#because that shit is raw pain and torture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

Cabin in the woods (yandere!shasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yandere!slasher!Horangi) chapter 5

Your friend is being tortured. Unfortunately for you, Konig and Horangi aren't exactly satisfied with just his misery.

WARNINGS: Blood, dub-con bordering on non-con, general slasher-y, mild knife stabbing

Masterlist with all chapters This on AO3

— Alright, kitten, let’s try this again. The knife goes inside, the guts go outside. What is there to mess up?

— Don’t…don’t call me that. — How should I call you then? Future victim? — No? Please?

— I’m old and I’ve seen all this shit before, kitten. Let me call you what I like and maybe, I won’t prolong his death too much. Or yours, for that matter. The shorter guy pushes the knight into your hands, making you press the blade against Max’s stomach. You refuse – as much as you can, with your trembling hands and desire to survive, no matter what. Max is frozen in the chair, tied up as securely as possible without cutting the circulation in his hands – the bigger psycho told you something about letting the blood flow freely, so your first killing experience would be more fun.

Fun – the fuck was he thinking?

Max is fixated in one place and you are holding the knife – well, to be quite certain, Horangi wrapped his hands around yours, making sure that you won’t try to wrestle the knife out of his hold and aim it at them. He makes you push the blade deeper, and scrap Max’s skin – his clothes were torn by the taller killer, another sentiment of his raw strength. You feel tears collecting in your eyes – you feel dread in every inch of your skin, walling in the endless possibilities of manslaughter.

You feel the interest picking up at the level of your groin. You try to tell yourself that this is just adrenaline, a natural reaction, the big guy was basically fondling your pussy and trying to get you as aroused as possible before he got distracted by his partner – it’s only normal that your walls are clenching around nothing, that you are trying to think about different things and failing miserably. You don’t feel excited about killing your friend because it is simply impossible – even when said friend is as fucking horrible as one person can be. Even when this friend crosses the academic rivalry and dives deeper into the river of being a fucking asshole Even when…

— Her hands are trembling. Cute.

— Kitten’s first murder?

— Should have left the slut for her. Would be a nice cat fight.

— Don’t think she knows how to fight, She doesn’t even try to get the knife, Ko.

You writhe in his hold, trying to resist his firm, strong hands pressing on yours – but you both know that you are merely pretending, that you just need to try something so you won’t feel as fucking horrible about not doing anything to save your friend. You say to yourself that this is simply self-preservation. You can’t resist your captors, you don’t want to die a horrible, painful death – which is why you are so ready to inflict that on Max. You’d pray for his forgiveness in hell, but you both know that he spends most of his time on r/Atheism.

Killers just love to speak like you are not even here – and you would love to not be here, you’d pay literally anything to just run away as far as possible, to not have them after you. You tried to run already, tried to resist – tried everything you could, and yet, it was impossible. No matter how much you try, they are always a step ahead of you – sometimes even literally, when they both are pushing you between them like you are merely a toy for their amusement. Perhaps, in some twisted way, you are. They speak over you, against you, and you hate the little nicknames they are giving you – treating you like a pet even though you do not know them, and they only know you for barely a few hours.

This is probably something about you, making you a perfect victim. You always thought that your adaptiveness was just a signal of people pleasing and a horrible lack of spine – but it saving you now, keeping you interesting enough for the maniacs. You’d pay anything not to be their favorite, but you already know how they treat those who are of no use to them. And you’re fucking scared of dying.

— You need to press deeper if you want to hurt him, Schatzen.

It’s a good thing that they gagged Max’s mouth. You don’t know why, it seems like too much mercy for someone like them, but at least you won’t have to hear him screaming – especially when König envelops your hands on top of the hands of his partner, pressing it against your friend’s soft gut.

You never knew that human flesh is so…vulnerable. You don’t even need any strength, they are doing all the job for you. you are the one holding the knife but you find a small mercy in thinking of your impact as just this – being a knife. An instrument. Instruments don’t have free will, you can’t blame a gun for killing a person – blame the one who fired it. You didn’t gut your friend, you were just doing what a good object is supposed to.

God, you feel awful.

— I don’t…please, don’t make me do this, please…

You whimper, pathetically – König can barely contain his erection. God, you’re simply fucking perfect like this, hands already covered in blood splurging from the small cut you made on this guy's stomach. In a rite of passion, König moved one of his hands to rip the gag off his mouth, listening to the beautiful squeals the guy was making. All of these pig-like screaming got him wanting a nice, hot Schnitzel. He licks his lips, tilting his head to look at the screaming man.

— Screams like a pig.

— More like a whaling dog.

— Cut him again, ja? Deeper, or you’ll be sitting next to him.

König knows that he won’t do it. You might be a weird addition to their little duo, but they both knew that they wanted someone, a pet for them to share – not because of some weird kinks, although it’s part of the reason, mostly out of a desire to be dominant to someone helpless, someone pathetic and weak. Someone who is so fragile would need constant protection, and constant putting in their place. Horangi’s savior syndrome and König’s control freakiness coming from his days as colonel made them…unstable, a bit.

Until they found little ol’ you.

— What the fuck are you doing?! Max can finally scream – and he screams at you, not the killers. You cry and shake, trying not to fall unconscious because of the tension and here he is, making sure that you feel as horrible as he is – mentally, for now. The pit in your stomach grows deeper with every squeal, you want to shut your ears and scream until your throat is sore, you want to push the knife away and hide somewhere. The hands are holding you in place and you can barely move.

You plead – you want to take Max’s place, you hate being the object of their affection, your hands are trembling and your body is barely moving. Your head is still pounding and you feel like you’re going to fucking die because you can’t even breathe and you panic and…

— Hey, Calm down, ja? You don’t want to do this?

König is surprisingly gentle when you sob, hands shaking uncontrollably. He pushes Max to the ground, poor guy is falling down, still tied up to a chair, probably hitting his head on the cold basement floor – Horangi pushes him even deeper with a kick on the ribs and you hear the sobs, so uncharacteristic for a smartass like Max. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be here, you don’t want to-

— Please, d…don’t…

König gently puts your face in his hands, holds you as softly as someone like him can.

Then a hand lays on the curve of your ass – a harsh, rough spank that made your skin burn even through the jeans. You yelp, tears flowing freely down your face – König laughs, putting you in your place like a fucking unruly animal. The betrayal of the previous softness makes you cry.

— It’s okay, Schatzen.

You refuse to look when the knife goes inside Max’s stomach. You refuse to look even when the second guy twists your face in his hold and makes you open your eyes. Blood, nothing but it – it stains his clothes, your clothes, it makes you want to ouke and you fall to your knees because this is not happening, it could not be happening, your hands are clean and perfect, they would never be able to kill a living, breathing being – this isn’t something that you would do, ever. This isn’t something that…

— Thought she’d be calmer by now.

— She is a bit skittish. Might have to lock her in the basement.

— And getting rid of all the thrill.

— Didn’t you want to elevate us to the next level?

— I was talking about adoption, Ko. Maybe getting a freaking puppy, for starters.

— She’s the second best thing.

König’s hand goes to scrub your neck and you exhale loudly, still terrified of him. Poor, naive girl, just how scared you are of them – it’s funny, really, ridiculous even. They could have killed you any second now, so, if they aren’t doing it, you must be calmer now, no? Your reactions are adorable, but he starts to think that he won’t be able to make you choke on his cock like this. Scared animals tend to show their teeth and, well, he still wants his dick to be with him.

Maybe with a gag…

He pushes a finger in your mouth – to his and your surprise, you don’t even bite him out of instinct. You wince, but don’t refuse – just look at him like a caged animal. He liked that look on you, made you all nice and submissive just for him and Horangi. God, it was so long since they were with someone so soft, so…weak. He counts your teeth – might need to pull something out, a trophy for him. Tugs at your tongue and you immediately started to suck on his fingertip – a welcoming intrusion. He didn’t intend anything like this, just wanted to check your biting reflex, but if you are welcoming…

Hong-jin catches the look on your face and the expression that can be so easily read on König’s face. You’re both adorable, his perfect fucking partners – or a partner and his victim, to be quite right. He swiftly helps König undo his pants, knowing how tricky those cargo and multiple belts can be – everything to not let their prey get an advantage over them in any way. Getting sloppy seconds sucks, but the bigger killer would make you nice and warm for them, broken in exactly right.

Besides, even if you would bite off a few inches of König’s cock, it wouldn’t do much difference. The man would still be a fucking stallion.

You start to panic when Max isn’t even dead yet, and the killers are pushing their pants down, making you work your mouth on the enormous bulge in König’s briefs. You wince, closing your eyes and pretending that you are not here, that this isn’t happening, and you’re stuck in your happy place, actually, forever and ever, and…you want to cry and whimper, and you do – you can feel blood slowly coating the floor.

You lapping your mouth on the underwear of a serial killer while your friend is slowly bleeding from a deep cut on his stomach. You smell the usual things, that you are accustomed to already – sweat, blood, metal. The same knife that cut Max is pressing against your neck right now, urging you not to bite on the killer’s cock. You are worried more about vomiting all over his legs – but you don’t want to get your neck scrapped too. You gulp, seeing the outline of a huge, enormously thick cock poking out of the top of a simple black briefs. There is…there is no way it would fit – your mouth can only open so far, you are not a fucking snake, you are…

Horangi pushes his boot to your clothed cunt. Presses deep, the narrow part is strangely hot between your legs. Jeans and panties are securing your dignity for now, not allowing the full strength of those feelings to rise, but you were already aroused before and the new pressure is only making it worse now. You open your mouth – maybe in shock, maybe in a feeble attempt to make them stop – and König pushes the head of his cock right in.

Your throat is welcoming him. Tight and warm around his shaft, he can only push further and further, making it impossible for you to close your teeth enough to bite. He can feel the stretch of your jaw, how perfect the bulge in your throat looks for him – he can think of a few new ways of making your body bulge both from him and Horangi. It was quite a while since they had a partner to try double penetration with.

When you choke on the dick penetrating your mouth, Horangi can only chuckle, pushing his boot even deeper against your pussy. He can feel the wetness of your intimate parts, even through the jeans – you’re a dirty thing, getting off their touches while your friend bleeds to death. If he wasn’t so unsure that those pricks don’t have any STDs to give you, he’d use Max’s blood as a lube. Maybe make you lick it as you did with his knife. Maybe he’s…shit, all of these lewd thoughts make him want to fuck you right now – and he is certain that a dick in your cunt, no matter how wet and slutty it is, will break you right now. Fuckin’ civvies and their fragile brains.

— Where we would dump his body after it’s done?

Horangi can speak normally, for now. His dick is throbbing painfully in his pants, but he knows that at least one of them should remain calm and think with their upper head unless they want you to get away with your little friend. You are surprisingly resilient for prey – albeit a bit dumb, like all normal people are when the situation turns into a life-and-death one. His boot isn’t soft on your folds, the rough fabric of your jeans only making it worse - you still squirm and moan, crying on König’s dick and sending delicious vibrations down your throat.

— C…can feed him to the river.

König is breathing heavily, his hand goes to grab your hair and make you take his dick whole. He doesn’t really care if you are choking – giving you the opportunity to breathe through your nose should be nice already. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s still better than getting killed – you suck as enthusiastically as possible, just so you won’t make them too mad at you. Just so the feeling of heavy dick in your mouth would push away every other thought – about Max, for example.

The guy is still bleeding on the chair right next to you – but every last bit of your brain, still remaining in your head, is getting pushed to the very back by König’s dick and Horangi’s boot.

You whimper when the pressure on your pussy grows faster. You don’t want to cum, you can’t cum like this – fully clothed, covered in blood and scratches, on the boot of your tormentor. You don’t want this to be pleasurable, but it’s better than having them rape you raw – you try to say that your reaction is normal, you’re just adapting, you don’t actually get off your helplessness and the feeling of complete loss of power and responsibility, but you know that, deep down, it’s all bullshit.

You like sucking him off – you’re wet enough from the lack of oxygen alone, not speaking about anything else. You like being on your knees, supported by a boot rooting in your cunt – and you also adore the fact that you don’t have to do anything. König is content with slamming his dick in your welcoming mouth without calling you a passive bitch with zero skills, and Horangi seemingly gets off just making sure you’re as aroused as possible. In a different circumstance, you’d beg them for more.

In this situation, however, you just try to block out the bleeding guts of your friend less than a meter away from you.

— We have to keep her, Tigeren.

— What if she’d run away?

— I can cut off her legs…Scheisse, she just got tighter from this. Good job, Katzen.

— We can keep her in the basement, but she needs regular walks.

— I will walk her.

— With sawed legs?

— I can hold her in my arms.

— We still need to take care of her friends first.

They both humm in acknowledgment, Horangi almost stopped pursuing your tenderness – only to slam harder, getting on his knees to take off your jeans completely. You shiver in the cold air, feeling the torn fabric falling down your legs. Of course, just taking your pants off normally wouldn’t be enough – he needed to rip them off, breaking the boundary between a fashionable and unrepairable.

You whimper – the soft, thin fabric of your simple panties isn’t nearly enough to stop your puffy cunt from being wet. The white fabric is almost transparent from your juices, it’s pathetically easy for Horangi to make you squeal on his boot. He presses and rolls the rounded end down your panties and up your cunt, making you cry from the sensation. Your little whines only make the experience better for König – who already got his hand on the back of your head and slammed all length inside, making sure that your jaw would fucking hurt.

You choke when he suddenly slams into your throat with full force – not allowing you to just hold his dick in your lips like you did before. You choke even more as his cum fills your throat. You don’t have to taste it, thankfully, your tongue laying flat under his dick. You can almost expel yourself from the situation, pretending that it’s your favorite movie characters or videogame heroes.

You can try to pretend that you are not cumming from your pussy being folded by the killer’s boot.

— Did you cum? Good girl.

— College girls became sluttier since I was in college, ja?

— I doubt you were in college, Ko.

You hear their banter and can see the bigger man showing the other one on the shoulder. You don’t react, frozen in place, on your knees. Your naked legs are scraping on the floor, which is definitely filled with corpses and some nasty vermin – you can’t force yourself to care about it right now. You can barely fucking thing, just wanting everything to end so you could go to sleep happily. So you could close your eyes and never fucking open them again.

You are being ushed to the air by your hands – like a cat, the one from insanely long memes. You whimper, thinking that killers probably have half a mind of just fucking ending your life once and for all – you gave them everything they needed, and now your helpless figure, coughing down the cum coating your throat, is probably of no use to them.

You can try to save your life. Really, you can – maybe they won’t listen to you but maybe, if they didn’t kill you yet, they can consider just…letting you go. Maybe these predators are getting sated on just Max’s body. Maybe you can still try to run away.

— I…I don’t know who you are. If I just go, I won’t even be able to tell the police anything.

— You’re implying we let you go because you don’t know who are we?

— I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even know German!

They laugh. The worst possible reaction – you feel blood drained from your body. God, are…are they going to murder you because of this little stunt? The bigger guy goes to you, cupping your face in his hand.

The other one goes under his mask.

— Hans, callsign “König”. Colonel for mercenary company, if that’s not enough.

You couldn’t even close your eyes before you saw him fully – ginger hair, uneven stubble. Face, covered in scars. You want to say that this is the face of a killer, you know this is the face of a killer – the handsome one. The pretty one. Not in the way that boyband singers are pretty, not cute – but you can’t deny that putting a face to your tormentor figure made your already soaked cunt even more wet.

— Hong-jin, callsign “Horangi”. Still think we’re going to let you go?

They are handsome – both of them. Without masks, their voices are unfiltered, pure. You see a handsome Asian man with a face covered in scars and burn masks, and his partner, covered in the same fashion. You knew they must be from the military, judging by the uniform and mannerisms – but you never knew they would be this…

You begged them to let you go, saying that you won’t tell anybody about them. You both know that you are not getting out of this forest alive, knowing their names and how they look like – you won’t even be able to pull out a “Hush” move and just text everyone who are they – no cell service and no family to try and search for you in rural Austria.

You collapse to the floor when König gently pushes your face up, smothering your lips with a kiss.

You are not getting out of this forest.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #horangi x you #horangi x reader #horangi x könig #yandere horangi #horangi #kim hong jin #slashers #slasher

674 notes · View notes

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 5 months

Text

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter /Next chapter

a/n fourteenth part! You guys we are nearing the end and this one... This one was tough. I will only be able to accept complaints via email. Enjoy! 😉🤍🫧

warning: kids, blood, torture, intoxication, drugs, dark magic, pain, deaths, Illyrian torture mmm... I'm trying to think if I haven't missed anything. Ah... wounds.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

There was one thing Azriel was certain about: he was never going to get used to the sensation of holding you. The way his body ignited. It felt as if only then all of his senses were in tune with the rest of his body. The sweetest taste of perfection filled him. This was what finally feeling whole felt like. So was he pissed off when Rhys's gentle knocking on his mental shields woke him up? Yes. Was untangling his limbs from you the hardest thing Azriel had ever done? Absolutely. Did he linger just a bit longer, slowly brushing your hair as he watched you take in breath after breath? yes. Azriel smiled to himself because this was it. This was his forever. His other half lay in his bed. Peacefully sleeping. So his. Only his.

"I'll let you punch me raw", Rhys had caught up with Azriel in no time, "But you also know I wouldn't have asked if this wasn't serious". Azriel knew his duties. He took them seriously, too. So even if his heart was bleeding for his mate, he knew his people also needed him. "Fill me in," Azriel said firmly, tightening the straps holding his knives. "Cass is finishing the last interrogations, and nothing fucking adds up." Rhys was frustrated, which was always a sign of something going extremely wrong. All he was told before Azriel had winnowed into the south side of Velaris was that the border had been breached. An attack had occurred, but the moment the soldiers were sent, it all vanished. In Azriel's 500 years of life, shit didn't just disappear. "Memories?", Azriel said as he scanned the place. Weavers were already patching up the wards, but none of them looked seriously torn apart or damaged in general. "Ink black," Rhys said and Aziel halted at the sound of it, an odd chill running through his back. "And a freezing one. I could push, but...", Rhys ran a hand through his hair. Azriel recognized that worry now. Worry for the family. A mate, children. He was in the same boat now. "You could push, but let me guess, you would fry their brains in the process," Azriel unleashed, his shadow scattering around the place. He was going to fix this. And fix this quickly. Maybe he will even be able to come back before you have woken up.

Cold. Cold. Cold. So cold. So dark. It was so painful and numb at the same time. There were hands. Cold fingers. Echoes of something familiar. How could one feel so heavy and light as a fever at the same time? It felt as if you were blinking for a moment, desperately trying to wake up, only to be plunged back into the same darkness. Someone was holding your head down as you trashed. before Your body had grown frail once more. Slumping.

"I'm telling you they came with torches; everything was on fire," the man said, and Azriel would have believed him, but he knew the farmer. Had gotten multiple reports from him about younglings messing up his sheep fence. He heard him speak before, and something deep within Azriel screamed that this man wasn't talking on his behalf. "Look, if you got the whole village in on this because of that damn fence..." Cassian huffed; he too was losing his patience. Nesta was pregnant. Nothing had been confirmed, but Azriel could smell it on Cass, and so could Rhys; the two had shared a look but chosen to not test Cassian's boundaries. The man was desperate for her. Out of the three of them, Cassian was the one whose patient was extremely thin today. Not to mention the heightened need to protect that coursed through his body.

Azrie shot his brother a look before motioning for the door. Cassian was halfway through the door when the man spoke again, "What fence?" There was a glimmer of relief in the man's eyes before it all glazed over again, and this time that same odd tone was back: "Torches all of them." Azriel turned to Rhys, whose face bore the same realization. They were all under something. Herbs. Magic. Mother only knew.

"Billy, your goat. How is he doing?", the man practically seized at Azriel's voice. "Bill...", the male breathed. "Yeah, one who chewed up your farm shoes," Azriel continued, the same glistening light running through the male's eyes. As if he was clawing at himself from within. It was as if someone was barging to be let out. But it was Rhys who delivered the last blow. "What about your wife? Huh, how's she been doing? She's still knitting you scarves." The male coughed, clawing at his neck. Panic set in as he moved towards the door, but Cassian was still standing there, his broad shoulders blocking any chance at escaping. "Billy and your wife, how are they?", Cass said it in a demanding tone. The man stilled, and then, thick like lava, liquid trickled down his nose.

"Rhys...", Cassian growled. The male staggered back slightly but gained his stance pretty quickly. And the terror that set in now was of a new kind. "My lord...", he breathed out, pulling his hat off his head, only then reaching to feel the dampness on his lip. Dread pooled in Azriel's stomach. "Fuck," the high lord breathed, "This is set up." Rhys's darkness swallowed the place as he winnowed. Azriel reached for the older male and said, "Go home; I'll be back, but you have nothing to worry about." With that, he snatched Cassian's hand as they both winnowed.

It was the cold that seeped into you that had pulled your eyes open. Your fingers grazed the surface beneath you. They felt numb as if they no longer belonged to you, but enough to still somewhat identify your surroundings. The surface you were lying on was damp. That would explain the sounds of droplets hitting the puddles somewhere. You tried to dig into your mind. Tried to think. Where were you? What was happening? You forced your eyes to fully open. A gray stone was what greeted you. You frowned instantly. Nothing seemed to add up. It was sniffling that you picked up on next. But the moment you turned your head to the side, you were met with something you thought you would never see again.

"No", your voice was barely a whimper. "No", you tried to pull yourself up, crawling towards the painfully familiar bars. You didn't feel a single ounce of magic within yourself. It was as if it had all fizzled out. But this couldn't be true. Absolutely couldn't. You have escaped. You... your hands touched the bars as you pulled yourself up. And for a heartbeat, you wished you hadn't.

In the cell opposite of yours lay two figures that clawed through every bit of sedative running through your system. "Zofie, Axel...", the words were barely a whisper as your knees threatened to buck any minute. "Zo, Ax," you breathed louder, trying to move the cell doors, but for nothing. It all came rushing back then. The strange vision. The dinner prep. Elain. Your thoughts halted - Azriel. Your hand rested on your chest. You couldn't feel him. You couldn't... "No," you breathed. He couldn't be dead. You wouldn't be standing here if he was. Your eyes darted back toward the kids. Zofie was pale. Too pale. Axel's wings were bent awkwardly. They couldn't be. They couldn't... It was enough for the thought to simply swirl there and within seconds you were turning to the side as bile rose in your throat.

No matter how much panic Azriel felt coming from both Rhys and Cassian, he refused to let it settle in. You were fine. You had to be. They were all just panicked. Nothing like that has happened since Amarantha. So it was more than understandable that everyone would be ticked off. Azriel unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt as he winnowed back to his apartment. Rhys was meeting him there the moment both Nesta and Feyre were in the safety of the house of wind.

Just the moment his foot hit the wood floor in his apartment, Azriel knew that something was off. The place seemed ice-cold. The burning smell filled his nose. No. No. No. Not happening. "Y/n," he called out as he stepped deeper into the place. Bile rose in Azriel's throat as his eyes scanned the kitchen. Flowers were scattered on the floor, with a smashed vase to accompany them. Fresh goods were still in the bags by the little kitchen counter. A burnt-out pot—whatever had been cooking there had turned into a chard mess. At least now he knew where the smell was coming from. Azriel's eyes fell onto the colorful drawing that now lay upon all the filth that filled the floor. A card. He hesitated. He knew whatever was in... Azriel folded the paper open. Messy's scribbled writing in two different colors greeted him.

We wanted to ask you a big question. Written with a k instead of a q, that's been crossed out and corrected. Azriel wanted that to warm his heart, but all it did was cause more ache. Yet nothing prepared him for the next line. Can you please be our dad? We'd love that, Zo and Ax. The world in front of Azriel shifted. His vision went out for a second. Their dad. A father figure. Azriel gripped the kitchen counter. His kids. They were already his kids. But to know that they both wanted that and that they had all of this set-out... All of this was supposed to be a surprise for him, and now...

Azriel heard rustling outside his apartment door that he only now realized was slightly ajar. "Elain?", a muffled voice that belonged to Rhys called out. Azriel crossed the distance in a couple of steps as he yanked the door open. His anger was boiling even hotter. He saw her, hiding in the corner of the hallway. That same black liquid trickled down her nose. "I couldn't. I tried", she managed to muffle between sobs, but Azriel turned away from her. "Tell Lucien that she's here. I don't need a territorial male running around causing trouble", Azriel said bluntly to Rhys.

"Azriel, please," Elain shifted, trying to reach for any part of the shadow singer she could get her hands on. "Elain, unless you have something useful to...", Azriel batted her hand away as he scowled at her. She probably didn't deserve it. It wasn't her fault that she had gotten herself under that spell, yet knowing that she was the one who had seen you last didn't sit well with Azriel. "They know you'll come; she wants that," Elain muttered, making Azriel frown. "Who?", the female shook her head, and Azriel moved to step away instantly. "A lady in white, she... I don't know, like a priestess."

And within a beat of a heart, it was all crystal clear. The threats and the unwillingness to cooperate—Rhys said it had all been done and taken care of. A new wave of anger rushed through Azriel as he reached for Rhys's neck, bending most of his body over the sixth-floor railing. "I should have burned that place down," Azriel hissed. "Azriel," Rhys said, pushing against his brother's hold. "If my mate and my kids get hurt because you stalled, I swear on everything holy to me. You will never see me again, Rhys", and with a final shove, Azriel let go. Rhys managed to keep himself upright, but before he could turn to the spymaster, he was already gone.

The next time your eyes snapped open, you scrambled to your feet almost immediately. Reaching for the bars, you cast your gaze upon the cell opposite yours. A breath hitched in your throat. They had shifted. Axel was leaning against the wall. All you could see was his face; his wings were messily draped over his chest, he no doubt had to be holding Zofie. "Axel," you called out softly, not wanting to startle him even more. Mother knew these kids were through hell just because of you. "Sweetheart, Ax," you called out again, knees buckling as those golden eyes gazed straight at you. "Y/n," he breathed in return, trying to move closer, but you quickly shook your head.

"It's okay; stay where you are. Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?", you looked him over the best you could. The boy only shook his head. "But Zofie is cold," he muttered, pealing one of his wings to reveal a sickly pale girl with no color in her skin. You sank to the floor. "Is she...", the ringing in your ears grew louder. Axel quickly shook his head once more. "I think it's the empathy thing," he said softly. "I've been thinking all the happy thoughts, and pa-Azriel," Axel stated. Your eyes softened. "You don't have to correct yourself, Ax; you can call him your papa." You wished they hadn't taken this evening away from them. Why this one out of them all? "Will he come to get us?", there was doubt in the boy's tone, but you met his eyes with your blazing gaze. "He will. He will always come for us. No matter where we end up, Azriel will always find a way to bring us back home. You want to know why?", you asked him, and Axel instantly nodded, "Because he loves us, and we love him."

Azriel's shadows were swirling all around the sanctuary as he watched from the mountain peaks. He knew that you were there. The last bits of mating bond practically screamed at him while he ran over ways he was going to slather everyone stupid enough to get in his way. He gritted his teeth together.

"You know... I was never afraid of your darkness," you had muted to him as you two had laid in bed together. Your hand was extended up in the air as his shadows swirled all around, tattering your skin with kisses. "You should be; most are," Azriel breathed. "Why would I? It's a part of you, and it's beautiful to me." Azriel had shifted slightly from the words—loving you is the easiest thing I have to do in my life, he had thought but he didn't say it. too afraid that it was all moving too fast. too afraid to scare you away. And now, more than ever, Azriel wished he would have spoken those words. Would have told you about the house on the very side of Velaris. He had bought it decades ago for his family. For his mate and for his kids. And he had just that—all of it—but it was slipping past his fingers.

A handful of papers slapped against Azriel's chest as Rhys winnowed right in front of him. "Padme wants you apart because you two were a profit in some ancient scroll," Azriel snatched the report, taking his eyes off the building just for a heartbeat so he could look it over. "You two are the opposite of the spectrum; your union can... You'd become more powerful than most high lords", Rhys said firmly, knowing that at any moment the words he spoke could be his last, " So this whole thing could be set up by one or multiple of the other high lords, or someone desperate to save the world".

Azriel had to give Rhys credit. The stuff he pulled out in such a short time was impressive, and it would explain the level of magic used to possess others. But if he could do it in such a short time, he could have given him the papers with this information weeks ago. As if reading his mind, Rhys spoke, "Let us help you get her and the kids back, and then you're free to step away from your position as my spymaster." The words drilled holes in Azriel's already bleeding heart, "I should have taken action sooner. I failed you and your family." Azriel lifted his hand, silencing his high lord. "Two entrances are unguarded. Your job is to get the kids and take them away from that place", the cold tone Azriel used felt wrong, but he couldn't do this now. Azriel's priorities no longer lay with Rhys. No longer lay with his court.

You were humming an old Illyrian lullaby when the doors to the dungeon creaked open and in strolled Padme, accompanied by at least four guards. "I hope you're enjoying your fantasy now," she said with that same cold smile on her lips. "You bitch," you spat her way, throwing all of your weight at the iron bars. "Pick your words wisely, child. I have power over you", she said, standing right in front of you now, looking you over as if you were nothing more than a speck of dirt beneath her shoes. "I trusted you," you said through gritted teeth, "You said...", "That I cared? That I will keep you safe," Padme cut you off, "The same thing your supposed lover is saying to you now. Look where my love brought you; want to see where he will take you?" She stepped over so quickly you didn't even notice when her claws had dug in the hack of your scalp, that same demonic face flashing right in front of you.

Then flames erupted all around you. All of the Velaris was up in flames. Houses falling. People were trying to crawl from beneath the debris. You ran forward, trying to help a woman free her leg, but the moment you approached, she screamed out in panic, trying to move away from you. You shook your head. "Do you want this?", Padme's voice rang all around you. "You are going to be so selfish and end so many lives just because you think someone can finally love you," her laugh echoed, chipping even more of your already frozen-over heart. "I kept you safe. It is I who truly knows how to love a creature like you". Your head fell back as the priestess pulled her blood-coated nails away from you, licking the very tips, "You always belonged with me." Your eyes locked on her dark orbs. You've never seen them in their true colors before.

"That's a lie! Azriel loves us; we're a family," Axel's voice rang out, making you blink, "Tell her, YN, we'll always be together." Padme turned to the boy, yanking the cell door open as she stepped in. "No," you breathed out, reaching for them. "Say that again, boy," her hand wrapped around his neck as she lifted him from the ground, Zofie's frail body slipping out of his hand, awkwardly filling the cold floor. "No, Padme, let him go," you pleaded. You were not letting them go through the same torture you had already endured. "He loves her," Axel said firmly, even if he was slowly losing oxygen. "I'll do whatever you want, but you have to promise you will not hurt them, Pad," you said so quickly that you could barely make out your own words.

The priestess's head turned toward you, a vicious smile spreading across her face. "Return them safely to Azriel, and I will do whatever you want," you pleaded. Padem simply let go of Axel. "Very well," she said happily. "I'll drop them off at that old lady's house," You nodded along with her words. Cordelia will look after them for now. She'll explain it all to them. Take good care of Zofie until she can once again lay in Azriel's arms. "But you, my dear," Padme mustered, "You owe me your heart, especially the part of it that belongs to the shadowsinger." Your vision blurred as her words settled in. A part. There wasn't just a part. All of it was Azriel's. You had given it to him that night outside his mother's house. He had it ever since.

Azriel had his finger pressed to his lips as he once again came into contact with a small group of terrified females, slowly gesturing for them to exit the place. Knowing well that Rhys would guide them out of the building. One of them had already told them how to get to the lower floors of the sanctuary. Azriel would find you. He'll take you home. He rounded the familiar corner. He was trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. It was strange to think that he had lived here for a bit. He had met his other missing part between these walls, which made him nothing but sick now.

Down the corridor. Into the main communal hall, and then right on the left corner, Azriel stopped. There was no way. No, there was no way this couldn't be it. His eyes instantly darted up, looking for anyone planning an attack from up above, but he saw no one, and his shadows sensed nothing.

"Y/n," he breathed out, and you instantly turned around. Your dress was dirty and damp, and there was blood running down the back of your neck, mixing in with your light hair. Blood. Azriel crossed the distance between the two of you in a couple of steps. "Why are you here? Did you kill her?", he carefully cupped your face as he looked you over. Your lip trembled. "Love," Azriel breathed. "The kids are at your mother's. I got them out, but you need to leave," the last word was choked out, and you quickly covered your mouth. Trying to fight your emotions. Azriel pulled at your hand, but you quickly pulled back. "You need to leave me behind," you whispered. "That will never happen," the spymaster said firmly.

"Azriel, I will lose control again. I will burn the city down. I saw it", you shook your head, trying to chase the images away. "I will burn it for you if you give up on us," Azriel said harshly, but his touch still stayed nothing but soft.

"I'm not giving up on us," you whispered so quietly. You promised to push him away. Make him leave you so the kids will be safe. Be safe with him. They didn't need you. But you couldn't lie to him. You'll make him leave you behind in some other way. But Azriel cupped your face with both hands and said, "I waited for you my whole life. You are everything I ever wanted and more. I can only breathe when I'm with you, Y/n. You are my everything. If you are not with me, I don't want to live." His honest words pulled a light sob from your lips. "Azriel, I...", you breathed right as an arrow pierced Azriel's shoulder. The spymaster hissed as he turned back, trying to find the source of the attack.

"No," you shouted, but Azriel was already shielding you while an arrow after an arrow pierced his skin and wings. A roar slipped past his lips, but he stood unmoving, using his body like a shield. "No, let me," you breathed out as you tried to pull him away but... The room died down quickly, and you watched as Azriel slowly sank to his knees.

"Azriel," you followed suit, cupping his face in your hands. His lips were tinted red. No, they couldn't be. No, this couldn't be happening. Azriel moved one of his hands up as he grasped your forearm firmly. "You belong to no one," he said, pausing to take a breath between each word, "Don't let them control you any longer." His grip loosened, and his hazy eyes only focused on you. "No, Az. Azriel! Look at me, Azriel", you bagged, tapping his face lightly, trying to keep him awake.

"And so the story ends," Padme said, moving from behind one of the columns with a pleased smile on her lips. "What did you do? What did you do?", you shouted at her. "I saved the world, child," she said, raising her hands in delight. Her laughter filled the space, but your eyes were already back on your mate. "Azriel, look at me," you pressed your hands against him, trying to flicker at least some of your magic on, but you couldn't seem to get a hold of it. The spymaster smiled slightly, grasping your hand in his. "I'll see you on the other side," he muttered. You choked out a cry. "No, no, you will not," you said angrily. "Azriel," his name was like a prayer on your lips. You felt the last bits of the bond slowly flicker out as an overwhelming pain crawled all over you. Time slowed as you watched Azriel's eyes slowly droop.

But then your deathly glare rose to meet Padme's satisfied gaze. "What did you do?", the scream ripped through. Ignited even more by the pain of feeling Azriel slipping away, the cry seemed never-ending. You heard glass breaking. The cracking of the chipping stone. You saw nothing but white rage. Pulling one of the arrows out of Azriel's body, you pointed it at Padem. "I will be your worst nightmare," you said through gritted teeth. Your body didn't feel like your own as you logged the arrow. And it hit Padme straight in her heart with the speed you'd never thought you could muster.

That same itching feeling in your throat started once more. The same one you felt when they ripped your wings off. The sanctuary was slowly falling apart. The females rushed to get out, but you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore as you pulled Azriel's head over your lap. There was so much blood everywhere. Too much blood. The tears fell freely down your face in a never-ending stream.

You moved your hands over Azriel's heart, watching as your hands disappeared within the light you possessed. But it didn't seem to work. "Y/n," you heard Rhys's shaky voice. "Get out," you barked out. The high lord still tried to step closer, but you hissed at him, "Get out, Rhys, and take the ones you can with you." You felt the last bits of your self-control failing. He only held your gaze for a moment before he winnowed away.

A sob slipped past your lips as you cupped Azriel's face, leaning over to kiss his cold lips. Time slowed once more. The static felt unbearable. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. And it all erupts with a sob like no other. You felt blood trickling down your ears as all of your being clawed at your fragile body. The light was blinding. So was the warmth that followed it. It felt like forever. The sizzling of your skin eased as the snow slowly fell upon you two. You blinked a couple of times. Pouring whatever was left into Azriel until your hands slipped off his chest and your body sagged on top of his.

The first thing he felt was coldness. Then the snowflakes fell on his face. His body also felt heavy. Like it had never felt before. The gray sky was all around him as he opened his eyes. His mind felt numb. For a moment, he had no idea why he was lying there in the first place. Until it all came tumbling down. One image after the other. The sanctuary. You. Arrows. Was this what the other side looked like because, shit, it was grim. Azriel shifted slightly, halting when his hand hit something. Something that was sprawled out across him.

He sat up so fast that your body rolled down to his lap. No. "Y/n," he said, wrapping his arms around your body and hissing at the coldness of it. "My love," he muttered, flexing his stiff wings. They had to be torn. Azriel turned. Not a single cut was on them. Not a single arrow was in his flesh. You've melted it away and healed him. "Love," he called out desperately, "Open your eyes." You couldn't die. He couldn't have just been here, lying unconscious, while you slowly faded from this world.

Azriel's eyes darted across the fallen sanctuary walls. Blood on the white stone. Padme's body was not far away from where you two were. Only the outskirts of the city looked burned to the ground, but there was no doubt that Rhys knew that something like this was coming. Azriel shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours. "You promised me forever, love," he said softly, "I'm calling in my bargain now." Azriel carefully brushed his lips over yours, and the faintest of thuds echoed in your hallowed-out chest.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @stressed-reader

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x oc

315 notes · View notes

archivedzeke · 11 months

Note

hiii i have a sorta drabble request for miguel

okok so miguel o'hara w a breeding kink since he wanna be a daddy so badly. the thought of you filling him turns him on, but he has trouble admitting it to you. reader has to edge him long n hard until miguel finally tells him what he wants.

miguel liked to think of himself as a pretty straight forward man. he’s never really had trouble talking about the shit that’s bothered or him gotten on his last damn nerve. but fuck, when you fucked him nice and raw for the first time — creamed his tight ass full as flashes of kids filled his mind, he found it hard to tell you he wanted you to nut deep in his womb until he had become pregnant with your kids.

sure he’s a biological man, but the thought of you filling him to the brim was enough to get him hard. he could never bring himself to tell you though. so you had to bring it out of him yourself. he wants to pin you down and take it for himself. but it’s hard when he’s teetering back and forth on the verge of cumming.

you’re stroking his cock slowly, the wet slick sounds of your hand coated in lube and pre.

“fuck ! por favor mi amor . . . ah”, his voice was shaky with need — cock flushed red from the torture and pain. aching for release and throbbing in your hand. miguel looked so pretty squirming.

“talk to me baby. tell me what you want and i’ll let you cum”, you kissed his tip and whimpered. music to your fucking ears.

“i-i want - haah ! breed me . . . please cariño. make me a daddy”, you grinned and miguel laced his fingers though your hair, claws digging into your scalp. that was all you wanted to hear. crazy how such a smart man could be broken because of the urge to cum. you gave him permission nonetheless. “see now, that wasn’t so hard. cum for me love”

watching miguel come undone had to be the highlight of it all, the thick spurts shooting from his cock and coating your hands and his big pecs.

the sight of him throwing his head back and letting out the most ravishing growl. the way his hips thrusted into the air and his hair shook to his forward. god you couldn’t wait to fill him with your cum.

#zekedrabbles ゛🎧#'📁 ★ 〔pretty boy files〕 ՚՚#top male reader #dom male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x male reader #across the spiderverse

938 notes · View notes

clockworkdragonffxiv · 6 months

Text

Further thought about the dragons in Final Fantasy XIV because my power has grown beyond control because I was bored at work and it popped in my head:

It's mentioned a lot in Heavensward that dragons don't remember things the way humans do. Their memories are perfect to a degree that memories don't fade so for them every trauma is this gushing fresh agony in their mind, like how Nidhogg is so incredibly pissed off because he remembers in excruciating detail finding Ratatoskr's butchered corpse and the Ishgardians gorging on her flesh.

Well, not so much remembers as he's actively experiencing it. All the time. Forever. Dragons live in the now with an intensity humans can barely comprehend, and I really think they don't process time in the same we do. We experience time linearly. Past, present, future.

Dragons don't. For them existence is experienced all at once forever. I'm not sure they even entirely distinguish between present and past and future, because it all feels the same to them, and I think that it impacts them in strange ways.

Like I don't think dragons really plan the way humans do. Everything is experienced in the Now. So I think for the vast majority of them, human tinkering and building completely baffles them. Oh they see the utility but it's not something they'd come up with on their own.

This extends to things like buildings. They certainly have the raw strength to repair the structures there, but it's not something they'd ever think of. Because repairing the castles means scouting out the proper stone, quarrying it, planning the repairs, etc.

Nidhogg's war against Ishgard is the closest thing to planning we see from them, and that was literally "torture them forever."

Also why Nidhogg was batshit insane. Because for him, he's always and will forever be at that one moment in time: finding his sister's corpse as the Ishgardians she'd been fascinated by and befriended feasted on her flesh like a pack of jackals. He never left that moment. I mean, the narrative flat out tells us that, but really holy shit is that a horrifying thing to think about. Like existentially.

It's probably the reason he could bodyjack Estinien so easily: because until the end of Heavensward, whenever Estinien closed his eyes for a second he could smell the ashes and roasting flesh from Nidhogg burning Estinien's family and entire village alive.

Also, consider that Midgardsormr went through far, far worse. The fact that the guy mostly comes off as grumpy and old should tell you about just how ridiculously tough he is. And why he spends all his time sleeping. Because whenever Midgardsormr was awake he was watching his world burn.

That and probably why he loved Hydalen and his alliance with her and devotion to her. She was as tough as he was, and had been through so much and carried on despite unimaginable woulds and pain. And she still gave him shelter when he had nothing left. That kind of compassion and strength was something he respected.

As a side note, I would be interested to hear from Middy about his thoughts on Hydalen's passing. Then again, he might not mourn her. After all, she'll live forever in his memories, as whenever he closes his eyes he still sees the radiant woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders meeting an exhausted and desperate dragon with the last eggs of his kind and providing them shelter and safety. And he feels the intensity of the sudden hope he felt then with every breath. How could he not love her?

She'll always be with him.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #dragons #nidhogg #estinien #midgardsormr

307 notes · View notes

ervotica · 3 months

Note

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

329 notes · View notes

arminsfavoritepookie · 4 months

Text

Geto headcanons 1.6k real as shit

I think Geto is a yellow flag with tiny green dots. I think after the riko incident he's not only dealing with his own inner turmoils but he's having a hard grappling his feelings with you as well. I know just let me explain...

He holds a conviction that he's unworthy of you; a perception rooted in self-depreciation. The echoes of 'you're too perfect for me' seem to repeat in his jumbled mind, becoming louder every time you flash that beautiful smile in his direction. Such a belief causes him to pull away from you, restraining himself from finding solace. You don't initially realize the reason behind his veiled expressions; behind the painfully strained curve of his lips whenever he forces a smile at you. You don't comprehend his fascinated gaze, lingering where your touch graced him each time. You don't recognize the raw, insatiable thirst that haunts his features, hungering to keep you close.

But Geto is utterly convinced that your vibrant life is far too bright for the brooding darkness that is him. He believes that you need someone who will inflate your brightness, not dim it. And that's why the sight of you and Gojo, with matching grins of pure joy, conjures a sensation in him that's equal parts pleasure and pain; a semblance of happiness. His lips twitch in a smile laced with the subtle tartness of sadness and he deludes himself, pacifying his simmering hurt, sugar-coating it as contentment.

The contentment brims within him each time your lips pucker at the white-haired boy, each time you huddle into the ear of his best friend to share a secretive whisper. Yes, he's utterly content. Jealous? Not a bit of it. Satisfaction it is, purely. His satisfaction bristles to the point where the bare idea of being near you might as well be excruciating torture. All he dreams of is to envelope you with that unidentifiable emotion rioting in his chest, allowing it to seep into you, and consume you as it does him since you apparently relish his agony so much.

But then, his act starts faltering, revealing cracks in his poker face. You start noticing his small, unconscious gestures - the habitual gnawing at his lips until scarlet beads surfaced, his twitching fingers, hovering beside his body as if chained back from brushing against your skin. His facade crumbled under your perceptive gaze and he loathed it.

Because now, your fingers were tracing patterns on his cheek, your body snuggly nestled in his lap. Your probing questions ricocheted off the walls - asking him why he was hurting himself, why he was so distant.

The way you nestle so comfortably in his lap, the warm touch of your hands on his skin, the authenticity of the concern etched in your face—it all enrages him. He loathes how your eyes gleam with care, how they insistently see the goodness in him. Because if you truly cared, you'd understand. You'd see that his self-imposed distance was an act of preservation for you. You'd recognize his fears of inadequacy and accept his belief that he could never be deserving of you. Yet, your refusal to heed his warning deafens you to his protests. Now, as you stroke your tender fingers across his bruised and battered lips—lips he yearns to hide behind his teeth each time your focus drifts elsewhere—his sanity seems to spin off its axis. As you untangle your fingers in his hair and scrutinize the dark circles under his eyes, you begin to blur his boundaries.

A pathetic, desperate fool, utterly bewitched by you - that's all he is - it's all he ever will be

He promised you he would stay, and that hint of bleakness in his soul, like an ever-growing eclipse, ebbed away slightly. It was almost perceptible, the lift of weight, his turbulent thoughts quieting their cacophony into a singular focus - you. It was you, his tether to being better, to striving for strength. This thought nestles within him, as the days start gifting some semblance of sunshine back. You press closer into his space, and he ceases to stiffen, loosening beneath your tender hold. Your words of his resilience echo around him, familiar sentiments, but this time they make him feel malleable under your fingertips, like butter in sunlight. Perhaps, just maybe, he could reclaim his peace.

Then Haibara dies and he can see your devastation mirroring his own grief, the way rage nestles into the corners of your grief-stricken eyes - a painful deja vu. The sparkle in your eyes - extinguished, they dilate in shock and agony. The presence of the once silenced voices make a comeback but he forcibly mutes them, endeavoring to console you. His touch mirrors yours, gently grazing your cheeks and rubbing comforting circles into your scalp.

His low tones try to envelop you in warmth. Yet you're fractured in his embrace, vacant - a husk unable to articulate your pain. Geto feels a rising nausea, painfully familiar with the territory of your anguish, a feeling of uselessness washing over him. He wasn't mighty enough to shield those he cherished, not a match for Satoru's immense strength, couldn't soothe you as your tears streaked your cheeks, he could barely move. he feels hollow - devoid of purpose, The familiar strain of uselessness sneaks up on him again - the throbbing confirmation that despite all his struggles, he falls short when it matters the most. He was useless.

____

He goes on a mission and never comes back.

And now you're side by side with Shoko, fixed on his form from across the cobblestone streets. The ambient sound is dampened as you occupy the wooden bench adjacent to his. All the rumors—the harrowing stories, the bone-chilling whispers—are confirmed to be true: all the lives he claimed in cold blood. As Shoko silently keys Gojo's digits into her phone, suddenly, you are utterly alone. A looming, guttural silence pervades.

Your heartbeat grows increasingly erratic, turning erratic beats into pure, numbing silence, as you truly focus on his face. The heavy under-eye bags that your fingertips have traced numerous times have vanished without a trace. His raven-black hair, now free-flowing, cascades down the curvature of his back. Your fingers have memorized its silkiness.

This time is different. You do not place yourself within the warm cradle of his lap to offer words of comfort, to tell him everything will be alright. You don't reassure him with the usual affirmation of comfort. You don't break the melancholic silence with a feather-light kiss. The unsettling truth simply presents itself in a disheartening silence - neither do you ask for his explanation nor does he offer. An understanding hangs between the both of you - the lacking and wanting, for what was once enough no longer held the same meaning. You weren't his completeness... and he fell short of being yours.

_____

let's say you met him after he started his cult he'd be an orangeish-reddish flag. He's not like he was in high school he's different........meaner

He does not second guess or wonder if he's up to the mark, harboring self-doubts or reservations. His focus isn't affixed on the cruel odds stacked against him; he doesn't hesitate but instead he takes what he wants. The ruthless and pitiless world doesn't soften, doesn't forgive... and he serves as a relentless reminder of that truth.

This might be why he prefers to keep you ensconced in his lap, constantly near him, within his protective clutch. When you shift, you can feel him. Hushed, almost seductive whispers slide into your ear, coaxing you to remain still, to be good.

When the gruesome curse is unveiled, wreathing a woman's shoulders... you see it, and it is grotesque, a pulsating mound of malicious intent that makes your blood freeze. Every cell in your body screams for escape.

However, you obey, rooted in your spot as he had commanded, his face nestling comfortably in the crook of your neck, his lips curving in a spine-chilling, uncanny grin. He'd reassured you not to let fear rule your heart, yet sometimes it's difficult not to. Observing him with bated breath, you watch as his hand reaches out, causing the repugnant curse to evaporate into nothingness, wailing pitifully.

As the relief sinks into your shoulder, his hand dances over your thigh... murmuring to you about the hazards lurking in the shadows of the world but promising vehemently to be your shield, your knight as long as you obey. His voice is a velvety promise, unyieldingly true, and a smoothly mature whisper carrying the strength to slake your worries.

You share his bed, his touch a regular presence on your skin. At times, his fingers feel cold as they dance up and down your spine, coaxing out pleas for him to make you feel good. At other times, he envelopes you in a comforting embrace, strands of his hair fanned out across the pillow, his murmurs recounting his past tales right next to your ear.

You soak up every word but you remain silent. The stories often center around his friend, the longing for his lost life... On such nights, he's notably softer. All he wishes are your reassurances, your tender touches, your peaceful kisses. But these are stories you dare not speak of in daylight. Whenever you do, the look in his eyes hardens slightly, his smile seems sunken and less warm.

And those are clear indications that you wouldn't be snuggling in the bed together that night. Instead, you'd find yourself at his feet, the rough texture of his callouses forcing you to raise your gaze, to look at him.

Yes, indeed, you're different from the others... Yes, he cares for you... Yes, he promises to protect you.... However, he did not reach his position by being nice, at times he must be cruel... This is why your hands rest on his thighs, with fingernails pressing into his flesh, saliva slathering your lips and untidily dribbling down your chin. He takes what he wants but when you're like this, particularly struggling to take what he gives...He can't help but just be a tad bit meaner.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x black reader #geto angst #geto fluff #geto headcanons #getou suguru x reader #geto imagines #jjk angst #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk geto

148 notes · View notes

scent73 · 4 months

Text

REAL FAGGOT FOR IRL USE AND ABUSE

I am a depraved and disgusting faggot. I exist to serve men—don’t care about your race, age, weight, appearance, endowment, or status. I seek use and abuse IRL.

I have few limits: No children, no animals, no drugs, no blood. and no scars. I am not looking for a master, but will gladly serve them and ALL other men.

Serious men seeking to use and abuse a faggot IRL should message me.

Why am I depraved and disgusting? Because there is VERY LITTLE I WON’T DO.

I am a cumdump and accept ALL raw loads in ANY hole. My cunt accepts cum, piss, and spit. Used condoms and frozen cum make fine lube, but fresh cum is the best.

My throat was made to be fucked too. Rough, merciless throat pounding is what my mouth is here for. Stuff it with your cock, your fingers, your feet.

Or shove your dirty, sweaty, stinking socks, jocks, and underwear down it to gag me. Make me lick your dirty sneakers and feet clean.

My mouth is a urinal and toilet. It is a sewer for your piss, spit, and shit. Piss down my throat.

Take a shit in my mouth. Smother my face in your dirty ass and make me lick it clean. Have me kneel as you take a shit on the toilet—sucking your cock as your stink fills the bowl—and then use my tongue as your toilet paper.

Fart in my mouth as I eat your hole.

Force me to clean the bathroom floor and your toilet with my tongue. Drag me to a public restroom—nastier the better and reeking of piss and shit—and laugh at my humiliation as I lick clean the toilets, and spit on me as I drink the stale piss from the urinals.

Force me to drink sock tea—soaking your nastiest socks in your piss, steeping them until every last particle of dirt, sweat, cum is mingled with your piss—and then watch as I drink every last drop.

Lock my useless fag dick in chastity. Screw in a urethral plug or catheter. Kick, slap or punch my balls and trample on my nuts. Crush my locked nub with boot. Torture my cock, balls and ass. Delight in my pain and agony, and feel disgust at how I beg you for more.

Restrain me as you slide a urethral sound down my piss slit and attach electrodes to my balls so you can send surges of electricity through my body.

Slap me and punch me in the gut. Whip me like the worthless faggot I am.

Use me as your slave, as an object. Make me clean your home, do your laundry, serve you meals and beverages, wait on you hand and foot. Enjoy yourself as I massage your body. Use me as a footstool.

Make me eat and drink of the floor. Whore me out to your friends and strangers. Humiliate and ridicule me.

I have few limits. No children, no animals, no drugs, no blood. and no scars. I am not looking for a master, but will gladly serve them. I am a slut and a faggot. I exist to serve all men.

Serious inquiries should message me.

118 notes · View notes

sourpatch-boy · 3 months

Text

Some HCs

TW: mentions of alcohol, smoking, death, suicidal thoughts

König doesn't think he's a good guy, doesn't think too highly of himself, all despite his rank. He doesn't like when people look up to him on account of what he does and tries to advise those who do look up to him (not literally) to be better and do better.

Graves hates himself for listening to Shepherd, hates that he can't forgive himself. He hurt people who trusted him and he was raised better than that.

Price does everything he can to keep from blowing up. He holds a lot of anger in him from every time he was shot, stabbed, tortured, etc. He holds a lot of resentment at those who have made him question who he trusts and every day is an internal battle for him, so he smoked and drinks to cope.

Ghost overthinks. A lot. He can't help it. Having gone through some traumatic shit will do that to a person, on top of having ADHD. He keeps himself occupied as much as possible, but if he has nothing to do. he tends to disassociate and people who don't know him think he's zoned out and has a staring problem. Very few people can ground him when he's like that and he does feel guilt for the people who have tried and who he's stabbed or punched for trying to pull him out of that headspace.

Alex gets phantom pains and itches so bad in his leg where the rest of it should be that sometimes he scratches his thigh and hip raw until he's in tears. There have been a few occasions where he's contemplated using a knife to dig deep in, times where he's thought about putting a bullet in his brain just so it'll all stop, but he remembers that Farah would not be okay if he did that. He does his best to ground himself when he gets too uncomfortable and in his head, but sometimes it's all too overwhelming for him and he just breaks down.

Alejandro has nightmares about when Graves betrayed them, nightmares about rescuing Rodolfo from the fire and how bad things could have been if it hadn't been for 141. He lashes out sometimes, haunted by the loss of his friends, the other vaqueros. He begs for forgiveness even though he didn't kill them, he wasn't the one to pull the trigger. More often than not, he sits with Rodolfo and does his best not to drink too much because when he does, he babbles his apologies in Spanish to the other man, begging him to help him forget about what happened, telling him he wants to run away from it all.

Soap contemplates quitting. He's young, he's got many many years ahead of himself is what he tells himself. He doesn't want his sisters, his ma, to have to mourn when he dies however that may be, doesn't want for Price and Ghost to have to be bearers of bad news for them. He's seen his ma break down quite a few times, the image burned in his mind. He knows if something was to happen to him, her baby boy, she probably wouldn't live too much longer. He hates to think about it, but he should bury her, she shouldn't have to bury him.

#könig #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #farah karim #alex keller

62 notes · View notes

sleepiexx · 1 year

Text

The Love of my Life and my Worst Enemy

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Link to Pt.2

Note: Alternatively titled: Cell Mates? More Like Soul Mates. Much appreciation to @log-1n for the alternative title.

Summary: Valeria is the only person who believes that (Y/N) is innocent when she finds herself landed in a prison cell.

Warnings: mentions of torture by a partner (not Valeria), threats, reader has a toxic af ex gf, reader doesn’t speak/understand Spanish

Word count: 1401

“Let me out!” She screamed until her throat was ripped so raw that she could taste blood. “Let me the fuck out of here, I didn’t do shit!” And yet no one listened as she pushed past the pain in her throat and continued yelling.

She tried not to cry. Prison was not the place for crying she had reasoned. She tried to be like her father, exchange her sadness for anger and, in part, it worked but at her very core she was nearly gutted by sorrow and pain.

How could Katya do this to her? In the weeks that had passed the steaming pile of utter shit that Katya had wrought on her just piled up all coming to a head with her landing in a prison cell in Mexico. She didn’t speak Spanish so she had no clue what was happening but she knew that they were speaking to her as if she were Katya.

“Your screaming won’t do anything.” A smooth voice echoed from the corner of the room. (Y/N) jumped in fear, despite the bunk bed in the corner of the room, she hadn’t thought there was anyone but her in the cell. She licked her lips and furrowed her brows.

“You- you speak English?” She asked, treading carefully towards the bunk.

The figure in the corner moved from the dark at the back of the bunk to sitting on the edge of the bed, making themselves visible. It was a woman. She had dark hair cut above her shoulders and dark eyes that (Y/N) swore could see right through her soul. Tattoos lined her toned arms, completely on display with the tank top she wore, catching (Y/N)‘s wandering eyes.

Despite her slight attraction, (Y/N) stopped in her tracks, as if she was calling to a wild animal and was unsure whether or not it would attack.

“I do, and I would like some peace and fucking quiet in my prison cell.” A slight bit of bitterness twinged the woman’s tone.

(Y/N) curled in on herself, noticing how the woman had said “my” instead of “our”; she had no control in this situation and she knew that.

After two weeks of unrelenting torture, she figured Katya took pity on her and was letting her go. But it seemed she’d just been moved out of one lion’s den into another.

(Y/N) sat down in the corner opposite of the other woman, thighs tucked tightly to her chest, head buried into her knees. Without yelling she had nothing to distract herself from the storm brewing in her head.

How could Katya do this to her?

A loud sigh caught her attention, making her shoot her head up. The woman was staring at her, manspreading with her elbows resting on either leg, clasped hands in the middle.

“Alright, you’ve caught my attention, I can practically hear the little anxious thoughts rattling around in your head. Why are you here?” The woman questioned, intense eyes striking fear in the girl on the floor.

“Because I was arrested.” (Y/N) frowned, the sentence leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

“Well no shit, I meant what got you arrested. You don’t exactly look like the criminal type.” Piercing eyes scanned (Y/N)’s body.

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up at her words, the thought that maybe someone believed she was innocent.

“I- I’m not. My girlfriend… ex girlfriend, she uh.. well it’s a long story, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”

The woman perked up and leaned in, “Well now you’ve got me intrigued. Tell me, did she convince you to do something bad?”

(Y/N) scoffed at the idea.

“No, god no.”

“Then how did you get here?”

Now there wasn’t exactly a manual on getting arrested, at least not one that (Y/N) had read, but she had seen enough tv to figure you shouldn’t ask why someone is in jail. Why this woman was interested, she had no clue.

Someone else might be angry when getting asked this but (Y/N) couldn’t muster up any rage, squeaking out a fast “Why should I tell you? I don’t even know you.”

“Me llamo Valeria. Now you know me, tell me your story, stranger.”

(Y/N) sighed, she couldn’t argue with that logic. She wondered how much she should tell.

“Well uhm… I’m (Y/N). I work as a tech analyst for the military. That’s where I met Katya.” She took a deep inhale “I fell for her pretty quickly. I hadn’t known what she was.”

Valeria almost insisted she continue the story with her eyes and body language.

(Y/N) cleared her throat, “A spy. She was a spy. And not for our side. I didn’t realize that until she hit me over the head and I woke up tied to a chair.” She didn’t want to even mention her time in that awful place, the aching of her body already a constant reminder, so she just skipped over it, “and I guess when she got bored of me she just dumped me here. I don’t know what she told them but the people here keep calling me Katya and I am not Katya. Hell, I don’t even know why she would be wanted in fucking Mexico, she’s Russian.”

Valeria noticed the hole in her story but the girl before her was insanely easy to read. She could tell by the fidgeting and fleeting looks that whatever had happened was bad, especially if it was done to her by someone she loved.

One thing that had set off alarms in her head was the name. She raked her mind as to where she’d heard of a Katya. All of the sudden, it hit her.

She got up from the bed and stood over (Y/N).

“Katya Antonov?”

(Y/N) looked up slowly and nodded.

“She’s not just Russian, she’s mafia. Been giving the cartels and Mexican Special Forces the turn around for nearly a decade.“

“Oh.” (Y/N) muttered, unsure how to respond.

“You said you’re military?” Valeria asked.

(Y/N) shivered; was that a bad thing? She’d heard how prisoners hate cops but surely military is different, besides, it’s not like she was actually military, she just worked with them. Yet she figured there was no point in denying it now.

“Kind of, I work with them but I’m a technical analyst.”

“Where has your team been? How long have you been gone? Have they not come for you?”

Of course they didn’t, (Y/N) spent her weeks of torture praying to whatever higher power there may be that they would come for her and yet nothing. She shook her head.

Valeria angrily muttered in Spanish about how disgraceful they were, how disgusting it was to just leave a team mate like that. When she managed to calm herself to a level head, she turned her attention back to the girl cowering on the floor. She held her hand out to her, swiftly pulling her to her feet when she grabbed it.

“Let’s help each other, yeah?” Valeria leaned in right next to (Y/N)’s ear so she could lower her voice. “I’ve got a plan to get out of here, your skills could be very useful. I assume you are good at hacking?”

(Y/N) nodded bashfully.

“Very good, are we on the same page now?”

“I- I don’t know…”

“You could sit in here waiting on someone else to save you, or you could be a smart girl and let me save you, all you have to do is join me.”

The air was thick, (Y/N) didn’t know what to do.

“Of course, there is a third option. You could try to cross me, try to snitch to the guards in hopes they’ll let you out on good behavior but you mark my words (Y/N), you do that and you are dead.” She emphasized her words by trailing her pointer finger along (Y/N)’s throat. “But you don’t want that do you? You’re gonna join me, aren’t you.”

(Y/N) was caught in a trance by Valeria’s allure. The threat did nothing to deter her, fear coursed through her and yet so did attraction. Her eyes flitted between Valeria’s lips and eyes, and she nodded.

“Good girl.”

God, (Y/N) was fucked.

Note: I’m already working on a part 2 whether y’all like it or not.

#valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza #valeria x fem!reader #call of duty valeria #call of duty fanfic

228 notes · View notes

webbo0 · 10 days

Text

Prodigal Doll

Goose Boys Mafia AU

AO3 Link

Length: 753 words (short and not sweet)

Summary: Nobody ever expected Ken to join the family business, but when he's caught in the middle of a war he knows nothing about, the other boys have to pick up the pieces.

Content/Warning: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/barely comfort

Authors Note: I don't even remember how this started lol

I think I saw those Tag Heuer photoshoot pics that look like Ken but as Six?

Anyways I have a LOT of lore ideas and a whole arc for Ken in this, but god only knows if I can actually write it ugh

Also I'm not sorry lmao

“He’s… changed”

“ Don’t say that”

“Look at him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Richard”

Gathered, the men stare at Ken.

Whenever he used to be scared, he was loud (it was a liability sometimes, all the shrieking and sobbing). But now, he’s silent. Tear stains cut clean lines through the filth and gore on his cheeks, but none fall from his eyes. Not anymore.

He’s… vacant. Not like Driver, his stare always intense, or like Julian, always lost in thought. No. He’s just. Empty.

Six and Lars are sanitizing and bandaging his wounds. Slashes on his chest, burns on his limbs, bruises scattered on every inch of available skin like a fucking Jackson Pollock, and blood from god knows who and god knows where drenching his scarily pale skin and platinum blonde hair. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all, even when Six gently murmurs that he needs to reset his shoulder. The bone grinding into place would have even the toughest of men gritting their teeth in pain, but Ken just sits there. Disconnected from the world. Lars is delicately cleaning the blood off of him, swallowing tears of his own while dabbing a warm cloth over his exposed skin.

Ken wears nothing but a ragged pair of boxers stained with fluids nobody wants to think too hard about (just like they found him). He hasn’t said a word since they found him, but Lars finally gets a reaction out of him. He’s shakingly whispering to Ken that they need to remove his old shorts to wash him off and get him into something clean, but when his hand goes towards the waistband an explosion of movement happens. Ken bolts away from the men, scrambling to the closest wall and pressing his back to it. His voice is raw and venomous as he roars at the surrounding men.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Everyone in the room freezes because Ken never curses. All eyes are on him, the torn and bloodied nails on his hands scratching at the brick wall, the bloody trail of footprints he makes, his heaving chest, and his frantic, darting, unseeing eyes. Blood drips down his inner thigh.

“I think I’m gonna be sick”

“He needs a professional, guys, we can only do so much”

“Oh yeah, get the cops involved that’s smart”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck-”

“Everybody out.”

The room silences once again, save for some muffled sobs and Ken's rapid breath. All eyes now turn to the man who spoke, the man in charge . His white jacket is splattered with blood, and a fire rages behind his cold, blue gaze.

“... are you sure we should leave him like this?”

“Six stays, the rest of you leave. He’s in no state for visitors. Every man is allowed some dignity.”

The room empties without protest, save for Ken, Six, Driver, and Julian. Julian didn’t need to ask to stay (not that he would have). Wherever Driver goes, he goes.

“Why am I staying?”

“You have the most combat-medic training. And. You can… restrain him if you need to.”

The rage in Driver’s eyes slips, showing for a brief moment deep, soul-wrenching anguish before he clenches his gloved fists and returns to his default neutral, intense stare.

“I expect a complete injury report once he’s patched up. Ask Julian if you need any extra supplies. I have to go deal with the rest of this shit storm.”

He turns to leave, but pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And Six?”

Six stands at attention, ready to receive orders.

“...be gentle.”

Six nods once in affirmation and Driver lets his head hang down, taking a deep breath before straightening his spine and closing the door quietly behind him. The room was now solely occupied by the three men left there.

Julian, standing and waiting by the door. Both ready to retrieve any necessary items and guarding against any poor fool that might try and interrupt them.

Six, shoulders sagged and ruffling through a medkit.

And Ken, who had slid to the floor, legs finally giving out, but the wild look in his eye still shining.

And it wasn’t until Six slowly approaches (the same way he did when he freed a wild deer from a beartrap as a kid), sinking to his knees, gently carding his hands through his blood-matted platinum hair and softly reassuring him that you’re safe now, you’re safe, we got you back that Ken starts trembling, a tear finally slipping from his eye.

23 notes · View notes

w3ndytheraccoon · 4 months

Text

If I see one more post about why C!Dream is not a villain, I will rage-

C!Dream is a complex character with an understandable motive, and his spiralings was very realistic and I can one hundred percent see why. He is a very morally gray, albeit leaning more toward black than white, character. It wouldn’t be fair if I just label him as THE villain, because perspectives exist, and in some member’s perspective, like Purpled for example, he’s definitely not as evil as he is in, say, Tubbo’s perspective.

But that doesn’t change the fact Dream was a horrible person.

Just because he had a understandable motive, that doesn’t mean the shit that happened in Exile is justified. That doesn’t mean Doomsday is justified. That doesn’t mean all the manipulation and all the lying are justified. That doesn’t mean what he and Punz did to Vikkstar and Lazarbeam is justified. That doesn’t mean what happened in prison was justified.

Especially Exile and Vikkstar & Lazarbeam ! Exile is for isolating Tommy so he can’t cause trouble, not for abusing and gaslighting him to near the point of fucking suicide ! And what happened to Vikkstar & Lazarbeam was completely unnecessary ! Dream and Punz did NOT need to kill them over and over and over just to test the Revival Book, that is cruel and several violations of human’s rights.

Conclusion : C!Dream fucking sucks and I wish Punz didn’t brought him back. I’m an enthusiast, not apologist. His motive makes him explainable, not justifiable or excusable, and if I ever somehow manage to rip the fabric of reality and teleport to the DSMP universe, the first thing I will do is find Dream to deck him.

… But he’s still a complex character and one of my favourites.

Anyway, if I miss a point or something, do remind me. I’ll probably edit this and add more character analysis in the morning, when my thoughts are actually coherent and I’m not writing something from pure spite and anger.

Morning edit :

He also hurt Geogre and Sapnap. Sure, he never physically hurt them as far as we’re aware, but do you know how painful it is to watch your friend spirals and became the total opposite of how they were ? How helpless it feels when you realised your friend is too far gone and you can’t help them ? How guilty it is when you think of all the times you could reach out and stop them from turning out like this but you didn’t ? How badly that would take a toll on your mental health ?

But anyway, just because C!Dream is a horrible person, that doesn’t mean what happened in prison is okay. The whole obsidian cell with lava door and raw potato ? Yeah, that’s fine, I can get behind that, since it was his idea for prison to be like that. It’s just karma. What I meant is the torture part. Does he deserve it ? Depends who you ask. I personally think it was justified and deserved, but that still doesn’t make it okay.

#dsmp #dsmp dream #dream #dream smp #cdream #c!dream #c!dream critical #c!dream slander #i fucking hate him #But I also love him #I’m making this a series of blog where I diss DSMP character because they’re humans and flawed and make mistakes #But I’ll be dam if I let “ It’s a mistake “ stop me from calling them out for the amount of shitty and unexcusable things they did #Next on the chopping block is C!Tommy #Once I watch all the lore streams to remind myself that is #Him being my favourite and me being a C!Tommy apologist isn’t gonna save his ass from this #Call-out with Raccoon #Dsmp call-out with Raccoon

36 notes · View notes

my-jokes-are-my-armour · 6 months

Text

He was not ready, neither was I.

I initially planned to make a very long post explaining why I feel so much during the reunion scene in Brokilon between Jaskier and Geralt, but in the words of the bard himself: plans have changed...

So I won't detail the 5 emotional shocks he goes through that leads to his almost breakdown when he see Geralt so hurt. I will take just the third and the fifth because there are linked and they have roots in the first two seasons.

If we put the feelings aside, Jaskier is our miroir inside the movie for a part of how we perceive Geralt. This is not "through him" but more "like him".

We are linked by what we know and what we believe.

Geralt, to many aspects, is the ultimate warrior and painted like a force of nature, from the very first frames. We witness him defeat strong monsters, fight many ennemis at the same time, even survive nearly fatal wounds (strigga).

During his many years on the road with him, Jaskier has witnessed too those skills and has gathered informations about the fights he didn't see (S1 : knows every stories behind his scars, takes notes from the witnesses).

Like us he has built a strong belief that Geralt is unbeatable when it comes to fight. He trusts him to come out victorious. And this is shown several times through the series.

Mostly S1 with some little reminders in S2 and S3 :

From their first adventure, he believes in his mutant skills, he doesn't know shit about, to get them out of the tricky situation.

But then he overlooks at his victories :

S1 : A Selkiemore has swallow him, naaaahh he is fine and has the confirmation bias when Geralt reappears very much alive covered in the monster's guts. A dragon hunt, sure ! Several agressive dwarves ? It's OK, Geralt can take them in his sleep.

S3 : Geralt gambles with his life to obtain informations ? He doesn't worry for a second and even laughs at how easy it is.

S2 : Even when he is tortured, this is what he says about him : Geralt has no weaknesses.

Sure he has a protective side to him too and he fears sometimes for the witcher. Also he has probably seen him wounded before. But since, in their more than 25 years shared history, Geralt has never been defeated, he is the heros he cannot imagine to fall. Very much like us.

But no-one is unbreakable, even the strongest hero... Much like in the books, this is what we learn from the Vilgefortz fight.

So here comes the third shock for Jaskier. Shock that makes him having an emotional roller-coaster but doesn't shake his inner believes.

Quitting Radovid who told him Ciri is probably dead, he learns from Yennefer that there is hope for her but that Geralt has been sent by Triss in Brokilon to heal and that he may die from his injuries.

But there is what he knows and believes that comes in between that sinister fact. And this is confirmed in the reunion scene later. Jaskier knows that Triss has already healed a deadly wounded Geralt so why not this time, right ?

And there comes the fifth shock : reality.

As spectators, we know before him how bad it is and in which gloomy mindset the witcher is (he wants to die, just as a sweet reminder...). So when Jaskier catches up everything, trying to hold back the cascading emotions, failing multiple time, but still trying to be strong for his friend, it hurts. (Or at least I do, I don't know about you).

That very first moment, especially, when he cannot hold his lute, while trying to keep control, is brutal to me, because this is when emotional pain is so strong that it becomes physical pain.

And there is nothing that prepares him to confront a still deadly wounded Geralt when he entered the hut. There is nothing to undo his inner preconceptions beforehand. To the best, Milva just says : he is not well. Which Jaskier seems to take like his friend probably depressed to be stuck here healing. So he is just bracing himself to deliver a bad news under normal circumstances, not having to do this dealing with raw emotions he is barely able to keep in.

I remember crying on this scene, because I was in sync with Jaskier's emotions. I was fearing his reaction and it was harder than what I anticipated, pretty much like him facing his friend.

#jaskier #geralt #yennefer #i blame joey's acting on this #am i analysing too much ?#let's try posting things

45 notes · View notes

nicholasnelsons · 3 months

Text

the tortured poets department is such a like. holy shit what the fuck jesus christ kinda album name. because in the end we’re all just really tortured souls trying to make it through sunrise until sunset. we’re all wannabe artists who feel like we can add something great to the world, making beauty out of our pain and letting go of any hurt stuck inside. we’re all just people walking around this department in a white gown while holding dagger as we try to find the meaning of it all. and there’s something elegantly beautiful about the raw pain and naked beauty of trying to figure out how the fuck to make it when the tortured poet lives in us. i’m sick

#idk how im even saying words rn #taylor swift #the tortured poets department

33 notes · View notes

fixfoxnox · 9 months

Text

I FINALLY GOT MY GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS ON SOAP'S JOURNAL!!!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy, guys there is so much in this bad boy that NO ONE has mentioned!! The SoapRoach content in here is off the walls!! Why is all I ever see the like 2 moments Soap mentioned Ghost??? There so much Roach and Price and Gaz content here, so here are some random bits from Soap's journal:

MW:

Embarrassed that Price helped him up and caught him from the plane during Crew Expendable mission

Mentions needing to buy Price "a bottle" as a gift afterward

Upset he missed the first shot on the helicopter during Hunted, says it was "inexcusable, especially considering SAM'S shoot themselves"

Put into the infirmary by a dog bite, too embarrassed to tell Gaz or Price (only Nikolai knows)

Call's Price's mustache both a "dick-tickler" and "Price's precious whiskers"

Blames himself for Gaz, Griggs, and Price's deaths (he believes Price died on the high way) and tries to come up with other ways they could have moved through that would have let the men live

Get's stuck/angry over the image of Zhakaev's blood mixing with Gaz's on the bridge

Nik brought women to see him while he was recovering in Russia

Begins mentioning his struggles with pain killers like morphine and alcohol

He becomes almost obsessive with cleaning and caring for Price's pistol as a way to distract himself from becoming addicted

Tries horse racing and betting to cope, but eventually turns to smoking

MW2:

Soap is the one who sought out the formation of TF141, Shepherd merely backed the idea

Describes Roach as "Raw, skilled, loyal to a fault" (implied he and Ghost are absolutes for the team)

On the other end, Ghost gets a simple "what the hell kind of name is Ghost" and no other information akdndjdhjdhd

Roach has the highest score on the rifle test, a whole 18 points over Ghost

Ghost beats Roach on PFT, but only by 3 points

"Have been looking forward to breaking Roach in" during Kazakhstan

"Feel even more comfortable with him than Price must have with me" omg

Roach has a journal that Soap spots him writing in, he wonders what he's writing

Adds to the end wondering if Roach is "wondering what villa claras taste like" which is clearly a reference to Soap's own admiration of Price and wondering if Roach feels the same as that, but boy oh boy Soap was that a gay way to put it ajdjfjdbhd

Makarov weighs 184 pounds and is 5'11 I'm wheezing what a little wet rat of a man I love him

Mentions the death of Meat, so far one of the only deaths he hasn't blamed himself for

Mentions needing to trust Roach and his instinct more, essentially tells himself to cool it with the constant reminders and stuff

Plans to put Roach on circuits and crossfit because he wasn't fast enough lmao

Says he would have crashed the plane before leaving Roach on the rooftops in Brazil 🥺

Blames himself for Roach almost not making the jump to the plane

Says that Ghost "knows something about interrogation"

Mentions that the team didn't bat an eye to him torturing Rojas for information, Soap draws a comparison between himself torturing Rojas to Price torturing Al Asad.

He specifically has Roach handle the C4 after seeing how well he did with it during Kazakhstan

"Ghost hacked at a snails pace" LMAO REAL

"Funny thing watching Roach get taken down by Price" listen sir, give your boyfriend a break please

Very excited and cathartic for him to give Price his pistol back

Says that Price returning and taking over command was the "best demotion imaginable" 🥺

Was just happy following Price and Roach because he "got to listen to the two of them working together like we once did"

Says it was nice to see Price taking Roach under his wing

"For all that coaching, Roach did a shit job with the bodies" listen here sir...thats not a mechanic in the game give the boy a break akdndjjdhd

Knew that Price was up to some bullshit as soon as his comms went off

Kill shepherd: "For Ghost. Roach" 😭 throwing myself from a cliff

"Loyalty doesn't operate on a sliding scale. It's a safety. On or off."

MW3:

Nikolai and Yuri go way back, potentially from Nik's time as an ultranationalist?

Nik rescuing Soap again and Soap saying he owes him a pallet of Imperia for it akdjjdjd

"Knife would healing too slowly for tastes" baby....

Nikolai providing him with antibiotics and pain medication 😬 Soap describes them as "providing inspiration" which does not sound good

Mentions how the ultranationalists have become more violent then they were under Zhakaev

Soap lost friends during the terrorist attack in London

Final thoughts:

Omg my husband

He struggles a lot a lot with guilt from very early on

Put a shit ton of pressure on himself and blames himself for anything that goes wrong. Especially blames himself for the deaths of other characters.

Seems to have had a struggle/struggles with coping with that guilt. It appears to have manifested a bit in struggles with pain killers and alcohol that he manages through almost compulsively taking care of Price's pistol.

Attempts to cope through horse racing (and gambling?) But what ends up working is smoking.

Definitely had a lot of care for his team, particularly Roach seemed to get a lot of his attention.

Much closer to Nikolai then I think people realize. Nik saves his life numerous times and the two work together even with Price not around. Definitely helps to fill in some gaps on why Nik sticks around at the end of mw2

Looks up to Price so very much. Like stars in his eyes this man can do no wrong type of thing.

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #taskforce 141 #soap's journal #soap cod #cod mw2

132 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 1 year

Note

Hey! i hope youre having a great day🌷🌷

Could you pretty please do some angst?? I'm craving for something that'll make me hold my breath and make me so nervous that I'll forget my name. Just pure and raw angst. Maybe something involving betrayal and torture?? That's up to you!!

luv u <3, your writings just *chef kiss*

(sorry for any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language😅)

“I believe that of this moment, you’re the only person that could possibly understand me,” the hero whispered, quite too aware of all their weaknesses right now. It was dark in the villain’s lair and the whole ambience started with spooky and ended with mysterious. The hero knew what they asked for was impossible to impose on a human.

That’s why they had turned to the villain.

For half a year they had waited to bring this up. It had simmered in their mind and consumed their sleep. They felt sick for coming to the villain with this. They felt sick just thinking about this.

Their enemy toyed with a pointy and slim knife, skilled fingers doing lazy tricks carelessly. The hero knew exactly how painful those blades were.

“Okay,” they said, leaning forward, “let me get this straight. You want me to kill your boss? The superhero? The big shot? The person who raised you?”

The hero swallowed, feeling the dreadful pain punching in their stomach.

“Yes.”

“Because they may have taken international prisoners illegally and tortured them?” The villain didn’t sound convinced. They didn’t even sound interested which was, quite frankly, a problem. The hero had hoped to bait them with the promise of revenge and power. “Is there any proof of that?”

“I’ve seen them, yes. The prisoners, I mean.”

“Ever thought of talking it out?” The villain chuckled at their own question, quite aware that the hero was ranked too low to even exchange glances with the superhero.

It was true that the superhero had raised the hero but that didn’t mean that they had any advantages within the agency. Not to mention the public argument a few years ago. Ever since, the hero had found themselves at daggers drawn with their mentor.

They didn’t talk.

“Look, I don’t wanna get into this family business.”

“They’re not my family anymore.”

“Do you think I’m dumb? This is a trap,” the villain said. Their eyes were as cold as ice, studying every move the hero made, ready for a kill. Ready for anything. “You want me to get close to them so they can kill me.”

The hero swallowed the doubts, pushed back down the tears. If this didn’t work, then a lot of people would get killed. Chaos would rule.

“Listen, I don’t care how you kill them. Hire someone else or take care of them as a sharpshooter — it doesn’t matter,” they said. “We need them dead. For the sake of everyone living in this country. They’ve done questionable things in the past and I was dumb enough to believe that they would change. Actions speak louder than words. They pretend to be a hero but they’re anything but. While I was waiting, everything turned to shit. I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of them. A hero is supposed to help.”

They took in a long breath and sipped on the scotch the villain had brought them. The back of their throat hurt.

“I know how crude this is. And I know it is a lot to ask for. But at the end of the day, I’m afraid we don’t have a chance. Hell, I cried my eyes out when I realised this was the only solution. They’re too dangerous to be captured and sedatives don’t work on them. We have no choice. They will come for you, too.”

At that, the villain raised their eyebrows. They blinked.

“Oh, really?”

“Haven’t you noticed how crimes are dropping? That villains are disappearing?” The statistic was scary. Even for a hero. People with superpowers were vanishing everywhere. “They’ve become a rotting criminal. No offence.”

The villain hummed, a smirk on their face. They seemed much too amused for a topic that was causing the hero’s innards to turn.

“You’re the only one who can defeat them,” the hero said when the villain didn’t speak further. The tears were swelling up again. It hadn’t always been bad. The superhero hadn’t always been bad.

“You really think that?” the villain asked. They leaned forward in their chair, their hands still fidgeting with the weapon. “Do you think I’m scary, little hero?”

The hero was too short on vocable creativity to describe the sound of their voice. The closest word was probably flirty.

“A bit, yes.”

“Hmm.” The villain seemed to be satisfied with that answer. Swiftly, they stood up and reached for the hero’s cheek, wiping away a single tear with their thumb. “That’s quite a mess you’re in, huh?”

The hero leaned against the villain’s hand, savouring the touch.

“Yeah,” they rasped. The villain came even closer, their nose almost touching the hero’s cheek.

“You’re so pretty…” they said, completely entranced. “I’ll help you but after that, I want you to be mine.”

The hero didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

The superhero died two weeks later. The press said it was a quick and painless death but there was no denying that that didn’t really calm the public. The funeral was short and simple with little room for nosy reporters.

No one knew the killer and being aware of someone who was capable of destroying the strongest superhero on earth was a little more than upsetting. Somehow, the agency managed to keep everything under control, staying reassuring and hopeful in a time of need.

What the villain didn’t know at the time of the killing was that their action made the hero the head of the agency.

“Enjoying your promotion?” they asked the hero sourly the night after everything got released to the public. The hero took in a deep breath.

“I don’t have time for you right now, I’m sorry.” They searched through endless documents, signing them, rearranging them. It was robotic how they went through each paper.

“I’m not here for that,” the villain said. If it was possible, they looked even scarier than usual. “You fucking used me.”

“I didn’t know they had changed the election rules,” the hero responded. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted this responsibility and all the work—”

Tears formed in the hero’s eyes again.

“God, why did they make me the leader?” The hero swallowed a sob. “It doesn’t make sense…I didn’t want this—”

“You used me,” the villain said again, their expression getting darker. All they could see was the betrayal and the backstabbing. They’d been so clever, so sure of this. They’d hoped the hero would join them but no, they’d become a more powerful hero. The most powerful.

“I didn’t use you,” the hero said. Tears ran down their cheeks, desperate for some security. “Please.”

They walked around the table, reaching out and grasping the villain’s clothes, holding onto them as if they were their rock in an unforgiving sea. Sobbing into their shoulder, they searched for every possible contact.

“I don’t want this,” they whispered, their voice only cut off by broken gasps and the rising guilt in their throat. “Please. I don’t want this. This can’t be happening. It’s too much. Please, I need you.”

The hero almost slipped but the villain caught them clumsily, holding them to their chest in a comforting manner.

“Shh,” they said, rubbing the hero’s back. “It’s a lot, I know.”

And suddenly, the murderous thoughts got replaced by a memory. The villain was reminded of the time when they’d lost their parents.

“Please help me,” the hero said, rubbing their face into the villain’s suit. “I can bring you into the agency, I can give you power, just please help me.”

The villain contemplated. The hero was so desperate and alone…Guilt was eating them up and everything inside the villain tossed and turned. Every natural instinct rebelled and fought but it didn’tmatter. The Villain had made their decision already.

Compassion overwhelmed them. They’d never felt something like this before. Something — the hero made them weak. Seeing them cry, seeing them desperate and upset…there was no use fighting this. Feelings were always dangerous but now with the superhero out of the way, things could be easier.

All the villain had ever wanted was to protect their family. That had spiralled into this great mess that their life was. And maybe, the hero could fix that. Maybe the hero could help them and give them a fresh start.

They kissed the top of the hero’s head.

“I’ll join you,” they said, smiling warmly.

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes, darling. Besides, being a hero is probably not that bad.”

It was worse.

The villain cried out when the hero stabbed their thigh. It was sharp and painful and probably had cut deep enough into their flesh to touch bone.

The tears were quick to follow; a waterfall of salt as suffering surrounded the villain. It was so bad, they were ready to give up here on the spot. A week ago the hero had started to prepare for war. Allies had turned into enemies which had led to several attacks across the whole country.

City after city had turned into ashes and the hero had been willing to sacrifice every life for their great plan. We need to help. Our neighbours need us.

The words echoed in the villain’s mind, making them cry even more. You and I. We were born to be leaders.

No matter how much the villain had begged them rethink their plan, to come back to bed and relax, to take the day off with them, no matter how hard they’d tried, the hero hadn’t given up.

“Darling, it doesn’t have to be like this,” the hero said gently, tilting their head. They seemed to be unbothered by the flames around them. By the screams and the burning buildings. “Stop resisting me, my love.”

The villain tried to stand up but their ankle had been shattered throughout the fight.

“You knew it, didn’t you?” they wheezed. Tasting blood, they spat on the ground. “You knew that if the superhero died, you would get the position.”

“I did,” the hero confessed. They looked at the scene around them and had the audacity to look hopeful, proud even. “But I didn’t ask you to kill them because of that. Don’t you see? It’s our responsibility to help people. They were torturing people.”

“And what are you doing? Look around you,” the villain screamed. “You’re mad if you think this will bring peace.”

The pain was overwhelming. The villain didn’t know how much blood they had lost but judging by the ground, it was a lot.

“Have you seen the statistics?” the hero asked. “The poverty and the amount of crime in other countries— have you seen the misery?”

“Do you see the misery?!” the villain shouted again. “Fucking look around you.”

“I’ve made the calculations. Sacrificing our country is worth it when we can save our neighbouring countries. You and I. We have brought wealth and happiness to everyone here. We can do it again,” they lowered their weapon, offering a hand and the villain just stared. Stared at the hand. Stared at the horrible decisions.

They should’ve seen it coming. They should’ve killed the hero when they’d had the chance.

And yet, the villain looked into the same eyes. The eyes of someone who had wanted to help prisoners, someone who had overcome themselves for the greater good. Someone who had thrown their morals away with good intentions.

Someone who had never found their morals ever again.

“You’re a monster,” the villain said. A sob escaped their mouth. “I thought I loved you. Fuck, I really thought if someone could help me change, it would be you.”

“We’re heroes,” the hero mumbled.

“Actions speak louder than words,” the villain reminded them. “You taught me that.”

With their last strength, they managed to get a grip on the hero and tackle them to the ground. The hero made a pathetic sound when their head smashed into the ground.

“Fuck,” the villain said, breathing heavily. It felt like there was blood in their lungs. “I really did. I really loved you.”

And before the hero managed a response, the villain took their knife and pushed it far enough into the hero’s chest to make the breaking of their ribs a sound. The hero tried to grab them, tried to hold them, push the knife away but they just ended up cutting their hands, losing even more blood.

By now, the villain was sobbing, the shock infiltrating their mind and the feeling of the hero’s crumbling life running through their fingers dawning on them. When the hero’s movements stilled and their breathing stopped, the villain intertwined their fingers.

For the last time, they kissed the top of the hero’s head. They knew they wouldn’t survive this either.

And they were glad they didn’t.

#this is very long sowwy #dunno if this is worthy of your ask 😭😭#arghhhh I need more timeee #pls ignore the mistakes I made—#writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #heroxvillain #hero x villain #request #an answer for an ask #angst #whump #kinda—

231 notes · View notes