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pseudowho · 1 month

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Deliverance

Hunting down a monster, you are led to an isolated little town...and into the arms of its enigmatic priest, who harbours a dark secret.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Priest!Nanami, monsterfucking, winged vampire, soft!Dom/pleasure!Dom Nanami, loss of faith/disillusionment, enemies to lovers/forbidden lovers, haematophilia, corruption kink

Very much inspired by Mike Flanagan's exceptional "Midnight Mass" which I highly recommend.

Soundtrack: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier, and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf

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The bridge to the mainland lived most of its saltcured life underwater. It rose, skeletal against the fog, as if the wreck of a ship from some bygone era, only twice a day, at low tide.

You were, by now, well-established into this friendly little town; a much-needed teacher to its handful of muddy-toed children. They did now know of your armory, your deadly weaponry. They did not know of your vow to hunt down the monsters that stalked the night.

And, they did not know how you suspected that the beast responsible for the deaths of at least 20 men on the mainland, may be one of their very own. 20 murders all occurring at low-tide, and only low-tide, could not be a coincidence.

They were all scum, you mused to yourself, all rapists, paedophiles and murderers...so perhaps it does have some sort of moral code. It must be here, you reasoned, fingers tapping the woody shelves of your little school cupboard in thought.

Your hunt was hampered by the timekeeping of this sleepy fishing town; often up before sunrise to take to the sea, and back before the sun broke above the horizon, it was not unusual for its residents to sleep during the day, and rise in time for the sunset. Its little church even held an evening mass, attended by plentiful nocturnal residents, after dinner.

"Hello?" A rich baritone, which was beginning to feel so intimately familiar to you, stirred an illicit want in your belly. He called your name. You could not help but run to him.

"--sorry, I'm-- I'm here! In the cupboard!" You called out, breathless in...what? Your rush to get to him? Anticipation? Something...more?

You flurried round the corner, all eager smiles, flyaway hairs and dimples. Your eyes melted so softly upon each others' forms, both sighing with relief. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

"Ke--...Father Nanami. What a lovely surprise. You're not usually up so early."

Nanami Kento cut an imposing figure in his cassock and white collar. He was a big man, with mountainous shoulders, and long, broad hands. You remembered the heat that pooled in your belly, the first time he had rolled up his sleeves to help you to move supplies into the schoolhouse, his forearms so alluringly thick and corded. His size belied an easy grace, and the elegant quick-step of a busy, intelligent man.

"I found myself unable to sleep," Kento admitted, his head bowed and hands clasped as he stepped to you. He seemed paler than usual, as he continued, "I was thinking abo--...just, thinking." He finished weakly. His eyes drew so fleetingly to your fast little pulse, thrumming from your throat, down your cleavage. His mouth dried, a double-edged hunger climbing down his abdomen.

"...thinking?" You offered, slowly closing the distance between you. You ached to remove it completely, your respect for his holy vows the only thing that contained you. Kento cleared his throat, running one strong finger between his neck, and corseting black and white collar.

"...wondering. If you would be attending mass. Tonight. I have miss--...you have missed the past week, I believe."

Ah. Yes. There was rarely another time when the homes of the local residents were empty enough to allow for investigation. You had only a few more to ransack, to find your monster, and you could feel yourself closing in on it. You felt a heavy rock of regret in your belly, and you clasped one of Kento's cool, pale hands in your own. His cock twitched, to feel the burn of your flesh against his, in ways so much less intimate than what he had imagined, alone at night.

"I'm so sorry...not tonight," you frowned, and you hurried to reassure Kento as he visibly deflated, "But tomorrow, I promise you. I'll come. Truly." Kento's face, so angular and strong, softened down at you with the hint of a smile.

His hand raised up for a moment, hesitating, before cupping your cheek. You felt your heart skip a beat, the tips of his little and ring fingers ghosting over your pulse point, while his thumb swiped beneath your eye.

"...chalk," Kento whispered, seeing your pupils dilate under his inherent, dangerous magnetism. He wished nothing more than to lean down and taste you, clutched against him and whimpering in the schoolhouse. You heard thunder rumble in the distance, and smelled the petrichor of an oncoming storm.

"...I can't wait," Kento whispered, stepping back from you, with just one backwards glance before sweeping out under the wind and blotting clouds.

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Your hunt had amounted to nothing. Either, your monster was meticulously careful, or your suspicions were incorrect, and it did not reside on this island. There was just one more place you had not explored, and you resigned yourself that you may be heading home sooner than you thought.

And yet, you felt a rope behind your navel, a red string around your finger, holding you here. You decided to complete your final investigation at the home of the priest, who had become the lifeblood that ran inside you, at midnight. He generally stayed late at the church, completing administration. You would be undisturbed.

Armed, rogue-like, you blended with moonlit shadows until you reached the windows outside his bedroom. You peeked through the gaps in the wooden blinds, and were met with an image of Kento, erotic and resplendent, that seared itself into your brain for the rest of your days.

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Kento didn't need sleep, ever since his God had forsaken him. Yet still, he craved that sweet embrace, to take him away from the twisted torture of what he had become. His resolve to die this way, as some fallen angel, had been unexpectedly fractured by the will to live-- fractured by you.

Kento switched the shower off, the last droplets of water running down his back. His cassock and collar were discarded, all woven lies against the skin of a faithless hypocrite. Kento wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, stepped past the empty mirror, and out into his bedroom.

His gut churned to see his empty bed. It had been weeks since he had fed. Years since he had taken a woman for the last time, before taking his vows. Weeks, since you had begun to consume him, mind, body and soul.

Kento had been losing his faith before the change. He had grown further from God, as countless monsters died beneath his teeth. But it was thoughts of you, spread, penetrated and whimpering beneath him, that took Kento beyond redemption.

Kento shuddered at the aching greed within. He lay back on his bed, hair still damp and floppy, but desperate for sleep to grip him and pull him under. His cock, rapidly thickening and tenting beneath the towel, made him curse, one broad arm flung over his eyes, while the other tried to squeeze himself into submission.

Kento squirmed with guilt, his semi-erect cock gripped in his palm. He thought of you, your fingers dipping into your needy wet cunt, the vibrator on your clit doing nothing to relieve the ache in your soul. He thought of the way you had squirmed and begged, to your god, and to him, to be granted your release. He thought of the way you had sobbed as you came, curled round yourself, your fingers desperately trying to reach the sweet spot that would make your orgasm climb all the way into your belly.

He didn't need to imagine it, Kento thought blithely, his thumb now stroking slick pre-cum under his foreskin, and over the sweet swollen head of his cock. He didn't need to imagine it, because he had seen you, through the gap in your curtains in the dead of night. Watching you, a pale angel in the rain, hunting for the forgiveness of a body he couldn't allow himself to sully.

Kento's hand had begun to masturbate himself instinctually, to the thought of you crying out for him. For him, and he could do nothing but pretend he hadn't seen you fall apart, to the dream of him inside you.

Kento groaned, low and rumbling, his hand gripping tightly around his throbbing, heavy length, longer than his thick fist could cover. Dripping with pre-cum, Kento began to fuck into his own fist to lubricate himself. He moaned in time to the memory of you, writhing and mewling against your pillow.

Kento's other arm reached round above his head, and he sunk his sharp teeth into his pillow, licking at it, imitating how he would flick his tongue against your pert little clit with a ragged moan. He pictured you above him, riding his mouth and nose as the length of his cock fucked down your throat to the tune of sweet wet gags. Kento whispered filth into the dead of night, trying to rut himself to orgasm.

"--take it-- good girl...cum down your throat-- cum in my mouth...shit...fuck you through it soon, angel-- promise, I promise--...ahhhh, shit, SHIT--"

Kento cursed, spitting venom, his balls heavy and sore, his own hand so woefully inadequate. His canines had lengthened, his mouth twisted into a teeth-baring snarl, and he gripped his cock harder. Trailing his other fingers to his mouth, sucking on his fingertips with a shiver, Kento pierced them until he could taste the hot rush of blood, imagining it was you quenching his thirst--

At the window, completely unnoticed, you gripped the windowpane, weak-kneed. Your other hand clapped over your mouth. Kento lay naked on his bed, sprawled and ethereal under strips of moonlight, masturbating with gasps and groans that you only wished you could hear.

Those hands, that you had spent night after night, wishing were inside you. That cock, thicker and longer than you had pictured...and oh. The way he rutted into his fist with such devastating ferocity, left you jealous of his hand. Your mouth watered.

What would he do, if you knocked right now? If you offered yourself to him, spread bare and pleading? Would he forsake his vows for you? Would he turn his back to God, as he stroked his cockhead to orgasm between your wet folds, singing your praises, and spattering hot, thick cum over your clit--

You were drawn back out of your head as Kento convulsed, his anguished, sloppy moan breaking through the windows, shooting through you like a knife. You gasped, delighted by Kento's twitching pleasure.

Kento hit his orgasm with the turmoiled strength of a stormfront, breaking. His final image was of you, cradling his sore cock between your legs, humping him inside you while you whispered to him and he whined into your hair and got lost in the smell of you, god, the smell of you, he could smell you now--

Kento spasmed, crying out as cum spurted in heavy stripes up his abdomen, his orgasm threaded with a tinge of horror-- fuck, he could smell you, you were here nearby, he knew the smell of that skin and that blood and that cunt--

Kento sat up with a jolt and a snarl, still gasping, the power of the hunt crashing through him. His teeth bared, animalistic, he wrenched his window up, sticking his head out into the night.

The smell of you, quickly fading, was being carried away by the wind. And Nanami Kento was losing his mind.

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You could barely compose yourself, walking into Church the next evening. The night had crept in fast; another storm churning over the water, was pulling the moon in with it. You felt overburdened with...guilt? Desire? You could not hide it, you were sure.

You could not hide it, as Kento's rich voice embraced the pews. You could not hide it, as your voice trembled its way through hymns. Kento's stern, impassive face remained unreadable, as you took communion from him. You met each others' eyes, both thinking about the same thing; his finger grazed your tongue, and gazed upon your sweet face, open-mouthed and doe-eyed, kneeling before him.

And despite all this, it was each others' company you craved more than anything more carnal. You found excuses to stay, in the church, loitering as Kento bid the crowds a warm goodbye. As the last person left, finally alone, you turned to each other. You both held your breath.

After a few moments, yours released in a twinkling laugh, and a blush, that had Kento's chest clenching in possessive adoration.

"I...have neglected you, father," you offered, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kento huffed, at first, pinching the bridge of his nose, before laughing. A genuine laugh. Deep, velvety, and rich. You were putty in his hands, and he didn't even know.

"Alas...it is the life of the clergy. Our own needs, go...unmet." Kento grimaced, a forced half-smile. His hands clasped over his lap.

You felt the tinge of bitterness at the edge of his words. You swallowed, thickly. Your fate balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Not...not all of them, surely? You could...you could join me for dinner?" You couldn't miss how Kento's eyebrows raised fractionally, his pupils dilating. Kento felt a dangerous hunger.

"I...I'm not sure-- I shouldn't--"

"Of course, you're completely right--" you flapped, taking a step back, and Kento's hunger gripped you back with jealous need.

"...I shouldn't be long here. An hour, maybe? If...if you'll allow it." Kento could feel himself twist under the need to possess you, one way or another. Judging by the smell of you, you would be wet, supple under his lips.

"Perfect," you blurted, standing up on your tiptoes for one happy moment, "perfect. I'll cook. We can...we can talk. I can't wait."

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A brisk knock. You hurried to the door, biting your lip, briefly abandoning dinner on the stove.

"Father," you cried, damning yourself for sounding so excited, "you're here...I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't...anyway..."

You hurried back to the stove, leaving the door open. After a moment, you looked up, seeing Kento leaning against the doorframe, looking at with with something...unreadable, in his eyes. He simply stood, drinking you in as you cooked.

"...Father? What are you waiting out there for? Come in." Blinking, chuckling to himself, Kento stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him and gently placing a bottle of wine on the table.

"Please. Call me Kento. It seems...silly, if we're having dinner, and a night together." You felt heat blossom through you, at the accidental double-meaning behind Kento's words.

Dinner together was soft, intimate, the food and wine smoothing over an already glossy conversation. You were made malleable by the wine. You were intoxicated by him. Kento looked into you with such knowledge of you, that you were laid bare beneath his gaze.

Sat facing each other on the sofa, Kento had abandoned his white collar, the buttons of his cassock and white shirt undone to his chest. He rolled wine around his glass, his head leaning on one hand, smiling as you talked. The wine made you stupid, and you blurted out;

"Why? Why...did you join the church, Kento?" It was, in part, rhetorical. A cry of despair against the crime of Kento being made untouchable. His answer surprised you, and you found yourself shuffling closer as he talked.

"I ask myself that same question every day. Ever since..." Kento bit his tongue, thinking of the night he was turned, on a missionary trip abroad. Thinking about the day you walked into his parish, setting him aflame with unquenchable burning thirst. Kento cleared his throat, swirling his wine. He felt his primal magnetism drawing you to him like a moth to the flame, and he could not stop himself.

"...I have become...disillusioned, with the church. I am...torn," Kento admitted. Your knees were touching his now, and you leaned towards him with lovesick eyes. Kento felt the thrill of the hunt, feeling the sting of his teeth lengthening. His cock twitched as your breath passed over his cheek.

"...torn?" You felt a quiver of fear now, in the way Kento's eyes darkened, his hand slipping over to grip behind your knee, pulling him into his lap. He set aside his glass. It should have rung alarm bells. You were so drunk, but you had only had one glass of wine. Kento smelled so intoxicating. You were warm, floppy as he pulled you to straddle his lap, cupping your face with both hands.

"...torn," he whispered, his nose brushing yours. Kento's hunger overtook his panic for you, a victim to himself. Kento whispered against your lips, watching your eyes flutter closed, your head heavy and lilting to the side, exposing the pretty thrum of your throat to him.

"...torn," he continued, gliding his tongue up the pulse in your neck, feeling his cock jump against your clothed pussy, "...all because of you...if God has forsaken me, I hope he never wants me back. If only you would let me worship you, instead."

Kento's lips hovered over yours, barely quelling his urgent need to feed on you, until you whimpered his name. Kento snapped, and pulled you in by the back of the neck, crashing his lips to yours with the ragged groan of a starving man.

Your head swam with Kento, clutching his open collar and falling against him, allowing him to devour your mouth with bliss. You murmured against his lips, sloppy and licking, tasting the sweet allure of him, and his grip on the back of your neck grew crushing, his weight now bearing over you to press you back into the sofa, a sharp sting on your lip--

"Ow! I...ugh, sorry...I'm bleeding--"

As you moved to sit up, shocked back out of your reverie, Kento had pushed himself back to the other side of your sofa. One hand had clasped over his mouth. He trembled, and shook, white-knuckles clasping the sofa. You heard a sharp gasp, as if Kento was in pain.

With blood on your lip, you reached for him-- and stopped. Your eyes fixed on the switched-off television opposite you both. You stood, slowly, moving towards the hallway, and your bag, trying to control your terrified little heart.

"I'll just...get a cloth, for my li--"

As you pulled a blade from your bag, standing up to spin around, you were thrown back to the wall, your head cushioned by Kento's hand. You cried out, feeling him bracket you against the wall, his cassock now abandoned, his form seeming to grow and swell before you. Kento's face pressed to your neck, and you felt the hot throb of his growing cock against your belly.

You stood this way, both panting into each other, your knife pressed over Kento's heart, and his teeth pressed to your throat. Your heart broke, fragile beneath Kento's twisting form, and hungry mouth. You hiccuped, your hand and resolve faltering.

"...I never wanted...I wish it wasn't...why did it have to be you?" You sobbed, your arm starting to lower. Kento growled against you, already two feet taller, his enormous chest trapping you in against the wall. You felt the lights blotting out around you, as vast, black, velvety wings unfurled from Kento's back.

"...always...you always knew...just couldn't accept--" Kento gasped, his tongue darting out against your neck, ridged and trembling. His chest burst with pain to feel you sob beneath him.

"I can't do it," you cried, your knife hand lowering again, "just take what you want, because I can't-- I love you-- I'm not strong enough." Kento's teeth gritted, his face crumpling against the soft copper scent of your skin. His enormous hand gripped yours, raising the knife to press to his chest. You gasped and cried out, resisting his pull; a bead of blood sprung up around the tip, pressed to Kento's chest.

"From the moment you arrived," Kento growled, his teeth pressing gently over your pulse point, starving and needy, "...my life...everything I am, has been yours to take. I would know you, blind and deaf...and I would be honoured, for you to take my life as penance for my sins."

You gritted your teeth, completely releasing your grip on the blade. It clattered to the floor. You reached up to trail hands up Kento's enormous, powerful shoulders. Your fingertips grazed the soft base of his wings, and Kento shivered, shuddering into you. He felt a dribble of pre-cum soak his stretched, ripping boxers.

"Then I condemn you to live, Kento," you whispered, pulling his face up to yours. His pupils were dilated, bursting with lust, inky black in pools of crimson, "...and take me. However you want me."

Kento snarled at you again, pressing himself to you, pinning your arms above your head with one thick hand; "You have no idea what you're asking for," he hissed, "I will eat you alive." He felt you tremble, seeing the golden resolve in your eyes. You leaned forwards to his mouth, begging.

"Then eat me...or fuck me, like you fucked your hand to me."

Kento cursed, snapping, lifting you against him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling Kento reach down to shred the clothes off himself, completely absorbed by the need to possess you, to love you.

Flung backwards onto the bed, you gasped at Kento's monstrous form. Eight feet tall, broad and exquisite, his great black wings folded and unfolded against his back. His aching cock dripped with pre-cum, so much bigger than when you had seen him cum into his own hand. His face, still undeniably Kento, stared into you, owning you. Heat pooled between your legs, as he grasped his cock in one great hand, groaning and shuddering.

You crept forwards, still drunk on him, and his nephilim glory. Kento's hand stuttered around his cock as you licked the tip.

"--fuck-- too big for you-- you can't--" Kento uttered a strangled moan, to feel your hot little mouth engulf his cockhead, your lips stretched wide, gulping him to the back of your throat, all hot little licks and sucks. Every fibre of his being needed to buck forwards into your mouth, and you felt two great hands tangle in your hair.

When your hands joined your mouth, stroking down his aching length, masturbating the parts of his cock your mouth could not reach, Kento rutted involuntarily. Moaning, begging and whining your name, his voice ran deep and ragged around his sharp canines.

"--darling, I-- shit I-- so good...so good for me...taking me s--so well, haaaaah...not-- can't last-- like this--"

You hummed around his cock, swallowing down a trickle of salty pre-cum, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your head. So aware of his size and strength, Kento handled you like a china doll, with the utmost love and affection. Kento moaned with abandon, his head thrown back, his great wings furling and unfurling with divine pleasure.

Swallowing around Kento's thick tip at the back of your throat, you felt his cock leaping in warning. Kento tried half-heartedly to pull you off him, whimpering and moaning with fractured cries of your name;

"--can't swallow-- s'too much-- ohhh fuck, my love-- c-cumming, I'm cumming-- fffuuuck yes, swallow-- all of it--"

You squeaked as his cock jolted and twitched in your mouth, Kento's balls clenched tight as he hunched around your mouth, pressing your head to him. Your mouth and throat flooded with Kento's bitter seed, cooler than that of a normal man, and you swallowed him down with pride. Kento's groans and breaths ran ragged, as you licked him clean.

Kento panted, glossy-eyed as he came down from his high, his cock still half-hard against his thigh. Crowding your body against the bed with his, his fingertips grazed the dress you wore, before ripping it from you with a bared-teeth growl. You felt your bra snapped in the middle, as if it were paper. Your breasts heaved, nipples peaked under Kento's ravenous attention.

Poking his tongue out to tease it over one hard nipple, you felt your clit throb to feel the otherworldly ridges and grooves running along his tongue's sides and tip. Whining as he sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, you shuddered to feel Kento's sharp teeth graze your sensitive peak. He savoured you, lathering your nipple against his tongue, until you felt you could cum from that alone.

His other hand rose to engulf your second breast, your nipple rolled so tenderly between two great fingers. You felt a trickle of arousal soak your underwear. Kento could smell it, and pressed his hand to your lower belly, feeling vaguely for the telltale swell of ovulation.

"...made a mistake, angel...letting me take you like this-- nothing of you left, by the time I'm done with you--mine-- all mine-- fuck--"

Trailing kisses down your belly, sniffing you and eager to fill you with his smell, his body thrummed for you. Kento threw your legs over his shoulders, ripping the sides of your underwear and tossing the scraps aside.

His eyes fixed on your pussy, slick and clenching. Kento shuddered, feeling his cock beginning to bound to life again. It flopped, heavy and twitching against his thigh, filling again in preparation to fill you. Kento felt a vague desire to ensnare you, trapping you inside his drunken intoxication, to fill you, and fill you, and fill you, until your belly swelled, oozing his thick, white seed.

"...Kento...please..." Your sweet begging pulled Kento out of himself. Despite his monstrous form, his face softened, his eyes fixed to yours as his tongue, long and ridged, stretched out of his mouth. You saw stars as it lathed insistently from side to side, spreading your folds, stroking back and forth over your aching, pearly clit.

Kento mumbled into your pussy, tasting you, his long tongue fucking into your cunt while his nose nuzzled your clit. Mewling, your hands flew down to sink into Kento's hair, and you felt your hands grasped and pinned against your belly. Kento knew, with a faint pang, that if your fingernails scratched against his sensitive scalp, he would surely spill his seed all over your floor.

Kento draped his other forearm over your belly and hips, pinning you down as you twisted beneath his attention. He lapped, sucked, and nipped at you with the softest bites to your clit, his tongue fucking in and out of you with inhuman dexterity.

You bucked your hips down the bed, eager to feel his tongue sink into your deepest parts, and Kento obliged with a wet moan. You felt his tongue lathe against your spongy spot, pinned down as he devoured you.

"--just there...harder please, please-- god I need your cock in me, please-- fuck me please-- please--"

You begged and pleaded your way to orgasm, your arousal seeping out around Kento's tongue as you came with a jolt and a cry, your thighs clamping around Kento's head, feet tickling against his sensitive wings. Kento continued to fuck his tongue in and out of you, lathering you with his spit, tasting your arousal, desperate to taste more of you.

You reached down, trying to pull Kento up your body. He almost laughed at your casual management of a true to life vampire, about to fuck you into the mattress. Kento allowed it, settling above you, his pupils narrowing at the insistent beat of your throat. Suddenly, and with a strangled growl, Kento knocked your head aside, his teeth grazing at your throat, and his monstrous cock throbbing at your entrance.

You trembled beneath him, heaving and gasping from your high. All of your resolve left you, beneath his tongue, and you uttered words you knew to be true;

"...I trust you, Kento."

Kento pressed into you, with teeth and cock and a husky moan. You felt a sharp pierce at your neck, his teeth just deep enough to feel the hot splash of your blood against his tongue. Kento almost finished then and there, his seed threatening to spatter into your folds and entrance, instead of in your belly, as he had promised himself. Kento drank you, his mouth clamped around your neck, one great hand cupping your head to the side while the other gripped your hip.

With a squeak and a protracted, broken moan of his name, you felt Kento's cock stretch through your wet velvety walls. You squirmed, trying to climb up the bed, feeling Kento growl around your throat and yank you back down.

Kento was enormous, by far the biggest cock you had ever taken, splitting you with a dull sting. Your fluttering hole soothed as Kento began to rut his length into you. His red, leaking tip bullied your cervix, bumping it up against your womb, with inches of him still outside of you.

You uttered strangled little moans, completely pinned beneath his hulking form, feeling him rut as much of his cock inside you as he could fit. With a shiver, Kento denied himself of any more blood at your throat. His tongue stroked your wounds, clotting the blood there, as he fucked gently into you.

Kento's wings caged you both in, and he stared down at where his cock tried to stretch your pussy out with dopey, lovesick eyes. A trickle of your blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he was struck with a sudden burst of pride for you. Kneeling back, Kento pushed your knees up to your chest, crushing over you in a mating press.

You writhed, as Kento managed to sink more of his cock into you, groaning which each stroke he watched enter and pull out of you. Your slick formed a translucent white ring most of the way down his cock length. Kento was eager to see it drip down his balls. He gasped down at your prone, fucked-out form, and gently began to press and roll the fatty flesh around your clit, making you buck up into him with pathetic little mewls.

"--fit it in--fit all of me in...if you cum again-- fuck you through it, baby...fuck you through it...fuck you through it..."

Kento repeated this like a mantra, every gradually strengthening thrust into you taking him deeper, your pussy stretched to its limits around his terrifying girth and length. Leaning over where you joined, Kento spat a smooth mouthful of spit, stroking it around his base, lubricating you both, before upping his pace and intensity again.

You cried out, head thrown back as you arched, feeling Kento so deeply that you clasped your belly. Kento planted one hand over yours, his fucks growing gradually more feral as he bared his teeth, determined to finally take what was his, after so many years of miserable self-denial.

"--mine make you mine make you mine--leave it behind...leave it all...for you...shit-- so tight, just--milk it out-- all my cum-- all yours, I swear..."

As you came, your pussy clenching and spasming, Kento finally bottomed out. His head flung back with a cry of success, slamming into you with abandon as he chased his high, desperate to see you filled with his cum. Cursing, and spitting, teeth bared and blacking out the room around you with his wings, Kento came with a roar, and you felt your pussy and belly flooded by him.

His cock jerked long, protracted twitches inside you, spurting thick bursts of cum, with nowhere to go but up, plugged by his enormous girth. You were pliable and dazed, taking it with the sweet relief of his love for you, his seed soothing your swollen inner walls like a balm.

Kento faltered above you, staggered and dazed. Keeping his cock stuffed inside you, manoeuvring himself onto his side, he swept one great wing beneath you, and one above you. You felt yourself cocooned, sleepy and full, reaching into hand up to tangle into Kento's hair. He pressed a lazy kiss to your palm.

"...you're a...terrible vampire hunter..." Kento slurred, fading out into soft snores, just seconds later.

He's not wrong, you reasoned to yourself, wondering and drifting to sleep in his arms and wings, maybe he'll help me.

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revehae · 2 months

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tw // noncon. yes its rape dont ask me no stupid fucking questions

yesterday (over a month ago technically) i couldn’t stop thinking about apologetic rapist haechan like ugghhhhhhhhhh

walk with me. this is a man you trust to have in your home, spending time watching movies and playing video games together in between your stressful lives… you’ve confided in each other about all of your problems, big or small, and chat about everything under the sun. you give him advice that he doesn’t listen to, then has the audacity to complain afterwards. he’s got a spare key to your place and you’ve got one to his, and all your boyfriends over the years feel like they have to compete with him, but the thought is ridiculous to you. compete with haechan romantically? it’s laughable. sure the guy has seen you half naked, but it’s not like that, you’re comfortable, you’ve never seen him ogle you or heard him make some unsolicited comment about your body that even strangers have made… why would anyone have to compete with haechan? he’s your best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

you’re not sure how you could’ve been so wrong. the way you see it, the haechan you thought you knew wouldn’t take advantage of how comfortable you feel around him, the fact that you let him share a bed with you every now and then. it’s not necessarily strange for his hands to wander around you, he’s clingy and unconsciously does it in his sleep, but it is strange for them to be so firm at your hips, nails digging into your skin, sounds that aren’t soft snores falling from his whiny lips.

confusion dwindles. betrayal stings your eyes. haechan sees it, too. he lifts his head up, tosses the hair out his face, and meets your eyes. there’s no arrogant shimmer to his eyes or smug smile to his face; the opposite. there’s shame and guilt and sadness, you want to think, and he beats you to a word, uttering, “i’m sorry…”

but he’s not sorry enough to stop. not even when you struggle against him, trying to wrestle your way out of his arms. you and haechan would play fight all the time, but you never realized just how strong he really was until you try to wrestle out of his arms and he pins your arms in place, whispering, “please. i don’t want to hurt you.”

but he would if he felt he had to. you’re in disbelief, the ugliest feeling festering inside your chest as it tightens so hard you can hardly breathe. when you beg him to stop, he says, “i can’t.” because you feel so much better than he’s ever imagined, and he’s imagined it a lot, and he just “can’t resist” himself. his eyes are misty, out of pleasure or out of shame, but either way, he needs to do this. he has to.

he can’t look you in your eyes. he can’t look at your face at all, really. he knows what he’ll see, the tears pouring from your eyes that gleam with a fierce blend of betrayal and despair and ire and disbelief. haechan doesn’t want to see you that way. having to hear your sniffles, knowing it’s all his fault, is bad enough. but in spite of the pangs of guilt that really do tear at his chest, he’s still in the middle of you, holding you in place, using your body for his own relief. so he just keeps his clasp on your hips, squeezing his eyes closed, and mutters, “i’m sorry…,” over and over and over again, hoping it’s enough. hoping that you’ll bring yourself to forgive him.

it’s not like it’s long before it’s over. haechan’s not proud of it but you’re all he’s been able to think about and it’s not like he’s ever hit a pussy raw before, if ever. you feel so filthy when he pulls out of you - his cum gushing out of your hole - and so broken. haechan says he’ll help you clean, but you’re rushing over to the bathroom and locking yourself inside before he has a chance to do anything. he hurriedly pulls on his pants and spends a long ten minutes knocking on the door, trying to get you to open it even after you scream at him to leave you alone, but he can hear the shower running from the other side. and he decides to leave you alone for now.

haechan tries to make it up to you, he really does. he doesn’t want you to hate him. you have to understand. your body was calling to him, enticing him, and he tried so hard but he couldn’t control it anymore. he’s gone when you return from a really, really long shower that you took in hopes of feeling less dirty, but to no avail. every bit of relief you feel at his absence, which isn’t much considering that pieces of him linger everywhere - on your sheets and in your aching bones and everywhere in between - fades when you hear the front door click open and he returns with your favorite takeout in hand. it’s his way of showing you that he’s still your best friend, that he still knows and loves you, that he’s sorry.

you’re not hungry. you have no appetite after that. haechan tries to get you to eat, but the second he comes near you, you flinch away from him. you never thought the day would come, but you are scared of him. he’s not the haechan you thought he was, no matter how hard he tries to convince you that he still is. you beg him to go, to leave you alone, but he doesn’t listen. he never does.

#tw: noncon #lee haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream hard hours

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cherienymphe · 9 months

Text

Basic Training XIV (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

You woke up to chaos.

The empty space beside you where Peter normally slept wasn’t even something you noticed at first, too preoccupied with the ache in your body. Memories of the previous night were only filled with Peter’s lips on yours and his hands on your frame. You’d felt halfway delirious with how many times you begged Peter to make you come and how many times he’d appeased you.

You remembered threading your fingers through his dark strands, trying so hard to distract yourself from your own thoughts.

…and when you remembered why, you sat up with a gasp.

You were the only one in the room, and light shone inside from the rising sun. It was a whole new day, and thoughts of the previous night reminded you of bright red hair and the shining moonlight. You blinked, trying to think if you’d made the whole thing up. After all, it had been the middle of the night and there was no telling what your mind had conjured up.

However, the noise coming from downstairs told you otherwise.

It was a wonder that you hadn’t noticed it before.

There was so much commotion…and yelling. There was lots of yelling. Slowing sliding out of bed, you made your way to the door, and the closer you got, the louder it got. You could hear a baby crying, it sounded like a little girl, and you surmised that it was little Sarah. So many voices were mingling together at once, but when you cracked the door open, one voice stood out above the rest.

“There’s no telling how far she’s gotten, Steve,” you heard Bucky sneer, and the venom in his tone had you stepping back a bit. “She’s not like the rest! She’s from here, she grew up here, and she knows this town just as well as we do.”

You thought you heard him hit something, and the sound of breaking glass only a few seconds later confirmed that. You pressed one hand to the doorjamb, struggling to swallow. The memory of watching Nat disappear into the night was burned in your brain, and you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Sam’s coming down shortly,” you heard Steve respond, and the anger in his voice wasn’t hard to miss. “We’ll leave then. Search the woods, the town, anywhere she could be. She couldn’t have gotten far, not on foot.”

Disgust stirred in your gut at the way the blond reassured the other man, and you blinked, pushing back tears. Softly closing the door, you stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t quite make out how you were feeling, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

On the one hand, you wanted Nat to make it out of this hellhole and to help. Of course, you wanted her to escape, even if she was the only one who managed to get out of here. This was no place for anyone to be, and you’d feel a whole lot better if even just one of you made it out.

On the other hand…

Nat getting help and exposing every man here for the rapists they were would separate you from Peter forever. You knew that’s what you should want. Peter had a hand in the death of your friends, and he was your very own captor and rapist. More than anything, you should want Peter arrested and put behind bars for the rest of his life, but there was a part of you—and that part was so much bigger than you wanted to accept—that would be devastated to see him go.

Your friends were long gone, and while there was some doubt that she ever would, there was a chance your mom was already mourning you, already accepting that you were lost to her forever. With Peter gone, what did you possibly have to return to? A voice in your head whispered to you that you would at least have a life and freedom…but what did that mean for you at this point?

You completely lost all rhyme or reason at the mere sight of blood, and those first few months here—and the complete lack of control you had over your body—were fresh in your mind. You were so far gone, so beyond broken, and who besides Peter would even put up with that? Who…who would even want you?

You leaned over, pressing your face into your hands as you fought back tears.

It was then that the door opened, and they spilled over just as you looked up. Peter’s hard gaze softened at the sight of you, and you watched his shoulders sag before making his way to you. He was quick to take you into his arms, holding you tight and pressing his lips into your hair. You didn’t quite understand why at first until he spoke.

“I just…I had to hold you,” Peter whispered. “I had to make sure you’re here.”

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him too.

“Nat’s gone,” he finally whispered. “Snuck out some time last night or…this morning before day… I don’t know.”

Peter sounded exhausted and worried and angry all in one.

“Now, we have to find her,” he spat, pulling away.

You eyed him, eyed the anger on his face, and you looked down.

“I heard Bucky yelling,” you quietly said. “That’s what it sounded like, but I’d hoped…”

The rest of your words died in the air, stomach twisting as you fought to lie.

“After all this time…why would she do this now?” he said, moving by you to get to the closet. “I mean, you’re still adjusting…and Jane is pregnant.”

He disappeared into the closet, and you could hear him putting on clothes. You stared at the wall as he huffed, never having really witnessed Peter’s anger like that before. You didn’t know how to feel about it, and especially since it was due to a determined woman only wanting her freedom.

“She couldn’t have picked a worst time.”

You wanted to tell Peter that there was no such thing as a bad time when it came to someone simply wanting to escape the equivalent of a prison. You watched him exit the closet, and you wanted to talk to him, maybe make him understand Nat’s point of view. You hated how angry they were at her over something they had no right to be angry about. It made you think of what would happen to her if they caught her, and more tears spilled over.

Peter noticed.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, hurrying towards you and taking your face into his hands. “We’re going to find her.”

He held your gaze as he said this, sending you a reassuring smile, and you started to shake your head.

“She couldn’t have gotten far, and I’m one of the best trackers in the house…”

You stilled at that.

“With me, Steve, Bucky and Clint all tagging along…she doesn’t stand a chance.”

His words were meant to reassure you, settle your worries, but they only made you want to throw up. The way Peter talked about her…like she wasn’t even human…but instead some animal they had to drag back and lock in a cage.

You took a shuddering breath, vision blurry.

“What…what will you do to her if you find her?” you struggled to ask him, fearing the worst.

The way Peter’s face fell had your heart sinking, and he pressed his lips together, looking over your face before sighing.

“That’s not really up to me.”

There was a lot about his response that unnerved you. He spoke as if he had no inkling of what awaited her, but the drop in his expression told you differently. There was an apologetic look in his gaze that told you he knew exactly what she was in for, but most worrisome of all was that it was out of his hands.

It was in Bucky’s.

“What will Bucky do?” you murmured, and Peter looked away.

He swiped his tongue between his lips before taking a deep breath.

“There’s no telling…”

You struggled to breathe, throat tightening. All sorts of scenarios ran through your mind, but above all, all you could see was Margaret tied to that tree. All you could think about was one of the first days you’d been here and the full extent of Steve’s ire that Peter had made you privy to. Only this time, instead of Steve and Margaret…

It was Bucky and Nat.

The thought made you lightheaded, and you stumbled, collapsing on the edge of the bed. Peter reached for you, and you couldn’t stop crying. Maybe you should’ve stopped her somehow, ran after her maybe? Maybe they would’ve been nicer on her if they saw she changed her mind? Or maybe you should’ve told Peter? Peter wasn’t like Bucky or Steve…maybe Peter wouldn’t have punished her at all as he brought her back. Maybe you could’ve convinced him to let her off easy.

You suddenly reached out to him, pressing your fingers into his arms as you fixed him with a pleading gaze.

“You won’t hurt her, will you? If you find her…?”

Peter seemed to hesitate, and you let out a sob.

“Please, Peter, please, she-you don’t get it. You don’t understand,” you pleaded with him. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Peter knelt before you, and your eyes followed him as he stared back at you with conflicting emotions flitting over his features.

“I have to bring her back…by any means necessary.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at that, and you felt Peter’s hands on your face, thumb’s brushing away your tears. You felt so exhausted all of a sudden, and you took a deep shuddering breath. You tiredly peeled your eyes open, begging Peter.

“Please, Peter…she’s my friend…and I don’t have many of those anymore,” you choked out, watching Peter sigh. “Promise me that you’ll try…and you’ll get them to try too.”

You watched him look away, deep in thought, chest rising and falling with another sigh. When he looked at you again, there was something in his eyes that looked…defeated. He gave you a small nod before leaning in and gently pressing his lips to yours. He then kissed your nose and forehead in that order as he stood.

“I promise,” he told you, lips pressed against your hair. “We’ll bring her back…and she’ll be safe.”

His hand lingered on your face before he finally turned to leave. You only looked away from the door when it closed completely, and conflicted with what you’d done, you turned over and pressed your face into the sheets.

“What was she thinking?”

Margaret’s worried tone reached your ears as you stirred the soup. Sarah was asleep on her hip, courtesy of Margaret’s nervous rocking. The woman hadn’t been still since you first saw her, and truthfully, you couldn’t fully blame her. Despite the obvious sentiment that it was perfectly understandable if things didn’t carry on as normal, almost none of you could force yourselves to remain still.

Margaret had been holding Sarah for hours, Christine had repotted every single plant in the whole house, and this was the fourth batch of soup you’d made. Of course, everyone else’s nervous ticks were not done for the same reason as yours, but it’s not like you could say that.

“I mean…it’s been years since she’s been here. What? Was she just…just biding her time?” Margaret wondered, breathless. “I thought…I thought she’d made peace with everything, I thought she was…happy.”

You could feel her eyes on you at that, and you slowly looked up. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d seen Margaret something even akin to worried. With a husband like Steve, she just simply wasn’t allotted the same natural human emotions as everyone else. Steve wanted the happy picture-perfect family all the time.

Now, however, Margaret looked more worried than any of you.

“She seemed happy, didn’t she? Did she seem happy to you?”

There was some desperation in Margaret’s voice and gaze that made it easy to understand. After Margaret, Nat had been taken next, and when combined with how close Steve and Bucky seemed to be in comparison to all the rest, it had been easy to see that the two women had struck up a friendship and bond that had aged beyond all the others.

“Sometimes…yeah,” you eventually told her, and she frowned at that. “I mean, how happy could she really be…?”

Margaret didn’t reply right away at that, nodding in thought.

“…but…unhappy enough to run? She knows what they’ll do to her. She’s the only one to ever make it this far-they…”

Margaret tearfully looked away.

“They’re going to make an example out of her, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“If they find her,” you reminded her, and Margaret scoffed.

“They are going to catch her,” she sternly told you, holding your gaze. “Believe you me.”

The way she said it made it sound true, and even you felt your own doubts dwindling. Bucky’s angry voice from the morning was still burned into your brain, and even Peter looked far more upset than you were used to seeing him. Nat had made them all angry and determined, and such a combination was dangerous.

“I wish that she’d talked to me…told me…”

You looked up at her quiet voice, watching as she stared at the refrigerator.

“Does she not trust me…?”

You pushed away the memory of Nat disappearing into the night.

“I’m sure she just didn’t want to involve you…put you at risk too,” you assured her, and she looked at you. “I don’t doubt that she trusts you, but trusting you with something like this would be selfish, no?”

Margaret looked down.

“Think of the guilt, the worry, the way it would be eating away at you.”

You felt like you were speaking to yourself more than Margaret.

“Nat just wanted to risk herself.”

You ignored the fact that Nat thought she was pregnant before she left. While part of you wondered if the reveal of Bucky’s role in the death of your friends pushed her over the edge, part of you also wondered if that had anything to do with that. What if Nat confirmed she was pregnant somehow, and the thought of raising a child with him and in this place was just too much?

She’d said to you that she’d made peace with who Bucky was only for an even darker part of him to be revealed. It was very possible that Nat just couldn’t stomach raising a family with a killer, and who could blame her? It wasn’t something you wanted to mention for obvious reasons, but also because Margaret was raising a family with a killer too. Sharon as well. You didn’t want to point that out and bring up things Margaret was probably still working on making peace with.

You admired Nat, but you were nothing like her, and if Margaret had been like Nat some time in the past, that version of her was long gone. She still smiled at Steve and fussed over him and loved him all the while knowing what he did, and you were sure it was because she thought like you did. What choice did she have? She had a baby to look after and protect in addition to herself. Like you, she’d made her peace with the fact that she was never getting out of here.

That was much harder to reconcile with than it seemed, and you had no desire to make it harder on her.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence as you finished cooking while she leaned against the counter with Sarah in her arms. Both Steve and Peter had been gone most of the day, and you’d started to ask her how this normally goes, if they come back for a break or if they only return once one of you has been caught, when you reminded yourself that this was not the norm.

Margaret had said that no one had ever gotten as far as Nat.

…and that because of that, they’d also make an example out of her.

You shuddered to think of what that all entailed, and again, you hoped they didn’t find her while that part of you hoped for the opposite. Even hours later, you still found yourself at war with yourself, unable to decide on what you wanted more despite what you knew you should want.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. They’ll find her,” the familiar voice said from next to you as you stared out of the living room window. “I know you two have gotten rather close lately. They’ll bring her back.”

You didn’t know how to respond to Stephen, unable to voice your true thoughts on the matter. Yes, it was true that you and Nat had grown closer, a different understanding between you, but you’d happily sacrifice that comradery if it meant that Nat had her freedom.

When bedtime came, you were reluctant to go. You knew that you’d have trouble sleeping and not just because Peter wasn’t there. The night before, when you’d decided to keep quiet about what you saw, it was easy to categorize it as a problem for tomorrow, but tomorrow was here and the hypothetical chaos that would ensue was already upon you.

You were in bed and staring at the window when you heard your door open, and you sat up in surprise.

Peter’s tired face greeted you when you rushed to turn on the lamp, and you blinked at him. Exhaustion aside, Peter looked horrible. Shallow grime and cuts littered his skin, and you found it hard to imagine that he’d been in the woods searching for Nat all day. So much effort and for what? To bring back someone who wasn’t Bucky’s to keep to begin with? You shuddered to think of the effort Peter would have put it if you had ever found the strength to run away.

“You’re back…?”

“For the night,” Peter said, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off. “Steve knows you can’t sleep without me…let me come back, and if they don’t find her tonight, I’ll be rejoining them in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, watching him get undressed while wrestling with your thoughts.

“I’ll be out in a little bit,” he softly told you, leaning over and touching your chin before disappearing into the bathroom.

You stared after him with your arms around your knees, wondering once again if you even wanted them to find her. Peter was such a permanent fixture in your everyday life now that you couldn’t see a future without him. As messed up as it was, it was true, and you knew without a doubt that you wouldn’t even be able to function without him.

You were fighting back tears when he finally emerged from the bathroom, freshly clean.

“Peter…”

He looked at you, expression inquiring.

“What’s going to happen if you don’t find her?”

His face changed almost immediately, and you almost regretted asking him that question. You watched him heave a heavy sigh, bare chest and shoulders rising and falling. He slowly sat down next to you, staring ahead before finally shaking his head.

“We will-.”

“…but what if you don’t?”

“We will!”

You jumped as his voice rang around the room, eyes wide and focused on Peter as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You could see then how stressful this was for him, and you wondered if he’d thought the same as you, if he’d been trying to ignore such thoughts only for you to bring them to his attention again.

“Don’t say that,” he slowly said. “We will find her.”

“…but Peter-.”

“Y/N.”

“If you don’t…what’s going to happen to you? Us.”

He gave you his full attention at that, a slight furrow between his brows as he studied you.

“I mean she’ll…she’ll find help, won’t she? She’ll come back with people who’ll arrest you?”

Peter thought for a short while before nodding.

“More than likely. Nat isn’t the type to only look out for herself,” he admitted.

You blinked back tears, fighting with yourself as your gaze fell to the sheets.

“What if we run…?” you slowly asked him.

You could feel his eyes on you, and the silence was loud, and you pulled your lip between your teeth,

“I mean, if it starts to look like you won’t find her…what if we run?” you looked at him now. “What if you and I just took off? Go into hiding somewhere and they never find you?”

You couldn’t describe how Peter was looking at you, and you didn’t know if you liked it. He stared at you for what felt like too long before exhaling through his nose before gently taking your arms. His dark hair was damp, a few droplets crawling down his face.

“I won’t abandon my brothers,” he firmly told you. “Do you understand me?”

You licked your lips, tears spilling over.

“…but what about me…?”

“Y/N-.”

“I can’t function without you,” you tearfully admitted. “I’m a mess, and you know it. Everyone in this house knows it.”

Peter’s jaw ticked as he listened to you.

“I’m the crazy one,” you cried.

“Don’t say that,” he argued, moving closer.

“I fly off the handle at a little bit of blood,” you spat. “I cry all the time, I…I pee on myself, Peter. They don’t even let me around the kids!”

Peter took your face into his hands, and you frantically shook your head.

“I’m the basket case,” you whispered. “I am…the way I am…because of you.”

You frowned at him.

“…and you’re telling me…that you won’t even choose me over them?”

Peter shook his head, making a noise of disagreement.

“It’s not that simple,” he told you. “We are a family. All of us. We don’t abandon one another-.”

“Who are they to me?” you screamed. “Why should I care about them?”

“…because they’re your family too! This affects all of us-.”

“No, this affects Bucky,” you sneered, and Peter froze. “Nat is his wife, right? Not yours, not mine, and this is a Bucky problem. You don’t have to make it yours…or mine. Peter, we can leave.”

You reached for him.

“It’ll just be us. You don’t have to go down with them, with him. You don’t, and especially not because he lost someone who was never his to begin with. Who cares if Nat ran away?” you cried.

Peter stared at you, eyes stricken and lips pressed together.

“He took her! What right does he have to drag ger back-?”

You swallowed the rest of your words when Peter’s fingers pinched into your jaw. His hand was tight on your face, and you winced in pain at the ache that began to stir in your bone. You reached up, grabbing his wrist, and Peter’s brown eyes appeared so much darker, so much colder as he regarded you. You realized that you’d said too much, revealed too much of your thought process as of late, and your lips trembled.

Peter blinked at you.

“Do not say that ever again.”

His other hand gripped your upper arm, and you winced.

“Do you understand?” he spat, shaking your head slightly. “Don’t you ever repeat that.”

“Peter-.”

“He has every right just as I have every right,” he lowly told you. “If you ever ran away, I would stop at nothing to have you in my arms again…and that is my right.”

A few tears skipped down your cheeks, and Peter took a calming breath.

“Do you understand?” he repeated.

You licked your lips, frantically blinking.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Do you know what would happen if anybody else heard you say that? That…that Bucky has no right to bring her back? That Nat was basically right to run away?”

You couldn’t stop your tears, and when he let your face go, your head dropped.

“You’ve been here long enough to know that isn’t a welcome thought,” he coldly told you. “I thought you were further along than that. That’s disappointing.”

You jerked your head up at that, eyes wide as you looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, I… I’m just so confused.”

That couldn’t be any truer, and if only Peter knew just how confused you were. After all, if Peter and the rest of them thought you all were a family, that Nat’s transgression was a transgression against the whole family, that Bucky had all the rights in the world to drag her back… What did that mean for your own transgression? What did that mean for you if it ever came out that you saw her leave…and said nothing?

“Come here, pretty girl,” Peter whispered, and you slid closer, fitting into his awaiting arms.

He pressed his lips to yours, and you reluctantly kissed him back. One of his hands rested on the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist as he held you to him. The kiss was gentle at first, and you relaxed, but it wasn’t long before his hands tightened on you, and he bit your lip…hard.

You jerked away from him, the taste of blood on your tongue when you licked your lips.

Peter’s face was the most serious you’d ever seen, and you watched him reach up to roughly swipe his thumb along your lip. It hurt a bit, and Peter harshly rested his hand on the side of your face.

“Those words will never come out of your mouth again. Okay?”

“…okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t look pleased, but he did look satisfied for the time being, and he leaned in to gently kiss the corner of your lips.

“Let’s get some rest,” he softly told you. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Peter laid down, pulling you with him, and you fought to ignore the possibility of a tumultuous future for you as he wrapped his arm around you, holding you against him.

You were repolishing a vase when Nat returned.

You hadn’t slept the best for multiple reasons, and you were kind of thankful that much wasn’t expected of you because you found yourself cleaning the same tables or same decorations two maybe even three times in a row. This whole ordeal was sickening, and several times now you’d had to fight the urge to vomit everywhere.

Either outcome was enough to send you into a spiral, but it wasn’t until Nat was walked through the door did you realize what outcome you’d really hoped for above the other. You were in the living room, so you were the first to realize they’d finally found her. You hadn’t thought much when the door opened, but the sounds of several pairs of footsteps had you looking up.

You almost dropped your vase at the sight of her.

Nat had looked better, that was for sure, but that wasn’t what you cared about. The relief that filled you almost knocked you over, and you hated yourself for feeling that way. Nat wasn’t fighting, but the even defiance on her face spoke volumes. Bucky had one arm while Steve had the other, and the malice you saw in her husband’s blue eyes had you shuddering.

It was then that her eyes met yours as she walked by, and they softened ever so slightly. If you hadn’t been familiar with her expressions by now, you probably never would’ve noticed. She held your gaze for a few seconds, and when she looked away, you felt tears kiss your eyes.

You mourned the brief bout of freedom that Nat had claimed, and you mourned the lifetime of freedom that was robbed from her yet again. You mourned your own possibility of a different future…but in the same breath…you were so relieved. The relief made your knees weak, and God did you hate yourself for it. Sure, there was some part of you that was sort of happy to have your friend back, but mostly…

You were just happy you wouldn’t be separated from Peter.

…and that did make you cry…because that was awful.

You slowly stumbled after them, peeking around Sam’s shoulder as Steve and Bucky led her down the hall. With a start, you realized they were taking her to the basement, and it took everything to swallow down your gasp. You pressed your hand to the wall, the other squeezing the polishing rag so tight it was a wonder it didn’t rip.

You jumped when a familiar hand touched your lower back, and you slowly glanced at Peter. His brown eyes were as kind as they normally were, no remnants of last night lingering, and he gently rubbed your back.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he whispered.

You looked down the hall again just as Bucky closed and locked the basement door. It looked like he struggled to do so, and you didn’t know if it was because of his anger or because of the supposed love he felt for her. He said something to Steve, and all three of them walked back down the hall. You avoided all of their eyes, only lifting your gaze to the basement door again when they were behind you.

You could feel Peter tenderly pulling on your dress, and you wiped your face.

You couldn’t stop staring at that door, wondering how long they planned to keep her down there, wondering just what they had in store for her. The urge to try and get her out was strong. After all, what had Nat done other than seek her own freedom? Why was that so wrong? Why was that befitting of a punishment?

“What?” you heard Buckly harshly ask. “You wanna join her?”

You turned around just as Peter spoke.

“Bucky,” Peter gruffly snapped at him, pulling you closer.

The two brunettes stared at one another, and you looked between them.

“I’m sorry,” the older of the two reluctantly relented. “I’m just… You don’t even understand how angry I am.”

His blue eyes met yours then.

“Don’t weep for her,” he told you. “She made her bed.”

You blinked when Bucky turned away, and you moved closer to Peter. It was hard to settle your heart, and Peter took your hand, trying to pull you along. Your eyes met Steve’s, and you didn’t like the way they narrowed at you. You were forced to look away when Peter touched your face, his gaze sympathetic.

“She’s gonna be okay…okay…?”

You gave him a slow reluctant nod, allowing him to lead you away. You could still feel Steve’s gaze on you, and you didn’t know what would be more suspicious: meeting it head on or avoiding it altogether. As Peter pulled you upstairs, you realized that the hardest part of this whole ordeal had only just begun…

…and it wasn’t just reserved for Nat.

#peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction

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franckensteinastrataemontanus · 2 years

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Idk maybe lgbt people should abandon the concept of celebrities or spokespeople for us because they always end up abusing this fame in order to take advantage of the large vulnerable parts of the community

#text #its really harrowing to see well known rapists do damage control because theyre known to target people just like your friends #and people fall for it #really really scary shit. i wish all rapists would be launched into the sun

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hadesoftheladies · 6 months

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female separatism isn’t about preference or “hating men.” i wish people would understand that separatism is vital to our health as women right now. one of the biggest things patriarchy has taken from us is MOBILITY and HEALTH. can you imagine a world where you wouldn’t be harassed for wanting to be tended to by only women? where female doctors and nurses that knew and prioritized female biology tended to you? streets where you could stroll and not feel a sliver of self-consciousness. where walking didn’t have to be a performance or a race from a man whistling at you?

i used to love going down to the river running at the bottom of the hill where my grandmother’s house sat. now I start to see more and more farm boys and farm men bathing in the spots I loved to rest in. I can’t be free even out there in the country. I have to be chaperoned. go in twos and threes. I can’t WANDER. i can’t run into the wild or bathe in the river. I can’t bask shirtless in the sun.

do women know how physically constrained we are? in corsets and brad and tight dresses because we must always prioritize aesthetics over happiness. we conflate approval and relief for joy. it drives me mad when I see the freedom men have. how wide their strides. how they can break out in a wrestle. how they aren’t taught to deform their bodies. how they are encouraged to nurture their physical power.

I wanted to go to the gymn by my neighbourhood, and my dad got annoyed with me. because it wasn’t safe. the only other segregated gymn in my whole city is miles away and unaffordable.

I taste separatism every time i sleepover at one of my sisters or we go on a retreat together. we can say anything. we relax. we bond and listen to each other. in all our different personalities.

but when there’s men in the conversation, everything becomes tedious. the banter becomes low hanging fruit. the conversation becomes competitive and thoughtless. it’s all about saying the most ludicrous thing for attention. it drags into politics of the worst kind.

and it poisons relationships. my sisters get a little meaner about other women. it’s so subtle and quick you wouldn’t notice it.

I long to be able to reach for women in history and not hunt for their names. not wade through the stories of their husbands or fathers before getting to them. I long for a world where female artists didn’t have to prostitute themselves for the male gaze, didn’t have to cripple their work by being nice to men.

even now in the modern age where information is more accessible than ever, you have to cut through so much noise to get to the voices of women. you have to cut through sob stories for killers and rapists before you get to the victims. you have to wade through male greats to get to their female predecessors.

if men aren’t talking over women, women are quieting themselves or too busy clamoring for another man’s attention, because his approval is power.

I want to show up to work without being condescended by a man who feels threatened by me. I am tired of censoring myself for male comfort.

who would I be, what could I do, if my movement, my body, my self-determination was not constantly suppressed. how many thoughts have I not allowed myself to think because the cost of speaking was too inconvenient?

cutting off male friends that violated my boundaries has already improved my quality of life, what would happen if I could be free of all of them?

I’d be healthier. happier. I’d be so much happier.

#radblr #feminism #radfem #separatism #female separatism

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aajjks · 5 months

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let’s talk about how using drugs in sk gets much worse sentence and hate than sexual assault/abuse. it’s disgusting.

all r-pists get is a slap on the wrist, and yet this brilliant and talented man was shunned by society and crucified in the media even after he tested negative 3 times and admitted all he took was we-d and sleeping p-lls. this is the culture you idolize and can't criticize.

this man had two kids, a wife, a successful career but they shunned and punished him over DR-GS. he got more criticism than rapists and abusers in the industry. this cannot go on like this anymore. society needs to change.

rip Lee Sun-Kyun

#lee sun kyun #parasite #k drama #actor #k actor

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ambers-archive · 4 months

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what if all i need is you?

2 times the universe conspires against Spencer and the 1 time it doesn't. no use of y/n

"I think we’re lost," Spencer mumbled, stealing a glance at you, you’re in his passenger seat and you look like a dream he thinks.

He hates driving, usually avoids it, but watching you smile next to him and hearing you sing along to his favorite songs makes him think it’s not all bad.

"You think?" You laugh, meeting his eye.

He had the date perfectly planned in his head – a tour around the city since you just moved here. Showcasing his favorite bookstore, two tickets to his favorite museum's exhibit, the whole thing.

However, things were not going as planned. He found himself driving in circles, twists and turns multiplying at every corner.

The universe was taunting him.

"I swear, these street signs are conspiring against me," he muttered.

“In the meantime, we should enjoy this,” you suggested, pointing to a barely visible café on the corner, proposing an impromptu coffee stop.

With a slight smile tugging his lips, Spencer nodded.

“You’re in Med school?

Spencer asked, trying to hide his amazement.

It all makes sense now, he thinks. Rarely does he find someone who matches him intellectually, even rarer for him to enjoy conversations with them.

“I am! I know it’s a cliché saying, but I just want to help people, I want to make a difference in the world.”

“It’s not cliché at all, that’s really noble.” Spencer replied, a genuine smile forming on his face. The passion in your voice is like a breath of fresh air for him.

You blushed at the compliment, warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you. It's not easy, but it's worth it if I can make a positive impact, even in a small way."

As if you took the words right out of Spencer’s mouth, hearing you made him realize the reason he started the BAU.

And oh how beautiful it is to have that passion.

For so long, his work had only consisted of repetition; the work that had brought him happiness was now draining him of it all. His thoughts are audible emanating from your lips.

To make a difference, and just for a little while, listening to you happily describe your passion, the horrors of his job, which once clutched his heart so deeply, slowly started to fade.

“Where to next, Doctor?”

“I hope you like museums, I was able to get us tickets to one of my favorite exhibits.”

“Lead the way.”

“I agree; the universe is not happy with you right now,” you laughed, both stranded in the middle of nowhere as his car broke down under the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he sighed, opening your car door. Taking his hand you led him towards the field, there were worse places to be stranded in you thought.

“If we call for a cab right now, we can reach the museum in an hour, depending on traffic. We’ll miss the first half hour or so, but—”

“Spencer, look! The sun is setting.” You walked off into the distance, taking a seat near a tree.

“We’re going to miss the show.” He said disappointed. You looked up at him and the orange glow casted a beautiful hue over your face. Just when he thought you couldn't get prettier.

“No matter how much you try in life, you’re bound to miss something. Just take in the moment right now.” You say, patting the seat on the grass next to you.

To his own surprise, he obliges.

He doesn’t mean to profile you, but it’s a reflex, a defense mechanism. Being around serial killers and rapists, he needs to know their every move. But right now, being in your apartment as you give him a tour, he lets go.

Realizing he doesn’t have to know everything about you right away; he can take his time.

He expected your room to be something like a catalog magazine, but books, plants, and paintings you've made surrounded you.

Messy maximalist, you called it.

Spencer learns you hate minimalism, you hate gray white empty spaces that don't feel like home.

He is almost envious of how carefree you are, willing to wear your heart out on your sleeve. Your guard has been down the whole time, a luxury Spencer can’t afford.

“Can I offer you some tea? I recently perfected my mom’s recipe for chai,” You asked, already boiling the water and getting your tea bags together.

“Tea sounds amazing.”

He looks around, forming a profile in his brain.

You’re messy, but you somehow find beauty in it. It doesn’t bother you; it makes sense, he thinks.

Artistic people are commonly messy.

“What books do you like?” Spencer asks, watching you get two mismatched cups out.

“I love classic literature, Persuasion is one of my favorites. I love Jane Austen and the way she captures love in its most pure form."

“How would you define love?” It’s a question that has been nagging him, he wants to pick apart your brain and know every thought.

He can tell you’re a hopeless romantic, and he now wishes he had accepted Garcia’s movie night invitation to watch Jane Austen movies.

He already has a sense, knowing you love classic period pieces, but he just wants to hear your explanation for it.

“In Med school they teach us that love is a complex emotion, a bunch of hormones: dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin in the brain. I can’t say much about hormones but love is life, and it's just peaceful like the slow water going down a stream. But an immediate phenomenon, much like life itself. It fills and empties you all at once, swirling like a river's water after a storm. Your hands, heart, stomach, and skin are just a few places on your body where you can feel it. And it overtakes you so intensely. You don’t even realize it until you’re in it. You can’t exist without it, love is like breathing.” You sigh, a shy smile overtaking your lips “Sorry i tend to rant a lot.”

Spencer meets your smile. It feels nice to be on the receiving end of someone rambling. “I don’t mind one bit. I knew you were an artist but I didn’t peg you for a writer.”

“Have you been profiling me, Doctor Reid?” you ask, he smiles avoiding your gaze.

“Most writers are artistic people; that is, they are imaginative, creative, and productive when working in an environment that promotes self-expression. Not to mention you mentioned journalism being your minor, also I saw you had a typewriter.”

“You're amazing, Spencer,” you say, taking the kettle off the stove, pouring two cups of chai.

Spencer whispers your name, and you look over, your name falls so easily through his lips. This is what was missing from your life, you think.

“I think you’re one of the most unique people I’ve ever met.”

He says, taking your hand, interlocking your fingers.

You graze your thumb over his knuckles squeezing his hand, meeting his brown eyes. And as if the universe was on his side for once you lean forward, your lips meeting his. Lips meddling into each other as if it was made just for you.

The morning sun is beating down on his small car, and there you are sitting in his passenger seat laughing at his horrible jokes.

Your favorite songs playing in the background. You smile at him, and Spencer is lost again, but not because of the street signs. He's just lost in your smile.

This is what was missing from his life Spencer thinks.

#criminal minds #writing #my writing #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader

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beauty-and-passion · 4 months

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Lore Olympus: a golden mine of bad writing

As I said, one post wasn’t enough.

There is still a lot to say about this webcomic and in this post I would like to talk about how Zeus, Apollo and Kronos have been treated. Here I will focus on the first two acts only, because the third act is not over, as well as the story. And yes, that means I will write another post when this whole thing is over.

I wanted to focus on these three gods in particular because are treated in a way that baffles me and makes me question what did they ever do to Mrs. Smythe. Tell me, Rachel: was it something personal? Did they do something to your family? What happened?

But maybe you don’t understand my point, especially if you haven’t read the Greek myths at all and you think that these three are just “Unfaithful Guy”, “Rapist” and “Evil Villain Har Har Who Also Wants To Rape”. Seriously, what’s with this weird obsession with raping everyone and with sex? Did Mrs. Smythe ever see anything else in myths, besides sex?

So please, allow me to explain why their characterizations are wrong and boring - and no, not just from a mythological point of view.

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Zeus: the walking clichè

Making Zeus an asshole is understandable, even if utterly boring and clichè. Oh wow, he's an unfaithful husband and he's vain. Very original. Groundbreaking, I'd say. I’ve never read about him being unfaithful to his wife, not even once in all the 200 million retellings made during the history of mankind.

It's a shame because Zeus is much more than that. He's a mighty ruler with a strong sense of justice: in several myths, he punished the assholes for their wrongdoings. He's very clever and strong. He's also associated with xenia, the custom of offering protection to strangers, which means Zeus is also a protector of foreigners.

I mean, this information alone offers so many new perspectives about him! Just imagine if, instead of hanging around and doing nothing useful aside from being everyone’s favorite punching bag, Zeus fought against every corrupt system of the mortal realm, in order to protect the foreigners and the innocents. It would’ve been so cool to see a different side of him, instead of the same thing over and over again!

But nope, Zeus = unfaithful husband only. Let’s ignore all the other aspects of him, to focus on the one everyone focuses on. Let’s make him the umpteenth version of the same guy, instead of offering a new vision. This will surely make the story worth everyone’s time!

Rachel, this could’ve worked if I was 12 and had never read a retelling in my entire life. But since I’m more than twice that age, seeing Zeus as an unfaithful husband again doesn’t get my interest. And I’m sure this doesn’t only apply to me, but to everyone who already saw at least two retellings of him. Isn’t this story supposed to be new and original? Then why are we still picking from the same old clichè visions of these gods? Where is the writer’s personality and ability?

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Apollo: king of wasted potentials

I am absolutely, completely, 100% baffled at how Apollo has been treated in this story.

It's insulting to see the most beloved Greek god treated as a bidimensional piece of shit. Not only because he doesn't make any sense in the story (why is he here in the first place? Did Persephone and Apollo even interact in any myth?), but also because there are so many different possibilities for him, that seeing him being this is the biggest waste of potential I’ve ever seen.

A brief recap of who Apollo really is: Apollo is the embodiment of the sun. He is the god of arts and crafts. He's the most beautiful god, he embodies the concept of perfect Greek beauty. And he is associated with a lot of cool stuff, like medicine, truth and oracles. Also, like most of the other Greek gods, Apollo had many male and female lovers.

Now, look me in the eye and tell me that, with all of this, your first idea about him is "yeah, let's make him a stupid rapist, so stupid to not realize that hey, maybe forcing a girl to sleep with you will not make her fall in love with you". Oh and let's not forget he randomly decided he wanted Zeus' throne just after the fertility plot point had been introduced Because Yes. And he’s running for president of Whatever-Land Because Yes. Also, he’s currently involved again in another evil plot Because… yeah, you got it.

It’s just so frustrating to see him being the biggest loser of all time, considering how much cooler he could’ve been. Just think about it: we could've had a bisexual musician, who does concerts with his band (the Muses) and has a shit ton of lovers. We could’ve had a heartbroken doctor, who does his best to save everyone because he has not been able to save his own son from death (Asclepius). We could've had a mysterious advisor who can see the future because of his foresight powers.

What did we get instead? A fucking rapist.

Apollo is nothing but wasted potential. He’s an insult to himself, the story, common sense, and the Greek culture. Of all the incredible things he could've been, he became the most insulting of them all. I really cannot bear to see this fucking idiot and his punching-bag face, pretending to be Apollo. He’s not Apollo.

But if there is a guy I can see less than him, then let me introduce you to…

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Kronos: Supreme Master of Wasted Potential

First of all: why is Kronos here? Why does this love story need Persephone to defeat a big bad guy? Just to show how cool and badass she is? Considering that their fight was a joke, it didn't work very well.

But okay, let's say we need a villain Because Yes. Kronos is still a huge waste of potential, probably the biggest waste of potential of the whole series until now. He could’ve been an interesting, multifaceted character, but he became a cartoonish supervillain har-har I want power.

Sigh.

But let’s take a step back and talk about the real, mythological Kronos. His story starts with his parents, Uranus and Gaia. The two had a lot of sons, including Titans (like Kronos) and Hecatonchires (monsters with fifty heads and one hundred arms). Disgusted by their monstrous nature or maybe just out of fear of being overthrown, Uranus chained his sons away into Gaia's womb (aka the Tartarus) so that they could never come out again.

Gaia suffered from this decision, so she devised a plan: she made a stone sickle, gathered her sons and tried to persuade them to castrate Uranus.

All of her sons were afraid of Uranus, Kronos was the only one brave enough to do it. And he was successful: he overthrew his father and became the new ruler of the universe, along with his wife/sister Rhea.

However, after becoming king, he didn't free all of his brothers as his mother wanted, but locked Hecatonchires and Cyclopes away once again. And so, Gaia told him that, one day, he would meet his father’s same fate and be overthrown by one of his own children.

Scared by these words, Kronos devised a plan: every time he had a new child, he took the baby from Rhea and swallowed them. Rhea was desperate and, in order to save her last son Zeus, she sought Gaia's help.

So Rhea gave birth to Zeus in a secret place, then handed Kronos a stone wrapped in clothes: he swallowed it, thinking that it was his son. This way, Zeus managed to escape the same fate as his siblings and was raised in secret, away from his father, until he was old enough to come back and fulfill his destiny.

And now, you may think Zeus overthrew his father with a sword and killed him and nah nah nah, myths are not that stupid and predictable. Zeus didn’t use violence to overthrow his father, but intelligence. He disguised himself to reach Kronos' court and, at the right time, he gave him a drink. That drink was an emetic (given by Gaia), that forced Kronos to throw up everything he swallowed, in reverse order: first the stone he thought was his last son, then Zeus' brothers and sisters.

After freeing his siblings, Zeus did what his father would've never done: he released the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclops to help him in the following battle against Kronos and the other Titans, a battle known as Titanomachy.

The war ended with the victory of the Olympians (i.e. Zeus and his siblings). Many Titans were confined in Tartarus, under the Hecatonchires' control, others were not imprisoned and kept appearing in other myths.

And Kronos? His fate differs depending on the myths. In some versions, he was imprisoned in Tartarus. But according to other, more interesting versions, Zeus forgave him after years, freed him and Kronos became king of the Elysian Fields: the famous earthly paradise reserved for the greatest Greek heroes.

Now. Just look at all of this beautiful, beautiful potential.

We have Gaia, a powerful goddess who overthrew two rulers of the universe, without moving a finger. A goddess strong and clever, but also a mother who wanted all of her children to be free - even the most hideous ones. She could’ve been a tragic figure, a master manipulator, or an evil schemer. Or all these things!

We have the Hecatonchires: fighters so powerful, to turn the tide of any battle. They could’ve been scary and intimidating, but also tragic monsters who just wanted to be accepted. They could’ve taught a beautiful lesson about the importance of accepting the ugly and giving everyone a chance to prove themselves.

Then we have Kronos. And Kronos had everything to be the greatest character.

Think about this concept: Kronos has always been afraid of Uranus, just like his brothers. He was just better at hiding his feelings. And that visceral fear is still inside him, it still haunts him after centuries, just like the memory of how he overthrew his father. And that fear takes the shape of paranoid thoughts about his father coming back to take the throne.

Kronos could’ve seen his father haunting him, but he could’ve also dissociated and seen himself as his father. In his altered state of mind, he could’ve been both the king and the one who overthrows him.

That could’ve made him a truly dangerous, unhinged character. A god who can’t see what’s real anymore, obsessed with the ghosts of his past. A god with nothing to lose and everything to gain. After all, if he kills his children again, the throne would be his once more. And, since he sees himself as himself and as his father at the same time, he would think that he is the "true king" coming back to take his throne.

That could’ve been awesome. Kronos could've been complex, desperate and multifaceted, a villain to pity and to be afraid of. A truly new, interesting version to know and love.

And do you have any idea how incredible Zeus could’ve been in this version? We could see him facing Kronos again, still as strong and determined as when he was young. And while everyone would expect him to kill Kronos, he would use his intelligence once again. He would prove to Kronos (and to everyone else) how intelligence is always superior to violence and how he's a good leader, despite his thousands of flaws.

Also, we could've seen Zeus talking to the defeated Kronos and making him the ruler of the Elysian Fields. We could've had a meaningful ending, in which Zeus understands Kronos' fears and shares his own.

I would’ve adored this, because according to the myth, Zeus was also supposed to be overthrown by a son! Hence why he swallowed Metis (his first wife) while she was pregnant.

The myth never truly clarifies who this supposed "son" is, but according to the different versions, Metis was pregnant not with a son, but with a daughter. A daughter who, one day, would be born, full grown, from Zeus' head. A daughter who would become Zeus' favorite child: Athena.

Honestly? I ADORE the idea that there was never a son to overthrow Zeus, but a daughter. And she would not overthrow his father by violence like her grandfather or by intelligence like her father, but by love. Athena doesn't need to take the throne from her father physically, she doesn't even need to sit on that throne: not when her father loves her more than anything else.

And I love the idea that Zeus is aware of that. He knows his daughter is his weakness. He knows that, if she asks, he will willingly give her that throne, because he loves her too much. And I would've loved to see him sharing these thoughts with the defeated Kronos. It could've been a beautiful moment, to see Zeus talking with the fatherly figure he always missed from his life. It could've led to a beautiful, meaningful ending for a dramatic story.

But can you see the problem here? This concept works for a story about Zeus, not about Hades and Persephone! These two have nothing to do with Kronos! Heck, even Rachel Smythe knows it, considering she had to pull a stupid plot point out of thin air, to explain why Kronos would give a damn about Persephone!

In case you were wondering: yes, the fertility-magical-power-battery-thing is bullshit. Gods don’t need a magical battery to be powerful. And no, fertility goddesses are not rare either: Aphrodite, Demeter, Hera, even Artemis are just a few of the fertility goddesses in Greek mythology. Kronos could’ve picked his favorite from a large pool, instead of becoming an absolute creep with Persephone in the stupidest fight of all time.

And speaking of that, two words on the supposed “fight”. First of all, apologies to all fights for being associated with this thing, because this was anything but a fight: it was a cartoonish conversation accompanied by the umpteenth sexualization of Persephone, who first appeared fully naked, then with a dress so stupid to defy the laws of physics and perspective.

And if you don’t believe me, please see it by yourself: this is how the dress was supposed to be, according to episode 75

This is how it ended up. Apparently, the Fates didn’t predict how huge Persephone’s boobs would be and the neckline didn’t grow accordingly: I feared to see one of them slipping out from it anytime during the “fight”

Also, please appreciate how Persephone is turned to the side, but the dress’ stupidly huge neckline is shown from the front, otherwise we would’ve seen her full naked boobs.

And that stupid neckline kept bothering me throughout the whole “fight”, because it kept changing size. Check the episodes and see it by yourself: sometimes it’s smaller, other times it’s wider and it keeps moving in impossible ways. It drove me insane.

But since we’re talking about drawings, please allow me a very brief parenthesis about them too.

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The drawings are a joke

I am not an artist. I can barely draw a straight line by hand. But I studied art history, perspective, proportions and colors, so I’m not completely clueless.

But you don’t need to be clueless, to notice how bad the drawings became. If you have two eyes and saw another human being in your life before, then you can notice by yourself how bad they are.

It’s not a secret that Lore Olympus’ art style changed over time. In the beginning, this comic was characterized by a lot of straight lines and geometric shapes, alternating and mixing with gentle curves. There were blur effects, colored outlines, a lot of details that gave an overall dreamy, ethereal vibe to every chapter (like the soft glow that accompanied the gods).

But as the story progressed, these elements disappeared. The geometric shapes gave way to an overall “softness” and roundness. The dreamy vibes and blur effects were replaced by sharper, clearer drawings. A distinct black outline now marks every character.

And speaking of characters, they were the ones who changed more. Lore Olympus always had funny, silly faces but the characters were also able to be serious and look natural. Now all we have are grotesque faces: the characters are a collection of caricatures and no one has a normal expression anymore. Check by yourself, by confronting a random episode of the third act with the first one: they’re two different worlds.

The disproportions were common too, since episode one. But at least they were somehow plausible, while now they’re completely absurd. It’s as if Mrs Smythe completely forgot what a human being looks like.

And this is pretty evident in how all characters became a rough draft of the two protagonists: all women got Persephone’s face, all men become buff and huge, with wide-ass shoulders and teeny tiny heads. This is particularly obvious at the end of season 2 / start of season 3, when we see some of the funniest images ever, like Hades with a tiny head and shoulders as wide as the entire USA

Or this hilariously bad image of Zeus with clown shoes and a head as big as his deformed hand.

No excuse can justify these drawings: no one is running after Mrs Smythe, nor forcing her to draw, and people are paying her real money to work on this webcomic. The least she can do is draw something that doesn’t look like a bad distortion of a human being.

Unless this isn’t her drawing, but her staff’s work. In that case, they are still paid to do their job, right? Or do they think this story is a joke and decide to show how much of a joke it is, by turning everyone into a grotesque caricature?

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In conclusion

Lore Olympus is hilarious because of how bad the writing is. It’s a manual example of how not to write a climax for your story. It’s a perfect demonstration of how you can still fail, even with great characters with endless possibilities. It’s a list of all the mistakes you can make as an artist.

If you’re a writer or an artist in general, please check Lore Olympus and study it. Here you will find everything you should never do and all the mistakes you should never make.

As a writer myself, I appreciate Lore Olympus, because I need works that teach me what I shouldn’t do. Good teachers are useful, but bad ones are even more useful, because it’s thanks to them that I can learn and grow and make better stories. Lore Olympus might be a failure from an artistic and writing point of view, but it might also serve as a foundation, from which other people can develop better ideas.

Actually, it already did it! Do you want to read a better story, rose from the disappointing ashes of Lore Olympus? Then check Lore Rekindled and @genericpuff: you will find their work here on Tumblr. They planned everything ahead and it’s pretty clear by reading it. The characters make more sense, the events have a more logical explanation. And the art style is much, much better than the last Lore Olympus.

We will meet again for the third and (for now) final post about this series, a much-needed post about the protagonists of this story: Hades, Persephone and Demeter.

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(How about a coffee? ☕)

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xythlia · 4 months

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Can we stop blaming women for the actions of the men in their lives? People do it all the time with Taylor Swift and now Hyuna like please let women live

no because it's not "blaming women for the actions of men in their lives".

the people you hang out with and date are a reflection of yourself and a reflection of the kinds of things you think are okay. In the case of swift it was the matty healy thing and yes I understand that dirtbag leftist is a term used by a lot of guys like healy to describe their politics but I think that term is a cop out. They wanna be "leftist" but still be allowed to do things like make racist jokes about black women and not have people get upset at them because "it's a joke", do the nazi salute on stage because it's "ironic" and "we just don't get it", and say "trump is a funny guy!" then say "well I don't support him" at the same time. it's an excuse to be a bad person with beyond questionable personal politics, that's why people were upset with her dating him because he's antithetical to her whole brand as Miss Ally and by dating him she was essentially saying that kind of behavior is okay for people in her circle to be engaging in. That's what it means when I say the people you surround yourself with are a reflection of you and the kinds of things you think are tolerable

hyuna is no different. Similar vibe to swift with the whole "my brand is women's empowerment" and then going on to date a man who completely violates that stance. You can't be a feminist and pro empowerment while actively dating someone who knew about and watched videos of other people being sexually assaulted and yet didn't report it or come forward about it until he was forced to acknowledge he knew about it, whether purposeful or not he was protecting his rapist friends. its vile. it doesn't matter that its "in the past" as a celebrity you accept part of the deal is that your past in particular exists forever in the public sphere if you desire that kind of status, and you accept being consistently judged based on it and boy does he have a hell of a past. And there's no way she "doesn't know about it" that scandal was in the news for months after it broke open, burning sun was one of the top google searches that year in south korea which means millions of people searched it millions of times not to mention it was consistently in news coverage because the people involved were high profile celebrities

It doesn't matter who you are you cannot preach about empowerment, feminism, equality, allyship, anti racism, ect and then step out with someone who goes against all those things whether you're a celebrity or a regular ass person. It shows me and others you have zero backbone and mean absolutely nothing that comes out of your mouth regarding those topics, it's for show because clearly it's tolerable for you in private and you don't actually see anything wrong with that behavior in friends or romantic partners which is the whole issue. You're judged based on the standards you set yourself and if you come up lacking against your own standards well that's your problem and other people don't have to be silent about their feelings regarding it, like with hyuna and swift

#𓏲 ࣪₊ 💭 \ inbox #tw racsim #tw sa mention #like I don't understand how people aren't getting the difference here #you associate with a pos you're also a pos its very very easy to grasp #hyuna

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creepy-friday · 5 months

Text

Creepypasta x Fem!Proxy

I got a notification via E-Mail that someone left kudos on a fanfiction I forgot about on AO3.I deleted it and decided to rewrite it here.It's not my best work.

Their chatter and the crunching of leaves around the fresh murder in front of you didn't hold the resonating sound of the pen scribbling on your notebook to not fully grasp your attention.

Each word is perfectly put in its right place and with each glance at either the mutilated corpse not too far from you or on the policemen's observations you get closer to the calligraphic and professional sentence you always end every report. Thinking that's enough for today, you placed the notebook back in the backpack you firmly held on your shoulder, the right strap being loose to the mid of your back.

You fade away in their chatter, adding to the crunching of the leaves back in the direction you came from-the woods. You weren't in a particular hurry as today's 'true work' only beggings after two more hours when the manor will 'welcome' a new resident in. The Master dutied you to "welcome them in" as you do to every unfortunate newcomer.

Passing the same route you memorized as the back of your palm, you place your hand on a few oak trees as you pass them, some having so vaguely craved his symbol on them. The oak trees remind you of him as well, his tall and demanding figure only adding to his ghostly white, eerie presence. You were in no place to doubt his wishes, and neither were any of your colleagues-but out of his reach, if that's even possible, you can be curious about his ways of resolve.

The mere thought of a new resident sends shivers down your spine and a pounding headache. To have to deal with another mentally unstable rapist or murderer only adds to the stress of living in his manor.

The crunching on the leaves stops as you grab your bag one more time, ruffling a bit inside of it before pulling your mask out and adjusting it on your face. Not wasting any time you get the notebook out and enter the end point of your destination-an old-fashioned manor that was housing about 15 people. A single push of the enormous marble doors gets them opened, letting the remaining light of the day shine on the dark red material. Closing them back makes you think they're heavier, a deep thud resonating through the silence of the manor before it was accompanied by a pair of footsteps that faded as quickly as they came.

You decided to pay them no mind and to finish your task before the sun could set, ignoring the pair of glowing green eyes that thought they could stalk you from the darkest corner of the room.

"Home so early?" BEN asked with a grin on his face.

The manor has three main floors and many other pairs of stairs, each leading to different parts of the building,but now you were heading to the very last floor, on the very top of it where a room stood out in particular from the others. The last floor was made of a set of 10 inhabitable rooms, in the center of them being one room made out of various shades of red that gave an expensive yet eerie feeling around it. As soon as someone enters the last step and makes their way on the floor, low static begins as the walls start to become suffocating. Each window is shut and hasn't been opened since the day you came here. As you approach the habitated room, the 11th one, the static only grows, but you learned how to combat it, even if the air becomes thicker with each passing secound.

There you stood,in front of The Master of this manor,your rescuer and provider,even with closed doors you felt his gaze piercing your soul,shattering it apart. A different static sound could be heard-the signal that you were free to enter. The room looked as clean as ever, the window behind the tall figure holding no dust particle despite not anyone cleaning it,not even the books on either side of the room had any sign of age on them.

Taking your mask off you reglated your voice and started your statement."I've bought the very few details of Jeffrey's victims."

Silence. Placing the open notebook on the counter you waited for his response,but he didn't even looked at it. Even if his face held no expression,you could feel the tension that beared it.

He finally gave attention to the notebook in front of him for a bare second before returning his head to the clipboard in front of him. A few moments had passed,yet the only thing that was heard was your thumping heart inside your chest.

"Dissmised." you gently bowed your head before you took your notebook back and walked straight out of his office.The familliar creature in front of you turned into something darker as time progressed.

The silence of the manor was disturbed by the chatter of two masculine voices. "Piece of shit Rogers.." a faint click was heard accompanied by some heavy coughs. The man's comment was responded with a few shakes of a pill bottle.

"You still had some?" you could recognize this raspy voice in any nightmare,Masky's or Tim's bickering being present even in your sleep. Most residents prefer to not use their real name if they can avoid it,mostly to show the lack of empathy and to amplify the need to show that we're strangers to each other.

"I gotta look out for myself." his partner and friend that lead him to this manor 3 years ago stated. "We're murderers,Brian." Masky replied,half annoyed that his friend isn't understanding of his stress regarding his 'work'. You decided to ignore your partners,making yourself as small and as silent as possible to ride up the stairs to the silence of your room,appealing to your proxy skills,but to not much succes.

"Where you've been, bitch?" the white masked man barked. "Ditching work for a few notes isn't some lead shit,isn't it?" he continued as he dragged a long puff from his cigar. "Respond motherfucker." he flicked the cigarette down and as he was about to make his way to you Hoodie shaked again his bottle of pills. "You're tired. Get some rest." Masky snatched the pill bottle and walked the other way,adjusting his mask back on.

Should you thank Hoodie? No,what he did wasn't for your sake,but for this manor's moments of silence before the storm. There were a set of unspoken rules,each one of us knowing them the moment we set foot inside this haunting place. Fights were not allowed inside public rooms,all conflict is either in one's intimacy or outside the manor's quarters. Masky's temper almost made this rule impossible to follow but Hoodie's calm demeanor complimented his fiery personality perfectly. Maybe that's why they came together here in the first place.. "How long now?" Hoodie's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "One month until the police said they will have a lead." after a few moments of silence his silvery voice responded "Son of a bitch." he got up and walked after his partner,no other word being exchanged in return.

We were in a sticky situation at the moment,you were only the voice mail of it. Every now and then you are tasked to go out in town to find out if there is any evidence that could lead to the murderous activity of this manor. Every source of evidence is destroyed by any means,the digital evidence is handled by BEN and the human one is handled by the occupats of this manor. Proxies,such as you and the other three men are put to tougher missions,including getting rid of the bodies from the other's killings.

Recently, Jeff was tasked to get rid of papers in a detective's house but his careless attitude didn't calculate that his wife was home, resulting in his need to get rid of her.

She managed to run but not too far off as she was killed in the place you just attended. Since his job wasn't to get rid of the body,he called in a proxy,not even bothering to hide the evidence. From what you managed to hear,Toby was the only proxy available at the moment and his arrival was late because of the encounter of a creature on his way out the woods,resulting in others finding the body. You only massaged your temples to the tought of him anxiously walking around his room,waiting for The Master's punishment.

A few knocks got your attention, making you open the doors in an instant after giving your clipboard one more look. It held the information of the new resident of this manor, its name being on the very top in bold letters, your thumb holding the clipboard on 'Cody's' family name.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #female proxy reader

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