#but now with not just the implication but the CONTEXT that he’s been TOLD NOT TO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inbarfink · 8 months

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I have… so many little thoughts about Simon’s shift in the climax of ‘Prismo the Wishmaster’. He’s so ready to give up, to resign to Death By Interdimensional Beetle Cop. And the thing that pulls him out of it, gets him to see a purpose in his life again, is seeing Fionna cry.

And this moment is so important for Fionna and Cake because this is their first moment to really process the Implications and Consequences of their magical adventure. You know, it’s not just a dream you can wake up from - this is actually a matter of life and death and the fate of their entire world.

And it’s actually, also kinda the same from Simon’s perspective? Even if he was already told they are real and have been real all along a while ago - I think seeing Fionna break out in tears is really the moment where he processed her not as a manifestation of Ice King’s madness, not as yet another way the universe is kicking him when he’s down, not as a cruel joke at his expense. But really actually as people, who need his help.

And, I think about this, also in context with this moment?

Simon Petrikov is… a dad at heart. Simon’s first focus episode in F&C starts with a prologue of him and Marceline surviving in the wasteland. Showing that despite being under much more miserable circumstances

he still seemed to hold himself together far better than present-day Simon.

Because the need to protect Marcy and keep her happy was giving him purpose and a motivation to hold himself together.

And this desire to help and nurture and protect is clearly still deep within him. It’s just that now he feels incapable for doing so. In both body-

And spirit -

But now, suddenly, he is once again the Only Person Who Can Help this younger person in distress.

And I think that is a huge part of his motivation to keep on going right now. I mean, just look at how quickly he goes from dismissing Fionna and Cake - into basically declaring that he has to protect them. And fully willing to sacrifice his own identity and sanity to bring magic back to their world because he knows it’ll make Fionna and Cake happy. Because the moment he saw Fionna tear up, he basically decided to Adopt her.

And that’s, you know, technically a step forward - but it is a very very imperfect step.

Like, at the very least he’s not drinking his sorrows away while waiting for death out of pure despair and spite. At least he has a sense of purpose and a reason to open up for others again and bond. And we’ve seen how much this has been a great coping mechanism for pulling himself together through difficult times.

My guess is that after two episodes of only seeing Simon Petrikov at his lowest and very worst - Fionna and Cake are finally going to get an understanding of Simon’s actual positive qualities as his dad-instincts are going to bring them up to the surface again.

Buuuuuuuut….

You know, tying your sense of self-worth and motivation entirely to how well you can Dad is not particularly healthy in the long run either. And it’s going to cause problems both for Simon and for F&C.

Looking at it from what's best of Simon, for the sake of protecting Fionna and Cake and making them happy by bringing magic and wonder back into their world - Simon is willing to throw himself right into the suffering and trauma that he’s been fearing all this time and has been trying so hard to get away from. I mean, it’s also about how Simon has started to miss being Ice King in a weird twisted way and how he resigned himself to being miserable in general. It’s also about that, but the part that he actually says out loud is that he’s doing this to protect Fionna and Cake.

So that’s, you know, still very Not Good. Simon can’t hang his entire ability to properly function on there being Younger People who need his protection. He can't actually move forwards by trying to relive the Better Times of the Horrible Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland. That's not a sustainable coping mechanism. And it’s an incredibly unhealthy amount of self-sacrifice.

And on Fionna’s side… she never said she wanted Simon to protect her.

She might want a useful teammate or a helping hand, she might need a friend. But I don’t think she needs a Dad. Simon is surely old enough to be her father (even just counting his age biologically and not the fact he’s 1058 years old) but Fionna’s not a Literal Child like Marcy was. Fionna Campbell is a grown-ass woman in her early 30’s (Finn is 29 years old right now and there was always kinda the implication that Fionna was a bit older than him).

(And, heck, if she IS the daughter of a gender-flipped Minerva Campbell, she is probably not in the market for a new overprotective dad. She’s fully booked out on that.)

AND while Fionna does not possess full memories of her magical-adventuring-self, she clearly retains some of her fighting and athletic abilities.

Meanwhile Cake is clearly an adult in cat years and is just as much of an insanely powerful shapeshifter as Jake was.

So where does this middle-aged scrawny nerd get off, acting like it’s his job to sacrifice his mind in order to protect them?

And Fionna very much wants to be the hero, she wants to be at the center of the action. It is no coincidence that her own idealized version of Ice King/Simon is a Tuxedo Mask.

Someone who can give her a helping hand and words of encouragement when things get rough -

But still lets her be the main hero of the story.

And you know, right now Fionna and Cake have not fully processed the implications of Simon choosing to become Ice King… but once they see a bit of who Simon really is at his better moments. Yeah, they’re probably gonna have some objections to the idea that he should throw his entire identity away just for their own sake.

Back when Simon allowed the Crown to slowly consume him so he could protect Marcy, it felt like a noble sacrifice. It really seemed like he had no other options. But now he has the entire multiverse on his disposal and two serious badasses on his side. Simon has to learn to see the difference between a codependent senseless self-sacrifice and something that will actually help Fionna and Cake.

So if Simon is really going to lean too hard on his Dad aspect, it’s actually going to cause some really big problems down the line. For his own mental well-being, and for Fionna and Cake. It is in a way, a step in the right direction. And I think it’s going to lead to our main trio finally becoming closer and understanding each other - but unless Simon learns to temper himself, it’s going to cause some serious interpersonal conflicts.

At least this is my thoughts about these interactions right now. I know they’ve been really short but I think they’re really full of Meaning and Emotions. But really, we’ll just have to wait and see.

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bywons · 2 months

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﹆ WITH AND WITHOUT — LHS

⌕ where lee heeseung realises he messed up too bad

𖦹 pairing. toxic!bf! lee heeseung x f!reader w.c. 0.7k tw/cw. cursing, implications of cheating at end genre. angst/hurt sru's note. pls don't let this flop TT ( CATALOGUE?! )

¤ feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated!

heeseung's head aches more than ever, and for every second that he stares at the minimalist silver pendant sitting still between your collarbones, it's thin silver chain hugging your neck ever so softly, it aches even more.

and now it's the time for his heart. he physically cringes out of guilt when he watches you retract your hand away from his. he just wants to hold your hand in his, wants to embrace the soft warmth that once felt like home, that cosy and cordial sensation that gave him butterflies.

but now that is long gone.

it started with heeseung really. from your shoulders missing the embrace of his arm to his cheeks missing your tickling, feathery kiss. neither of you know when this started; an invisible wall growing between you two, and all you can do is sit and watch, letting the wall increase the distance you've already built in between you both.

“you should focus on the movie instead”, your tone is boring, maybe even annoyed. or maybe none, heeseung simply doesn't know. he can't concentrate on whatever's playing in front of him, his eyes are fixed on your necklace, sending such visuals to his brain out of which he can only think of scenarios that hammers his heart even more.

the pendants’ a heart. it's a fucking heart.

“yeah, i am”, heeseung lies, again. just like the way he lied to you three months ago saying he would definitely attend your birthday party albeit his rough basketball practice.

you searched for your boyfriend's compelling face for hours that evening. waited for him the whole night, an hour passed by, then two, then three. every face in your apartment left and the one that should've been there by your side on the couch, holding you in his arms and kissing you all over, was not there. lee heeseung indeed broke his promise that day, along with a piece of you.

“really? what just happened right now then?”, you yawn, munching on the caramel popcorn, a flavour you didn't really like. but heeseung is unable to answer your question right now, he doesn't find enough words to formulate a sentence and explain why he didn't really know what was going on in the movie. his eyes just mindlessly read over the subtitles at the bottom of the screen not really getting the context behind it, there are more vital thoughts in the back of his head, eating him alive in this moment.

heeseung mentally curses himself for instances that took place months ago. instances which once broke your heart, you cried over it, burying your face in the pillow and then eventually forgetting about it. instances that heeseung never cared enough to think about twice before going to bed, or use to reflect on his actions or even think about it.

but suddenly heeseung wishes he could go back in time and return to your birthday party that evening, he wishes he was not that casual to flirt with your best friend in front of you, he wishes he hadn't caused those meaningless arguments with you, he wishes he'd never told you that his ex was better. heeseung wishes he was a better boyfriend for you.

“this one new?”, and heeseung's eyes are back on the necklace you were wearing, it's dainty silver heart infuriating him even more and he can't find the reason why. why the fuck can't he recognize the necklace?

“this one?”, you very well know which one he means when you point at the silver necklace on your neck, or else why will you be sitting with your cardigan pushed all the way down to your collarbones? “you gave it to me, don't you remember?”, you smile.

“not really”, heeseung trails off, a smile from you felt odd after days of cold shoulder from you. it doesn't feel genuine though, so he returns another fake smile hoping you wouldn't notice, “maybe i forgot.”

heeseung can never forget, never ever when it comes to you. he might have been the worst boyfriend ever but he's dying for your touch right now, maybe playing hard to get in your own relationship got him? he can't bet on being ‘good boyfriend’ all over again, he knows he fucked up. but he can bet on one thing though.

he swears and he swears to god and all his 23 years of life, he has never bought that necklace for you.

‘cause why the fuck would it have a ‘J’ engraved on it?

(📌) :: TAGLIST IS OPEN! @euncsace @fleumiu @leaderwon @dimplewonie @yrhome @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaasia111 @ashtxrie nets! @/k-labels

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fangswbenefits · 4 months

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The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

Series masterlist

Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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saintsenara · 8 days

Note

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?” He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!” He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.” Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ” Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?” riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #if wizards had the concept of safeguarding it would be a game changer...

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zionworkzs · 7 months

Text

Alright, let's talk about this scene in S1 Ep3:

Let's take this line by line, shall we? I added in some stage directions so we can see the acting choices alongside the dialogue (because this scene!!! this scene!! there is so much unsaid and communicated via body language).

*Crowley gets into his car and Aziraphale miracles inside*

C: *surprised*

C: What are you doing here?

A: I needed a word with you.

C: What?

A: I work in Soho. I hear things. I hear that you're setting up a...

A: *looks at Crowley*

A: caper. To rob a church.

C: *looks away from Aziraphale*

A: *concerned* Crowley, it's too dangerous. Holy Water won't just kill your body, it will destroy you completely.

C: *annoyed* You told me what you think. 105 years ago.

A: And I haven't changed my mind. But I can't have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So... *pulls out thermos* you can call off the robbery.

C: *looking at Aziraphale, clearly surprised*

A: Don't go unscrewing the cap.

A: *not looking at Crowley anymore*

C: *looking between the thermos and Aziraphale* It's the real thing?

A: The holiest.

C: *attention fully on Aziraphale now* After everything you said?

A: *nods, still not looking at Crowley*

C: Should I say thank you?

C: *still looking at Aziraphale*

A: *pointedly NOT looking at Crowley*

A: Better not.

C: Well, can I drop you anywhere?

A: No. Thank you.

A: *briefly glancing at Crowley*

A: Don't look so disappointed.

A: *looking away again*

A: Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic.

A: *looking at Crowley now*

A: Dine at the Ritz.

C: I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.

*silence, and the longest amount of time Aziraphale looks at Crowley this whole scene*

A: You go too fast for me, Crowley.

*both looking at each other for a beat before Aziraphale exits*

OKAY SO HOLY HECK

I feel like this scene gets boiled down to THAT line we all remember (and we'll get there), but I feel like the whole scene and the context is so so important if we want to understand THAT line.

So the background info:

1862 AD - London, St James Park: Crowley asks for holy water.

1941 AD - London: Aziraphale meets with Nazi agents inside a church. Crowley swoops in to save the day (and the books). We have the magic show and the lovely candelit dinner afterwards.

This scene takes place in 1967 in Soho, London presumably.

So, since 1862 when Crowley first asks, Aziraphale has been thinking about this request of his. Aziraphale presumes in 1862 that Crowley wants the Holy Water as a "suicide pill," and Crowley never corrects this assumption.

So, Aziraphale is under the impression that in 1967 he is giving Crowley a tool to use for his own destruction, if it comes to that.

He goes against Heaven and, from our understanding, steals Holy Water so he can give it to Crowley.

The implications of this are DEEP and COMPLEX. Because this is the FIRST time we see Aziraphale directly go against Heaven without any kind of moral out. He isn't saving Job's children. He's literally defying Heaven to protect Crowley from doing something stupid.

It's a purely selfish action that directly goes against Heaven.

This is HUGE for his character. And as I've talked about a bit in this post, I think by this point, Aziraphale was fully aware he was in love with Crowley.

This, THIS, is proof of his devotion to Crowley. Going against Heaven overtly to supply him with something he believes Crowley will use to end himself.

You can see Aziraphale's guilt and concern in this scene simply through how he choses when to look at Crowley and when to not (michael sheen, I'm in ur walls).

He looks at Crowley concerned when he talks about the church heist. He says as such. That he thinks it's too dangerous. He pointedly DOESN'T look at Crowley once he hands over the Holy Water. Like he can't bring himself to come to terms with what he's done. (Looking out for the person he loves by giving them a means of their own destruction.)

And this little interaction:

C: Should I say thank you? C: *looking at Aziraphale* A: *pointedly NOT looking at Crowley* A: Better not.

He doesn't want Crowley to thank him for what he perceives to be a sin. For giving him the ability to end himself. It hurts Aziraphale to think about. I think, even being in the car near Crowley hurts Aziraphale then.

Then we get the exchange at the end.

Crowley offering to drop Aziraphale off, which the angel denies.

Aziraphale clearly reading Crowley's disappointment and offering a fantasy of the future he doesn't believe they have in an attempt to cheer the demon up.

A: Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic. A: *looking at Crowley now* A: Dine at the Ritz.

He looks at Crowley for the briefest of moments when he says "dine at the Ritz."

These things that Aziraphale is offering are normal, human pastimes. Nothing grand or overtly romantic. Just, a picnic. Dinner. It goes to show us how deeply Aziraphale loves humanity and recognizes that same love in Crowley (even if their love presents itself in different ways).

He's saying: one day, when I'm not me, and you're not you, we can do the things humans do. We can be simple.

And then, of course:

C: I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.

Crowley says this line almost desperately. He wants to stay in this moment. He wants to draw it out. This moment where this angel he's befriended cares for him so deeply that he'd risk everything.

I haven't talked much about Crowley in this scene because at this point in their relationship, and I know this is controversial, I don't think Crowley is in love with Aziraphale here.

I talked about it in the aforementioned post, but it's my interpretation of Crowley's character to be naturally distrusting of others. Which makes sense given his history.

I don't think he's in love with Aziraphale in 1967.

But I think he recognizes Aziraphale's love for him, even if only for the briefest moment. He sees Aziraphale's willingness to save Crowley from himself and knows that there is something there.

But he is SCARED. Big scared. And he doesn't know how to deal with the influx of information being presented to him.

And I think he reads between the lines of Aziraphale's words. He hears Aziraphale say: one day, when I'm not me, and you're not you...

I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go. Is Crowley saying: You're saying we have to be different people, but we don't. I can take you right now to a picnic, to the Ritz. Nothing has to change. We can be us.

And Aziraphale says:

A: You go too fast for me, Crowley.

You go too fast for me, you treat life like a speedrun to get to the good parts. Hell, Crowley slept through the 19th century because he wanted time to move forward. Aziraphale recognizes this. He's in love with this demon who won't slow down and appreciate the mundane, human things that Aziraphale treasures. He goes too fast. He never settles down.

And I think this is a gross misunderstanding of Crowley's character on Aziraphale's part. He thinks Crowley is too fast and never settles down. Changes his hair, his clothes, his accent. But the clothes and the hair are all set dressings to Crowley. They are distractions from how set in his ways he truly is.

Crowley is s l o w to everything.

So slow that it scares the shit out of him and he overcompensates by re-inventing his image every chance he gets. He wants to blend in with his surroundings so he can be just like everybody else.

It's a deep self-hatred most likely instilled in him since before his Fall. He was not good enough for Heaven. He isn't bad enough for Hell. He can't even pass as a human because of his eyes. He doesn't fit anywhere.

So he could never fit with Aziraphale.

He doesn't even see it as an option.

Not yet, anyway.

Aziraphale misunderstands this as Crowley being unable to take time and care and put work into things that truly matter. Aziraphale thinks that they can't be together because they are too different. No matter how much he loves Crowley, Crowley is, and will always be, just a few steps ahead of him. He will always be just out of reach.

This scene is Aziraphale's confession and subsequent realization that they can never work.

This scene is Crowley understanding Aziraphale's feelings and his inability to process his own.

This scene is devastating. Because it's another miscommunication. It's a clear example of how these two understand each other, and, even after 6000 years, don't understand each other.

#ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens meta #this scene makes me fucking LOSE it #truly i could talk about it for HOURS

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ladystoneboobs · 17 days

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[Cat, to Brienne:]"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. [...]" -Catelyn VII, aCoK

ok, this is another thing that makes me feel like i'm taking crazy pills bc i never see it talked about with all the implications behind it. so if anyone is more versed in androgynous medievalish clothing, feel free to correct me here, but my thinking is if unannounced visitors mistook arya for a stableboy, would that not mean she was wearing boyish riding garb, trousers and all? bc if she was running around with messy hair and a dirty gown, wouldn't she more likely be seen as a female servant? if my reading is not wildly offbase that does not jibe with the idea of arya being terrorized all day by both septa mordane and her mother to be more ladylike. rather, this limited freedom to be mistaken for a servant could suggest that pragmatic catelyn was picking her battles with arya too, not forcing her to always appear prim and proper on days when they were not expecting any guests to see her. catelyn "despaired of ever making a lady of" arya, though neither she nor ned could abandon the goal, which could mean a more measured approach, not exhausting herself by going after arya for every unladylike move she made, especially when she was still a prepubescent child. the quote above starts a paragraph which ends with catelyn feeling "as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest" after saying she thought arya was dead like bran and rickon, after no word of her since ned's arrest. in that context of grief, i think all her words about arya should be read as coming with bittersweet fondness, just being honest about their problems, not sugarcoating any of it.

but let's compare catelyn's trials with arya, including her often running around looking like a stableboy, to arya's interactions with lady smallwood, somehow seen as an even better mother-figure than her own mother, whom arya found easier to comply with bc of her kinder manner. first of all, lady smallwood's efforts to make arya ladylike included two baths and two dresses in one day after arya and gendry ruined the first dress, before finally giving her boy's riding clothes to leave in. i would argue a full second bath was unneeded when they could have just washed the dirt off her face and hands, and, furthermore, that both the dresses were an impractical waste when she knew arya would be riding back out with the outlaws and could not look a highborn lady when doing so. idt pragmatic catelyn would have gone to all that trouble just to make arya look ladylike for a few hours when there were no other ladies around. as for the claim that arya found it easier to comply with her? no, that's just flat-out demonstrably false. the text says she was "forced" into a tub and "they insisted" she wear girl's clothes. what room did she have to refuse as a hostage in a stranger's castle? she certainly felt no compunction about fighting gendry in the acorn dress she'd been forced into, and only felt bad about it afterward when lady smallwood talked about her dead son.

now, let's move on to the only canon quotes we have from cat to/about arya in arya's pov.

"Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." -Arya I, aGoT Her father had hunted boar in the wolfswood with Robb and Jon. Once he even took Bran, but never Arya, even though she was older. Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. -Arya V, aCoK Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. -The Blind Girl(/Arya I), aDwD

in the first quote we don't know catelyn's reaction to septa mordane's rude disapproval of arya, certainly not if she agreed with it. what we do know is she was not interested in only hearing endless praise of sansa and wanted to hear if arya had made any progress. although admittedly that was a vain hope, which ignored arya's true strengths and the possibility that she could never master and enjoy needlework the way catelyn did.

the second quote better shows the difference between arya's mother and her septa. catelyn does not criticize arya for wanting to hunt boar nor dismiss her interest. instead she tries to mollify arya and accomodate her desire with the promise of a future hunting hawk. that this was a promise, not just an idle thought, suggests this would have happened in due time and could have been a bonding activity for them if the plot hadn't intervened.

the third quote is definitely a backhanded compliment and doubly unhelpful in comparison to sansa, but at least it shows catelyn did not think one of her own daughters was ugly. she thought both were pretty even tho sansa was the more admired as traditionally beautiful, and she thought arya's looks were held back by her messy hair and clothes. (useful to remember for those fans who like to keep track of how many characters called arya pretty vs. how many call her ugly.)

yes, it is a bad sign that arya genuinely wondered if her mother would want her back, dirtier than ever in her disguise as a peasant boy. their relationship definitely had faults which the adult parent must bear responsibility for. but we must remember that arya also worried if robb would pay a ransom for her, and was most ashamed about the people she'd killed, and couldn't bear the thought of ned knowing all she'd done. and we must keep in mind that even ned never openly gainsaid septa mordane on-page either, and that arya desperately wanted to renunite with her mother and felt confident gendry could stay with her if she vouched for him with her mother. that confidence would seem completely unwarranted if their mother/daughter relationship was as utterly bad as some fans make out.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #catelyn stark #arya stark #a wolf with a fish in its mouth #that most recent post in the tag is actually insane but these are things ive thougt abt saying for awhile #i could also say that jon's doubts and fears wrt his mother are also unfounded and that ned bears some blame for that #by never telling him his mother loved him or even whether she was alive or dead #funny how people can recognize lady smallwood's similarity to cat as a mother figure but just saying aryas pretty w/o qualifications is #enough to make her better in every other way too #anyways #happy wolf pack wednesday!#(c)lsb

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zoetiger-1106 · 2 months

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The Chameleon is actually a really complex character and here's why.

Disclaimer: This post will contain kfp 4 spoilers as well as include info from interviews and the animation featurette and I will be analyzing the movie pretending that everything had deeper thought put into it even tho it's most likely not the case sometimes

For those who haven't seen it, have the absolute criminal offense that screwed with the story telling of this movie because it is important context.

Now that we have that whole thing out of the way, let me explain to you how the Chameleon's character is shown through more subtle things instead of just very in your face exposition/ storytelling.

1) Cammy's insecurities

The first time she was in on screen, Cammy was established as being in charge of Juniper City via commanding the local crime lords. She is hidden among them for the first part of their conversation, where she observes them badmouth her before she reveals herself, but even before the reveal, we get hints to her being there via the line "You forgot the shape-shifting sorceress part" that she throws into the conversation after the bear crime lord insulted her appearance.

Despite showing herself as in control and well put together, her need to interject hints at the fact that she does still have some underlying insecurities regarding her true form.

That insecure aspect of her character is further proven by her summoning Tai Lung first (I'll get to that later) and a statement from Viola Davis where she talked about how she did the character voice for Cammy

The underlying implication that she has internalized when masters told her she was "too small, too lowly and that kung fu wasn't [her] destiny" is proven even more when you take into consideration that she exclusively transforms into species that are larger and more physically powerful than her.

She literally says: "I grew, I excelled, and I got everything I had ever dreamed of." Everything BUT kung fu. The one thing she wanted to do from the very beginning. So, with that context, the "dream" she got fulfilled to a degree was the power. Conventional, physical power.

People have told her kung fu wasn't "her destiny" so she decided to take matters into her own hands and do what she believed to get her to where she wanted to.

To quote the Stephanie Ma Stine, the director who actually cared about her: "Because she has this anger that's been build up from always being invisible to everyone else, her transformation process actually reflects her anger."

All those years of being over looked and seen as less than had such an impact on her that it consumes ever part of her being. That lizard needs a hug and therapy, your honor.

As I said, I wanted to get into why she summoned Tai Lung first (chill I know this was not actually as thought out as I am interpreting it to be but hear me out.)

Tai Lung is everything she isn't and couldn't have been.

He is tall and conventionally powerful. Even if you knew nothing about his character, you could take a look at him and know that man is strong. On top of that, he had received formal training at a renowned school by a renowned master. Taking his kung fu first and foremost is not only the fulfillment of a wish she's had her whole life but also a power move on it's own; while not able to do kung fu Cammy still managed to beat someone who was what the schools she had gone to all those years ago would have considered the ideal student.

Also can we acknowledge how the water dragons (those are not komodo dragons idc how often it's stated) clap for her after she's done with Tai? Show of hands from all the mentally ill people who'd get their henchmen to clap for them too because they desperately need praise 🙋

Similar can be said for how she makes the people of Juniper City bow before her when she is paraded around; it makes her feel powerful.

Lastly I'd like to point out that her line of "Third rule of the streets? [...] Some would say it's the most important. Noone is interested in your feelings." Is probably something she got from people not caring about her feelings back in the day when she tried to pursue her passion.

2) Cammy's knowledge & skill

"Those bonds (the cages) are enchanted with some very old and very powerful magic. You'd need at least 10 Dragon Warrior's to get through them". Not only can she create such strong (presumably) chi based bonds but she can make them in batches and with ease. Between the scene of her accepting tributes from the crime lords of the city and Po's vision about her plan we can see her enchant multiple cages at once.

Not only that but she knows advanced chi techniques as well as how to open portals to the Spirit Realm. That is not easy information to come by Cammy has been researching chi in general for god knows how many years.

I don't know if I have said this on this blog before but her not being redeemed is such a wast because she could have not only helped Po further his mastery in chi but also aid in replacing a lot of the scrolls in the JP since she is knowledgeable on history and the history of kung fu and master too.

You honor that lizard is a nerd and deserves to geek out with Po.

I'd also like to point out that not only is she able to shape shift but do it incredibly swiftly. She can be seen switching forms in a matter of seconds even mid combat. Not only that but she has so much control off her body that she was able to create that dragon from of hers by transforming parts of her into different beings with little to no effort. That forms for incredibly stable too; she only transformed out of it to change her strategy.

Her incredible amount of control over her body funnily enough also shown by her 3d model alone. As stated by Sean Sexton the head of character animation "The Chameleon had 8130 controls. You could move every single part of that character [...]"

Lastly, I need to talk about how she genuinely is like Po.

I've seen people say that she can't do anything on her own because she just steals people's kung fu when no. No that is not the case. After having stolen enough master's kung fu to have a wide knowledge of the craft she was able to mimic and adapt to Po's style without having to steal anything from him. If she wouldn't have been given the opportunity to learn kung fu she would have become like Po and been able to master techniques based on simply observing them.

TLDR: Cammy is a great character this fandom is just horrible to female villains

#kung fu panda #kfp #the chameleon #kung fu panda 4 #live laugh love the chameleon

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reidbae · 6 months

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DAY 31: Scream, Part 2

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

PART 1

summary: When you, Aaron, and Spencer get home from a Halloween party, your two boyfriends have more things in store for you than you could have ever imagined: And lots of ways to make you scream.

pairing: dom!spencer reid and dom!aaron hotchner x sub!fem!reader

warnings/mentions: use of pet names for reader (princess, honey, angel, baby), reader is fairly shy, spencer and hotch are both more rough/hard!dom but spencer is still kinda soft, obv use of masks and veryyy heavily implied mask kink, knife play, pain play (ish), use of handcuffs, spanking (kinda) and ass grabbing, loads of degradation and a bit of praise, hair pulling, blowjobs, crying from stimulation, vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (pls do not do this), choking, teasing, anddd lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: part one of this was posted day before yesterday but i think you could read this as a stand alone, no context is really needed to enjoy it! hope y'all enjoy and had an amazing halloween <3

wc: 4.2k

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1 @mrs-ssa-hotch @boimlers-gonna-boim

You, Aaron, and Spencer were all at Aaron's home now, having just gotten there after the party had come to a close.

You closed the door behind you, giving a slow, heavy sigh as you locked it. "Well, that was fun," you said with a huff, setting your work bag and keys down as you spoke. While you did love your coworkers, your social battery had been drained, and you were glad to be in only the presence of the two people you loved most.

"Oh, it was," Aaron smiled at you, a tone of implication behind his voice. You rolled your eyes at him as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. "Very fun."

"I agree," voiced Spencer, who was removing his vest in the living room. "Although I'm not too big on social gatherings. It's really you two that made it tolerable," Spencer remarked as he took his vest off of his body. "And the candy. That was nice, too."

You and Aaron looked over at Spencer, laughing at his words. "That's a good way of looking at it," you giggled at him, Aaron laughing along with you. "So, what's on the agenda for the rest of the evening?" you then asked.

Aaron then looked at Spencer with a smirk across his face, before looking back at you. "I don't know, baby. What do you want to do?" he asked playfully, pulling you in closer by your hips.

You nervously smiled up at him in response, giving him a shrug. "I- Well," you trailed off, biting down on your lip as you considered the words that were about to leave your mouth. "Maybe—We can pick up where we left off?" you asked hopefully.

"I like the sound of that," Aaron smiled at you, before turning his head to look at Spencer, who had since gotten up. "Huh, Reid? That sound like a plan?" he asked.

Spencer gave a smile of his own, nodding his head as he approached the two of you. He then ran a hand through your hair, looking down at you with caring eyes. "I think that sounds good to me," Spencer smiled.

Knowingly, he then gazed at Aaron, just before saying, "Why don't you wait in the bedroom, sweetheart?" a sly smile across his face as he did, like the two of them knew something you didn't.

Which was likely the case.

"Why?" you couldn't help but ask in a curious manner, wondering what the two of them were planning. Your eyes flickered from Aaron to Spencer as you did your best to gauge what was going on.

Needless to say, your profiling skills were failing you.

"Nothing, angel, nothing, just—Do what I told you to, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer asked in that honeyed tone of voice he always used on you, knowing that it'd always work.

You nodded a little too eagerly, ready to see what it was that these two had planned for you already. "Yeah. Yeah, I can," you responded to him.

Spencer smirked at Aaron, before pressing a loving kiss to your temple. "There's our good girl. Now, go ahead, angel," Spencer cooed to you.

You obliged his ask, smiling at the two of them before going up to Aaron's bedroom, taking a seat on the bed that you'd laid in so many times.

It was only five or so minutes before the two of them walked into the room. Now, both of them were more or less in the same attire, with the both of them wearing a white collared shirt, black slacks, and a belt: Only Spencer was wearing a tie, that was undone around his neck.

And, the catch: They were both wearing their Ghostface masks.

Your response was quick as you felt your cheeks go warm, your head going dizzy with arousal. You looked back and forth from Aaron to Spencer, looking them up and down as they approached you.

You were as equally nervous as you were turned on.

"What? We told you we'd finish this later, didn't we?" Aaron reminded you in response to the face you had made, his voice teasing as the two of them were now in front of you.

"Y- Yeah, you did," you stuttered out, your cheeks growing even hotter at the remark. You couldn't manage to look at them now that they were so close and looked down, doing what you could to balance your breathing.

"Nervous, princess?" Spencer asked you in a chuckle, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at you.

"No," you tried to say, playing with your fingers as you looked down at your feet. You were lying through your teeth, obviously. You just wished you were better at hiding it.

"So, why—" you began, taking a slow breath. You then looked up at them, willing yourself the courage to keep your eyes on Aaron and Spencer. "Why did you guys take so long to get up here?"

"Oh, well—We were just talking about what it is we want to do to you," Aaron explained, like it was a fact that you should have already known. "And we got something."

"Mmhm," hummed Spencer in response. The taller man leaned down in front of you, then removed his mask from his face so that you could see him. "And we want to play a little game with you, princess. As long as it's okay with you."

You gaze at him with a shy look in your eyes, moving your eyes to peer over at Aaron before responding. "Y- Yeah, okay. So, um, what's the game?" you asked, tilting your head.

"Well—We want you. And we want to have fun with you just like normal. Only, there are some—Kinkier things we want to try this time," Spencer explained to you.

You nodded, wondering just what those things were. The three of you were always trying to expand on the things that you did in the bedroom, and had tried a number of kinky things in the past, so you weren't opposed to this idea.

"That sounds fine with me. But what's the catch?" you asked, because if there's one thing you knew about Aaron and Spencer, it was that there was always a catch.

"The catch is—One word, and we stop. That's your only rule, honey. No talking, cussing, any of that stuff. Not one word," Aaron explained further to you. When he took note of the bewildered expression across your face, he then said, "We just like to see you squirm."

Of course.

"Oh," was the only word that you really had in response to that.

"Mmhm. After we tell you what we want to do to you, and after you tell us what you feel okay with doing, you can't talk at all. And if you do, well—We'll see from there," said Spencer.

"So, princess? What do you think?" Spencer asked you, looking into your eyes as he did. You giggled nervously, crossing your legs and fixing your dress as you considered doing this.

There was really only one valid answer.

"I want to. I really want to. Just—Tell me what you want to do to me," you said eagerly, smiling up at them.

Spencer smiled back at you, putting a hand on your thigh and rubbing you slowly as he spoke to you. "Attagirl. I knew you'd want to. And I'm glad you do."

"Me, too. Now," said Aaron in a firm tone of voice, causing both you and Spencer to look up at him. "We'll explain what it is we want to do with you, and then we can start, honey. Okay?"

You nodded once more, more than ready to hear what they had planned for you already.

Aaron and Spencer explained what those "kinky" things were that they wanted to try with you. The first one, pain play, was something that you had experienced in the bedroom before, mainly from Aaron by way of choking, or spanking.

The second one, bondage, was one that you had also done with the two of them, but it'd only been done on you with the thin fabric of Spencer's tie. Unlike those times, Aaron and Spencer would be using real handcuffs on you.

The last one, probably the kinkiest one on the whole agenda, was one that you had never experienced before. Not from Aaron, not from Spencer, and not from anyone else.

Knife play.

It was one that you had considered, due to seeing or reading it in media, such as books, shows, and movies, but never something that you believed you could really try with your two boyfriends. It was incredibly kinky, and likely unscrupulous for three FBI profilers to be engaging in.

But then again, you didn't really care.

Once the three of you went over safe words and rules of thumb, Aaron made the first move, pushing you back onto the bed. "Clothes off, baby," Aaron whispered to you, his mask in your face as he did.

With your back now leaning on the headboard, you wordlessly removed your dress, pulling it over your head to reveal your bra and underwear to your boyfriends. Then off came your heels, jewelry, and underwear.

Your bra was the last thing that came off your body as you slowly removed it, throwing it on the ground without a care in the world about it.

The two men reveled in the naked view of you, Spencer giving you a small smirk before putting his mask back onto his face.

"God, look at you, princess," Spencer cooed, running his hands over your thighs in a gentle caress.

"Gonna have so much fun with her, aren't we?" Aaron mumbled more to himself than to Spencer, taking the time to let his eyes roam over your body.

Aaron then got on the bed and crawled in the middle of your legs, spreading them open for better access to your body. His hands danced along the insides of your thighs, causing you to shiver in desire. "Remember, honey. No talking."

You gave him a silent nod, eager to please both him and Spencer.

And, really, you were eager for some much needed attention that you'd been craving since the party.

"Good girl," Aaron whispered, before removing bis mask and attaching his lips to yours, locking you into a fervid kiss.

Your tongues moved together in a passionate whirl as Spencer walked around the bed and sat down next to you, gazing at the two of you as you made out. Desire bubbled inside of you at an incomprehensible speed as the kiss ensued.

Aaron's hands were moving down to rub hard circles into your thighs as his mouth moved in time with yours, and you did your best to move them closer to him. Taking note of your need, Aaron began to touch you where he knew you needed him most.

As Aaron's fingers ran circles into your clit, a new pair of hands grabbed hold of your nipples: Spencer didn't misuse a second as he fondled you in a similar manner to Aaron, mirroring the speed that he was going at.

"No words, honey? None at all?" Aaron asked you in mock surprise, holding back a chuckle as he observed your needy behavior.

Not that you blamed him for sounding so shocked, even if you knew he was just messing with you. It was a wonder you weren't screaming yet from such simple touches; The masks should have had you doing so then and there.

When you shook your head, the two only went on with what they were doing. But when they noticed that you weren't going to budge anytime soon, they knew they'd have to push you even harder.

"Fine, then," Aaron said as he ceased from rubbing you and put his mask back on, leading Spencer to do the same. "We'll just have to fuck it out of you, then," he smirked.

It was Spencer's turn to grab you, making it so that you were no longer on your back, but on all fours, with him behind you. He played with some of your hair for a few seconds, before pulling it, so that you were closer to his body. You let out a squeal in response, blushing as he handled you so roughly.

"Maybe feeling me inside of you will work, hm?" Spencer hummed in a teasing voice, settling both of his hands onto your ass. He squeezed down, earning one more noise from you in the form of a whimper.

You tried not to react as Spencer filled you with his cock, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go without harming you. You shut your eyes as tears pricked the corners of them, causing Aaron to chuckle.

"Fuck, tears again, honey? That difficult, huh?" Aaron laughed at you.

And if there was one thing about him, it was that he was about to make it a whole lot harder.

Aaron began to rub your clit as Spencer pounded into you from behind, not giving you any time at all to process it. His fingers moved over you with force, rubbing circles that shouldn't have felt as good as they did.

Meanwhile, Spencer, just to add fuel to the flame, issued a few slaps to your ass, rubbing his hands over the reddened areas after each one. At a time like this, some sort of cuss word would have escaped your lips; Maybe even Spencer's name.

But you were hanging on by a thread, trying so hard not to talk for the sake of what would happen if you did.

Aaron and Spencer clearly weren't aware that you would hold out for this long, knowing how vocal you tended to be in the bedroom. Aaron sat up on his knees on the bed, pulling something from his belt buckle.

You hadn't seen it before, because Aaron had never turned his back to you for as long as he'd been in the room, but tucked into the back of his slacks and under his belt was a vision that made your heart race.

A knife.

All you could do was whimper as he wordlessly handed it to Spencer and put his thumb under your chin. "You're doing good so far, honey. But you won't last for long."

That was when Spencer held the knife a mere few inches away from your throat. Looking down at the shiny object was a new experience for you, but it was one that sent a rush of butterflies to your chest.

They knew just how to get you.

Maybe it was the thrill of the possibility of getting hurt that made you more attracted to knife play than you initially perceived you would be; Being under the control of your two boyfriends, and having to submit to their mercy.

But that very thing was about to get you to burst in a few seconds.

"You like this, princess?" Spencer let out in a grunt as he fucked you from behind, his voice a hoarse whisper as he spoke. "You like how helpless you feel?"

Again, you couldn't answer. And, really, what would you say?

"We could do anything to you, and you wouldn't say a thing. Tease you, play with you, hurt you. And you'd probably even like it, wouldn't you, honey?" Aaron teased you even further, resuming his attack on your clit with his thumb.

You shut your eyes, so, so close to the edge, and trying to focus on that as opposed to the two men's taunts and jeers. You zoned in on your breathing, and the filthy notions that were plaguing your mind as the seconds passed.

When you didn't speak again, the pair was forced to take more excessive measures. Spencer's hand closed around your neck, and, with force, the brunette genius began to squeeze down.

Your eyes shot back open as pain mixed with pleasure, your brain fogging with lust as you were robbed of your oxygen. "Come on, princess. I wanna hear you," Spencer mindlessly encouraged you, trying to coax the words out of your mouth at this point.

"Mmhm. That pretty voice of yours," Aaron said to you, moving his hand from your clit to tease your nipples. "Where's our little whore, huh?" asked Aaron.

You wanted so badly to hold on, your body begging you to keep your mouth shut so you could finish and not be punished, but it was safe to say—You failed.

Because then, and only then, did it happen.

"Fuck."

The swear left your mouth before you could think it through, and your eyes widened as you slapped your hand over your lips. Spencer's body paused as soon as you had said it, and Aaron moved his hand away from your figure.

"Well, would you look at that," Spencer chuckled, pulling out of you.

"Wait, wait, I didn't mean—I—Oh, God," you muttered, shutting your mouth as you realized that you were still talking. You turned to look at Spencer, being met with nothing but the Ghostface mask that he was wearing, that seemed to mock you as you gazed at it.

They were cruel, so fucking cruel for this. Driving you to the edge, filling you to the brim with dirty words, and sweeping the orgasm out from under you, just. Like. That.

"Sorry, princess, but you know the rules. Off the bed, and on your knees, now," Spencer commanded you, getting off of the bed himself, Aaron doing the same

"Wait, wait, wait, please, I'll be such a good girl. Please, give me another chance?" you aimlessly begged them, sitting down on the bed as you gave them your best pleading eyes. "Please?"

"No. We had one rule for you, and you broke it. Now stop being a brat, and do what Spencer told you to do," Aaron said meanly, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

Your eyes were tear-filled as you then looked at Spencer, begging for even a smidge of one more chance. You tried to use the fact that he was usually the nicer dom of the two to your benefit. "Spencer? Please?" you whined.

But he wasn't letting up either.

"Sorry, angel. What Hotch said," Spencer said simply, his hands in his pockets once more.

Sadly, you got up with a sigh, getting down to your knees in front of Spencer. Aaron walked to the other side of the bed, and, without a word, grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

You were an aching, leaking, and whimpering mess as your hands were bound by the cuffs, your body trembling in both fear and the heat of the moment. Spencer's cock, which he hadn't put back in his slacks, was in your plain view, aching from how close he had gotten the two of you to release.

Aaron got on his knees behind you and let his hands roam over your body. You moaned with need as he touched you, eager to feel even a little bit of him.

But he gave you nothing.

Instead, he held the knife to your neck again, with it being closer to your neck then it had been the first time. Your abdomen whirled as Aaron's mask looked back at you, causing you to squirm under his grasp.

"You've been bad today, princess. Really bad. And you know what bad girls get?" teased Aaron, his voice incredibly deep as the words flowed from his mouth.

"P- Punished," you said softly, your eyes on the ground as you did.

"Mmhm," hummed Spencer, putting his thumb under your chin. "Precisely. Now, what we want you to do is very simple, princess, mkay? Nothing you haven't done before. All we're going to do is use that pretty mouth of yours."

"That is, until you can't take anymore. Until we've fucked you dry," Aaron smirked. He ran the blade of the knife across your neck, and you shivered as the cool metal touched your skin. "Because that's all you're good for, really."

"That sound fair to you, angel?" Spencer asked you.

It was a wonder the genius could call you "angel" while the two of them behaved so cruelly towards you. You knew better than to deny them, so you nodded.

"Use your words, baby," said Spencer, bending down a little just to get closer to you and make you nervous, which sure as hell worked.

"Y- Yes, it sounds fair," you voiced.

"There we go," Spencer murmured. He took you by the hair, pulling you closer to him without one more word. Already knowing what it was you needed to do, Spencer pushed his cock into your mouth, and you quickly wrapped yourself around his dick.

Neither of them were joking when they said they'd use your mouth. You had made them cum several times each before you had finally reached your limit. Aaron's blowjobs were especially rough in nature in comparison to Spencer's, but his weren't much better, either.

And it felt impossible to do any of this with your hands cuffed behind your back, the lack of free will making it more difficult, and less comfortable.

Not that it mattered, anyway, because neither man was concerned about that.

"Guys, I- I can't, please, I- I can't take anymore," you finally begged, your face covered with tears that had since been running down your face in response to the roughness of Aaron and Spencer.

Aaron and Spencer looked at each other, clearly sharing a similar notion, because Spencer then said, "Okay, sweetheart. I think you've done enough, anyways."

"You were very good," Aaron praised you for once as he helped raise you from your knees. "And I think you deserve a reward for it, princess."

"R- Really? I do?" you perked up, trying to hold back your smile at the idea of finally getting what your body craved.

"Yes, baby. You do," Spencer chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. "Can you get on all fours again for me, please, angel?" Spencer cooed in his usual honeyed tone of voice.

You were way too quick to oblige, not even bothering to ask either of them to remove your handcuffs as you got back onto the bed. You shook with arousal as Spencer moved behind you again, Aaron walking around the bed to lay down next to you.

Spencer rubbed your clit for a bit just to get you going again, before pushing himself inside of you once more. However, there was a noticeable difference from how he had fucked you before in comparison to how he was doing it now; There was no more pain, no more roughness, and having sex had dissolved back into making love.

Aaron removed his mask for the last time, his face a vibrant pink as sweat stuck strands of his dark brown hair to his forehead. His lips for which you had been longing for, attached to yours after what felt like forever, sweeping you away in another passionate kiss.

All of your pent-up need was beginning to come to the surface, and Spencer could feel you compressing around him as your orgasm danced around the corner. Spencer grabbed hold of your tits like he'd done before, teasing each nipple in circles.

Aaron reached his hand down and began to rub your clit again, focusing the attention that wasn't on your lips onto your small bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you pulled away from Aaron to groan, your face scrunched up into a pornographic expression as Spencer quickened his pace. "Fuck, please, I'm so close."

"We know, angel," Spencer cooed, trying and failing to calm you down as he used one of his hands to pet your hair, the other still fondling your nipple. "Let go when you're ready."

Aaron began to kiss and suck at your neck, no doubt leaving red marks all over you as he did. His pace on your clit mirrored that of Spencer's cock, and you could barely find it in you to hold back much longer.

"Aaron—Spencer—" you muttered in a broken, whiny tone of voice, shutting your eyes as your climax brimmed to the surface of your body.

"Go ahead, princess. Let it out," Spencer finally encouraged you, his voice making clear that he was on the verge of pleasure as well as you.

You were screaming both their names as you were drowned in pleasure, your eyes rolling back into your head as your release flooded you like a tidal wave; Aaron and Spencer talking you through it only maximized the experience.

You lay limp next to the two of them after all was done, and Aaron grabbed the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. He unlocked the cuffs and put them on one of his bedside tables, before pulling you close to his body.

Spencer removed his mask and then spooned you, wrapping his arms around you as well. He pressed several kisses to your face, as Aaron drew figures into your hips.

"How'd you like that, princess?" asked Aaron softly.

You smiled up at him, burying your face into his chest as a means of feeling his warmth. "I liked it. Like, a lot," you giggled in response to his query.

"Good," Spencer smiled from behind you, kissing the back of your neck. "So—Would you do it again?" Spencer asked you, as if there wasn't an obvious answer to that.

"Yes," you said without having to think twice about the answer.

Aaron chuckled in response to your eager attitude. "That's our girl."

—

reblogs are very much appreciated <3

—

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

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howtofightwrite · 11 months

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I have a character who is expected to fight enemies in a war but secretly doesn't want to, so when he chooses his weapon He goes for something specifically for defense and never uses it to hurt or kill anyone. But he chooses one that doesn't make it too obvious that he's intended to just use it for defense and not to kill. What would be a good weapon for something like that? The weapons they all use can be anything from melee to ranged (although ranged is rare) and they can summon it at will.

Most psychologically healthy individuals don't particularly want to murder random strangers. Also, unsurprisingly, most people don't want to go to war. So, these have a few implications for you.

Your character isn't unique or special for not wanting to kill people; that's normal. Part of the job of any competent military is convincing their soldiers to kill for them. There are a lot of distinct elements that go into this, including their training, overall discipline, the propaganda and information that the soldiers (and general population) are exposed to.

So, while it's entirely normal for someone to not want to want to kill people in war, if they're actually getting deployed into combat while still holding onto idea, either the war they're involved in is so difficult to justify that the propaganda didn't take hold, or their military was deficient. Further, if either of those factors are in effect, then it's not just going to be them, their pacifism will be a widespread problem within their military.

Training and drills should have gotten your character used to the idea of following orders. Including to kill. This doesn't mean they're an unfeeling machine, but it does mean that, if the training was effective, they're far more likely to follow orders, when told to kill someone, rather refuse to.

Refusing to follow orders would result in (often severe) disciplinary action. Depending on the military, that could even mean a summary execution, after the battle.

Now, punishment is probably the least effective method for motivating your troops to fight. It will work, but has severe diminishing returns, and it's only a mater of time before those troops will return the favor, and start assassinating their own officers (or whomever is responsible for overseeing discipline) in retribution. There's even a modern term for this specific behavior, “Fragging.”

Before it got this far, your character's government should have been instilling why it was important for your character to fight. This can alternate between legitimate information and propaganda without much difference in how they function. One's true, the other isn't.

The process of formulating propaganda or legitimate information does differ. Propaganda is heavily affected by human psychology, and focuses on disinformation. Providing legitimate context for the war requires explaining, sometimes fairly sophisticated, political concepts in terms that the rank and file will understand. There are muddy elements here as well, a legitimate war is likely to also see propagandist materials produced to further motivate. Hostile use of propaganda can be used to demoralize enemy forces. Similarly, sometimes the legitimate context is effectively fictitious. An example of that would be, The Domino Theory: It was believed at the time, but has since been thoroughly debunked.

So, your character doesn't want to kill anyone, and that's great, but they're now in a war to repel an invading force, who are pillaging their homeland. Is it true? Maybe. Maybe not, but if it's a lie it's one they're unlikely to be unaware of. Maybe they're in a war to liberate territory that was previously claimed by the other party, and very importantly, they're pretty sure the other side struck first this time.

Finally, and probably most importantly to your character, they may not want to kill anyone, but they're pretty sure the invaders will kill them, if given the opportunity. They've also learned in training that, while fighting defensively has a purpose, it's not going to stop someone from trying to kill you, so they really need to put down an enemy soldier before their foe can do the same to them.

Is that all true? Not quite. Their enemies may have the same hang-ups about killing that they do. They probably don't want to be there any more than your character does. They may think they're fighting a liberation war, trying to reclaim lost territory. They're pretty sure that your character, yes, your character in specific, the pacifist, wants them dead, personally, and that if they don't kill enemy soldiers on the battlefield, they will die.

Is any of that true? Not quite. But, by the time you've gotten onto the battlefield and are staring down an enemy infantry advance, trying to find a path of pacifism is extremely risky. If your character is supremely lucky, they'll be captured, and held in decent conditions until the end of the war. If they're unlucky, they'll either be executed on the battlefield (by whichever side wins, either for cowardice or because they're a surviving enemy combatant with no important standing.) Worse, they could always be captured and tortured for information. Whether that's better or worse than being put to death is up for debate, but it's not going to be a fun time. This is all assuming that they're not killed in the fray.

So what's the best weapon for your character? Who knows? They're going to get whatever they're going to get. If the quartermaster hands them a spear, that's their weapon. Outside of some elite forces, and conscripts who are called up with whatever they could grab from their home, you don't really pick your weapon in most armies. You also don't, usually, get to pick, what you're going to be doing on the battlefield. If your character was trained to be infantry, they'll use whatever infantry weapon their military uses. Depending on the exact time frame, they may be required to procure the weapon themselves, in which case it will need to meet some standards, or it may be provided for them by their army. Without more context, it's impossible to know what you're looking at in this specific case, but your character wouldn't be allowed to pick an ineffective weapon focused on self-defense.

-Starke

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#writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #starke answers #how to fight write

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bunny-heels · 6 months

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AW2 Spoilers. About Warlin Door and what he means in the story.

gonna start this off by saying; i fully think Door is Saga's dad. and the game gives lots of implications and context for it.

Tim Breaker told Alan he'd been having dreams about Door for years, and even drew a picture of what he looked like. When asked by Alan about being related to Sarah and Deerfest still being a thing, he mentions that she helped him find a case about a man going missing in the 80s who apparently got struck by lightning at Cauldron Lake, who looked just like the sketch that he made of Door.

When Saga goes to see Odin, there's a paper that talks about the times he's lost his eyes. It mentions that he had it taken out 3 times. It says that the third and last time he had it was in 1988, and that "he who stands on the threshold took it from me".

There's a manuscript that gives the exact details on that very event. Odin and Tor were apparently "facing something even more powerful, something harder to define even." The person they were facing was described as "the dark one who yearned to stand in between, who has always stood in between, who would soon stand in between". It details that the brothers made a deal with this "dark one" to help him, in exchange for him leaving the family alone. The "dark one" makes sure they remember the deal by taking Odin's eye as collateral, and then he leaves in a flash of lightning Odin has been without his eye ever since.

Saga mentions that she never got to know her father, that he died before she could ever remember him, and her mother, Freya, didn't tell her anything. Odin tells her that her mother did the right thing by leaving and taking Saga with her.

Saga asks Tor about him being her grandfather and why they were distant. He apparently wasn't a good father to Freya, which he admits he was wrong to treat her like that. But also mentions that Saga's father was also causing problems for the family.

When Saga asks Tor about her dad, Tor says that "Some doors are better left closed." He explains that her dad was a "complicated bastard" and "always thinking too many steps ahead". He says "there was trouble, and then he was gone.", then says he "didn't handle it well". And that event is what caused Freya to finally separate from the family all together.

When Alan meets up with Door for the fourth and last time, Door seems upset with him, being genuinely irritated by what he's doing. Alan's confused and doesn't understand why he's suddenly like this. Door says that Alan is lucky to have so many people fighting for him, mentioning his wife. Alan states that he needs to get to Alice because she's in danger. To which Door says;

"She is, because of you. And so is someone important to me, someone you pulled into this. You keep opening doors, peeking in. Reaching through to get what you want, and that puts you in my path."

When Saga goes into the dark place and finds Tim, he gives her a page that describes how Door travels through it. She profiles Door, trying to figure out who he is. He ends up just saying this;

"A door that stands between two rooms is in both. A door that can lead anywhere is everywhere. That door is the center. He governs the currents of reality."

Saga is confused because of all the powers she's seen recently and doesn't "know who is playing who". She then goes; "Opening too many doors. This isn't important right now, I can look into it later."

So not only is Saga the granddaughter of the god of lightning and the grandniece of the god of war, she's also the daughter of an entity that can seemingly travel through realities without a problem and can go to any world he chooses. So it's very possible she MIGHT have this power, and that it needs to be unlocked.

This still doesn't really explain why Door seems to have a connection to Tim, why he tried talking to Dylan and telling him about the other worlds, or why he chose to keep Alan entertained from losing his mind in the dark place. There's also nothing to give context as to why Odin and Tor truly didn't like Door, because it can't have just been that they didn't like his powers. Or maybe that was it, Door was so powerful that they knew he would end up hurting Saga, intentionally or not.

It could be that Door is the true owner of the dark place, and that Alan getting mixed up in all this was terrible luck, because it did just end up hurting his daughter, to which he shifts the blame fully to Alan for writing her into the story.

Maybe Door created the dark place originally as some sort of prison for evil entities like Scratch and Baba Yaga and all that stuff, and now it's all back firing because Alan got trapped and had to use real world events to try and escape.

Tor was not kidding when he said the family was fucked up.

#alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake ii #saga anderson #freya anderson #tor anderson #odin anderson #tim breaker #warlin door #remedyverse #remedy connected universe #remedy entertainment #the bun talks #this ones long besties

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gabbasposts · 5 months

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]I’m not him…[

Lies of P: P x Fem!Reader

Warnings: !!SPOILERS!!Angst, no use of Y/n, arguments, P stands for pissed and the boy very much is 💀

(Gif not mine)

A/n: I’ve yet to write angst for Lies of P, so basically here’s a little angst from a P x Reader fanfic I’ve been working on.

For context, this takes place right after P collects Sofia’s Ergo, but Reader and P get into an argument because he has to remind her that he isn’t Carlo, and trying to “help” him remember being him when he simply is his vessel is wrong. (Again everyone has their own headcannons on the lore, personally for this fic, I wanted him to be his own individual and co-exist with Carlo who’s Spector lol)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“C- I mean, P!” The moment the name slipped past her lips, she rushed to cover her mouth, but it was too late. His ears had already registered her words, and his expression told her that much…

His eyes stared at her with a look of hidden rage, as his body tensed. She could only stare as her heart began to race and the shift of his gears filled the sudden silence that had interrupted.

She adverted her gaze, her eyes scanning the ground as she stood there trying to mentally shift through the right responses that could hopefully help ease the tension of the situation and make him understand that she regretted it…

“You don’t understand me at all…” The stillness of his voice suddenly came through, and she lifted her gaze to his face. It still held a look of indifference and stoicism as he continued to stare at her with unblinking eyes, but even behind his mechanics she could sense the hurt and anger that bubbles just beneath his exterior…

He suddenly took a step forward. The action immediately making her take one back in response. She had never seen him angered before despite how he fought, but even then she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and neither would he…

But he had to convince her to understand him. To listen to truly listen to him, because as much as he wanted the strong and intense emotions he felt for her to be love, he couldn’t deny the fact that she… hurt him to an extent.

Not physically of course, but her continuous implications and refusal to see he didn’t like being compared to Carlo, was taking a toll on him and not for the better…

“I’m not him. I’m not.” He spoke softly, and for the briefest of moments his face softened. But it wasn’t long before his eyebrows furrowed and he glared at her.

“I’m not him. I wish… I wish I could’ve remained clueless to the fact that every piece of me was constructed in his image… I even have his heart, yet I’m nothing like him.” There was an edge to his tone now, and every word stung and couldn’t help but to wrap her arms around herself in a effort to calm herself, as she also fought the urge to advert her gaze from him.

“Ever since Romeo’s message, you imprinted this idea in your head that I must have to remember something from when I was him, to be me again… to find myself when the truth of it all, is that I am a separate entity from him.” He spat out, feeling himself grow more angry but even in his rage, he didn’t want to hurt her. But a small part of him felt good seeing his words finally set in place in her mind.

She recoiled from his tone, turning her head from him in shame, but he didn’t let her. “Did you know Carlo or something? Tell me. My father or more so my creator, has already lied to me enough and now I have to face him. It feels like I’ve been surrounded by nothing but lies since I woke up at Krat station. I’ll have it no more… so tell me.” He hissed and she couldn’t help but to scoff in disbelief, her hurt evident in both her expression and words.

“You know I didn’t! P, I’m sorry, after we found out about the ergo, I-I… I assumed that his soul” she began start, but he cut her off from her explanation quickly.

“-His soul keeps me conscious, and who I am now, but I am not him. You know this.” He bit out, causing her lower her gaze. She felt her eyes brim with tears, and she hated herself for it…

Before this argument, she had wanted him to speak more, and to express himself more around her, but not like this… not in anger that she was the cause of more importantly.

“P… I-I’m sorry-“ she tried to apologize turning to face him, but he scoffed taking a step back.

“From now on, I’ll deal with Geppetto myself. Stay here, and help Antonia or anyone else.” He turned from her, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he made his way down the hall to the main entrance.

She stared at him as his back, watching as his now grey and silver like strands moved with him, as he almost rushed to get away from her…

#lies of p x reader #lies of p carlo #lies of p #gabbasdumbthoughts #angst #I like to imagine that P is the type to be scarily call when he’s pissed

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the-moon-will-sing-a-song · 1 year

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a gift for @kkoct-ik! better late than never, right? ...right?

Scar takes Grian to the new Pet Cafe he found online as a date. However, he forgot an important part of the plan: to tell Grian it was a date. Now all he has got left is to wonder whether if he had told Grian this, maybe the guy wouldn’t have fallen head over the hills for the nice barista that also owned the place. It doesn’t matter. Because he has not been rejected yet and he is nothing if not stubborn.

The next logical step to gain Grian’s love is to steal BigB’s cookie. Do not ask him how he got to that conclusion.

Now for the details of this AU!

It’s BigB’s cafe but Ren also works there. He’s in charge of taking care of the pets (cats and dogs). They needed help for that and that’s where Scar joins.

Scar thought the job was about taking care of pandas due to a misreading. The joke sticks throughout the story.

He took the decision to work there when he and Grian were leaving the cafe, and Grian promised to BigB he’d be there often from now on. Scar could not just allow that.

Ren is also wearing fake dog ears for the job. A tail as well. He always forgets to take them off and does not realize that’s the reason they call him Rendog.

The A plot is Scar trying to get Grian’s attention away from BigB.

The B plot is Scar’s rivalry with Ren. Third Life style. Scar wants the enchanter and Ren is so confused as to what is that even. He doesn’t have his hand okay?

Ren and BigB are soulmates. What are the implications of it in this universe we might never know.

After a particularly bussy day Scar has to help BigB baking and they bond over that. Perhaps he notices what Grian sees on him.

After that, they get along really well. Like friends rather than coworkers. Even with Ren. Grian gets jealous (with the difference that he doesn't create a crazy convoluted plan to adress it, instead he attempts to have a conversation and fails).

C plot is how Scar adopts Jellie, a cat he grew attached to in his time of working.

He’d get into a building on fire for her. Literally.

A restaurant next to the cafe (Maybe The Ranch? Maybe The Ship?) had an accidental fire and they had to evacuate the cafe and all its pets. However, Jellie had been sick recently and was in a separate room from the rest. When Scar realizes, he drops everything and goes in (cue to a SCAR NOOOO). He may have inhaled some smoke but he’s fine.

That’s enough for Grian to break and one thing leads to the other. They admit their feelings. And yeah, Grian a 100% has a crush on BigB, but he is also a 100% in love with Scar. They are silly like that.

For context, before Scar goes into the building on fire Grian was confronting him about spending more time with the Jellie Pandas (a metaphor for the cafe and BigB and Ren) than him.

Scar leaves the job because yeah it was fun but he has more adventures to go on. Scar has adopted Jellie after the incident. And he somehow got the enchanter. Maybe he goes on to create an Elven Cookie Empire. Everyone is happy now (and Grian is still pining for BigB).

Call that a successful plan.

#grian #goodtimeswithscar #bigb #rendog #hermitshipping #double life smp #scarian #the fact that the fourth season of the life series is over goes on to tell how long it took me to finish this #It's Art-abella #the-moon-will-write-a-fic

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themattress · 10 months

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“Remember, kids, if you’ve got a racist grandparent who espouses negative views toward an entire group of people, then you’d better listen to them because they’re right! Some entire groups of people are just collectively evil and can never be trusted!” - Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken

If there’s no discourse about this now, then I suspect there will be soon once more people see or hear about this movie because good lord. For those who don’t get it, the context is that in the film the main character Ruby discovers that she’s actually kraken royalty and this of course creates generational angst between her and her mother and grandmother because everything’s gotta have generational angst in it these days. She is told by her grandmother that mermaids, the long-time enemies of the krakens, are all evil and untrustworthy sirens who manipulate people and seek domination over humans. Ruby also befriends a mermaid named Chelsea, who specifically calls attention to this feud between the two species and specifically says that she wants to put a stop to it with Ruby’s help. And so Ruby naturally says “screw your bigotry, Grandma; I’m standing by my friend even if she’s a mermaid”.

......Which leads to the inevitable third act “reveal” that Chelsea was actually manipulating Ruby the whole time in order to acquire a source of power, doesn’t actually desire peace between the species, and just wants to assert domination over humans as is her kind’s wont.

Look, if the bullshit about krakens and mermaids was not present in the movie, then despite what a hackneyed obvious “twist villain” scenario this is I still would have accepted it because it would just be an isolated incident between two individuals. Without the species feud, you could just freely respect Ruby for having such an open heart and positive nature, and freely hate Chelsea for remorselessly taking advantage of that for her own self-serving agenda.

But because this occurs against this specific backdrop, the movie is flat-out saying that racism is justified and that the teen protagonist should’ve listened to her racist grandmother! All mermaids ARE evil, untrustworthy sirens who manipulate people and seek domination over humans, and Ruby was a total dumbass to dare to believe otherwise about Chelsea!

Imagine if in The Little Mermaid, Ariel is exposed as a mermaid, Prince Eric immediately reacts with disgust before he and his followers harpoon her to death before cooking and eating her bottom half. Guess King Triton was right, all humans are heartless barbarians!

Or imagine if in Luca, the townspeople accept all of the sea monsters at the end, only for the sea monsters to murder them all in their sleep and lay waste to the town. Guess all those fearful superstitions about sea monsters were accurate and should have been listened to!

Or imagine if in Zootopia....oh heck, do I even need to give this example?

If you think I’m overreacting here, then just swap everything said about mermaids in the movie and replace “mermaid” with “Jew”. Chelsea’s Jewish now. Ruby has the audacity to believe that her Jewish friend isn’t some heinous caricature made of her people, only to learn that actually that caricature is spot-on, so from now on she will never trust a Jew again and will accept her position defending humanity against the evil Jews. Sounds fucking horrible when I put it that way, doesn’t it? I recently said that it’s a good thing that kids have recently been getting more stories calling out how wrong prejudice is, so to see a movie aimed at kids that is actively justifying and encouraging prejudice is mind-blowing in the worst way possible. Who the Hell signed off on this? Did nobody stop to consider the unfortunate implications? Did they think making Chelsea a caricature of a pretty, popular, two-faced Mean Girl justified applying that characterization to her entire species? Or was this Jeffrey Katzenburg being a petty bitch (again) over the fact that The Little Mermaid was being remade without him and he just wanted to stick it to Disney? Whatever the case, I’d recommend giving this movie a pass.

#Dreamworks #Ruby Gillman Teenage Kraken #Opinion #Analysis #Chelsea #Racism #Bad Writing #They Wasted a Perfectly Good Plot #They Wasted a Perfectly Good Character

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triscribeaucollection · 3 months

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(Working on the next chapter of Gave My All, thought I'd share the latest section and provide zero context):

Thankfully, the rest of the trip passed with relative peace, although Bly couldn’t help but wince when that same cadet kept popping up in his shadow. Apparently young Stance took ‘any brother who wants the same is welcome to join me’ as permission to constantly keep Bly in his sightlines - possibly genuinely due to his commitment to reuniting with his Jedi, but more likely, Bly suspected, as a passive aggressive kriff you to his older brothers.

Styles continued to glower whenever their paths crossed. Grey just seemed to grow more resigned by the hour.

“Either the captain’s going to stuff his shiny in a sack to keep the kid from going anywhere when we get to Yavin, or I’m going to have both him and the commander tagging along with me, I’m not sure which yet.”

Rex snorted at him over the holocall. “You say that like the Jedi aren’t going to find us first.”

Bly eyed the small blue figure of his little brother for a long, suspicion-filled moment. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Just because we’re keeping a low profile doesn’t mean I haven’t been checking the newsfeeds. Palpatine’s dead.”

“...what?”

“Apparently,” Rex said with visible glee, “Some Jedi operatives did a bit of digging, and Amidala called an emergency session of the Senate to air out his dirty laundry for all to see. Bastard decided to take off, tried to kill her on his way out, but Windu was waiting and got him first.”

A deep, shuddering breath went out of Bly, and he sank back in his seat. “What the kriff?”

“I’m going to take a wild guess, and say several million of our minds getting dumped back in time had an effect on the Force.”

“What, and the Jedi got pulled along too?” But even as he said it, Bly’s mind whirled faster than hyperspeed, considering the implications. The Jedi hadn’t suspected Palpatine the first time around - hadn’t liked him, sure, but distaste for politics and a Chancellor visibly snatching up emergency powers didn’t exactly translate to ‘Sith Lord plotting his total takeover’. But to investigate now- to expose him, to kill him, before the war could even truly get rolling-

Something changed.

The Force is connected to all things, Bly, Aayla told him once. In the same way an atmosphere covers an entire planet, and the slightest flicker in one spot can cause a storm thousands of miles away. Our actions may seem small and inconsequential in this moment, but they can add up, build and grow, until the entire galaxy is changed because of them.

#star wars #time travel au #commander bly #captain rex #fan fiction #commander grey #captain styles #clone trooper stance #wip #old rex's mind + young rex's body = the Best of shenanigans #while Bly continues to mentally suffer #x'D

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icycoldninja · 1 month

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Hey, love your DMC fanfics, can I request DMC5 Dante with sweet and kind s/o in her twenties, meeting fem reader parents who are really strict, conservative and lil abusive especially the reader's mother. They have weird ideas of purity for women and are very patriarchal.

Hello, hope you're well. Thank you very much, I am more than honored that you enjoy my writing. I am afraid to say that I have chosen to omit several aspects of your request as I wish for this blog and all material posted on it to remain free from political and social reform-related biases. In order to preserve the intended mood of the piece, I have replaced the aforementioned omitted material with synonymous themes, as needed. I understand that this may be disappointing to you, and for that, I apologize. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction and that you have a fruitful and productive day. Thank you for your patience and leniency.

Terrible idea (DMC5! Dante x Fem!Abused!Reader)

TW: Controlling parents, violence, and implications of physical abuse incoming; if you are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI.

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You sighed, resting your cheek on your palm as you stared out the car window, absently watching the blurred scenery rush by. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands felt clammy; you couldn't believe this was actually happening.

For context, today was the day Dante had agreed to meet your your parents. Normally, this would be a joyous occasion, but in this case, it was terrifying because your parents were less than pleasant, to say the least. They hated the idea of you leaving their (abusive) household so much, they did everything they could to make your relationships--be they friendships or otherwise--crumble. At first, they'd attempted to keep you isolated, but now you had a job, and therefore, your own house, which was conveniently far, far away from theirs, so there was nothing they could do. Their only remaining tactic was to embarrass you and insult anyone you brought to see them until your guest left, either in disgust or awkwardness. The only reason Dante lasted as long as he did was because he'd never met them--you'd kept their existence a secret from him and his existence from them up until this point.

You hadn't wanted to bring Dante to meet them, but he'd insisted. Because his parents weren't alive anymore, he was unable to introduce you to them; to make up for it, he'd meet your parents instead. You never told him how horrible your folks were, however, and were seriously regretting it now, but he was so excited--you just couldn't burst his bubble like that. Maybe, hopefully, things would go well today.

"Hey, babe, you OK?" Dante asked, briefly glancing in your direction.

"Yeah," You sighed, turning and smiling at him.

"You sure? You don't sound ok."

"I...I'm fine, don't worry."

"Ok...well...we're almost there, according to the GPS."

You nodded, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, not really sure what to say. You honestly didnt want to be going to your parents' house; Dante didn't need to get involved in your family issues any more than he needed to.

"Come on, I see that frown. You can tell me if something's wrong, y'know," Dante encouraged, patting your shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong," You responded, forcing another smile. "I'm fine." Dante would have pursued the conversation, but there was a sharp turn coming up that he needed to focus on. Once he rounded the curve, you spotted the a building in the distance; a familiar building that you recognized as your parents house; the building that had never been your home.

"This your folks' place?" Dante asked, and when you nodded, a big grin broke out on his face. It was clear he was excited to meet those who had "raised" you. It was a shame he had no idea how awful they truly were. "Alright," He exclaimed, grinning, "Let's go meet the people that raised my angel!" He flung the car door open and bounded out out it, with you slowly following suit. Poor Dante. He had no idea what waited for him there, and it was all because of your weakness. Now that you were literally on the threshold of hell itself, you felt so upset with yourself for not warning him earlier; for being so selfish and keeping the truth a secret from him. You were sure that after today, he wouldn't want to be with you anymore, and so, you decided to simply accept your fate and get on with it; maybe the day would pass by quicker if you pretended to enjoy it.

Your anxiety and fear reaching its peak, you rung the doorbell and waited for the door to swing open; waited to be greeted with the frowning faces of those horrible monsters you couldn't believe you called your parents.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, and you were met with your mother, a scowl plastered across her wrinkling face.

"Y/N," She greeted, stiffly, prompting you to force a smile.

"Good afternoon, mother." Your mother then turned her attention to Dante and narrowed her eyes at him.

"And who's this?"

"My...umm....my..." You words died in your throat; your mother's scrutinizing gaze silencing you. You sighed, folding your arms and averting your gaze. Thinking you were just too excited to function properly, Dante eagerly piped up and finished your sentence.

"I'm her man, name's Dante, nice to meet ya!" He stuck his hand out, expecting your mother to shake it, but she did no such thing.

"What? A boyfriend? Are you crazy? We told you never to get a boyfriend--you don't deserve one! " She yelled, her piercing, fiery gaze directed on you. "Answer me, girl, what were you thinking?!" You couldn't. You felt like there was a burning lump in your throat, preventing you from speaking. If you did, you were sure you would cry. You knew this was a bad idea. What were you thinking indeed, coming here and bringing Dante with you? Clearly angry at your lack of a response, your mother crossed over to you and slapped you across the face. "What has gotten into you, child? How dare you disobey us and bring this filthy troll to our doorstep?! How dare you?!" Suddenly, your mother seized you by the arm and began beating you with her bony, yet painful fists; his vise-like grip keeping you in place even though you screamed in pain and tried to get away.

"Stop it, let go of her!" Shouted Dante, forcing your mother away and standing between the two of you. You sobbed, clinging onto his arm as you desperately tried to wipe away your tears.

"Get out of my way, you have no right to stand between me and my daughter!"

"She ain't your daughter if you hit her like that--the hell you thinking?! What was that even for?!"

"Shut the fuck up, you worthless loser," Retorted your mother, spitefully. "You have no right telling me how to parent my child.

"She's not your child if you treat her like this," Dante said, coldly. "Come on, babe, let's get outta here." He wrapped his arm around you and tried to guide you away, but you remained still.

"I'm sorry, Dante," You said, still crying. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm so, so sorry--I should have told you about them sooner."

"And what's that supposed to mean, young lady?!" Demanded your father, striding into view in his usual stained shirt. "And who the fuck is this?"

"Her boyfriend," Growled your mother, turning her nose up in disgust. "A bad influence, too." Your father grunted, roughly grabbing your wrist and jerking you towards the house.

"That's easily taken care of. Get outta here, loser, you'll never see my daughter again." You turned and looked at the angry expression on Dante's face, wishing you had the strength to stand up for yourself and break free. Unfortunately, you didn't; you were too afraid to do anything. You could only watch as your horrible parents dragged you inside their house of horrors and slammed the doors in your boyfriend's face.

Once again, you found yourself questioning your thought processes that led you to set foot within a 40 mile radius of your parents' lair.

You knew it; you felt it in your bones and your gut, but you did it anyway.

You were such an idiot.

This really was a terrible idea.

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kiwisfics · 3 months

Text

A/N: Don't read this if you don't like dark fics! Don't come at me if you don't like the content. Triggers are listed and the only non-"constructive" comments I'll take are about any triggers that need to be added. I said I was gonna post this like... three days ago but I kept going over it again so if I don't post it now I'm not gonna. JUST TAKE THIS! Let me know if I missed any uses of my SI's name when I was editing.

Context Needed: I normally keep the fics I write that are lore-heavy to myself, but since people said they wanted the dark fic… Reader is a rifter, which basically means that she’s capable of traveling dimensions, and is conditionally immortal. Reader goes by Black Robin and is implied to have a suit that shows a lot of skin and to have a flirty persona as a vigilante.

TWs under the cut because there's... a lot.

Light TWs: Self-loathing, reader diminishes her own worth, reader has past trauma with being left behind by people she cares about, Dick is giving reader the silent treatment at the beginning but it’s mostly pre-setting, canon-typical violence/blood mentions. “Good girl” gets used condescendingly.

Heavy TWs: Do NOT read this if you have any triggers related to rape/non-con. Nothing actually happens, but it heavily revolves around reader believing that it's going to. Seriously, don't read this if you don't like whumpy stuff, because you're not gonna like it. My love of whumper to caretaker shows through here. Lots of mentions of trafficking, reader is kidnapped by said traffickers, fear of rape/non-con, Dick is very mean. Like, seriously, he’s very OOC for the majority of this fic. Threats/implications of rape/non-con, inappropriate use of one of his escrima sticks (just in the mouth) reader has a spiral at the end where she’d convinced that Nightwing and Red Hood are going to rape her.

If it’s any consolation, this is technically hurt/comfort, so it isn’t all horrible. Just… most of it. Reader also forgives him far too fast in the end, but I can gladly share some more snippets of how this affects the reader character in the future. I’ve already got ideas for some short scenes that I’m gonna write.

Nightwing was going to kill her.

He’d been explicitly clear: he didn’t want to see Black Robin out ever again. She’d nearly gotten herself killed, but she knew that wasn’t why he was so angry. He couldn’t have cared less about that, after all, she was a rifter and that meant that she was built to take pain and that death was a moot point. He was angry because she’d risked the mission, nearly let a trafficker that they’d all been hunting for weeks get away because she got too confident for her own good.

She’d snapped back at him when he told her that she wasn’t to wear the suit again, told him that he was just like Batman. That was the wrong thing to say.

He hadn’t talked to her since.

So, maybe she was trying to bait him a little by coming into Blüdhaven in her suit, maybe she was trying to get his attention back because she couldn’t stand being punished with the silent treatment. Maybe this was her fault.

Well, it was definitely her fault, but in her defense, she was thinking with her heart and not her head. She didn’t want to lose him, and in some twisted way, having him level her with lecturing and anger was still better than the radio silence.

She would have been fine. Nightwing would never actually hurt her. That wasn’t what went wrong.

Her suit didn’t have a panic button. It didn’t need one because she was forbidden from going out on her own even before she’d wrecked a mission and been benched. So, when she’d stolen a bike and made her way to Blüdhaven in costume while Bruce was off-world, Tim was with the Titans, Jason was off on a no contact mission, and Alfred was distracted with keeping Damian from abandoning his studies in favor of full-time vigilantism, no one knew where she was going.

She’d even been stupid enough to leave a note saying that she was heading home to visit family, and she wouldn’t be back for a while.

Alfred would have already found the note. Bruce wouldn’t start worrying for at least forty-eight hours with no word.

By then, it might be too late. Too late for her pride and her self-respect at least.

For now, she contented herself with growling and spitting at the traffickers, fighting the urge to be sick over the taste of her own blood soaking the rag in her mouth. She had no chance of picking the locks on the handcuffs, because she’d never gotten the hang of it while Bruce was teaching her, so she didn’t bother fiddling with them, instead preserving her energy.

If no one found her, she’d need her energy if she got the chance to run. They’d have to uncuff her from the chair if they wanted to-

She gulped, pushing down the thought.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but he was also the only chance she had of getting out of this without something worse than torture occurring.

She could see the leering. She could read the expressions. She promised herself that if she got out of this, then she was going to change the layout of her suit. She needed to cover more skin. She needed to flirt less with enemies too, apparently, because the men that had grabbed her had parroted some of her own lines back at her while they gagged her and dragged her back to this warehouse.

It was always warehouses. For once, she wanted to get dragged to a penthouse suite and get threatened and tortured by a classy villain.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but she couldn’t help the way that her chest lurched with relief and happiness upon seeing his form drop to the floor from one of the open skylights.

At once, all of the guns were on him, but, as suspected, he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Here to save your little friend? Awful bold to jump right in the middle of the warehouse full of men with guns, even for you, Nightwing.”

He tilted his head, the clench in his jaw speaking of rage.

She was sure she was saved, because even if he was mad at her and was going to give her a lecture that might have her in tears by the end of it, Nightwing wouldn’t hurt her. Dick wouldn’t hurt her.

“Save her? No. She’s just getting exactly what she asked for.”

Her stomach lurched this time, but it was with fear and a sickly cold feeling that crawled up her throat like it was being swarmed by ants.

Was she wrong? There was no way he would just leave her to her fate. He’d saved genuinely terrible people from situations that weren’t even as bad as the one that she’d found herself in, so there was no way he was going to leave her here, just because they’d had a fight.

Right?

The men’s guns all seemed to lower in the slightest bit, but they didn’t leave his form, “You expect us to believe you’re going to just leave her here? That you just dropped in for a friendly chat?”

“Oh, no. I don’t plan to leave her here. You just saved me the trouble of getting her pinned down is all.” He twirled one of his escrima in his hand, like it was a fidget toy instead of a dangerous weapon. “I appreciate you making my night easier, but I’m going to be taking her off of your hands now.”

So, he was saving her, right? He was contradicting himself, but she didn’t care what he said if he got her out of this.

“Thought you weren’t saving her,” the guns raised back to their full height, the leader scoffed, “you go play hero somewhere else for the night and maybe will give her back when she’s nice and broken in. Might not even charge you the full rate.”

She didn’t like having her suspicions confirmed about what they planned to do with her, but that was fine. She had guessed that, and it didn’t matter anymore, because Nightwing was here and that meant that these idiots were just delaying the inevitable rescue he’d come to pull off.

“Well, I guess you could consider it saving. After all, I might not be quite as into pain as some of your clients are, but you shouldn’t worry, I plan to make good use of her.”

What?

No, no, that wasn’t right. He was not actually implying that he was going to use her exactly how these men planned to. There was no way. He was Nightwing. He was-

They’d been flirting since they’d met, the kind of flirting that made everyone that didn’t know better think they were already an item. Even she knew that he was attracted to her, but… had she really pushed her luck this far? Had she really made him hate her so much that the only way he wanted to make a move on that attraction was like this?

She was having more and more trouble holding back on throwing up the meal she’d had before leaving Gotham.

“Yeah, right. You expect us to believe you want her as a toy?” The leader scoffed.

She wished she was that certain that he was lying about it.

Dick- Nightwing walked forward, still twirling his escrima as he approached her. The men parted for him despite keeping their weapons squarely aimed.

“Who could blame me?”

She could feel his eyes burning into hers even behind his mask. Her own mask was long gone, leaving him an unabated view of her frightened eyes. She was sure there was betrayal there too.

His escrima rested beneath her chin, and she forced her head back, trying to put distance between her skin and the weapon that she knew could easily shock her, “Look how pretty she is when she’s scared.”

She tried to muffle the whine that escaped her throat, but there was no way that he didn’t hear it.

What was going on? This was wrong. Was this- was someone wearing his face?

No, she couldn’t pin it on that, because no one knew about the way he’d yelled at her about never wearing the suit again, and there was no denying that was what he meant when he’d said she was getting what she asked for.

He really did hate her, then. She’d really, really messed up, and now he hated her, and for some reason the sting that knowledge made bite at her heart was worse than the fear at what he planned to do to her.

“And what kind of payment are we getting out of this? We could make hundreds at least by selling a vigilante, especially if we only rent her out. And this one can break over and over again, just to heal back up. She’d a goldmine of opportunities. Why would we just hand her over to you?”

Dick’s—no, no, she couldn’t think of him as anything other than Nightwing, because if she thought of him as Dick, then she was going to breakdown for sure; Dick didn’t hate her, Dick cuddled her during movie nights and carried her to bed when she fell asleep—Nightwing’s jaw ticked with irritation. Apparently, he hadn’t expected them to be so unwilling to give her up just because he wanted her to himself.

Was he waiting for this? Did he know what he was going to do as soon as he’d told her to never put the suit on again? Was he hoping that she would, just so he could use it to justify punishing her like this?

His empty hand trailed up her chest, just barely brushing her shirt, but it was enough to make a jolt go down her spine. He grabbed her jaw, the escrima stick brushing lightly against her cheekbone, “You’re going to let me take her without causing me any more trouble, because otherwise, I’ll be telling the Bat about your outposts in Gotham.”

Angry muttering began among the traffickers, but the leader remained silent, “That’s not much of a payment.” He hummed, like he was considering the offer, but anyone could tell that he already planned to ask for more, “Tell you what, you can take her out of here, no problem. I’m not interested in getting caught by a stray bullet in a firefight, and, honestly, keeping one of the Bat’s things seems like asking for trouble. She didn’t put up much of a fight, so you can walk out with her, after you give us a show.”

She gagged audibly on the rag in her mouth, tears finally escaping her eyes while she put renewed effort into forcing the rag out of her mouth. She wanted to beg and plead and cry. If he was going to do anything to her, at the very least she didn’t want an audience.

For his part, she could see his eyes widen just a fraction behind his mask, but the surprise quickly seemed to settle, and he flashed a smirk to the men that made her feel like she was about to start hyperventilating.

“Fine.”

No, no, no, no, no.

He pulled the gag from her mouth with the hand that had been against her chin, and she instantly opened her mouth to beg, but snapped it shut a millisecond later, her teeth clacking together almost painfully.

His escrima stick was resting against her lips, and his free hand was holding her jaw again, fingers squeezing against her cheeks in an attempt to make her open her mouth, but she wasn’t budging. She wasn’t stupid, and maybe cooperation would make things better in the long run, but she wasn’t letting him put his weapon in her mouth.

“Unless you want this to hurt a lot more later, you should cooperate right now. I’d hate to use this somewhere-“

Her mouth shot open before he could finish, fast enough that her jaw popped.

Okay, so she was letting him put his weapon in her mouth. She’d take the loss.

“Good girl.”

She hated that the praise stroked something in her, making her heart flutter even while he shoved the escrima stick past her lips and far enough into her mouth to hit her throat and make her gag.

Blood. Steel. An iron tang that made her brain go blank for long enough that she missed what he said next.

He didn’t appreciate that.

“Am I boring you?” He growled the words as his free hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head forward, making the escrima stick hit the back of her throat again with what was almost a bruising force. “I asked if you were going to behave, or if I was going to need to make you deepthroat this while it was on, but I guess I have my answer.”

Cold terror battered against her ribcage in place of her heart. All that was left in her chest was a black hole of absolute horror and fear that could hardly classify as a heart.

She didn’t realize that the sobbing in her ears was her own at first, too far into her own head and too tense while waiting for him to flick the switch to make this humiliation painful to know what was going on around her.

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe!

And suddenly everything around her stopped and went deathly silent before gunfire began and the yelling of the traffickers became frantic and chaotic. The only words she picked up were “it’s the Hood!” and what normally would have made her think she was saved only made her panic more, because if Nightwing—the one that had held her while she cried and always agreed to musicals just because he knew she loved them—was going to use her as a toy, than that meant that Red Hood would too. She was sure he hated her too. She’d thought the way they bantered was fun and games, but she’d also thought that Nightwing cared about her and clearly, she was wrong about that. Nightwing had probably called him here so he could take out the frustration he had with her on her.

And then they’d tell Batman that they’d found evidence that she’d been trafficked and then they’d keep her locked up somewhere and- and- and- and- she couldn’t-

“Breathe.” A familiar hand fanned across her cheek, fingers brushing away tears that were immediately replaced with more, “Breathe for me, bird. It’s alright. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t catch her breath, but the escrima stick wasn’t between her teeth anymore, so she could beg now. She could plead and promise to behave and maybe if she asked nice enough and they believed her then they’d let her go after they were done with her instead of keeping her.

“Please, please, I’m- I’m sorry, I-I’ll never wear the suit again, I promise. I promise. I’ll be good. I won’t fight, I’ll-“

“Hey, hey, stop.” He pressed his hand against her mouth, not hard enough to force her to be quiet or to muffle her voice if she did continue to beg, but she silenced herself instantly regardless. “You’re okay, bird. Just breathe. I’d never hurt you. Never. There wasn’t a way to warn you about what was going on without cluing them in. I’m so sorry, bird. I really am.”

He sounded like he was about to cry, and the way he was holding her face in his hands certainly didn’t give her the idea that he was going to hurt her or force her down to her knees so he could-

“I could think of a hundred better ways to have gone about that, ‘wing.” Hood’s voice made her flinch and sink farther down in the chair she was tied to. She didn’t even move her legs or arms when he’d gotten the cuffs undone.

“I needed to distract them so you could get the files and I’m still injured. I wouldn’t even be out tonight if you hadn’t told me that they’d gotten their hands on her. If I’d tried to fight them, then they would have taken me out before finding you, so I don’t want to hear it. Don’t act like I wanted to do or say any of that.”

That was… fair. It wasn’t fair to her, but she had gotten herself into this situation and- she would forgive everything if it meant that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Actually, she’d let him hurt her if it meant that he wasn’t going to use her.

“Dick?” She whined out his name like a kicked puppy, tilting her face against one of his hands in a placating gesture.

“Yeah, bird. I’m here. It’s me. That wasn’t real. None of it was real, and you’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you, especially not me.”

Another sob tore from her throat, and she threw herself forward, into his arms. She was trembling and sobbing harder than he’d ever heard, and she was almost positive it was harder than she ever had in her life. His form wrapped around her, tucking her against his chest as he pressed his face against the top of her head and placed comforting kisses.

Jason sat on the ground behind her, one of his hands running circles against her back in an effort to assist in calming her, and it worked.

After her sobbing began to slow, Dick spoke up hesitantly, “I thought you would know. I never meant- I thought you would know that it wasn’t real. I thought you knew I’d never hurt you.” His breaths shuddered, “I thought you knew that I love you.”

“But you- you were mad at me. You told me- told me I could never wear the suit again and- and then you didn’t talk to me all week and I thought- I thought you hated me. And- and I came here to get your attention because you were ignoring me, so- so I would have deserved-“

“Hey, no. Don’t even finish that sentence.” His hold on her tightened and his voice turned even more tense, edged with anger, “No one deserves to be taken advantage of and you know that.”

She sniffled, tucking her face tight against his neck, and breathing in the scent of his suit and sweat. “You said you love me.”

There was a long pause, and Jason took it as his cue to leave, ruffling [Name]’s hair as he stood and headed out of the warehouse. He landed a boot against the ribcage of the leader of the traffickers as he passed by.

“I’m going to alert Blüdhaven PD. Half of their guys are probably on this group’s payroll though, so I’d get out of here before they show up. They’re probably hoping whoever shut down this location sticks around so they can fill them with lead.”

“We’re headed out now.” Dick stood as he said it, taking [Name] with him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung onto him.

“You said you love me.”

“I did,” he finally confirmed, “but I don’t think now is the time to talk about-“

“I love you too. So much.”

He went quiet again, feet still carrying them away from the nightmare that she’d just gone through, “I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.”

She tightened her hold around him, burrowing against him as a sign that she wasn’t holding any grudges, but also in an attempt to hide from the could Blüdhaven night.

“I knew you were after them. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in it. I just… I wanted you to talk to me again. Even if you were angry. I… I don’t handle the silent treatment well and… it felt like you were leaving me behind, just like everyone else always does. It felt like you had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you behind, okay? I know that me saying that isn’t going to make you stop thinking that I might, but I’ll prove it, alright? I’ll never leave you behind.” He brushed his lips against her neck, and she couldn’t fight the light laugh that escaped as the gentle touch tickled her skin.

“Okay. I, uh, just… one thing though.”

“Anything.”

“Please keep the escrima sticks away from me for a while?”

She could feel him cringe, but he nodded, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

#x reader #dc x reader #dick grayson x reader #dark dick grayson x reader #whump #dc whump

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