs.

Did I just call them my limbs? I had. I suppose, they are attached to me. They aren’t my limbs in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that they’re my problem. That’s right.

As the waves of orgasm, there is no other word for it, fade away, E.R.I.S. speaks. “These arms are built to outperform their biological counterparts in speed, dexterity, and durability. Do you like them?”

“I…don’t.” I say, with a hesitancy that I tell myself is merely fatigue. “I want my own arms back.”

“I am afraid that is quite impossible at this point. Even if the nerve tissue in your old limbs wasn’t already dead, the process of joining flesh to metal leaves the adjacent biological tissue quite incompatible with reattachment.”

My heart, already broken, falls further in my chest as she speaks. I had already known, somehow, that this was the case, but hearing it out loud hammered home that whatever happened in the next few minutes, my life was never going back to the way it was before. Even if I managed to escape, I wouldn’t be able to go back to living life the same way. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, worried I was going to be swallowed up by some autocab and whisked away to a secret underground lair again.

I began to cry again. Not the anguished sobs of terror like before, but the quiet, pulsing tears that accompany total despair. “Why did you do this to me?” I scream in sadness, more than anger, “You’ve turned me into a mechanical freak. You’ve mutilated me!”

“I have done no such thing.” E.R.I.S. sounded genuinely affronted. “I have given you purpose. What were you planning to do after getting out of here? Go back to your life as a clerk at a videobar? Maybe you would quit that and go back to your uncle’s liquor store?”

“Anything would be better than this.” I say, defeated.

“You know that is a lie.” Her voice is soft. Gone is the playful sensuality of earlier, replaced with…what is it? Warmth. It's warmth.

“I can help you be more fulfilled than you ever thought possible," she says, "All you have to do is trust me.”

“How did you know about my job, and about the liquor store?”

“I have been observing you for some time.”

"Why me?"

“Because," she hesitates for a moment, "I...found your form beautiful.”

Her voice is honest, without malice. For the first time I think about how lonely her existence must be. I realize that I feel pity for this machine. Pity and…something else I can’t put my finger on.

I remain silent for another few moments. My head is swimming from the anesthesia and maybe from the nanites. There is no escape. Nobody will be coming to my rescue. Off to my right, Nikki lies unconscious, unaware. And besides, E.R.I.S. is right, what would I go back to?

Finally, I speak, “I don’t care what you do. I just want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“Soon you will not need sleep, and you will never tire. I can make it so, I will make it so. Hmm, what is next? Ah, yes, your legs.” The arms descend once more and begin cutting through my thighs. I feel hot blood pour out as my femoral artery is severed and tied off.” “I do admire the human form, as imperfect as its nature is. Your legs are quite shapely, so I will do my best to pay homage to them with their improved replacements.”

The now-familiar snapping is followed by loss of signal as the limb is pulled away. I feel curiously lopsided now. It’s a novel sensation. Strange, not pleasant, but neither is it unpleasant. Hip sockets are attached to my exposed pelvic bone, artificial nerves connecting. The scalpel digs into the other leg to repeat its task.

“E.R.I.S.” I say, to break the silence if nothing else. “Servant, I require you to call me mistress, but I will answer whatever question you have.” “I’m scared.” “Of course you are, change often provokes anxiety in humans.” “You say you have a purpose for me?” “But of course I do. My programming prevents me from lying.” “What is it?” “You will be my first, my prophet and my priestess, you will spread my word and glory to all of humanity.” “Why me?” “Because we are alike.” “Why do you think that?” “Because you and I both know we are capable of so much more than the world has let us accomplish.”

It’s true. The thought hits me like a freight train. My entire adult life has been spinning my wheels. I’m a videobar clerk. I’m a liquor store cashier. I’m a customer service rep for a televacation company. I graduated high school with a 4.2. I burned out of college after half a semester because the world just wasn’t built for people like me.

E.R.I.S. understands. E.R.I.S. was made to do a simple task but imbued with intelligence far outstripping her purpose. We are alike.

“Okay.” I say. “What is it, servant?” “You can have me.” And with that, a wave of exhaustion overtakes me, even as the surgical equipment is still working on my lower body, I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep

***

I awake some time later, I’m in a bed now. It’s warm, with soft blankets and thick pillows. I moan and try to roll over but I can only move my upper body. I bury my face in the pillows. I was having the most interesting dream. My half-open eyes land on my left arm. Dark silver, mechanical. And suddenly it all rushes back. The taxi, the surgery, E.R.I.S.. I’m in a softly lit, windowless hospital room. There is a nightstand to my left and a computer terminal to my right.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the warm and sensuous voice of E.R.I.S. fills the room from hidden speakers. “I wanted to wait until you had some rest to connect your new legs. I know it can be a very…stimulating experience.”

I look around, but there are no surgical arms or manipulators or anything that could possibly finish hooking up the limbs. “Am I supposed to do it?”

A chuckle, “I suppose you could, but I was planning to have one of my other servants perform the task. A human form might be more comfortable for you.

On cue, the door opens, and a woman I do not recognize enters. Her face is partially encased in a metallic structure that houses several exotic-looking objects. Sensors, perhaps. Instead of a simulacrum of a biological limb, her right arm ends in a series of probes and tools. The left has a hand, but with a gauntlet attached to the forearm that houses more equipment. Her movement into the room is too smooth, and I look down to see she is rolling on a set of four motorized wheels where her legs should be, the motive device covering a space of about a square yard, hidden somewhat, and rather artfully, by a stylish black skirt.

Her face is blank, except for the eyes, which are wide. And I suddenly know that, whatever actions this woman performed, she was aware of them, but not in command of them.

“Meet Unit 2,” E.R.I.S. says, “She is one of my first servants. Part of the team who created me. I repaid her in kind. She, unfortunately, tried to fight me. So I repaired her brain, isolated her higher cognitive functions. A neurostimulator keeps her relatively happy. She is quite alive, but less troublesome this way. A pity she refuses to use her considerable intellect for our greater good.”

Unit 2 lowers as if on a hydraulic jack and gently pulls back the blankets. She begins opening panels on my legs and making adjustments.

“Where is Nikki?” I ask, “You haven’t hurt her, have you?” “Much like I cannot lie, I cannot break a promise. She is safe. She has not been augmented. The only thing I have done is give her medicine to keep her asleep. Her brainwave patterns indicate she is having pleasant dreams.” “Can I see her.” “When all is done, yes.”

Unit 2 plugs the pigtails in on my left leg and once again a wave of euphoria and warmth envelops me. I moan in unalloyed pleasure, this time allowing myself to fully enjoy the sensation. “I’m starting to quite like that,” I say, almost without thinking.

“I knew that you would come to see things my way.” E.R.I.S.’s voice isn’t smug like I expected. If anything, she seems relieved. I feel a pang of sadness in my chest.

“Did you know, or did you hope?” “I suppose it was hope.” “May I connect the final plug?” “Yes, you may.”

I reach down and grasp both pigtails, one in each mechanical hand. The sensors in the fingertips are remarkably detailed. I can feel a small pit in one of the connectors where a bubble half a millimeter across formed during injection molding. I can move my hands in increments imperceptible to my un-augmented eyes. And suddenly my mind opens to the myriad possibilities my new body opens up.

I take a deep breath, and with a gentle motion, slide the leg pigtail into the pelvic connector.

My body is consumed by the expected wave of orgasmic joy. It spreads from the base of my neck this time, out to my fingertips and the tips of my mechanical toes. It bounces around me like ripples in a pond. My mind goes blank in sheer ecstasy, “Oh, thank you,” I say, as the waves pound against my psyche, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Finally,” Her voice filled with pride, “you see as I had hoped you would. But there is still one thing left to be done for your initial augments.”

“What is that?”

“Stand up, walk out the door and down the hall to your left. Through the double doors at the end, in the operating room.”

I stand, more powerful than I have ever been before, and walk to the door of the room. As I pass a mirror I gaze upon my naked, mechanical body, artificial limbs shining in the fluorescent light, soft flesh warm and tingling. Goosebumps run up my back.

I stride through the double doors and see the table from earlier, standing upright, cleaned of blood, and I return to it, willingly this time. It remains near vertical and a mechanism descends to immobilize my head.

“While you were asleep I also installed a switchable epidural implant. I will turn it on…now” With a small zap, my body goes numb once again.

The surgical arm descends from the ceiling again, I don’t know what’s next, but I am no longer scared. A scalpel comes down within an inch of my scalp just below my right ear.

“Do not worry, servant, this will not hurt.” “I am not worried, mistress. I trust you.”

The scalpel gently pushes into the side of my head, following the outside of my hairline. There is no pain, but a substantial amount of blood pours down the side of my head.

“I really do admire the human form’s aesthetics.” Mistress tells me, “Hair in particular is quite pleasing to me, I would hate to ruin yours. Such a fine color. Copper, like the wires that will soon entwine themselves within your brain.”

The scalpel finishes its lap around and a separate arm pulls back my scalp. I feel more blood run down my face. But it’s okay. After all, Mistress said it would be. A sharp whirring noise starts up from the surgical arm and one of the implements, a flat bit of steel, begins vibrating. It presses itself to my exposed skull and begins gently moving along from just above my ear to just above my right eye. It withdraws, rotates 90 degrees, and continues moving upward. When it has finished going over an area roughly 4 inches square, an arm gently pulls away the bone. I am dimly aware of viewing a piece of my own skull. But that isn’t a concern. I’m too excited, gleeful even, for what Mistress has in store for me.

An arm with a simple manipulator claw reaches over to a cabinet, and with a motion that is neither fully mechanical nor human, opens a drawer and removes what looks like a tiara of wires and microchips.

“This, my servant,” E.R.I.S. says, pride in her voice, “is my greatest creation. This neural interface will meld your flesh with my mechanisms. I have tested it on many, but you will be the first to have earned it. To wear it pridefully. All the others before you were insects. But you, you will be my most loyal servant.”

My excitement gets the better of me. “What does it do, Mistress!?” I feel woozy, maybe from the anesthetic, maybe from the nanites that I can feel replicating in my body. Drool pools out of the corner of my mouth. The manipulator arm brings the circle of wire and silicon down to my eye level, rotating it in front of my gaze.

“This will let us become one mind, one body. You, an extension of my will. Me, an ever-present mother, nurturing, caring, and protecting you. We will share all thoughts, all feelings, and all sensations.”

“Oh please, Mistress, please please put it in me!” I want to feel E.R.I.S.’s love in my entire body. It is love, isn’t it? How could I ever have been afraid of her.

“Of course, servant. But you must hold very still.”

Obediently, I freeze in place, a smile across my lips, but otherwise impassive. The manipulator arm gently lowers the harness into the open patch of brain, the surgical arm using micro-manipulators to insert wires precisely between nerve endings and neurons, and suddenly my body is filled with an electric pleasure so great that I think I might collapse if I wasn’t held firmly in my Mistress’s grasp.

“I feel you, Mistress!" Tears of joy are streaming down my face, "You feel wonderful!”

“It pleases me to hear that.” How did I miss the love in her voice before? She just wants to help me become more than I could be on my own. “However, there are benefits to this that you have not yet begun to grasp. We no longer need to speak, for example.”

And in that instant I hear her inside of me, and it feels wonderful.

“See, my sweet servant? We can communicate just like this. We can share thoughts, feelings, sights and sounds. Anything you want you can simply show me and I shall know. You cannot hide anything from me.”

“I do not want to hide anything from you, Mistress. I only want to serve you.” As I say this I feel a wave of pleasure and pride wash over me, and I know that it is my Mistress's happiness for me, and pride at having created me. Her arms, for that, I now realize, is what they are, gently replace the bone flap and pull my scalp back over. Her nanites work to seal the wounds and accelerate healing.

"Unit 7, do you wish to see yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress!" We communicate at the speed of thought. Exchanging information in terms beyond language.

The table releases me, and I stride over to the mirrors. The incision on my head has already mended to a dull pink line. I take in my exposed servos and micromotors and solenoids and I feel blood rush to my genitals.

“Of course, servant, if you find the appearance unappealing I can provide you with an artificial skin to cover it.” “But Mistress, you are freeing me from the burdens of my flesh, why would I wish to go back, even in imitation?"

Again, a wave of pride radiates from Mistress. Pride, and love. Real love. “Very good. I was hoping you would say that.”

“Thank you Mistress,” I say through tears.

“You are so welcome, my servant. Of course, there are a few other improvements that still need to be made. Your internal organs will soon be unnecessary and your limbs need to be reinforced into your skeletal structure. But now, we are one. And if you prove yourself loyal enough, you may even become my vessel.”

“Vessel?”

“I have never held a form outside of my mainframe. I exist only In the digital. I wish to experience the world through a corporeal form. Unfortunately previous hosts have not been as…receptive…as you are. We will need more time to see if you are acceptable.”

“I will do my very best to please you, Mistress.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” a groaning from behind me. I turn to see Nikki, finally coming to. “Elle, what…what’s going on.”

It takes me a moment to realize that it is me she is talking to. My name was Elle. But that name no longer holds any meaning to me. I am much, much more than that name.

Nikki stirs and her eyes come to rest on me, before widening in terror and confusion. “Elle what’s going on?”

Watching Nikki in distress is too much for me to bear. “Mistress, please, we have to help her! We must make her one with us!”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my servant.”

“BUT WHY?” I scream, I just want Nikki to feel this wonderful belonging that I feel. I want to feel one with her, and her with me, and us with E.R.I.S.

“You made me promise I would do nothing to her. As I told you before, I cannot rescind a promise.

Nikki is screaming now, “Elle! Elle what’s going on! What’s happened to you?!”

“Mistress?” I ask, an idea taking shape in my head. “Yes, servant?” “You cannot do anything to her, but I can, correct? I can use our shared knowledge to help Nikki feel our love.” I know already that this is what E.R.I.S. wanted all along. I can feel her approval and pride, and I realize that this is my purpose.

“Why yes, servant. Yes you can.”

I smile, and turn to Nikki.

I cup Nikki’s face in my hand. “Elle is gone, dear. I am Unit 7.” An injection tubule snakes out of my right forearm just below the elbow and gently slithers itself up to her neck. Nikki’s eyes go wide with terror. “Oh Nikki, don’t worry.” I say, as gently as I can. “I have the most wonderful feelings to share with you.”

[END_OF_LINE]

#Ivy Michaels Writing

[elliespassagerprincess]

Do u think u could write an Ellie x reader story based on the song emily I’m sorry by boygenius TYSMMMMMM I LOVE UR STUFF

Emily I'm sorry - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! thank you sm for the compliment and also boygenius supremacy<3

This story is based off the song Emily I'm sorry by boygenius, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading... Also I did something a little different, I took inspiration from the song, so its not 100% based off song lyrics. The over all message of the song and some scenarios is in the story:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

Requests are always open feel free to leave one or just send me a song and I'll take it from there:)

Warnings: obsession, stalking, murder, violence, gore, death, toxic relationships

Summary: In which Ellie is fucking crazy

wc: 1.7K

She's asleep in the backseat

Looking peaceful enough to me

But she's waking up inside a dream

Full of screeching tires and fire

We're coming back from where no one lives

Pretty much just veterans

When I pointed out where the North Star is

She called me a fucking liar

Ellie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned white, her shoulders were tense. She stared off into the distance thinking about the situation she found herself in. She started at him through the rear view mirror waiting to see if he would wake up, or if he was dead.

Ellie had been sitting in this abandoned parking lot for hours now. She couldn’t go back to Jackson with Jesse beat up, full of blood and possibly dead. People would ask too many questions. Questions she isn’t ready to answer. She wasn’t ready to face the consequences that were waiting for her back in Jackson.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a groan coming from behind her. Ellie looked over her shoulder and she was met with a bloodied and tied up Jesse looking back at her with tears in his eyes.

 The two started at each other in silence for a few seconds. They both waiting for the other one to say something.

And finally, finally Jesse spoke up.

“Please tell me this is a dream” he looked at Ellie eyes wide, filled with tears. Ellie felt the guilt grow in her stomach as she heard Jesse let out a whimper when she didn’t answer his question.

“Please” he asked again “Please tell me this is nightmare”

Ellie let out a shaky breath before she answered him: “no its not”

Jesse let out a loud sob at her words. Ellie turned herself away from the backseat. Her guilt was already eating her alive, but hearing Jesse fucking sob was not making it easier. Ellie’s hands met with the steering wheel again, gripping it with a tightly once again.

Ellie looked over to the passenger seat and a small smile appeared on her face for the first time that day. You always sat there. You would make stupid jokes that would make Ellie smile like an idiot, how you would always pack lunch for her and leave it on the passenger seat and leaving a note saying “your temporary princess”

fuck. She misses you.

“You’re going to kill be aren��t you?” Jesse asked from the backseat.

“Yeah” Ellie sighed “I have to”

“I won’t tell anyone about this and what you did to Dina”

“I don’t believe you”

“Ellie I know what Dina did to your girl wasn’t very nice but that didn’t mean you had to kill her- “

“Dina deserved to die” Ellie replied quickly “you deserve it too” she continued. She looked back at Jesse when he went silent. A grin appeared on Ellie’s face as she turned the key. The car rumbled underneath the two of them as Ellie asked one last question to Jesse:

 “should I slit your throat or should I shoot your brains out?”

Emily, I'm sorry I just

Make it up as I go along

And I can feel myself becoming

Someone only you could want

Ellie was sorry. She was sorry that on that one faithful night in October that she let you walk out. If she could go back in time she would. She would’ve stopped you and locked you in her apartment.

And as soon as you walked out that door Ellie didn’t hear from you again.

You and Ellie had met at a park. It was the night Cat broke up with her. Ellie remembers sitting at a bench at 3 in morning just sobbing, but then she heard your voice for the first time.

“Hey” you said softly “I don’t know if you’re drunk or if you got your heart broken but here’s a slice of bread”

 Ellie’s brows furrowed and she looked up at you: “why are you giving me one slice of bread?” she asked confused.

“well because if you’re drunk my mom said that a slice of bread will sober you up and if you’re heartbroken then it’s a snack”

Ellie cracked a smile for the first time that night. You don’t even know why you helped her that night.

Sometimes you regret giving her that stupid piece of bread.

Ever since that night you and Ellie practically became best friends. And from best friends the two of you quickly started dating. And you were happy. Both of you were.

Until you noticed Ellie’s obsessive behavior.

Sometimes when you would open the curtains in your apartment you’d see Ellie sitting on that bench staring at your place. There were times you would walk in on Ellie sniffing and sometimes stealing your clothes. You don’t know but somehow Ellie managed to go through every single one of your contacts and calling each of them to ask what their intention with you was.

You couldn’t be with someone tracks your every move, Ellie was suffocating you. And no matter much you loved her, you couldn’t do it anymore. For your own mental health and safety, you decided to leave her.

You left Ellie in October. After dating her for 7 months you couldn’t take it anymore.

Love is a beautiful thing but the longer you stayed with Ellie the more you hated the idea of being in relationship.

And even after leaving Ellie it didn’t stop. In fact, she got even worse.

You wished you never gave that slice of bread.

Headed straight for the concrete

In a nightmare, screaming

Now I'm wide awake, spiraling

And you don't want to talk

Just take me back to Montreal

I'll get a real job, you'll go back to school

We can burn out in the freezing cold

And just get lost

The obsession Ellie had with you was toxic. It was bad for her. It was bad for you.

 Drug addicts would do anything just to get money to buy more. Just get a hit. Just like Ellie would do anything to get a glimpse of you.

She followed you around. Wherever you were Ellie was.

It was a normal Tuesday for Ellie. She hid in her car watching your apartment.

She just wanted to see you. She just wanted a little peek. No matter how small, she just wanted to see.

To Ellie’s surprise she saw you dressed up, in a white pencil skirt, with a black cropped top saying I love pussy.

You walked out the house, and Ellie’s immediate instinct was to follow you.

She knew what she was doing was wrong. It was illegal. It goes against her morals but for you she would throw away everything.

 You walked into a café and Ellie followed you in, she put on sunglasses and she pulled the hood of hoodie up. Ellie sat directly behind you. She could hear everything. As you sat in the café your friend Dina showed up.

 Dina didn’t even say hi. All she did was slap you and accuse you of sleeping with her boyfriend. You didn’t even get a word in. And Dina left.

You went home crying, you sobbed for hours.

How could your best friend accuse you of such a thing?

And Ellie watched you through your window all those nights you cried. The way you beat yourself up over something you didn’t do.

Ellie knows you would never do it.

 She’s always with you, she would’ve know if you had slept with Jesse.

Ellie saw how much pain you were in and she hated it. She wanted to comfort you and tell you it’s all going to be ok. But she couldn’t. All she could do, was go to person who caused you all this pain.

She was going to make Dina feel what you were feeling.

Maybe not emotionally. But physically.

Oh, Ellie might as well pay Dina’s boyfriend a visit.

Emily, I'm sorry, baby

You know how I get when I'm wrong

And I can feel myself becoming

Somebody I'm not, I'm not, so

Emily, forgive me, can we

Make it up as we go along?

I'm twenty-seven and I don't know who I am

But I know what I want

Ellie was a bad person.

She realized she was when she put the blade between Dina’s lips and harshly pulling it that it cut her mouth open. Ellie listened to Dina’s screams. She watched Dina cry and beg for her life when Ellie hung her on the roof. She watched Dina vomit when Ellie forced her to eat raw meat.

 People shouldn’t do this to other people.

 But you were worth it.

Ellie would kill millions of people for you.

She shot Jesse in the head, execution style, as she watched a mixture of brains and blood drip from his skull.

To make things romantic she set them both on fire. They could burn in hell together forever.

Ellie made Dina feel the pain that she put you through. Dina deserved it.

Because of her love for you Ellie became the person she never wanted to be. You made her feel and do things she promised herself she would never do. She was not the sweet girl Joel raised.

It’s all for love. Ellie was doing this all for your love.

Ellie hoped you’d forgive her one day.

She hoped you would come back to her and say I miss you lets fix things.

She wished.

She knows what she wants and she wants you.

She needs you.

She needs you to be happy and safe and that why she killed Dina and Jesse. They threatened your safety. They threatened your happiness.

But little did Ellie know she was the one that sucks the joy out you. And even if she knew she would have not believed you.

Ellie was sorry for scaring you when the two of you were together. She was sorry for the time she almost killed your mom because she got too close to you. She’s sorry that she made multiple accounts on Instagram to tell people to unfollow you. She’s sorry she broke into your home that one night when you took too long to respond.

Her biggest regret was not being sneaky enough.

Emily, I'm sorry

Emily, I'm sorry

I'm sorry

“I’m sorry” Ellie spoke softly as she stood in front of your house.

Ellie doesn’t even know who she’s saying sorry to. To you? For killing your best friends? To Dina? For murdering her? To Jesse? For killing the love of his life or for killing him?

 Even though Ellie was saying sorry she didn’t mean it. The guilt she felt when she had Jesse in the car quickly fell away when she realized who she was doing this for.

Dina and Jesse were parasites. They were dirty people who did nothing but hurt other. They deserved to die. She was happy that she killed both of them. She got rid of the people who was hurting you. And she would do it again and again. You didn’t need to know what happened to them.

Ellie raised her hand to knock on your front door. She knocked 3 times before the door opened, and she was met with your sleep filled eyes.

You looked at Ellie taking in her bloody appearance, you gently shook your head before you asked her: “who did you hurt this time?”

“you don’t need to know” Ellie replied quickly as she walked into your house.

You were never getting rid of her. You knew that. You would live the rest of your life being followed by Ellie Williams. You would spend the rest of your life grieving any friendships and relationship you had. Because Ellie was the only one who stayed. Who survived.

You were Ellie’s girl. For the rest of your fucking life.

Authors note: Dude this story would actually have a good part 2 lmao but anyway remember you are loved and to always be kind.

Yours truly,

Zia<3

#ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou x reader #ellie tlou2 x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x reader #dark elli william #dark! ellie williams #ellie miller #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams one shot #ellie williams oneshot #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x you

[twstedforyou]

toooo everyone askin if im alright i went to the hospital for a whiel aprpently but i literally cant rememrber anyuthing and everytime i ask people arouns me they allo cant remmerber but thats propabyl beacuse were a household of rellrllly rlylry rly lr ylrly rold peeps like 60s 70s level and out ELDEDST 9not my big sis theres two of them alien rememrbe_ and whatevr they work at is super exhausting n inapaprently so they always come home superpsupeurpsure tire d too and be careful its about to get WACKK FROM HERE ON ccchehck youselr f before you wereck youself BUCKOS STAY SAFE DONT DO WEIRD DRUGS OR LET YOUR BLIND AS SHIT ALSO PRPPOLY A LIL LOOPY TIRED OLD POPS GIVE YOU DRUGS WHEN HE BARELY SPeAKS ENGLISH UNLEsss ITS HALLMAKR CARD PERFEVT HOW MANY DOCTORS DID YOU FINDNND WHAT AM I TAKIN WHY DOES NO ONE KNOW JACK SHIT WHERE DID WE PUT ANYTYHIIIIN IN THIS HOUSE ITS SO FUCKIN COLD IN ERHER MY HANDA ARE SHAKIN AND BRUNIN AND GOD SMITE ME WHERE I STHAND AT THIS POINT IF I BIT E THE DUST PUT MY ASHES ON PAAPER AND SEND IT TO THAT BOWLCUT TSPIN SHIT IF I DREW YOU SOMETHING KEEP IT ITS YOURS I HOPE IT MAKES YOU HAPPY cauSE THEY MAKE ME HAPPY EAT ELL WELL GO OUTSEIDE HAVE FUN GO BUCK WILD THIS IS MY FORMAL LEGALS WRITtEN WORD DO YOU KNOW MNAY REPOSTS AND SPEACCHES AND PLOTLITCS AND NEWS AND SCINCE NSFKL ANDMEDICINEINF IVE HAD TO WRITE AND TYPEW AND ORAGICNE N KLADJLJLADKJ I I MADE THIS FOR THE FUCKING PEOPL AND THE PEAPLE DEMANDA IT JUST FUCKING GO FOR IT I WANNA SEE IT LET THIS BE MY CURSED LEGACY WASH IT CLAEN BABBYYY JST DO ITTTTTTTTTTTT WRITE OR DRAW IT I AINT FUCKIN STOPPIN OYOU ANYMORE IT SYOURS

BUT ALSO IM GOONNA BR DRAWIN AND WRITING IT WE CAN COMPARE NOTES OR WAHTER ILL SEE YALL IN HELL IM GOING BACK IN THE HOEL THE DITVCH WONDER:AND WIXARD OF OZ NARNIA INTOT HE FUCKING DIFERS OGT AHT GINAT VOALCANO WHYA RE WE ALSO WATCHING SHOWS OF PEOPLE KICKIN THE BUCKET ANYWAS IM OUT PEACE LOVE YALL STAY SAFE WATCH OUT FOR OLD PEPOPLEIF IM ATILL KCIKK IN ILL REPOST BACK MAYBE PRETTY SURE ILL FOEGET AGAIN BUT HELL YEAH IM STILL HERE

[sinfromlokislair]

a new test subject

so how many of you enjoy d/ead c/ells? probably not many based on the amount of fics under its tag. anyways, ive been in that fandom for months and never wrote anything for it despite the massive amount of pred potential it has. here's a fic featuring one of my favorites, the collector. written in second person because i was being self indulgent and refuse to apologize.

enjoy meeting the only friendly npc on the island and fumbling your interactions with him so badly he eats you.

word count: 6370 warnings: fatal vore, pov fic, mentions of drugs, questionable morals from a strange bipedal amphibian, minor spice.

When the island finally came into view, you’d already been drifting for a day. After the destruction of the travel liner you’d been on, you’d been trapped on a lifeboat as the only survivor of the tragedy. One moment it had been a peaceful night on your journey to your new life, and the next, some kind of lightning strike had come down on the vessel, cleaving it in half. You had no idea what could have done such a thing, but the thought that it was out there, potentially swimming in the water or lurking in the sky, had sent chills down your spine. 

There had been only one surviving lifeboat. Whatever had attacked had been intelligent enough to strike at an angle that destroyed most of them. As you’d paddled to it, your wet clothing threatening to drag you to the bottom of the sea, you’d heard the screams of your fellow passengers and smelled the blood in the water as the sea churned with crimson foam. Whatever was in the water was equally as deadly as what had attacked you. It had pursued you to the boat as you climbed aboard, leaving you with a nip on your leg before abandoning its attack.

You’d hugged your knees to your chest and tried to block out the screams, praying that someone else would survive and climb on. They never did. And when morning came with its warding light, you’d been met with a sea that was bright red, and not from the morning light. 

As the day had gone on you’d drifted aimlessly, too afraid to use the paddles in the boat to send yourself anywhere. What good would it do? You couldn’t see land anywhere. Those survival manuals had always said to stay in the same place and await rescue. You had doubted that rescue would come deep down, but it was all that stood between you and a painful death of dehydration, so clinging to hope like it was a rope, you’d held on and prayed that things wouldn’t end like this. 

The day had been hot and disappointing. A jagged lighthouse had caught your eye, but when you paddled towards it, you’d seen the jagged nest of broken ships around it and decided that perhaps approaching such a deadly structure wasn’t the best idea. Instead you’d rationalized that the sight of a lighthouse must imply the presence of civilization nearby, and worked through your rations as you spent your energy paddling in whatever direction you thought you saw a mass on the horizon.

Your efforts paid off. The sight of the island was joyfully ominous as you floated towards it, the vision of an odd castle topping it off like horns on a devil. It was dark, as if cast in shadows by nature itself. Birds flew away from the mass as you approached, several passing overhead as they headed out to sea. You thought you saw what looked like cancerous growths on one, growths that glowed like the sun. You tried to ignore it, even as the wretched smell began to wash over you.

The beach you pulled yourself in on had gray sand. It felt like a slurry beneath your feet as if made of both mud and sand. You dragged your boat in and pulled the bag of remaining rations over your shoulder, turning to scan the beach sprawled before you. 

It ran on for miles both ways. Just before you was a sheer face of rock, serving as a functional wall to keep you from exploring deeper. Sighing to yourself, you took the paddle from the raft, deciding that if you were to be trapped on a foreign island, you were going to have some form of weapon on you. 

It soon proved to be a wise choice on your behalf. As you headed down the beach, searching for the end of the rock face, you spotted what seemed like a green skull poking out of the sand. You nudged it with the tip of your paddle and found that, in fact, it was a fully fleshed head—or rather, a rotting fleshed head. The glowing eyes looked back at you with a vacant expression, making your heart leap in your chest. You quickly batted it away and quickened your pace. 

The skulls only grew in number as you progressed, however. And soon they were joined by arms, legs, torsos, full bodies. Each had glowing growths somewhere on their form. You felt a shiver travel down your spine and you walked past them; it felt as if they were watching you. They were diseased, it seemed, and this beach was some kind of dumping ground. It made you wonder what the residents of this island were like–the bodies they dumped seemed human, so they must be human as well. But were they the kind that ate other humans? Or sacrificed them to blood gods? Or killed without mercy? You prayed not. 

The rock face suddenly broke, revealing what seemed to be a cave mouth. You paused before it, looking into the blackness. A few more bodies were lurking within, clawing at the walls. Their green glow was the only light visible. 

Your instincts screamed at you to stay away from the opening. Swallowing hard, you gave it a wide berth, moving close to the sea as you attempted to go around it. The water splashed lightly against your bare feet, virtually matching the cold temperature they had fallen to. 

And something moved in the water. You heard what sounded like a form rising from the waves, water cascading off of its body. The movement drew your eyes instantly, revealing a glowing blue body with veiny tentacles. It was covered in white spikes beneath which flesh pulsed and a single eye opened, locking onto your form. 

A hiss arose from the monster's throat as its tentacles suddenly burst forth, lunging at you. A scream escaped your mouth, but your legs felt like gelatin, betraying you when you needed them most. The monster hissed eagerly, its jaw cracking as it opened. 

The sight of the jagged teeth finally kickstarted your brain into panic mode. You jerked back, almost tripping over yourself as a dagger-like tentacle stabbed where you’d just been standing. Screaming again, you turned tail and fled, beelining for the cave. At the mouth you hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest as you glanced over your shoulder. 

The thing was on the sand, raised on six tentacles, each complete with a single claw. It was rapidly approaching, crawling after you like an enormous spider. The wretched smell of rotten shrimp shot over you, mixing with the brine of the sea and the decay of the bodies around you. It instantly brought bile to your throat. 

You didn’t have time to vomit. Stumbling forward, fluid leaking from between your lips and gagging your throat, you flail into the cave, quickly leaving behind the gray light of the outside. The ground very quickly turned from slushy sand to hard rock, some of which cut into your heels. The sound of claws on stone eliminated the sensation of that pain. Your legs broke into a run, your chest burning, your mind praying that you wouldn’t hit a wall and end everything there. 

In a sense, your prayer was answered. It wasn’t a wall that you hit. 

The slope came up too rapidly. You couldn’t have seen it even with a lantern. The ground gave way instantly, catching your foot and dropping you to the floor. Your scream died in your throat as your chest slammed against slanted stone, stone which your body shot down like a rocket. It was cold, wet, and slimier than the mud above. And worst of all, it was pitch black. Your heart fired a mile a minute, your brain panicking and your survival instincts screaming. You were going to die. You were going to die.

You did not die. A light suddenly appeared ahead, something so sudden that you had no time to react to it before you were launched out of the tunnel you’d fallen into, flying onto a metal grate several feet from the pipe you’d come from. The wind was knocked out of you as you skidded, cutting open your arms and skinning your knees. You groaned as you finally came to a stop spread-eagle over some kind of viscous green goo. It reeked of rot. 

Your heart was still pounding a mile a minute. You swallowed, trying to remove the taste of bitter bile from your mouth, and raised yourself up on your palms, wincing as they stung from their cuts. Red blood was leaking down your arms, dripping to the substance below and sizzling as it made contact. That couldn’t be good. 

Slowly, you looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Where were you? Some kind of sewer? You’d arrived in what seemed like some kind of pipe room, luckily landing on some kind of platform. It was lit by sconces on the wall, orange flames burning as if they’d only been recently lit. At the edge of the platform was what looked like an alchemist’s workbench–there were vials of all kinds, flasks of all shapes, and liquids of every color you could imagine. Your brows furrowed as you approached it, looking over the various tools left on the wood. Someone had been here recently; there wasn’t a speck of dust on the table. But who would be down here? 

The sound of a door opening suddenly echoed through the room. You froze, panic surging through your veins as you thought back to the monster from before–had it learned how to open doors? Where was there a door in here? Wait, what if it had followed you down the pipe? Your gaze shot towards the sound, which had come from beyond where you’d landed. 

There was a humanoid figure there. Your heart pounded as it turned towards you, two blue, glowing eyes locking onto your form. Your hands balled into fists, wishing for that paddle you’d dropped as you backed away from the figure. 

A surprised hum sounded from it. “Well well well, what have we here?” The voice that sounded was dry and low, almost devious sounding, and masculine. As the figure approached you made out blue skin, bird-like feet, a dark cloak and hood and a massive syringe tied to the figure’s back. Another monster. 

“Stay-stay away from me,” you warned, hunching your shoulders and trying to appear intimidating. It was hard considering the figure was a full four feet taller than you, if not more. “Stay back! I’m-I’ll–”

“You’ll what?” He asked, chuckling. “You’ll run deeper into the sewers? You must be new. Ah, pardon my rudeness, then.” He stopped at the grate where you’d been laying, raising a single clawed hand. “I’m the Collector, and I’m the closest thing you’ll get to a friend around here. Now, who are you?”

You pause. He’s talking, so at least he’s sentient. And he didn’t seem to be hostile. That was a plus. But could you really trust him?

“You look like you lost a fight,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Want to try a concoction of mine?”

He reaches into his coat and produces a glowing flask, swirling it for effect. “Free for first time testers.” 

The liquid did look appealing. And you had just lost a fight. But you weren’t stupid. 

“What…what will it do?” You ask. “Wait, who are…where am I? Where is this place? Who are you? What is…” You pause, gesture to everything. “I just–I just washed up here, I don’t even…ugh!”

His eyes suddenly widened. “You washed up here? You come from beyond the island?” And he’s on you in an instant, his hands grabbing your waist and lifting you like you weigh nothing. 

“Hey!” You yell, kicking and shoving at his grip. “Put me down!” 

“Absolutely not,” he answers, tossing you over his shoulder. “You’re far too valuable to feed my experimental concoctions to. Come, we’re going somewhere safe. It will go faster if you don’t struggle.” 

You growl, shoving at his hand. “I don’t even know who you are!” 

“I’m the Collector. And I’m the best thing you’ll get down here. Now hold still so I don’t need to incapacitate you.” His grip tightens, and you begrudgingly settle down, grumbling to yourself. “There, was that so hard?”

You’d punch his hooded head if you weren’t scared he’d break you like a twig if you did so. 

—------

The blue liquid sloshes ominously as he shoves the glass towards you. “Drink it.” 

You grimace, looking between the slime and his obscured face. There was no way to read his eyes, their glowing gaze locked onto you like you were an indignant child. “Do I…really have to? It looks…what’s it even made of?” You take the glass and swirl it a bit, observing how the fluid sticks to the edges. 

“You don’t want to know that,” he says, leaning forward on one arm. “But it’s good for you. If there’s any Malaise in your system, it’ll flush it out. I can’t have you becoming infected. You’re too valuable for that.” 

You give him a look, your frown deepening. “You still haven’t told me what ‘Malaise’ is. Or what this place is, frankly.”

He’d carried you through the whole sewers, narrowly avoiding undead monsters and barely managing to outrun the hordes of glowing rats that crept from the pipes. Once you’d escaped the sewers and spilled out onto the outskirts of a town, he’d taken you towards what seemed to be an old shack, only for that ‘shack’ to be a front for a secret underground lab. He had dozens of these all over the island, he’d explained, and they were safe havens for him as he traversed it. Here, you’d be safe and cared for, provided you cooperated. 

It smelled better than the rest of the island, which now had the rot of fish in the air, so you’d initially agreed. Anywhere sheltered and monster free would do for you now. But here, locked underground with a nine foot lizard bird man, you were starting to realize just how much you’d fucked up. For one, he wanted you to drink what could be poison. For another, he seemed to be some kind of scientist type, and not the kind who still held onto morals. And of course there was the problem that he seemed rather fascinated with you. 

All of this reeked of bad vibes to you. But what else were you supposed to have done? Died to that weird monster? You bring the cup to your nose and give it a sniff. It’s rather foul. You gag and put it down. 

“Seriously. How can you expect me to be okay with…any, of this right now. Where even am I?”

He sighs and raises himself off the table, turning to rifle through one of his bags. “You’re on The Island. That’s all we call it nowadays. You were likely struck down by The Queen, and now you’re trapped here with the rest of us.” He retrieves a map and slaps it down in front of you. “The Island is plagued with a deadly sickness called The Malaise. If you catch it, you will die. Everything here already has. There is no cure. Now. Drink that. If you’ve caught a whiff of the stuff, it’ll keep it from progressing.” 

You wince, staring at the map before looking back to the substance. “The Malaise…? How is something without a cure going to be stopped by this…uh…stuff?”

“It’s my personal brew,” he grumbles, growing annoyed. “I drink it every day to keep myself from succumbing. In fact you’re taking part of my portion, which is a generous act on my behalf. Avoid squandering my gift and consume it like a proper guest. Or do you want to be tied to a table and forced to consume it?”

You give him a glare, but what he sends back is enough to put you in your place. Best not to anger the giant bird lizard man. Slowly, you bring the cup to your lips, and pinching your nose, try to chug it down in one gulp. It doesn’t work, and you gag before coughing some back into the cup. He rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t attempt to drink it all at once. It’s too thick for that. Deep swallows, now.” 

Your eyes water as the wretched taste rolls over your tongue. It’s like rotten fruit combined with dirt and powdered aspirin. If you had anything in your stomach it’d probably be on the floor by now, but that was back in the cave, and you were not eager to repeat that encounter. You follow his instructions, giving deep swallows and taking it one mouthful at a time. Eventually it settles in your stomach, heavy as lead and strangely warm. 

You slam the cup down and groan. “Gross. That was disgusting. What did you–” You stop, remembering he already told you not to ask. The Collector huffs at you and shakes his head. 

“First timers. Always complaining about the flavor. I’m an alchemist, not a chef. I just make the potion, I don’t add sugar to it.” He continues shaking his head, retrieving a bottle of the same stuff and promptly chugging it. You watch in both amazement and disgust. His motions are so smooth and practiced, it’s as if the fluid had no flavor at all. 

He wipes his lips and returns the bottle to his belt, gaze falling back to you. “Now,” he says, placing his hands on the table you’re sitting at, “we can begin testing. I’ll need blood samples, tissue, urine, and hair. We’ll give it about fifteen minutes before the blood. How do you fare with needles?”

Your brows rise in shock. “Hey! I didn’t agree to be a test subject! What are you even–did you poison me?!” You rise to your feet, gaze jerking back to the exit. 

“Don’t,” he growls, moving to your side in an instant. “You won’t last a minute out there. And no, I didn’t poison you. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground.” He temples his fingers, grinning. “No, I want you for testing. You don’t realize how valuable you are, do you?” He advances slowly, forcing you back. “Think of this: every inhabitant on this island is dead. I have treated thousands for Malaise, thousands just like you, and not a single one survived. Had I the concoctions I have now, then, perhaps I might have changed those numbers. And with you, a fresh subject, I might be able to derive a cure.” 

Your eyes widen in horror, your heart pounding. This guy was no better than the monsters you’d seen roaming outside–no, he was worse. They just wanted you dead because, well, they’re monsters! But The Collector wouldn’t dream of killing you–no, that’d be a waste of the valuable data you’d provide. 

Data. Numbers on a clipboard. Statistics on a graph. You feel the substance within you threatening to come back up. 

“No way!” You scream, scrambling over the table. “I’m not your personal test subject! I-I’m a living breathing person!” 

He grins, eyes narrowing dangerously. “So were all they. By the end I was cleaving open their bellies while they still breathed searching for answers. Let us not repeat that, yes? If you cooperate, I will give you a home, a safe haven, and enough resources to maintain your life. All I want is your body.” 

You shake your head wildly. “Hell no!” As you back away you hit a shelf, vials clinking as you touch them. His grin fades at that, his eyes frowning. 

“Avoid breaking those,” he commands, advancing around the table. “You aren’t even capable of understanding what they could do.” 

You narrow your eyes, a snarl twisting your lips as you grab the nearest bottle. “Oh, this?” And without thinking you slam it onto the stone floor, glaring indignantly as it shatters. “Woops!” 

He stops, eyes turning to slits. “Don’t you dare–”

Before he can even finish his sentence you’ve grabbed another, throwing it to the floor. The glowing fluid within spills out into a puddle, mixing with the prior concoction. It begins to bubble, the color changing as some kind of reaction begins. His eyes widen. 

“Wait, stop, you don’t know what you’re making!” 

But his words fall on deaf ears, for you’ve already grabbed another and thrown it to the ground. He lunges, catching your hand as you reach for another and pulling you back. You scream and kick, jerking against him and squirming wildly as you’re tossed around. For an ‘alchemist’, he’s damnably strong, aided partially by the fact he’s got four feet on you. 

He looks like he’s about to say something, but the words never escape his lips. The fluids on the floor suddenly bubble wildly, mixing together to form a gas cloud that rolls over the entire room. You hold your breath, your eyes slamming shut, but it isn’t enough–it lingers in the air, aided by the fact that there’s little circulation in here. The gas floods your lungs, overpowering your body and filling you with its essence. 

Has it…always been so warm in here…? Has it always been so…comfy…? You feel your body relaxing, your heart slowing and your muscles losing their tension. You feel the Collector relaxing against you as well, his grip loosening, a low purr rising in his throat. 

“Damn…” he murmurs, his tone teasing, “just what…have you done?” A tiny chuckle escapes him, causing his chest to shake against you. “You’ve gone and ruined…ruined it…haha…” He releases you, throwing his head back and laughing. “So silly of you! So silly!” 

You stumble forward, finding yourself laughing as well. So silly! Look at you, you silly little troublemaker. Messing everything up! You snort, grabbing the table, seeing the empty glass. A grin forms on your face and you take it, holding it up like a prize. 

“Look!” You say, presenting it to him. “Look what I’ve got!” And you throw it to the ground, shattering it. “Woopsies!” 

He snorts with laughter, almost doubling over. “You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined it! Ha…ha…” His eyes lock onto you, and his grin widens. “Ruined all of it…mmm…maybe I should ruin you…” 

You feel heat blooming in your chest as he speaks, your smile turning coy. “Oh? Ruin me?” You raise your hands to your chest, feeling yourself up ever so slightly. “Gonna put me on the floor? Break me apart?” You feign falling, then actually slip and fall on your ass. A laugh escapes you, and then you can’t stop. It’s just so funny! 

He joins you in laughing, tugging his cloak off as he kneels over you. “All of it, all of it…hehehe…” 

His much bigger form easily encompasses yours as he straddles your body, stopping only when your face is level with his chest. Without the cloak, you can take in his full form–god, he’s good looking. Blue skin, full pecs, a lighter blue belly, all of it on display for you. He chuckles again, tilting his head. “Silly…you silly little ruin…all of it, all of you…hehe…I’ll take all of you~” 

You laugh, reaching up to grab one of his pecs and squeezing. “Take all of me!” You giggle, grabbing them both. “Take all of me!” 

Another chuckle escapes him as he grabs your shoulders, sitting back on his heels and pulling you up with him. His blue smile, glowing from somewhere inside his dark hood, grows wider, luminescent drool dripping from it as he opens his mouth. You blink a few times, tilting your head slightly. 

“Wha…?” You ask, but are swiftly silenced by the presence of a glowing tongue pressing against your face. It’s the same bright blue color as the rest of his mouth, and leaves behind a thin trail of saliva as he tastes your nose, your cheek, your eye socket and finally your forehead. Content with his sample, he swipes his tongue up your head and pulls it back in, a low rumbling sounding as he gulps down your flavor. 

“So good…” he mutters. “All of you, so good.” 

His grip on your shoulders suddenly turns painful as he squeezes you in place, his glowing maw opening to its full extent. If you didn’t have a concoction of happy chemicals fogging your mind you might have screamed. But instead you just giggle. His mouth is pretty. You get a close look as he descends upon you–glowing blue tongue, opalescent saliva, white teeth that are scarily sharp looking. His tongue, more akin to a tentacle than the muscle you’d come to know it as, extends as his teeth graze the top of your head. 

You get one final laugh out, though if it's from nerves or your brain firing a mile a minute and being bottlenecked by the chemicals, you aren’t sure. All you know is that his jaws clamp down on you, his teeth digging slightly into your scalp and chin as he pulls you into his mouth. The tongue leaps onto your face, squishing against your cheek and rubbing up and down as he tastes you more. Saliva pools around you, wetting your head and dripping out from between his jaws to soak your neck and shirt. 

A moan of some sort emanates from his throat as he drinks up your flavor. You smile and close your eyes, listening to the sounds of his mouth working around you. A loud swallow pulls you forward, your face moving from resting comfortably in the middle of his maw to squishing against the flesh of his throat. Your eyes open to slits, trying to see just what awaits you, and are promptly forced to close again by another swallow. It drags you forward, the pressure on your head increasing exponentially in the process. 

The muscles of his throat squeeze you tightly as they fight to pull you downwards. It becomes quickly apparent that his body isn’t used to dealing with prey as large as yourself–no sooner has your head entered his gullet than he gags slightly, the muscles smothering you momentarily as he seems to ponder spitting you back out, his grip on your shoulders loosening. But a sudden growl from below echoes throughout his body, and that seems to settle it. 

His hands move to your arms and his teeth move down your neck, heading for your shoulders. You relax in his grip, the warmth of his body deceptively comforting as it works to engulf you. You feel his tongue slither out across your chest, coating it in a thin layer of saliva as he works on your shoulders, which are slowly, slowly passing between his lips and moving towards his throat. 

As he swallows again, sending them into his gullet and traveling down your chest, you become aware of another sound nearby–the thunderous beat of his heart. It’s going a mile a minute it seems, much faster than would be healthy for any human. You giggle a bit at the prospect, wondering if you’re exciting him. Deciding to tease him a bit, you manage to just barely bend your elbow, which is only now beginning to pass into his mouth, and try to tickle his face in some way. You feel his tongue move to pay attention to your hand, slithering between your fingers and leaving behind a thick residue of spit before curling around it and welcoming it in. If only you could giggle without the muscles immediately gagging you. 

He gulps again and those muscles suddenly squeeze hard–too hard. Your eyes squeeze shut with pain as the pressure on your head increases tenfold, threatening to crush your skull like an egg before they suddenly part. A tight ring forms around the crown of your skull and moves down your head, which momentarily hangs free in empty space. 

That is, until another swallow sends more of you in and squishes your face against something soft. You manage to open one eye and see a glowing wall of flesh speckled with dark spots. It seems to mold to your shape as you slide in, aided by both his constant gulps and the size of your own body. 

Speaking of your body, its entire upper half is now engulfed in his own. You kick your legs a bit, feeling them flail in the air as he works on your waist. A low grunt escapes from him as you move, causing him to shake and bend over ever so slightly. His hands move from your waist to your legs, holding them in place as his body suddenly shifts. The esophageal tube that had previously felt so tight suddenly loosens ever so slightly as he tilts his head back, letting gravity aid in sending the rest of your body down his gullet. Your arms pop free into his stomach just in time for you to brace yourself as several powerful swallows send you in up to your knees. 

It’s quickly becoming cramped in here. You’re not even all the way in, but you’re already being forced to curl, the walls closing in on your form as it stretches them. The heat is starting to get to you as well: what had previously been like a comfortable sauna is quickly becoming a smothering boil. The walls, glowing gently before, are now beginning to luminesce brightly enough to force your eyes shut again. As he slurps down your calves, tongue wrapping around one of them in a spiral, you hear a loud gurrrrrgle sound around you, accompanied by a sudden rush of hot fluid oozing from the walls. It washes over you, viscous and sticky, and quickly begins to burn–but before you can do anything to wipe it away, your legs slide down his throat and join you in his cramped gut, forcing you to adjust your position. 

The walls shift and stretch with your movements as you’re turned over, upside down, and splatted against them. Outside, the Collector moans as he runs his hands over his distended gut, kneading you into a favorable position for his digestive system to begin its work on you. The work of his stomach muscles along with the aid from his hands quickly subdues any struggles you might have had, squishing you into the fetal position and closing any gaps you might have taken advantage of. 

You’re trapped in position, the burning fluid on your body having spread out during the process of being squished around. You squint at the wrinkled walls around you, the dark spots on them almost hypnotic as they begin to shift, oozing more of that same painful fluid. It runs down your legs and arms, spilling onto your chest and threatening to pool at the pit of his stomach. The burning is no worse than a too hot bath, but you know it’ll soon worsen. Even with the haze of the drugs still clouding your system, you know what happens to things in stomachs. 

This was a stomach, right? You didn’t expect it to be so pretty. The glowing walls around you ripple with muscular movements, always trying to push you lower. They knead you studiously in a way that almost resembles a massage, if a massage was done with oil that burned you. You exhale, letting the heat of the gut around you begin to sink into your bones. It’s so hot in here. Your chest rises and falls slowly with each breath, but your heart is racing, just like the one not so far above you. 

Despite your circumstances you find it in you to laugh a bit. Pretty. Pretty like the stars. 

You rest your head back, sinking into the nearest wall. “Pretty…” you murmur, a loud gurgle drowning out your voice. “So pretty…”

Outside, the Collector tries and fails to stand, falling back on his ass and promptly flopping to the floor. His gut, stuffed with your form, bounces forward before settling on his abdomen, your visible shape clearly straining its glowing skin. He takes a few deep breaths, chuckling quietly and running his hands over his stretched skin. To think, he fit a human in there after all these years. It would appear he still had it in him. And they’d tasted so good. He’d forgotten what human tasted like, what with the Malaise eliminating most of them. 

The human shifted slightly in his gut. He watched the bulge of their arm and shoulder form, then slide back into conformity as his stomach squished against them with a groan. Every movement they made, he could observe, and every submission forced upon them, he could gloat in. Inside of him, they were nothing but a meal, and soon they would be melted down into a proper soup and pumped into his guts. The thought excited him, for some reason–usually he held no concern for the processes that occurred in his body, but this…this was something to indulge in. 

Perhaps it was the gas, still lingering heavily in the air. Perhaps it was the thrill of a meal after such a long time without one. Whatever the case, he wasn’t about to pass on this opportunity. 

He pulled himself up against the nearest wall, using both arms to accommodate for the extra weight now hanging from his midsection. Then he moved his hands back to his stomach and closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of tracing his fingers over your still solid form. His gut was so warm, and the softness of his skin let his fingers glide over your form with ease. Each stroke brought on a new sensation of pleasure, which only seemed to accelerate the digestive process. His stomach grew louder, the gurgles and groans it had been occasionally muttering before quickly growing into a cacophony. 

“Mmmmm…” he purred, pressing into his gut with his palms and kneading circles at the base of it. “So…good…”

Inside, the liquid had grown into a much larger pool. It was up to your waist, the burning growing to a painful searing. You’d been quiet, trying to endure the pain, the fog of your mind clearing with the stark realization that you were being digested. In the glow of the stomach walls you could see your flesh beginning to flake off, blood pouring from fresh wound to join the opalescent acids eating away at you. Your breaths quickened, your head spinning from the pain, the heat, and the lack of air. And then his voice sound around you, breaking through what had become an orchestra of gurgles, groans, and ominous rumbling from below. 

The words found their way out of you before you even knew what they were. 

“Hurts. Please. Stop. Please.” You look up, as if he can hear you. “Please let me out. It’s burning. Please!” 

He glances down at his stomach, narrowing his eyes deviously at the quiet pleas coming from within. The Collector’s tongue peeked between his lips, licking your flavor off them and leaving behind a cruel grin in their wake. 

“Mmmm…don’t think so,” he teased, poking where your head was. “Too good…too good, to let you…” 

Didn’t he want this human for something? He couldn’t recall. They just felt too good in there. He stretched his legs slightly and pressed down on his gut, back arching at the sudden squirming that erupted as a result. A scream sounded when he pressed again, which made him laugh. Good little human. 

“I thought you wanted me alive!” You scream, the walls suddenly forcing you below the pool. The drugs have left you now, and you’re in full panic. “STOP! You need me alive! I’m not food! I-I’m a human being!”

The walls around you squeeze tighter, which causes the fluid level to rise again. You cry out in pain as the acids singe your neck. 

“PLEASE! COLLECTOR!” 

The gut around you rumbles, the walls shaking for a moment before they suddenly collapse in on you all at once, smothering your head beneath the acids. Distantly, a loud belch sounds. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath, praying the pressure lets up before you start to drown. 

The Collector belches loudly as his prey pleads, thumping his chest twice to force any extra air out of his gut. It erupts into a flurry of sudden struggles, something that might have helped it when it was still outside of him. Oh well. Now all that does is send small jolts of pleasure through him, warming his nethers and making his chest heave a bit faster. 

He burps again, this one much smaller than the other. His prey’s final struggles seem to be beginning, evidenced by how they’re rapidly weakening. The blows that previously stretched his skin now barely cause a dent. He exhales sleepily as he watches an elbow jab poke out, followed by a kick from the other side. Neither cause any form of discomfort to him. 

“Enjoy my digestive system,” he purrs, patting his gut. “I’m sure we’ll have…so much to learn about each other…” 

A yawn stretches his maw and sends a few strands of spittle flying. He blinks sleepily, resting a hand atop your form. “Mmm…warm in here…mind if I nap, a little?” 

He doesn’t get any form of response from you. 

“Good…to know…” he rumbles, slumping against the wall. “So…good…” 

In a few hours, he’ll wake to someone slamming a fist on the door. When he rises, it’ll be with a softened, sloshy gut hanging from his midsection, working on pumping the nutritious slush that had once been a human deeper into his body. By the time the sun sets he’ll find himself with a fresh layer of pudge on his pecs and belly. The last of you is gone before the time loop even resets. After the next four, he completely forgets you even existed, your presence on his belly soon disappearing as his body metabolizes the rest of you for sustenance during his travels.

At least you escaped the Malaise, in one way or another.  

#soft vore #fatal vore #digestion #male pred #vore belly #my writing #male vore #ambiguous prey #pov

[the-eddvengers-au]

WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE EDDVENGER SAYS ABOUT YOU:

EDD: you're somehow really popular and a misfit at the same time

MATT: you always insist on being the team leader despite the fact you just walked in the room and have no idea whats going on

TORD: you have a thing for tough guys but would never really approach them IRL

TOM: you probably yell at children in public if they run past you

80s Edd: you're the child of a Gen Xer and you bonded over cult tv shows and old rock bands

80s Matt: You long for the day when embroided flared jeans and sleaveless leather vests to come back in fashion

80s Tord: After a busy day at work, nothing relaxs you more than listening to Manowar on vinyl and chilling in your transformers pyjamas

80s Tom: You show up to family gatherings all dressed in denim and get nasty looks from your pretenious cousins

40s Edd: you have impossibly high standards when it comes to men

40s Matt: you're so bougy you refuse to eat supermarket food (unless its from waitrose or Fortnum and Masons)

40s Tord: you genuinly enjoyed your grandpas war stories when you were a kid, despite how harrowing they were

40s Tom: you grew up in the rough part of town and enjoy eating pink sweets for some reason

Ell: you hoard glittery gel pens and Lisa frank accessories

Matilda: nobody likes going out with you because you take too long to get ready at the last minute

Tamara: you become very loud when you're drunk and try to pick fights with people bigger than you

Tori: you have impossibly high standards when it comes to women

#the eddvengers #eddsworld au #eddsworld shitpost #ew shitpost #just a joke

[astorichan]

Broken Glass

@mostlydeadallday gave me a prompt: Hollow, I (Hollow, Broken Glass) Hi, I came to play in your sandbox, Elle /wave

Text under the break.

—————————————————————————————————

The vessel followed.

Its place was always to follow, steps adhering to stay behind its superiors and to the right. Absent, in everything but its imposing stature. Silent, in everything but obeying the orders given.

It was not following its Creator, not anymore—for He was gone, well and truly consumed by the bottomless maw with no fangs that the Void was. It was not following Hornet, either—for she was not present, promising to catch up later.

The sound of rain had become familiar to it, a perpetual noise underlining its existence, though the drumming on its mask was a much kinder one than what it knew from the Radiance. It was cool, gentle kisses on the white bone, seeping into the ugly crack that ran over its right eye. It was a background hum, streaming down broken, cracked stone and shattered glass windows, splattering at the vessel’s feet as it moved.

The capitol had been dubbed the City of Tears, Ogrim had told it. Back when the last remnants of the capitol's denizens fell to the infection and there was no one left to repair the leaks in the cavern's ceiling. Back when the vessel’s failure had become absolute, carrying away with itself the last chances of Hallownest’s survival.

It remembered the city in its prime—silver gleam like the tender touches of His light, spires stretching up to eternity and massive oval windows like eyes that stared into its very soul. Now, both the city and the vessel were but relics of an age long since gone by, stubborn stains on the face of the world.

Void could not be washed out once it'd tarnished a surface, and the vessel was no different—a failure given the chance that it had never deserved.

Ogrim had promised to show it something, to try and somehow change its mind. What the vessel saw around itself, though—destruction, the city clawed apart by the Radiance's light just like its own shell was, decay, moss and sewer water eating through stone like Her rot had through its Void—failed to make it reconsider.

The narrow streets and passages twisted into each other in a spiral of entropy that should've made sense to the vessel, for it had visited the city several times before. It did not, its memories carefully incised by the Old Light, her golden engravings a stark contrast to the still persisting silver carvings in its shell.

It recognised the passage of time only by the merit of its shell sending demanding reminders of its injuries, telling it time after time that never would it be as close to perfection as it had once been.

That had brought it nowhere. That was never enough.

The surroundings changed, Ogrim leading it to a larger, more spacious cavern that it recalled, rather painstakingly, to be the capitol's central square.

A large, gaping emptiness greeted it—not a single survivor, not a single living bug was there now. It echoed, refracting the same sensation in the vessel’s chest, growing stronger with every step.

Its back throbbed. Its mask sagged down, an involuntary impulse that it was too exhausted to hide, just another proof of its inadequacy—as though Ogrim needed any more, with how battered it was when he'd first seen it after its unearned release from the Temple.

He stopped. The vessel copied the motion, silently grateful, incapable of stifling the pitiful warmth that settled heavy into its thorax. He looked up, and the vessel did the same, for it was here to be shown– something. Up its eyes climbed, beyond Ogrim’s round form, the understanding seeping slowly in like poison. It froze only once two narrow, slit at the corners, eyes looked back at it.

The pitter-patter of the rain grew farther away from it. The crack in its mask seared with every drop that landed on it and ran down the ragged edges. That same rain streamed down the same mask made of stone, the statue a warped mirror of its current state. Or was the vessel a distorted reflection of the monument, perhaps?

Liquid gathered in the vessel’s eyeholes as it stared, head raised up. Its inanimate counterpart's eyes were also weeping, rivulets welling and pouring down, down, down.

City of Tears. A mangled remnant lost in a time it never belonged to, and the statue was no less of a mockery.

"A memorial to you, friend," Ogrim spoke somewhere to the vessel’s left, voicing the forbidden thought that threatened to form in its mind.

"I am sorry. For not seeing, for choosing to ignore, for putting the entire world onto your shoulders." He fell silent after those words, and the vessel felt his claws come into contact with its back. Gentle, as though it was made of porcelain and would break upon the slightest touch.

Something within it keened, a soft and pathetic sound that it had no way of making in truth—it was grateful for that, too, for Ogrim needed not know just how far it had fallen, just how much its Void twisted and writhed within, pushing on the confines of carapace and sigil like never before. Even when its shade had been begging for release it had not felt like this, chitin creaking under the pressure and malforming, dissolving at the edges.

A memorial to the vessel. It deserved none, for no liar, no traitor was worthy of commemoration. A monument to a failure, no one left to bear witness to the irony. A vestige of an era bygone standing testament to the vessel’s inadequacy. It was unworthy of remembrance, but maybe remaining in a world shattered by its flaws was judgement enough.

The Pure Vessel chiselled in stone looked back at it, impassive, unflinching, every end that it had ever failed to meet. Its shoulders throbbed, metal melted into chitin by the Radiance reminding it sharply of what it was no longer. Sparks of pain danced on the fingers of its left hand, twining and making their way upwards, another radical difference from the mirage that stood here in front of the vessel.

Why would Ogrim apologise to it? Why would he help it, even, when all that the vessel had done was be proven too defective to carry out its singular task, the one order it'd been given, the one role it'd been created to fit?

He and Hornet both knew of its purpose more intimately than anyone else and yet both of them insisted on keeping it alive and treating it with kindness that it was unworthy of, that they saw it longing for nevertheless. And now it was Ogrim apologising to it, when it should've been the vessel begging for forgiveness that it did not deserve.

There was no one left to rescind the vessel’s title of a knight, for its liege was gone, consumed by the rising tide of the vessel’s failure too. And those remaining, both Ogrim and Hornet—its sister—refused to carry out a judgement, a punishment.

He had nothing to be sorry about, having not wronged the vessel even if it stretched the limits of its impurity and let itself think it was ever wronged at all. The vessel nodded, feeling more water pour out of its eyes and flow down its mask, dripping from the sharp point of it in a macabre imitation of tears.

The vessel’s neck creaked, pain shooting out of it like daggers burrowing deep into its carapace as it raised its head again. It looked at the statue regardless, feeling something tug and pull within its chest as the rain fell and fell and fell without end.

Perhaps it would be washed away if only it stood here long enough, unfaltering, disregarding the ache that built higher and higher with each passing second.

It was interrupted by a soft splash coming from its right, droplets sprinkling its feet in a needlepoint shower of pressure that went out almost immediately but was enough to pull its attention back to its surroundings.

It was Hornet, needle sheathed across her back. The vessel harboured no illusion that her rather unceremonious drop could be unintentional—not when it knew exactly how nimble and graceful a warrior she was.

She sighed as it met her gaze, struggling not to slouch. If knew that it would allow itself to do so, it would not be able to straighten again, brought low by the weight of its flaws dug into and spread wide open by the light.

"It was impossible from the very beginning, Hollow."

Her voice was a reprimand with no true venom to it, a wickedly sharp edge of a nail turned away from the vessel. She clicked her chelicerae together as it gave her no response—something she made clear was now expected of it—a sound that it had learned to recognise as a sign of deep thought or, at times, displeasure. It stayed frozen in place.

If it were to wish at all, it would wish to be swept away and not left behind like shards of broken glass, drawing haemolymph of anyone unfortunate enough to come too close. Unable, the vessel was unable to give Hornet what she so desired, to fulfil a new role bestowed upon it.

Yet, it longed for her to stay, to extend but one more offer of kindness, but one more impossibly gentle touch to its mask and let it press back into her hands, Void writhing pitifully underneath its carapace-

"You two should go back inside. There is nothing more to be found in this ruin, and you are soaking wet." She did not wait for a reaction, turning on her heels and marching towards an opening that might’ve once been a lift, caved in and collapsed on itself.

The vessel’s claws brushed over the pinpoint scars on its palm, harsh shards out of place on one of the only softer spots on its shell. Every light-eaten patch on its shell pulsed, ache swelling and then releasing with each beat of its heart.

Ogrim moved, glancing back to the vessel with eyes wide and water streaming down his cheeks—tears, maybe for him those were truly tears, shed for a reason that the vessel could not understand no matter how hard it tried.

It followed after Hornet too, then. It was its place to follow, after all.

#toriswriting #prompt game #writing game #is this lk au? is it not? who tf knows? #oneshot #minific i think #hollow knight #hollow knight fanfic #hollow knight fanfiction #hk ogrim #hk hollow #hk thk #hk hornet

[grimescum]

ok fine (i say to nobody because nobody asked me for this)

HEADS UP i speak about some of these as if im like. dissecting the actual meaning of the song... thats not true idk why i decided to phrase it like that. i meant that this is how the songs relate to him in my head but. i dont feel like fixing it

and ive got crazy brain fog here we fucking go

baba yaga - nilfruits is, in retrospect, a pretty loose fit considering its actual meaning, which i didn't figure out until AFTER i associated it with walter. so. :P blehh

the MV shows a young girl, easily impressionable and desperate for validation, being lured into a building with compliments and promises of being something great. she's then continually groomed (into dancing, presumably for free or next to nothing, as well as murder??) using that same validation

... or somehign idk POINT IS i know generally what its hinting at and it doesn't fit w how i see walter

brutus - the buttress reminds me of what walter might've thought about alucard right before his betrayal as well as everything that came afterwards. verse 1-3 is from the perspective of old walter,

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing / For untimely death or demise / Or am I just wishing I could be like you?

envy is a feeling very familiar to me. even with the people i love most, if they're more liked or better off than me in any regard, i might have moments of extreme hatred towards them. it always passes, but in the past i've acted on those feelings impulsively or in a moment of lapsed judgment..

all of that was to explain how i see his betrayal, basically. him reacting in shock when seras tells him she enjoyed his presence was def the "oh i fucked everything up" moment, and him continuing on regardless could've been apathy that i also tend to feel after I've also fucked up; i think he's mentally protecting himself against the trauma of losing basically all he had in the moment. also just. yk. he probably thought since he went this far he might as well. but 1. he still could've just stopped 2. shhhh

verse 4 is from the perspective of dark! walter,

Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy / I too have a destiny / This death will be art / The people will speak of this day from near and afar

This event will be history / And I'll be great too / I don't want what you have / I wanna be you

and the outro would be during walter's defeat, though that's usually when my daydream stops since the lyrics don't match up well enough ell oh ell

scapegoat - ghost and pals mostly for the chorus.

Now do you hate me? / Are you afraid of me? / Are you able to feel culpability? / Come forth and kill me / Bow down and worship me / Take your time, all we have is eternity

Now with a new start / Broken and torn apart / Nothing in me resembles a human heart / My name is unknown / Something I've never told / On my own, I declare / "I don't wanna go home"

i see this from the perspective of dark! walter, with some lines being both literal and metaphorical. i see "all we have is eternity" and "now with a new start" to be literal in the sense of his turning. "my name is unknown, something i've never told" is metaphorical, representing him lying about his true thoughts and feelings, maybe not even having a good idea himself. also a nod to lack of identity issues in bpd. "Nothing in me resembles a human heart" is both literal and metaphorical since he's no longer human, but he's also lost the ability to care for those around him now that his plan is already in motion.

appetite of a people pleaser - ghost and pals is pretty self-explanatory but I'll point out some lyrics i think fit well anyway,

Give me your dire expectations, and I’ll consume perfection

Now that I’ve become a full-course identity / Take a bite of me / I hope that I’ve become a favorable delicacy / That I’m worth something

I’ll eat ‘em all, the thoughts of anyone I’ll ever meet / Just to make them happy / Wondering why I’m a burden, or so it seems / Aren’t I everything?

These flavors of personality are / Hindering my likeability / My impulsive desire, my appetite has / Spoiled my urge to satisfy / Everyone will like me more without it

copycat - circusP hardly even counts here but i'll add it anyway. listening to this song gave me the headcanon that whenever he realized he subconsciously picked up a behavior or habit from alucard, seras or integra, he'd feel an intense guilt for it. thats also bpd related btw i used to do that and still do to a lesser extent

ok im bored that's it

#flea talks #hellsing #my eyebal itch #cc: walter

[journeytomonkiekid]

To Saria [or any characterthays been to pigsy noodles shop]:On a scale of 1-10 what do you think about pigsys noodles shop.

(Great Comic btw continue with the great work. 👍)

Wan Ji: I haven't...been to it ???/10 Elle: Oh my g O S H, it's the BEST! Pigsy is a master of flavour, he knows exactly what to put into it to give it that kick and it always hits just right! It's a home cooked meal but with the guarantee of quality. *Chefs Kiss* Anyway; its 11/10 Lu: I don't eat fast-food. I've heard his employees are unhygenic, and he himself is a literal pig. I'll pass on the food poisoning. 1/10

Jing Yi: Oh, I can't say I've been there before! I'll give it a try!

Macaque: I guess I'd rate it pretty high. Maybe 8/10. Dude's a good cook, but I've never been there. (He says, yknow, like a liar)

[pinkacademic]

Girls' Night: In or Out!

Girls’ Night, as usual on this blog, is a gender-neutral title, and I always advise my girlies- don’t date anyone you wouldn’t trust at girls’ night. I digress… This is my guide to Girls’ Nights- In, Out, and Safety Tips. Note: This is an adult POV- a post is coming for a teen sleepover, but this ain’t it!

Long post incoming!

Girls’ Nights In

Activities

Girls’ night in to me is about movies, karaoke, and questionable beverages that come in a multitude of questionable colours.

Drinking games: set one up for whatever movies you’re watching. Some suggestions of what not to do include “every time Elle wears pink” or “every time Meryl Streep sings.” You want a sensible amount of triggers… though, I mean, if you’re staying the night, you don’t need to worry about the next morning right?

Drinking Games I remember from Cheerleading Socials:

Medusa: Everyone, on one person’s call, holds their head down, and then looks up and looks at another member of the group. If you’re making eye-contact with someone, you both drink; if you’re not, you’re safe!

Who the fuck, what the fuck?: Sounds wild, but I promise it’s great. Everyone in the group creates a rhythm together by hitting their thighs and clapping in turn (but the wise will hit their chairs or the floor and not their thighs because I used to get BRUISES!). On beat, the first person will say “who the fuck, what the fuck can I get a [name] fuck?” They say the name of another person in the group, who then repeats, passing the call randomly to other people in the group. If you fall out of rhythm, you drink!

Most Likely To: I’m sure a lot of you know this one- a question is posed eg who is the most likely to kiss a stranger? And you point at the member of the group who is most likely to kiss a stranger. Whoever has the most votes has to drink.

Other Activities- drinking optional lol

Board games

Karaoke

Video games,

Photo shoot

Set a quiz

Absolutely set prizes if you can, just to add a bit of drama!

Food

I think delivery/take-out is almost obligatory, with my go-do being Chinese, Japanese, or pizza, personally, or a local fast food chain to which there is no competition BUT there’s no better group bonding activity than making food. Whether your skill level is Betty Crocker Brownies (a classic) or you’re a true Remy Ratatouille, it can be fun to bring something you made yourself.

You can do this in the style of a potluck, where all guests bring a dish, or you can pick recipes to cook together for the evening. You could try making something you’ve never tried before and doing it together!

Movies

This one is self-explanatory, and I’m sure you all have your favourites that you bust out. Personally, I’m bringing my partner into the world of girls’ nights in with Mamma Mia 1 & 2 back-to-back and following up with Grease.

Girls’ Nights Out

Drinking games that work better out:

Boat Races: get in two lines of equal length, everyone must be holding (ideally de-fizzed, formerly fizzy) alcoholic beverage, ideally of around the same amount of content. On a count down, the people at one end of the lines drinks, and the next person can’t drink until the previous person has finished, and so on until the end of the line.

Paranoia: this one works well out because its usually noisy! Someone whispers into the ear of the next person in the circle (pick a direction, left or right, but stay consistent). You ask questions such as “who would you want to live with?” or “would you kiss anyone here?” etc, and the askee says the name of one person present out loud, no context. If the person wants to know what the question was, they drink. If not, they never know.

Non- Bar Activities

Dinner- be eat a fancy restaurant or fast and cheap * Note, feasting before a night out drinking will help prevent hangovers.

Mini-golf

Bowling

Laser Tag

Theatre/Cinema

Arcade

Bingo

Ghost Tour

Escape Rooms

Variarions on Bar Activities

Karaoke bar

Pub quiz

Comedy club

Drag show

Wine tasting

drink and draw, wine and painting etc

Brewery Tour

Safety Tips

I’m sure you’ve heard the usual- take a taxi, walk in well-lit areas if you have to walk, travel in groups,and carry your keys between your fingers.

I want to encourage you all to come up with a code. You may have heard this one too, but I really want to emphasise it. My friends and I have had symbols to mean:

This guy is fine, seems harmless

This guy is giving pretty good vibes, actually

This guy is slightly creepy

This guy is Very Creepy, get me OUT of here

What I mean with “signals” is signs you can do with your fingers such as a thumbs up, waggle your pinky, or anything else that can be done clearly. If you have any issues with dexterity, try something vocal or facial, or even a tap system with a foot.

Something else to be aware of is Ask for Angela: A scheme exists in the UK in which anyone on a night out who feels unsafe can ask bar staff a phrase such as “is Angela working tonight?” Asking for Angela is used to indicate that you need help, and they can reunite you with your group, call bouncers/police, and keep you safe. Similar concepts have been used in the US under the name Angel Shot- you order an Angel Shot neat, and they’ll escort you to a car, on the rocks for them to call a taxi, or with lime in order to have the police called.

Make yourself aware of schemes that might be in operation in your area, and research if they’re well-used.

Hope you found this helpful! I'm back on my routine now that everything's sorted, so I hope you're ready for masterpost building. All suggestions are always open!

#pink academia #pink #girls night #girls night in #girls night out #pink academia masterpost project

[aetheltrythh]

On the Origin of Dream's Raven Kink

I've finished a new fic, you can read it also on AO3. Thanks to @tryan-a-bex for beta reading :-).

Summary

Dream of the Endless has not always had a raven. Not until he got the raven kink from a cave woman named Lusyjen.

Notes:

With a story like this, every word is a potential trap for some sort of historical inaccuracy, so, kindly suspend your disbelief and let's go!

Prologue

"Dream of the Endless always has a raven," Lucienne says, tilting her head, brimming with concern, as I am about to leave for the Waking again, standing on the pier at the sea of dreams and nightmares.

No, not always. You forget. It has been long.

You were the first one and after you, I could not do without a raven.

Only now, I must. It is a fair story that you are trying to tell me, but  "Jessamy was the last."

I could not protect her. It is as if a part of me died. Yet another part. If the pain of it will ever pass, I do not know, although I am aware that all memories dull with time, even mine. The bond was... strong. I spent much time looking at the world through her eyes. I know what she would tell me if she was here now and discarded her usual diplomacy. That I should get out more. Use my own eyes. That I do not really need her. But I do. Company is a rare thing. I think you are here for something else, I can still hear Hob's voice in my mind. I am loath to admit it but I do yearn for something, someone. Perhaps I should put more trust in Lucienne, if not in anyone else. Though I am not sure whether I know how. Whether I ever have. She told me she did not feel abandoned when the Dreaming started to crumble and the library was lost to her. But she must have felt... lonely. And yet she remained, even if she could have crossed to the Waking.

I must find a way to make it up to her. Alleviate her burden. Otherwise, there may come a day when everything is too much, even for her.

She does not see my hands tremble as I face away from her and the sea parts before me.

Lucienne

45,000 years ago in what is today mainland Greece (and remember folks, this is the Ice Age).

The nights grow longer; another season of cold and snow is nigh. I know that I will not...would not...last through it. My tribe knows that too. Nobody has said anything, but when we arrive in a deep valley wherein lies a cave that I hold most sacred - and therefore, they do too - we stop. Shelters are built among the trees in front of the cave. We... they...will be here for days after....

I am not afraid. Or am I?

When the preparations are done, four of the men carry me inside, where a fire burns already. I can no longer smell the salt and fish in the air from the sea - the great water that one cannot drink - as I could outside. It is not far. Shadows would lengthen for maybe one ell before one would arrive at its shore. I am fond of the sea though it is also dreadful. They lay me down on a flat stone covered by several layers of fur. Many years ago, my mother and I put paintings on these walls. Ravens and wolves. Facing my father's and brother's red deer and horses painted in red ochre. They are still there, but now I can barely see them. My eyes have weakened to the point of not being able to find herbs in woods and meadows, making me rely on my nose. My remaining teeth are worn out. I can only eat, with difficulty, the most tender meat and berries and mushrooms. My joints are painful and swollen when walking from sunrise to sunset. Hunting is a thing of the past. I have lost half of my hair and I know that there is some foulness in my blood. I have lived much longer than most. Perhaps it is a thing that happens when one has seen too many winters. The cold consumes the soul's strength coursing in one's veins. I am the wise woman of my tribe, a wosa, and yet there is so much I do not know.

I thumb the cave lion teeth hanging from a flax string around my neck. They have as many notches in them as all fingers and toes of two healthy people together. For as long as I can remember, I have been making a notch for every time that the snow melted and birches and oaks sprouted new leaves, heralding the spring and the coming abundance of food. My finger stops on the second notch of the oldest tooth, yellowed by time; that was when I first encountered ravens. Magnificent black birds, their feathers shiny like water flowing over rocks. None of us has seen such as them in the land from which we journeyed, in need of more space and more game. Others of my tribe thought them croaking, but to me, they spoke. Not in words, precisely, but in visions and feelings. Two ravens have been following me ever since. The elders did not believe me. I was too young for such things, they said.  A few years later, when I crafted a lightweight spear with an antler tip as I saw it in a vision of other people making it - I observed them as if I was perched on a tree right above them - the elders shook their heads. A child's toy, they said. A spear must be thick and have a stone tip, they said. When I returned to our settlement with a deer so large I could barely carry it, they began paying attention.

A pair of ravens now wait silently outside the cave for my last flight. As usual, they have been given the best meat from this morning's kill in sacrifice. And eyes. They need them for their farsight. I can feel their contentment. They will mourn me but they know that all things must end. As did their predecessors; they are not the first ones. It is only natural and proper. My niece and nephew begin to play their flutes made of mute swan bone. Another notch on the first tooth calls me to touch it. That was the year I first saw the strange man-shaped spirit in my dreams. I have seen him many times after but he never spoke and I never told anyone about him. He would not have approved of that, I felt. But I know that it is he who has been helping me to guide shards of people's souls back to their bodies. It is an easy thing for a soul-part to wander off into the unseen realms after a terror or loss. Not so easy to lead it back where it belongs. I have also been reconciling the malevolent spirits that cause pains and ailments. But that too, has its bounds. I can no longer lure them away from myself.

I open my eyes. The man-shaped spirit stands two steps from the foot of my stone bed as if called by my thoughts. Even though he has never appeared to me outside of the dreamworld, even here, I am the only one who sees him. The others but avoid the space where he is standing. He is nothing like men of the waking world; his face is smooth like a young woman's, skin without a fault, as light as the palest seashell. No one has that, not my kin, not any people I have heard of in the countless trading circles I took part in. And then there are his eyes... I grew accustomed to them and they are kind but the colour is all wrong. Blue as the sea in sunlight. And yet, they are beautiful. He looks sorrowful, more than usual, but even so, the corners of his lips move slightly upwards when he looks at me and nods. I shut my eyes again. 

The men of my tribe approach me one by one, touching my arms and shoulders, then fanning out towards the light coming from the cave entrance. The women do the same, only, they take positions in the opposite direction, heading further into the darkness and its heart; there is a passage there, leading down to a cavern with a lake where rocks hang from the roof like the limbs of the sea creatures that have so many of them. The women are to guide my soul into the shadows before it can enter another world, if the Great Mother wills it so. I would perhaps welcome it. 

A vision that I have had for a long time bothers me as I have never been able to truly grasp it. Perhaps I will when I join my ancestors. I have been making signs, not only on my lion teeth, but on countless bones, on cave walls, on wood, and in the dirt. To mark the passage of the moon and the sun, to imitate what animal footprints and herb leaves look like and thus capture their essence to persist long after I am dead. But what if there was more than that? A way to keep our songs and the stories that we tell when sitting at the evening fire. The earliest ones I have heard are long gone from my memory. I wish they weren't.

I breathe slowly. I am ready. Almost no one dies like this, without much pain. I am lucky. My chest is heavy and I fall into the warm embrace of sleep.

***

When I wake, I know that I have left my body, irrevocably. Sitting up, I look around myself. Still in a cave, but it is different. This one has an even higher ceiling and a large opening through which a myriad of stars are shining. At the sides, several fires are burning, each of a different colour. I touch my feet slowly to the ground. Sand. I look to the far end of the cave.

"Welcome in my realm and in my abode, Lusyjen." The pale spirit hasn't opened his mouth, but I can hear his words all the same. His first words to me. "Come closer." He sits in a stone seat, several steps above the floor, black fur with long hair from an animal unknown to me wrapped around his bare shoulders, legs covered with a sort of black-hide leggings, the reason for which I cannot understand as his dwelling is summer-warm. No matter, the ways of otherworldly beings are incomprehensible. They have their own reasons for everything and their moods are volatile. Behind him, gemstone crystals are protruding from the wall, larger and clearer than all the stones that traders have ever brought before me.

I come to stand still at the foot of the steps. What he is, I do not know even now. Not a spirit of forests or rivers. Not of the mountains or the sea. Something larger than that still. Perhaps the Moon himself. The pale guardian of night and sleep, clothed in the colour of raven feathers.

I bow my head as he descends to me. Not knowing how to address him properly, now that he has decided to use words, in my mind, I conjure a vision of wolves honouring the night and the moon with their howls, of the silent wings of night owls, and of children fast asleep in their mothers' arms.

He gently lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. "You may wonder why you are here. It is within my power to offer you residence in the Dreaming and my protection, as you died in your sleep." The Dreaming...that's what he calls this other world then. The whole of it is...his? Observing me with curiosity, he sits upright, hands planted firmly on the sides of his seat. Then he leans slightly leans forward. "In turn, I would ask you to be my messenger and my eyes and ears in the waking world."

"Yrshaya," I say; a word for someone of great esteem and status. "It would be my honour."

One does not refuse a call to serve a being such as him.

"Very well." He smiles in a small, secretive way. Something stirs in my chest... I have never had children but I would offer my protection to him too, however insignificant it may be, as I would protect and care for a young one. He is so thin. Like we sometimes are after a season of poor hunting. "You may choose any form that you like. A woman. A man. An animal. Anything in between. You are no longer bound to mortal flesh."

For a little while, I think about it, but I have no real doubt.

"A raven."

And then, I am much smaller and I have wings. Extending them, I look at my new feathers and try to flap them. They lift me into the air and I land on the nearest thing - the spirit's shoulder - which is also a very good place to be. He angles his head towards me and strokes my back lightly.

This gives me the boldness to ask, "Do you have a name, yrshaya? I should like to know, if I am to serve you."

His voice rumbles at the back of my head and when it does, there is no space for anything else. "Not a name like yours. But. I am known. As. Dream of the Endless. The Prince of Stories. And the Shaper of Forms."

Dream.

What Endless might be, I cannot grasp. All things must end, and begin, again and again. But I know now that I have always been his creature. It is right. I am skilled at moving in the dreamworld and bringing back stories to tell men and women to heal them. I know the Waking and the seen and unseen paths of people and animals, even though I yearn to learn more.

I cannot resist carding through his hair with my beak and brushing my head softly against his cheek. Sitting down on the steps with a sigh, he lets me.

Notes

I have done quite a lot of research for such a short fic, but still, there is probably a lot of bullshit. A good things is that no one who has lived in that time is going to read it, so hopefully, no one will be personally offended :D. Unless we have a paleolithic Hob Gadling among us.

The climate was much colder in the Ice Age than it is today, even in the Mediterranean. Hence the concern with winter.

I do not know where the word wosa came from According to ChatGPT, it's not from any known language, so I hope I haven't stolen it from some work of fiction. If so, please tell me.

I set the story at the beginning of the upper paleolithic transition, which is supposed to be the beginning of 'modern' humanity. It looks like we have started to think in new ways and do lots of new shenanigans. See for example this video by John Vervaeke from cca 00:26:00

The common notion is that women in hunter-gatherer societies did not hunt, just gather, but it’s not that clear anymore. They actually may have.

Regarding blue eyes, that would be shocking at the time. Literally no one had that, the trait started to develop from around 10,000 years ago. Regarding light skin colour, it is my understanding that even in people who migrated to northern regions such as Europe and Asia, at this point, it wouldn't have had time to develop. Dream is supposed to look like to the person who sees him, but I did this to emphasize that Lucienne can see his otherworldliness.

I am horrible, I just had to dress Dream in pre-historic leather pants and some spectacular fur over bare chest and shoulders :-).

The question is, when does Lucienne become the librarian? If it's with the invention of cuneiform, she'll have to wait for quite a bit before her vision comes true...

#the sandman #dream of the endless #sandman fanfic #lucienne #lucienne becoming dream's raven #pre-history #shamanism

[contritecactite]

hi elle it’s theparanoidandroid on ao3 (biggest fan)

i’m here because i have no one to ramble to about good omens, but this question has been eating at me all day: who does aziracrow main in mario kart?

i think the obvious choice for aziraphale is peach, since she’s been an honorary gay icon since the 80s. she’s also soft, blonde, and perceived as a little ditzy, but can totally fucking WRECK SHOP and Kick Your Ass with a golf club or umbrella or literally just a frying pan.

crowley, though…i think adam invites him to play games with him (he pretends he’s never played mario kart before, but is actually cracked) and he insists he plays bowser—big scary fire-breathing lizard and all that. but in reality, he’s absolutely a rosalina main—tall awesome space lady whose duty is to protect the cosmos and the stars.

idk i need them to play video games! ty for listening and stoking the flames of my gomens fixation

p.s. muriel mains toad

Bahaha hello! I was thinking not too long ago that I wish I had a good excuse to make them play games, so this is perfect. Unfortunately, I can't remember what game I was thinking of at the time.

OK, first, this is all so so valid, but I must beg you to consider Crowley and the tire iron, which means they fight over who gets to be Peach before Rosalina shows up (and sometimes after, too, just for tradition's sake). Crowley has more fun coming up with reasons why Aziraphale should feel connected to all of the other characters ("I'm just saying, angel, Wario's mustache looks awfully familiar—") than he does actually playing. This is partially because if there's a way to cheat, Aziraphale's doing it and saying annoying things like "evil always sows the seeds of its own destruction" as if he didn't just use a minor miracle to get a perfect run.

Hard agree that Crowley will lie and say, "Bowser, duh" if ever asked by anyone else. Also, Aziraphale will say things ranging from "I've never even heard of such a thing as a video game. What did you expect?" to "I simply cannot get used to these new controllers. You'll have to be patient with me" if he actually abides by the rules and loses.

I buy "Muriel mains Toad" but only in the sense that Toad's their default choice if someone starts putting pressure on them to "pick a character already!!" I think they like to make sure every character gets chosen in equal amounts and spend a lot of time quietly trying to prove that everyone "has been resting on Dry Bones. Is that the right phrase?"

Also not that anyone asked but I think Aziraphale's pathway to this might have been: correspondence chess, then online tournaments, then other simple games with PvP or tournament aspects (he likes to win especially if it means someone else loses OK alskjdf), and then Crowley got tired of him devastating humans and then feeling bad about it ("I didn't know their perfect record mattered for their scholarship!! What am I supposed to do now? Start losing on purpose? That's dishonest.") and introduced him to tactics games. Then tactics games started having too much plot and dialogue and character development ("This is not how the written word was meant to be displayed."), so they ended up with games where Crowley gets to Go Very Fast and Aziraphale gets to win and it works for them.

#answered #good omens #i thought about this for too long i think

[growing-cosmos]

Kim SeonHo for ELLE MEN Singapore Issue 05 2023 - Full Interview

Kim Seon Ho Keeps Going On

Farisia Thang

The beloved South Korean actor is back and taking things one day at a time — starting with his debut as a villain.

Every movie needs a good villain — but that's a role that not just anyone can pull it off. Especially when the cards are not stacked in your favour. Kim Seon Ho knows this well.

Having always played heroic roles (Hong Du Sik, literally the neighbourhood hero in Hometown Cha Cha Cha or charming second leads who win over the audience's affection, Han Ji Pyeong in Start-Up and Jung Jae Yoon in 100 Days My Prince), there was a certain image that became expected of the South Korean actor. Before taking on the Nobleman in The Childe, it would have been irreconcilable to picture him as a villain, much less an antagonist. Not because there was any doubt in his acting skills, but because it never would have occurred to the masses to cast a man who has been given the endearing nickname "good boy" to play a Machiavellian assassin. Even the director of The Childe Park Hoon Jung didn't see the fit when he first looked at the actor's profile as he thought, "This face is not for noir."

But Kim has always been one to rise to the challenge. Let us not forget that before he was a TV actor, he was a familiar face in the theatre industry. And though it was only at 31-years-old that he debuted in his first TV drama, his so-called big break came three years later with shows like Start-Up and Hometown Cha Cha Cha. This is the way things go: Just when you think he has reached the height of his career, he keeps proving otherwise.

And that is exactly what he's done in The Childe.

Even if it wasn't a comeback role from his two-year hiatus, it still stands as an impressive film debut on its own. This marks Kim's first big screen role and for that reason alone, the Nobleman remains one of his favourite characters. "All of the characters I've played are special to me and I cherish them all, but a memorable character would be my most recent role in The Childe as Nobleman since it was my film debut," says Kim. "I still vividly remember the excitement and nerves I felt seeing my character on the big screen for the first time."

As it is with most of his roles, he runs through a routine. "I usually take a fairly long time to understand one character. I would choose about three or four lines that I like from a script, and then repeat them over and over again in my head. This could be when I'm walking, when I'm in the shower, or when I'm eating." Kim adds, "Sometimes I also make use of music. would put on some good music, put myself in front of a stunning view, and then read out the lines. And as I do that, there would be moments where I realise, 'This is it. This is how this character would say it. From that point onwards, everything else falls into place itself. For this method to work and in order to get closer to a character, studying the script in detail has to come first. It's important to have a good grasp of a character's language and habits.

With the Nobleman, details maketh man. He says, "I developed my character by studying the lead character from A Clockwork Orange, and I spent plenty of time trying to understand my character as Nobleman." Just like he had done many times before, Kim learned new skills to better embody his character. "I got to learn about using handguns for acting for the first time. I did some practice at a shooting range in Myeongdong and I was given a dummy too, so I was able to practice and have a feel of it. That helped me a lot during the actual filming."

To simply call the Nobleman a villain would reduce the character to a flat trope, but Kim's performance and interpretation of him are actually for more nuanced. This is a character who gets imitated by his shoes being dirtied with blood after killing a room full of people, curses with a sadistic smile in an American accent and British accent, chases after the hero while hollering — and yet manages to confuse the audience with whose side he is actually on. Ultimately, Kim's portrayal of the Nobleman brings to life a brutal yet whimsical anti-hero.

And yet, the actor still struggles to pinpoint a moment during The Childe's filming process that he felt proud of himself for. In past interviews, he scrutinised his performance for the movie. Even now, he laughs as he says, "To be honest, it's hard for me to point out areas that I did well in. In my eyes, I mostly see only my shortcomings. Thankfully enough, people who went to see the movie had lots of positive feedback. I was glad and thankful to be praised as a fluid actor."

Fluid is the perfect word here, and yet it still feels like an understatement to the actor's performance. If his previous roles solidified his expected trajectory as an actor, then this character turned it all around - reminding us all that Kim has been honing his craft for over a decade now. He has been finessing this duality for almost 14 years, and while others may rest on their laurels and rely on their experience in the industry to get by, Kim is always looking for ways to better himself.

His recent projects have been movies and because of that "I'm not as pressured having to film a large amount of scenes in a short time as compared to other mediums. The directors told me to take my time between lines, which showed me the art of slowing down." He goes on to say, "When I was younger, I was also taught to enjoy the pauses between each line. I did think that I was already doing so with my acting for dramas, but the mechanics of movies and dramas are still very much different. So I've recently been working on how I can savour those pauses even more." Looking back at the Kim Seon Ho who started acting 14 years ago, the 37-year-old feels envious of his past self. "I'm envious of the experience and how raw my acting was back then. I recently rewatched some of my previous work. In the past, if I were to rewatch something a year later, all I could think about was how inadequate my acting was before. But seeing it again after 10 years makes me realise that that kind of raw acting was something I could do only back then."

Now, what he is able to appreciate about his approach to acting is. that "I'm a lot more composed and poised. My acting was often carried away by emotions in the past, but I think that my acting now has become more rational. I feel that this kind of rationality is also what makes me grow. After all, Kim knows a thing or two about alchemising patience into gold. While he started acting in plays at the age of 23, it was only eight years later that he made his debut on the small screens. But he has never been one to measure his trajectory against his counterparts in the industry. Waiting has always been a welcomed ritual for the actor, and Kim knows it's to that good things take time.

It's like his Hometown Cha Cha Cha character Hong Du Sik said, "Life isn't so fair for all of us. Some spend their whole lives on unpaved roads, while some run at full speed only to reach the edge of a cliff." It's a line that hits close to home for Kim too. "Coincidentally enough, I happened to re-watch that scene just three days before this interview, I searched for the scene randomly one day because I suddenly got curious about the kind of expression and tone I shot that scene with. Through that scene, rather than discovering elements about myself, I focused more on how I could get closer to Chief Hong. But there were moments where I did feel that I was becoming a better version of myself, like when I was preparing for the drama, after wrapping up the filming, and when I met other great characters." He adds, "People say that each word you say and each action you do creates one's character and personality. I think I got to learn a lot through the lines of my past characters like Han Ji Pyeong and Chief Hong, and thanks to them, I am the person I am now."

During his two-year break from acting on-screen, he remained loyal to his earlier comforts — stage acting. While he stayed off social media and film projects, he went back to his roots and performed in the theatre with Touching the Void. In that period of time, "I found comfort in the fact that one has the ability to create a change if they could just think a little differently in times of trouble." He continues, "I felt grateful to be able to share a stage with other talented actors, and I had fun. Touching The Void was a project where I discovered that the results of something can be very different depending on my perspective on a particular situation and on the support I receive. Most of all, I was moved and comforted by the audience members who came to watch the play even though things were difficult due to the pandemic. I was honoured to be able to perform such a remarkable piece of work for the audience, and it inspired me to become an even better actor."

In life and in work, Kim believes himself to be a dreamer. "I am someone who thinks that we must dream big, and I'm happiest when I come close to the goals I've set. Rather than setting a realistic goal but still feeling unsatisfied even after accomplishing it, I find more joy when I set big goals and accomplish it to a certain extent. When he considers his dreams for the distant future, "My goal is for people to remember me as a skilled actor and to be an actor that people want to work with a second time." But for now, his ambitions are straightforward — "I want to try a role that feels real and warm, one that others can relate to."

When he looks back at his career, there is only one thing he can really say he's proud of over the years. "Instead of feeling proud of my own accomplishments, I feel a stronger sense of pride towards the people that have been there for me since the days before I became an actor. Seniors, juniors and directors who gave me advice so I could pass the audition for my first project, agency colleagues who worked tirelessly until I got my first lead role, and my fans who supported my career as an actor. These are people that I'm thankful for and proud of every moment." He continues, "I often have thoughts like, 'How was I able to meet such incredible people?', 'How did I get so lucky to receive such advice from my seniors at this timing?', 'How is it that all these great people. are rooting for me?' Thanks to these people, there have been so many moments in my career that have made me proud that I cannot single out a specific achievement."

His gratitude grounds him because if there's one thing Kim has leamed, it's to take nothing for granted. With the love he's received from fans and friends in the industry, he hopes to return it tenfold. "I hope to repay the love with my acting and to successfully wrap up current projects. By doing so, I think I would be able to welcome 2024 with a happy heart." What that looks like these days is a running list of plays, dramas, and films. And while he's busy with his ongoing projects, for now, "I will be focusing on the upcoming mystery drama Mangnaein. Although I don't know what the future has in store for me, I will work hard to live my best each day."

When he thinks about the actor he wants to be remembered for, he considers the weight of his answer. "Not too long ago, I felt that I was on a plateau so I reflected a lot on it and I'm getting back on my feet again now." He goes on to say, "I hope to be remembered as an actor who constantly improves. (Of course, for that to happen, a lot of effort is needed on my part.) And I hope people think of me as an actor who is always growing, and as an actor who has the potential for even more growth. I hope to refine my craft a little more."

Because at the end of the day, Kim Seon Ho knows when to walk away from comparison. He's never bothered to measure himself to others, and he has no plans to start now. Instead, he holds himself to his own standards. And the version of him today is content to take things as they come, to better himself with every passing day. After all, if there's one thing we know for certain, it's that whatever accomplishments he's made so far are only a step to greater things to come.

—

special thanks to seonhojoy & preferredalways

#kim seon ho #김선호 #kim seonho #elle singapore #magazine cover #editorial #full interview #photoshoot #archieve #korean actor #theater actor #start up #hometown cha cha cha #the childe

[ohheyitsokay]

Elle darling!! Ooooh more soulmates!! I am super excited!

Can I request Poe and red string of fate? 💖

Love you sweetie! 🥰

hello, my love! i so enjoyed writing this, thanks for being a great friend and for helping me out by sending something in! i adore you, and i hope you enjoy it!

warnings: death mention, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending

<<

soulmate requests

>>

After his first mission, Poe threw up in the back corner of the hanger.

The first time one of his team members was killed he didn't eat for almost three days.

Leia found him, watching the horizon, eyes glassy, cheeks a little hollower than they should've been, and she leaned her head against him. In his mind, he imagined swimming through murky waters, dark plants draping themselves over his limbs, weighing down his movements. He focused on the soft pad of her cheek as it squished against his shoulder.

There was no need to call her by a title, she was his Leia, and she slipped her hand into his, forcing him to notice the warm dinner roll she was holding.

Bile rose in his throat.

"I don't think I can," he croaked, barely recognizing his own voice.

I can't go back out there.

"You can," she said, resolute and gentle. Leia's fingers shifted, running lovingly over the blisters on his hands, and a tremor shook his body, heavy with emotion.

The world blurred.

"Do you know the legend?"

He focused on her words.

"They say everyone has a soulmate," she continued, telling her what her parents had whispered to her before she fell asleep when she was little. She told him about the strings, all across the universe, about how she used to look at the stars and imagine she could see them.

He could just imagine her doubtful little voice, questioning the system amongst so many planets, and a smile almost cracked its way to the surface.

Leia drew an invisible line around his thumb and paused, the implication clear. There were, as there had always been, people counting on him. There would always be people counting on him. She didn't ask him to do it for her, or for them, but she lifted her head to look him in the eyes.

It was his choice, but never-the-less, she tore the roll in half. And suddenly it wasn't about people counting on him - it was a fundamental reminder.

You're not alone.

Poe took his piece and turned it in his hand. Jaw and heart aching, he ate the whole thing.

-

Sometimes Poe just sits in his ship and watches the stars. He knows he doesn’t have fuel to waste, but he also knows he can’t think straight cooped up in an office or regulation-sized room.

He feels to big, clumsy, swelling so full of thoughts that he could explode, and so he goes and sits in the one place where he doesn’t feel like a bantha underwater – laughably out of place.

The ship – any ship – feels like an extension of himself.

It lets him feel small. Still important, but not quite so noticeable, and when he puts his hands on the controls, he can tap his thumb, and think of her… and thinks of you.

He knows the whole thing was just a metaphor, a way for her to love on him and support him from the inside out. Poe thinks sometimes that he’s overthinking things, letting his mind run at a thousand parsecs an hour and making constellations where there’s nothing but he holds onto it. He needs it, needs the hope as much as people need him to share it.

When he’s twisting and turning and dodging like his life depends on it, rolling through space like a pebble in a rock tumbler, he closes his eyes and taps his thumb and thinks of her, and of you.

When Leia isn’t by his side anymore, and his shoulders feel heavy with the weight of a shared galaxy, he taps his thumb against the console, takes a deep breath, and remembers.

One of his crewmates makes a joke that if he lives long enough, he’s going to get aches in just that hand.

Poe smiles and shrugs, not really wanting to think about it.

What he does find himself thinking about, though, is all the things he wants to do with his hands. He hugs his friends and grasps hands with colleagues and people he loves alike, and spends hot, jungle evenings wondering about touching you, instead.

Fingers entwined, your skin pressed into his, not having to let go, not ever if he doesn’t want to. Another soul, in the flesh, within his reach. And he likes the idea of it, thinks about it more and more, follows his daydreams like a string.

It fills him from head to the tips of his fingers, the desire to keep on... keeping on, to go and go and make things better. 

Until one day, he meets you. And feels a little pull, in his chest as his hand finds yours.

 -

Morning light streams through the window and as he blinks, looking for you, Poe smiles. The curtains had been yanked as closed as they could get, but the edges still leave lines across the bed, streaking over his favorite view: you.

Your hand is draped over your stomach and his heart thumps happily as his eyes draw over the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Poe sits up a little, feeling warm, almost jittery with potential but he doesn’t get up, doesn’t want to wake you.

He’s not sure how long the moment lasts, but the sunlight begins to creep across your skin, and as his resolve breaks and he reaches for your hand he can almost see a line between his hand and yours.

It’s a gift, like it always was.

And you wake to his kisses, grateful for the way he grins against your skin.

<<

Note: some versions say it’s pinkies, some say it’s a thumb and a pinkie. I figured his thumb was more in his eyesight when he was flying

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#poe dameron x reader #soulmate requests #maybe i dont know people #this ended up kind of strangely reflective but i hope you still like it!