#captor route

[kaimiiru-creations]

#Hunt for Siffrin au #captor route #yeah that big guy’s the king #uhhh #isat au #kaidraws #I continue my quest to make Siffrin shorter

[discordiansamba]

(1/2) If demons are of similar nature to rift-creatures, does Keith have any level of tolerance for that kind of energy, the kind that is so dangerously corrupting to most mortal people? Are demon-contracts a safer and more stable cousin of the corrupted magic Haggar uses? Would having demons around that on occasion possess people have let humanity build defenses against that kind of energy? (If they had, Shiro would likely know about it. Would that offer any protection against Haggar's magic?..

(2/2) … and how would certain other paladins react if Shiro identified the evil they were fighting as akin to demonic power? One more reason to stay very quiet about a certain half-demon)

Great questions!

To start off, yes- Shiro does recognize that there's something... inherently familiar about the energy that clings to Haggar. He doesn't want to go so far as to say they are demons- they're in space after all, but it wouldn't surprise him if there were creatures similar to them out in the universe, a belief that is only reinforced after he meets Allura and Coran (who have more in common with humans than they have differences, at the end of the day).

And yeah, basically this is the one area where humanity's magic would actually have a leg up on Altean alchemy, because whereas the rift creatures were only 'recently' discovered (from Allura's perspective), humans have known about them for their entire history. Their entire magic system was developed around demons- both to use them and to exorcise them. I think this is something Haggar would (subconsciously) recognize, and that's part of the reason why Shiro's arm was replaced in this AU- like a shackle to hold that threat back.

(Does it stop Shiro from forging his first ever familiar contract in deep space? No. No it does not.)

I think contracts are a 'safer' way to harness the power, though 'safety' is debatable when it comes at the cost of one's soul half of the time. But generally you get what you ask for with no hidden surprises! Familiar contracts are even safer than that, giving form and physical presence to demons who otherwise cannot obtain a corporal form of their own.

Keith might be keeping secrets, but Shiro decides that this information is vital to the rest of the paladins and is honest about his own bloodline and what that has allowed him to determine about Haggar. It definitely cements Keith's decision to stay quiet, though!

(also yes, Keith can resist the rift creatures.)

#asks #pidge's (highly improvised) guide to demons #yes this DOES mean Shiro gets a fun little companion of his own. finally #right now in my head it is shaped like a ferret #it can turn invisible. very handy for hiding from Shiro's captors #he can also see through its eyes. very handy for scouting escape routes #and helps him practice seeing through the black lion's eyes later on

[ofallthingsnasty]

The beauty of Gojo is that he already unsettles me in canon. He has his weird mask-off moments- paired with that usual cheery personality it makes me itchy.

And when you add dark themes to this, it's just perfect 🤧

#jjk.reads #one of the ones who wouldn't need to kidnap you #like why? our man really doesn't need it #and i like to think that he'd go the boyfriend route à la husband-turned-captor #hm mh

[auspicioustidings]

I love your work! May I please request ghost finding a captured civilian in an enemy base and taking her for himself?

Ah little posessive freak Ghost my beloved <3 I didn't know if you were looking for fluff or twisted Simon so I've leant towards the latter!

CW: Attempted rape (non-graphic), kidnapping

They had been warned there were going to be civillians in the building, but it wasn't the first time Ghost had to work around hostages to get the job done. It was an understanding on the team that whereever possible it wasn't going to be the huge fucker in the skull mask who dealt with that side of things. If they knew where hostages were being kept, that's where they sent Gaz or Johnny or even Price to settle them and get them out. Not the Ghost.

And that was working smoothly once again. Gaz had radioed in saying he found where they were being kept, had taken out their guards and would wait for the all clear for an exit route for the handful of doubtless terrified little civilians looking at him like he was the second coming for saving them.

They were all accounted for and that always made Ghost feel some tension bleed away. The last thing he needed to be worrying about was hostage situations.

The rest of the mission was easy enough, taking out any enemies and finding the saferoom to snoop around in for intel. It was laughably easy to get into. Saferooms only really worked if the person who knew the code didn't spill it at the first little twist of an arm, the press of a knife against their throat. They only worked if they were used. But obviously playing at warlord the man was arrogant, thought he could easily take on whoever came at him. Idiot. The moment he had the code, Ghost had no more use for him until he could get him somewhere for a proper interrogation, so he was smacked in the skull with a pistol and out cold. His fingerprints and eye scanner worked just fine even with him unconcious and the code he had given beeped with a green light and the click of a lock.

It was a damn good thing that you assumed it was your captor coming in and so were aiming the cast iron at where his face would be. Instead it smacked into the tactical vest of a much taller man. You hissed and spat and fought like a feral cat when the man immediately reacted by grabbing your wrist and twisting so you cried out and dropped the pan. There went your weapon, there wasn't much else to use in this little safe room but for the small implements in the kitchen and you hadn't felt confident with a knife. A blunt object with a larger surface area had felt like a better bet.

"Don't fucking touch me! I'll claw your fucking eyes out!" you spat out at what you were sure was a bloody monster.

You had been a victim of wrong place wrong time about 12 hours prior. You had broken down on a stretch of road that barely got any use and had fuck all phone signal to get help, so were at the mercy of someone passing by. Just your luck the someone passing by was some slimy asshole with a compound nearby he thought to drag you to. He had found out quickly he wasn't getting his hands on you without a fight. You were a bit of a mess, shirt torn and what you suspected was a cracked orbital bone from where he had punched you after you bit his tongue. You wished you had bit fucking harder.

The only thing that had saved you in the end was the alarm going off. The man had thrown you into the safe room, telling you that once he had dealt with whoever dared break into his base he was going to fuck you bloody. You'd kill him before he got the chance. You'd fucking kill him before all this adrenaline fuelled fight turned into fear and had you accepting your fate.

The monster in the skull mask didn't have the laugh of a monster. It was gruff but there was something very genuine about it. He had his hands on both of your wrists, locking them so you couldn't scratch at him with yout body pulled right into him so you couldn't kick either. Your wrists were pinned at your chin so you couldn't even bite at him. Didn't much stop you from fighting, trying to just drop all of your weight to get him off balance. The added weight did not phase him in the slightest.

"Settle sweetheart, I'm the good guy."

"Do good guys often wear skull masks?!" you hissed back, still struggling to no avail.

He manouvered so that you could see out of the doorway and to the passed out man on the floor.

"They do when they're going after bad guys."

It was like all the adrenaline had finally burned off at right that moment and you felt yourself go boneless in his hold, fight gone. You had a sick moment of being disappointed that you could see that the man was still breathing.

"We sure all the civilians are accounted for?"

You felt a little dazed as you squinted back at him before realising he must have been speaking on the radio. Whatever he heard back must have been interesting because he looked at you, considering, before twisted the little dial to another channel.

"Got a stray, let's keep it out of the reports."

Simon knew that the 141 would back him up. After all, him and the Seargants had always admired the relationship between Price and his wife even if when they first met she kept trying to murder him. She had grown out of it after a few years.

And Simon had never felt like this before. He thought you truly would have killed him if you had been able when he opened the door. It was love at first murder attempt for him.

He cooed at you and comforted you the whole way through exfil. It wasn't until you realised that you couldn't leave that it really started getting fun.

#mhairidrabbles #cod #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #the two things that you can blame bo for are Johnny always winding up puppy coded and the 141 just abducting partners #also the idea that Price is going to be the one coaching Ghost through this whole abduction and seduction act #mhairidrabblescodkidnappers

[constantinerkives]

Dance Macabre // Drabble

PAIRING: Yoo Jimin x fem reader

WARNINGS: established relationship, yandere Karina, kidnapping, allusions to violence and unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, and profanity. You and Jimin have children, Chairwoman! Karina, MILF! Karina and OC, Johan Liebert reference because I love that soft-spoken manipulative villain.

A/N: Before I begin the mean girl Aeri one-shot, this prompt has been plaguing me ever since I started re-watching 'Monster' so I had to do something about it because my hyper-fixated mind won’t stop unless it’s done. So to soothe this cursed thought, I’ll write about this and be free to begin orchestrating my next one-shot.

SYNOPSIS: To you, she’s your angel. To her enemies, she is death, and to your children: she is a god.

Your wife is a creature of habit.

You observed this when she started courting you during your college days. To you, she is the epitome of perfection; to those that cross her, she is death. 

For your safety, you must update her on your whereabouts. Karina liked knowing that she'll check the time, knowing exactly where you are and what you are doing. Failure to do so and consequences will follow. 

You didn't mind your strict schedule. You like sticking to a routine. 

Until you didn't, all it took was an argument with an entitled customer who broke your phone in anger and stormed off. And due to a broken phone, you didn't update your wife; she was angry. Karina's fury isn't like a volcano, no. It's silent, cold, and calculating. 

When you came home, the first thing you did was to get on your knees and begged for your wife to see reason - it wasn't your fault that your phone broke! But alas, your pleas fell on deaf ears - she wasn't having it.

Karina walks over to you and grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to look up at the older woman whose black, abysmal eyes swim with danger and twisted delight. She caresses your cheek, and your hope shatters as a faux disappointed sigh leaves her pretty lips.

"I still have to punish you, darling." Jimin pecks your lips. "Now run to the bedroom and wait for me, do you understand?"

"Do you understand?" Oh, the cruelty of adulthood.  

She fucked you raw and unrelentlessly, even when your throat became raw from screaming, even when your cunt was full of your mixed juices - the woman didn't stop. Not until she was satisfied.

And because of her treatment, you gave birth to her daughter nine months later. Ariadne Yoo, the carbon copy of her mother, is beautiful and sharp, even for a three-year-old. You and Karina cherished her, and it didn't take long for your daughter to ask for a sibling; naturally, you and Karina complied with your daughter's request, which brings you to your second pregnancy: another girl. 

Like your first pregnancy with Ariadne, Karina is protective of you and your unborn child. She made sure that she was updated on your whereabouts, even as far as placing a tracking device on all your jewelry. 

And it all went smoothly, until-

Pregnancy made you soft and vulnerable. That's why you felt sympathetic toward a group of innocent-looking teens whose car broke down. Motherhood made you want to make sure that this group made it home safely. 

It proved to be a stupid move because one minute later, your arms and legs were bound with tape on your mouth while they stuffed you in their supposed broke-down car and threw you into a cold, damp warehouse: a stark contrast to the luxury and comfort that your wife provided for you and your children.

After pulling the 'I'm pregnant' card, they were kind enough to make you sleep on a thin bed. And while they were discussing the desired amount for your ransom, you mull how this happened. Karina studied the map of the city to create a safe route for you to run your errands. Perhaps this is how they found out. 

They're smart, but not smart enough as your phone dings in the hands of one of your captors. She sneers and skips toward you as she shows you your wife's message. It read: 

You're late. 

Blood drains from your face. Your wife knows where you are, but she wants you to explain in front of her before she makes a verdict. 

"What's the password?" She asks; you tell her.

She licks her upper teeth as she types on your phone's keyboard. 

"Young lady," You tread carefully, "Whatever it is that you're gang wants, it's not worth it." 

She gives you a dirty look as the group stops talking and turns their attention towards you and one of their members. 

One of them scoffs, a man. "Oh, it is." He joins the young lady and drapes his arm around her shoulders. "It's easy money for your wife." He looks at her, a sick smile gracing his thin lips as his beady eyes glow with repulsive greed. 

"Shall we make it $30 Million?"

The lady gasps, "Perfect," 

"You can't spend it when you're dead." You tell them. The man's face darkens as he storms towards you and grabs you by the hair, eliciting a yelp from you. "You're in no position to threaten us, bitch." 

"Please," You plead, "You have to trust me-"

"Shut that bitch up, please." One of them jeers and the man happily obliges as he slaps your face. The side of your face stings red, and he hits you again. 

You're sure that their fate will be worse than death; Karina hates it when you get hurt. 

"Shut up, bitch." He growls, and you whimper - your instincts telling you to protect your daughter inside you. But your hands are bound. 

He looks over his shoulder, "Send the fucking message. She's starting to bore me." And they walk away from you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. 

"It's okay," You assured your unborn child. "Mommy's coming to save us." 

Karina's hand held her phone with a vice-like grip that she thought it would crack.

Her obsidian-colored eyes glower at the photo of your fearful state with the words: $30 Million typed below your image.

How dare they touch you, her wife, her equal. 

Cold wrath surges through her body as she puts down her phone and looks at her computer where it tells her your location. You were outside the city. She estimates that it could roughly be an hour-long drive.

A knock on her door snaps her from her reverie, "What is it?"

The door opens, revealing her secretary. "Chairwoman Yoo, the investors are ready."

The older woman stands gracefully from her seat and fixes the cufflinks of her blazer. "Have Miss Hwang take care of them." Karina's voice is eerily calm as she walks past the younger woman. Her secretary follows after her.

"What are you going to do, Chairwoman Yoo?"

The black-haired beauty looks over her shoulder. "I'm going to fetch my wife."

Pregnancy made you a heavy sleeper because moments later, you were awakened by Karina's soft hand caressing your baby bump while she cradled you. 

"Karina," You breathe. Impossible, you would've heard the screams of agony and fear. You crane your neck; your blood runs cold at the sight of their twitching bodies as they gurgle their blood. 

"Look at me, beloved." She coaxes, you obey and your eyes subtly widen. Karina's hair is tied in a high ponytail - she was presentable except for the blood splattered all over her suit and some on her face, decorating her cheeks like a demented blush. 

But she's beautiful regardless. 

"I'm sorry," You choke a sob as you hold onto her. "I tried, baby, I tried to-"

"Sh," She coaxes and pulls you closer to her, coaxing the side of your face against her soft chest as she cups the other side of your head. "It's okay, darling. It isn't your fault." 

"They're still alive, though." You whisper against her suit, and her chest rumbles with a dark chuckle. 

"I heard that dull blades are agonizingly painful than sharp ones. I will leave them to suffer for touching you and our baby, Y/N." 

With her other hand, she slips it under your knees, "Now hold tight," She stands up, "Our daughter's waiting for us at home." 

Karina effortlessly carries you to the exit of the warehouse. You take a good look at your dying captors as they lay in the pool of their blood, dull knives jutting from their bodies.

"Do you remember my first letter?" Your wife asks, forcing you to tear your gaze from the gang to answer her. 

"Of course," How could you forget? It was poetic. 

"I wrote about flowers and your love for them," She reminisces with a soft smile, a rare sight to see; you are blessed to see it. 

"And how you love peonies, especially pink ones, am I right, my love?" She looks at you. Her lips still form her rare, warm smile. 

"Yes," You sigh as you rest your right hand over her heart. 

"When we get home, you'll rest. And tomorrow, we will go to your favorite flower park so you can look at the flowers." 

You caught sight of a familiar Lincoln Continental. She opens the passenger door for you, and you allow her to guide you to the passenger seat. Karina lingers near the passenger door as she takes in your disheveled appearance. Your wife heaves a sigh, and takes your hand, her thumb rubbing the back of your palm soothingly.  

"Stay with me and Ariadne, Y/N." She comes closer. "I will give you everything. Everything is yours because I said so." 

She brings your hand to her mouth, where her lips ghost over your knuckles.

"Stay with us, and I will blanket you in flowers. I was born to smother you with flowers."

#constantinewrites #karina x reader #aespa x reader #female reader #kpop oneshots #kpop imagines #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin #yandere karina #yandere aespa

[thegoatsongs]

Sometimes I will watch a book adaptation as a movie/show and think about how the original text has so much that could benefit a visual medium, but that potential gets completely wasted.

For example, there are plenty of Dracula adaptations where Dracula throws away Jonathan's mirror. This is a good opportunity to show without telling about how many weeks have passed after that until Jonathan attempts his escape. Show him in a stubble that eventually grows into a beard. Make his hair messy, how he wears the same change of clothes for weeks and weeks, it's wrinkled. In general, most adaptations give me the impression that he's been there for a week, max. He was imprisoned for months.

When Dracula steals his clothes on May 31st we get the first large gap between entries, which is almost 18 days, which indicates a variety of things, including depression and despair. Since this can't be communicated through blank pages on screen, there's plenty of opportunity to show it otherwise. He has no mirror, but he has his razor. Show him reach for it, before stopping himself. Is it because he wants to attack his captor, or something else?

There are no mirrors in the castle, and he can't check his own neck if he's been bitten, maybe show him try to find a reflective surface in vain after one of his strange dreams (and they are another great visual opportunity to show his subconscious vs reality). If you go with that route, dial up the horror by getting us to finally see marks on his neck, which he cannot know are there.

There's more, like actually showing Jonathan's "brain fever" disturbing his and Mina's nights and being lost in "the hue of unreality" he tells Van Helsing about. Maybe give him a walking aid. Showing Jonathan clean-shaven since his wedding to show it's an important ritual to him and being on the way to healing. Then he starts growing facial hair again after Mina's attack.

No one ever shows Dracula's forehead scar, which is more than just an identifier of who he is despite his becoming younger. From a storytelling standpoint, it's proof that he is not indestructible, without needing too many words about that. From a symbolic standpoint, it parallels him with the only person Dracula has a psychic bond with, Mina, who also gets a scar on her forehead. Or how he in the end was marked to die by the person who scarred him.

And that's without going with the other characters, who I have thoughts about for each too.

Not to mention so many other books that rely heavily on symbolism. On-screen one can do so much more with Hyde's (as well as Jekyll's) appearance than making him a big monster or an uglier Jekyll, for example. Depending on the route they want to go with. But anyway that's for another time, I'm just having thoughts on directors showing they have a deeper understanding of the text than just "tick the plot boxes".

#dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #henry jekyll

[adventuringblind]

Drive with you Forever

Chapter Nine: Find me at your doorstep

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter summary: summer break is interrupted, Guenther is exasperated, Seb is a father to four kids who can't communicate, and the reader reveals an interesting piece of information

Warnings: kidnapping, medical abuse, physical abuse, drugging, lack of communication, throwing up, sickness, blood, mild gore, Jos Verstappen and his great parenting skills, mentions of SH

Notes: Listen, Y'all, this is probably one of my favorites so far. It's definitely not as comical as others, but it's dramatic and has some action.

Previous &lt;-

Masterlist

She probably shouldn't have been alone. She got comfortable in the safety of their apartment. Her newfound willingness to not let her father get to her.

She shouldn't have left that day as she walked down the streets of Monaco. Pascale had invited her over for lunch, and although she could have driven, she wanted the fresh air.

It was stupid to leave the house, she thinks, as her body refuses to work. Her useless visions apparently don't show what happens to her directly, just what happens around her.

Now she's in a strangers car, her phone broken, and the energy that had doubled since her dad stuck her with the needle not working.

Her healing had gotten better, and she'd discovered how to make new things out of old things. Her visions are clearer and more consistent, and the telekinetic abilities made her feel more like a Jedi from Star Wars every day.

Again, it's all useless now.

~

"Has anyone heard from y/n?" Shouts Charles from the living room where he had been lazily lounging on the couch.

"No. Why?" Max pops his head out of the kitchen. It's grown on Charles to see the Dutch being domestic. He's protective of his kitchen and Charles being the number one threat is not allowed anywhere near it when he's cooking.

"She was supposed to be at my mom's house by now, and apparently, she's not there."

"She did walk there, so maybe she just took the scenic route?"

"But an hour late feels like a lot for that." The anxiety in Charles’ voice is evident.

"Let's not worry about it for now. She knows how to take care of herself."

~

Nobody had heard from her that night. Or the next morning.

The boys couldn't sleep. On the phone with anyone who might know where she is.

Nothing. It's like she disappeared off the planet.

"Do you think it's her dad?" Pipes Lando. The Brit had been pacing a hole in the floor, and both Charles and Max had made him slow down to breathe properly multiple times.

None of them wanted to consider the possibility, but it could be a likely option.

"god I hope not."

~

Her room hadn't changed. The small window is still letting in a cold draft at night. The only thing telling her how long she'd been here.

Five days. Five horribly long days.

The ties around her wrists ached. Her body hurt from being repeatedly drugged and tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

There were more people here now. More then she remembers there ever being at least. She knew there were people, men, who would come in and out but she was never allowed to speak with them.

For what it’s worth, whatever they were doing to her was making her stronger. She’d been able to transfer the wounds from one person onto herself. It’s keeping her captor at ease for now but she knows he wants more.

It’s not ideal and it’s painful. It’s like she can’t get past a mental block that will allow to simply heal. She can feel it somewhere deep within. She knows she can.

Bringing someone back from the dead however, that’s not healing.

Maybe if she’s able to bring back the corpse of her mother, they’ll trade places. Her soul finally giving into the peace of permanent unconsciousness. At least then her boys wouldn’t have to worry. They could move on without her. Find solace in each other.

Maybe, she thinks.

~

Sebastian is going to lose his mind. His daughter is missing and it feels like the only thing the journalists are writing about is how she probably ran off to be a slut for a different group of guys. He was going to have the heads of whoever wrote that if he ever sees them.

The boys had been staying in Germany with him. It hadn’t taken long for the authorities to determine she’s not in Monaco. They’d come here in hopes of reevaluating. Though they were at each others throats when they got here.

Seb had practically forced them to sit down and communicate. They started working together after that.

Hanna had been forcing them to eat proper meals. Seb made sure at least one of them slept at a time. Lando had recovered from four separate panic attacks over two days. Max is trying to look strong but his puffy red eyes give him away. Then there’s Charles; the monegasque had been blaming himself for not walking with her when he could’ve.

Seb had a feeling they were going to find her. She’s a fighter. The when part is much harder to figure out.

And for all their sakes, he hopes it’s soon.

~

Two weeks.

Two weeks of this nonsense.

She wonders if everyone is racing again. Or at lease getting ready too. This was not how she intended on spending her break.

She was getting closer to giving her father what he wanted. She was pulling herself to the edge of no return every time she worked in that rotting corpse of her mother.

Tonight, though, may be her only chance at escape.

They’d forgotten to drug her before leaving her in her room. The alcohol in their systems already taking effect.

She’d been able to slide off her restraints with ease. Her abilities strength coming in handy at the current moment.

Now she quietly is pulling out her window frame. It have never been sealed but she can’t help but feel satisfied when the screen pops out with a satisfying click.

She could care less how far the drop is. She’s two stories up with grass beneath her. She push herself out the window, her body facing the wall and hand gripping the ledge.

She swings herself outward and hits the ground with a soft thud.

Then she runs.

~

She had a destination in mind. Someone at the gas station she stopped at was nice enough to let her use their gps to see how far away she was under the guise of hers being stolen. Technically, she didn’t lie.

The walk to the Haas headquarters was six hours. But she didn’t stop until she got there.

Now she can’t help but lean herself against the front door, hoping someone notices her.

~

Guenther whistles a tune to himself as he arrives at work for the day. The sun is out and the birds are chirping. The definition of a great morning to him.

The familiar female figure slumped on the ground in front of the front door completely changes his tune. He quick to get her inside and find some fresh Haas shirts lying around for her to change into.

Once she’s awake and refreshed he sits her down in his office.

“Are you going to tell me why you spent the night outside the front door?” He sounds like a stern parent. She curls into herself. It’s reminiscent of how she was when he first got her when she was fifteen. Scared, shaking, and so quiet.

He’d known she went missing a little over two weeks ago. It was the reason the summer break had been extended. The FIA had been trying to get more security measures set in place.

“I need to call Seb, please.”

~

The boys were there the next day.

Guenther had taken her to his house despite her adamant refusal. The girl had been to tired to fight and eventually gave in.

It’s not long before she padding softly down to the dining room, halting in her tracks when she sees everyone. She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything. The boys don’t either. They don’t know how to approach her.

He led the four males inside and sat them down at his dining room table. “She’s sleeping right now.” Questions come flying at him from the three younger men. Seb shoots them all a look that says shut up and let him explain. “I’ll warn you that she’s a bit of a mess. Her father did a number this time around.”

after an hour of sitting, the anxious boys see the female peek her head around he corner. none of them know what to do. They don’t want to scare her away after what she’s been through.

Seb goes to her first. He approaches her slowly taking her in his arms. Then everything in her snaps. It’s just like when she had night terrors and was finally able to wake up from it. This time however, it had been real.

~

She spends the night in bed with Max. The house they're staying in lacks a bed big enough for all of them.

They had played a game of rock paper scissors, which Max won. He claimed his spot next to her with his signature winning grin.

Charles and Lando decided not to take a different bedroom and are curled up at the floor at the foot of the bed instead. Their soft snores confirm that they are, in fact, asleep.

Max holds her close. Every second with her precious. She'd been crying since they arrived. No matter what they did, she seemed to have a never ending supply of tears.

He'd been the first to assess the damage done to her body.

Diagnosis: terrible. He had half a mind to get Guenther to show him where the hell her father is staying so he can personally drag him to hell.

The cuts and incisions along her torso and chest are still red and puffy. The bruises that littered her skin are awful shades of blue, black, and yellow. Her eyes are dull with dark circles beneath. Her body seemed just as fragile as the day he first met her.

He felt himself slipping back into memories from years ago. Gentle touches so he didn't scare her, slow movements because she flinched away from anyone who moved fast.

Quiet until someone tried to say something mean to him or Seb.

Now she lays on his chest. Tears still fall onto his lightly colored t-shirt. And he finds himself wishing he'd have found her years before he met her, if only to tell her he'll be there for her. No matter what anyone says, he'll always find her.

~

Seb watches carefully as she picks at her piece of toast. According to Guenther, she hadn't been able to keep much down since he found her.

She protested eating anything, but Seb is a good negotiator. He promised that when she could keep food down that they would go home to Germany. Not back to Monaco yet because people are aching to get pictures of her.

"At this rate, I'll be old and wrinkly by the time you finish."

She shoots him scowl. "Aren't you retiring? Dosen't that mean you're already old?"

"Old is a state of mind."

She takes another bite. The taste could be that of a brick, but she's so hungry it would still taste delicious.

"I can't stop thinking about the car that got me."

"What do you mean?" Seb asks gently. She hadn't talked much about the whole ordeal yet. Little bits of information here and there but nothing to help him get a picture of what went on.

"The man driving the car. I knew him."

"But he wasn't your father? Or the man at your door?"

"No, he was older than my father and larger than the man at the door." She rubs her tembles in a struggle to remember.

"No need to think about it now. They're not going to get you again. Mostly because I think your boys might start a war if they do."

Their soft conversation is interrupted by Max speaking to his phone in angry Dutch. A clear sign of Jos being on the other end.

"je doet raar." (You're being ridiculous)

Her head perks up at the phrase. A familiar one Max uses with Charles when he is oblivious.

Max hangs of the phone in a huff amd site down with them at the table.

"Can you say that again?" She looks at Max. Her request odd to him, but he obliges. "je doet raar."

"He was on the phone speaking Dutch. He used that phrase." Her head gets a shooting pain, and lights dance through her eyes as she finds herself receiving the car ride.

This time watching scenes unfold in that past. This is new. Both with her and in the context of the situation.

She's in the passenger seat, and next to her is none other than Jos Verstappen.

~

Charles has never seen Max so angry. Which is saying something because Max is angry a lot.

The scene him and Lando walked into had been nothing short of catastrophic.

A female body tucked into Seb on the couch, the German attempting to get the attention of a specific Dutch. Max obviously is not listening and is letting the most foul things he's even heard him say about his father ring through all their ears.

It's interesting in a sense. The other three had never hesitated to show their distaste towards Jos, and Seb had managed to call him a poor excuse of a father to his face on more than one occasion.

There had been a time that Max had a tire malfunction and ended his race in the wall. Jos had gotten more aggressive then any of them would have liked and he is very lucky that nobody aside from Seb had been around to see it.

Seb has a sway with words. He knows how to make them stick. So when he saw Jos' hand land on Max's cheek, he didn't hesitate to step in.

The German gently tucked Max out of the way and faced the older Dutch with fire in his eyes.

"Didn't know a tire failure was deserving of a slap."

"This is between me and my son."

"As far as I'm aware, he's dating my daughter, which makes him mine also. Touch him again, and I'll take legal action."

It was one of the only times Seb had to hold Max comfortingly in his chest. Reassuring the boy that he did not deserve any of that even as Max explained why he did.

Lando is the fastest to act. His arms encircled around Max's body. He can visibly see him relax into the Brits hold.

"Jos was the one who took me originally." The female explains. Her knees tucked up to her chest, and her head rests on sebs shoulder. Charles makes note of how she looks more exhausted now the the last time he saw her.

The words didn't register with him. Not entirely anyway. It didn't make sense. How is it even possible that Jos is in kahoots with the devil?

It would seem they are both devils that somehow raised angels. Charles will only thank them for that, and only after he's killed them.

It's terrible really, the way they look at him. She is teary eyed and apologizing while Max looks clueless. And for the first time since Charles started dating him, Max is pleading with his eyes for help. The Dutch is clueless on where to go from here.

"Knowing that, Max, if you want to leave your dad out of this, we can." Mentions Seb. He knows that the way Jos brought up Max left him confused. His dad praised him and rewarded him one second, then hit him the next. It made thinking fuzzy for him, and since his father was never all bad, he told everyone that it was a good thing. He was attached to him regardless of the circumstances.

This was different.

"If he's going to kidnap my lovers, then he needs to be put away."

"That makes this easier. Know that my home is your home as it always has been, in case things get ugly."

Max nods his head at the German. Really, Seb had been his father figure since he was seventeen. Jos didn't have much say in his life anymore

~

After a third attempt at eating toast, she was finally able to keep it down. It was forced, and she had gagged multiple times, but it was still in her stomach after an hour.

They left soon after that, thanking Guenther profusely for , once again, rescuing her at her worst.

The perks of dating a world champion is that he now owns a private jet. They got home sooner than she expected because of it.

Hanna greeted them at the door and gently latched herself to her daughter. The relief coming in the for of salty tears.

She likes being at home in Germany. Seb had made sure to keep her old room clean. He even got a bigger bed once he heard Lando joined them.

The room feels comfortable and familiar. She's even able to fall asleep when she sits on top of the soft covers.

That is how the boys found her. Snoring softly, draped over the bed with her shoes still on. They carefully slip her shoes of and reposition her where she'll be more comfortable.

Then, they leave the room and shut the door behind them. Their conversation nothing but whisper right outside the door.

"Will she be able to drive next week?"

"I hope so. Maybe Charles will have a chance if she can't, though." The Dutch snickers. Charles hits his shoulder playfully. "I'm not sure how to move forward now. It seems like anything we do only prolongs the inevitable."

"We take it on day at a time then."

~

She managed to get herself to the race track. Driving may not be an option yet, but at least she was there. Christian wasn't going to let her drive until he got her physical report back.

Really it was Max telling him the truth about how she still can't keep down a full meal and is now dropping weight because of it.

She did eat some crackers and was fine. She's proud of herself for that one.

Despite Sergio driving the second redbull, she was happy to be back. The paddock felt similar to home in some ways.

The only new thing is that she's never alone. When free practice 1 comes around, Max dutifully places her on the pitwall next to Christian. She dosen't move until somone comes to get Her.

She feels mildly like a nuisance to them since they have to pay extra attention to her now.

She's stays in their hotel room the rest of the weekend until right before the race. Everyone in the garage is shocked to see her walk in alone.

All her boys end up on the podium, and it's the first time she's celebrated since she came back.

~

Three quarters through the season, and she's still not driving. Still training in more ways than one, but not driving.

She doesn't feel like she can. Her body is still physically decimated. She's able to keep down more then just toast now, but that's on a good day.

Her powers are at the strongest they've ever been. She's managed to learn more about self-defense in case someone tries to nab her again. But with that comes sticky note threats in Jos Verstappens' handwriting.

It's starting to look desperate.

Despite the state of her uncooperative body, she still went to every race. Attempting to be as supportive as possible from the sidelines.

It didn't feel as painful as when she felt as though she lost her spot the first time. This time, she still had purpose. She is doing her best to learn how to keep her family safe. That's all she could ask of herself.

All of them were glad she wasn't pushing to get back in the car. They all know about her aptitude for pain. Christian is amazed by how she's coping and fully supports her decision. Seb seems to be cheering her on in the pits even though he's the one driving.

She doesn't even bat an eye when Jos makes a vaugly threatening statement towards her. Because if she wanted, she'd have his head through the wall in a second.

She doesn’t let herself get comfortable this time. The nagging feeling that something worse is coming a constant in the back of her mind.

~

Next ->

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jjsprobablywrong @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak

@chanshintien

#x reader #fanficion #f1 fic #formula one #formula 1 #racing #angst #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #redbull racing #formula racing #mclaren formula 1 #charles leclerc fic #fluff #mclaren racing #super max #ferrari #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #lando norris x y/n #max verstappen x y/n #lando x reader #max verstappen f1 #charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader #red bull f1

[dangthatscrayz]

Yooo we got the goals of 2 likes on the last one (ignore the fact I’m one of the people who liked it)

Slay the princess swap au part 3

(Btw this is going to be the damsel/smitten route first cus I like them both)

Ignore the bad grammar and spelling mistakes they don’t exist shhhh

Anyways for this smaller segment I will mention that the way you get each princess in the game is how you get there swap-au voice counterparts. If you brought the knife talked to the monster attacked him and gave up you’d get the broken and the voice of the tower. Make sense? It’s like og slay the princess but you touch grass. The forest will change in chapter 2 and in chapter 3 the cabin will be changed like in the og the design elements slowly creeps out. I didn’t change any of the names but switches voice of to the princesses

Name changes/role swaps (btw gonna try to keep the personalities from the og game in the swap au):

The hero/the voice of the princess

The captor/the voice of the world-ender (the captor is just a more adamant version of the hero wanting to do what the narrator originally told them to do and that’s keep the princess in the cabin or kill them or they will end the world)

The smitten/the voice of the damsel

The opportunist/the voice of the witch

The hunted/ the voice of the beast

The paranoid/the voice of the nightmare

The skeptic/the voice of the prisoner

The broken/the voice of the tower (I got good plans for this one trust me)

The stubborn/the voice of the adversary

The cold/the voice of the specter

The cheated/the voice of the razor

The contrarian/the voice of the stranger

You get the point basically the “The” and “the voice of” swapped

(Lore spoilers down here)

I’m planning on this au being after the ‘good ending’ in stp but the narrator gets so bored he wants to die so brings the princess back and puts the monster outside and wipes there memories and gets the princess to kill the monster, that’s why in part 2 and 1 he mentioned the monster surely killing the princess no second thought

#stp the long quiet #slay the princess au #slay the princess #stp #stp princess #stp narrator #stp fanart #slay the monster au

[hiskillingjar]

Could we get some aftercare with Strade? (Like him patching up mc and being all sweet and gentle after a torture session and mc is confused and doesn’t know how to process it)

i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned it so thanks for making me pick this back up.

2500+ words, literal follow up of strade's route in btd. it is what it is

*CLICK*

The heavy collar was fastened around your neck before you had the chance to say anything, and already, you could feel the heavy weight of it, both physically and symbolically.

He had claimed you. He owned you.

He controlled whether you lived or died, which was entirely dependent on whether you entertained him…or not. “Come on, buddy.” Amid your silence, Strade stood to his feet and dusted his hands off on his trousers, before he offered a hand out to you. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

An almost kind smile came to his face (his handsome face, still handsome in spite of everything he had done to you for the last three days) and he didn’t even seem that annoyed when you hesitated to reach out for him. 

In fact, he was remarkably patient, given the situation.

You blinked wide, scared eyes at who was now, effectively, your captor, half expecting yourself to burst into tears at the shallow display of kindness. 

You anticipated him whipping a knife out as soon as you reached out for him, anticipated him laughing cruelly at you for being so gullible, so trusting. 

You anticipated him continuing the brutal torture that you had survived for three days before this, until your brain broke and your body splintered into bloody shards in his hands.

But he didn’t.

He just waited for you. 

All without a snarky word or a raised eyebrow.

Maybe if others had been so patient and kind with you before this, you wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Ironic, really.

After another long moment, you eventually reached out for him and took his hand. 

“There you go,” Strade muttered softly as your hand slipped into his own. “Not so bad, is it?”

He hauled you onto your shaking feet with surprising ease, demonstrating his intimidating strength (demonstrating how you wouldn’t have won if you tried to fight back against him). 

You hadn’t used your legs in a couple of days and the searing pain still coursing through your body quickly fired up again, causing you to stumble with a weak cry and a whimper.

Falling into his arms.

In another universe, the act of him catching you would have been charming. Romantic almost.

It seemed twisted to consider it romantic now.

“Woah, easy there!” He exclaimed with a little chuckle, and not a mean one either. He attempted to support your shaking body the best he could, draping one of your arms around his shoulder, his free arm drifting downward to wrap around your shuddering waist. “Guess I should have known you’d have trouble walking right away. Sorry about that.”

He apologised and it almost made you laugh (almost made you throw up). 

Because he’s not apologising for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for putting a fucking drill through your foot, for fucking raping you while you were near comatose. 

He was just apologising for thinking you’d be able to walk properly after all of that.

His seemingly genuine kindness was enough to make your muscles clench, your stomach ache, your heart pound in your chest.

It made your head spin.

You couldn’t seem to reconcile these two very different sides of him. It couldn’t be the same man, could it?

He was apologising. Did he even know what he was apologising for?

“I’ll help you up the stairs, alright?” He offered, and you nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. “Then we’ll figure a place to put you for the time being, while I assess the new, ah, new living situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” You mumbled weakly, as he hauled you upwards (pulling you towards his cocked hip) and helped you up the wooden steps, doing his best to put as little strain on your injured foot as possible. 

It almost felt nice to be treated so gently, so patiently, to be the vulnerable one for a change, and let someone else, someone stronger, someone older, take care of the situation…even if that meant being vulnerable to someone like Strade.

He led you up the stairs of the basement, past the heavy, locked door, and into a...totally normal-looking hallway.

You almost scoffed, it was so normal (barring the lack of pictures on the wall, or any modicum of personality in what little you could see of what must have been his house) as he reached back to close and lock the door behind him.

"Hm?" He looked towards you with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't realised that you had, in fact, scoffed out loud.  He didn’t seem rushed or tense, though, not like he was dealing with a hostage. 

In fact, he seemed quite calm.

"...Nice place." You murmured, averting your eyes.

"Ah, if you say so." He chuckled, pocketing a set of keys and placing his arm back around your waist, before pulling you into his side once again. "It's a means to an end. Something that makes me look...mm, normal, you know?"

You didn't know. But you nodded your head all the same.

He didn't continue his line of thought as he led you up the second set of stairs, bare feet comforted by soft, grey carpet that was getting slowly dotted with blood from your punctured foot.

You didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

You were relieved when he opened the door to, again, a normal-looking and plain bathroom and led you both inside, locking the door behind him and approaching the large tub. “A friend of mine says that a bath is the best way to feel better,” He said, adjusting the handle of the spout and putting his palm underneath the running water, checking the temperature. “They’re not for me, personally, but it’ll probably feel nice for you, right?”

“Mm,” You hummed, biting your lip, settling down on the closed toilet lid and holding yourself tight.

Your relief was finally starting to settle in, but, conversely, the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were beginning to feel the full, sharp extent of your injuries. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks, and he seemed to pick up on that.

He looked at you then, amused in spite of your pain, his golden eyes crinkling fondly.

"This may sound a little intrusive," He apologised, his voice gentler, softer. "But, can I..?"

"Huh?" You looked up. 

He'd never concerned himself with not being intrusive before. Why now?

“Let me help you get undressed,” He said, taking a step closer towards you with an easy, laidback smile, the kind of smile that immediately won you over and settled you in the bar. “You’re probably too weak to do it yourself right now…right?”

You gave him an uneasy look, half expecting him to do something...expected.

"Relax," He insisted, as he reached down to untie the strings of your stained jogging shorts (why had you left your apartment in those?), his voice and touch unnervingly soft and gentle, handling you with far more patience than you were used to. "I won't hurt you more than I already have."

“For some reason, I doubt that,” You mumbled grouchily as your shorts slid down, just about grazing your cuts enough to sting.

“So cruel to me, liebling,” He asked, his voice tinged with playfulness and even a small hint of fake outrage. “Do you have any faith in your captor at all?”

“None.” 

You tried not to make eye contact with him as he tucked his strong hands beneath your (blood) stained top and pulled it off, letting it fall to your still-shifting feet and revealing your ratty sports bra. 

“Hmph,” He huffed dramatically, as if your reply had genuinely offended him. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

With a soft laugh (clearly, he wasn’t that upset with how stand-off-ish you were being), he pulled the bra off without much struggle (your arms were in no state to do any fighting anyway). 

You shivered, feeling the sudden cool air on your chest, enough to make your nipples swell.

He didn’t say anything about that, but he did look a little smug as his eyes drifted up and down your body. 

“Underwear off, then,” He then said, giving you a pleased look. “I’ll be a gentleman and leave that to you.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching for the straps of your panties, pulling them down your marred thighs and letting them fall to your feet too.

Strangely, he seemed far less interested the more you undressed, though.

“Huh…not a bad body,” He commented placidly like he was commenting on something mundane or dull. You almost scoffed again as you crossed your arms (and he let you do it). “You do look a little pale, though,” He added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softening once again as he turned back to the bath and pushed the tap down to a stop. “I guess the blood loss is normal in your case…” “I guess so,” You replied with a little sigh, covering yourself more tightly with your arms while he dragged a hand through the hot water.

"Lie down into the bath," He instructed a little sternly after standing up straight again and wiping his damp hands down his front, his tone suddenly more authoritative. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Your legs felt like they were about to give out from under you as he spoke, but you didn't even attempt to argue with him. You just did as he said.

The water was much hotter than you expected, hot enough that steam was emitting in short wisps from the surface, making you immediately inhale with subdued pain (never mind how the hot water felt on your open wounds). 

You quickly sank down into the tub, though. settled by the heat and the comforting warmth of it, like a blanket on your aching limbs, quicksand on your shoulders. It felt…safe, in a perverse kind of way.

You were growing used to perversion, though.

“Ah, you looked like you needed that,” Strade said after a few silent minutes, and when you looked up, you saw that he was stripping off himself. “Move up.”

"Mm!" You let out a little squeak of surprise as he stepped into the tub behind you, his warm body, his tank skin pressed to yours. “H-Hey, come on, I just wanted to relax!”

"So, relax," He said lightheartedly, with the kind of commanding tone you were starting to get used to. He was going to have his way, no matter what you said, so better to just…let it be.

The bath was more than big enough for the two of you (you could only guess how much it must have cost him), but a self-conscious gnaw on your brain forced you to try and appear as small as possible against his broad chest. 

Curling your knees up to your chest, hunching your shoulders inwards, dipping your head down.

“Hmph, that’s cute.” He said, almost fondly and with an audible smile, slowly stroking up and down your back with a gentle touch. “You’re so tense…almost like you’re scared or something.”

His fingertips were calloused from years of physical labour (you didn’t want to think what that labour might have been) as they traced up and down the tattooed lines of ink in your skin, slow and almost curious. And, despite how frightened you might have been, you couldn’t help but lean back against him, relishing in his softness, his almost kindness, while he was still in a good mood.

"There we go," Strade said with a pleased murmur. "Perfect. Exactly like that."

Strade slipped a hand around your stomach, and rubbed the skin gently, before slowly sliding upwards, inch by inch, until his fingers were gliding against your ribs. without any kind of malicious intention, humming softly into your hair.

You don’t know what song he’s humming.

You found yourself sighing with a weird kind of pleasure, sinking further into the warm water that soothed your aching muscles, and relaxing against his soft chest. He seemed satisfied by how much you were relaxing and wrapped both arms around your middle, pressing his face into your hair and taking in a long inhale of you.

It felt nice.

Maybe you should just stop denying yourself pleasure and accept the good things he was offering.

Your body was so close to his that you could feel every part of him, the twitches in his muscles, the shifting of his arms and legs around you, the initial stirrings of arousal of his cock against your backside.

It was easy to forget that he was your captor now, and not...something else. 

An older boyfriend your mother didn’t approve of, a mentor you were growing closer and closer to, a cute stranger who picked you up at a bar for a consensual fucking.

The warm water of the bath, the steam fogging up every surface, his slick skin against yours, all made it easy to forget the world outside, the pain in your body, and the injuries that you had already sustained.

It felt like it was just you and him alone, in that tiny, enclosed space.

"Relax," He breathed softly in your ear, the warm breath from his every word tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let me take care of you.”

“Mm…” You sighed as he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. “That’s…ah, that’s nice.”

“Mmmhmm,” He echoed softly, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest, making you shiver once more.

The heat of the water was inviting, as was his embrace. Strade drew his hands along your ribs and up your chest, squeezing and groping them lazily, sleepily, gently, his touch so soft now. 

He didn’t seem interested in hurting you anymore. 

In fact, it felt almost like the opposite...

But…

You couldn’t help but notice the swirling of crimson blood in the water.

How comforting the water had been, and yet, how much iit stung the deep wound in your foot, the cuts up your thighs and across your chest. 

How the person who had caused you such pain was so peaceful behind you, touching your body like he was scared you would break.

He had wanted to break you so badly before. Why was he now treating you so delicately?

You sighed quietly as his hand slid a little higher up, over your collarbone and...over your new collar. It wasn’t a particularly tight fit, but it was always there. 

Always a reminder. A warning.

The feel of his hand grazing against the cold metal of the collar was...odd.

Strange.

Unnerving.

He stopped for longer at the collar, his fingers slowly wrapping around it. You knew he felt your tension increase, but he did nothing to further provoke you.

Just the same, his fingers remained there, almost like he was waiting for something.

"What?" You murmured softly, your eyes locked down on your bloody foot.

"Just..." He murmured, his voice oddly husky and rough from the close, confined space you two now shared. “Happy to have you here. That’s all.” “Hm…” You hummed. “Thanks. I guess.”

#strade btd #strade ykmet #strade x reader #strade x mc #qs #fics #drabbles

[apettypetrifiedbitch]

she asks that i tell you to remember her

the storylines with no way to change the outcome are amazing, and yet they inspire hate in my heart. especially if i end up in them repeatedly without planning to. i realised that i do not, in fact, like when all-powerful women step on me. and sadly that does mean that replaying this game again and again, i have come to dislike shifty quite a bit.

during my first playthrough, we felt like equals. we're both confused. we're both trapped. i'm still not sure wth is up with the narrator, but i'll be damned if i trust that dude. shifty, or "hands" as i was calling her at the time, felt like an ally. but overtime, she has started to feel like another captor. especially since i knew what she was going to become (specifically how frickin mean and domineering she was gonna get all of a sudden).

and then... one of my favorite repeating moments in the entire game is the end of the first loop.

she asks that i tell you to remember her

you won't *glass shatters*

chilling. amazing. love it.

but then i thought about it a bit more and... i love this moment even more.

cause this is classic shifty. she talks about the vessel as if it's just a vessel and her wishes don't matter that much, she doesn't give you a chance to respond, she's kind of distantly cruel, flexes her power while sitting on her high frickin horse. but she's also wrong.

cause you do remember her. not just because you're a player and remember the route you took and not because she reminds you with the montage. you just remember her. that's who the hero takes you to. the vessel you met the first time. the one that asked you to remember her.

and i think that's beautiful. not just because it feels like i'm flippin an all-powerful shifty off.

#slay the princess #stp #stp princess #the narrator #voice of the hero #this game has stolen my heart and soul #i can't sleep anymore #also unrelated but got i hate the broken #shifting mound #am i overthinking this? oh yeah #definitely

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰'𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫

pairing: tommy miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, soft enemies to lovers, minors dni

word count: 3.4k

summary: when you met him the first time him and his brother was your captor, months later he becomes yours, and quickly after that he become a resident of Jackson. You've already forgiven him for his past, but he's not happy with how eager you are to excuse what he's done.

warnings: tommy having a hero complex, tommy lashing out, piv sex, time skips, oral (giving & receiving)

a/n: the format I've written this in is inspired by @littlemisspascal 's getting lost is being found joel fic, which I highly recommend by the way it was amazing, one of my favorite things ever 💜

i.

The world went to shit, well joke on the world, your life was already shit long before outbreak day. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Nothing just seemed to work out for you. But then all hell broke loose and suddenly it felt like you were off the hook, that you could be someone else, someone you always wanted to be. Someone that you knew you were. Before all this, you were just hurt, felt broken, but still smiled and went about your day. You tried to be good. Tried to be nice. For the most part, you like to think that you succeeded. 

You became a guide. Somewhat similar to Charon, if you spared yourself the thought but instead of guiding the dead to Hades, you guided the living away from it. Things went smooth for the most part, you helped people where they needed to go, killed infected, shot down those who shot first. It was the oddest type of freedom that you felt. 

But life had other plans, and life loved to point its middle finger right into your face. 

It’s a dad and his two kids this time, you were helping them get to the nearest QZ. You cut the fence, helped them through, you knew hunters were lurking nearby, people who survived on killing and stealing—vultures. 

You feel a tight grip on your neck and you’re being violently pulled back. The kids look back at you with horror lingering in their eyes, the dad eager to pull them away. With a deep breath, you manage to force out a smile. 

“Go!” you shout. “You’re almost there!” 

And they run, they run as fast as they can. 

“Fuck!” you hear one of them say, a deep souther drawl heavy in your ear. “Shit, they got away. They had good weapons on them too.” 

“At least we got the one,” the man that holds you answers. “Let’s go back, see what this one has.” 

“Let me the fuck go!” you struggle, attempting to elbow him in the stomach. “You fucking assholes. They were fucking kids.” 

Finally one comes into view, he’s broad—broad enough to stun you into silence. The fear of death lurks around your heart, sucking you into a black pit of realizing that this might be it. He has a glare that could kill, a hooked nose, and, most importantly, a gun. This man, you notice, this man would kill you in a heartbeat. He gives you one last once-over before tilting his head to the other holding you down. 

“Knock her out, Tommy.” 

ii. 

It’s late. Far too late for anyone to be awake. The embers of the crackling fire had died down, only specks of golden orange shimmering between the ash. You’ve learned the names of your captors; Tommy and Joel. Brothers, you assumed, they didn’t really have to spell it out for it to be obvious. 

You’re not sure why you’re still alive. You remember Joel muttering something about using you as bait, or to learn more about the routes that you seemed to know. Tommy had agreed. 

In another life, another time, you would’ve deemed the men attractive. Especially Tommy. He had a boyish charm to him, longer hair compared to his brother (those poor dark locks had definitely seen better days), and mussed unkempt facial hair indicating that they’d been at this for a long time. You understand, to a degree, why someone might choose this to survive. Some people just didn’t know what else to do. Some people simply enjoyed it; the power, the freedom, the giddiness of not having a system to say no. 

From what you understand, these two just had no idea what else to do. Too far off to reach a QZ, or they simply don’t trust FEDRA, whatever it is they seem to have made a life for themselves neither of them looked happy to be in. 

Your eyes fall to where Joel is sleeping, Tommy’s on watch, which makes you somewhat hopeful, you don’t have the strength to piss off Joel—Tommy you can take a chance with, he seemed softer. Softer like a rose, pricking you if you’re too lax and not careful enough. 

You’ve been captured before, and due to that, it doesn’t take long for you to free yourself from the hard ropes they tied you in. You hold your breath as you move away from the camp, careful not to step on any branches or rubble. You see Tommy ahead, he’s looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You expect him to shoot, to chase after you. 

He continues to stare as you disappear into the night. 

ii.

You see a lot of dead bodies by the riverbed. Some infected, some not. You think about turning around, walking back to where you came from but before you can make a decision you’re surrounded. Your hands rise instantly, not wanting to cause trouble. Multiple rifles are pointed directly at you, and you notice a cute black dog but you have an inkling you won’t be feeling the same in a couple of minutes. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you say, the cold seeping through your jacket. “Just lost. I’m not infected.” 

“Naive for you to think we’ll believe you,” one of the horsemen answers. “You mind if we test that out?”

You didn’t mind, but even if you did, you doubt you have any say in the matter. The dog comes forward, ears pressed against his skull, and you instinctively reach out your hand. You can’t really feel the wetness of his nose, but you can imagine it as he presses into your gloved palm. A moment later he starts wagging his tail. 

A horse, along with its rider, steps up and everyone looks nervously at the equestrian. You straighten yourself and notice that even the dog pulls away, the energy she has demands respect, and oozes power. You swallow, looking up at her with both amusement and fear. 

"You can come with us," she says, and without hesitation, one of the men helps you up onto the horse they're riding. Your hands fumble nervously as you grab onto the horse's shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

You’re not dead yet so you must be doing something right. 

iv. 

You trudge through the biting snow, your skin prickles with cold and the relentless flakes melt as soon as they touch your skin. You shudder. The cold is almost unbearable, but everyone has to pull their weight, no exceptions. Narrowing your eyes,, you spot a lone figure struggling in the snow. The way he moves is sluggish and ungainly, like a snail inching its way along a path.

With a sharp whistle, you signal to your companions to follow. They circle around the body with hesitation; it’s a man, a man that is somewhat familiar to you. The stranger groans and turns to his back, chest heaving heavily, you notice the tremble of his lips, the redness of his nose. You even notice the build-up of snow in his hair.

You know him. You have no idea how he ended up all the way here, but you know him. Getting off the horse, you shake your head. You don't know him, not really. You only know his name and what he represents.

Ian approaches, his eyes questioning as he asks, "What should we do? Should we leave him?"

“I know him,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice due to the irony. “Let’s take him in. I’ll talk to Maria.” 

His eyes flutter open, a brief expression of confusion appearing on his features. You can’t help but lean over a bit, hands placed on your hips. 

“You’re not dead yet. Don’t worry.” 

But as soon as the words leave your lips, Tommy loses consciousness.

v. 

He’s alone at the bar. He’s always alone. 

Initially, Maria was reluctant to let Tommy stay, but for some reason, you vouched for him. You deeply believe that everyone deserves a second chance. A slightly foolish, maybe even childish, thought on your part but you can’t help it. In his eyes you only see parts of a broken man, his belief in the world shattered and gone with the wind. 

Tommy struggles with socializing. He says hi and good morning but that’s pretty much all anyone can get out of him. You’re the only one who knows he has a brother, what he’s done. He’s especially annoyed when you’re around, which you think is a little bit unfair but you digress. He does what he’s told and handy with most things—which is lucky for you, you would hear a handful if he couldn’t do anything. 

You want to talk to him, you have ever since you first saw him again. Hoping that this time it’ll be different, you sit near him not next to him. There are two empty seats between you two. 

“Hi,” you greet him, he doesn’t look at you. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge you at all. “How are you?” 

No answer. 

“You’re not having any issues right? You know, heating, water pressure, all that jazz.” 

You’re not surprised at the least when he gets up and leave, not a word uttered. He pushes past the crowd and disappears through the door, into the cold. Unlike other times, this is the first instance where anger simmers hot in your gut. You’ve been nothing but patient. But not tonight. He’s going to talk to you whether he likes it or not. 

With anger in your steps, you storm out. Luckily, he’s not far. You find him staring up at the undecorated Christmas tree. Normally, you would find it a somber sight, but you’re too frustrated to think about how good he looks with snow falling around him. 

“Tommy!” you yell out, and he flinches, head snapping to you with wide eyes. “What the hell is your deal?” 

“My deal?” he answers, voice eerily smooth and calm. “I should be fuckin’ asking you that.” 

You’re standing an inch from him, the cold biting into your skin. “My deal? I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Wouldn’t wanna play that card but may I remind you that you’re fucking alive because of me? You could at least not be an asshole.” 

“Sure you wanna go that route sweetheart? Because I could easily say the same thing for you.” 

That night—the night that you escaped, so he did see you. All this time you convinced yourself that it was your eyes playing tricks in the dark. You shake your head, wanting to dislodge the moment from your mind. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiss. “Why are you avoiding me? I just want to talk.” 

“Just leave me the fuck alone. You shouldn’t want to talk to me— someone like you… It ain’t normal. I should’ve died that night. I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ save me.” 

You’re taken aback by the silent rage but refuse to show him the effect he has. The only indication that his words had any kind of result is when you take a step back, allowing him some semblance of space. 

“You’re right, you didn’t,” you say softly, slowly. His gaze bores into you. “But I did. And you’re here. I didn’t save you that night to just make a point of who’s the better person. As you said, you allowed me to go that night—thank you by the way—but what are you going to do, just not talk to me? Ignore me? I don’t think that’s fair for either of us.”

You stand frozen as Tommy takes a step closer, his breath hot against your skin. 

"What do you want from me?" he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You try to take a step back but he follows, closing the gap between you. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the frigid air around you. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and you can't help but feel a slight twinge of fear.

"You're always so nice, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But what do you really want? You want me to be your little pet? Fixing me up like some broken toy. Well, newsflash, sweetheart, I'm not broken. I'm just fine the way I am."

"That’s not—" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn’t my intention at all. The world is shit, I just didn’t want to add to it."

Tommy scoffs, his eyes glinting with anger. "But you did by keeping me alive. I did horrible things, things you can’t even imagine. So don't pretend like you understand me, because you don't."

“I know the shit you did Tommy. I was almost one of your victims, remember?”

His eyes drop to the ground, the fire in his eyes finally fading. He takes a quick step back, shoulder slumped, he shakes his head. 

“I remember. There ain’t a day I don’t remember the shit I’ve done—we’ve done with my brother.” 

Tommy gives you one last look before walking away, “I don’t need your pity.” 

Half an hour later, you’re still standing there under the snow, completely alone. 

vi.

It’s a dance almost. You find different ways for Tommy to communicate with you. You unlock his anger, his disappointment, his need to be good—the hero, if you will. But to be fair, you can’t take all the credit. It was mostly due to him, you got too close, and he got too frustrated. It was a brief moment of lips touching, then it quickly turned into a desperate ask for submission. You were eager to give, he hated that. Hated that you could when he couldn’t. 

You know that there’s a high chance of other things lingering below the surface, things that he probably hadn’t dared to address himself. 

In the privacy of your bedroom, you’re on your knees for him. Sucking on the tip of his cock eagerly as he stands upright, his hands are firsts that are stuck to his sides. This isn’t the first time, it isn’t the last. By the way salty precum coats your tongue, you know he’s enjoying himself. He has to be, if he wasn’t this wouldn’t be happening. 

You figure that he enjoys fighting against it until he breaks. When he surrenders himself to it, to the pleasure, to the primal need to take, he pins you down and fucks you with everything he has. All his frustration seeps into you, each stroke deeper than the next. You enjoy that he’s rough, you enjoy feeling the lingering sting on your skin long after he leaves. 

Looking up, you swallow him further down. He’s not overly thick but long, the dark curls at the base trimmed but still looking untouched. Tommy thrusts forward, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Your nostrils flare as your lungs convulse with the need to cough, he notices but doesn’t pull back. Instead, you feel two hands cradling the back of your neck, pulling you further down his length, making you take him whole. 

Your eyes go wide and squeeze shut right after. You feel him throbbing in your throat and you swallow, again and again, which prompts him to drag his cock out slightly only to bury himself back into your throat. Your jaw aches, spit dripping down the corners of your lips as you flatten your tongue over the underside of his cock. A faint growl echoes from the back of his throat, you swallow again, he fucks your mouth as he would your wet cunt. Tears flood your lashline, you can barely breathe. Your throat tightens around him. 

“Fuck, don’t close your eyes,” he grunts, the dark curls at the base tickling your nose. “Look at me. Look at me like you always do.” 

The Look, is something that you still don’t quite understand. He says it often, telling you to look at him the way that you do, but you emphasize nothing special when you do end up looking at him. It’s just your normal gaze. He only asks for it when he’s inside you. 

You slowly open your eyes, your lashes wet and stuck together. His thumb smooths over the patch of skin right under your eye, his chest stutters, muscles growing taut under your gaze. 

Ironically, he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t utter another word after that, your lips raw from the way he thrust forward. You feel the twitch of his cock, thick ropes sliding down your throat. You never tire of the taste of him. Not sweet, not bitter. You enjoy the brief moment he forgets where he is, that soft noise escaping his lips, the juvenile way his thighs shake—those are the things that make you ache for the taste of him. You’re an addict. 

But so is he. 

vii.

Your palms press into the smooth surface of the bar counter. Tommy lurks behind you, cock pressing inside, fingers making dents into your warm skin. It’s late into the night, you’re not sure of the exact time but you know it’s late. His one hand slips between your legs, he feels how wet you are, how needy you get for him. He presses a finger to your clit, the pads of the digits moving in deft circles. 

A sharp moan parts your lips, back arching as he pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin loud, yet not enough to pierce the sound of the snowstorm outside. A dose of pleasure buzzes through your veins, electricity crackling across your skin as you feel his length press deep inside. His fingers grasp your throat, pulling you up until his lips tickle your ear. He heaves, his warm breath fanning your skin. 

“Tell me I’m a good person,” he chokes out. “Please.” 

“You’re good,” you answer slightly out of breath. You touch his neck, the position slightly straining but worth it when he holds you tighter. “Such a good man—and I mean that.” 

Your eyes widen with shock when he slides his tongue into your mouth. Tommy doesn’t kiss you often, if at all, but it lights a fire under your stomach. It burns you from the inside out, the smoke of it making your mind spin. Your eyes flutter close and you take a deep breath, he grinds his hips, your insides pulsing around him. 

“I don’t care even if you’re lyin’—” 

He releases you and you stumble forward, hands finding purchase on the bar counter once more. But you can’t hold your position for long, not with the way he’s hammering into you, reducing you into a babbling mess. Your hands slide, your upper body completely falling over. Tommy doesn’t pause, he doesn’t even slow down. He presses you further into the surface.

“Because I know that you are.” 

Tommy suddenly pulls out, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your cunt clenching around nothing. Before you can protest, however, he turns you over and pushes you. He kneels between your legs, lips finding the tender folds of your pussy. 

Your head falls back when he licks into you eagerly, tasting himself and your arousal. His groans vibrate against you, your thighs threaten to close, the meat of them pressing into both sides of his face. 

His lips press against your clit, suckling and teasing it in a way that drives you wild. His tongue moves in circles as he pushes two fingers, curling them and applying pressure. Without a second thought, you fingers thread his hair, tugging him closer. Arousal pools between your legs.

Your breathing becomes labored and your body starts to shake. Your eyes roll back as your entire body shakes. Your hips buck against him as he continues to bring you over the edge, your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the bar. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you collapse against the bar counter, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. You can feel your skin tingling, your heart pounding and your head spinning. Tommy stands, a hint of pride lingering in his dark eyes. You continue to breathe and watch as he fists himself, the tip of his cock a shade darker when he comes thick ropes over your stomach. You hiss at the heat, the feeling of having a part of him staining you. 

Tommy pulls up his pants, and you notice as you get dressed, he’s avoiding your gaze. You’re too satisfied to care. He licks his lips, which you found was a nervous habit he has and offers you his arm. You hadn’t expected it, but indulge in the gesture by taking it. 

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.” 

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt #2

There is not NEARLY enough Rapunzel AU fanfics. I'm thinking of mighty witcher Geralt coming across a lone, tall, moss, ivy, and lavender covered tower out in the woods, and being surprised to find a young man imprisoned there. I love the idea that instead of paintings like Disney's Rapunzel used to fill up her time and tower, that instead he sings and makes songs, so there's like.. Lyrics and sheet music scribbled onto the walls.

♡!Optional addons!♡ • Geralt is tracking down an evil infamous mage, of whom turns out to be the captor of this gorgeous musician he found

• Jaskier has blonde hair until it's cut like in Tangled, to call back to his Dandelion roots (hah.. Roots... Like hair... and dandelions..) • We could go the Disney's Tangled route and have there be a lost Prince Julian that Jaskier just so happens to resemble (and secretly is)

• Perhaps Jaskier is physically bound there by magic or chains, Or perhaps he's there out of nothing more than guilt, shame, and/or fear toward the person keeping him there • Perhaps Jaskier is a painter in this universe, and above all, wants to see real buttercups, dandelions, etc, out in the wild, for they don't grow near his tower, and the best he can get is his own paintings of their descriptions in books.

• Maybe if we feel more adventurous, Jaskier could be part harpy, kept in a mage's tower in a birdcage, kept for his magical hair activated by his magical singing (Ooh, this gives me more bird jaskier ideas.. You might see those soon)

• Or perhaps, after Blaviken, a witcher is sealed away in a tower, only for some dumbass (affectionate) struggling bard to stroll across and think it a perfect shelter from the oncoming rain.

#fanfiction prompts #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #witcher fanfiction #fanfic prompt #writing ideas #writing prompts #story prompts #the witcher #strangers to lovers #strangers to friends to lovers #strangers to friends #friends to lovers #getting together #rapunzel #tangled #rapunzel au #tangled au #fairy tales #fairytale au #alternate universe #au idea

[pointless-discourse]

homestuck characters as related to trans stuff

head canon

JOHN EGBERT

closeted repping tgirl who will likely not realize she's trans until after 16

avoids mirrors, unhappy with appearance but tries to avoid looking at it

gets dressed in the dark

once she comes out she's gonna dress like the most hideous anime girl for the first few months

like goes HAM

her fav nerd shirts paired with a weird fucking skirt but eventually it looks really good just because of how much time she spends on it now that she likes how she looks

DAVE STRIDER

cool cis guy that will respect the pronouns

will treat people the same regardless of transness

goes down the transfem nonbinary any pronouns route in mid 20s

unfathomably chill

JADE HARLEY

divisive subject. either cool nerdy tgirl or closeted trans guy

tgirl jade puts a lot of effort into dressing for the sake of mirrors

doesn't necessarily look GOOD (ultranerd furry island social recluse) but she looks intresting

however tgirl jade doesn't voicetrain and not only is her voice kinda clocky but also very hoarse from lack of use

closeted transguy/transmasc nonbinary jade is very online and performative feminine stuff until he realizes in his late teens he's trans

does not learn what trans is until late teens, very in sheltered parts of the internet despite being very online

was out online years before he came out irl

third option: chill cis girl who, during

ROSE LALONDE

terf

no hate to rose she is one of my top three characters in all of homestuck but she is very terf vibes

she spends a lot of time "debating" with trans people online (harassment) and frequents a lot of terf forums

i think that after a few years of earth c and maybe meteorstuck she grows past it and eventually to her it's not a fight she's proud to be the lead general of but a phase she's really embarassed of, much like her other silly 13 year old traits

i also really like tgirl rose, not for character basis but i think its cool and i (obviously) love trans headcanons

KARKAT VANTAS

i am very divided between ftm and cis guy.

cis guy karkat is cool, he's very much just some guy who's comfortable in his "girly" hobbies and, while isn't really tied into his physical appearance, isn't dysphoric and is just a little insecure

however: humanstuck karkat will always be trans in my mind, just for the persecution bit, although i would also buy ethnically-middle-eastern adopted into a white american family karkat

he'd be a truscum or just kinda shitty to nonpassing trans people i think, we've seen how many alternian empire boots he licks so conforming to the status quo as a pick-me minority is not above him

again i think he would grow out of it in his later teen years/early 20s (like in the comic) but i don't ever see humanstuck karkat escaping the eternal shame that kind comes with being trans

ARADIA MEDIG0

ily weird unnerving tgirl aradia she is like so that to me. she reminds me of the boymoder NEET memes i see chronically online trans girls on reddit posting

but also i do equally enjoy weird girlboss cis girl aradia

either way she is far too etheral to be bothered with gender stuff

like you could come out to her with sixteen hard to pronounce xenos, pass so badly you unearth masculinity/feminity so prominent it burns to the touch, and she would not give a single fuck. and she would never mess up with pronouns and shit

tAVROS nITRAM

i see her as a hardcore deep deep in the closet repper tgirl as like a core part of my interpretations and yet i can never imagine her coming out

like i just see her boymoding forever

not really? like i think it would happen eventually i just can't visualize it

hypothetically i could see her being one of those cool goth girls named lilith but it seems very removed from the original starting point

2OLLUX CAPTOR

repping tgirl or amab nonbinary or just plain cis

either way still horrifically greasy and that will never change

there is no self reflection that will even vaguely incentivize sollux to maintain his hygeine

:33< NEPETA LEJION

cis girl

maybe comes out as ftm in 20s? if trans, i could also see nepeta repping till death

like just a weird cis girl who is like "oh, you're trans? just like in my warrior cats rp discord server!"

again, gives more of a fuck about gender than aradia but it is close

she just cares if you will listen to her talk about her ships and art

nepeta is the type of person where it might take her a while get the new name and stuff right

"HER PRONOUNS ARE THEY/THEM!"

but she would be your staunch defender

KANAYA MARYAM

eh? nothing strong here, i don't really have a hc for her

but there is a lot of mtf symbolism in the comic and i do enjoy that

like a socially awkward youngshit who's not out to many people because she can't really bring herself to correct people in public but still has a really passing voice even after first coming out

bad facial dysphoria

do like her as intersex. feels right

TEREZI PYROPE

nonbinary

no genders, all the genders, new genders, old primal genders, everything

both simultaneously afab and amab but not intersex?

the living embodiment of androgyny

probably has a very long list of neos/xenos but is any pronouns

you cannot misgender her. hes too cool.

VRISKAAAAAAAA SERK8!!!!!!!!

transgirl transgirl transgril

literally not even a headcanon at this point vriska is a trans girl and that is that!!!!!!!!

if you disagree im kickng your ass so hard it comes out of your mouth. your days are numbered and that number is 0. (not 8 :( )

EQUIUS

option one: cis gymbro chaser.

he sleeps with trans men to steal their t shots

in the streets he'll occasionally say the weird shit but i know he'd be crankin his hog to futa/cuntboy shit by night

option two: trans girl

never comes out because of insecurity but indulges in long hair and the occasional skirt in private and then feels really bad about it

option three: insane roided trans man

t gave him big muscles and big sex drive

option three poiont 5.

racist sexist homophobic nonbinary

like drops the most despicable shit in conversation and finsihes it off with "my pronouns are actually they/them), like one of those nazi femboys

GAMZEE MAKARA

does not gaf

cis (? idk) guy who is fine with any pronouns and crossdresses for fun

i guess not technically cis? but still identifies as a man when it comes down to it. like barely guy

FEFERI PEIXIES

cis girl who is a little infantilizing

if you're transfem she will give you makeup tips

but still a little hugboxy

"oh no you totally pass even though you're 8'100 and have a full beard! women come in all shapes and sizes!" (not shitting on the made up trans girl here, passing is fucking hard and it has no bearing on personal worth)

JANE CROCKER

jane is a repping/closeted trans man and you can pry this from my cold dead hands

the mustache? the projection onto only male figures?

also i think its fun with jane's ties to the girls-only fuchsiablood club that he ends up a dude

also st4t janeroxy my beloved

DIRK STRIDER

gonna be honest here no strong leanings

i am a firm believer that estrogen would save her but i dont really think of dirk as anywhere on the gender spectrum

maybe just cis dirk? i could buy cis dirk

JAKE ENGLISH

one one hand i would like the transmasc rep being not restricted to hairless twinks and i would enjoy ftm jake that way

transmasc nonbinary jake is an insane concept to me but i do find myself intrested

a little iffy on the trans headcanons (especially transmasc) because a big part of the concept of jake english is that he's a big strong man who takes on the literary role of an objectified girl character and having him be

ROXY LALONDE

ex twinkhon femboy now BDD gigapassoid

literally one of the most gorgeous trans women you will ever meet

creating e substitutes in her laboratory since age 12

again not even those most immersed in trans culture and the ways of clocking would be able to tell thats how good she is

her speaking patterns hail solely from those cutesy minecraft/unboxing youtubers she religiously watched as a small child

however she is fully convinced that she doesn't pass for shit so she believes that every genuine complement and people treating her like a woman is just them being nice

she'll attempt to boymode and go "stealth" in scenarios where she doesn't want to be visibly trans but it fucking backfires because everyone assumes she's ftm

DIRK STRIDER

trans man with literally no basis because my dirk-themed friend is also a trans man

4channer transman robotics nerd dirk my beloved

DAMARA MEGIDO

transfem ig? or cis woman

very girl adjacent

idk i dont think about the dancestors much

RUFIOH NITRAM

cis man

MAYBE trans man

i am also cool with that

MITUNA CAPTOR

cis man

MAYBE transfem nonbinary

KANKRI VANTAS

trans man because very few cis men were tumblr "SJW"s

and he reminds me of of some chronically online trans guys i used to hang around

also hes very fuckign petite and girls and feminend and twinky dinky and im just projecting my dysphoria onto him sorrie kankri fans

MEULIN LEJION

cis fujo girl

when she discovered trans men she was like 'YAAAAAS MPREG'

will respect your pronouns and shit but is VERY HORNY

lowkey chaser that will also date cis people

PORRIM MARYAM

two choices: cool goth transbian or lesbian terf

cool goth transbian is the nice one. first off, she looks a lot like some transfem transition goals ive seen online.

second, cool feminist could also be trans rights and trans people are kinda forced into being political

third, being flat as a board could also be interpreted as her just not having tits (tho she does seem like the type to DIY HRT)

TERF porrim (correct): first, a lot of "feminists" turn out to be bitchy to trans people

second, her activism for groups she's a part of and groups she likes is good, but she really infantilizes kankri, and considering that's the beforan equivalent of hemoracism, if trans people didn't fit her motto she would not hesitate to shit on them

LATULA PYROPE

cis girl. maybe she/they

ARANEA SERKET:

trans girl serkets trans girl serkets

would also buy cis girl that makes you wonder if she's actually a repressed ftm because some of her actions are a littttttttle suspicious

HORRUS ZAHHAK

cis man who ends up hanging out with a lot of trans women anyway due to shared intrests in hyperpop and furry stuff

again very respectful, very small chance that he's chaser-y

KURLOZ MAKARA

i honestly do not know and this isnt because i dont really care about his character, it just evades me

transcends gender

could be cis woman, fuck if i know. i'd buy that

all and neither a gender above our human comprehension

CRONUS AMPORA

trans man that proves tboys are real men because they can be just as creepy and awful as cis men

thinks him being trans means he's immune to all types of discrimination

uses it a pity point/to get out of stuff

MEENAH PEIXIES

maybe tgirl? idk

may just be cis

possibly transmasc nonbinary

tho i lean mostly towards cis woman whos gnc and actually cool with trans peopel (be aware she will still groom them tho)

equal opportunity grooming

CALLIOPE

technically transfem anyway because her body isn't sexed so shes kinda intersex

but even if she wasnt a cherub she would still be transfem anyway

chronically online transgirl who spends most of her time in internet spaces with cis girls of her same age

warrior cats fan

humanstuck calliope hung around the warrior cats girls since elementary and never left

CALIBORN

evil trans man

transmasc for same reasons as calliope

humanstuck caliborn avoided all female socialization because he didn't socialize and instead spent his formative years on 4chan

the nature of the /lgbt/ board probably gave him some shame about being ftm

DAD EGBERT and crocker as well, very similar people

cis man who is a staunch ally

MOM LALONDE

cis ally

she's trying? can't say anything more

will occasionally and unintentionally say some out of pocket shit about trans people she knows when drunk

will mess up the pronouns a lot because very scatterbrained

GRANPA HARLEY:

cis man who lowkey fetishizes trans people

straight but fucks non-passing transmen because he doesn't see them as men

trans women are some exotic fetish

if jade came out he would repair his ways tho

NANNA EGBERT

transphobic

not even a terf because she has beef with feminists

but again if john or jane came out she would badger them at first but her love would win out and she would change her views

BRO STRIDER

personally i see him as a cis man but i think trans man bro strider is cool and also an icon

DIRK'S BRO:

cis bisexual man who is cool with trans people

ROXY'S MOM:

cis woman who is in a fucked up evil messy situationship with a transgirl

will trans rights

GRANDMA ENGLISH:

either a. elder trans woman

or b. cis woman (a little nonbinary) who is accepting

does not know the terminology

"oh so you want to live as a woman now? alright, i suppose. i had a friend like that back in college"

HIC:

evil elder trans woman who has an illegal diy hrt empire

will sell out the trans community if it benefits her

grifter

LIL CAL

i dont know it s scary

#homestuck #homestuck headcanon #john egbert #rose lalonde #dave strider #jade harley #june egbert #transstuck #karkat vantas #aradia megido #tavros nitram #sollux captor #nepeta lejion #kanaya maryam #terezi pyrope #vriska serket #equius zahhak #gamzee makara #eridan ampora #feferi peixes #jane crocker #jake english #dirk strider #roxy lalonde #kankri vantas #damara megido #rufioh nitram #mituna captor #meulin lejion #porrim maryam

[ofallthingsnasty]

Darling who doesn’t speak their yandere’s language…oh the possibilities

Yandere can say anything and their darling wouldn’t understand. They’d probably tell darling the most depraved and lewd things and darling would be like “Hm? What does that mean?” and yandere would tell them “It means ‘Have a good day’!” ☺️

Or if a darling escapes and tries to go to the authorities for help. They won’t understand what darling is saying and yandere will swoop in and tell them “oh this is my friend visiting from another country. They must have gotten lost, poor thing, thank you for keeping them safe for me!”

The possibilities, indeed…

tags: yandere, minors dni, starts out with general yandere tropes, then shifts to One Piece and then to one of my OCs (Evan), just silly ramblings, really wc: 0.8k

From the malicious ones who pick a foreign darling on purpose - one, because it makes it harder for you to leave and two, because you’ll be more difficult to find by your own country’s police force, just because of the sheer amount of bureaucracy. You’re just so dependent on them. If they drag you out into the country (and out of the city, where you will find way more speakers of your language), change up your appearance and introduce you as their spouse - they could keep you for years, probably. Even have you around in the public, if they’re cocky. And if they just stuff you in the basement… No one will ever find you. So, even if you aren’t their little secret - you still need them for everything. From doctor’s appointments to simple shopping trips, to conversations with the neighbors… They’ll keep you dumb and complacent, translate what others say to you and you to them however it fits their own interests. And if you are just the little basement spouse, well… Have fun trying to break out of your confines and then running to the next house where you’ll be regarded as nothing but some crazy person hurriedly gesturing and trying to scream at anyone you can lay an eye on. They can’t understand you - and there are all sorts of scams out there today, who knows what your real motive is? No, no, that door is closing even before you can finish your first sentence. What a bleak fate. Then there are the egoistic ones - the ones who can communicate with you, but you can’t do the same with your environment. They want to be the center of your universe, their everything, the only way you experience life - not out of malice, but out of sheer obsession. I don’t think such a type would pick a foreign darling on purpose, but it’s a massive plus for them. It’s going to be just you and them, in your own little world, where they might as well be your god with how much power they hold over you. I could also see a spouse-turned-captor type go this route - just in reverse. They’d probably get you to move somewhere you’re a fish out of water and they very much aren’t - just to make it almost impossible for you to leave them. Because not only do they manage everything for you now, no, there is a financial aspect to this… Do you even have the money to move back? Or are you stuck in a foreign place, strapped for cash and without any helping hands? Goodness, you better think twice about breaking up with them, hm?

Also, I have to bring my fandom du jour into this - but this makes me think of Sanji, at least in a roundabout way. If we’re talking about a modern AU, I think he would immensely enjoy a foreign darling. In general, I see him not as a classic yandere, but more as someone who slowly morphs into one because he loves you so deeply, is so dependent on you. And you know what he’d adore? If you had to communicate with the rest of the world through him. He’d do anything for you - and I really mean anything. That man hangs on every word that falls from your lips, knows how to interpret every little twitch of your eyebrow, would crawl into your skin if he could - the thought of you having to lean on him in such a way, to give back even a fraction of that love and need he has for you… He’s obsessed with it. Not only can he truly and fully keep you to himself if you two were to move out of the country, you’d need him for everything. On the surface, he’s such a sweet, adoring husband but deep, deep down he’s a total creep. You’ll probably never see it coming, just take that little idea of his to move as something that would benefit you, first and foremost - because to you, Sanji never thinks about his own well-being, only yours. Aren’t you so lucky? And you know who would love a foreigner darling as well? One of my werewolf boys, Evan. Not necessarily because it makes things easier (it’s certainly a plus, just not intentional), but because he gets incredibly sentimental over the fact that he can teach you English. He views himself as your knight in shining armor, your husband, the love of your life - and god, wouldn’t it be so cute, such an amazing bonding experience to teach you his language? Once he sees you, he’s already dreaming of long nights spent pouring over books, of you clumsily parroting whatever he tells you to say. You’re going to be so grateful for all his work, too, he just knows it! Honestly, the moment the idea pops into his head, he’s immediately making a wishlist for all sorts of books and learning material one could feed an English second language learner.

#such a fun trope... #i've been working on an OC/Reader fic with a foreign darling and it really tickles me... #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere one piece #tw.yandere #OC: Evan #/sanji #/one piece

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 2 - "Through the Gardens"

AN: Thank you all so much for the love on chapter 1! It truly was unexpected but I'm so grateful. I hope as the story continues, the love for it does as well! This dedication has been removed.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: From her room, through the gardens, to the Dragon Pit, their route was always the same. Aemond and Y/N walked that path so much when they were younger it was a wonderful there wasn't a permanent foot path burnt into the earth. Between two dragons, everything burns with a deep intensity.

TW: mentions of being forcefully drugged/intoxicated, talks of injury, near palpable grief, reader is AFAB, romantic/sexual tension, first person POV, Aemond giving Ser Erryk the biggest crisis of his life for approximately five seconds

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, talks of Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon!Reader, ghost of a thought of Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader.

Word Count: 2.8 k

The Grand Maester and his younger assistant both seemed relieved with what they found. They said my ribs were cracked but were mostly healed at this point. My lip would heal in a few days. There was no evidence of my captors violating me, which caused mother to let out a sigh of relief. I had at one point had a broken wrist but it had been long since healed. The rest of the bruises and any cuts were superficial, the more extreme wounds now being pink scars.

“And her memory?” she asked the men.

“It is highly possible she was kept drunk or under some form of intoxication these last years. If that is the case, she may regain memories but I do not feel comfortable guaranteeing such a thing,” the Grand Maester said to her. I appreciated his honesty as I imagined sitting in his seat, telling the Queen the opposite of what she would want to hear.

When she dismissed them, we sat in front of my fireplace together. There were so many things I wanted to convey, but my brain couldn’t form the words. There was nothing adequate I could say or do to ease her mind, so I just sat with her in silence and watched the flames dance.

The flames seemed redder than normal with a slight shimmer to them. It was something I was certain I had never seen before but the shimmer mesmerized me. In my mind I could see it, having captured the flames in a small vial. There was a glow to the vial as the red shimmery substance flowed along every part of the glass. I imagined it tasting smoky but comfortable and pleasant, leaving me feeling warm as I drift to sleep.

I couldn’t tell you where these thoughts were coming from. All I knew is it felt simultaneously too real to just be my imagination and too ridiculous to be real.

“I think grandsire’s crown suits you,” I commented, smiling over at her. She had been so concerned over her place for years that actually seeing her with the golden crown resting on her head granted me a happiness I had never expected.

She smiled back at me. “It weighs heavily on my head at times,” she told me honestly. “Yet I am grateful it came as it was supposed to.”

Mother didn’t have to explain to me further what she meant. Though I had doubted Aegon’s desire to take the Throne, Otto Hightower was a conniving man. It would’ve been far too easy for him to succeed if Alicent hadn’t put a stop to his plans. I imagine he had planned for Aegon to wear the Conqueror’s Crown, to make people think he was more deserving.

Imagining Aegon adorning the Conqueror’s Crown caused my cheeks to heat up. He was very handsome and always had been. When I was little, I thought Aegon hung the moon and stars, and I followed him around like a lovesick puppy dog. Before I had more of an understanding of what Jace and I were, before Aemond made it clear how he wanted me, I thought Aegon was my future. In fact, he almost was.

I distinctly remember my mother approaching me before she had Joffrey. Jace and I were only seven and were becoming increasingly aware of our place in the world. One of us would be heir once she took the Throne, a decision she allowed us to make. She told me she wanted to suggest a marriage between Aegon and I if I were okay with it, which even at seven I knew would be best for our family. It was a no brainer for me. Even so, it did not come to fruition as Alicent adamantly refused.

“I think I shall go see Vhaela,” I told her, standing slowly. As long as I moved slowly, my ribs did not hurt so much.

“I have assigned Ser Erryk to watch over you, he shall accompany you,” she told me, standing herself.

Just as I was about to protest, I bit my lip and held my tongue when I saw her face. Fear could be seen on her every feature. I wondered if she now felt uneasy as I would be out of her sight for the first time all afternoon. Could she be worried I would disappear again?

“Okay, mama,” I said with a small smile. I hugged her as tightly as I could, wishing I could fix all the holes in her heart my disappearance caused.

After a moment, I pulled away and gave her a small smile before leaving my room. I nodded to Ser Erryk in a greeting as I shut the door behind me.

“Good afternoon, princess,” he said as he smiled. “Where would you like to go?”

I was about to tell him my desired destination when a voice called out to me. I turned to see Aemond quickly approaching which caused my heart to rapidly beat.

He was as perfect as he had always been. His silver hair went to his mid back just as it had for years. He wore a black leather doublet with long sleeves and matching pants with black boots. He wore his eye patch over his left eye, despite how much I had always wished he would allow himself to wander free without it. He looked simple and elegant without being boring.

“Princess,” he said as he slowed to a stop in front of me.

“Prince Aemond,” I said to him, giving him a slight nod of my head. Desperately I tried to steady my heart and slow my mind.

Jace never made me so nervous. I knew him the way one knows their favorite book. Every thought, feeling, or action could be anticipated. With Aemond, I never actually had any idea of what he could possibly be thinking. He kept his feelings and thoughts close to him, not wanting anyone to know him ever.

In fact, it wasn’t until he kissed me the first time that I ever understood his words of marrying me were rooted in feelings for me. I could remember it as clear as though it happened mere hours ago. The way I was sitting in the window of the library, reading the personal journals of Rhaenys Targaryen, when he approached me with a singular red tulip in hand. The way he looked at me as he presented it, telling me it was the only flower worthy of my beauty. What I remembered most was the way his lips felt on mine, the way it made the world go quiet if only for a moment and caused my pulse to somehow quicken yet disappear all at once.

He smiled brightly at me. It was unusual for him to smile but it was a sight that always made my heart try to beat out of my chest. It was something he had always saved only for me. When we were children, when Aegon, Jace, and Luke separated themselves from us because we did not yet have dragons, he gave me sanctuary. He made me feel better than anyone else could.

“Did you find comfort in your bath, byka zaldrīzes?” he asked me, taking my hand in his and pressing it to his lips.

“I did, issa mīsio,” I told him trying to hide my smile.

My protector. It is what I have called him for as long as I could remember. He earned the nickname when I was four and he removed a spider from my room. Luke had alwayss believed that it was something I should’ve reserved only for Jace. Yet he never understood that while Jace would fight for me, Aemond would kill for me.

“Leave us,” he instructed Ser Erryk.

“But the Queen-“ my guard said quickly. He was rather panicked at the idea of leaving me against my mother’s wishes.

“Should understand there is nobody better suited to keep the Princess safe than I am,” Aemond said firmly.

The demanding tone to his voice left no room for further debate. He had always made sure that those around us knew that everyone in the world was insignificant when compared to him in regards to keeping me safe. It didn’t matter if it was his mother, the guards, or even the Gods themselves. He would strike down anyone or anything that dared to threaten me.

I could see that there was an internal debate in his head. Which should he fear more, his Queen or Aemond? Aemond acted more frequently out of anger than Mother did.

“Mother has always trusted that Aemond is a capable swordsman and knows I am safe in his company. If anything is said I will speak to her. Thank you, Ser, for your dedication,” I told him, smiling at him. He nodded quietly and walked away, knowing I would take all responsibility and feeling ease from that.

Aemond offered his arm to me. I linked mine in his without a second thought. The year I spent here before my disappearance, this is how we walked anywhere. Arm in arm, like we were a singular entity. He would escort me everywhere, never once being late and always ready for some form of contact. I would be with him every moment I wasn’t with my grandsire.

Many ladies in the court once asked me how long it would be until we were married. I assured them that there was no possibility in that happening, but they were convinced. They said that not even their own husbands doted on them the way Aemond would dote on me. But they were always so ridiculous sounding I never gave them any mind.

We had always considered ourselves just children in a game. We were better, smarter, more talented than other players. Never did something so trivial as the gossip at courts ever stop us. But now I wonder if maybe we should’ve stopped.

“You look beautiful in that color, Y/N,” he told me as we began walking towards the gardens. This was our route every time. From my chambers, through the gardens, past the training yard, then to the Dragon Pit.

“Why am I the only one you speak to with such affection?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow. I tried to ignore the people we passed by who stopped to stare at me.

“Yet you do not respond with even half as much,” he said to me as he pulled me closer into his side. He seemed to also be aware of everyone staring.

“What is the purpose of this, Aem?” I asked him. “No longer are we children playing a game. We cannot continue as though we are only friends.”

“But we are friends,” he pointed out as we stepped out into the gardens where nobody seemed to exist.

This was one place in the Red Keep I always felt I belonged. Surrounded by flowers of brilliant blues, reds, pinks, and yellows dotting the otherwise green landscape here. The pink peonies were always very beloved by Alicent. The yellow hydrangeas were Mother’s favorite. Helaena always preferred looking for the bugs that inhabited the ground, so much so I had once destroyed the stores of garden soil they used to kill the bugs. They stopped using it when they realized It was me.

“You are in love with me,” I reminded him. Aemond chuckled at my words as he picked a purple hyacinth and put it in my hair beside the flower Mother had stuck there earlier.

“And if I remember correctly, our last night together was spent with you telling me the names of our no less than four children and all of their dragons,” he said with a smirk.

He spoke as though it were the simplest thing in the world. As though he and I were able to marry for love rather than duty. His words ignored the fact I was to marry Jace and become his queen, that my place in this world was to support my twin. It had been decided a long time ago.

“We were fooling ourselves thinking we could ever be together,” I whispered as I stopped walking. Though the knot in my throat that formed as I spoke those words made my voice sound weak and unsure.

“You are fooling yourself if you truly believe that you love Jacaerys enough to toss aside what you and I share.”

I let out a huff of annoyance. He was always so sure that he was right. He spoke so absolutely that almost anyone would believe him.

“And you think I love you enough to toss aside my duty?” I asked him.

There wasn’t enough time for me to process what he did before I was in the position. A look to make sure we were truly alone and then I was pulled into an alcove we had discovered long ago, hidden behind bushes that nobody ever looked twice at. It was small and dark, but always held room for the two of us.

“You scream my name in our nights together. You tell me over and over how you love me as you cum around me. You begged for us to go away, find someone to marry us in Valyrian tradition before you could be forced to marry him,” he whispered in my ear. “You cannot act as though you do not love me enough. Time has changed many things, but I can assure you that our love for one another is not one of them.”

“Aemond,” I whispered cautiously when he ran his fingers over the low neckline of my dress. “That was all before I was betrothed formally.”

“I wish for you to be my wife. Do not expect me to give up on that so easily,” he told me.

My heart was pounding so hard against my chest I was sure he could hear it. Maybe my mother had a point. Time had been so cruel, ripping me away from everyone I knew and loved. Maybe I should allow myself some time to play the game the way I wish to.

And Aemond was electrifying in all of the right ways. He was irresistibly handsome, almost intoxicatingly so. There was something about him that assured every bone in my body that no harm would come to me as long as I was with him.

Further than that, I loved him. Put aside the promise of safety that he had always provided and I still loved him. I had known it when he would stay with me all night as I prayed to every god in the world that my egg would finally hatch. I had known it when he pulled me out of bed to come with him the night he claimed Vhagar because I was the only one he wanted to share the moment with. When he lost his eye during the resulting fight with my brothers and cousins, I had cried for the rest of the night because I had failed to protect him the way he always protected me. And when grandsire sent for me to join him at the Red Keep, I jumped at the opportunity simply because I would be with Aemond. I loved Aemond with my entire being.

“I am still betrothed to Jace. Your desire to marry me does not change that,” I whispered even though it broke my heart.

“You can! You think I don’t remember that your mother has always given you a choice? That you got to choose whether she named you heir or Jacaerys? You have a choice, more than anyone else ever has,” he all but shouted.

There was not a doubt in my mind that he would back off if I told him I did not want him. If I made it clear that my reasons for denying him were more about how I felt rather than about duty, he wouldn’t question it for a second. My wants and desires were placed above his in regards to us. It was one of the many ways I was certain he loved me.

While I couldn’t lie to him that I did not want him, I also couldn’t decide anything without speaking to Jace. He deserved that.

“I will speak to Jace. Only after will I decide anything,” I said.

Only after several moments of silence did my words have any sway in him. It seemed that promise was enough for him as he pressed a small kiss to my forehead before exiting the alcove, gesturing me to follow. And while it may have been a better idea to leave his company, there wasn’t anything I could do to avoid taking his arm in mine and walking with him.

#dividers by benkeibear #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #out of time

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Risotto Nero with a F Reader who has low iron HCs. Commissioned piece.

Risotto Nero utilizes every method at his disposal to run frequent surveillance on you. He could entrust this task with his La Squadra subordinates, and maybe he would if it was for business, but this is a more personal undertaking. The skills he's sharpened from engaging in assassination throughout the years come in handy. He learns your routine, when you're most likely to be alone, what routes you take, his justification being that he can't properly protect you if he doesn't have this knowledge.

He is extremely methodical — for a time. He isn't the type to enter your home and leave behind evidence of his presence. No window or drawer is left askew. Risotto considers this a form of profiling. Engaging with you one-on-one is too risky, a fact that leaves a void in his being. He exercised better self-restraint than most yanderes would bother to employ. Eventually, though, the gnawing desire to know you won out against any shreds of respect for what little privacy you have left. What does your wardrobe look like? What television channel did you leave off on? How is your cooking? These questions and more oppress him to the point that satisfying his curiosity overwhelms any flimsy moral justification that he's simply 'looking out for you from afar.'

The life he leads is chaotic and wrought with bloodshed. You bring a semblance of normalcy, this sweet consistency that he finds endearing, though he'd never admit it. Once you're finally in his possession, you'll have a difficult time gauging his motivations. He isn't physically or verbally affectionate, the few words he utters are more like commands, and his demeanor as a whole is intimidating. What you will pick up on eventually is his micromanaging of your diet. He's unnervingly silent should you lash out, allowing you to get your frustration out of your system until exhaustion settles in, yet when it comes to your physical health, his boundaries are firm.

How he came to learn of the low iron levels in your body is somewhat bizarre. His Stand, Metallica, boasts the ability to manipulate iron. The writhing bunch made their displeasure known upon you entering his vicinity. Since Stands are manifestations of the user's soul, Risotto's hypervigilant care for your well-being bleeds into his Stand's behavior. They clued Risotto into the issue so that he could see you're taken care of.

Mortally harming the human body is more in his skillset than healing it. He is curious to see if his Stand could potentially boost the iron in your body to the levels necessary. Unfortunately, this falls outside his purview, he decreases iron in his opponent's bloodstream by focusing it and turning it into a weapon. He can't influence the levels themselves. Regardless, his Stand still enjoys lingering near you. They have no shame expressing how smitten they are, unlike their stoic user.

Risotto isn't a captor who demands much from you. About the most he'll ever ask is for you to fill the air with conversation, should uncomfortable silence ever linger. There's a warmth to your voice that sets him at ease. The topic doesn't matter and he probably won't chime in aside from an occasional word or phrase. Everyone has their own way of relaxing after a stressful day at work, this just happens to be his.

While he is sweet on you, he doesn't shy away from letting you feel the weight of various consequences. For instance, since you're more likely to feel fatigued, he expects you to sleep and wake up at a certain time. Should you try staying up later than he permits out of spite, he won't stop you. He intends to never reveal his Stand's full capabilities — such as how he can manipulate iron to reflect light around his person, effectively rendering him invisible. Unbeknownst to you, he'll be in the corner of the bedroom, unimpressed with your disobedience. Some lessons are best learned firsthand. The following day, when exhaustion weighs you down, he'll reproach any attempt from you to seek caffeine or a nap. He takes a "you've made your bed, now lay down on it" sort of approach.

This serves a dual purpose. While it's also a nonviolent method of 'encouraging' your adherence to his wishes, it also paints him in this omnipotent light. How did he know you were awake? You specifically wait until he left the room before indulging your mischievous streak. Does he have night vision cameras installed? How does he know your iron levels without taking blood for bloodwork? Over time, these strange instances build up inside your psyche. You get the sense he isn't exactly like most people yet the full extent of it is lost on you.

As a result, paranoia sets in, heady and thick. You overestimate his capabilities. Should you try this escape attempt, seeing as you're home alone? ... Are you home alone? Your hand will hover over the doorknob, covered in perspiration, internally weighing if the risk is worth it. Meanwhile, this could be an instance where Risotto actually isn't present, yet the threat looms in the air all the same.

Ultimately, he wants a healthy dosage of fear, not a debilitating amount. His rules are rather straightforward and most pertain to your health. He never loses his penchant for observing you while you're unaware, but figures what you don't know can't hurt you. When you are cognizant of his presence, he tries somewhat to come across as less intimidating. He doesn't want you cowering at the sight of him. This leads to mixed results, more often than not. He can reassure you that he isn't going to hurt you all he wants, but his towering height and muscular appearance do little to dissipate your concern.

He might not fall for blatant attempts at manipulation, but should you be sweet on him, you can earn a few privileges. It just takes a lot of mental preparation to go up to this man and try for a hug. The stress almost isn't worth the potential benefits.

#risotto nero x reader #yandere risotto nero x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #commissions #my stuff