#always having to conceal An Element of the self.

[clazaries]

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.” 

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?” 

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.” 

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do. 

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order. 

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful. 

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.” 

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best. 

“Stay sharp.” 

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it. 

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests. 

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military. 

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.” 

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.” 

“Then why isn’t he out?” 

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.” 

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm. 

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?” 

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.” 

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…” 

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.” 

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.” 

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume. 

“Why the fuck are we here then?” 

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.” 

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--” 

“Frankie! Do you copy?” 

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup? 

“He needs help!” 

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?” 

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage. 

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!” 

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle. 

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--” 

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.” 

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos. 

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.” 

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago. 

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself. 

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?” 

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?” 

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.” 

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?” 

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily. 

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.” 

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge. 

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece. 

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear. 

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?” 

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.” 

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?” 

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots. 

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him. 

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers. 

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised. 

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot. 

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--” 

“No! No, I-I want to stay.” 

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.” 

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.” 

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.” 

“How?” 

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?” 

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him. 

Your thighs press together beneath the table. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“A…A little, sir.” 

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.” 

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had. 

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.” 

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified. 

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer. 

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?” 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily. 

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating. 

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority. 

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit. 

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt. 

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in. 

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.” 

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum. 

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.” 

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter. 

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…” 

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off. 

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts. 

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.” 

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?” 

“No, but--” 

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.” 

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close. 

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes. 

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him. 

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.” 

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes. 

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.” 

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise. 

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway. 

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.” 

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior. 

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries. 

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years. 

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you. 

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly. 

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point. 

You sigh. “I know.” 

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.” 

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—” 

This again. “But Frankie--” 

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.” 

“But I didn’t die.” 

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.” 

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that. 

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.” 

“I promise.” 

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.” 

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.” 

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.” 

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x you #santiago x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac smut #santiago garcia smut #triple frontier fic #santiago garcia fanfiction #oscar isaac fanfiction #moon knight #the thin line betweem victory and survival

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Another pick a card...but make it cunt 😆 im lowkey cringing with myself, but I don't care, I loved this idea and this aesthetic. I've always been a cherry cola kind of gal.

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Pile One

You serve cunt in a classy way. Elegance is your niche, beauty and brains IS your motif. There's magic behind your allure that's very old fashioned, an era that's been mimicked by so many, but only truly reincarnated by fewer individuals. It's so nostalgic, and reminds me of this longing that's present in each generation. "I miss the 90s", "There's hardly any superstars in Hollywood anymore", "Where's the talent?", "Video Vixens of today are lacking sex appeal". Aesthetics and "vibes" are easy to wear as a costume, but will always fall short as if something is missing. You have something that isn't ephemeral and can't be cloned because it isn't studied by the naked eye, but is definitely hard to not notice. It's derived from your authenticity, and is most adored by when you're in your element. I'm getting that one of your talents involve visuals, if you're the model when it comes to art, people love your sense of style and the way that you walk, if you're the creator, whether it's digital or concrete, the people love how your creations are like air, it isn't try hard, it doesn't demand to be seen, it's a force to be reckoned naturally. Maybe you guys are enthusiasts, and are the audience that admires the art, but just because of your passion, you generate a following that's interested in how you see things and what you have to say. This could definitely be a pile for cinephiles, anime cosplayers, or even beauty influencers. Continue using your voice, serving cunt is when speak your mind. You're able to strike a nerve in people without being vulgar. Both your stance on things and tone are profound. People are intimidated by your intellect, eloquence, self-efficacy, and mental independence. I'm seeing archivists in this pile, people that are very protective over cultural traditions, history, but also protective over themselves. Even if you're still learning how to set boundaries in a healthy way with others, you demonstrate a lot of vigor by making the first step, which is knowing what's beneath your worth. Your physical attraction is lethal because you create your own category of appeal, what's preventing you from weilding it to its full potential is seeing it for yourself, without needing another person or social construct to point it out for you. Maybe some of you are trying to get out of the grass is greener on the other side mindset when it comes attracting what you want. If it's love in all aspects, recognition, self-worth, manifestation, or just confidence to interact with others as who you are, this relates to your femininity, a misconception that your feminine energy has to be soft, dark, hyper, or even concealed. For some of you, you could have had a rough upbringing, where although you unfortunatelt had to withstand pressure, it turned you into a diamond. Especially if you're ethnic, and resonate with being a historian, scrutiny over your physical and cultural differences, could have taught you to really value yourself, not feel guilty for defending yourself, and recognize how special you really are.

Pile Two

You're approaching a special glow up and it's definitely going to be something "cunty" that'll have some people upset. I don't even see this as a villain era, but more so something very personal. I feel like this pile has dealt with a lot of situations with people cornering you into making you doubt yourself or just outright trying to sabotage your spirit that could convince you out of opportunities that are divinely meant for you. Even though it says a lot about what you're capable of, if people have to kick you down when you're low or can't take you down by themselves, it takes a powerful person to stand up for themselves ten toes down against intimidation. You're going to achieve a milestone that's going to be very important to you but also a big deal to others as well, especially your haters. People that underestimated your might, are going to have to witness these rewards that you've worked so hard for, and it isn't even the peak of blessings that your endurance will reap. You serve cunt, by getting stuff done, accessorizing initiative with your charm, having a lot of endurance and scorching optimism amongst being met with cold situations like betrayal, failure, and people that aren't kind. You serve cunt with your quirks, creativity, and self-awareness, you're like this fountain that doesn't stop pouring when it comes to your capacity to grow and hone your gifts. You serve cunt with the way you keep fighting for your wishes and your stability. Even if it's not on some woo-woo abracadabra shit, you serve cunt in a "witchy" way. You guys are alchemizers, you make peace with your darkness by letting it transform you for the better. You're not afraid to show your scars, your sensitivities, your imperfections, or your mistakes, or your shadow. You wear them like a Picasso painting, abstract, thought-provoking, inspiring, mesmerizing. The way that you serve cunt is only a weapon to those who feel inadequate compared to your range. You could attract a lot of envy, people who feel personally feel like what you're blessed with should be given to them, but this is petty energy, hence why it never prevails against you. It could sting, but it never keeps you down. You could have a strong spiritual team that's protective over you, but part of your protection also comes from understanding that you DO have teasurable qualities that'll bring you success one day. You serve cunt, by the way you empower yourself instead of blaming others for hiccups in your life, you take control by knowing that no amount of evil eye, tower moments, or swords in your back can ruin or take away your abundance, that energy can't be destroyed, it can only be blocked by you, continue to keep your motivation high and always recognize when you're getting in your own way. The magic just doesn't stop, it starts with you and how you create your life by how you apply your actions in your present reality. Keep chasing after what you want, because it's out there, seeking for you too.

Pile Three

"I don't chase—I attract" but make it cunt. The burst of energy in this pile is both chaotic but ironically contained at the same time? It's like how a cat always lands on its feet. The universe LOVES you, and you know it, I'm getting major princess treatment vibes in this pile, but it's not something that you take for granted nor is your life just completely sunshine and rainbows. The struggles that weigh on your shoulders, you carry them well, and you always manage to give others a smile or just the things that you say will make their day or change their way of thinking about life. People admire your confidence, they love your humor, some people just want to BE you entirely because of how other individuals and opportunities just seem to gravitate towards you. People in general just deem you as someone's who is lucky. Words are spells, and people liken yours to the Midas touch. You're great at giving yourself and others, affirmations, and a part of what expands your abundance is how you show gratitude. Even if it's not much, the way that you speak of things, will make others believe that what you have is golden. I'm getting a  hypothetical scenario where you're in a financial bind, that's inevitable and out of your control, but instead of mentally just shutting down or letting this problem consume your day, you order an iced coffee, but do you know what you're gonna do with that iced coffee? You're gonna romanticize the hell out of that coffee! This also applies to how you look as well, doing a baddie on a budget haul at Marshall's? Best believe you're gonna still be serving CUNT in that outfit, name-brand or not. You know that each person's expiration date on life is unknown until it happens, so you really serve cunt by living each day like the world is your oyster. I notice that you're also very clear with your intent which is why the universe meets you half way. When you take a leap, you can fall, you know you're not invincible, but most of the time, you fly, and soar away into the next adventure. When you lose things or people that are not for you, don't resonate with anymore, or take you for granted, you could find yourself immediately seeing your losses being replaced with something better. You treat life like a celebration, and that's why people enjoy your company, others may feel that it's always going to be a fun, pleasant, and memory making moment when hanging out with you. You're wild in a way that may be scary for others, but also induce an adrenaline rush in others because your aura just feels so carefree and like they're being liberated.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #tarot community #free readings #tarot readings #the tarot community #pick a pile #pick a picture

[skywerse]

RIPTIDE THEORY!!!!!!

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS IN GENERAL

Have you ever wondered why Chip, Jay, and Gillion—a wannabe pirate, a soldier in training, and the champion of the Undersea, respectively—form such a fucking random assortment of people? The only thread connecting them seems to be their association with the Black Rose members.

Their meeting feels like destiny, doesn't it?

What if I told you it's not destiny at all, but rather the aftermath of Captain Rose's failed deal with Niklaus?

Join me on my yapping as I put together a theory that I wrote in my notes app at 4 in the morning!

Firstly, let's look at everything in a grand scale of things.

I believe that the world of Mana, at its core, is fuelled by desire that got corrupted by the darkness that slithered its way from the abyss into this world. For millennia or centuries, these same desires have driven its cycles, repeating history in one way or another, compelling many generations to follow suit to ensure the safety of their world. Keeping the darkness at bay. 

What if I told you that the prophecy isn't solely about Gillion? Instead, it’s about thousands of other chosen ones over centuries, all destined for the same purpose: to protect, to fight, and to avenge the darkness.

The descendants of Aster, children of the sun, were also born to always follow the same mission— to seal away the darkness.

Regarding the descendants of elemental casters, it's VERY speculative since we don't know enough about them. However, I believe they were destined to control the darkness, to take hold of it.

And for as long as this entity, this darkness, had such an effect on Mana, they joined forces to seal it away and safeguard their world.

But what if those cycles of history get suddenly shattered? Perhaps due to an unfulfilled deal, or maybe a deal never meant to be fulfilled… What if one of the descendants of the sun, blessed by Aster, who was meant to seal the darkness away, inadvertently unleashed it? Causing a disturbance in the universe, so violent and so unpredictable that it changes everything?

This disruption could make those united against the darkness to turn on each other, inadvertently allowing the darkness to thrive.

Rather than sealing the darkness, the descendants of the sun are harnessing it for destruction.

Instead of engaging in battle, the Tritons have retreated to the ocean's deepest depths, selecting a sacrificial lamb who would single-handedly play the role of a protector and bear the burden of this fight alone.

While the knowledge about the casters is limited, judging by this pattern, they likely grew weaker, most likely losing their ability to control the darkness altogether. It's probable that it became concealed. 

(May explain why Chip's powers manifested very late—they were hidden away.)

Now, consider this. Jay Ferin, a child of the sun and descendant of those olympians, blessed by Aster; Gillion Tidestrider, a descendant of the Tritons or the Leviathans, blessed by Lunadeyis' light; and Chip, likely a descendant of the elemental casters mentioned in the prophecy, capable of grasping the darkness…

They stand as the ideal heroes of the story, maybe one of the only ones with the original, uncorrupted desire still burning within them, the ones to single-handedly save the world.

It makes a good story, doesn't it?

The sun, the moon, the elements.

Descendants of the three main bloodlines.

The unborn kings?

Now, let’s move to Niklaus for a moment.

Didn’t he say that he likes a good story? 

But first, I'd like to believe that in the grand scheme of things, Niklaus is merely a vessel, born in the abyss, for this entity, this darkness that threatens the world. He is bound to be the one to further its corrupting influence. And maybe with all this power in his hands, many centuries ago, he even self-proclaimed himself as a prince.

Didn't Niklaus once describe himself as a storyteller? What if this storyteller is fated to witness a tale that endlessly repeats itself? Such repetition can grow tedious and mundane. So eventually, a simple desire emerges—to instigate change, to sow chaos, and perhaps to find an opportunity to break free from the chains binding him to this world.

A vessel for darkness, born in the abyss,

Bound to spread corruption,

A nameless prince:

Niklaus.

And then we have the guarding giant, still clinging to his original desire,

Holding the darkness at bay for as long as he can:

Arlin.

Does it make more sense now?

Now let’s take a look at things on a much smaller scale.

Have you ever wondered why Chip, Jay, and Gillion—a wannabe pirate, a soldier, and the champion of the Undersea, respectively—form such a fucking random assortment of people? The only thread connecting them seems to be their association with the Black Rose members. And their meeting feels like destiny, doesn't it? What if I told you it's not destiny at all, but rather the aftermath of Captain Rose's failed deal with Niklaus?

(Was the deal intentionally unfulfillable? Was it by accident? I dont fucking know!)

We know that whatever deal Captain Rose struck with Niklaus aimed to leave behind a legacy that would change the world. However, Rose failed to uphold his end of the deal, leading to his corruption and transformation into a goopy yucky—essentially, his deal backfired.

You might wonder, in what way it backfired? What better way to leave a lasting legacy than to trigger an event so impactful that it halts the endless cycle of history, disrupting the very mechanism that powers this world? To plunge the world into chaos, only to mend it once more, by bringing together the remaining group of individuals to retrace the steps of their ancestors—different people bound by the same desires as those that came before them.

Yes, the same desires.

The last thing Arlin, Drey, and Finn heard after releasing the entity from the egg was,

"What do you desire?"

What did Arlin James desire most?

I'd have two guesses.

Firstly, while discussing their desires on the staircase, Arlin expresses his desire to find the rest of the crew. Later, after Drey kills Rose, Arlin's words are: "There's still others that need our help [...] Adventure's not over."

Secondly, Arlin clearly wanted the best for Chip. He wanted to be there for this scrawny kid with no family or home, offering him something solid to hold onto.

Why do I bring this up? Because Arlin's desires have been passed down to Chip.

Firstly, hasn't Chip been chasing this his entire life? To locate the members of the Black Rose Pirates, to reassemble the crew, and to relive the old days.

Secondly, the dynamic between Chip and Ollie mirrors this relationship. While Ollie might be more like a brother to Chip and vice versa, it's evident to me that Chip cared for Ollie much like Arlin would for him. Just as Arlin gave Chip a coin, Chip passed that same coin on to Ollie.

What did Drey Ferin desire the most?

I believe he yearned to prove himself—not just to be another Ferin, but to establish his independence, to carve out a name for himself. Maybe he harboured hopes of achieving something significant, something that would make his father proud upon his return home.

Why do I bring this up? Because Drey's desires influenced Jay.

Jay Ferin ventures out with a mission: to uncover her sister's killer and exact justice upon the pirates that are responsible. And in doing so, she hoped to earn her father's pride. Maybe she also sought a sense of freedom and independence, desiring not to be entirely under the navy's influence.

What did Finn Tidestrider desire the most?

GAY SEX /J

Finn yearned to leave the Undersea, to broaden his research, and to witness the wonders of the world above first-hand. He aimed to dispel the notion that the surface was as intimidating as the Undersea made it out to be.

Why do I bring this up? Because Finn's desires influenced Gillion.

Who wouldn't, after years of rigorous training to become a champion—enduring beatings, breaking under relentless training, and being moulded into someone you're not—wish for it to cease, to break free and see the world for oneself? Upon witnessing the Elders negotiating with a human, perhaps it was that sight that pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was an impulsive decision, or perhaps it was his destiny all along. And once on the surface, Gillion's curiosity becomes evident. He wants to learn, experience, and judge for himself. Perhaps he also wishes to someday show his people that the surface isn't as menacing as they've been led to believe.

Niklaus was aware of all of this; he knows far more than he ever lets on. That's why, even before arriving in the town on Loffinlot, he was already trailing Chip, Jay and Gillion—the supposed heroes destined to save the world, or maybe aid him in fulfilling his own desire for freedom.

Closing thoughts? 

This might be a load of bullshit!

I'm going to take a nap!

#featuring many variations of that one condifiction image to make your experience reading this bit more sillier #source: i made it the fuck up #jrwi riptide #just roll with it #jrwi #jrwi theory #gillion tidestrider #jrwi chip #jay ferin #niklaus hendrix

[loupy-mongoose]

Randy lay splayed in the grass, his face up to the vast, cloud-speckled sky. Beside him a small lake flowed down into a creek--the creek that trailed near their house. He listened to the calming sound of its careless course. Akoya sat beside him, and Lav was with the twins a little ways away. He could hear the grass rustle as they played

He sighed, his eyes closed, relishing being bathed in deep contentment for once.

How are you feeling?

Randy smiled. Sleepy.

Hmbph! He felt a soft-but-scolding jab to his side that caused him to involuntarily curl into himself.

No sleeping! His wife's voice was playful.

He chuckled as he let himself lay again. I'm not, I'm not!

So you're relaxed, then?

The pink Mew nodded. He hadn't felt this relaxed in awhile, really.

They'd picked a good place to do this.

Okay.

Psychically sensing others is just another form of what you already know. Telepathy, telekinesis, things like that. Even using elemental moves like Thunderbolt.

Let your senses go. Feel the energy around you. Imagine them around you.

He lay still and silent, letting the world around him fill his ears and nose. Taking it in.

Slowly he began feeling his senses shift into his Psychic energy. Beyond scent and sound. Beyond sight and taste.

Similar to touch, but beyond even that.

It felt as if he was reaching out with a strange phantom arm and hand, blindly grabbing into a deep barrel of water inaccessible to regular senses. Water made up of several different sensations.

This was a feeling that he would never experience had he stayed human. Some humans did gain or even inherit a Psychic incline, but not like this.

This was...

oddly freeing?

A new aspect of his Mew abilities to explore.

He kept his breathing slow and even.

This didn't come naturally to him. Or at least that's what he felt like. Letting his energy out like this was... unfamiliar.

Akoya always told him he thinks too much--which was definitely true, whether it impacted his Psychic abilities or not--and that his powers relied on feeling. It was difficult for him to break free of his thinking habit to make his powers work properly.

He took in the sensations of the energy his phantom arm was reaching.

It was a frighteningly complex mixture, blending together in a strange, chaotic soup. He noticed that it was most intensely coming from where Lav and the twins were playing.

Suddenly he heard the grass beside him crinkle.

~Don't open your eyes.~

He fought his urge to look, and kept them shut.

After a moment, the voice spoke in his head again. ~Without looking, point to where you think I'm at.~

Randy hesitated a moment, feeling out with his power. Then, still lying on his back and feeling a little self-conscious, he pointed to the sky.

That's right!

There was silence, aside from sounds from where Lav was playing with the twins. Midas' bell chimed softly. Like a tiny voice telling listeners "all will be okay".

~Alright. Where now?~

Again, Randy felt and pointed.

Yup!

They did this a few more times, with the the feeling phase growing slightly shorter each time. Then, she returned to ground level.

So you seem able to sense us. Just not as readily as we can.

You and Lav might be easier for me, since I've known you both longer.

Can you feel me?

Randy thought for a moment. Yeah. Quite prominently, actually. His brows furrowed, and he turned to Akoya. If I can feel her this easily, why haven't other Mews?

She's concealing her energy. As am I... and even you are. However easy it is to find her for us, one would have to be seeking to find her energy. If you're concerned about her being a beacon, I'd be more worried about the twins. Perzi's right that they aren't hiding their energy. It's not like... Super obvious, but doesn't take much searching.

The long Mew turned to the twins in their little spot with Lav. He recalled the intense feeling he'd noticed earlier. He closed his eyes and focused.

Sure enough, he detected that intense flow coming straight from them. Lav's energy was but a cotton ball next to theirs.

You know what... Randy opened his eyes and turned to the blue Mew. Her arms were crossed, and she had an upset look on her face. I don't think you've been unable to sense them. I think you've been unable to stop sensing them. You've been in their energy fields near constantly since they were born... Her ears fell back, and her voice grew quiet. No wonder you've been anxious...

Thinking about it, he flicked his ear. I could believe that. Even to me, they're, uh... How do I put it?

Loud?

Randy nodded to her. Yeah. Loud. That's a good way of putting it.

Randy, I-- Akoya's voice choked, and Randy was startled to see her eyes shining with tears.

The sun was setting by the time the family returned home. Momo and Midas had fallen sound asleep, and were cozied up in their big sister's arms.

Perzi approached as they arrived.

How'd the lesson go?

Pretty well, I'd say. She turned to Lav and the sleeping twins. Lav, do you mind taking them in? We'll be in in a minute.

Lav nodded. You got it, Mom

She went inside.

Randy looked around. He felt his all-to-familiar anxiety return with a vengeance. Where's Rosemary?

She's around.

The utterly nonchalant demeanor of Persim's voice struck him, and he felt his usual urge to protect the "missing" child. Too late he attempted to stop himself from speaking. The accusation he had formed stuttered out of his mouth like rough pebbles.

HGGhg bgghb ghhgfh!

*Ahem...*

He took a deep breath, and let it out. He plastered a very forced smile on. Good luck with that. And he hurriedly flew into the house.

Before following her mate inside, Akoya side-eyed her brother. It probably wouldn't hurt to be a little more cautious about her. She is still a vulnerable baby, after all.

Perzi rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I got her.

Akoya gave him a glare that said in no words "I hope so", and rushed off after her family.

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START

Gateway to a less anxious life~ :3

#Pokemon #Writing #comic #Linden Roots #Trip #babbies #mite #art #full

[zapreportsblog]

twilight jasper/The Major x poc reader

a fanfic where the reader who is human, half japanese and half black has the powers like Storm from Xmen, she has black hair but the hair turns white . She is 5 feet 6 inches but grows to 6ft 5in when her power is activated. She is meeting The Major for the first time when another vampire tries to attack them, he goes to protect her by telling her to run and hide not knowing about her powers yet. But she steps in front of him, destroying the vampire with her powers. She turns around to The Major gives him a smile before passing out

I like this idea since this seems more like a oc rather then an x reader story I’m gonna switch some things around if you don’t mind, so like the major I’ll have the reader have an alternate personality like jasper does and the side that turn into basically storm that’ll be her form she takes so unlike jasper who just turns into the major the other side of the reader will physically turn as well

↱ the storms rolling in ↰

➘ summary : (y/n) finds peace within The Olympics Clan as an outsider and her and jasper really kick it off but some outsiders much like (y/n) doesn’t accept that

➘ a/n : for those confused you’re an outsider in the cullens family but they still consider you family, the other outsider mentioned will be someone from your past kinda like a stalker

➘ jasper cullen x poc reader, twilight x poc reader, twilight x oc

The rain pounded relentlessly on the rooftops of the quaint town of Forks, Washington. Mist hung in the air like a shroud, casting a mysterious atmosphere over the sleepy community. For (y/n), it was a new beginning, a chance to escape the familiar and embrace the unknown.

Born to a Japanese mother and an African American father, (y/n) was a mesmerizing blend of cultures. With a cascade of ebony curls and striking amber eyes, she was a rarity that drew curious glances wherever she went. But what truly set her apart were the powers she possessed – a gift inherited from her ancestors. Like Storm from the X-Men, she could command the elements, harnessing the winds, summoning lightning, and stirring the very skies with her emotions.

Growing up in her hometown had been a whirlwind of discovery and secrecy. Her parents had always urged her to conceal her abilities, fearing the backlash from a world that wasn't ready to accept such supernatural phenomena. But as (y/n) matured, so did her longing for freedom, for a place where she could be herself without fear of judgment.

Forks had never been a part of her plans, but life has a way of guiding you down unexpected paths. The town held an enigmatic allure, with its ever-present cloud cover and lush forests. It was as if the weather itself echoed her turbulent emotions, mirroring the storm that raged within her heart.

The decision to leave her hometown behind wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Armed with a few belongings, her powers, and an insatiable curiosity, (y/n) embarked on a journey to Forks. The small house she now stood in front of was modest, yet it felt like a sanctuary – a place where she could redefine herself and forge her own destiny.

As she stepped through the door, the air felt charged with anticipation, like the calm before a tempest. Little did she know that her arrival would set into motion a series of events that would challenge everything she thought she knew about herself and the world around her.

In the heart of this rain-soaked town, (y/n) would find not only new friendships but also the answers she had been seeking. Unbeknownst to her, there were others who carried secrets of their own, mysteries that would intertwine their fates in ways they could never have foreseen.

And so, the journey of (y/n) began – a journey of self-discovery, acceptance, and the realization that sometimes, the storm within can be a source of power, not just destruction.

The fluorescent lights of the local supermarket illuminated the aisles, casting a sterile glow on the neatly organized shelves. (y/n) wandered through the maze of products, her thoughts consumed by the shopping list in her hand. She had grown accustomed to her height, but there were still moments when being 5'6" posed a challenge, like when she tried to reach for an item placed high on a shelf.

Stretching on her tiptoes, she reached out, fingertips grazing the edge of the box she needed. Just as she was about to give up, a shadow fell across her path. Looking up, she met the gaze of a tall, burly man with a friendly smile. He towered over her, his presence larger than life.

"Need a hand?" he asked, his deep voice resonating through the aisle. Without waiting for her answer, he effortlessly plucked the item off the shelf and handed it to her.

"Thank you so much," (y/n) replied with a grateful smile, bowing slightly, a gesture she had picked up from her Japanese heritage. "I really appreciate it."

Emmett, for that was his name, chuckled warmly. "No problem at all. Glad I could help."

As they stood facing each other, an unspoken connection formed between them. It was as if they recognized something familiar in each other's eyes, a shared understanding that transcended the simple act of reaching for a box on a shelf.

"So, what brings you to Forks?" Emmett asked, genuinely curious.

(y/n) hesitated for a moment before answering, "I wanted a fresh start, a place where I can be myself without any pretenses."

Emmett nodded, his expression empathetic. "I get that. Sometimes a change of scenery can be exactly what you need."

As they continued talking, (y/n) and Emmett discovered a surprising common interest – video games. Their conversation flowed effortlessly as they exchanged stories about their favorite games, strategies, and epic victories. Their laughter echoed through the supermarket aisle, drawing curious glances from passersby.

As they strolled along, a colorful poster caught (y/n)'s attention – a local gaming event showcasing the latest releases. She couldn't help but express her excitement.

Emmett's eyes lit up with a mischievous grin. "You know, there's a gaming setup at my place. We could try out some of those new releases together if you're interested."

Surprised but intrigued, (y/n) considered his offer. The idea of spending time with a new friend, indulging in their shared passion, was too tempting to resist.

"That sounds amazing," she replied, her smile growing wider.

And just like that, an invitation to dinner turned into a burgeoning friendship that neither of them had anticipated. As they left the supermarket, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from games to their personal stories.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town of Forks in a warm twilight glow, (y/n) followed Emmett's directions to his home. The quaint, inviting house nestled among the trees seemed like a cozy haven against the encroaching darkness. The sound of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze created a serene backdrop as she approached the front door.

Emmett answered the door with a bright grin, welcoming (y/n) inside. "Glad you could make it! This is home."

Stepping into the house, (y/n) was met with the warm scent of home-cooked food and the gentle hum of conversation. As she entered the living room, her eyes widened at the sight of the welcoming faces that turned to greet her.

"Hey there!" Emmett's voice was infused with genuine enthusiasm as he introduced her to his family. "This is my adoptive mother, Esme, and these are my siblings, Edward, Bella, and Alice."

Warm smiles and kind words of welcome enveloped (y/n), putting her at ease in this unfamiliar environment. Esme was gracious and inviting, expressing genuine delight at having her over. As conversation flowed, (y/n) found herself gravitating towards Esme in the kitchen, where they worked side by side to prepare dinner.

Esme's gentle guidance and (y/n)'s willingness to learn made them an efficient team. The scent of cooking filled the air as they chopped vegetables, shared stories, and forged a connection that felt surprisingly natural.

As they worked, the sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention. A tall, blonde figure lingered in the doorway, watching with a guarded expression. Rosalie's gaze met (y/n)'s, and for a moment, there was an unspoken understanding.

"Don't mind Rosalie and Jasper," Emmett chimed in, offering a reassuring smile. "They have their own way of dealing with new people."

Alice, who had appeared beside Rosalie, grinned and added, "They just have a little difficulty being around people they're not familiar with."

(y/n) nodded in understanding. "I used to be the same way as a child. Meeting new people was always a bit overwhelming."

As dinner preparations continued, (y/n) glanced towards Jasper and Rosalie. With a respectful nod, she took a step towards them and offered a polite bow, a gesture of acknowledgment that she had carried from her Japanese heritage.

"Thank you for allowing me into your home," she said softly. "I understand it might be uncomfortable having someone new around, but I appreciate your hospitality."

Jasper and Rosalie exchanged a glance before Jasper offered a nod, his demeanor softer. "It's not easy for us, but we're working on it. Thanks for understanding."

Rosalie's lips curved into a small smile, her guardedness easing just a bit. "Yeah, what he said."

Returning their smiles, (y/n) felt a sense of camaraderie with the Cullen siblings. As the evening progressed, laughter and stories intertwined, weaving a tapestry of connection that was forged through shared experiences and an openness to understanding one another.

In the heart of the Cullen home, (y/n) had found not only a group of unique individuals but also a place where acceptance and understanding reigned, much like the storm within her that had the power to bring both destruction and renewal.

Time had flown by since (y/n) had become a part of the Cullen family's circle, and what began as a chance encounter had blossomed into deep friendships. The bonds she had formed with Emmett, Esme, Alice, Rosalie, Jasper and Bella and the even others had become an integral part of her life in Forks.

Firstly she found out some shocking news, the cullens we’re vampires. Well it wasn’t that shocking but damn what a secret you know?!

One sunny afternoon, as they gathered in the Cullen home's living room, conversations flowed easily. (y/n) felt entirely at home amidst the laughter and shared stories. As she recounted an incident in town where she had faced some unwanted attention, Jasper's face tightened with a controlled anger she hadn't seen before.

Intrigued by his reaction, (y/n) looked directly at him. "It was strange, really. This guy just wouldn't take no for an answer, and then out of nowhere, Jasper stepped in and, well, let's just say things got a little intense."

Emmett let out a hearty chuckle. "Yeah, Jazz here has a way of making his point crystal clear."

Jasper's eyes shifted, almost as if he was remembering something he'd rather not. "Well, sometimes people need a reminder to respect boundaries."

Sensing that there was more to the story than what met the eye, (y/n) pressed on. "You seemed really protective, Jasper. Did something else happen?"

Jasper hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between (y/n) and the floor. Before he could respond, Emmett, in a moment of uncharacteristic bluntness, let out a small chuckle and said, "He's just being all 'major' about it."

The room fell into an awkward silence, and (y/n) locked eyes with Jasper, her curiosity mixed with concern. "Major? What do you mean?"

Jasper sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's... complicated."

Emmett's eyes widened as he realized his mistake, but before he could attempt to correct it, Jasper straightened up, his expression becoming more composed.

"Truth is, (y/n)," Jasper began, his voice holding a note of seriousness, "I have developed feelings for you. Strong ones. In the vampire world, it's more than just attraction. I see you as a suitable mate, and well... I guess that's why I reacted the way I did."

A shocked silence fell over the room as (y/n) processed his words. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, her heart pounding a little faster in her chest. Jasper's confession left her momentarily speechless, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Esme, always the peacemaker, gently broke the silence. "Jasper, dear, I think it's important for (y/n) to understand your perspective."

Jasper nodded, his eyes never leaving (y/n)'s face. "You see, I can feel and manipulate emotions. I've been trained to sense danger, to protect my family, and I couldn't bear to see you uncomfortable or threatened."

(y/n) took a deep breath, trying to process the sudden revelation. Her own feelings were in turmoil, a mixture of flattery, surprise, and confusion. She met Jasper's gaze and spoke softly, "I... appreciate your honesty. But this is a lot to take in."

Jasper nodded in understanding, his expression a blend of hope and anxiety. "I didn't expect you to reciprocate immediately. I just wanted you to know the truth."

The vulnerability in Jasper's eyes was undeniable, and (y/n) felt a wave of empathy wash over her. She took another deep breath and offered a tentative smile. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this, Jasper.

“Please…call me major,” says jasper or well the major?!

“Well major, I need some time to process everything."

Jasper's lips curled into a relieved smile. "Of course, take all the time you need."

As the room gradually returned to its natural state of camaraderie, (y/n) realized that this unanticipated revelation was a testament to the depth of connection she had with the Cullens. Amidst the supernatural complexities, she was navigating the intricacies of both friendship and emotion, much like the storm that raged within her own heart.

As days turned into weeks, (y/n) found herself replaying Jasper's confession in her mind. She appreciated his honesty, but the weight of his feelings had left her slightly overwhelmed. She knew that a conversation with him was inevitable, and as the afternoon sun bathed the Cullen home in a warm glow, she decided that it was time to address the unspoken tension.

Approaching Jasper, who was sitting in the living room with a book, (y/n) cleared her throat to get his attention. "Jasper, can we talk?"

Jasper glanced up from his book, his expression a mix of surprise and anticipation. "Of course, (y/n). What's on your mind?"

"I think we need to discuss what you told me," she began, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I appreciate your feelings, but I need to know more. I need to understand what this means for us."

Jasper set his book aside, his eyes locked onto (y/n)'s. "I understand, and I'm here to answer any questions you have."

Taking a deep breath, (y/n) hesitated for a moment before suggesting, "Would you like to take a walk with me? It might be easier to talk outside."

Jasper nodded, his expression softening. "Sure, a walk sounds good."

As they strolled along a forested path near the Cullen home, (y/n) found the tranquility of nature to be the perfect backdrop for their conversation. The rustling of leaves and the distant songs of birds provided a calming soundtrack to their words.

"I want you to know that I value our friendship a lot, Jasper," (y/n) began, her voice gentle. "But your confession... it caught me off guard. I need time to figure out my own feelings and what this could mean for us."

Jasper's eyes held a mixture of understanding and empathy. "I respect that, (y/n). I never meant to make you uncomfortable."

Just as the conversation seemed to be heading towards a more peaceful resolution, a sudden rustling in the bushes nearby drew their attention. Before either of them could react, a blur of movement materialized, and another vampire stood before them.

"Ronny?" (y/n) gasped, disbelief washing over her.

The newcomer, Ronny, grinned wickedly, his eyes flashing crimson. "Well, well, (y/n). I never thought I'd run into you again."

Jasper's posture tensed, his instincts alert. "Who is this?"

“My childhood friend…”

Ignoring Jasper's question, Ronny's gaze remained fixed on (y/n). "You look surprised to see me. Did you think you could just disappear without consequences?"

Before (y/n) could respond, Ronny lunged at her, his intention clear. Instinctively, Jasper stepped in between them, his movements impossibly swift. A collision of supernatural strength and skill erupted as Jasper blocked Ronny's attack, his combat prowess on full display.

Realizing the danger, (y/n) instinctively stepped back, her heart racing. The situation had escalated far more quickly than she could have imagined. She watched as Jasper and Ronny engaged in a fierce struggle, her mind racing for a solution.

"(Y/n), run and hide!" He shouted, hoping his words would reach her amidst the chaos.

The clash of their powers created a cacophony of sound, echoing through the forest. The situation grew dire, and (y/n) felt her instincts take over.

Drawing upon the powers she had long kept hidden, (y/n) summoned a gust of wind, whipping through the air with a force that sent leaves and debris spiraling around her. She directed the winds towards Ronny, creating a barrier between him and Jasper.

“(Y/n)?!” Spoke two voices.

With wide eyes all both vampires could do was watch as (y/n)’s appearance transformed. (Y/n) felt a strange surge of energy building within her. The winds around her intensified, swirling with an intensity that matched the storm within her heart. Suddenly, her body began to transform, her form elongating and growing. Her clothes strained against her expanding frame until they could no longer contain her altered proportions.

In mere seconds, her height soared to a towering 6 feet 5 inches. Her once-ebony hair turned an ethereal shade of white, and her eyes underwent a dramatic transformation. They transformed into a striking sight, the irises resembling those of a blind person, milky white with glowing, pulsating thunderbolt-like veins that electrified the very air around her.

The air crackled with energy, and (y/n)'s alternate self emerged, fierce and imposing. Her torn clothing hung loosely from her powerful frame as she faced Ronny, her gaze locked onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

The Major and Ronnys attention shifted to a stunned halt as they took in the transformation before him. Ronny recognized the power emanating from (y/n)'s alternate self, a power that was clearly beyond human comprehension, someone who (y/n) would say she could see in her dreams as a child.

Ronny, momentarily disoriented by the unexpected turn of events, hesitated, his overconfidence momentarily shattered. This was not the (y/n) he had expected to face.

With a burst of lightning-like energy, (y/n)'s alternate self lunged at Ronny. The clash of their powers created shockwaves that rippled through the forest, causing trees to sway and leaves to rain down like a storm of confetti.

The battle was fierce and intense. Bolts of electricity danced across the air as (y/n)'s alternate self summoned the power of the elements. Her movements were fluid yet ferocious, every motion calculated to bring Ronny to his knees.

Ronny attempted to counter her attacks, but he was clearly outmatched. The power radiating from (y/n)'s alternate self seemed limitless, as if she had tapped into an otherworldly force.

With a final surge of power, (y/n)'s alternate self released a blast of energy that engulfed Ronny in a blinding light. The force of the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, causing the earth to tremble beneath their feet.

As the light subsided, (y/n)'s alternate self stood amidst the aftermath, her chest heaving with the exertion of her powers. The air was charged with energy, and the forest around them bore witness to the clash of supernatural forces.

The major approached (y/n)'s alternate self cautiously, his eyes filled with awe and respect. "You saved us."

The transformation began to wane, and as (y/n)'s alternate self slowly reverted to her original form, she felt a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. She looked up at Jasper, her eyes returning to their familiar amber hue, and offered a small smile.

Jasper's expression held a newfound admiration. "You have powers too."

Nodding, (y/n) replied, "I didn’t know how to tell you.”

As the forest settled into a tranquil silence, the remnants of the battle scattered around them, (y/n) realized that the storm within her was no longer something to be feared. It was a source of strength, a power that could be harnessed to protect those she cared about.

“Sorry about this,” (y/n) apologized.

“Sorry for what?” Major questions. “This -“ and with that (y/n) passed out only to be caught by major.

In the aftermath of the battle, (y/n)'s world had once again shifted, unveiling layers of her identity she had yet to explore. The bond she shared with the Cullens had deepened further, and the storm within her heart had revealed itself as a force of nature that could bring both destruction and renewal.

#x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #jasper #jasper hale #jasper hale x oc #jasper hale x you #jasper hale x y/n #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x poc reader #x poc reader #x poc y/n #x poc you #twilight x you #twilight imagine #twilight x poc reader #twilight x y/n #twilight x reader #twilight imagines #twilight masterlist #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale imagines

[dewedup]

Hi dear friend 💙

How about..."if you could only see yourself the way I do, you wouldn't feel this way" with my sweet sweet Rulti boys.

Besos!😘

sorry this ended up taking me a little mac, i love how your brain works and i hope i did it justice 🖤

please enjoy 1k of sad, angsty rain and swiss breaking through the pain 🥰

Rain’s hands travel the skin of his neck exploratorily, fingers brushing over the slightly protruding gills on either side of his neck. They are a light-blue colour and stand out compared to the greyish-blue tone of his skin like a sore thumb. He knows that logically, Dew used to have the very same identifying features of a water ghoul. That you can still see the shiny, silvery scars if you look hard enough. 

Sometimes he even catches Dew being slightly oversensitive to the area still, releasing a soft gasp when they’re touched the right way, flinching when he’s grabbed a little too roughly around the neck. Rain sympathizes, and knows the feeling well himself. It’s an interesting flaw in the design of water ghouls, having such a vulnerable area highlighted like a bullseye for all predators to see. To be totally at someone’s mercy if they touch them just right.

That’s not the part that really bothers Rain though, just something he thinks of once in a while. If he one day had an audience with Lucifer, he’d probably bring it up. Workshop some ideas with the Unholy One. 

No, what bothers Rain is that he’s the only ghoul with these outward markings. Air ghouls get to walk a little lighter. Their hair floats perfectly around them, like they’re perpetually on a cloud. Quintessences have captivating purple irises that seem to glow in the dark. Dew’s eyes hold a similar power, coupled with the fact that he always runs hotter than any other being Rain has had the pleasure of getting close to. Even Mountain grows cute little flowers on his body, for fucksakes. Don’t even get him started on multi ghouls. They’re heartbreakingly gorgeous, taking every positive aspect of their mixed elements and crafting perfection. He’s almost positive that if he looked at Swiss too long, he’d go blind. 

And here’s Rain, with these stupid fucking gills. 

The ones that decorate his ribcage are fine, easily hidden and if that’s the only place he had them he wouldn’t complain too badly. But the neck? Impossible to casually hide. It’s the only thing he sees in the mirror when he’s brave enough to look, the bright tone catching his eyes immediately. He feels like a lesser ghoul, unevolved, unrefined in a way. 

When he’s feeling particularly hideous, he’ll exert enough effort to glamour the area. Coincidentally, it’s more work to disguise just one part of his body instead of a full glamour. But he’s stubborn, will spend the whole day on edge and fall into bed exhausted after trying to conceal the ugliest part of him from view. 

He’s still standing in front of his vanity, hands to his neck, when the door to his room is thrown open.

“Rain! Dew and Phantom challenged us to a…” Swiss’ voice trails off as he watches Rain grip his neck self-consciously. It’s too much, the beautiful golden eyes of the multi ghoul staring right at his most vulnerable area, his gaze calculating as he takes in the scene before him. Rain’s hackles rise. The surprise mixing with the self-hatred he’s been soaking in creates an explosive reaction inside him.

“Did no one fucking teach you how to knock?” Rain spits, venom lacing his tone as he drops his hands, quickly pushing a glamour out to cover his gills. Swiss flinches visibly at the words, his eyes narrowing as his gaze still lingers on Rain’s neck. Silence eats at him, unshed tears pushing their way to his eyes. No, he cannot cry right now. He’s just angry, he just needs Swiss to leave. 

“Rain,” Swiss ventures, taking slow steps towards him. He lifts his hands, palms raised towards the water ghoul like he would a wounded animal. Rain stumbles backwards, bracing his hands on the vanity behind him. 

“Get the fuck out Swiss,” Rain’s voice cracks on the multi ghoul’s name, the anger evaporating as quickly as it comes. A single tear trails its way down his cheek. Swiss is unfazed by the quickly shifting moods, taking the last few steps to close the distance between them. Rain stiffens as he’s pulled close by a hand wrapping around his waist, leaving the comfort of the sturdy vanity behind him. Swiss reaches up with his other hand, his thumb brushing against Rain’s cheek to catch the stray tear. 

Rain’s entire body slumps, the last few lingering impulses to fight dissipating. 

“Show me, love.” Swiss whispers and Rain feels completely exposed under the golden gaze burning into him. He knows exactly what Swiss wants, debates playing dumb, but Swiss’ face is earnest, affection carved into every faint line or wrinkle. With a heavy sigh, he drops the glamour, his eyes sliding shut as he tries to hide from his own wicked thoughts. 

He doesn’t see Swiss move closer, only letting out a soft gasp as his lips press light kisses along the gills on the right side of his neck. Never pushing too hard. If Rain wasn’t hyperaware of every single thing happening currently, he might even miss the soft caresses on his sensitive skin. Swiss switches to the other side, supplying the same gentle affection to the neglected gills. 

“You’re absolutely gorgeous Rainbow,” Swiss pulls back, waiting for Rain to open his eyes before he speaks next. It’s a battle, the water ghoul fighting back tears as he cracks his eyes to peek at Swiss. The love and adoration displayed blatantly on his face punches a soft sob out of Rain’s mouth. 

Swiss coos and shushes him, pulling Rain tight to his chest, guiding his head to nuzzle in the crook of his neck. His warm hands rub comforting circles into Rain’s back as he shudders, tears falling to stain Swiss’ white t-shirt. It’s a few minutes before Rain’s breath evens out, eyes sore from crying, body exhausted, using every bit of strength Swiss offers to hold him up. 

“If you could only see yourself the way I do,” Swiss whispers, pressing soft kisses to the side of Rain’s head as he squeezes the water ghoul a little tighter. “You wouldn’t feel this way.” 

And Rain thinks, for Swiss, maybe he could try. 

#rulti #angst #hurt/comfort #sad rain #loving swiss #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #the band ghost ficlet #fic request #thank you mac for the beautiful idea to build off of 🖤 #gloom answers #mac #gloom writes

[linkspooky]

Jujutsu Kaisen, Chapter 222-223 Thoughts.

Another week. Another Jujutsu Kaisen. So the question on everybody's mind again is "Is Gojo crazy after coming out of the box?" and as an additional question "How did the Box affect him?" With both the sudden timeskip and Gojo's tendency to mask his emotions, the answer so far has been ambiguous. However, I think a lot of the fandom agrees that Gojo's behavior has been somewhat "off" so let's take a closer look at Gojo in the past two chapters under the cut.

1. The Timeskip

A lot of people have complained about the timeskip between 221-222, and let's just give Gege the benefit of the doubt here instead of calling it bad writing. The same way that the narrative is skipping to the conclusive battle between Gojo and Sukuna, it seems like Gojo is also blindly rushing his way through things.

Obviously, Gojo is not naturally the type to sit down and process his emotions, but there's something just OFF about the fact he does not show any reaction at all to the deaths of several key people in his life.

Gojo's "Oh well" reaction to Nanami's death, and his refusal to hold Gakuganji for the death of principal Yaga stand out as two such moments. You could make this out to be Gojo secretly hiding his feelings, because he's just too broken up inside, and there's probably an element to that.

Rather than saying he's hiding his feelings though, I'd point out his response has always been outward callousness rather than showing his deeper emotions. When asked to process deeper grief or face an emotionally heavy situation Gojo's reaction is usually to just act flippant about it. As shown in his reaction to Sukuna possessing Megumi's body, being just openly taunting him about it.

Once again, he's obviously concealing his deeper feelings but also Gojo's pretty cold about Megumi's possession. If you take into consideration the fact that Megumi is someone Gojo is supposed to be responsible.

Megumi is an orphan that Gojo recruited to be a sorcerer, basically showing up and offering him protection from the Zen'in on the premise that he come and train as a sorcerer under him Gojo is the one who put this orphaned kid in the line of danger and then failed to protect him.

The very promise Gojo made to Megumi, that if he became a sorcerer and went with Gojo instead of with the Zen'in, that Tsumiki might have a chance of being happy is broken now. Sukuna murdered Tsumiki and Megumi's body was taken away from him on Gojo's watch.

This is also a long-time running hypocrisy on Gojo's part, he only goes out of his way to save Yuji and Yuta because they are potentially useful to him as allies in his plan against the higher-ups. He deliberately sends Panda and Inumaki to get beaten up by Geto in order to trigger Yuta's growth on the flimsy belief that Geto wouldn't kill them. Gojo goes out of his way to protect his students, and at the same time treats them like tools to further his agenda.

I'd say this hypocrisy arises not out of any bad intentions on Gojo's part necessarily, but a lack of self-reflection. Gojo's a product of the sorcerer system, and he fits the role of the strongest so well he cannot imagine himself outside of it. Gojo treats his students essentially the same way he was treated, because that's what works for him.

Gojo has flaws, but just like anyone else he has the potential to reflect on himself and fix those flaws. Gojo being boxed and the fallout of that is a pretty big failure on his part, one he could grow from but he's not doing that. If anything Megumi being possessed should be a wakeup call to the danger that Gojo has put this orphaned kid who he's supposed to be responsible for in, but Gojo just doesn't think about it too hard.

That's why I say the rushed pacing of the chapters, sort of reflect Gojo's mental state right now. He's not stopping to think through things. Now this next part hinges on if Gojo was the one who killed the elders, but if he did that says a lot about his post boxing mentality.

If Gojo killed the elders, he's directly contradicting something he said in the first few chapters. That he could physically kill the people on top, but a massacre number one wouldn't be popular with people, and number two wouldn't actually result in any lasting change because they'd be replaced.

Now, a lot of people have taken Gojo's supposed slaughtering of the elders as a sign that he's now realizing that he has to be more radical in his change and reform, but the fact that he immediately tries to appoint Gakuganji as the new head after his massacre shows he isn't.

Gojo's not actually making any lasting structural change in the way things are handled, he just killed the people on top of then replaced them with someone he approves of. Gakuganji is barely any better than the elders that Gojo slaughtered, but Gojo is in a hurry and needs someone in charge so he's compromising on his morals.

It's also an extension of why Gojo's goals were kind of wrong-headed from the start, he genuinely does want to make Sorcerer Society better, but his plan was always just to replace the elders with his own personal people. He was never going to change the structure of the whole system or redistribute power, he was just going to put his guys in office. Not only that, he was going to raise children as political allies and groom them to be on his side.

So, Gojo's plan hasn't changed he was always just going to try to replace the elders at the top rather than make the elder system different, the only thing that's changed is the timeframe. Obviously, if he's resorting to massacre now than being in the box has made him impatient. Gojo doing the thing he said at the manga was a bad idea to do, and wrong of him is not character growth it's regression.

Gojo may not have come out of the box insane (debatable) but he's clearly regressed on several fronts, Shoko herself said that Gojo's worst tendency is to act like he's all alone when he's not. There's plenty of people in Gojo's life who want to be there for him emotionally, but Gojo ignores him because he thinks his power makes him too different from other people.

Gojo's trained by his society to think a certain way, and he's at the absolute top of the society that tells him that power is everything and might is always right. As much as Gojo wants to subvert that society's corrupted ideals, he's also kind of the embodiment of the exact same ideals he's fighting against. He derives his whole identity from this fact.

Gojo being flippant about the danger that Megumi is in, and the deaths of these important people to him, is just more of Gojo isolating himself all over again. If anything his slaughter of the elders is a sign of the negative effect that this is having on his mentality, because Gojo held back from just massacring people before because he thought it was wrong for him as just one person to make these world altering decisions just because he had the power to do so.

Geto's emphasis on their roles as Jujutsu Sorcerers and the responsibility of the strong, made Gojo into a very responsible person in regards to how he uses his power, and now he's going back on that.

It's almost poetic that the story is skipping straight to Gojo's fight with Sukuna, as if that is the magic fix to everything currently wrong post Shibuya. It's extremely tempting for both Gojo and the people surrounding him to believe that everything will be solved with one final big battle against the big bad.

Another thing I've commented on before is that Gojo is really good at one thing and that is exorcising curses, and because of that he doesn't really notice where he fails in other aspects of life. Sukuna challenging Gojo to a battle of the strongest vs. the strongest really appeals to that simple narrative Gojo has in his head that everything can be fixed with a fight. Soemthing Gojo has learned time and time again in the past, that sometimes being the strongest is not enough.

Sukuna being such a one note villain, and someone who like Gojo centers his entire life around the fact that he's strong in battle presents Gojo with what seems to be a very easy fix to the current problems. Kill Sukuna, kill Kenjaku and everything will return to normal.

In fact, Sukuna almost represents the worst of Gojo. Someone who only cares about fighting strong enemies and has no identity outside of the fact that he's the peak of the sorcery world. Someone who has no relationships, no regard for weak people, and wields his power however he wants. A person who Gojo is tempted to think like. If Gojo did slaughter the elders, then it's no coincidence then Gojo immediately goes to face Sukuna after committing that abuse of his power.

Once again the elders are bad, but Gojo is just one person he shouldn't make the decision of who gets to be in charge all by himself. In fact, Sukuna said early on in the manga when he learned Gojo takes orders from the elders that the only hierarchy that should matter is who's the strongest.

Gojo is just one person, and the reason he was able to kill the elders is because he just so happened to be given that much power. He was born with it, he didn't do anything to earn it, he wasn't elected by anybody. He doesn't get to appoint himself as judge, jury and executioner, even if he is doing so because he thinks it would legitimately bring about good change (which it isn't he appointed Gakuganji to replace them).

However, Gojo right now is going for easy fixes. Defeat Sukuna, slaughter the elders, problem solved. Jujutsu Kaisen is a story that usually punishes characters for thinking they are in a shonen manga, for employing narrative thinking rather than facing the complex reality they are in.

Gojo's facedown with Sukuna reminds me of this scene from another manga Tokyo Ghoul, where the main character assumes that everything will be solved with an epic shonen battle with his rival.

A scene which is quickly followed up by this:

Gojo is heading into his fight with Sukuna practically the same way. He's ultra confident, he's not holding back whatsoever even though it's Megumi's body. His attitude is very "Kill Sukuna first, figure out everything afterwards."

In Tokyo Ghoul this is a scene where Kaneki makes a major mistake, because he believes he is the protagonist of some story where everything can be solved with a fist fight. It's him losing strategically because he doesn't want to admit that reality is more complicated than that and he makes a pretty major mistake by choosing to fight all alone. Of course Gojo's not choosing to fight alone this time he at least, had help from other people which is an imrpovement, but he's making the same basic assumption that everything will come down to this fight between him and Sukuna. I don't think it's a direct reference but even the panelling here looks like the parody of a shonen manga panelling shown above.

This is where Gojo is in his wheelhouse, he's in his element. After being boxed, it seems like everything has come down to him just exorcising a curse, winning a fight against his enemy, something he is great at. Kill the enemy, and save the day.

However, Jujutsu Kaisen is much more complex than most shonen manga which is why I believe this showdown will turn out very different than how Gojo planned. If anything, the worst might happen and Gojo will be forced to actually rely on his students to cover for him if he failed against Sukuna. This would also be more true to the theme of the manga, because as many people have pointed out the point of the kids is to replace Gojo. Therefore, them getting Gojo out of the box and relying on Gojo to solve everything for them is pretty contradictory to this message.

Anyway, in case anyone is taking bets, I'm putting fifty dollars on Sukuna as the winner of this fight. If you want to join the betting pool let me know.

#gojo satoru #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk 222 spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #ryomen sukuna

[storiesforftm]

His Haunted Memories

Louis Pointe Du Lac x Masc! Reader

Warnings: mentions of death

Synopsis: Louis and Y/N try to find Y/N’s gift

“Some of us are born with gifts,” he explained to me. “I, unfortunately, do not have a gift. My maker was able to read minds, he could see people’s intentions.” He spoke softly of his maker, Lestat. I had been told about him before, but I never truly knew what he was like.

“Try it, Y/N. Can you read my mind?” Louis asked me. I tried, but I couldn’t hear a word. I shook my head no.

“That’s okay. We’ll try something else,” Louis started to think about what other gifts vampires could have. Perhaps there was more than the one he known about. He walked toward me steadily, his thin pale fingers grasping his chin, deep in his train of thought.

“Perhaps you can manipulate the elements. Look outside, and try to make the wind blow.” I obeyed, and looked out the window. Tonight wasn’t a windy night. Very rare in New Orleans this time of year, but I looked outside and not a leaf moved on the trees. We scratched it off the list.

“Louis, I may not have a gift either,” I said. “But I don’t mind if I do or if I don’t. Just as long as you’re here to guide me.”

“Oh, of course, my cherie. I will always be here,” he grabbed my face gently, and peered deep into my eyes. “You are such a handsome lad,” Louis said. His complement made me feel almost human again, and I swear I felt a flutter where my beating heart used to be. I placed my hand on his, which was cupping my cheek, and in a blink of an eye, I was seeing memories. Memories that didn’t belong to me.

Memories that belonged to Louis. I saw him, Lestat. I saw his wife, his child, their funerals, I saw his home, him burning it down. I saw everything he wanted me to see, but then I realized, the girl was there, then she was suddenly gone.

I took his hand off my cheek, and as I came back to reality, he looked shocked. “Y/N, what’s happened?”

“I can see people’s memories…” we stayed in silence for a few minutes before I asked who she was.

“Who was the girl?”

“What?” Louis said, in utter surprise.

“She had blonde curls, she looked like a doll. She was there, then suddenly, she vanished from your memories.” Louis stood up quickly and looked at me from above, and sighed. I understood his sigh as him not feeling ready to talk about who she was.

“Was she special to you?” I asked. He nodded his head, and he turned from me to conceal his face from mine. I stood up, and faced him towards me.

“You don’t have to tell me… You can show me, if it’s easier… Let me see?” I asked. Louis hesitantly allowed me to grab his hand and put it on my cheek. I went back into the same trance of memories, and was shown the girl, Claudia. Burned by the sunlight, and Louis finding her, and another female vampire, Madeline, who was burned alongside Claudia.

I had seen enough, and eventually snapped out of the trance. I hugged Louis so tight, and he hugged me tightly back. “I’m so sorry. When you’re ready, I’d love to know more about her.” Louis nodded his head as he quickly dried his eyes.

“Thank you for allowing me to see your most vulnerable self, Louis.”

#louis de pointe du lac x reader #louis de pointe du lac #louis pointe du lac x reader #x male reader #interview with the vampire one shot #interview with the vampire imagines #interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire x male reader #interview with the vampire louis #interview with the vampire x m!reader #interview with the vampire x ftm! reader

[pequins]

hannigram

nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Hannibal practices aftercare with a blend of sophistication and tenderness. He orchestrates a calming atmosphere, with soft music and dim lighting. Hannibal's aftercare involves expressing appreciation for the trust bestowed upon him, bringing will his favorite snacks, running a bath for them both, offering will a set of freshly clean clothes he had so thoughtfully put into the dryer, all around ensuring Will feels both physically and emotionally cared for.

Will leans towards a more grounded and nurturing aftercare. He finds happiness in the simplicity of shared moments, offering reassuring touch and whispered words of comfort, placing soft kisses on hannibals cheeks and cuddling under a soft blanket until they both fall asleep. Will's aftercare emphasizes the importance of mutual vulnerability and a genuine connection rather than pampering his lover, fostering a sense of intimacy that extends beyond the physical.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hannibal, with his meticulous appreciation for aesthetics, finds a particular fondness for his own hands. The precision they possess aligned with his skills and culinary artistry. All of the intricate and methodical ways he can pleasure himself and will with such a simple part of his body.

As for Will, his favorite body part on hannibal would likely be his lips. those lips were a paradox, concealing both the charm that seduced the world and the darkness that stirred beneath the surface. An unspoken desire to taste those lips always lingered in the air, to feel them on his own. he had trouble looking hannibal in the eyes without imagining his perfectly shaped lips all puffy and red, desperately trying to take all of wills cock in his throat.

Will finds a satisfaction in the timbre and nuances of his own voice. He appreciates how, in moments of intimacy, his voice can convey a depth that goes beyond mere words. To Will, it's a tool that allows him to articulate the complex thoughts that cannot simply be expressed, a conduit for expressing the layers of his turbulent mind.

Hannibal had developed a love for Will’s eyes. There was a vulnerability in those puppy-like eyes that touched something profound within Hannibal—a loyalty so undying and pure that it echoed the companionship of a devoted canine. The way Will looked at him, eyes wide and glossy with desire. He could see will’s consistent need for his approval in the hazel-orbs, begging for hannibal to tell him he was doing well. he could never resist stroking his hand through will’s soft brown curls, telling him “you’re such a good boy, amore mio.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

For Hannibal, the forbidden thrill lies in the dance of dominance and submission. His secret desire revolves around the artful play of control, an intricate symphony where power shifts seamlessly between him and his partner. Hannibal finds a sensual satisfaction in the delicate balance, exploring the depths of trust and vulnerability.

On the other hand, Will harbors a secret penchant for the sweet agony of restraint. The tension of being bound, the subtle ache of surrendering control—whether it’s him or Hannibal being bound, the erotic elements of it awaken a hidden passion within him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In the realm of sexual experience, Hannibal Lecter exudes a seasoned confidence. Having explored the intricacies of desire with both men and women, he navigates the nuances of intimacy with a refined touch. In contrast, Will carries a more understated but potent level of experience. His encounters, though fewer in number, are characterized by a deep emotional connection. His experiences, are etched with a profound resonance.

both Hannibal and Will exude confidence in their sexual abilities. Hannibal, with his refined tastes and precise nature, approaches intimacy with confidence. His experiences have sculpted him into a masterful lover who understands the nuances of desire and pleasure. Will, while less seasoned than Hannibal, possesses a quiet assurance in his sexual abilities. His empathy extends to the bedroom, allowing him to intuitively connect with his partners and navigate the complexities of desire. While his journey may carry traces of vulnerability, it contributes to a deeper understanding and confidence in his own evolving sexuality.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Hannibal's favorite position is one that allows for a subtle display of dominance while maintaining a connection built on trust. He appreciates the intimacy of missionary, where he can engage in a symphony of sensations while maintaining eye contact, reinforcing the psychological aspects of pleasure.

Will, finds a particular allure in a more animalistic position. He favors doggy, drawn to the primal energy and uninhibited nature of the act. The physicality of the position appeals to his desires, adding a layer of raw intensity to the shared intimacy between him and hannibal.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depending on who is bottoming.

Hannibal maintains a serious demeanor. His approach is calculated, and he views each interaction as an artful exploration, infusing a sense of refinement into the experience.

Will tends to bring a touch of playfulness to their encounters. He embraces moments of light-heartedness, finding that a hint of humor can provide a unique and intimate connection, balancing the intensity with genuine warmth. Their dynamic weaves together seriousness and levity, creating a tapestry in the realm of their shared desires.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Hannibal approaches intimate moments with a calculated and romantic demeanor, lighting candles, dimming the lights, chocolate strawberries, treating every encounter like it is valentine’s day,extending his perfectionism to his sex life. he’s not one for a quickie or mindless sex, He finds beauty in the subtle nuances of connection, elevating the experience to a expression of passion.

Will also embraces a romantic approach that stems from a genuine connection and empathy. While he doesn’t have the methodical planning skills and love for aesthetics as much as hannibal and he’s not against a hormone-driven quickie, His moments of intimacy carry a depth of emotion, weaving together vulnerability and a sincere desire to please.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Hannibal does not masturbate often, he’s usually too busy with patients, covering his crimes and keeping up social appearances to worry about his own sexual satisfaction. The only time he masturbates is mutual masturbation with Will.

Will is a chronic masturbator, attempting to calm his intense libido and de-stress from his job. He does at least every other day, usually wearing hannibals suit jackets or smelling one of his shirts before he washes it. He wouldn’t mind, right?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hannibal - Sensory Deprivation

Hannibal finds a particular fascination in the artful exploration of sensory deprivation. Whether through blindfolds or carefully orchestrated environments, he enjoys heightening the senses, creating an intimate experience that transcends the physical, into the deep psychological complexities of sexual intimacy.

Will - Temperature Play

Will has a hidden penchant for temperature play, appreciating the contrast between warmth and coolness. He often finds himself exploring lotion candles and ice play on his phone in the dead of night, never building the courage to ask hannibal to explore it with him.

Shared Kink - Power Dynamics

Hannibal and Will share a mutual appreciation for power dynamics in the bedroom. While the topic is unspoken, The subtle clash of control and submission is evident in their intimacy. A reflection of their intricate connection.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Hannibal favors the opulent setting of his own bedroom for intimate moments. The carefully curated atmosphere, adorned with his exquisite art and furnishings, provides the perfect backdrop for his refined tastes, turning each encounter into a symphony of pleasure and aesthetics.

Will finds solace in more natural settings. He prefers the intimacy of his secluded home, where they can do it anywhere in the house. he appreciates the ability to be wild and ravage each other like untamed beasts without the worries of the world. He finds the raw beauty of the surroundings enhances the authenticity of the moment.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hannibal is not naturally aroused by many things, if anything he’s aroused by will, not only his beauty but his intellectual ability and vulnerability. often in the form of articulate conversation or subtle confessions, wills intense empathy and intelligence serves as a powerful aphrodisiac for him, he appreciates not only his body, but his mind.

Will however, is aroused by many, surface level things. Hannibal in his nicest suit? aroused. Long passionate kisses? aroused. Hannibal speaking italian? aroused. Hannibals deep accented voice in the morning? aroused. His libido is insatiable, it’s uncommon to get through a day with hannibal without needing relief.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hannibal is turned off by anything he perceives as crude or lacking sophistication. He is repelled by vulgarity and finds distaste in anything that disrupts the refined atmosphere he seeks to cultivate in his interactions, such as spit, vomit, watersports and bukkake.

Will is turned off by excessive control or a lack of mutual respect, Anything that feels too scripted or devoid of genuine connection goes against his desires. He would avoid scenarios that undermine the authenticity, such as impact play, humiliation and cnc.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Hannibal takes a certain delight in the artistry of giving. His approach to oral pleasures is meticulous and skillful, treating the act as a form of exquisite sensory exploration. The calculated movements of his tongue and lips mirror his culinary precision, creating an experience that is as refined as it is pleasurable.

Will finds a unique satisfaction in both giving and receiving. His approach is more instinctive, driven by a genuine desire for connection. The act of giving oral pleasure allows him to express intimacy and vulnerability, while receiving brings a sense of mutual pleasure, he enjoys being able to express his animalistic, desperate side.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Hannibal approaches intimate moments with a deliberate and measured pace. His movements are calculated, aligning with his sophisticated nature. He finds pleasure in the slow and sensual, savoring each moment with a meticulous attention to detail.

Will adapts his pace based on the intensity of the moment. He can range from slow and sensual to more hormonal and intense, allowing the emotional depth of the moment to guide the rhythm. Will's pace reflects the complexities within him, creating a dynamic and responsive experience.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hannibal is not one to indulge in quickies. He values the art of anticipation and prefers a more romantic approach to intimacy. While he appreciates the occasional spontaneity, he finds deeper satisfaction in experiences that are carefully curated and unfold at a more leisurely pace.

Will has never had a quickie with hannibal, as he is repulsed by debauchery, but Will can appreciate the thrill of a quickie, especially in moments of pure desire. While he does value deeper connections, he sees the appeal of a brief, passionate encounter as a way to add excitement and variety to their sex life.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

Hannibal is open to experimentation. He approaches intimacy as an art form, and while he values refinement, he's willing to explore carefully curated risks that align with his sophisticated tastes. The element of controlled danger can add an extra layer of excitement to their encounters.

While Will is more reserved in his everyday life, he is open to taking emotional risks in the context of intimacy. He's willing to explore new experiences and kinks, Will's willingness to take risks stems more from emotional exploration than the desire for physical novelty.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hannibal exhibits notable stamina, able to sustain an extended level of intimacy. His refined control extends to the physical realm, and he can engage in multiple rounds with a measured endurance. The duration of each round is a calculated dance, emphasizing both pleasure and artistry. on the short end, 2 rounds, the long end could be 4-6.

Will also possesses a good stamina, he finds satisfaction in the genuine connection rather than the number of rounds. on average, he could last around 3 before becoming too exhausted.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Hannibal doesn’t own many toys, while he believes they could add to the pleasure he brings to his partner and himself, his extremely jealous tendencies cause him to feel inadequate whenever a toy is involved in his intimacy. nobody can touch will but him, not even a piece of vibrating plastic.

Will has a few toys, but he’s quite shy about them, considering them debauched and desperate. he has more internal toys for himself than multi use toys for him and hannibal, such as plugs, cock rings and vibrators.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Hannibal enjoys teasing as a form of subtle control and psychological play. His teasing is sophisticated and often manifests in witty remarks or lingering glances. He finds pleasure in keeping his partner on the edge, creating an air of anticipation.

Will is not as overtly teasing as Hannibal, he does enjoy a playful dynamic but His teasing is more understated, often laced with a dry sense of humor or a gentle touch. Will values the connection that comes with shared laughter and a light-hearted exchange, adding a layer of warmth to their sexual relationship.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Hannibal tends to keep a composed demeanor during intimate moments. his sounds are often manifested in soft murmurs or whispered words that convey a refined sensuality. His sounds are controlled, although, Will can pry out the occasional gasp or moan.

Will is more expressive in his sounds. His passion and vulnerability are reflected in audible whimpers, breathy moans, and the occasional loud vocalization of pleasure. Will's sounds are a spontaneous and genuine reflection of the intensity of the moment.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Hannibal has a secret passion for gardening. Behind the elegant exterior of his home, he cultivates a meticulous and vibrant garden. The act of nurturing life and witnessing the beauty of nature brings a sense of tranquility to him, providing a stark contrast to his more macabre interests. The flowers from his garden occasionally find their way into carefully arranged bouquets that he gifts to Will or uses to decorate his home.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hannibal is around 6 inches, thick and uncut.

Will is 5.5 inches, cut with a large tip and slimmer base.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Hannibal possesses a controlled desire. His drive is not impulsive but rather a calculated yearning that aligns with his sophisticated nature. He seeks quality over quantity, valuing the depth and artistry of each intimate encounter.

Will's drive is more fluid and overactive, influenced by the complexities of his emotions. While he may experience moments of intense desire, Will's drive is influenced by connection, a deep level of trust making his yearning responsive to the love he has for hannibal, even if that includes getting an erection over the color of his suit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Hannibal takes his time winding down after intimate moments. His composed nature extends to the post-coital phase, where he may appreciate moments of shared tranquility but remains alert and attentive to Will. Sleep comes to him gradually as he savors the lingering sensations of the encounter.

Will finds himself more readily succumbing to sleep after moments of intimacy. The emotional and physical release brings a sense of peace, allowing him to quickly relax into the quietude of slumber. He could roll over and sleep while sweaty, naked and hungry if hannibal would let him

#hannigram #smut #hannibal #will graham #i love these two #idk how to tag this #nbc hannibal #murder husbands

[foundationsofdecay]

Alright, we're still talking about DYWTYLM, right? 'Cause I'm gonna talk about it a bit too

Much like how Gods and Vore are intrinsically connected, DYWTYLM and Fall For Me have a similar type of relationship, but there are actually so, so many more ways that this song ties into the rest of the discography than just the one, and I think this song should be given more of a spotlight in general.

Still looking first at the most obvious connecting thread, DYWTYLM shares several lyrical and compositional elements with Fall For Me. Looking purely at lyrics here, to put it simply, both songs are about unrequited love. Past that level, however, these songs are completely different. Fall For Me has this painful desperation to it, like there's an open wound in our heart in the shape of this person and it will just continue to bleed and fester until we can even just see the person again, "oh god I wish you were here," because we're falling apart and losing ourselves without them and "I am yours in the end" so wouldn't it just be so perfect, so easy, to fix our fractured existence if you would only just fall from reality and join me here, to protect me from my insecurities and my past? It's about wanting to be loved but also wanting someone to meet you where you're at even as it means falling deeper themselves to do so.

DYWTYLM, though, takes a very different tone. This is despondent, almost defeated in tone. I know you don't love me, but do you wish that you did? I'm still losing myself, "it's getting harder to be myself," and "my reflection just won't smile back at me like I know it should." There's a great deal of self-reflection on the loss of identity and general unmooring that's been caused by this person you've tied so much of yourself to drifting away. It's unclear whether or not this small, repeated "please smile back at me" is at them or at yourself. Back in Fall For Me we heard about how "I'm losing touch with what I am again," and this seems to have only grown stronger. This is despite what we see in High Water, where "I will accept that I can't pretend we will ever be together." Acceptance, clearly, does not mean that the pain disappears, or that you feel any less awful about it, or that you don't continue to question the circumstances.

It sounds something like this: I don't know why you don't love me, and I still wish you did, even though I know you don't. Could you at least tell me if it's personal, or "is it always the same" with you? The idea that's "eating me alive" is the idea that you feel no guilt for stringing me along like this, that "you don't conceal your feelings, they just don't exist." Can you at least tell me if you understand what I'm going through, if "there's something you give that you will never receive in return" like the way I will never receive your love?

That's a lot to unpack, but let's give it a go.

The opening lines to DYWTYLM, asking if you ever "roll with the waves" or if you always "duck into deep blue safety," are an evocative image representing a retreat into the safety of isolation and repression when offered someone's love. They are also a continuation of some of the ideas presented in The Love You Want from back in TPWBYT. Back then, just before Fall For Me, we have this metaphor of keys, noting that "it seems your heart is locked up and I still get the combination wrong," and wondering if "you're simply waiting to save your love for someone I am not." It's this question, again, of whether or not there's something about you that just isn't right for them, or if there's a blanket refusal, swallowing each presented key despite the possible ramifications down the line of always pushing others away and refusing that kind of connection.

There's one other piece in this verse, that "maybe you believe that in the end you will be better off that way," tying us back into DYWTYLM and the question of not just if that person always like this but if there's any kind of drive behind this avoidance - fear, anger, disgust, anything emotional at all - or if there's nothing there, which then ties us into the question of "can you ever forgive yourself," because of this underlying dread of the possibility that "you don't conceal your feelings, they just don't exist." What if you're not "[pulling] at the chains" of my love but instead "[pushing] into constant aching," the ache here being the absolute agony of unrequited love that we described in Fall For Me?

This is where the instability and sense of completely falling apart come into play. Picking the key metaphor back up, note how many different times we seem to have tried to unlock this person's heart. What does that really mean? Are we approaching with different types of love, or are we trying to change ourselves to suit what we think their taste might be, even though it never works? There's this deep-rooted insecurity, this question of if there's a chance we could possibly get this right if we were someone else. Certainly, constantly changing how you're acting around or approaching someone over and over again has to be not just exhausting but a major hit to your sense of self.

Over and over and over again we've given away and taken pieces from our self, adding in pieces of them that may look better or trying on different attitudes like they're outfits, so of course you're falling apart. You're a Frankenstein's monster of cobbled together pieces of yourself and someone else and something you can't even recall, you've made this one person the thread holding it together and now you're not just falling apart but losing all sense and recognition of who you even are, because you stopped living for yourself a long time ago.

In any normal relationship, this continued rejection wouldn't seem that big of a deal, the kind of thing where you really should just take the hint and move on, but we know this isn't the case. As such, let's go back to Give for a moment. Frankly, it's obsessive. I'm here, I'm not just interested but I want to "give you all that I can give," and in a bit that's echoed later on in Fall For Me, "if you wanna give me anything then give, give in again." We're constantly rejected yet fed enough breadcrumbs to still stay, given a hollow shell of love with no real substance to it. Aqua Regia describes it well when calling it "cold love, hot blood," and that's a huge part of why it hurts so much, especially considering the times when it really did feel like this might be an equal and loving relationship instead of this constant erratic and destructive attachment pattern.

That's why this is a constant aching that we think may be being pushed into deliberately instead of us just being a weight dragging them down that they're trying to pull away from in the way we feared in High Water, and that's why it's so painful to even imagine that this attempt to actually undo the locks and be shown that open and vulnerable heart was futile from the beginning, because there was nothing there that they could give, nothing real that you could ever receive in return. We felt so deeply jealous that they could "sever [their] connection with everything" in Missing Limbs, and in DYWTYLM despite the established horror at the concept of that indifference we also wonder if it's "better to just not feel? Could we hit delete?"

So, no, at this point we are asking for an acknowledgement at best, not to be loved, and these questions we're asking are more rhetorical than anything. Perhaps we've given up on even hearing an answer, at this point, but we have to ask anyways. They won't smile at me but I can't smile at myself either. I don't know who I am, but I hate whoever that is, and I want to be someone else, even though I don't know if that's possible. Anything, anything but this. I don't feel like a person, I don't sound like a person. Am I not fit for anybody, like this? Could I turn into a different person, start over as someone new? Could I hit delete on my emotions? Could I hit delete on myself? Would I be better off that way?

#.. might have gone off the deep end there. as usual. but I think it's valuable to have in mind going into Rain too so hey #sleep token #thiiiiiiiiis needs another proof-read but dinner time first

[ariparri]

Saian Fujino • Revamping

Character Profile | Masterlist

Saian has been removed from Overwatch and is now part of my Azure Bloom OC Project. She retains most of her Overwatch elements as it carries onto Azure Bloom. She just has a slight update to her personality, and design. Well I wouldn’t say it’s an update to her personality, she was always a shitty type of character but it was toned down for her Overwatch portrayal. Now that she’s part of Azure Bloom, I can go all out for her character!

You can read up on Saian's character in the profile link I shared. It’s currently incomplete as I need to add her history and relations but everything else is done!

❌ NO REPOSTING ❌

Saian's personal life remains shrouded in secrecy. With deliberate intent, she guards the details of her origin with unwavering vigilance, veiling the truth behind a tapestry of mystery. The specifics of her birth—when and where it occurred—remain obscured. Her true name, a relic of her past, is a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few, if anyone at all. Throughout her existence, Saian has assumed numerous aliases, each a fleeting glimpse into the kaleidoscope of identities she has worn over the years. Yet, among the myriad personas she has adopted, "Saian Fujino" stands as the most pervasive, a mask worn with practiced ease to conceal the depths of her true self.

As you can see, Saian still has the same physical appearance. I kept the single curl because I can’t part with it. And she considers it a fashion statement iconic to her. The robe for her first design is more open for the sake of the reference.

Her first design was also inspired by some ninja designs, specifically Kunoichi from Koei Tecmo's Samurai Warriors series. Her second design is kept more simple since it’s mostly used for her “day to day job” as a cafe owner. The robe is a bit of a homage to her super old design I first made for her Azure Bloom appearance. I missed it so I brought it back for this one! Her third attire isn’t really Saian wearing that but one of her clones that has taken the role as a cult leader. Speaking of her clones, her clones have obvious tells to them being clones. Saian is missing her left eye but her clones have both their eyes, thus they wear masks covering the top half of their faces.

#ariparri #saian fujino #azure bloom #character design #character reference #original character #oc project

[leqclerc]

I really enjoyed your blog, until I realized that you were trying to force enmity between Charles and Carlos when it's clear that they clearly like and respect each other as teammates. You don't seem to support the team, but rather Charles or Sebastian (who, wow, has had less interaction with Charles than with Carlos, but swears they love each other), which you should make clear when entering your blog that you don't like the team but have a preferential fanaticism for Charles.

Anyway, I respect what you think, but the way you always put Carlos in the wrong and guilty of everything is totally ridiculous.

Byee ✨

It's been a while since I got one of these 🤔

You don't relate to my content and don't agree with my opinions, which is fine, to each their own. However, I have to point out that I never exactly concealed my preferences, and, with all due respect, if the url, icon, header, sidebar gif, sidebar description and pinned post on my blog aren't enough to give me away, then I really don't know how to make the message any clearer. Furthermore, I don't support Carlos and I never have, even long before Ferrari was on his radar. I have never hid that either, and the lack of solo posts about him, lack of fan edits, or other reblogged content from Carlos fans should indicate that.

As for supporting the team and how "valid" your fan experience is based on who you support, because apparently that's been a trending topic for a while now, certainly within the self-declared Tifosi circle... I've followed Ferrari in one way or another for 8 years; I've witnessed three different lineups in that time, and I've formed my opinions based on what I've seen and how I've felt in reaction to that. I am under no obligation—and this applies to everyone—to like or even support a driver just because he signed on to drive for the team for a certain period of time. Obviously the ideal situation is liking both drivers and being equally happy when either of them succeeds, but let's be honest, how often does that happen? And I'm not talking about people who follow a team regardless of the lineup, because that's a slightly different kettle of fish.

F1 as a sport places so much emphasis on the driver as a person—and this notion has only been amplified in recent years. The human aspect of F1 is equally as important and compelling as all the technical elements. Hell, the whole idea behind the Driver's Championship is to crown a champion out of the drivers on the grid. And I think for most people that championship brings more excitement and is more keenly followed than the Constructor's one. Even the whole idea of teammates functions differently here than it does in most team sports, with the inherent rivalry aspect. I'm sure many of Carlos's fans migrated from McLaren to Ferrari when their favourite driver did—if we're painting everyone with the same brush, then where is the scrutiny regarding the other side? I don't believe every Carlos fan is automatically also a devoted Charles fan, because frankly that's statistically impossible. Or is one only a "fake Tifoso/a" if they have a preference for Charles? Is there just one fixed "valid" way of being a fan?

On a lighter note, I'm glad it wasn't all bad all the time and that, at one point, you did find something you enjoyed on my blog. I hope you manage to find like-minded people who run blogs that reflect your opinions 👍🏻

#replies #anonymous #idk if the merc or red bull or [insert team name here] have the same level of drama about the validity of being a fan #or failing in your fan duties if you have a preference for one of the drivers over the other - or *gasp* dislike one of them #but it's sure been a point of contention in the ferrari sphere #other than that i'm not sure what else to say i mean. this is tumblr and a part of how the website functions is venting and shitposting #it's like that warning you get on ao3 about how if you continue it means you're basically agreeing to see such content #we're not entering a binding agreement you can backspace out of here at any time

[zapreportsblog]

Hai babyyyy,

How are you doing?

I was wondering if you could write about poly!volturi kings x reader bc there is this trend on tiktok about "I think im just about over being your gf" where you throw your ass in a circle what if reader just..... in front of the kings 😊 lap dance moment haha hoe would they react? (And reader has like a big butt big bitties.)

❝i think im over being your girlfriend❞

✭ pairing : poly volturi kings x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : in this story, (y/n) is exploring a trend on TikTok where people dance to the song "I think I'm just about over being your gf" by throwing their assets in a circle. The twist comes when she decides to perform this seductive dance in front of the Volturi kings, her mates, adding an element of surprise. (Y/n), known for their curvaceous figure, uses their big butt and bountiful bosom to captivate the kings. The story explores how each of the Volturi kings reacts to this unexpected lap dance moment, creating a playful and intriguing scenario.

✭ authors note : aye im pretty damn good my damn self, how are you? Whatcha been up too and sorry for the wait had to get a few other requests out the way first :)

✭ twilight masterlist 2

(Y/N) had always been one to keep up with the latest trends on social media. She often found herself scrolling through TikTok, exploring the various challenges and dances that filled her feed. But one evening, as she swiped through videos on her phone, she stumbled upon a challenge that caught her attention—the infamous "I think I'm just about over being your girlfriend" trend.

Intrigued, she watched as ladies confidently threw it back for their partners, their sultry moves captivating the camera. A mischievous idea began to form in her mind. Why not try this for herself? It could be a thrilling surprise for her mates, Aro, Marcus, and Caius, the Volturi kings.

With determination in her eyes, (Y/N) decided to give it a shot. She turned off her phone, placed it on her bedside table, and stood in front of her bedroom mirror. She needed to practice before she could confidently perform this sensual dance for the kings.

Her hips swayed, and her body moved to the rhythm of the song she'd chosen for her performance. She'd never been shy about her curves, and she knew she had the assets to pull this off. After several attempts, she was satisfied with her practice, convinced that she could execute the dance flawlessly.

Now, it was time to choose the perfect outfit. She rummaged through her closet, searching for something that would truly showcase her beauty. Hidden away, she found an old black lingerie outfit her friend had gifted her. It was a bit snug now, a testament to how her body had grown curvier over time, but it would have to do.

(Y/N) slipped into the lacey, figure-hugging lingerie, admiring herself in the mirror. She knew it would accentuate her curves and add to the allure of her performance. With a deep breath, she practiced the dance one more time, ensuring she had every move down to perfection.

Feeling confident and exhilarated, she decided it was time to take the challenge to the next level. Tonight, she would surprise Aro, Marcus, and Caius with her daring performance. The thought of their reactions filled her with anticipation and excitement as she prepared to step out and give her mates a show they would never forget.

Later that night; as the Volturi conducted their trials with their usual precision and solemnity, (Y/N) bided her time, concealed beneath a long black trench coat. She had carefully timed her entrance to coincide with the conclusion of the trials. Her heart raced with anticipation as she watched the proceedings from the shadows, her thoughts focused on the sultry surprise she had in store for the kings.

As the final verdicts were delivered and the crowd began to disperse, (Y/N) patiently waited. Her coat hid her outfit—or rather, her lack of one—as she stood in the dimly lit chamber. She knew the moment would come when the three kings would notice her presence, and that's when her true performance would begin.

Aro, always the first to sense unusual situations, eventually turned his gaze toward the enigmatic figure standing near the back. His sharp eyes locked onto the trench coat-clad (Y/N), and he made a move to approach her. But before he could take more than a single step, (Y/N) raised a finger to her lips, her eyes locked with his.

Aro, intrigued but also slightly suspicious, raised an elegant eyebrow in silent question. (Y/N), however, merely smirked in response and whispered softly, "Sit back down, Aro."

Surprised by the command and the audacity of this unexpected interruption, Aro hesitated for a moment. But curiosity got the better of him, and he complied, returning to his seat with a perplexed expression.

The other two kings, Marcus and Caius, exchanged glances, equally intrigued and bewildered by the turn of events. They, too, returned to their seats, their gazes fixed on (Y/N), waiting to see what she had in store.

With the kings now seated, (Y/N) knew she had their attention. Her smirk deepened as she purred, "I have a surprise for you, my kings, but only if you can be good boys." Her words hung in the air, thick with promise, as she prepared to unveil the tantalizing performance she had been rehearsing.

The atmosphere in the chamber was charged with anticipation and desire, as the Volturi kings, captivated by (Y/N)'s boldness and mystery, awaited the thrilling surprise that she had in store for them.

The moment had arrived. (Y/N) could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she stood before the Volturi kings, hidden beneath her long black trench coat. She had chosen the perfect song for her performance—the same one used in the "I think I'm over being your girlfriend" challenge.

As the song's chorus began to play, she let the trench coat slide off her shoulders with a slow, deliberate motion. It fell to the floor, leaving her in revealing black lingerie that showcased her voluptuous figure, her curvy assets barely concealed.

The sight took the Volturi kings completely by surprise. Aro's eyes widened with a mixture of intrigue and desire, Marcus watched with a contemplative gaze, and Caius couldn't help but growl softly as he observed her.

With the music enveloping her, (Y/N) began her sensual dance, perfectly in sync with the seductive rhythm. She threw her assets back at the kings, her every move deliberate and enticing. She danced as though she had been born to do so, confidence radiating from her every step.

As the chorus reached its peak, (Y/N) approached each king one by one, giving them their own private dance. She moved with fluid grace, teasingly smacking their hands away if they dared to reach for her. Leaning in close to their ears, she whispered seductively, "Nope, bad boy," her voice a sultry purr that sent shivers down their spines.

The Volturi kings were left in a state of awe and desire, their darkened eyes locked on (Y/N) as she continued her mesmerizing performance. As the dance neared its conclusion, she left them breathless and wanting more.

Grabbing her phone from the floor, (Y/N) began to walk away, a teasing smile playing on her lips. But it was Caius who couldn't let her escape so easily. With a fierce growl, he reached out and firmly grasped her arms, preventing her from leaving.

"You can't just leave after doing such things," Caius rumbled, his desire and frustration evident in his voice.

(Y/N) met his intense gaze with a playful smirk. "Oh yeah? Says who?"

That's when Marcus and Aro, drawn in by the magnetic allure of the scene, closed in behind her, forming a circle that trapped her in the middle. Their dark eyes bore into her with hunger and possessiveness.

"Says us," Aro whispered, his voice low and filled with promise.

The chamber was charged with an electric tension as (Y/N) found herself surrounded by the three Volturi kings, their desire for her palpable. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and it was clear that things were about to become even more intense and thrilling.

❝how the volturi kings would react to a lap dance from their curvy mate dancing for them❞

The Volturi kings, Aro, Marcus, and Caius, would have distinct yet intense reactions to their curvy mate's daring lap dance in the trial chambers

1. Aro : Aro, always intrigued by the unusual and unexpected, would be initially taken aback but quickly consumed by desire. As he reached out to touch her, only to have his advances playfully thwarted, he'd find himself captivated by (Y/N)'s teasing. Her whispered words of "no, bad boy" would only fuel his fascination, making him yearn for her even more.

2. Marcus : Marcus, known for his stoic demeanor, would watch (Y/N)'s performance with a contemplative gaze that concealed his inner turmoil. Her sensual dance would awaken a long-dormant desire within him, and when he tried to touch her, only to be denied, he'd feel a surge of both frustration and excitement. He'd be silently drawn to her, unable to resist the temptation she presented.

3. Caius : Caius, the most passionate and impulsive of the three kings, would react with a growl of desire when (Y/N) teased him by popping his hand away. His possessive nature would be ignited, and he'd take a more assertive approach in pursuing her. Caius would want to prove himself as a "good boy" in order to gain her affection and attention, making him all the more determined to win her over.

Overall, (Y/N)'s provocative lap dance would leave the Volturi kings in a state of intense desire and longing, setting the stage for a passionate and complex dynamic between them.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #twilight masterlist #twilight headcanon #volturi headcanons #aro volturi imagine #aro volturi x you #aro volturi imagines #aro volturi x y/n #aro volturi x reader #caius volturi x reader #caius volturi imagine #caius volturi imagines #caius volturi x y/n #caius volturi x you #marcus volturi x y/n #marcus volturi x reader #marcus volturi x you #marcus volturi imagine #marcus volturi imagines

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Seven: All The Better To See You With

First off, I am so sorry for the ridiculously long wait! I know people will be telling me not to apologise but I am going to because I have kept you all waiting for too long! Thank you all for your patience, you're all great :3.

I've been so busy with various shenanigans and also just being generally tired... even though exams ended more than a month ago(?).

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter... Though, I have to admit, I'm not sure if this is me best work but maybe that's me being a stereotypical, self-critical writer :P.

Warnings: Violence, threats of violence, people being extremely dodgy, swearing and horror elements

Here's a little fun thing for you to do: can you guess which CoD villain is in Y/N's flashback?

The plan had a rough structure, but it needed polishing. Phillip had forgotten what had worked on 141 and the Vaqueros last time and that was the element of surprise. They had grown fond of him, too fond of him, and that rendered them vulnerable. Like a fool turning their back on a wild cat, Phillip had exploited their friendliness and pulled the wool over their eyes; and whilst he couldn’t charm his way to Ghost, his infection and the renegade, Graves knew he could still use that element of surprise to his advantage regardless of whether it was via sweet-talking his prey or pouncing from the shadows.

Having them completely oblivious until it was time for him and his boys to break in and extract their targets would be perfect. Phillip needed to ambush them. Springing an ambush had worked on the Las Almas Cartel and it would surely work on the Vaqueros and their British friends. An ambush would also leave no time for re-introductions and other such pleasantries, and so Phillip could conceal his shame and preternatural resurrection from them.

However, the issue of having them completely clueless of his pack’s presence merely a few kilometres away from the Vaquero base would require Valeria’s delivery of the ‘package’ to Ghost to be so subtle that the keen-eyed Manc wouldn’t even know what hit him… or more like bit him. Basically, Valeria would need to be invisible.

Maybe, if they extracted Ghost first and then delivered the package-

“No,” Valeria chuckled, “It doesn’t work like that, my dear.”

Phillip turned around to face her, tilting his head to one side.

“How come?”

“The Foundation want you to infect him first, give his body time to either adjust to the disease or die, and then you bring them back either a corpse or a live Arcadian Son.”

“What?”

A shudder ran through him.

“With the live ones,” the drug lord let out a sigh, “it’s always a gamble. Some die, some don’t. If he doesn’t die, great. If he does, no matter, the Foundation will just make him one of you.”

Graves clicked his tongue, thinking about how to react to this information.

“Just don’t come back empty-handed,” Valeria advised, “They’ll be furious.”

“What happens if I do piss ‘em off and come back empty-handed?” Phillip dared to ask.

Valeria smiled resignedly.

“You’ll lose your privilege of being a good Arcadian Son. You’re here on this job because someone’s obviously put in a good word about you. If you fuck up, you’ll develop a reputation.”

Graves chuckled wryly.

Of course.

He knew what she meant by that. No one wants a contractor with a shitty record. He didn’t build a PMC empire by being a bad commander. He supposed similar rules applied here. Phillip needed to ensure his victory, should he want to have some form of success in this afterlife.

As he looked at Valeria, he began to wonder who exactly she was before she became Sin Nombre. Was she like 72 and 23? Like the renegade they were going to capture? Or had she always been… well, this?

“When you were a lamia,” Graves leaned a little forward, “what was it like?”

“Terrible,” she bluntly replied.

Phillip was a little taken aback by that.

“Valeria, hun, just answer my question properly. You’ve got nothin’ better to do.”

A clawed hand gestured to her tied-up state, body flush against the bark of a tree. Her lip curled a little upwards as her eyes glared at his gloved mitt and those ghastly metal talons.

“Fine,” she growled, “I was in Unit 4. My packmaster was the Foundation’s equivalent of royalty. Undead like you. He was… is… a terrible man, even by Arcadian Son standards.”

“Royalty?”

Valeria nodded.

“Did he have a number? Or a name?”

“4242.”

“That all?”

Valeria remained silent. That was all.

Footsteps sounded behind Phillip and he looked to see his men had returned from whatever they had been doing last night.

Two of them were fully armoured while one, 7629, was still getting his chest piece on, pulling it over his head as he trailed behind the others.

“Morning, boys,” Graves greeted them, “Y’all feeling up to a bit of planning?”

They all trudged into the camp rather sluggishly, with mumbles and half-assed nods being their replies.

Phillip didn’t really care for the whining protests and loud yawns coming from their masked faces as they reluctantly took their seats as he demanded. Eventually, though, they all simmered down and, once Graves had cleared his throat, he began.

“The best way to ensure extraction is a success is to catch these men off-guard. They’re special forces, meaning they’re good at their fucking jobs, but, like with any specialist, I find if we make ‘em start questioning their competence in the heat of battle, they fall apart very quickly.”

They all seemed to agree with that, nodding along.

“So, if we want the element of surprise, Valeria here needs to deliver the package to our target without being seen.”

Then, Graves sighed.

“Which is where I’m stuck. How do we get this woman into the base without her or our cover being blown?”

His men’s demeanour had now changed, they had gone from tired and disinterested to engaged, almost excited, as they pondered on what to do. Graves surveyed them, keeping an eye out for any indication of a ‘light bulb’ moment. The atmosphere of surrounding the circle of men was slowly shifting from dull and weary to something livelier. Electricity was in the air as brains whirred, the gears in each and every skull turning, wondering what could be done to overcome this potential setback. The collective buzz of mumbles of potential plans, rustles of idle fidgeting and clicking tongues all gave way to the climax of this crescendo of thought which came from 7152’s mouth:

“Isn’t there a spare of hepta-plate in one of the lamia’s bags?”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Is there?” 7418 asked, almost to himself.

“Will it fit our asset?” 7629 queried.

Graves watched them all descend upon 7152, barraging the guy with questions and contest. Curious himself, he rose from his seat on the ground and headed for their bags.

Sifting through the pile of rucksacks and duffels, sorting through them by briefly peeking at their contents, Graves arrived at a bag which looked to belong to one of the girls.

Carefully, he unbuckled the flap and pulled it back to reveal a zip. Not a moment later and Phillip was staring at exactly what he was looking for: a spare set of hepta-plate. He returned to the group with the armour held close to his chest. It looked like a small, shining bundle of light, highly reflective and responsive to its surroundings.

He placed it in front of Valeria and looked up at her expectantly.

“Do you think you could wear this?”

She eyed it. The armour before her was made for a girl. As Graves held it up, letting Valeria get a better idea of its size, she realised that it was far too short for her and also, there was seldom any room for her bust.

“This is for a child. I’m a grown woman.”

She looked at him with a disapproving face, relishing in the way Phillip sighed.

“How do we get this hepta-plate on her-”

Click!

In his sure grip, Graves had accidentally removed a group of plates from the chest piece. He slowly turned around to face the group, dreading to ask if he had just broken their ticket to getting Valeria into the base undetected. Underneath that helmet, Phillip Graves’s face was contorting into various emotions, his stomach dropping and eyes squeezing shut.

However, to his surprise, his action had warranted a few chuckles from the group. With caution, he cracked open an eye to see what was going on.

“Ah, I forgot the backup ones could do that!” 7152 remarked as he cupped his masked face in his hand.

“Wait, so I haven’t broken this?” Graves queried, holding up the separated parts.

“Well, can they still camouflage?”

“How do I get it to do that?”

7152 turned around and shouted for a lamia. 72 was the first to hear the call and poked her head out of the tent. A beckoning hand gestured for her to come forward and show her packmaster how to work the shroud mechanism.

With two taps on the isolated plates, Graves’ eyebrows raised as he watched it disappear from his hand. It was a strange thing to experience, witnessing nothing there and yet feeling a weight on your palm, seeing your fingers curl over an object that seemingly never was.

“The gauntlets have adjustable straps, as do the leg pieces. And one of your helmets could probably act as a substitute for a mask I think… if… if we can attach some plates on there,” 72 mumbled.

She looked up at him with her big brown eyes expectantly.

“Go on, kid.”

Shyly, she continued.

“You can also remove some of the plates from the chest piece and put them on a vest that does fit her.”

“But that won’t completely cover her, kid. She’ll have parts of her body still visible.” 7152 was quick to point out.

“She’s a lamia,” 72 replied, “If enough of her is invisible, she can make the rest of her vanish on her own with her mind.”

Valeria felt a lump in her throat form as all eyes returned to her. It was true: she could do that. However, it would take a lot out of her, and she didn’t want to be devoting so much of herself to this mission, to the Foundation. Perhaps the little girls before her could plead her case.

“Sister…” She did her best to appeal to the lamia’s better nature. “… It’ll take a lot out of me. I’ve not practised in a long time unlike yourself.”

72 nodded and thought.

“Maybe then I or 23 should-”

“No.”

Graves was quick to dismiss her suggestion. His interruption hit hard with the weight and finality of a judge’s gavel.

“Sir, you didn’t even let me finish-”

“The Foundation wants Valeria to specifically deliver the package. Not you. You and 23 are to remain here, out of sight.”

“But we’re here to help!”

“Help by staying away for the time being.”

Phillip’s voice was stern and for some reason, that pissed 72 off. The Arcadian Son was being particularly frosty this morning; a contrast to the open, kind man she had conversed with last night. She supposed she had expected better of him.

72 rolled her eyes as she watched him turn his back on her.

“Sheesh! It’s not like you’re our dad! We don’t need to be-”

“What was that?!” Phillip interrupted with a growl.

“Nothing, sir,” she sheepishly replied.

Some of the Arcadian Sons snickered, but promptly quietened down when they sensed the face of thunder Graves was pulling under his helm.  The tension in the air was palpable and everyone decided it was best to keep quiet as Phillip regained his composure and continued with the task at hand.

“Okay, so let’s get whatever pieces we can on her and whatever. Once she’s got the… package in her system. We’ll escort her as near as possible to the base. Understood?”

“Yup!”

“Yup!”

***

Valeria tugged at the strap on her arm, feeling the piece sit better on her now that it was more snug to her base layer. As she turned her wrist, to see what the armour looked like on her forearm, she couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the Foundation’s engineers. This was nothing like what she used to wear, although if the woman looked closely, there were echoes of her own hepta-plate within this new, more advanced style. It seemed the days of large hexagons slotting together were gone. Now, Valeria was confronted with the sleek, serpentine plates which, when isolated, did form that signature six-sided shape, but, as she saw when 72 pushed two plates together to cover her Kevlar vest, vanished to form one seamless, unified structure.

The armour shined, looking almost white in the sunlight. Beyond it, though, Valeria could see her reflection, distorted and uncanny. Between the plates, Valeria could make out a few strange dots. Dots which looked like eyes and it soon became apparent that these were the cameras that allowed the armour to see what to camouflage into. She smiled. Just like when she was a little girl.

“It suits you.”

She turned around to see 7418 approach her.

“Jaime.”

He couldn’t help but feel a shudder of revulsion at the sound of his name coming from her lips. Still, it wasn’t enough revulsion to make him completely turn away from her and so he squatted down in front of her, looking to continue this conversation.

“Sin Nombre,” 7418 spoke with a breathy, almost nervous voice, “how have you been?”

Valeria grinned.

“Why bother with pleasantries? I can tell you’re still angry with me.”

He shook his head and then turned to 72.

“You’re dismissed, girl. Go to your tent.”

She nodded and left them.

7418 did his best to contain himself, knowing full well that giving into his anger would only grant her satisfaction. Valeria was a tricky one. The woman was good at hiding her fear under that false mask of recklessness. Never had he met someone who so easily turn the tables on a person, make their vile fury her power. She thrived off of making men angry, so that she could use it against them. Or so it seemed, because, at the end of the day, Valeria’s whole personality was a performance.

7418 had been Jaime once, and Jaime had seen what Valeria truly did with all the anger and hatred that she supposedly fuelled her confidence with. Valeria Garza wasn’t a careless brat; she was a silent crier.

A gentle hand reached for one of his locs, twisting her finger around it. She remembered when he used to adorn them with jewellery, along with his fingers; his hands would always feel heavy, big rings resting on each and every finger.

“Anger doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel towards you.”

Those words hit hard.

“Jaime… I know it’s been a long time coming, but if it’s any consolation… I deeply regret giving you to them. I should have buried you. You were one of my best.”

He stared at her, trying to see if there was any sincerity to that.

Valeria looked into that black void of a mask and hoped that under it, his face was softening. She watched his shoulders relax, the tension leaving him. The Arcadian Son slouched a little, letting out a small sigh. Her eyes were as wide and expressive as ever. Her heart was in her mouth, her thoughts racing around, all wondering what he was going to do with what she had just said.

The drug lord had to admit, it was no apology.

And hence, 7418 struck her, right across the face.

She didn’t even have time to yelp, the sheer force of the hit was enough to shake her sense of balance. Valeria fell to the ground, tasting blood in the back of her throat.

23 watched from across the camp, through a small slit she had made for herself by slightly unzipping the tent’s flap. The girl waited, eyes fixed on the scene before her. She flinched as she watched 7418 deal his blow, wincing as Valeria’s body landed with a thud.  A shiver of fear ran through 23’s body like a brief shock of electricity. She decided it was best to remain in the tent.

Phillip was quick to turn in the direction of this sudden commotion.

7418 stood above her, a looming golem, chest rising and falling rapidly. He was thinking about what to do, whether to leave her, limp on the ground, or kick her in the ribs, for a sense of finality. 7418 bit down on his anger, wanting to feel satisfied. She was here and she was at the behest of the Foundation, at the behest of him and yet, as he stood over her, he felt painfully empty. He wanted to feel like he had gotten one over her and proved to her that he was what happened when you got drunk on power. 7418 wanted to be something to Valeria. 

Pfft. Valeria couldn’t help but smile through her bleeding lips. Get. In. Fucking. Line.

As he saw the corners of her lips pull into an unashamed grin, 7418 snarled. He raised his leg, drew it back and swung-

There was this deafening roar.

Graves charged at him, pinning him to the bark of a tree. A scattering of branches came falling down as the trunk shuddered, empathising with the wheeze that escape 7418’s mouth, the wind getting knocked out of him. The other Arcadian Sons backed up a little, rising onto their feet. They didn’t dare take their eyes off the exchange happening between them.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” Graves yelled.

“That cunt doesn’t know her fucking place!”

“No, you don’t know your place! You can’t just hit her!”

“She’s our prisoner, I can do whatever I-”

Phillip snarled.

“Okay! Okay!”

7418 raised his hands, before briefly losing his balance as Phillip dug his clawed gloves into the fabric crevices in the other’s armour.

He lowered his head, making himself as physically small as possible. Something akin to a dog’s whine, though a lot raspier, escaped him as he tried to find a place to rest himself, slipping against the bark of the tree he was practically propped up against.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Speak up!” Phillip barked.

“It won’t happen again, sir!”

He let 7418 go, sighing and shaking his head as the man staggered a little to regain his footing.

“Jesus Christ…” the man soughed before raising his voice once more, “She’s the asset! She’s a fucking pain in the arse but she’s also part of this whole operation! Restrain yourself, soldier!”

There was evident irony here and it was found in Phillip’s voice as he instructed his fellow Arcadian Son to rein it in. His voice for a brief moment was unrecognisable, sounding almost mechanical, like a bellowing roar from a big cat.

“And I pegged you for the diplomatic type,” Graves added as he exhaled.

7418 scoffed.

“Diplomatic?! Sir, I was a sicario. And now, I’m an Arcadian Son.”

Phillip watched the man slink past him, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Valeria looked up at Phillip, blood running down from her nose. He knelt down before her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Stay that way and stop pissin’ these guys off. I don’t need this to be harder than it already is.”

Valeria smiled resignedly as she watched him leave her side and go gather the rest of her things, seething with long-fermented rage.

***

You could still picture it in your head, you and a group of maybe a dozen girls, maybe more, sitting inside a dark metal container. The door swung open and someone who was supposed to be your ‘knight in shining armour’ stood at the entryway. Like an obelisk sent from above, he planted himself firmly between you and the outside world, casting a dark shadow over you all.

The screams of little girls echoed throughout the place, as you were herded like cattle, along the asphalt pasture into their planes.

You don’t know how they’d found you, but, now that you thought about it, they may have staged this whole thing. Nevertheless, back then, you thought you were being saved by the special forces or something.

A lone cuddly toy sat on the ground, soaking in a puddle, its scraggly fur becoming matted with mud. You had cried out for your little friend, reaching for him as strong arms ushered you towards a ramp.

Luckily for you, that man, the one who had opened the door, picked up your toy wolf and handed him to you. He cupped your face in his big, gloved hands; the metal talons which tipped his fingers scraped at your skin. His blank mask, from which two canisters of red liquid protruded forth, was all you could see.

A small whimper left your lips, and he hushed you, bringing you to his chest, and gently swaying you side to side.

How easily he could manipulate your body, picking you up like you weighed nothing and cradling you in his arms as he took you onto the plane. You had sat on his lap for the entire journey, falling asleep, drugged by the lullaby that was his voice. Or perhaps something else. Maybe he had taken hold of your mind. Who knows…

***

He looked at you, eyes reflecting the dim lights of flickering ceiling lamps. Bathed in cool colours, akin to silver moonlight, you felt a shiver running through your body as he placed his rook in front of your pawn; an imminent threat that you would now have to think about, should he choose to have the little castle march onward on his next turn and add your soldier to the growing pile of bodies on his side of the board.

You swallowed hard and thought. His king remained stoic next to his queen, unfazed by your nearing army, seeing as his knights, pawns and bishops were destroying your forces. Such was the price you had to pay for every blunder you made.

"Oh, pup," the man across from you chuckled, "had I known this was your first game, I wouldn't have made this so hard for you."

You grumbled, brow furrowing.

He looked down at the board and then back at you. There was a glint in his eye as if he was trying to tell you something. His gaze directed you to a lonely pawn he had, which was ripe for your bishop's taking.

Reluctantly, accepting his aid, you moved to take it, your resentment growing as he took your hand and guided you to the pawn, practically handing it to you.

"There you go," he encouraged, "A kill to your name."

He sighed as you looked down, face tinted with the signature shadow of melancholy. Though he bore a mask, an elaborate, almost medieval-looking one at that, you could tell he was frowning.

"What's wrong, little one?"

You pulled your lips into a thin line, unsure if you should-

"Speak."

His voice echoed throughout the empty lounge, the rumble of his inner beast shaking your chest. You sat bolt upright, eyes wide and alert, deserting their heavy-lidded sadness, realising your emotions were dampening his mood.

"I'm sorry, sir. I-"

"What? Please, don't tell me you're crying over a game of chess."

He rolled his eyes.

"No!"

He looked back at you.

"I mean..." You cleared your throat. "I mean, no, sir. It's not about chess."

"Then, what, pup? What's making you so sad? It's not pleasant to see you like this."

The way he spoke had a terrible knack for cutting into you, like a well-sharpened knife through flesh. His Russian accent was strong and sometimes you found it had rubbed a little off on you, which you supposed was inevitable, seeing as he had brought you up.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just a little... erm..."

You had to choose your words carefully, the last thing you wanted to do was offend him.

"... I hadn't seen you like that before."

"Ah."

He was quick to realise what you were talking about.

"Most of my lamias do tend to be surprised when they witness me change for the first time. I make for a fearsome Arcadian Son. But I didn't attack you, did I?"

"No, sir."

"So why is it affecting you so much?"

You shrugged.

"I guess I was just scared."

He laughed. It was quiet, contained but aggravatingly condescending.

"You only need to be scared if you're my enemy. Are you my enemy?"

"No."

"Exactly. You're my lamia. I raised you as my own, you have nothing to fear should you remain at my side."

"Has a lamia ever betrayed you?"

He scoffed.

"Has a lamia ever betrayed me?! I am well into my hundreds now, pup, think about how many lamias I've raised in the time I've been with the Foundation. There are always defects."

"I see."

"And most of those defects found their end here."

He pointed to the lower half of his masked face, where its metal lips were.

"In my teeth."

***

You looked to your left and saw Ghost, staring off into the forest, waiting for you to continue. A small, sad smile crept onto your face. From sitting across one masked man to now sitting beside another, fate seemed to have found a recurring image and had now stuck with it. Nevertheless, you supposed you should appreciate the fact that Ghost hadn’t attacked you yet.

Yet.

Why were you anticipating the worst of him?

Damn. You were a terrible human being.

Well, in fairness, his job did require him to kill.

He looked back at you, sensing your eyes were on him and you were quick to avert your gaze, taking some feigned interest in a bird that was pecking at the soil. Your heart skipped a beat or two, your body painfully aware of his presence. You sighed, drawing your knees up to your chest. The desire to give your brain a factory reset was becoming a desperate need, clawing away at your insides.

“You were talking about your training…” he mumbled, hoping that maybe a prompt will get you back to talking, rescuing him from this painful silence you had cast upon both of you.

“Hmm?”

You turned to face him, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Training?”

“Ah, right. Yeah. Trained with professional soldiers who were much more experienced than myself and hardly held back. Um… Then, I was put into what we call ‘packs’, task forces, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“The men who were part of our packs were hardly kind. I think… I think there was a culture among them, a contest to see who could be the absolute worst human possible. It was like…” You scratched your chin as you tried to find the words. “… It was like they defined themselves by their capacity to inflict violence.”

Ghost couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh through his nose. He looked down at the ground, his mind racing with questions and guilty accusations. That culture wasn’t unique to where you were from. That culture was everywhere and, as reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew he had partaken in that culture in some form. Then again, he was sure every guy had. He wondered if it was some unwritten rite of passage that you’d have to be violent in some capacity to put someone in their place. Violence was everywhere, especially in his life. His job pretty much boiled down to being violent.

Which was why he felt incredibly uncomfortable as you continued to speak about those godawful men.

“They liked making you feel small in any capacity. Even when they weren’t wanting to hurt you. My… overseer was very much like that. I sometimes questioned if he actually loved me like he said he did or if I was just a thing to him. Just another lamia to add to his collection.”

Like that growing pile of chess pieces on his side of the board.

“Overseer?” Ghost asked, hoping that redirecting the conversation to this man whom, he prayed you’d shit on to no end, would enable him to escape his own mental self-flagellation.

“Yeah, he was the man who I thought was special forces, remember? He raised me. I wouldn’t say he was a father to me per se, but he was close to that. He was terrifying.”

“How? I-If you don’t mind me asking.”

You smiled, something in you buzzing with delight in the way Ghost had checked if you were okay with answering.

“He was… hmm… this sounds crazy, but he was like royalty, a very powerful man. He was clever and experienced, and he knew how to make you like him because he pretended to respect you. However, if you pissed him off, or hit a particular nerve, he would be quick to remind you who he really was.”

“A dick pretty much.”

You chuckled.

“He was more than a dick, Ghost. He was a monster who hid it well, or maybe he didn’t, maybe he just desensitised us to his actual personality… I don’t know. Still, he was a terrible human being and I hate him.”

He chuckled, chuckled like he knew something… like he could relate. You looked up at him, anticipating elaboration, but either Ghost didn’t pick up on your curiosity or refused to acknowledge it.

Instead of giving in to that puppy-like nosiness you had on display pertaining to his remark, Ghost decided to question you some more.

“What exactly made you like a lamia? And… um, can I ask if the male soldiers were special in any way? Can I ask more about them?”

“Oh, well, for me I got a blood transfusion. They found a match and gave me a special type of blood that made me like the way I am. As for the men…”

Now, did you want to go into every itty-bitty detail about Arcadian Sons? Ghost could believe what you had to say about lamia abilities because he had witnessed them and, you supposed, they weren’t too far from being somewhat plausible… at least the superior strength you displayed, which you could argue was in the realm of possibility for the average human imagination. As for shapeshifting, bloodsucking monsters, well, you didn’t want Ghost to think you were making up tall tales.

Keep it tactical. Keep it minimal.

“… The men weren’t like us at all. Well, they were strong. Incredibly strong. Bought, though. They weren’t found and taken from a young age like us.”

“I see…”

Yup. You nodded to yourself. Love that for the Arcadian Sons… those heartless bastards. You wondered if you could ever take one on in a fight. That would be something!

“Now you’re out, Y/N. How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like shit. I want to feel good because look at me, I made it out but… I know the Foundation will be after me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over what happened to me while I was there.”

“You may never get over it, Y/N. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.”

You cocked your head to one side, brow furrowing.

“It’s okay to not entirely recover but it doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

“I wonder if this was meant to happen if it’s…” You felt the tears coming back, your eyes tingling. “…given me character or something.”

Ghost laughed.

“Y/N, trauma doesn’t equate to character and let no one tell you otherwise. You’re not meant to go through pain, and it’s not meant to be character-building. Trust me, I know.”

You do?

Should you ask that aloud?

You felt your heart kick up a notch. You didn’t want to upset him, especially as you felt you had just recovered from nearly making him hate you with you barging in on him showering and then proceeding to threaten his manhood with a swift kick to the balls during that round of sparring.

Hmm.

“I just had a rough upbringing, Y/N. That’s all.”

The way he had said it sounded laboured like you had been pestering him for a while about it. You hadn’t though, you knew you hadn’t. Maybe you just had that look on your face. Nevertheless, you decided it was best to leave it at that.

“Oh… right.”

You gave a polite smile and awkwardly looked to the ground, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

He sighed and decided to make his body language more open, hoping that would prevent you from looking too sad. Swivelling round to face you more and making sure he looked as amicable as he could with that threatening skull of a mask, Ghost made an effort to speak with a gentler voice in the hopes you wouldn’t retreat into your shell.

“Do you want to talk more? You feeling better?”

You nodded.

“I do feel better, thanks. But, I mean, I could probably fill books with how much I want to talk about my time in the Foundation. About everything… It’s tiring though.”

As if on cue, you stretched your arms upwards and let out a great yawn.

“Bringing up baggage is tiring, but while you’re here, feel free to come and-”

He paused, watching you suddenly get up from your seat and lower yourself so that you were close to the ground. You took a few steps towards something amidst the soil, moving in a catlike manner: stopping, crouching, and then continuing to creep closer.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Shhh!”

“Y/N-”

Ghost would have the strangest shock of his life as you turned around and gave him an irritated hiss, only to then place a hand over your mouth, looking surprised yourself.

“Sorry! It’s a lamia habit of mine!”

He just looked at you. His eyes weren’t wide, but you could definitely tell he was taken aback. Much to your relief, he began to laugh.

“Laswell doesn’t hiss!”

“Does she not?”

The fact that was a genuine question only made Ghost’s confused laughter grow.

“No! She doesn’t?!”

“Weird,” you remarked, returning your attention to whatever you were investigating in the grass.

He rose from his seat, heading towards you.

“Weird? It’s weird not to hiss? Y/N, you really are full of-”

You raised your hand, causing him to stop in his tracks. Looking over your shoulder, Ghost squatted down beside you and beheld a… footprint?

He tilted his head to one side and reached forward to get a better look, only for you to bat his hand away.

“Y/N!” he scolded.

“You’ll damage it!”

“It’s a footprint. There’s plenty of ‘em around.”

“This one’s special.”

Was it? Ghost grimaced under his mask as he watched you lean in. The last thing he wanted to see was you sniffing at this like some tracking dog, which, luckily you didn’t do. Instead, you stroked your chin, examining every little detail on the imprint on the soil. It looked like it belonged to a standard combat boot, and you were sure you might find a few footprints around the base that would match this one.

You had a hunch that someone had just entered the Vaqueros’ base who wasn’t supposed to be there. Your pupils had dilated, eyes darting about, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you scoured for any other sign which confirmed your theory. Ghost watched you, both fascinated and also concerned, wondering if he should intervene.

“This doesn’t belong to someone we know,” you stated, rising to your feet and pointing at the footprint with an accusatory hand.

“Easy. It’s a footprint.”

Like the final gong of a church bell, you felt a sudden shift in your emotional state. Mild indignation set alight from old embers.

Easy. It’s a footprint. EaSy. It’S a FoOtPriNt.

It was how he said it: as if he knew better. However, Ghost didn’t know better, you did. He didn’t have your supernatural affinity for premonition, he wasn’t able to detect the slight change in the aura of the base behind you. Something told you that another mind had joined the collection of the ones you recognised. You began to grind your teeth together, instinct screaming from the back of your mind that you were going to be in trouble if you didn’t act.

“You’re no lamia, Ghost. You wouldn’t understand. I need to find Kate.”

You brushed past him, massaging your temples as you made your way back into the base.

Ghost’s shoulders slumped a little as he watched you disappear into the distance. Then, he turned around, hearing something amidst the bushes just yonder.

***

You let out a heavy sigh, head dropping downwards as Kate placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t sense anything, Y/N. I think you’re just a little rattled, which is understandable. Sometimes anxieties can flare up suddenly.”

You weren’t having her patronise you again and the bubbling anger slowly making itself known on your face told Kate that perhaps she should choose her next words carefully. She did so, gently removing her hand from you and looking you in the eye.

“If it’s any assurance, my contact said that you’ll be good to go within two days. Two more days and you’ll be on your way to proper freedom.”

“Two days of sitting idly by while the Foundation gets clos- AHHHH!” you said before your voice crescendo-ed into a loud groan.

You clutched your head, losing your balance. Laswell caught you in her arms, hushing you as you whimpered, your mind soaring with a strange pain. It was like a high-pitched sound, ringing inside your skull, a blaring siren telling you that something was terribly wrong. You gripped onto her tightly, doing your best to sort through the howling voices in your mind and find one which spoke reason. Except, the more you fixated on the feeling, the worse it grew.

That footprint. That blasted footprint!

You tried to picture it in your head, hoping there was a clue within the image of the memory.

“Steady, Y/N.”

Kate had you rest some of your weight onto her and helped you hobble into the barracks.

As soon as Gaz saw the sight of you barely being able to stand on your feet, even with the aid of Kate, he rose up and made his way to you.

“Are they okay?” Gaz asked, helping Kate ease you onto a bed.

“I think they’re just a bit overstimulated. Happens sometimes. There’s a lot of people in this base,” Kate explained, feeling your forehead.

Your temperature was fine, despite your slightly feverish behaviour. You turned around and buried your face into your pillow, trying to focus on the distant echo of that foreign soul, praying that the redirection of your attention would be enough to drown out the cacophony wreaking havoc within your head.

“Someone’s in this base…”

“Y/N…”

“Someone is in this base!” you shouted, despite your voice being muffled by the pillow.

“What do they mean by that?” Gaz asked.

Kate let out an exasperated sigh, “They think someone’s here that’s not meant to be here but that’s… impossible.”

“What if they’re right?”

“I would know too.”

Kate, you’re out of practice. I’m fresh out of the Foundation. My senses are much better than yours.

You wouldn’t say it aloud, for fear of causing offence but despite that, you stuck to your guns. She may not have been convinced but you knew better.

Even if it may eventually be to your detriment, you were not sleeping tonight.

***

Ghost turned the faucet and flinched a little as a shock of cold water splashed him square in the face. He ran his hands through his wet hair, adjusting to the warming temperature, and a content sigh escaped his lips. While he lathered up some soap in his hands, he thought about you.

As he had walked past the barracks, he had seen you on your bed, lying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. You had your hands on your belly as you idly chewed on the inside of your cheek. It looked like you had calmed down from your little panic over the footprint, although he could still tell, even at the distance he was at, that something was bothering you. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your eyes wide and alert. Though he was careful to not catch your attention, he had a feeling you knew he was there, or at least nearby. Going from zero to a hundred like that, he wondered how you could cope with it, and he hoped it wasn’t a habit of yours. All from a fucking footprint. Yes, you probably could sense something with your… lamia-ness, but he had overheard Kate say something about overstimulation and upon hearing that, all the pieces fit together.

You probably weren’t used to being in an army base with all of them, all of these new people, and that only added to the pile you already had on your plate.

A pang of guilt struck him as he washed off the soap from his body.

Maybe he had been too dismissive. He could tell you had gotten annoyed by him trying to calm you down before you spiralled but he was just doing what he thought best.  You were skittish, easy to agitate, and you needed to be settled down before you’d go off on one. Right? He was helping you!

Well, he thought he was.

The steam made the air in the bathroom heavy… or maybe it was just him?

He didn’t know why, but, all of a sudden, he was feeling a little claustrophobic. Ghost shrunk away a little, almost hiding under the water, wondering if your bout of paranoia had rubbed off on him.

Eventually, the lieutenant finished up his shower, got dressed and was brushing his teeth over the sink. Briefly, he looked up at the mirror.

A shiver, like none he had ever felt ran through him.

Primal fear, triggered by pure incomprehension, made his skin grow clammy and his heart speed up.

Before his very eyes, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley watched a handprint form on the foggy mirror. A disembodied handprint.

Quickly, he turned around, only to see nothing.

Something gently touched his neck.

Breath.

Ghost took the toothbrush out of his mouth and set it on the porcelain sink. Then, he searched around the empty bathroom, albeit a little frantically. He peered around the corner to see if anyone was in the shower unit.

If someone was playing a little prank, he was going to hunt that person down and give them more than an earful on how that was a stupid thing to do.

However, it would turn out to be empty.

Returning to the sink, he let out a sigh.

Jesus, Simon. Get a hold of yourself.

Resting his hands on the edges of the sink, he looked back up at the mirror. The handprint was still there, and in the patches of clarity that made up the palm, where the fogginess had been removed, Ghost spotted that the lock on the door had been undone.

But didn’t he… He could have sworn…

He returned to the barracks, towels and soaps in hand, making his way to his rucksack. As he knelt down before his bed, he looked to his side and caught your eye. You gave a polite smile, before rolling onto your side, turning away from him.

“You alright?” he asked as he packed his stuff away.

“I think I should be asking you that question. You seem rattled,” you replied, your voice monotone.

He looked back up at you, brows knitted together.

“Are you… Are you doing your ‘lamia’ thing?”

“Someone was in the bathroom, weren’t they?”

“Please, don’t fuel my paranoia,” Ghost said, getting up and heading elsewhere to find Soap and maybe a box of raisins.

#bloodhound fic #cod mw22 #cod mwii fic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #phillip graves cod #cod mw2 werewolf au #cod mw2 fic #simon riley x reader #oh boy oh joy another chapter :)

[fyeahfantasticfour]

Marvel Comics Super Special #1 (1977) - Biography of Doctor Doom

Transcripted under cut

A brief biography of DR. DOOM. Based upon "The Fantastic Origin of Dr. Doom" by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

He is a master of robotics, of physics and chemistry, of aerodynamics and micro-miniature electronics. Yet he dwells within the ancient stone castle walls of a Central European castle. He is absolute monach of the tiny Balkan kingdom Latveria. Yet he shuns the self-indulgent pomp and pageanty of royalty, disdains the ritualised adoration of his subjects, preferring instead their unmitigated obedience, and an almost reclusive existence. He is a man of many passions--all concealed. He is one of the wealthiest men in the world, and yet he permits himself no luxary, no comfort, except his solitude. he is the living paradox named Victor Von Doom.

(break)

Sometime in the early 1920's, in the storybook kingdom of Latveria, a son was born to the Rromani family Von Doom. The father was a healder, a physician, inheritor of his own father's knowledge of herbs, barks, berries, roots, and the curative potions obtainable through their combination. The mother was notable primarily for the circumstances of her death; in a pit, with stones raining down on her head. Certain persons thought her to be a witch.

It was a difficult time to be a Rrom. Caught between two eras, they were hated and feared by the slowly fading adherents to the agrarian past, hated and scoffed at by the proponents of the industrial future, hated and persecuted--but respected--by the powers-that-were, that relucant regard for Rromani prowess in certain areas, among them medicine, was the elder Von Doom's undoing.

One day, when Victor was barely 10 summers old, his father was summoned to the royal palace and ordered to save the life of the ailing queen. "I shall try my utmost, of course, sire," protested Von Doom, "but I can offer no guarantee of success. Your own physicians have admitted their inability to effect a cure."

"Then let me inform you, Von Doom," replied the king, "that should you faill, I can offer no guarantee that you shall leave this palace with your head."

The queen died.

Von Doom fled for his life, eluding the royal guardsmen just long enough to make a quick stop at the Rromani encampment to pick up young Victor, reasoning soundly that the boy would surely be the king's target if Von Doom made good his escape alone.

For months, through the passing of fall and on into a bitter winter, Von Doom and son roamed the forests, always a step ahead of their persuers. The elements, however, proved impossible to avoid, and one day the Rromani wagons found VonDoom and his son huddled together in a blanket, covered with snow, at the side of a road. The father was moribund.

Within hours, despite the ministrations of the Rromani, Von Doom was dead. His last words, voiced to Boris, an old friend and member of the tribe. "My son... protect...!"

"No one need protect me, father!" Victor wailed. "I shall be strong! I shall make them pay for what they did to you and to mother!"

But Boris knew the real meaning of Von Doom's impassioned plea. Victor would need no protection, it was true. However, the world must somehow be safeguarded against the lifelong rage that would burn in the child's soul.

When Von doom had been buried, Boris presented young Victor with the few possessions his father had left behind. Among these was a curiously decorated trunk, marked with arcane astrological symbols, which Victor had never seen nefore. Inside it he found a strange collection of cards, charms, fetishes, talismans--all the implements of sorcery. And when he realised with grim satisfaction that the accusations made of his mother were joyfully, wondrously true. He was the son of a physician and a witch.

(break)

Victor Von Doom threw all his energies into the study of both his parents' crafts. By the end of his eighteenth summer, the boy had established a reputation as an inventor, a magician, a philosopher, and a rogue. For all his devices were created to victimise the wealthy and the powerful--like the salve that cured headaches, but induced baldness, like the "magic" violin which made any man a virtuoso until Victor, safely out of reach, fliced a switch and shut off it's power source.

Indeed, words of Victor's accomplishments spread so rapidly and so far that he was offered an opportunity to study at a major university in the United States. Anxious for the access this would provide to far more advanced laboratory fascilities, Victor accepted.

But tragedy lay at the end of the journey. During an unauthorised experiment on univeristy premises, Victor's elaborate device for communication with the spirit world exploded, permanently disfiguring his face. He was summarily expelled.

By this time, World War 2 had erupted in Europe, so rather than returning to his homeland, Victor set out for the Himalayas, determined to learn the mystical secrets of the Tibetan lamas. He did. Indeed, by the time he was ready to depart, his teachers were calling him "master."

It was in Tibet that Doom's strange costume was forged, the cold grey armour, the emotionless iron mask which would forever hide his ravaged countenance from view.

And it was there he swore a vow that one day, all the world would acknowledge him as it's sovereign. He has not abandoned that vow. Power remains his obsession to this day.

The world may not yet bow to his every command, but the very mention of his name sends shudders up the spines of men and of nations.

And hey--that's a start. End transcription.

#doctor doom #victor von doom #g slur #fantastic four #comics #mod: brieuc

[noweyesee]

Let’s talk about ●●●

●●● Glamoury II

There are aspects that you will need to develop so that you can use the Glamor technique in a useful and functional way.

— What to develop to utilize Glamour

● Meditation →Try to visualize images, situations, specific things through meditation. Train whenever possible, meditate with Gods, with elementals, with magical beings, with any entities, with egregors, etc. In meditation you can (and it is highly recommended that you do) develop self-visualization, which is essential for Glamoury.

● Concentration → You will really need to know how to disconnect from the world for even a moment. It can be developed through reading - and why not train it by studying more about witchcraft and paganism? In addition, techniques using visualization of candle flame and incense smoke often work for concentration.

● Energies → Try to deal with energies, feel them, be able to detect which energies are emanating from certain objects or people. You can try this with crystals, with stones or oracle cards, or with animals, people, plants. Although this will seem very complicated at first, you already have it in your body, but it's not developed - you know that bad feeling when you walk into a room? Or that good feeling when you talk to a certain person? This is you feeling the energies emanating from these people or places.

● Shaping energies → This is really essential. It is the ability to identify, and then be able to use, certain energies for a specific purpose. For example, using the energies of a candle's flame to shape it into the shape you wish to attach to your magic shield. Or a more functional example, shaping energies to create magical servers.

● Self-knowledge → Yes, this is the basis of magic in general, but in the case of Glamoury, there is a specific reason. Each person has an energy that emanates naturally, which can be noticed when we meet someone. You know that first impression you usually get when you have your first contact with a new person? This is a kind of natural Glamour, something that is already intrinsic to the person.

    There must be a search for self-knowledge in this case because that way we will know what our natural energy is, and then we will know how to deal with it. We can soften what already exists, or we can understand what our magical approach should be when trying to create a specific illusion.

    For example, if I have a concealment energy, the kind that I tend to go unnoticed by places, and I perform Glamoury to try to get some attention, chances are that nothing will happen, and I will be noticed in a "normal" way. This is because my energies of concealment will cancel out with those of attention.

● Self-control → Something that has already been mentioned above, but should be highlighted so that it can be developed specifically by each one. You need to be really calm, balanced and calm so that you can have the desired effect with Glamoury. If you have very strong agitation energies in you, they will prevail in your illusion - even if what you wanted was to convey calm and confidence.

● Training and practice → You will only get better and better at your Glamor illusions if you practice. So stay focused, create predetermined times or specific days, and simply practice whatever it takes. Emphasize what is most difficult, do it slowly and improve little by little, but always calmly and respecting your limitations until you can overcome them.

★ Glamour II ★ 

☆  Ko-fi  |  Tip your witch ☆

#glamour #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #witch community #witch tips #mine #concentration #energy #energy work #meditation #grimoire #magic #baby witch #witchcraft 101