#either that or get foolish to abuse his powers

[cerise-on-top]

i just stumbled across your blog by chance and ohh my god i am in love with it 😻 you write my babygirl war criminals so good <3 anyway i can't stop thinking about how the 141 + graves would be with a fem!reader who has a huge and blindingly obvious crush on them :P BUT ALSO!!! she gets really bratty and annoying because she wants their attention like all the time 😔 anyway yeah ur blog is giving me life i hope both sides of ur pillow are always cold 🙏

Hello! I'm glad to hear you enjoy my silly writings! I try my best to write them as well as I can, thank you :> I'm sorry to say this, but I only write for four characters at once, so I left Graves out this time. But you're more than welcome to send the same request in again a second time with Graves, I don't mind!

TF141 with a Reader who Has a Huge Crush on Them

Price: This guy would know fairly quickly. He’s had a crush here and there as well when he was younger, so he knows how foolish some people can act when they have one. You walking into a pole as he talked to you, your irises as wide as possible, was kind of a dead giveaway. He’d be worried about you, asking you if you’re doing alright, but won’t push you. Price believes that you have a crush on him because he’s an authority figure, although he is also aware that he’s fairly good looking as well. Though, he won’t force you out of your comfort zone and use it against you either. You having stars in your eyes as you listen to him talk to you is sort of cute, though. It does remind him of his youth. Might become a bit more touchy with you as a result, lightly punching your shoulder or putting a hand on it and squeezing it. Nothing big, since he wholeheartedly believes your crush on him will wane eventually. However, as much as he likes you, he wouldn’t really be happy with you needing his attention on you all the time. He’s a captain, he has a lot of work and needs to do organizational things as well when he can, so he can’t really spend too much time with you. When he can, he will, but you will need to tone it down a bit as well. If you keep being a little brat, however, then he will call you out on it and tell you in a gentle tone to calm down a bit. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not taken, so you really have nothing to worry about. If you’re being especially good for him, he might reward you with a hug. It’s a good reward because he’s a very good hugger, very comfortable and strong, and he doesn’t just give his hugs out to anyone. But you need to behave.

Gaz: Will also notice fairly quickly that you’re crushing on him. In his case, the fact you would always be in a good mood whenever you were alone with him was what gave it away. However, he, too, is a sweetheart about it and won’t push you. He’ll give you a few more smiles than usual, give you a few more touches and try to spend more time with you. Many people have had a crush on him, so he’s fairly used to it by now, but it’s still very flattering. You’re cute when you’re stammering around him, leaning into his touch when he puts his hand on your forehead, checking you if you have a fever since you said your face felt hot. The way your irises turn into hearts whenever you look at him doesn’t go unnoticed by him either, it’s always fun to see. However, he might sometimes hold your hand intentionally to fluster you a bit. If you’re particularly close, he might kiss your cheek as well when you give him a gift to show your gratitude. Overall, he’s having fun, but he won’t abuse the power he has over you either. Instead he’ll let it slowly form, let it take a natural shape. You always wanting his attention is also fairly cute to him. Not many people vie for his attention as much as you do, quite a few people tend to dismiss him, but it’s nice to be the center of attention anyway. Will invite you to spend some time with him if you’re being jealous, like taking a walk or cooking together. If you’re especially jealous he might offer to cuddle with you for a bit before he has to go back doing stuff a sergeant needs to do. He may not be the warmest person, but he puts all his heart into cuddling someone. He does want you to feel appreciated as well since he does like you as well. So yeah, feel free to knock on his room and ask him to spend time with you, he likely won’t say no.

Ghost: Another one many people have a crush on. He’s used to being the center of someone’s romantic attention, but he never really cared much for it, never was one to just jump into a relationship without really knowing the person well beforehand, so he never gave anyone a chance. Ghost also knows when you have a crush on him, especially since you’re always trying to spend as much time with him as possible, even if it’s just hanging out while he’s filing reports. Though, in all honesty, Ghost won’t treat you differently from before. He won’t be any more touchy than before, he won’t go out of his way to spend time with you. You’re still you, regardless of how endearing it is that you can’t hide your crush in the slightest. Although it could be argued that you bumping into this behemoth of a man and then falling back onto your butt is borderline careless. He’ll offer a hand to help you up, though. Unlike the Gaz and Price, he might bring you having a crush on him up in a conversation, asking you if it’s true. Regardless of your answer, he’ll go quiet for a bit before patting your back and going about his day again. It’s his way of saying “Thanks. Good luck.” A man of few words even when he’s not speaking. You always wanting his attention does get on his nerves a bit, though. He needs his alone time occasionally, so you sticking to him like a limpet is a bit annoying. Has no qualms about telling you off either, though. He’s a lieutenant, he knows what he wants and he can bluntly convey such. But that’s just his way of speaking, give him a few hours and you can spend some more time with him if he isn’t busy. You can do a puzzle with him, it calms his nerves and his mind gets to stay sharp too.

Soap: He’s also a very observant man, a very smart cookie, so he’ll have it figured out when you made him a pie with a handwritten note, little hearts instead of dots over the i’s. You’ve never done anything like this for anyone else, though, so he knows. Is a bit smug about it. Not too many people have had a crush on him since he’s friend material more so than anything else, but there was one person, maybe two. He’ll grin like a Cheshire cat when he knows you aren’t looking. Becomes far far more touchy than before. In fact, he’ll flirt with you as well. If you’re speechless then he’s won. Gives you side hugs, bear hugs, hugs from the back, you name it. Will also offer to let you nap on his big, broad, manly chest if you complain about being tired. He sort of wants to get you to confess to him. Yes, he has not had many sweethearts throughout his life since he was always busy with soccer and the military, but he thinks someone being this head over heels for him could do him some good. And he also wants to stroke his ego. And yeah, there is a chance he might develop feelings for you as well while he’s being this affectionate with you. He’s affectionate with many people, but he’ll turn it up a notch with you, he’s not immune. Doesn’t mind you being annoying for his attention either. He can be very annoying too when he wants attention, so there’s a chance you’ll annoy each other into spending time with each other. Even if there’s no need to. For some people, Soap can be a bit off putting with his curious nature and how social he is, but he’s glad that’s not the case with you. So yeah, you’re more than welcome to go drink some shots with him at a bar and then snuggle the stinking night away because you’re drunk and he’s almost entirely sober.

#cod #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #whenever I think of scenarios like this I like to think about the vocaloid song “Melt” #It's so so very cute I once found a bit of a German cover for it and the translyrics were so so adorable #“Melting whenever I'm near you” “I really do love you and even more so” “Even if I never say it and I” #those were the only lyrics but I think about them constantly #melt is a really good song especially the anniversary edition #just thinking about having a huge crush on a character and them noticing is so sweet and fluffy #and yes I do believe Johnny would be a handful. maybe even two. even if I do adore him still #but he can be a real sweetheart as well so all is forgiven. I wanna cuddle him so so bad or hug him too #I feel like he's one of the best huggers on this entire planet and what I'd give to have beefy army boy hug me #does anyone even read these? if so hello! thank you for reading my rambles and anecdotes! #hope you're having a good day! evening or night too! #fem!reader #not really but just in case

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Hello! Love your work! Is it okay if you could write Valentino x fem!reader? Like NSFW and SFW Headcanons? Thank you, keep up the great work!!

Hi! I’m happy you like my work!!

I will give it my best shot for ya!

My opinion of Valentino fluctuates constantly, so this may seem a bit everywhere.

Valentino

Head-cannons about the famous moth pimp of hell <3

CW: NSFW content, possessive, love bombing, stalkerish, abusive, lying, non consensual drug use, plugs, sorta noncon, toxic, overstimulation.

SFW

• He in no way trusts you to dress yourself. Genuinely believes if he let you, you’d either look awful or hurt yourself. He gets Velvette to make you custom clothes in your style.

• He’s the most famous Pimp and Adult Films Producer in hell. He has more money than he can use, why wouldn’t he use that to constantly spoil his firefly?

• Absolute cuddle whore. Can and will stop his entire day if he wants a cuddle. Oh you’re busy? Forget it. Val can pay more than that stupid job anyway, you should quit, he’ll take care of you limelight.

• He uses his wings as blankets, a consequence of the cuddles is you will fall asleep on him, and sure sometimes Valentino will wake you up, but he’s just as liable to wrap you up in his wings to keep you warm.

• If he doesn’t want to wake you up and can’t keep you with him, he’ll tuck up up nice and walk in his bed, write you a note, and leave you a snack on the table.

• Constantly checks on you. Doesn’t matter if he left you five seconds ago, if he texts or calls you, you’d better answer. Claims Hells to dangerous of a place for such a pretty Coraźon, he needs to know you’re okay.

• Always has to know where you are. Definitely made Vox bug your phone. You’re the amor of the first V. He needs you safe constantly. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you to his competition.

• Okay, Valentino knows he’s not that great, he knows you could find someone so much nicer, you’re such a darling it would be no hassle. But, Valentino needs you. So he overcompensates for everything. If he’s constantly around, always with a pretty word and a shiny gift, you’ll never think to look elsewhere.

• Barely ever calles you by your name, always calls you a pretty nickname, “Coraźo”, “Amor”, “Cariño”, “Firefly”, “Limelight”, and “Mi Vida” are just a few of those, wants you to always know how much you mean to him.

• Valentino only cares about your self confidence in the capacity that if you have a poor self confidence it will reflect badly on him, and will make you more withdrawn, Valentino already thinks your indescribably gorgeous, why does he need to remind you? But he does it anyway.

• Valentino is possesive. If someone else so much as breathes near you without Vals permission, you’ll find their bloody head outside your door in the morning. Always touching you when you go out.

• Has 100% slapped you when you’ve angered him before, “Oh you didn’t mean too? Too bad.” You tried to run away once. Valentino brought you back bloody and screaming. “I’m sorry Amor, you make me loco Mi Vida, never again.”

• He lovebombs you, after every fight, every disagreement, even when there nos arguments, always tells you your amazing, he loves you, “you’d never leave him.”, buys you everything and anything you could ever like.

• He gives you whiplash with his attitude towards you. Most of the time he treats you like his “preciosa princesa” showering you in as much love and affection as he can, but will also treat you like garbage. “Useless slut! ¡Solo quieres estatus, puta sucia! Leave!” He never means it. “It was — Amor, they were being so foolish today, never you firefly, I’m so sorry, let me make it up Vida.”

• Valentino owns your soul. You gave it to him freely when he drugged you, you still don’t know that Valentino owns your soul, and there’s no way for you to get it back. He doesn’t even want it to make you behave, it’s the power trip of knowing he owns you in every way.

NSFW

• If Valentino isn’t fucking you, he has you plugged full of his cum. And if it leaks? Even better. Doesn’t matter where you are, he’ll bend you over and start licking it up.

• Valentino is possessive of you. If he takes you to an event and notices anyone looking at you, he will definitely bend you over in the limo and fill your pussy with his cum again.

• Loves seeing you covered in his marks. Does not hold back, not even a long turtleneck can cover them. And if he sees you walking around wearing his marks proudly? Best prepare not to walk.

• Valentino can fuck you. If the two of you are really going at it, you won’t be able to walk of days. He will bend you in two and blow out your back.

• Loves giving you sexy presents, fucking you in the lingerie he bought you? Seeing you wearing his jewellery as he pounds you? Noticing you’ve got the plug he bought you in when he’s buried in your throat? “Fuck Vida, shittt.”

• The little noises Val makes? He makes them when he’s screwing you too. Little squeaks as he’s thrusting into your mouth, he’s wings vibrating when he’s really into it, just soft little noises as you draw pleasure from each other.

• Valentino’s never had to ask someone for permission before, and when he’s worked up he doesn’t ask you, just gets straight on with it. He will stop if you safe-word.

• Valentino’s not really big on consent, especially with his workers. With you though? For some reason it’s different, Valentino wants you to want him, not just open you legs because you were told.

• Valentino can be really rough with you, but he also loves taking his time with you, working you up and up and up slow and soft, watching as you reach your peak and fall apart so prettily, before starting all over again.

• Valentino is so verbal with you, constantly telling you how you feel, how much he adores what your doing to him, what he’s going to do tou, “My heart, Mi Vida, just like that, gonna fuck you long and slow.” “Firefly, gotta be quite so they don’t here, while I pump your pussy full of cum, gotta be quick.” “Cariño be as loud as you want, let them hear how you belong to me.”

• Valentino adores degrading you, telling you how much of a puta sucia you are, how your such a filthy slut, “you’d let anyone screw you too get off dirty slut” but he also loves praising you. Telling you your his Corazón bonito, his darling firefly, how youre “such a good girl for me, only mine, so pretty Mi Vida”, seeing your eyes glaze as you drink it all in, Val can’t get enough.

• Valentino love’s overstimulating you, fucking you until your legs are shaking, you can’t speak anymore, your moans are cut with whimpers, and you’re cumming dry? Please, he’d do it every day if you’d allow it, it only shows how well he’s doing.

• Valentino definitely has a playlist he likes to put on when he’s fucking you, setting the mood, letting you pick the song you’re going to be railed too.

• Valentino doesn’t believe in safe word really. But you were adamant you had one, otherwise you would never move past heavy petting. So Valentino agreed, he uses Charlie, you use Red. Valentino has always respected that.

• Valentino has videos of the two of you together, and some of just you, there his personal videos, no one else is allowed to ever see them. He had Vox make a secure private server even he couldn’t access for them.

Feedback is always appreciated <3

Comments are my high.

They make me write faster.

I hope it meets your expectations Anon<33

~Vyrus

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #vyrus.is.a.virus. #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #valentino smut #valentino headcanons #Valentino Hazbin hotel smut

[neonovember]

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93​ @cynic-spirit

Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood. 

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier. 

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place. 

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long. 

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name. 

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit? 

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness. 

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist? 

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means. 

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not? 

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut. 

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom. 

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before. 

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home? 

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa? 

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days. 

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door. 

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with. 

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him” 

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features. 

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face. 

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call” 

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure” 

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex. 

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #neonovember #chris evans #sebastian stan #marvel masterlist #marvel cinematic universe #duplicity #neo writes #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x black!fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x black!fem!reader #mob!steve x reader #mob!bucky x reader #mob!steve #mob!au #mob steve rogers #mafia!steve #mafia!avengers #mafia!au #mafia au #mafia bucky #mafia steve rogers

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to get revenge on the people who ruined me?

…I used to be worth something. I wasn’t perfect— far from it… I know that now, but I… I was good. Even though I wasn’t easy on the eyes. Even though most people didn’t like me. Even though I was a tad selfish. At least I had a friend. At least I tried my best to be kind.

But they took all of that away from me. And for that, I’ll never forgive them.

You see, I was Queen once— of a country that hangs in the clouds. It wasn’t always easy… like I said: a lot of people didn’t like me, but at least I was someone. I was important. I did my job, just like I was supposed to.

It all changed one day when he got me a gift… my best friend that is. He didn’t know it at the time— neither of us did, but there was something dark and evil inside of that brilliant mirror, and it soon decided to use me.

Dark forces warped me from the inside out, slowly distorting my perception of reality and even my feelings. I began to become a caricature of myself— nothing more than a selfish monster. I became paranoid, then self obsessed. I killed the rest of the royal family, terrified they’d try to take what was mine. I began to terrorize my people, and even mistreat my best friend. I stole countless bodies, making them own in a desperation to become perfect somehow, all the while the forces in the mirror watched on and SMILED.

You see, I was a pawn. The goal was…- well, I think it was something like “if we can get a queen under our thumb, then we can use that to vie for control of her world.” That was power they wanted, and they were willing to throw me under the bus to attain it.

Eventually, I was beyond saving. They distorted me so well and truly that I was practically unrecognizable. Running on only blind instinct and egomania at that point, I had the ruler of a foreign country kidnapped, senselessly tried to kill the man who was once my best friend, and then attempted to murder everyone both in my country and the foreign country.

…Needless to say, they put me down. The ruler of that country, his companion and my friend, that is.

I should be gone. But I’m not, thanks to him. That… that foolish, naive idiot! I can’t believe what he did. Still refusing to give up on me, even after everything that happened, my friend sook Death out and found a way to resurrect me, insistent I still deserved a happy ending.

Death ensured I was in my right mind again, but there was only so much it could do to mend me overall. I was and am broken. I always will be after what happened, I think.

My friend explained what happened, reassured me it was all okay now, and took me home. He said I’d be alright— that none of what happened before was my fault, and now I could finally be free.

But that’s not true. That’s not true at all.

First and foremost, my body… it’s hideous. Always shifting, at any given time it’s something between my despicable ‘true form’ and my monstrous Frankenstein’s creation. If you saw me, you’d gag. I can’t stand to look at myself. No matter how I appear, I always see someone evil staring back at me in the mirror. Someone who’s as ugly on the outside as she is on the inside. I hate her.

A few of my friend’s companions— ones far better than me, hypothesized it’s because I don’t know who I am anymore. As such, my sickening, parasitic body doesn’t either, and merely improvises in a futile attempt to capture ‘me.’

And saying I no longer know who I am is correct. I’m not just a stranger in appearance. It feels as if the girl I used to be has long since died— replaced by a callous monster. I remember it. I remember everything. I’m still touched by it, even having been ‘made right.’

I recall killing my family. I recall subjugating my people. I recall abusing my best friend, and I recall just how much JOY I felt doing it. He says that I’m not respond for any of that— that I wasn’t in my right mind, but I know that was still me. My innermost, darkest, sick and twisted desires. I’ll never be able to wash the blood from my hands.

Constantly, it feels as if I’m followed by ghosts. My skin writhes— and I swear I can feel my victims tugging at my limbs, demanding I return what isn’t mine. These hands… I don’t recognize them. I don’t recognize anything about myself. When I think about it too much, I get sick.

I’m broken. I’m ugly. I’m evil. And the people who made me that way have names and faces.

My friend… had actually met one of them. Sickeningly, they shared a mutual friend. When he learned what this person did (long before I returned), he attempted to get revenge himself, but was stopped by the group and reprimanded. He was told that the person who destroyed me— the person I’ll call ‘D,’ could still become a better person, and that he deserved as much a chance as anyone to improve.

Ahahaha. AHAHAHAHAHA.

D wasn’t the mastermind, to be clear. His king, who I’ll refer to as ‘DM’ was. DM is the person who corrupted me. DM is the one who made it so I could no longer love. But D was still an accomplice.

He watched on. He watched on, and made sure I was spiraling properly. When his master ordered it, he’d whisper suggestions in my ear.

Having come to terms with how unsalvageable I am, I decided I needed to make them pay.

D occasionally leaves his domain in the Mirror World, while DM doesn’t, so I started with the former. I ambushed him, took him down and took him hostage, hoping to draw out his master by forcing it to come save him.

But it didn’t even do that. Of course it doesn’t. I was imbecilic to believe something like that could ever care about anyone. D was just a puppet, too… it didn’t care if I disposed of him. It would just find another.

I was devastated. All my work, and I couldn’t make DM suffer. The anger overwhelmed me. Someone had to pay. I decided if it wasn’t him, then D, as his accomplice, was the next best thing.

I viciously attacked D and fully intended to torture him, but was caught in the act. My friend’s companions became aware of what I was doing and stopped me by force. They told me I’d done something evil— that D didn’t deserve that, and was trying to do better, just like I was.

In what world!? HE made me this way! He and his worthless master are the reason why I’m broken now… why I’m evil! How can it be wrong to punch back?

They’re why I’ll never be good. They’re why I’ll never be happy. They’re why I’ll never be a good friend. They’re why I’ll never be beautiful.

I’LL NEVER BE BEAUTIFUL. I’LL NEVER BE BEAUTIFUL. NEVER! NEVER EVER! THAT PERSON KEEPS SAYING I AM, BUT I KNOW HE’S LYING TO ME. HE THINKS I’M DISGUSTING. HE THINKS I’M A MONSTER. HE’S AFRAID OF ME. EVERYONE IS!

I’m worthless. I’m worthless and I’m broken and I’m SICK.

…Was it really so wrong to try and break the people responsible for that in return?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[morgana-ren]

Initially I had this idea hafter watching Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (loved it, I highly recomend it) but, since I see quite the parallels between Coriolanus Snow and Ascended Astarion, here goes nothing.

Imagine an Astarion who gas a bard Tav as punishment, not letting them make a single noise for days, maybe longer, as he says he'll "consider" returning their voice once he believes they'll behave.

-----

I haven't read it, admittedly, but I'll add it to the reading list! This isn't a sexy or a kink answer but I tried, but if it's not what you had in mind, please let me know and I'll redo it.

-

Cruelty. You could call it that.

He calls it an object lesson. A point that must be impressed because it isn't getting through.

That's the problem with a songstress. So many ridiculous ideals of love and the safety in it. The irritating idealization of it all in their songs that are woven from the thread of absurdity. A reminder of naivety; of innocence.

It's utterly insulting.

The caged bird sings endlessly of freedom. Always, always. Looking to the sky with longing. Flapping restless wings, perching high in their cage, surveying land through gilded bars and dreaming-- romanticizing.

The song might be beautiful. It might break a lesser man. It might touch the soul--

(--that no longer exists, yet even now, he can feel the motif sew into his skin and touch something that should be there; a ghost in his flesh that he can't scratch out. He hates that goddamned melody, he hates it-- it plucks, and it pulls like a bird gathers seed from the soil to sustain itself. She used to sing to him before he truly became him, and she uses it to drain his resolve even now--)

Love is beautiful, fragile, and fleeting-- like a hummingbird. Meant to roam and seek sustenance. Freedom. Choice. It is beauty and truth and irritation and futility and rejection--

He won't hear it.

(--Love is filth and blood and sacrifice. It is seven thousand souls in fire and his own in the palm of a devil's hand. It is anything to keep her safe. It is what must be done. She will hate him for the rest of her luxurious life with him--)

She begs him. Begs him listen. She looks at him with those watery, pathetic eyes, grasps him with delicate, calloused fingers and a voice raw and cracking.

He loves her.

She is foolish and naive with ideals. She doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what it is to be captive. To be abused. To be used. She sleeps on pillows of silk. He forces the finest meals down her throat. She will live and she will like it.

(--She will come around, surely. He did--)

She hums sometimes. He can hear it. She does it on purpose, he swears. He hears it in his meditation. He hears it as she is in the cold and dark of the cells miles away. That same melody she wrote for him after he first displayed weakness and confessed to her his reliance on her. She sang it to him by starlight and campfire, in the dirt, at his absolute lowest when he was weak, and foolish, and nothing. She sat with him beneath the sky and gave her own confession in song and looked at him as though he hung the moon--

It stitches a pattern into his skin. He hears it. He cannot pluck it free. Even as he is different now. He is stronger, and better, and faster. More powerful. He can protect her now, he can protect them both--

(--More deserving--)

He waits. He waits and he waits and he waits. He is eternal. Time is nothing to him. It is nothing to her either. His sweet songbird, she will see and she will understand the greater picture. She will thank him. What he has given her is a gift. It is a gift, it is a gift, it is a gift--

She bemoans this, but she will understand. One day, she will. She will, same as he did. She is foolish, and idealistic, and simple-- But she will.

(--I love you as you are. As you always have been. You are enough, and I will always love you--)

If he could feel, he is certain he would be irritated. Annoyed. What a foolish girl he has chosen. She sings her same tired song rather than embracing a new tune. A better one. One suited to who he is now. The better man.

He takes her instruments. He binds her hands. He isolates her so that her songs will never be heard until she sings what he wishes to hear. Until that fucking song dies, and he never hears it again. He never wants to hear it again.

He is the master. She will obey. And she will come back to him.

(--He hears it in his fucking mind. He cannot make it stop. It plays on repeat. Some vengeance from his old, weak mind playing tricks on him--)

She doesn't sing anymore. Eyes as pale and empty as the moon. She can sing. She can play. She can repeat on demand, like a parrot. He has heard these melodies before.

She asks him what he wants her to play.

#submission #morgana and friends #Ascended Astarion #Ascended astarion x tav #Sorry everything takes so long to get to #and when I get to it that it isn't great #i will check out the book through! #If I didn't quite capture what you wanted pls let me know

[minniepetals]

cry me a river | the thorns of a rose

— summary: loyalty means to have full allegiance and faithfulness owned by a duty, a pledge, or a promise. and the reapers’ loyalty lies much deeper than that

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 5.6k

— warnings: mentions of breaking, emotional trauma, implied sexual harassment/abuse, implied forceful age-gap relationship (we're getting to more dark stuff here so please read at your own discretion, PLEASE)

— PART 11 / previous part / masterpost

“They say she’s the actual Grim Reaper herself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s on a rampage, going around killing anyone who has done her wrong. She’s already taken out Gwon Daejung!”

“Grim reapers go around collecting souls, she’s out here trying to collect the heads of all her enemies!”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration.”

“That monster killed her own father to get the throne.”

“What if we’re next?”

Knock, knock, knock.

A click of the door opens and he stares in horror at the said Reaper who’s out to collect the heads of all her enemies. With a smirk plastered on her face, hands resting behind her, and a flicking shine from the scythe earrings she wears, he can feel the beat of his heart drumming hard against his chest.

“Hello there, Mr. Choi,” you greet with a sinister expression resting well on your face, “it seems death has just knocked on your door. Would you mind giving me the pleasure of taking your life?”

.

.

.

“Why did you call me, Namjoon? You do know that I’m a pretty busy woman, don’t you? I have heads to sever and hearts to stab out.”

“Seems you’ve become quite the bloodthirsty mobster.”

You shrug lightly at his comment, adjusting the black gloves in your hands that are tainted with blood. “Well, life is pretty cruel to women so there’s quite a lot of people whom I have to go after now that I have the power to do so.”

“This is why you killed your father off?” He asks, eyes narrowed at you who only seems to be paying attention to your gloves. “Now that I think about it, you say you’re out to kill all the people who have done you wrong. Was your father your first target in all of this?”

Your hands freeze in place and when you look up at him, those eyes of yours are as cold as a stone, showing no sign of weakness, no amount of emotions for him to try and see through your facade. He can’t read you.

“What are you talking about?” You feign a smile. “If my father never cared for me, would he have accepted me so easily when I returned home after divorcing you? Any sane mobster who’s thirsty for power would have never let that slide. Yet father welcomed me in very well with wide, open arms.”

“Fool,” you hear your father’s disdained voice in the back of your mind. 

“You’ve always been useless from the second you were born. For a moment I thought things were going well, finally made useful to me. But here you are, crawling right back and begging for forgiveness at the foot of your father. I told you to make yourself useful.”

No matter how foolish and stupid you were ten years ago, at least you understood what to do in order to keep the image of a happy family alive and well.

Divorcing Namjoon was one of the hardest decisions in your life but you were left with no other choice. Returning that ring, asking him for a divorce, even that moment of weakness where you asked them to give you a second chance, all of that was planned.

After all, divorcing Namjoon meant facing father’s wrath so you had to do it smartly, hence you asked him to sign a contract with you before you left, before the divorce was finalized. It was the only way you could get through to your father. He would be angry either way but at least then he didn’t have to worry about losing power.

Power was all father wanted after all, and you allowed him to keep that.

That contract saved you from potentially dying at your father’s very own hands.

“Open arms…”

You stare at Namjoon with a small, playful smirk, knowing he must be thinking back on his own father. “Envious?”

He sends you a glare and you look away with a shrug, amusement plastered on your face.

“Did all those silent vows of keeping each others’ secrets safe not matter after the divorce?”

“Of course it does!” You say at his suspicion on you. “You don’t really think I’m the type to go around spreading every traumatic story of you and the boys to the world just because we don’t care for each other anymore, do you?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore, Y/N.”

“Right,” you nod. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah? Anyways, what am I doing here again?”

Namjoon lets out a sigh and reaches from the back of his pants to hand you a simple envelope. You stare at it, blinking.

“If it’s a letter of some sort, you could have simply sent it through the mail, old man.”

“I figured you’d rather keep the envelope as is rather than having words painted on them.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Jungwon’s.” You freeze and he takes a moment to look at the envelope before beckoning for you to take it once more. “One of the letters was meant for you.”

A letter was written for you? What for?

If Mister Butler had anything to say to you, why didn’t he just speak them to you when he had the chance? Perhaps it’s something secretive that he couldn’t say aloud?

No, can’t be. All his letters were basically his diaries but, why would one of them be addressed to you?

You pull the gloves off your hands, not wanting anything to taint the envelope before taking it from Namjoon. “Did you read it?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“Those are your initials, yes?”

They are.

“The content of the letters addressed to you,” you look back at him, wondering, “what were they about?”

“His daily life. A diary, as you said.”

“He never mentioned anything about what he was doing at the Reaper’s manor in the first place?”

Namjoon shakes his head, a sigh leaving his lips. “Nothing of that sort. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help much with my investigation.”

“Surely your father had some answers.”

“Anything that has to do with my father has already been searched and burned away. None of them ever mentioned anything about my brother. It’s almost as if it disappeared along with him, as if my father knew.”

Did his father get word of Mister Butler’s death? He must have, hence all evidence about what he had done were all destroyed for Namjoon to never find out.

“When did my brother disappear?”

“The eighth of January,” you tell him. “I was nine.” You were hurt that night, severely injured. You don’t remember exactly the events that went by, just the fact that the next thing you knew, you were standing in front of the man you loved so much, staring into his unblinking eyes. “He never said goodbye and after that night, I never saw him again.”

“Something must have happened.”

Yeah, your father killed him and blamed it all on poor little you.

“Well, I have to go now,” you say as you turn around and begin to walk off, “as I said, I’m a pretty busy woman.”

“Y/N if you know anything—”

“I got into an accident that night, Namjoon, so I don’t recall much of what happened.”

“Then those workers—”

“Are dead,” you say. “I killed them all.”

You hear him let out a frustrated sigh. “Honestly, you’re too impulsive. If one of them were still alive, they’d know what happened and have better intel than what we have now.”

“Well,” you shrug, “even if one of them were still alive, those workers didn’t really pay much attention to Mister Butler. To them, he was just another one of them, and if someone disappears out of nowhere, they’d only think what they know.”

Any sane worker would think they’d died at the hands of the leaders of the mafia they’re working in.

In Jungwon’s case, it was exactly that. No exception.

“See ya.”

With that, you walk off without looking back again, the letter tightly grasped in your hand.

.

.

.

You stand alone in the garden of the greenhouse, eyes staring blankly at the red roses right before you. With a white suit on, your overcoat drapes on your shoulder as you cross your arms against your chest, the gloves gone as blood still stains your clothing from your previous endeavor.

You don’t care to clean up just yet.

The rose bushes intrigues you as you stare at them, a reminder of someone you used to know.

“The roses remind me of you, Y/N.”

“...Why is that, sir?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh at the title you call him by, but falls understanding that no matter how much he asks of you, you’d never call him by name. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t wish for a close relationship, my dear?” He asks, a small pout glanced your way. “Despite the fact that we were almost engaged?”

You don’t answer his question, giving him anything but a blank stare. It’s all he’ll ever see from you, all you will ever show him. He will never witness your anger, your sadness, your happiness, or any emotions out of you.

Relationships do not matter to you, after all, he’s just another pawn for your father.

“Why do the roses remind you of me, sir?” You speak as if reading off a script; emotionless, robotic.

His brows furrow slightly but he’s used to this. “You’re pretty and you look innocent and sweet and precious, but anytime anyone tries to get any close to you,” he holds his hand out to caress your cheek, stroking it tenderly with his thumb as he flashes you a small smile, “you will put up a guard and have your thorns protect you. They are your walls, aren’t they?”

“I haven’t hurt you in the slightest, sir.”

He chuckles. “But you resent me, don’t you?”

“I do not hold any feelings towards you.”

“...Right.” He looks down at your figure, the way you sit on the bed obediently, and will not move unless instructed otherwise. You dress in a silky nightgown, one of the straps fallen from your shoulder, and he takes his hand from your face to trace over one of the visible scars held against your skin. You say nothing, you do nothing, and despite his gentle touches, you feel nothing.

He watches you as if trying to monitor your reactions, and when you give him nothing to see, he trails down to your hand and gently takes hold of it.

“You may not hold any feelings towards me but…” he traces the purple ring around your wrist, “you resent my father, do you not?” You say nothing so he goes on. “I may not know you as well as I hope to, Y/N, but even I understand that a lady would never want a man she doesn’t desire to touch her whether in a precious hold or not. You come here, walk into a man’s room whether you like to or not, just like an obedient puppet, and do nothing to go against your father’s words. So whether it’s me touching you or my father…you will not speak up against it.”

So he knew of his father’s doings, yet the closer you watch him, you realize that he’d only learned of that fact recently. Your potential fiance, despite the whole ordeal being to his benefit, has never once taken advantage of you. He holds onto his morals, a man of principles, and when he finds the truth of your relationship with your father, he expresses opposition.

But the two of you are one and the same, living a similar life.

He cannot go against his father, just as you cannot go against yours.

You’re both far too weak against the men of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, almost a whisper, and you see the way he tries to hold onto his anger for you, the way his hand trembles slightly as he does his best not to hold onto your hand too tight. As if afraid he’d hurt you.

He reminds you of someone, but you don’t wish to remember so you look away, not wanting to see that little spark in his eyes.

“I had no reason to.”

When you say that, he looks back up at you, a flash of hurt and disbelief in his eyes. “No reason?” He scoffs. “You have purple bruises on your wrist and you’re saying you had no reason to tell me these things? My father did this to you, Y/N, and I can only imagine what other horrible things he’s done to you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You look off to the side, taking your hand from his hold to look out at the window where a bird perches on the tree just outside. “In the end, we can do nothing.”

He hates how right you are, and hates the way you seem to shiver slightly from the cold, goosebumps forming along your skin, yet you say nothing against your pain. You do not care for your well-being, and you guess by now he’s probably realized you’re already broken.

A broken doll for your father to use at his disposal.

You hear him let out a grunt of anger yet when he slips your strap back onto your shoulder and holds the blanket over you, his actions are as gentle towards you as ever.

“When you decide to let your thorns be known to the world, I hope you can come after my father and kill him yourself.” He stands from the bed, going for the door but not before looking back at you for one last thing. “I will wait for you until then.”

How long has it been since you heard those words fall from his lips? It was the last conversation you had with the man, before he went away and did all that he could to drive the relationship between your gang and his to fall apart.

You’re not sure how he did it, but he somehow made it possible for the two of you to never see each other again, and in doing so, saved you from having to see his father ever again.

He was different from Ying, because while Ying always watched you get belittled and hurt and went to console you afterwards, the second he found out the truth, he did all that he could to at least save you from one less burden to carry.

He could do nothing about your father, but he took his father away for your sake.

The roses remind you of him, yet despite the little moments of good memories you have with him, they will always be overshadowed by all the things his father has done to you.

And the longer you stare at the roses, the more you wish to cast the memories away, the more you wish to never remember his face, his voice, and the way he held you.

You feel disgusted.

Perhaps if I touch them…maybe the pain will take over the pain of having to remember him.

You hold your hand out as if in a daze, a chant repeating in your head to try and convince you that marking yourself with physical pain will give you a chance in forgetting the past pains.

Hurt me hurt me hurt me. Let me forget.

You feel your teeth clenching, brows knitted, and just as your hand is about to grab a handful of the rose bush filled with thorns, someone grabs ahold of your hand with a force, stopping you mid-way.

“Please don’t touch the roses, all the plants here are important for the antidotes and poisons we work so hard to create.” It’s Han, one of the young researchers working alongside Yeonjun. He watches over the greenhouse, keeping the plants well-fed and healthy, always holed up in here to help aid the young genius hacker in his researches.

You know just how important each and every plant here are, yet it doesn’t stop you from the hypnotized state you’re in.

You ignore his touch and warning, further hoping to grab a fist full of thorns.

“Boss, please.” Han’s voice fades into the distance as you see nothing but the thorns before you. “Boss-”

“Y/N.”

Someone rips your attention from the flowers, hands held onto both your shoulders, forcing your body to turn their way, and that’s when you seem to come back to your senses.

“..Mingyu.”

“Have tea ready,” your second in command orders to Han, who in turn nods and walks off, knowing Mingyu always knows what to do.

“I’m fine.” You push him off you to turn from the flowers, a bit weak in your legs, and when he sees that, Mingyu reaches out to help you keep steady.

“I guess we have our next target, huh?” One look at you and the flowers and he understands in an instant. “Yuna will be happy.”

“Yuna’s happy with everyone we face.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “can’t really blame her.”

“Forget it,” you begin to walk off without his help, towards the bench just under the wisterias to take your seat. “I don’t want to face them just yet.”

Mingyu watches you with an observing gaze, and when Han returns with the tea, he lets out a sigh when you sip the drink to help you calm your nerves. The more people you go after, the more drained you become, and the more hysterical your state grows. He can’t blame you, after all, these are the people who have done you so wrong in the past, leaving you with scars both physically and mentally.

“Alright,” he says upon your orders when you give him the cup after a good couple of gulps, body laid over to rest your head against the pillow that’s already there for you when you wish to take your afternoon breaks. When your eyes start to droop, he takes a step to the right to block the glaring sun filtering into the greenhouse.

And Mingyu stays there watching after you like a personal knight whose only job is to watch over and protect the princess.

He hates every second of seeing you suffer all alone.

.

.

.

“The longer you keep this up, the harder it’ll be on your body.” When you look up at him from your cup of tea, Namjoon goes on. “Going after the people that’s pissed you off isn’t an easy job. Not only are many of the people that belong to the shadows tough but they do crazy things to one’s mind as well. You’re a victim to the shadows both physically and mentally.”

“Get to the point, Namjoon.”

“You need to slow down, take a break,” he says, “before you break.”

Break.

Hah. What a strange word.

“You needn’t worry about that, I’m already a broken doll.” It’s such a simple sentence that leaves your lips, as if you were speaking about the weather. You show no amount of emotion, eyes as dead as they were the first time he saw you again after ten whole years.

But even then, your ex-lover can see how drained you are by all of these endeavors. You’re stubborn, refusing to admit to the truth, but he knows just how tired you must be both physically and mentally. What if one day you go too far and there’s no one to save you from the drowning?

“I’m serious,” he states against your protest. Namjoon may not understand what happened through the ten years of your disappearance, the extent to which you were hurting, but even he knows just how much it has affected you.

After all, no sweet person can ever turn dark and emotionless without reason.

“I want to get rid of them as soon as possible.” You look up at him from the hood of your lids, taking a sip of the tea that’s been served for you. You were never really one who desired coffee, and ever since Yeonjun joined the gang, all that’s ever helped to calm your nerves were his tea. “You understand how that feels, don’t you?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything but you can see the answer in his hesitation.

“So whether you want to stop me or not, I’m not going to rest until they’re all dead. I can’t.” Because your body refuses to let you. Each time you rest your eyes, nightmares will plague your thoughts, and unless your Reapers are there to help you through the episodes, you can never calm from the fear.

Everything scares you the more people you face, the world closing in, the walls suffocating you. Every second you face them, it feels as if your lungs are weighed by a heavy boulder, refusing to let you breathe. But you’d rather face these disgusting, vile creatures, than to know that they still live, walking the Earth as if all the things they’ve done to you is something that should not be considered a crime, as if they had simply crushed a bug with their foot.

You hurt from their pains while they hold their heads up, laughing in their own freedom.

You want your own freedom.

You need it, you crave it.

And you can never achieve it unless they’re gone from the torture they do to your head.

“Fine.” Namjoon knows he can’t stop you, so he relents. “Who’s your next target then?”

A man you’ve been avoiding.

You put the teacup down, resting against the chair, and cross a leg over the other. “I’ll need your help again, if you’re up for it.”

“And this is?”

“Ever heard of the Black Rose?”

He thinks over the question, a slight purse of his lips. “Isn’t that the gang that left for London? They were faring well here so no one knows why they left when the streets of London is much harder to gain control of.”

“They left because of me.”

He looks at you, blinking. “What?”

“The son, Hwang Hyunjin and I had somewhat of a relationship,” you explain. “I wouldn’t say we were close nor would I say we were friends but he supported me as a friend would. He cared for me.”

Namjoon’s brows knit in just the slightest way. “If he cared for you, why would he leave Korea?”

“He cared for me, that’s why he left.”

Hyunjin was the only decent human being that did the things he did in a respectable and accurate manner among all the mafiosos you’ve met. Even though you could never escape the abuse and pain, he still did you a favor by getting rid of someone who would have traumatized you even more than the man already had.

“So then, if it isn’t Hyunjin you’re after, who is it?”

“Who else but his father?”

“You’re walking into dangerous territory, Y/N.”

“Isn’t everything we do dangerous?” You flick your hair to lay behind your back, not wanting to back down. “He has more power in London than you but that doesn’t mean you aren’t influential there either. That’s why I need you on this mission. Hyunjin will be on my side, as well as you. I’ll need both of you to take Mr. Hwang down.”

“How are you so sure Hyunjin will be on your side? This is his father we’re talking about.”

“And you understand just how broken that relationship can be in this world.” Because his own father was never one to care for him. “It may be different from yours, Hyunjin and his father trust each other, but at the end of the day, he left Korea all for me.”

He left Korea for you.

Namjoon wonders what sort of relationship the two of you had, and the reason why the Black Rose left for you.

When he stares at you from across the table, he sees the determination in your eyes, as well as the trust you hold for a man he does not personally know. So you do know how to trust people outside your gang after all.

“Fine.” There’s no reason to refuse you. At the end of the day, he still needs intel on his brother.

With a satisfied smile resting on your face, you stand from your seat. “Great. I’ll see you in London next week.”

.

.

.

“You’re planning to what?” Mingyu is quick to look at you with alarm, his expression screaming protest. “Live out the fantasy he so wanted long ago?” He repeats your words with a disbelief scoff. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“You have no right to protest.”

“I’m your underboss, I have every right to protest.”

“Please my lady, can’t you think of something else?” Yuna speaks up, her lips forming into a tight frown when she looks your way.

“This is the only way to take down Hwang Leehyun and you know it,” you say against their dismay, standing firm in on your decision no matter what they say. “That man thrives off control and if I can manipulate him into thinking he can take me, we’ll have our score settled and I’ll have taken another man down. He has no reason to suspect me.”

“And if it breaks you?”

You laugh sarcastically at Mingyu’s words, a dark chuckle leaving your lips. “How do you break again after you’ve already broken? But then again, perhaps you’re right. A broken glass can never mend itself to the way it used to be, the only thing it can do is break even more.”

“Boss—”

“But I don’t care for that,” you cut him off, the only emotions detected in your eyes are filled with rage and anger. “This is the path I’ve chosen for myself, so whether you like it or not, I will never stop until every last one of them are dead. You have chosen to follow me, do so in silence.” 

With that, you turn your back on your Reapers and they know that no matter how against they are with your plans, once your mind is made up, you will never go back on your words.

“And if something goes wrong when I’m with him, I expect you to do nothing.”

You leave them with no room to protest and they can do nothing but watch you from where they stand, a heavy silence hung in the air because they know more than anyone that stopping you is something that can never be done. You live to seek revenge and you will stop at nothing.

Even if that means meeting death on its way.

Even if it will break you even more.

“Boss?” You don’t hear his call even when he runs up to stand before you, an alarming concern marking his features. All you do is stand there, as still as a corpse, with your head lowered and your eyes staring blankly at nothing before you. 

Mingyu sees the state you’re in; dressed in a white silky dress, spaghetti straps hanging off your shoulders, disheveled hair, with possessive markings splattered around your skin.

He can feel his hands trembling into a fist as he holds himself back, knowing that whatever he does, he can never let his anger get the best of him. So he settles with trying to reach out for you. You don’t see him, you feel numb and dull, like a living corpse, but when his hand holds out to touch you,

You flinch.

And Mingyu freezes.

His hand hovers in the air, frozen in time, and no matter what anyone tells him, he wants to storm out here right now and land his fist on the very man that did this to you, no matter the consequences.

But he has to consider the consequences because if he tries to do anything to go up against the people that have done you wrong, you will face the consequences and he knows more than anyone that that must never happen.

He wants to protect you yet why is this the only way he can save you?

Why can’t he do more?

Mingyu balls his hand in the air and settles it back to his side, turning to the Reapers that have come along as he clenches his jaws, keeping his emotions at bay.

“Yuna, Dasom. Get her a blanket, clean her up, and take care of her. Make sure she eats well.”

He only addresses the girls and they know. They know why.

Because normally you would never flinch in the presence of Mingyu. Never.

“Yes, Mingyu.”

“Yes, Mingyu.”

Yuna hurries to grab a soft blanket and drape it over your shoulders, hiding your revealing skin, and the two of them lead you away from the small little group. You follow willingly without protest, as if you can’t even speak, as if your only purpose in this world is to obey and survive.

Right now you cannot make a decision for yourself, right now you’re numb, you’ve locked yourself out from the world, eyes nothing but dull, empty sockets. Right now you are lost.

Lost in your broken, empty mind.

This is your body’s way of protecting yourself.

Yuna turns to Mingyu, her hand held against his shirt to grab his attention, and a tremor falls in her hand as her grip holds tight.

“I want to save her,” she whispers, a voice barely audible but they hear her. It is a wish they all hold dearly in their hearts. “She…she can’t face him again, Mingyu, not in the same way. Or else…or else…”

“She gave us her command, we can’t go against that,” the second in command states, his emotions held back despite it all. “But there are some people who aren’t obligated to go against her.”

“You don’t mean..”

“They’re the only ones we can rely on to bring Y/N back,” he says despite Dasom’s disapproving glare. “At least we can trust in Jung Hoseok, if anyone.”

.

.

.

“I ask that you protect her well.”

Namjoon sits in his chair, a silent stare at the man who bows before him, and when he looks over at Hoseok, the older man just spares him a silent glance, unsure of what was going on as well.

“You don’t think those are the obligations between two allies, do you?”

“I’m serious,” Mingyu says, his words firm and heavy without an ounce of jest in them. “This mission may as well be one of the most difficult ones my boss will have to face, yet I am not allowed to interfere with her plans.”

“And why is that?” Seokjin asks.

“Because she knows that if I were to be there with her, I may as well stop her and in short, ruin the plan of revenge. Whatever you do, do not stop her, however…” he holds his jaw in, fingers held in a tight fist behind him, “save her…if it so gets to that point.”

The man before them is a man who’s been through a lot, who watched over you and cared for you, a man who truly hopes for nothing but the best out of you. He frets over your safety, concern clearly marked on his face, yet as your subordinate, he is obligated to heed your every order.

“If you’re that worried about her, why don’t you try harder to have her revise her plan? Or better yet, persuade her to leave this be?” Namjoon asks, genuinely curious about his strange resolve.

“Because this is the only way I can save her,” Mingyu says, his expression a sharp, piercing seriousness. “She may be impulsive at times, maybe even bloodthirsty and cruel in her ways of only seeking revenge towards the people that have wronged her, but Y/N’s ambition lies in wanting to seek peace. You and I will never understand her heart but she holds her resolves and she holds her morals and I have every intention of giving everything I can to see her ambition come to pass. I believe that is why I follow her. She has saved me so I will do all that I can to save her. And if saving her means stepping back and having you take care of things for the moment…I hold no protest.”

So that’s how it is.

Both Mingyu and the rest of the Reapers refuse to stand in the way of your dreams. They have sworn themselves to you, from whatever point you’ve met and managed to steal their hearts and souls.

You have a way with people. Even back then when you held no ambitions in killing people, the authority you held had never dissipated. There’s something about you that people can never forget, no matter who they are, and you will always leave an impression in the end.

The Reapers now, your Reapers, are different from any other followers they have ever seen before. They heed your every word, holding them as if they were laws of the world, never to go against you, coming to you the instant you call their names. Loyalty means to have full allegiance and faithfulness owned by a duty, a pledge, or a promise. And the Reapers’ loyalty lies much deeper than that. This isn’t just simple loyalty, this is something much deeper than they can ever imagine. 

You saved him, Mingyu stated, which meant you saved the rest of them as well, and in turn, they’ve vowed their lives to you.

“So as someone who cares deeply for Y/N and as people who once held her at the center of the world,” he looks at them with a pointed stare, eyes refusing to look away or even blink, “don’t you think you should at least give her what she deserves?”

What a loyal companion you have.

#bts polyamory #bts poly #bts poly au #bts ot7 x reader #bts polyamorous #ot7 x reader #bts x reader #bts mafia au #mafia!bts #bts mafia #bts mafia!au #bts poly!au #poly!bts #poly!bts x reader #bts poly relationship #bts arranged marriage au #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

[lokisprettygirl]

The Night Screams at The Slumber Island (Loki x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (Dark) (Au) (18+)

Read Chapter 15 here //Series Masterlist

Chapter 16

Summary : Loki isn't afraid to suffer for you

Warning: Steamy stuff, 18+, discussion of rape, discussion of threesomes and poly relationships, sexual abuse, gaslighting, cheating, mention of Suicide, discussion of mental illness, therapy, imprisonment, god kink has a potential here, please read carefully. If something triggers you please don’t read it

"What made you come here, mother" Loki smiled as he spoke, but the smile was less from the happiness of seeing her and more from disdain. His mother, Frigga walked towards him and leaned down to caress his head, she never wanted her child to ever see this place. 

"You weren't responding to my calls, my child?" Loki snickered as he grabbed her hand and pushed them away from him very gently. 

"You got what you wanted, I am banished from Asgard and for your sake I'm willing to spend years here just so someday I could home to you again, what else do you want me to do?" She got visibly upset as he said that.

"I never wanted this Loki. Will you ever take responsibility for your crime? For breaking the order?" She snapped at him as she stepped away, her heart broke, seeing her child all chained up and in such darkness, all lonely. She never wanted this.

"Breaking the order? I saved a mortal's life, all this power and for what?" He snickered before he continued to speak, he was so angry and disappointed from his own kind, his own people "Those foolish people down there worship us and what do we do? We ignore their pleas and pretend to be otherworldly just so our existence will remain spiritual, so they will never know that we are just like them. The only difference is they do not possess the longer life, they don't have the immense power but everything else is the same, they lie, they cheat, they murder, they watch innocent people get hurt and do absolutely nothing. Just like us" 

Frigga's eyes teared up, if Loki would decide that he didn't want to go through the punishment he'd forever be exiled from Asgard and he could never get home again, he couldn't have survived on earth either for a long time because the moment he decides to reveal his identity to more of them mortals, he'll be stripped off his godly status and taken away for execution. 

"What is so special about this mortal that you're willing to lose everything here? I know you visit her now and then, you know that is only making the punishment longer" She raised her voice and he nodded,

"She needs me mother, I gave her my word, and I am not going to betray her, I would leave this place whenever she'd truly need me but do not worry, I will come back here and spend my due time in solidarity, you want me to come home? I will" He said to her and she sighed.

"The more you visit earth to see her the longer you'll have to be here, why don't you understand that?" Her eyes teared up as she spoke and it did hurt him but there was nothing he could have done to console her. If Loki would have spent a few constant years in this confined space and finished his sentence, he would have been released soon, but he decided to revolt instead, he went to you whenever you needed him because he promised to be there and he won't allow you to suffer anymore by the hands of other mortals even though he very well knew that the more time he spend with you, his cruel punishment will only extend here, but he didn't care now. He was willing to take the risk.  

"I do understand that, I understand it really well but I'm not going to leave her alone, to answer your question, there's nothing special about her, she's not any different from most of the mortals but.." his eyes teared up and he took a deep breath before he spoke again. She's mine. That's what he wanted to say but he did not, nobody needed to know how deeply he has come to feel for you "She is kind mother, her fate continued to bring her down but enough is enough, if I am able to keep one sweet mortal protected under my care all her life then I would die happily, that feeling would be much more fulfilling than my life on Asgard could ever be" 

Frigga wiped her tears, she had truly lost her son, Odin and Thor asked her to not come here but she wanted to convince him one more time.

"You could have just brought the mortal to Asgard like Thor did" 

"Bring her against her will to an alien planet? Of course mother, not that it would have been absolutely barbaric of me to do so" 

"It's not cruel for a god to choose a mortal, it's our birthright and it is nothing short of blessing for those vain mortals" 

Loki chuckled as he heard that, he very well knew that gods treated their one mortal pass as an exotic sex toy and nothing more. They were not allowed to tell anyone about their godly status so lies, deceit and plain brute force were used to bring them to Asgard. 

"We are not allowed to tell them anything, remember? You know how Thor got himself one" 

"So what? he gave Trisha a good life on Asgard for as long as he needed her"

"And then she was thrown into a cell somewhere as she got older, isn't that right mother? Chipped away slowly until the end of her time" Loki yelled at her and she sighed.

"You could not have wished for him to form a union with her" She tried to reason with him even though she knew she could never change his mind, he always was different from the rest of them.

"Why not mother? She was lovely and you know fairly well that we both possess the power to give them a long healthy life just like us then why not?" 

"Because they are beneath us Loki, they will always be" 

"Fair enough mother, now that you are done, I would like to be left alone" her eyes teared up more at his indifference.

"Have you fallen in love with her, Loki? That mortal of yours?" She asked him curiously and his eyes teared up too as he thought about you. He spent all his day for the moments he'd get to see you and be close to you, he very well knew the feeling and what it meant, but his mother had lost the right to know him so deeply now. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go through this punishment any longer for her but did he have any other choice?

"You cannot survive with her Loki, you know once you reveal who you are to more mortals such as hers, we will come for you and we will take your life to preserve ourselves. Do you think she would be able to keep a secret like that? Do you think she'd choose to live with you in solidarity and leave behind everything? She will never do that"  

Next morning you woke up late, your alarm didn't ring for some reason and it frustrated you, the ferry was about to leave in 10 minutes and you saw James on the couch sleeping, 

"Wakeee up" he fell down the couch as he heard you yelling, he looked at the time and he knew he was going to miss the ferry. And he wasn't wrong.

After half an hour he came back and you couldn't have been angrier, you just wanted him to leave this place and be done with him, you also missed Loki and you craved his touch, you missed his face and his voice, you felt as if it has been ages since you had seen him last, even though it was just yesterday. 

You couldn't help but wonder where he was and where he went to whenever he disappeared. In the past month you never asked him how he was doing and whether he felt okay, it was always about you. You called the school and told Clint you won't be able to come as you felt sick, talking to him made your stomach twist but you had to pretend as if you still didn't remember anything. They can't know just yet.

While James was in the bathroom you prepared breakfast and as you were making tea, you missed Loki again. 

"Lokiiiii" you whispered his name but you didn't see him around and then something clicked.

"I need you please" You felt a presence next to you as you said that, it was hard to miss, he had his back against the counter, his arms were crossed and he had a smile on his face, you turned your head to the side to look at him and your eyes teared up. You have truly missed him. 

"Can you see me even when you're not here?" You whispered in a hushed tone, you didn't want James to hear you even though he was in the bedroom's bathroom.

"If you want me to, I can, I wouldn't want to disrupt your privacy" he whispered softly and it made you smile.

"I have missed you" you confessed to him and his eyes teared up..

"I felt the same darling" he grabbed your small dainty fingers and you felt his thumb rubbing over your skin softly, the touch fired you up and you wished you could have kissed him and done more, you really wanted to. 

"He's still here" 

"I know..it's Monday, no evening ferry I assume" 

You nodded as he said that, There was no ferry from the island to the mainland on Monday's so you knew James will have to be here tonight as well. 

"You smell good" you smiled as you slipped your fingers away so you could pour the tea in the cup.

"Thank you, so do you" he was glad you said that, he cleaned himself up always before he visited you, in the beginning when he was living in the house next to you, house that he had made, he had enjoyed the showers, he enjoyed it more than baths. They didn't have showers in Asgard.

You passed him the cup so he sipped on it quickly but then he gave it back to you, James was about to come out soon and he could sense that. 

"When can I see you again lo" you placed the cup to the side and grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him closer, he gasped at the sudden closeness, you weren't the only one missing him when he was away, he felt the same all the time, he cupped your cheeks and tilted his head down to reach your level, his lips were so close so you wanted to kiss him but he continued to pull away a little everytime you leaned into him. He also loved the little pet name you had given him.

"Whenever you need me, I'll be here my love, whenever and however you need me, just call out to me" he whispered softly and his voice sent tingles down your spine, you haven't felt such electricity in a long time, it's been years, it was there in the beginning of your relationship with James but it didn't last for long. 

"I'll pray to you Loki..I'll pray to you God but I want you to know that–" his lips latched onto yours before you could finish your words, there was nothing more he wanted than to have you as his, to have you belong to him but it seemed impossible, not with the conditions he had to live with now and he wasn't sure if you wanted to be with him forever just yet, you didn't know him that well. 

"I have to go, he's coming, keep me in your thoughts" he pecked your lips softly before he disappeared, you sighed in disappointment, a faint smell of his cologne still lingered in the air and it made you want to clutch onto him again. You wanted to tell him that you'd be there for him too if he needed you, you knew there was nothing you could have done but be there for him, he was a god, he didn't need your help but you wondered if he was alone and needed your company as much as you did his? 

As James stepped into the living room you glared at him, he was supposed to be gone. 

"Look you didn't wake me up either so it's your fault too, just saying" you rolled your eyes at him and put down the breakfast on the table in front of the kitchen. 

"Who's shirt is that on your bed? Looks like it belongs to a man" He asked you as he munched onto the omelet you had made.

"It's none of your business?" Your voice had a sassy tone to it so he smiled.

"Was just curious, I'd be happy to learn you're opening up again after..you know " you glared at him so he looked away but he couldn't stay quiet for long, for some reason he was extremely chatty, as if that would make you forget what he had done.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked you so you hummed in response.

"Don't you feel scared here, all alone at night, especially after ..you know..what happened with Nat" you sighed as he said that, yo didn't think you would have survived this place without your own special guardian angel.

"I do feel scared but it is what it is" 

"Why do you still want to be here now that you remember everything?" 

"I like the quiet and peace, stop asking questions please" 

Can you see me? I wish you could see me Loki. You mumbled in your head and then you felt his intoxicating smell lingering around you. James did too. You could tell by his expression but you were glad he didn't ask any question. 

It was unreal how badly you missed his presence, it felt like a torture to be without him, you felt as if you were on a withdrawal of some sorts. At night after dinner, you asked James to set the alarm for 9, you can't have him staying here for one more day. You were about to go to your bedroom when the power went out and it made you both gasp.

"What's happening?" You heard his voice and moved around in the darkness, there was a set of candles somewhere in the living room.

"It happens sometimes, here, try to light up the fire place..it's getting cold anyways" you gave him a candle and a box of matchstick.

"This place is straight out of a horror movie you realize this right?" He said to you and you couldn't disagree, the wind made the continuous howling sounds and it made everything so much worse, you said goodnight to him and went back to your room. The candles made the atmosphere eerier but you didn't feel scared because you knew Loki would be there whenever you need him.

After showering you put the night dress on but you couldn't stay still. You missed him, and you wanted to see him, you wanted to talk to him and you wanted to sleep next to him. But then you started to feel overwhelming, the last thing you wanted to do was drive him away with the constant neediness.

Your eyes fell upon the shirt so you picked it up and walked towards the mirror, your breathing hitched as you looked at yourself, then you pulled the straps of the night dress down your shoulder slowly. 

"See me Loki..god see me please, I want you to see" your voice came out all shaky, the action made you feel so naughty but it didn't feel wrong, you wanted him to see you undress and it excited you to know that he might be there watching you. His cologne hit your senses and it made you gasp, was he right behind you? You couldn't tell, you couldn't see him. 

Shuddering breaths escaped as you pulled the night dress down slowly and it pooled around your legs, your own reflection stared back at you, since that horrifying incident and the effect of it had killed any desire you had felt for the opposite gender but Loki was different, he wasn't like those men, he was a god and you knew he'd never hurt you like that, you believed in him. You knew you won't be able to go all the way even if you wanted to, you knew something would trigger you and ruin it for you, but this was nice, it felt safe, being able to desire a god who you knew only wanted to keep you safe felt arousing. He also made you feel desirable too.

You put his shirt on slowly, hoping that he was still there watching you adorn his fabric, you could smell him around you still but you weren't sure. 

As you laid down in the bed and got under the covers you took a deep breath.

"I am here too Loki, I just want you to know that I'm not selfish, that if you need me I'd be here too, I promise" you mumbled softly, your lids felt heavy as the sleep came for you soon, you haven't felt such peace in a long time and you didn't think it would have been possible without him. 

 Loki gasped as he returned to the darkness of his reality, the image of you standing half naked was burned in his memory now, you called him, you wanted him to see you like that and he felt blessed, he knew none of this was easy for you and he has been so careful, he didn't want to hurt you more then you have already been hurt.

The sight of your ragged breathing and quivering body made his hand grip his aching hard flesh as he pumped himself up and down slowly, he had never done this before, he used to feel dirty even though he desired every inch of you but you had given him the permission today by showing yourself off for him so brazenly, he wasn't expecting it but norns he'd be lying if he said he wasn't in literal heaven right now, he didn't crave anything anymore but only the burning need to have you on top of him and fill you up slowly with his cock. He wanted to be surrounded by your warmth in every way.  

He thought of your plump bosom and your bare skin glowing amidst the candlelights, he pictured you on the bed in his clothes and his hand worked faster, he needed a release, it's been so long and he has been on the edge every time you touched him, kissed him and every time you were on top of him with your hips rolling against him. Then he heard your words as you promised to be there for him, he didn't need it, it wouldn't have changed his feelings for you at all, but they warmed his heart and made him feel wanted too, he felt cared for after a long time. 

He cried out your name as the dam broke, a smile formed on his lips as he tried to level his breathing back to normal. He wished he could have been there with you right now, he wished he was sleeping in that warm bed with you instead of this dark lonely cell. He didn't answer when his mother had asked him that question but he wasn't afraid to say it now, he didn't want to deny it either.

"Oh dear mother, to answer your query now, Yes, I have fallen for her, truly and madly" 

#loki x female reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x reader insert #loki x reader fic #loki x you #loki x reader angst #loki horror romance #loki alternate universe #dark themes #loki au

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 6 >> Chapter 7>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: stalking i guess, this chapter is shockingly tame

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~6.5k

As if directed by the wave of a conductor’s baton, the quiet of the hall crescendos into a symphony of howls. Twin squealers scratch at the apartment door. This big display of bravado is for Hanma’s benefit, a warning, a declaration, to protect home and country.

Dogs don’t bother Hanma in theory. A dog knows it’s a dog. There’s a nobility in that simplicity, something humans can’t claim.

Hanma remembers the little miniature schnauzer that adopted Mitsuya back in the day. Pretty for a street dog, grey fur when washed and a perpetual black eye, a press of black fur, smudgy and bold like an ink fingerprint. Mitsuya fed the thing once and after that, he was a permanent member of Toman’s second Division. Deceptively sized, the little runt could leap as high as Hanma’s waist, or several times its own height. Hanma thought it must have been powered through sheer will and a desire to lick every face it encountered.

No matter how he tries, Hanma can’t remember that little dog’s name or what happened to it after Mitsuya died.

Then, there was Big Devil, Peh-Yan’s Tosa Inu. Big Devil looked like a killer. Every step sent his muscles leaping beneath his skin, a display of pure power. For months, Peh took him everywhere, boasting how his dog would join the fray in their next fight. Hanma mostly remembered how the beast would snap his teeth at him, strain his leash to the fray, and Peh would reward Big Devil with a meaty bone.

Come the big fight, Big Devil cowered behind his master. Little sniffs and snorts. Wild, plaintive eyes as Peh gave the order to attack. Hanma isn’t sure what happened to Big Devil after that, but Peh stopped bragging to everyone about his killer dog at least. Of course, Peh is dead now, too.

Hanma strolls past the door – and its barking security system – to the final of three apartments on the eighth floor. Like Sendo reported, your apartment is warded by a mere cylinder lock with a pin tumbler. Weak defenses. You’d be safer with a dog.

There are no cameras or witnesses in the hallway as Hanma drops to his knees in front of your door. From his pocket, he draws a tension wrench and rake pick. He inserts the pick into the keyhole, scrubbing the rake pick back and forth through the chamber, feeling the break in tension as he resets the pins.

As he works, Hanma thinks about you, about how it’s foolish to get his hopes up time and time again. Who are you to suggest you might understand him, let alone help him? Just a jumped-up little tease, flaunting your pussy and mean little mouth to keep his attention. Always fleeing the scene the moment he starts to have fun.

It’s your fault his trousers are dusty as he kneels outside your apartment. He should be happily cozied into your office couch, but he woke to yet another cancellation email.

After he begged you last week! He playacted the penitent, played nice with your silly rules, and even let you watch him cum down another bitch’s throat. And how do you reward him? With yet another chase.

It is predictable. It is boring.

As he drove to your building, bypassed your lobby security, even now, Hanma did not plan. He doesn’t have a scheme or strategy to either placate you or cow you into submission. He figures he’ll let instinct guide him once he corners you inside. The nice guy act has grown stale.

The lock clicks open, and Hanma lets himself into your apartment. He steps right through the entryway, not bothering to remove his shoes. He breathes a chuckle at the dirty footprint he leaves on the wood panel floor of the hall. A calling card so you remember him.

There is a little thrum of excitement as he enters your domain. Here there is no hiding, no walls you can construct to keep him out. He studies everything with a critical eye, eager to stoke the fire in his belly that smolders at the opportunity to invade your privacy. You would be furious if you saw him now. You will be furious when you see him.

The entryway opens out into a hall decorated with framed photos: your several diplomas, a graduation photo (alone), a graduation photo of presumably Amari Takashi surrounded by a sizable family of celebrants, and lastly a photo of you together, arms linked as you pose on a pier, black waves crashing behind. Without thinking, Hanma removes Amari’s graduation photo from his frame to better study the young man. The man in the photo is serious, unsmiling eyes and a proud jaw, handsome in a styleless way, like he’s copy/pasted from a stock photo called “preppy, young finance guy.” He would look better with highlights. Hanma folds the photo in half and promptly forgets it in his jacket pocket.

There is a low hum of voices further inside. Hanma follows it, foregoing the door at the end of the hall and swinging a left into your kitchen and the attached living room. Just the TV. A pretty news anchor motions delicately at faux-clouds indicating a 30% chance of rain.

You are nowhere in sight, so Hanma returns to his inspection of your world. Your apartment is smaller than he expected given your combined income with Amari must be significant; still, it’s respectable, a good neighborhood with state-of-the-art-security. (Ha!)

The kitchen is all-white and utilitarian with all the modern appliances one would expect. The countertop serves as a boundary between the kitchen and living room. Barstools on the living room side turn it into a breakfast bar, and Hanma notices a coffee mug, long gone cold and sitting idle. The living room gets good sunlight through a south-facing window, revealing a stolid little room with a sofa facing the wall-mounted TV, a low table between them both, and only a few coasters as decoration.

Everything is clean but not the kind of cleanliness that suggests hard work. Rather, the room feels unlived in, like the news anchors on the TV are its only inhabitants. Or more like this room is nothing but a green screen, something to gesture towards like the fake rain clouds, but no more than a facsimile of the real thing. There are no obvious signs of life. No newspapers or receipts, no mail or adverts, no half-read books or sleeping laptop. If not for the dirty dishes crowding your sink, it could be a model apartment rather than a home.

The only color in the whole room comes from the bouquet of flowers he gifted you last week, which sits on the countertop. Hanma roots through the dirt until he finds the listening device he planted there still undiscovered. Listening in this past week has revealed nothing but the sound of pots and pans clanging while the radio plays jazz in the background. No wonder if you never spend time in this room.

Hanma retraces his steps into the hall and this time tries the door that must lead to your bedroom. His palms tingle. He can’t picture how your face will look when he confronts you. He wonders if you’ll shriek in fear, whether you’ll cry. The not knowing excites him.

The door groans, then bangs as it dents into the wall, but you don’t react. Buried beneath a mountain of blankets, all Hanma can see is a sliver of forehead and hair sticking in all directions. With the curtains to the balcony drawn closed and you still in bed, he almost checks his watch to confirm it’s really 11 AM.

In three strides, Hanma crosses the room and rips the covers halfway off your sleeping form.

Glassy, unfocused eyes peer right through him and back to the world of dreams you just inhabited. A thick layer of sweat is painted onto your forehead, dabbed above your upper lip. Exposed to the mild air of your apartment, you shudder, body buzzing like a bee, somehow cold despite the heavy nightgown you wear.

“I don’t feel good,” you mumble as if to no one but yourself. There is no reaction to his intrusion in your room as you fight a far graver battle with your own body.

Hanma swallows. He touches your forehead and feels the heat where the skin is overcooked. From the tight line of your mouth, he knows you are in pain. There are used tissues scattered about the bedspread and the glass of what was once water by your bedside table is long empty. If he touches the sheets, he knows his hands will come away wet.

He doesn’t like seeing you like this.

“You’re burning up, Doc. You should be in the hospital. What the fuck you thinking?” Hanma snaps.

“Just need a few hours…sleep…then, I’ll go back to work,” you whimper, and then looking at him with something approaching clarity, you add, “Free at six? Can reschedule for then. Just call office.”

Your speech is garbled. You don’t drop words entirely, so much as descend into a whisper out of nowhere as you speak, so that it’s hard to catch more than the gist of your words. The way your voice scratches around the simplest sentence, Hanma recognizes a sore throat in addition to fever. You are probably down with the summer flu that laid Inupi flat on his ass for a week in June. And you intend to reschedule your session with him for six.

“You best be joking,” Hanma growls.

“Just one more hour…let me sleep,” you plead, eyes already closing before the words fully emerge.

Those eyes fly open as Hanma drags you out of the shelter of your blankets and into the cradle of his arms. There is a moment of flailing limbs and squawks that would make a chicken sound like a songbird, before you are righted in his arms, wet coughing into the crook of his shoulder.

“You can sleep for another twelve hours for all I care. You’re not going anywhere. Call your office and tell them to cancel your appointments for the next three days,” Hanma orders.

“Can’t! Have a new patient starting–”

“Not my problem. Not yours either. If you won’t go to the hospital, we need to break this fever ourselves. Have you taken anything?”

“Tried to make tea, but too tired. ‘m out of medicine. Plan to walk to the store later.”

Clear as a picture, Hanma envisions the scene. Too tired to dress, you limp in your girlish nightgown out of your apartment to the elevators, where you lean heavily against the railing for a brief respite. No good once you reach the August heat. There’s a convenience store barely a block away, but the sun is unforgiving, and you can barely summon the strength to stand. You manage a few meters before your balance wavers, unable to walk a straight line. Maybe you lean on lamppost to catch your breath. Knowing you can’t rest there forever, you try again and fail, collapsing to the scorching pavement. All of this he sees in an instance.

You might be the most pathetic person he has ever encountered. And he wants to strangle you for it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Hanma snarls.

You weigh next to nothing in his arms – how could you when he is accustomed to the deadweight of a grown man’s corpse? It is easy to maneuver you into the powder room, where he rests your boneless body on the tile.

“Where’s your cuck boyfriend anyway? Shouldn’t he be getting you medicine and kissing your boo boos?”

“Had work. Will be home late,” you say.

On the best day, Hanma wouldn’t mind pushing Amari Takashi into oncoming traffic, but hearing this, he wishes to be the one driving the car.

Hanma orders you to stay in the same tone Mitsuya used to use on his dog. Then, he enters the bathroom. First, he toggles the settings on the boiler control plate to just above room temperature. When he’s satisfied that the water is just right – only the suggestion of warmth – he retrieves you from the powder room.

You don’t fight him as he pulls your nightgown overhead and drops your panties to the floor. Despite fucking your little cunt once before, he has never seen you naked. The idea of your body is a source of abject fascination as he jerks his cock in the pre-dawn hours, but now, he hardly glances at you. You are too naked, not the naked of nudity, but the naked of vulnerability, and he doesn’t want to see the way your body shivers.

Hanma undresses quickly to join you in the shower. The water is too mild for his liking, but he aims the showerhead directly onto you, so the droplets only catch him where they rebound off your skin.

Tidy bath soaps and scrubs line the shower wall. His and hers. The first sign outside the pictures in the hallway that Amari Takashi exists outside your imagination.

Hanma sniffs a lavender body wash approvingly, pours a dollop into his palms, and runs the lather up and down your sides. He curves clinically around your breasts, dips into the creases of your armpits and knees, pats your inner thighs. Anywhere sweat and sick cling to you is washed clean under his hands. Then, he supplies the same treatment to your hair.

There is no nobility in your weakness, and he wants to rid it from you, the sooner the better. But, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy your breathy sighs as tension unwinds from your shoulders. Like a sunflower to the sun, you lean into him, seeking heat and solace. He allows it only so you don’t fight against the cool spray, only so that you don’t shake when the gooseflesh rises on your skin, and only so he can take his pleasure in beating this fever back for you.

Afterwards, as he towels your body, light reenters your dimmed eyes. There is a moue of confusion, almost like you just now realized he shouldn’t be here with you like this, but you are too dizzy to stand without support and the complaint dies on your lips.

“This place is like a mausoleum. I mean, I thought my apartment was bad, but at least I throw my clothes on the floor, so you know someone must live there,” Hanma says conversationally. “Have you ever thought about getting a dog?”

“Takashi’s allergic,” you say, “And besides, I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a dog.”

“Me neither, but I’ve known some real idiots who managed. Can’t be that hard,” Hanma snorts.

The conversation withers as he picks up a hairbrush. He holds a section of hair in place as he runs the comb through, enjoys watching the tangles pick apart under its teeth. There is nothing to stop him from running his fingers through after the comb, reveling at the texture, at the smell of your shampoo as he breathes you in. He has fucked you full but never imagined you would let him this close.

Too soon, your hair is brushed and the strange ritual over. Hanma would brush your hair again, but there is more to do. In the linen closet, he finds clean sheets to remake your bed. The kitchen is well-stocked. He is no chef, but he remembers the basic home remedies his mother would prepare well enough, and no one, no matter how kitchen illiterate, can bungle green tea anyway. He finds what he needs for okayu, throwing rice in the rice cooker, slaps some pickled plums on the stove under a low heat, and lastly brews a cup of green tea before rejoining you in the bedroom.

You gulp down the cup of tea faster than its temperature should allow. You are naked and clean and fresh now, even if the fever still burns behind your brow. The sight of you sets his neurons firing, similar to the immediate rush of a bump, instant pleasure, instant satisfaction. Now, the earlier vision of you collapsing onto the pavement brings him pleasure. He prevented that. He fixed you.

Smiling, he settles alongside you atop the comforter and asks, “Where would you be if I didn’t stop by, hmmm? Ya know, there’s a time to be stubborn, Doc, and then there’s a time to let people take care of you.”

Voice muffled into a pillow, you say, “It’s not about let. Someone would have to want to take care of me. Don’t have anyone. Just me.”

I like taking care of you.

The thought almost turns to words, but it would be like talking to a wall as you are already drifting off to sleep. Stroking the length of your back, he lies by your side. In sleep, you are every bit as interesting as when you bicker back and forth or twist him up in your paltry mind games. It is the contrast between your unfeeling eyes in wakefulness and your complete abandonment in sleep. He could watch the flickering movement behind your eyelids for hours, just wondering what you see there.

Eventually, the timer beeps on the rice cooker, and he creeps to the kitchen to season it with salt and green onion. Once plated with the plums, he dips out of the apartment altogether to pick up some final items from the convenience store: a fever reducer, sake for tamagozake, honey for your throat, and cough syrup.

His time in the fresh air breaks the spell of your sickroom. Beeping car horns, bleating songbirds, and the chatter of people going about their day are a shock to his system, a return to himself. There is work to be done, people to see, adventures to be had, and none of them involve you.

Back at your apartment, Hanma moves briskly now, no longer lingering to moon over your pretty face in sleep. He retrieves the vase of flowers with the listening device and places it on your dresser, where he will be sure to hear the goings on of your bedroom. He leaves the cooked food by your bedside with a massive glass of water that should last you a few hours, and lastly, he orders you to call in and cancel your appointments.

You shake your head, protesting about how your clients need you, but Hanma holds firm, literally holding the medicine above your head in threat until you capitulate. He watches you make the call, too, not trusting you for a second. Despite the drama of your protests, you sigh deeply in what may be relief when your schedule is officially clear.

“Good, now sleep it off, Doc, because if you cancel on me again, I’m gonna do something you regret,” Hanma warns.

You nod around the bottle of water. The energy it takes to talk has drained you, and he watches your body slide deeper into a cave of pillows, watches your eyes lid. It’s his cue to leave.

Just as he steps foot out the door, Hanma hears your voice croak one last time.

“Thanks, Shuji.”

He closes the door behind him.

--

To some, the Invincible Mikey is nothing but a folktale. He is no man but a ghost story, whispered in dark alleys to cower the criminal class. Some, who remember him, believe he is long dead. They have their reasons. Most of Toman’s early commanders have met their end by bullet or indictment. Others still believe Mikey has lapsed into paranoia. They say he still rules Toman, but not even his closest allies know where he is. They say if anyone is left in his confidences, it is Kisaki Tetta, who is just as paranoid, guarded at all times by ten men, all of whom owe him a life favor, willing slaves he’s collected over a lifetime of scheming.

They’re not quite wrong, but no one is more paranoid than Kokonoi.

The following day, Hanma makes the trek out to Minato ward at Kokonoi’s summons. The twelve-story building that functions as Toman’s headquarters is truly Koko’s castle, a deceptively normal skyscraper from the outside. Pedestrians passing would hardly glance at the stylish structure with its underground parking garage and sliding glass doors. Even if they made it inside, they might mistake the building as just another place of business, but there are few buildings as secure in all of Japan.

With his office located on the penultimate floor, Koko is protected by windows of reinforced glass. The elevators are booby-trapped to drop their passengers to a careening death at the push of a button. In the event of an attack, Koko can escape via helipad or, in the worst-case scenario, activate the zipline to the building next door. This escape only needed, of course, assuming the small army of security and their artillery somehow fail first.

Koko is money on legs, and anyone would be desperate to secure his powers to turn water into gold for themselves.

So, it is not surprise to Hanma when he finds Kokonoi, pacing and muttering to himself, shooting off texts and phone calls before he can so much as finish a thought. There has been a security breach.

“Hanma, fuck –” Kokonoi shouts when he sees Hanma enter the room. He barks out some English to whoever is on the phone and then hangs up. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! And where the fuck have you been? I called you an hour ago?”

“I was on the other side of town. And I had a loose end to tie up.”

The listening device Hanma planted in your apartment, intended to reveal your secrets and deprive you of your privacy, has become a baby monitor. Hanma wore his headphones all day and night, tuned into the flower vase, so he could hear your movements. The worst times were when you went to the bathroom. He couldn’t hear you there, and it would be so easy for you to grow dizzy, fall, hit your head. Amari would not find you for hours if that happened. More than enough time to bleed out. When he thinks about that possibility, a pressure headache starts behind his eyes.

Beyond a coughing fit around eight this morning, there has been nothing too alarming. Still, when Koko called, Hanma’s first action was to order Sendo onto babysitting duty. Knowing someone will hear if you go to the bathroom and never return alleviates the worst of the headache.

“Loose ends? I’ll give you a loose end. Someone hacked my computer, you four-eyed fuck! This unknown software could have been copying our files, our finances, our goddamn payroll. Do you have any idea what this could do to us?” Kokonoi screeches.

“Well, how the fuck did it happen? It’s your computer.”

“That’s what we need to find out!”

Hanma peers down on this temper tantrum from a nearly fifteen-centimeter advantage. Unimpressed, he decides to take a seat. “And you called me because of my legendary hacking skills? What do you want me to do about it? Probably just got a bug browsing foreign porn all day.”

“I don’t use my work computer to browse porn,” Koko bites out. He’s like a garden snake, hissing and threatening to strike but with a mouth too tiny to do any damage.

“Well, you need one of those – what do they call them? – a forensic analyst? You need one of those,” Hanma suggests.

Kokonoi slumps, finally, into the seat behind his desk. More worrying than his manic energy is the wall of TVs, always turned to the various financial channels so Kokonoi can track the world markets. Now, they are all black, powered down.

“I have a team working on it,” Koko admits, head in his hands. “But I think the software had to be downloaded onto my computer directly. Someone had to access my office.”

“You think we have a rat.”

“Heard my name!”

Hanma’s gun is halfway unholstered before he realizes the person who got the drop on them is just Smiley. He keeps one hand on his weapon just in case. It has been the better part of two years since he last saw the man.

“Like what you’ve done with the place. Those are great for stress,” Smiley says, pointing to the massive bonsai garden in the corner, a gift from Inupi who hoped that Koko might chill the fuck out with some help. Clearly it isn’t working.

“When did you get back in town?” Hanma asks.

The wattage of that fake smile somehow increases. “Oh, just two nights ago. The heat’s finally died down. Kisaki said I should come back.”

Smiley looks different than Hanma recalls. His garish orange afro is now flat, the hair a more muted blonde, freshly bleached. The smile is the same as ever though.

When Hanma first joined Kisaki in destroying the inner ranks of Toman, he pegged Smiley as one of the first dominoes to fall. To his surprise, years later, the smiling freak – and as a result, his brother – are somehow the last ones standing of the old guard. Every attempt to drive him out has failed. Smiley accepted the decrease of his responsibilities, limited to a few old protection rackets, while big money flowed into the hands of Kisaki’s men. He incapacitated his would-be assassins. And, most recently, he beat the charges Kisaki put on him, leaving the country for the last year and a half to wait out the statute of limitations. He’s not a rat. He’s a cockroach.

“Good to have you back,” Hanma lies. “Where were you again?”

“Singapore mostly,” Smiley answers.

“Can we fucking focus? Yes, good to have you back, whatever. Right now, I want to know who could have gotten into this room, let alone hacked my password,” Koko says.

“Probably one of your security guards,” Hanma shrugs.

“Aren’t all of your files encrypted anyway?” Smiley asks.

Koko sighs. “Yes, and that’s the only reason I’m not on a plane to a country without an extradition treaty right now.”

“My apartment in Singapore is empty. You’re welcome to it,” Smiley offers.

It’s one thing when Hanma banters back and makes light of the situation, but it’s an entirely different animal when Smiley plays the role of asshole and riles Koko up. Gritting his teeth, Hanma tunes the nuisance out, decides to take Koko’s problem seriously. Kokonoi may be high strung about things like shorts and commodities trading, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t right to be worried now. Hanma thinks.

The timing. Everything circles the timing. How convenient before such a major deal, when everyone’s meant to be on their best behavior, for there to be a bug, a mole. Yes, it could be some patient enemy, someone waiting within Toman’s ranks for the perfect moment to spring, but there are few people senior enough to access this building, let alone office. Hanma isn’t ready to point fingers at any of his fellow executives. Unlike him, they take loyalty to the organization seriously. No, it makes his brain itch, the timing. His pressure headache fades.

“I like Haitani for this,” Hanma says lowly, interrupting whatever petty quip lies on Smiley’s lips.

“The Haitanis?” Smiley repeats.

“We were already looking into them in preparation for that shit with the HKJ. And, we know the Haitanis’ biggest asset is their connection not mercenaries and security agencies. That’s all they do, right? High-end security. Maybe one of your guys wants a new job, figured bugging you would get him in good with the Haitanis,” Hanma speculates.

“Without proof, that’s just a nice story,” Koko says.

“Yeah, but better than no story,” Hanma argues.

The office is kept artificially quiet. Not so much as a clock ticks on the walls, no aircon to disturb Kokonoi on one of his genius brainstorms. In the silence, Kokonoi’s thoughts are somehow loud.

“I’ll…call Kisaki. See if he can’t look into trading out some of my guys, do some digging,” Kokonoi agrees finally. “I’ll need a new burner though. We all do. Can’t trust that there isn’t software on our phones, too.”

“I’ll handle that,” Hanma says. He would prefer to handle a lot more, deliver a shot to Haitani Ran’s kidneys, an elbow to the solar plexus.

“Right…ok. It’s good actually if it is the Haitanis,” Kokonoi says. “Better than the police. We think this is all about the HKJ, right? There are worse things. We can get ahead of it. Business as usual until we know more.”

The men all nod. They have faced more damning threats in their years together. Going to pieces is for rookies, and they are no longer that.

“Did you find any evidence of the Haitanis meeting up with the HKJ?” Koko asks.

“None yet. Poured through those logs, and it doesn’t look like either have left the country in the last year. No sign of the HKJ operatives entering either. Doesn’t mean they couldn’t have sent a subordinate, but none of the usual suspects are showing up. Closest is Shion Madarame. He went to Korea in February. Could be something. But could just be a vacation.”

“We gonna pick him up?” Smiley asks.

Hanma weighs his options for a moment and then smiles. “Yeah, I think we will.”

Phone switched off and later dumped in Tokyo Bay, Hanma misses four calls. One a telemarketer, one from Hakkai, and still two others plus two additional texts from Sendo. The last of whom bothers to leave a voicemail letting him know that you are on the move, fever be damned.

--

Somewhere, across town, you sneeze. Mostly just wet particles, but they land inside your face mask, and now they’re trapped with you. Gross.

The laundromat is mostly empty at midday, so you have no competition in securing several machines: one for your bedding, another for towels, yet another for your sweat-drenched clothes. The bang of the door as you close the washer and set it to spin is cathartic. You hate the dirt and grime of illness and can’t wait to be clean again.

You set a timer on your phone to return in 45 minutes and head to a café next door. Taking a break is a nice idea in theory but the realities of a small business owner don’t allow for such extravagances. Someone needs to keep up with payroll.

The café is sunny and warm, completely unaware of the private war you just fought and survived with your own body. A little bell above the door rings charmingly when a new patron enters. The smell of the coffee – roasted on the premises – fills your nostrils, and you realize you must be through the worst of it, if smells can break through the barrier of mucus. When you stand up too fast, the dizzies knock you down, and you still suffer from an occasional burst of coughing, but you couldn’t stand to stay in bed another day.

Sickness has always been a time intense loneliness. When you were under the weather, your already distant mother would ward you off even more sternly, not letting you leave your room for anything but bathroom breaks until she was certain you weren’t contagious. With no phone or computer to wile away the hours, you would count backwards from 10,000, testing how far you could go before losing count, starting over each time you did.

How strange that this time you weren’t completely alone. Unless it was a very strange fever dream, Hanma helped you coalesce. If there were security cameras in your apartment, you would check the footage to confirm that he really cared for you so tenderly.

Sipping on green tea, you set to work on your payroll first, before moving onto rescheduling your appointments. You consider squeezing a few in tomorrow but decide against it. Hanma isn’t wrong that you should use this time to recover. Your hand still trembles when you lift your mug.

The little bell above the door rings a few times while you work, including twice for you when you slip in and out to flip your load. Each ding draws your eye reflexively, just a moment before your return to the task at hand. That is, until the sight of a familiar face draws you up short.

For a moment, you can’t place the well-dressed man who enters the café. He isn’t the kind of man you meet every day, or forget, however. Who but idols walk around with dyed violet hair? Then, you remember him. The gentleman from the strip club who bought you a water.

The half-stranger catches your eye, smiles, and heads for your table.

“What a coincidence,” he greets.

Throat constricting, you trigger a coughing fit, hacking into the crook of your elbow. Tears rise, but they are only half from the cough. This isn’t a coincidence. While this man may not be someone to forget, you certainly are. Especially now with your mask and sick-ashen face. This man who knew Hanma’s name has sought you ought. You wonder if you can make it to the door before he catches you.

“Can I help you?” you offer, feigned politeness as if your professional coolness might protect you.

“Do you mind if I sit?” the man asks, and then without waiting for an answer, takes up the stool beside you. The table where you work is directly in front of a window that stares out at a busy street. If he hurts you, someone will surely see. Whether someone will help is a different matter entirely.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but can I help you?” you repeat.

“Ah, this is awkward. I apologize. I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is Haitani Ran.”

There are a million pat responses – an apology for making things awkward, a nice-to-meet-you, your own name – but you temper your instinct. You need to think. This man found you somehow on a day when you obeyed no routine, no schedule, where no one knew where you were going. That can only mean he followed you, right? But how did he find your apartment in the first place? How long has he been stalking you?

You say nothing.

“I’ll speak directly. You seem to spend a lot of time with Hanma Shuji. More than anyone else outside his…organization. When we met before, I did some digging and realized you might be positioned to help me,” Haitani says.

“I see.”

“Yes, I think you might,” Haitani hums. “I’ve never gotten to really sit down and talk to Hanma. It’s funny because I’ve known him since he was in high school. Similar crowds, mutual acquaintances, you know how it is. Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t wish him anything but good things, so you needn’t worry about that. I consider him something of a school friend.”

“And you want to…reconnect with your old school friend?” you wager.

“Not quite. I think my old school friend is looking to reconnect with me, actually. He’s been looking for me, talking to my friends, and it’s odd because I’m not hiding. Do you know what I mean?”

“It’s hard to say.”

The timer on your phone beeps, signaling your clothes should be dry, and you jolt, knocking it to the floor. Haitani bends down to pick it up, so tall that he need only bend at the waist for his arms to sweep the floor. Almost as tall as Hanma. A proprietary aggression churns your guts at the sight of this man holding what’s yours in his hands. You think he is a man comfortable with taking from others.

“I would love to know why Hanma is looking for me. It’s the kind of mystery that keeps a man up at night. And, I’d be willing to do a lot for a friend that would find out for me,” Ran explains.

“Have you considered asking him yourself? If you leave me your number, I can pass it along,” you suggest sweetly.

Haitani ignores this, continuing. “I’d be so grateful in fact that I might even put a price on it. Say…four million yen.”

Four million yen.

Heart thundering in your chest, neck sweaty but this time not with fever, you lock eyes with this stranger for the first time. They are sleepy, smiling eyes. This is (presumably) the third yakuza you have met in person – your interviews with Toman’s execs were all by phone – and all three men possess such different eyes. Kisaki’s piercing and cruel, Hanma’s laughing or dead in turns, Haitani’s masked and playful. What all three share in common is an arrogance. Each man knows they own you, and each man enjoys it.

“Excuse me, I’ve been down with a cold, so I’m not thinking very well right now,” you say because you need to say something and your only desire is to throw yourself slavishly at this man’s feet in the hopes that coins rain down from the sky.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You need to take good care of yourself. It’s always best to get out of the city in August. The heat isn’t good for a young woman. Maybe a holiday?”

With your four million yen goes unspoken.

“I can’t be certain that my…schedule…will allow it, but I would certainly like to take a vacation if the opportunity presents itself.”

“Yes, the opportunity is so important. You can’t force it,” Haitani agrees. “But if the opportunity did present itself, I’d love to know. If you were to call me with what you learned about your schedule, I could help you take your vacation.”

You flex and crack your knuckles held stiff throughout this coded exchange. Technically, you aren’t agreeing to anything, right? Just that you might make a phone call. That’s hardly criminal, hardly damning. You probably won’t even end up calling Haitani after this. It’s not like Hanma tells you much. He’s never mentioned Haitani at least. Yes, this is no devil’s bargain. You are merely telling Haitani what he wants to hear. Nothing more.

So, there is no reason to feel guilty when Haitani saves his number in your phone under the name Hirayama Riko.

No, when you return home with your laundry, you tell yourself there is no reason to feel guilty at all.

#hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #please heed the warnings

[vvanessaives]

actually realised i never spoke about how violante is a noble who also isn't, perfect excuse for lore dump of her sick sick childhood, tw for mentions of abuse

Violante's mother is a moon elf noble, lady Nalviel of house Waesphine, a powerful family of Waterdeep. The origins of the family's fortune come from textiles, specifically their trading, and later expanded into money-lending and, currently, into banking. Nalviel is the only heir of the main branch of the family, she's The heiress. Her father's aim, if not life goal, is to join the council of lords of Waterdeep and later become the open lord. He has been planning a marriage of convenience between Nalviel and one of the masked lords since the day his daughter became of age. Her father instead is a modest human trader from a small village near Baldur's Gate (where he conducts his small business), Erlan Riverstone.

The two meet when Nalviel comes to Baldur's Gate with a small entourage sent by her father to deal with some of the family affairs. They meet by pure coincidence around the city: Nalviel is drawn to Erlan for the excitement of having an affair with a commoner brings and a sense of freedom mostly, Erlan by the fact that such a rich lady of enchanting beauty could ever spare him a look. In a couple of weeks they decide to marry in great secrecy. Nalviel is naive and thinks that her parents will simply scold her but ultimately accept the union. She's always been spoiled, very much spoiled, and she's used to have everyone let her get away with most of her whims and tantrums, so she genuinely believes that marrying a commoner will be accepted as just any other of her desires. Erlan is ecstatic to say the least. I wouldn't say they were exactly in love, they both lived the story like it was a summer love, intense and fleeting, bound to end but Nalviel always had the tendency let things end by her own decision.

She leaves for Waterdeep again and brings her new husband along. Her parents reaction is far from accepting, they are furious, but no one knows about the marriage yet outside the family so they order to Nalviel to simply leave her husband (they would have him killed ofc) and never mention this whole story again so that her father's plan could still move along as planned. Nalviel is stubborn and at this point the whole story has become a simple childish desire, she wanted to win at all costs, so she tells them the other news: she's expecting a child (hiii fetus violante). Her parents orders still stand, but in addition they're asking for abortion too. Nalviel fights back and she's put in front of a crossroad: either forsake her foolish actions or become disowned, lose all her privileges and her birthrights, become an outcasts to the family.

Nalviel refused. Stubborn as ever, she was sure that her parents would back down and accept her back into the family and she believed so for months. She was sure that once her child would be born their hearts would soften and everything would go back to normal. It never happened. Instead her parents cut her off, told everyone in high society that she was dead to them, that they never had a daughter, her father took under his wing one of her distant cousins to become the new heir. They forced Nalviel and her new family into one of the minor manors of the family, run down and almost out of the city, there they are all confined by a pact: her parents would still give her a monthly revenue high enough to survive but she would never come back in society nor speak to them or call herself a daughter of lord Waesphine.

This is where Violante's family downfall begins. Nalviel ignored Violante most of the time during her early childhood, probably held her in her arms two or three times total after her birth. I'd say Violante always was a bit of a gloomy child, which is no surprise if you think not only of the people who lived with her but of the environment too (the manor was basically crumbling, dark and dusty and decadent, it could almost resemble a haunted castle where only spirits live. It was chosen to humiliate to Nalviel), but she was quite curious and playful as a kid. Her mother didn't stand her when crying or playing or talking in general so with time, after getting shouted at and beat, she began avoiding to speak altogether when her mother was around. Her only happy memory of childhood is her father reading her a book of fairy tales when she was little.

Erlan tried to be a father at first but it didn't really last, especially because Nalviel hated to see him interact with their daughter. Erlan and Nalviel discovered that the love between them was a fleeting thing now that they lost all the privilege and riches for it, they began resenting each other soon enough. Nalviel hated her husband more than anything in the world but she did hate her daughter just that touch more. She used to say that Erlan was her second biggest mistake while Violante was her first. She resented her birth and Violante began resenting it as well.

Sometimes Nalviel just needed someone to let her anger out on and ofc her daughter was the easiest target. She would hit her for the tiniest of the slips, lock her into her room for hours, sometimes a full day with nothing to eat, she was also a cruel teacher - Violante knows how to play the lyre (other than the lute) but under no circumstance she's willing to play. Her mother would use a cane to hit her fingers or arms every time she played the wrong note which made her hate the instrument immediately. Violante spent most of her days avoiding her mother when possible, she would either sit somewhere in the library and stay there reading for hours or stay in her room. When she was a teen she began desiring of dying, that's when her infamous perfume story begins. She read about poisons, recognised the belladonna that grew in the garden and began using the berries for her perfume. It never really worked, cruel joke of destiny she developed a resistance to poison instead. She never stopped drinking them though, to her it was still a taste of death.

Nalviel's aim never changed, she wanted a way to return into the high society but never really succeded. Her parents threatened her a few times but they never managed to stop Nalviel from doing what she wanted. She began planning of marrying Violante off to some lord (smth Vio hated with burning passion, always lamenting how her mother was trying to get rid of her like she was useless wares) so that she could waltz back into noble life in some way, it was a difficult plan since Violante wasn't the most...amicable. Her mother teached her every single detail on etiquette, no one could say Vio isn't refined but that coldness in her usually frightened most of the people around. Plus there were quite some rumors surrounding her involvement with Ruven (bastard son of the fallen drow house DeVir) and the fact they were barely ever seen without one another since they were teens didn't help.

Violante dreamed of killing her mother, she wanted to see her suffer, she wanted to torture her. She hated her father as well: while he wasn't as terrible as her mother, Violante always resented his indifference. He was a prisoner just as Vio was under Nalviel but he never tried to stop her, nor he ever spoke up when Nalviel abused their daughter. Vio daydreamed of what she would do to them with Ruven. Kill her mother and maybe let her father live, gauge out his eyes after watching her torture and murder Nalviel so that he could sit in his blissful indifference for the rest of his days, then they would run somewhere together and be together for the rest of their days. It never turned into reality since Ruven attempted to murder Violante first: a sacrifice to sign a pact with a powerful entity. He chose to offer Violante's life. Vio killed him in retaliation and she was the one to form the pact instead. With Ruven's murder it's like the world came crushing down on her so Violante, shocked and dismayed, fled from Waterdeep to hopefully never come back

#rena.txt #oc: violante #^me when rotten decaying decadent nobility #hearing about her past makes u go a lil no u know what. i get it now. i think she deserves to kill and bring mayhem to the world #it's also interesting to study the vio/ruven involvement with the goth man. they are three no ones but vio is just a touch more #of someone than them. ruven still comes from a noble family even if ruined. he dislikes them at first sight for both what they are and what #they aren't. the three of them and their shared and collective insignificance. ruven a bit more bc they are quite similar on some #points. which is why he decides to antagonise them as their very first interaction and why he always had a kind of rivalry with ruven #there are layers to this but i already talked too much i need 24 hours only to talk about vio/ruven so imagine when vio/ruven/gortash

[cyncerity]

Cyncerity you’re giving me brainrot for your store shifter au

I have to admit most of your aus give me brainrot, the two main ones rn are Store shifter and dads troubles.

And feel free to disregard this if you don’t wanna answer it, I’m just curious if you have any tidbits about either au you wanna share? Let your mind go free friend :) I love your work, and you’re doing amazing!

oh absolutely AMAZING question to ask, my friend

little did you know that I have a list of bullet points for ideas i think of that i don’t know what to do with for both of these aus (these are also the two giving me the most brainrot hsksksj)

For now I’m gonna answer with the ones for the Store Shifter AU, cause I think that some of the ones for Dad’s Troubles have been posted, but I can post those later! For now there’s a decent amount of the Store Shifter ones, and I may add more later

-Even if humans can’t understand borrowers, they can hear pitch. So therefore, if a borrower is singing a familiar human song, the human can hear the tune and recognize it.

-Quackity is the least careful borrower of the three, so he ends up accidentally meeting one of the workers: Foolish. No he does not tell his fiancés this. Foolish doesn’t really know what’s going on, and he’s only like 50% sure that Quackity is sapient, so he’s just kinda along for the ride as Quackity abuses his human privileges to get free stuff.

-Dream introduces Sapnap to hair dye and dyes his hair from light brown to black as a bonding activity (this was when Sapnap was newer to the store). That night Sapnap tells his fiancés what happened to his hair and long story short Karl is bleach blonde by morning.

-Dream has an almost debilitating fear of heights in this au. Fantastic fear for anyone borrower sized to have. Since he became a shifter he’s started to try and rid himself of his fear. (spoiler alert he eventually does way down the road and parkours everywhere no matter what size he is just because he can)

-He’s also slightly claustrophobic. Again, fantastic fear for someone borrower sized to have. (wonder what this would mean for him getting stored…)

-Dream has never met Tubbo despite them having lived in the same house for 4 years. Even after Dream becomes a shifter Tommy just keeps forgetting to introduce the two.

-Out of all the shifters in the au (btw you don’t know all of them yet), the worst traumatic experience that anyone had to go through to unlock their powers was Tommy’s. Second worst was Sapnap’s.

-Tommy’s “incident” happened when he was 7. He met Tubbo when he was 5 and Tubbo was almost 6. After the incident, Tommy was in and out of the foster system for the next 5 years, and Tubbo was with him every step of the way.

-The reason Tommy was in the foster system for so long was because Dream was only 13 when Tommy’s incident happened, and couldn’t legally adopt him. He worked really really hard to get a stable wage for him and Tommy to live off of, and Puffy and Foolish helped him save enough to buy the neighboring house to theirs, the one Dream grew up in.

-Dream adopted Tommy on his 18th birthday, when Tommy was 12. They are currently 16 and 22 in this au.

-Before Dream adopted Tommy, he made it very clear that as soon as it was legal, he’d adopt him, so Tommy started seeing Dream as a big brother/father figure before he was officially his son. They hung out a lot and Dream would frequently stop by any home fostering Tommy and make it clear to the foster parents that Tommy was gonna be his kid one day so they’d better not get attached. Dream was responsible for getting Tommy kicked out of foster homes like 45% of the time. Another 50% was just Tommy being Tommy and 5% was Tubbo breaking shit when he was bored and the homeowners blaming Tommy.

-Sapnap has a really bad habit of picking at his fingers and nails from stress, and his knuckles are really scarred from fighting/sparring back when he was in a colony. Dream gives him a few pairs of gloves to help with this, and Sapnap is literally floored because he’s never seen gloves before, given that they were too much of a hassle to make from whatever scraps he had.

-The employees keep a little box of discreet fidget things under the checkout counter at the store, and Dream and Sapnap use it the most. Dream just cause he likes to keep his hands busy and can mess with something in his pocket and Sapnap cause if he’s using his hands it means he’s not actively picking at his skin (this is self projecting. this is me. i do this so it’s canon now. Dream uses an infinity cube most often and Sapnap has a small collection of spinny rings cause those have been the most effective for me).

-Sapnap had a weird bruise scar over his nose and around the inner half of his eyes (you can vaguely see it in some of the fanart i’ve drawn for this). It’s just an area of his face that got hit really hard and didn’t heal properly (hard enough that it broke his nose too and no, that didn’t heal right either), so blood has a harder time flowing there, and it gives it a weird darker color. Karl and Q nicknames Sapnap “Pandas” cause the bruising kinda reminds them of panda markings.

-Quackity tends to wear a face mask while borrowing because he’s got a really gnarly scar across the left bottom half of his face through his lip, and it’s bad enough that he can’t fully close that side of his mouth cause the scarring messed up his cheek and he’s missing a tooth there. He’s really insecure about it and only Sapnap and Karl are allowed to see it.

#cyncerity #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #store shifter au #i have so much i still have to reveal for this au #y’all have no idea #anyway I also made some things here vague and thought provoking so y’all would send asks #i’m funky like that #business woman they call me #and thank you for saying you like my work!! #it always makes me so happy to know people like what I do #and I love your work as well #i literally re-read your stories daily i love them so so much

[therealvinelle]

How do you think things would have went if Queen Rhaella survived Daenerys birth?

Depends on how hard Robert was trying to kill Daenerys and Viserys, and the kind of person Rhaella is. All that's really known about her is that she didn't want to marry her brother, she was dutiful, and she protected Viserys from Aerys to the best of her ability. Apart from that, her biography is just a series of things happening to her, which makes it difficult to discern who she was.

As it is, we know that Daenerys and Viserys survived because they had protectors. Say that these protectors watched over Rhaella too, and say that Robert wouldn't be trying to kill an adult Targaryen harder than he did the kids, and say that there are no assassins looking to take out Rhaella specifically, then we're looking at Rhaella surviving all the way into where the series begins.

I imagine with Rhaella alive, Viserys and Daenerys are less likely to end up impoverished. It was the death of their protector, Ser Willem Barry, that led to them being effectively homeless. Rhaella would have been able to marry a nobleman, or, should that be beneath her, she would still have been an adult watching over them.

(And no, this may be Westeros but goddamnit we're not going the prostitute Rhaella route. Daenerys and Viserys were never forced to prostitute themselves (marriage to Khal Drogo excepted), they coasted off of powerful friends to get by. Having an adult around should make them better off, not worse.)

Viserys' mental health might be better, though that's a heavy "might". He turned on Daenerys because he needed someone to blame for his circumstance, and she was the one he could abuse. He also, at another point, strikes a servant Daenerys sent to him because he was upset with his sister. The man processes emotion by channeling it into anger, and he will take it out on anyone he considers below him.

Had his mother been alive, he wouldn't have been blaming Daenerys for her death but that's not to say he wouldn't have found something else to blame her or, perhaps more likely, that he wouldn't have turned on his mother and blamed her for everything. Conversely, perhaps having his mother around would have made him emotionally healthier and better adjusted, and he wouldn't be lashing out at the people around him the way he does in canon in the first place. It would depend on the people Rhaella and Viserys are.

Either way, Daenerys didn't kill her mother in childbirth so she's already better off in this AU. If Rhaella is a good mother to her and Viserys doesn't abuse her than Daenerys is looking at a straight up not-entirely-terrible childhood.

As for Rhaella herself... gosh, this depends on how things would unfold, on how destitute she would be, and the kind of person she is, but considering the hell she endured by Aerys' side I can imagine that being free of him would be, in its own way, liberating. Yes, she lost a son and two grandchildren, as well as a kingdom, so I can't imagine she'd be anything close to okay, but she would have a surviving son and an infant daughter that depended on her. She either cracks under the pressure or rises to the occasion.

Should she crack under the pressure, then... well, then Daenerys marries Khal Drogo. Viserys is murdered by the Dothraki, and Rhaella gets to watch her daughter walk into a pyre only to become the Mother of Dragons.

In that case, then Rhaella's impact on the story is that Daenerys is that much less adoring of her Targaryen legacy. She has a flesh and blood Targaryen queen by her side and the woman has never been a mother to her, nevermind anything that could be called a dragon.

Should Rhaella rise to the occasion and be a good mother to her children who provides for them, then the Dothraki marriage doesn't happen. Khal Drogo had ten thousand men to offer, Viserys was desperate and foolish to accept. As it is, I strongly doubt Rhaella would even want to reclaim the Iron throne. It's a fool's errand, for one thing, and something that caused her nothing but destruction. She couldn't marry the man she loved, she was trapped in a marriage to a man who'd rape her while her so-called guards stood idly by, and her son was butchered along with his wife and children. I can't imagine going back to Westeros, a venture that would almost certainly fail and get her remaining children killed anyway, would have any appeal to her.

More likely, Rhaella shops around the Free Cities for a good husband to Daenerys and a rich wife to Viserys. She might even marry herself, should she find someone who seems trustworthy and who can provide for her and her children.

When Westeros burns because of ridiculous wars and ice zombies, Rhaella watches from afar with an umbrella drink, shrugs, and goes about the rest of her day.

#rhaella targaryen #house targaryen #daenerys targaryen #viserys targaryen #rhaella and viserys #a song of ice and fire meta #a song of ice and fire

[llycaons]

ep38 (2/3): heartbreaking: the worst person you know just came out

man I feel like xxc is SUCH a romantic. he likes being in love he likes having a partner he's drawn to those idealized fairy-tale romances he doesn't look too deeply below the surface (consciously or not) because he just loves having that kind of connection with someone. and ah he and song lan were perfect for each other. if not for that foolish mistake...! but tragically he's not a main character so his suffering will lead not to a happy ending but to death

anyway. scream? I assume these are yi city residents? fuck, but that's so many. an entire city

he just loves giving those expressions to xy for no reason. unhinged menace

this is honestly hilarious. obviously 'all he wanted was a domestic life with famer's market trips uwu' is a patently absurd claim because look what he DID with that life but I cannot lie this is very funny to me. like sure maybe DEEP DOWN that's all he wanted but my sympathy for him is like. nonexistent because look what he chose to do

also. this man is gasping in fear. does xxc not notice?? willfully ignorant, perhaps

SONG LAN!!!! thank god you're here there is such bullshit going down here xxc needs you. he just lit up so much when he heard about xxc

she's such a little survivalist <3

omg remember that translation meta that described sl's answer as like 'he is world-endingly beautiful' or something? first of all he was right. they casted xxc perfectly, second of all how the hell did she write this and not make them canon gay. insane.

this kills me bc at this point SL KNOWS but I don't think he even considered approaching this with the care he would have needed to. and why not just confront xy? it's not like he knows xy has a tool to make xxc kill him

also sl is standing here in broad daylight and xy just walks past him? I mean his back is to sl but that's weird, I feel like he'd notice him just STANDING there esp if a-qing jerks away and hides

damn I hope she hasn't been hiding every time xy is around. that's her home too. she could technically leave but I doubt she wanted to abandon xxc. and she's not likely to trust any of the sects to intervene either even if she told them. and I don't think she understands that xy is making xxc kill living people

witnessing sl see how xy treats xxc (familiarly, cruelly, lying) is like. that IS a man watching someone he loves involved with someone else who's hurting them. not even jealousy, just heartbreak and righteous anger. li bowen NAILED it

I don't think sl and xxc were ever actually together which just makes this entire thing more exquisitely painful

THE SINGLE TEAR

oohh and the BLOOD

at this point a-qing is distressed enough to grab onto wwx for comfort :(

it's not often that I see the xxc/xy situation described as abuse but xy DID abuse his power over xxc to trick him into murdering people (and then the heavy implication that they were in a relationship too 😬)

I love this expression from SL. no detached justice here. this man is furious and ready to kill

this fight scene is actually good? so many fight scenes in this show are bad and this one just rules. the chemistry, the action, the drama, the tragedy. what a neat and tight little narrative

ohh double-meanings. KILL HIM SONG LAN

this was so insane of xxc to do. man had one great love of his life and he dug out his eyes for him then walked away 😭

this is so funny though. he is the worst. oh SHIT THERE'S THE CHEETAH-PRINT ROBES. what a slay

also now xy won't stop rubbing it in his face and playing on sl's insecurities. deflecting from his own crimes. as jgy does, later in the temple. xy probably learned from him honestly. but don't fall for it song lan!!! he is literally using xxc to murder people!!!

this is a taunt eerily reminiscent of wwx. his voice goes up all high, like 'awww, were you SAD? huh?' wwx taunts like this, all sarcastic. but also he's not like, evil

BITCH YOU'RE THE ONE LYING AND MANIPULATING HIM

when sl's tongue gets cut out, a-qing gets all this splashed on her. ugh

NOOOOOOOO XIAO XINGCHEN!!! THAT'S THE MAN YOU LOVE!!!

#cql re-rewatch #this is so upsetting!!! bro!!!!

[theminecraftbox]

That begs the question, what would Quackity do if Dream showed any affection for a pet?

I mean, he did join in when Tommy used Spirit to convince Dream to take down the walls around L'Manberg, and he did threaten a Living Talking Person with death while trying to get the book for the last time... but this specific creature hasn't hurt him. And now he's kind of attached to Cat George. He named it George, for goodness' sake. So who knows.

/dsmp /rp

Depends on the circumstances. Recall that Quackity leveraged Carl to get Techno to surrender, too. :)

So first of all, Quackity’s got a big mouth. If he felt he needed to, he’d threaten nearly anything, and that certainly includes innocent animals.

But the thing is, in Eldritch Confessions, Q isn’t actually trying to get anything from Dream. He’s given up on the revive book. He doesn’t really want to torture Dream. I mean, he certainly wouldn’t say no to the opportunity, Dream has been talking back and mocking him and just generally pissing him off, he’s incredibly stressed and he’d like nothing more than to put Dream back in his goddamn place. But that’s not the same as when he wanted information from Dream: information that meant power, and information that meant he’d be allowed to execute Dream. There’s not the same dire need to prove himself, either—Dream knows he’s not toothless.

So even if Dream was foolish enough to say “omg I really love this cat and I sure hope nothing happens to it,” Quackity would 100% leverage that but I don’t think he’d actually abuse the cat unless he thought it would get results. I can’t imagine that Quackity, knowing what he does about Dream and attachments, would actually believe Dream values the cat highly enough to, eg, surrender himself. (Unlike with Techno and Carl, and even unlike with Dream and Spirit.) But he’d threaten to kill the cat if Dream attacks him, for instance.

So that’s the situation in Eldritch Confessions. In prison, however… yeah, Quackity has more pressure to perform, more freedom to be sadistic. But that also means he can pick and choose which lines he wants to cross and which he doesn’t. Unlike in the AU, where he’s grappling for anything to use, Q has TONS of leverage over Dream in prison. He has the flexibility to ask himself, “will killing this cat even be helpful? Does Dream actually even like it that much? Will this really convince Mr. Dream ‘I Love Nothing’ Wastaken to give up when breaking all the bones in his legs didn’t? Eh doubt it. And the cat is cute. So I might as well leave the cat alone and just skin Dream alive instead.”

Quackity let Carl go once he had Techno, true to his word. He wants to hurt Dream directly, not indirectly.

Sam, on the other hand, in any circumstances is liable to kill any pet of Dreams before Dream can, like, make up some pet-related evil scheme.

#au: eldritch confessions #c!dream and c!quackity #animal abuse #torture.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

So I have a very unlikely Dream SMP lore theory.

This will contain spoilers from both Wilbur and Foolish's June 6th, 2022, streams.

I think Foolish is going to put himself in the position to be the next big traitor.

"But Sam, Foolish needs to have established allyships/friendships with more members of the SMP for that to happen!"

That's true, and here's how I think it could happen.

Foolish wants Sapnap. Sapnap, who is in possession of The Book of Death. Foolish is trustworthy to Sapnap because Foolish hasn't really done anything to make Sapnap believe otherwise. Foolish is also current an ally of Kinoko Kingdom.

It would be relatively easy for Foolish to create a strong allyship not only with Sapnap, but also with Kinoko Kingdom. Again, Foolish is already allies with Kinoko since he was the main builder of the territory. Foolish could easily establish a stronger relationship with the territory and citizens.

Dream wants Quackity. And Foolish has his people in Las Nevadas since he's a citizen of the territory. He's also Quackity's employee/ally.

This is important since Foolish made a deal with Dream. In exchange for Dream getting souls for Foolish, Foolish will get Quackity for Dream.

Why does Foolish needs souls? Because of Dream XD. Foolish has apparently abused his power of revival and he now owes XD a debt. Either in the souls of others or his own soul.

So how does this make Foolish the next traitor?

Well, he already has the blueprints for a Final Control Room. His secret room in the basement of The Summer Home. His "Drawing Room" where he's mapping out the connections with The Revive Book, The Book of Death, Sapnap, Dream, Dream XD, Quackity, Sam, and himself. His room isn't known to anyone else. He goes out of his way to keep it hidden from others. It's hectic and confusing. When Foolish has been seen in the room, he's been sort of scatter brained and confused.

If Foolish turns Quackity over to Dream, he will be betraying Las Nevadas. Period.

If Foolish kidnaps or kills Sapnap to get The Book of Death, he will be betraying the whole of Kinoko Kingdom. Period.

Foolish making a deal with Dream already puts him in the position of betraying most of the SMP since Dream is a public enemy #1.

And while I don't think he'll blow anything up, I think Foolish will start to lose his humanity(if he hasn't already started to lose it)

He's very obviously grown attached to his inability to die. To the point where he's willing to sacrifice anyone to keep that power. Right now, he feels guilty for wanting to kill others and feels guilty for attempting to kill others.(i.e. Sam Nook), but that could change. Foolish used to only make threats of harming others without showing any real intention of actually harming them. He's already gone as far as trying to kill Sam Nook and now he's made a deal with Dream to get souls just to keep his power. What if he begins to spiral because of how attached he is to his power?

And the lives that are taken will most likely be canon lives.

Foolish would not only have the strength and power of a literal God on his side(i.e. Dream XD), but he would most likely have Dream. Since Dream currently has power over Sam, Foolish would also have Sam on his side. He would have Sapnap, most likely by force. Whether or not he would have Punz is up for debate. And due to their idolization of Dream, Foolish might even have Eryn on his side(if Eryn decides to do lore).

Foolish would have a lot of power, strong backup, little or no humanity, and the power both The Revive Book and The Book of Death.

Foolish would be betraying all of Las Nevadas and Kinoko Kingdom as well as any allies of each territory and any of his own allies. Not to mention he'd be going against anyone who was against Dream.

All I'm saying is that Foolish is in the perfect position for a solid Traitor Arc.

Not to mention how this would bring Kinoko Kingdom and Las Nevadas together as allies. Nevermind the fact that if done right, we could get some Karlnapity angst.

We'd also definitely get Wilbur and Tommy teaming up against Dream. After how Wilbur reacted to hearing about Dream abusing and manipulating Tommy during the Exile, I have no doubt Wilbur would take any shot he could get at revenge. Maybe Phil would join to get revenge on Dream for what he did to Tommy, Wilbur, Techno, and Ranboo. Maybe even Techno would joins since he's paid his debt to Dream. He has no other reason than to fight alongside Phil, but it's possible.

But that's all up to the content creators and if they decide to keep doing lore. If they decide not to do lore, we won't pressure them!

At the very least, I just gave you guys a great foundation for some good fanfiction😎

#dream smp #dsmp #dream smp lore #dream smp lore spoilers #dsmp lore spoilers #foolish dsmp #foolish dream smp #foolish #foolish lore #foolish gamers #wilbur lore spoilers #wilbur dsmp #wilbur dream smp #wilbur lore #wilbur soot #foolish lore spoilers #dream smp theory #dsmp theory #tw abuse #tw manipulation #tw death #tw sacrifice

[morgana-ren]

Ooh, building on your comment about subtle manipulation... We know Astarion probably subconsciously wants to be what Cazador represents in his mind: utterly powerful, which means in control, which means safe from anyone else's predation because he's the predator.

A thought: a smart Tav would pick that up pretty easily. A wise Tav would know that such a path would lead to the inevitable destruction of this man they care for deeply- they're going to destroy Cazador for him, after all, they love Astarion and want to keep him from hounding their friend-or-something-more, but if Astarion becomes like Cazador... Someone will come to kill Astarion to protect their loved ones from him. Someone already has- poor Gandrel. A monster you love is still a monster.

A clever Tav would ask him... "Do you want to become Cazador? Do you want to chain yourself to him forever? Or do you want to stay my Astarion, and be free of him when he's finally gone?"

After all... Tav warns him that though they're helping him without expectation of any reward or even 'good' behavior, they will not let him become their own Cazador; just because they will not force him to conform to their way of living, they also will not let him make them worse... And all the while presenting it in a way that doesn't make him think he's doing it out of pity or guilt.

... Can you tell I love the delicate balancing act between a paragon and a walking corruption arc, where goodness and innocence is not synonymous with foolishness or guilelessness lol

That's what I utterly adore about Astarion's story. I think he's quite literally right on the precipice of it. He's still getting his bearings here, dipping his toes into the freedom he's dreamt about for so long. The vengeance is still ripe within him, and it very much guides his decisions.

I think it's highly possible that it could go either way, because whether he likes it or not, he is influenced equally by the actions of those close to him as he is his own thoughts.

A rotten Tav? Now that could push him over the edge easily. Encourage him to indulge in his wretched instincts, his more base, awful desires, all of it. Help him claim that power he thinks he needs so damned desperately and abuse it to the fullest extent.

However, I think that his growth was somewhat stunted during his time with Cazador. We don't know much at all about who he was before he was the Astarion we know and love, but I get the feeling that while he wasn't a good person necessarily, he wasn't rotten to the core either. Probably just a bit selfish and self serving. So technically, it's also possible that he could become better.

It's all still fresh. He's still bitter as hell. He thinks he wants these things, but does he truly?

It's entire possible that he could become a better person... or at least one not hellbent on abusing everyone around them. A delicate touch and a tad bit of manipulation and it's possible he could come to see things in a new and different way.

In a strange way, he seems a wee bit confused. He really thinks he wants power, but I think what he actually wants it to protect himself and keep from ever being put in a position of such vulnerability for the rest of his very long life. He wants to make good and goddamn sure that no one can ever do anything like that to him ever again. But power breeds corruption, and he openly admits he's susceptible to it.

How Tav interacts with him and their own personal morals and alignment will probably have a decent impact on how he proceeds.

#Morgana and friends #Astarion

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Sapphire Heartverse

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5: Unavoidable

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

TW: blood, violence, implied childhood abuse, childhood trauma talk

June

SLAM SLAM SLAM!!! Cream is crashing his fists against Sapphire Heart’s crystal shield. Vanilla Ice is getting more and more agitated. He pokes his head out from Cream’s mouth,

“I have had it! I know what you can do for defense, why can’t you show me more attack?!” Tippy pants and wipes his brow,

“Well… you know what they say… diamond shields are unbreakable, heheh- WHOA!!!” Cream slams his fist down on the crystal shield aggressively. Breaking the force field is all in vain. Vanilla controls Cream to be more hostile in an attempt to get Tippy to use a more offensive approach rather than defensive. Cream swallows himself up into a void and zooms into nothingness. 

CRASH!!! Cream’s anti-void sphere slams into Sapphire Heart with all his might. Tippy wavers a little bit, making an opening by accident, and sending both the stand and his user flying up against the wall. Sapphire and Tippy look up at Vanilla with a similar pained expression, however, the stand fades away back into the soul of xis user. 

“What the hell was that, Termite?! Why do you barely ever fight back?! This isn’t sparring! This is just me hitting you over and over again while you hide away behind a stupid pink force field!” Vanilla huffs and stomps his foot, pointing at the wounded boy on the ground.

“Pffft… Well, if it works it works.” Tippy dusts himself off. Vanilla gets up in his face,

“There’s going to come a time where you will actually need to fight back instead of acting like that crystal shield of yours isn’t taking bits of your soul energy, you fool.” Ice rubs his forehead and sighs, “You're 23 years old and yet you still act like a foolish brat! Why did I get stuck with babysitting an insolent little jerk?”

“Because daddy Dio told you to? And you do whatever he says because you think he’s hot?” Tippy taunts Vanilla. The brunette frowns and his cheeks burn,

“How… dare you?! I have a lot more respect for Lord Dio than just superficial traits such as attractiveness! I cannot believe you would accuse me of such perverse behavior!”

“Relax, Lucky Charms. I think he’s hot too.” Tippy mutters as he gives a mischievous smirk and brushes some hair behind his ear. Vanilla is seething. Ice’s fists are shaking on either side of his body, his face is scarlet from embarrassment and anger,

“Why you… If it weren’t for Lord Dio’s orders, I would have kicked you to a bloody pulp!”

“Oh really?!” Tippy looks up at him. Vanilla towers over Tippy, being 43 cm taller than the blue haired gentleman. 

“You’re out of your mind if you think you could take me in a fight, little man.” Vanilla growls.

“I’d just defend myself using my crystal shield and invisibreak! You have no power over me, big man!” Tippy pokes Ice in the chest.

“Oh, that is IT.” Vanilla pins Tippy to the ground and they both get into a little altercation.

Soon Vanilla has Tippy on xis belly, face down on the ground. Ice has Tippy’s hair balled up in his fist,

“Had enough yet, Termite?!” They’re both panting and sweating a bit. Tip tries to catch his breath and gulp, but his neck is stretched backward a bit so it is difficult to swallow,

“Have… you?” 

Twinkle twinkle… Tippy disappeared with invisibreak! ….Along with Vanilla Ice.

“Nngh?! What?! H-how did-?!” Tippy tries to disappear again, but Vanilla keeps disappearing and reappearing with him. Ice lets Tip go and shakes his head,

“Hmph. Looks like your powers do have limitations and weaknesses.” he points his finger at xem,”You can’t be touching anyone without taking them with you while using invisibreak. Tch, what disappointing luck.”

“What?! But.. no. No no no… Th-this means I wouldn’t be able to…” Tippy looks at xis hands and a troubled expression washes over xis face.

“And in all these years of having your stand, you’re just now finding this out? How pitiful.” Ice crosses his arms. “Good. It’ll give you all the more reason to hone your attack skills.” Tippy stands up and dusts himself off.

“Go on, Termite. Attack me. Give me all you got.” Vanilla motions with his hand for Tippy to attack him. Cream has his bottom half swallowed up in his mouth already. Sapphire takes out his diamond spear,

“Ready when you are, master.” Tip narrows his eyes at Ice. The two gentlemen stare deeply into each others’ eyes. Don’t let him get to you, Nilla… He’s just a little nuisance is all. Vanilla thinks to himself. 

SLASH! Sapphire makes the first attack. Vanilla backflips into Cream and disappears. Tippy gets frustrated and uses invisibreak. The room appears empty. All of a sudden, there are sounds of quick violence. On and off, there’s silence then sounds of stands and guys yelling. Cream attempts to strike his hand upon Sapphire, but is met with the crystal shield once again. Vanilla peers through Cream’s mouth with fury,

“Why are you still using that ridiculous move?!”

“Because you’re freaking attacking me, that’s why! What else do you want me to do, Vanilla?!” Tip yells back with irritation. Vanilla leaps out of Cream and furiously stalks his way to Tippy.

“Hey, easy now, leotard boy.”

“Shut it.” Vanilla hisses. “No more defense. Show me what your stand can really do.” He gets in Tippy’s face and looks down at him, “Right now is congruent to my feelings towards you. I look down on you.” Cream winds up for a punch on Sapphire Heart. The genie-like stand moves out of the way and almost lands a punch to the beast’s cheek. Cream fights with his hands and claws while Sapphire uses his spear and fists. They are careful not to harm one another too much, because this is only practice fighting. Ice stands a little too close, neither of them have a long enough range unfortunately. The brunette gets a bit too close for comfort. Suddenly-

SLASH!!! Vanilla dodges just in time and cups the side of his face. Sapphire’s diamond spear just barely missed Ice’s right eye. 

“Vanilla!” Tippy gasps and fades Sapphire Heart away. “Oh my god, are you okay?! I’m so sorry! I-” That’s when he realizes something. Sapphire had accidentally sliced off Vanilla’s right bang. The long piece of silky brown hair is lying on the floor. “Uh oh.” Tip backs away slowly.

Ice blinks rapidly for a moment, stunned, completely still. He gently touches and pulls on the frayed strands of shortened, chopped off hair that was once a very long bang to match his left side. Ice’s eyes are wide and maddened,

“No…” He looks down at the floor. There’s the long piece of hair that was once gracefully attached to his head. Vanilla frantically picks up the bang off the floor, kneeling and shaking his head, “No no no no no… no no.” The brunette shoots a death glare at Tip. Xe chuckles nervously and back away with xis hands up. Vanilla stands up menacingly and has his right bang gripped in his fist,

“You…”

“Hey, hey, hey! Vanilla! I-I didn’t mean it! Y-you were in the way! ! I’m so sorry!!” Tippy tries to explain himself. Ice is about to say something, but his speech is stopped by the ringing of a bell. Ice turns around and listens for it. The small bell chimes again. Ice looks back at Tippy, scans him up and down with a sneer and grumbles,

“This way. Now.”

“What? W-What’s going on?” Tippy asks and follows Vanilla. Ice ignores him and thinks to himself, My hair… it’s ruined… How am I going to make asymmetrical bangs look good? What the hell… I know it wasn’t that little bastard’s fault exactly but… ugh. I spent years growing my hair out and now it’s destroyed… I feel like weeping. Ice’s face falls from angered to disheartened by his thoughts. Tling tling tling. The little bell chimes once again. Vanilla speedwalks, making Tippy also pick up the pace.

“H-hey, wait up!” Tippy calls to him. “You know, I’m really really sorry… I mean it, I didn’t-”

“Shhh!” Vanilla sharply hushes the boy. They both make their way to the door of Dio’s bedroom. Vanilla Ice kneels and bows his head. 

“What are you-?” Tippy is interrupted by Vanilla pulling xis arm down for xem to kneel to,

“I said ‘HUSH’! Now kneel before Lord Dio, you delinquent.”

“Okay, okay, jeez!” Tippy kneels on both of his knees. Then he quickly realizes Vanilla is in fact squatting and not kneeling. The blue haired boy can’t hold in a giggle. Ice gives xem a puzzled and slightly offended look. He whispers in a harsh tone,

“What is so funny, Termite?! Have you no respect?!”

Tippy glances over at Ice, his ivory cheeks go bright red and he covers his mouth with a gasp,

“Oh! Um… you may want to adjust a little bit.” He continues giggling and averts his eyes. 

“What?” Ice looks down and his cheeks flush as well. The brunette quickly fixes his little “situation” and ends up getting on one knee. Vanilla uses his hair as a curtain to hide his ashamed face from Tippy. Tling tling tling the bell chimes once more. Dio is getting more and more impatient. 

“My lord,” Vanilla speaks, “I came as soon as I heard you needed me.”

“Oh, I bet.” Tippy remarks. Vanilla shoots Tippy an angry glare, making xem shut up real quick and cover xis mouth.

“Ice… You may enter. Bring Tippy with you. This concerns you both.” Dio’s smooth, otherworldly voice rings in their ears. The two gentlemen stand up and enter Dio’s bedroom. Vanilla has his hands politely folded in front of him, while Tippy is close beside him. Though Tip and Ice don’t normally get along, Tippy still looks to him for protection from certain things. Dio checks his fingernails and sighs deeply,

“I need you two to get rid of somebody for me.”

“As you wish, Lord Dio.” Vanilla nods.

“Huh?!” Tippy looks back and forth between the two men. Dio notices this, but continues to speak directly to Ice,

“Yes. Very good,” Dio sits up on his bed and brushes his hair back over his shoulders, “You see… one of the agents has gone rogue and the poor bastard has locked himself away in one of the rooms near the basement. His stand attacks anyone who tries to go down the stairs that lead that way and it’s become quite bothersome. Do go take care of that for me, would you, gentlemen?”

“As you wish, sire.” Vanilla nods his head.

“What?!” Tippy tries to make sense of everything happening so fast.

“Good. Now leave my boudoir the correct way this time, Mr Ice.” Dio smirks and lays back down on his bed.

“Y-yes, sire. Very good, sire.” The brunette quickly tries to open the door but ends up smacking his face into it.

“The… other handle, Mr Ice.” Dio speaks.

“Yes, sire. Pardon me, sire.” Vanilla opens the door using the correct handle, feeling very silly. 

On the downstairs west wing stairwell

Vanilla and Tippy both slowly make their way to the middle of the stone spiral staircase. Unfortunately, it is difficult to see what is past the stone pillar in the middle of the room exiting the staircase.

“I don’t hear anything. Still… keep quiet.” Vanilla speaks in a hushed tone. His voice is low and a bit gruff, sending tingles down Tippy’s spine. They both gently tiptoe down the steps, waiting expectantly for something shocking to occur. The two agents make it to the small windowless room, brightened sharply with one of the latest installments of an electric chandelier. Vanilla squints, letting his pupils adjust to the harsh lighting. Aha… he must be camping out in the boiler room. Ice’s umber eyes notice a trail of water leaking out of the boiler room door. Tippy takes a step next to Vanilla, only to be met with an outstretched arm preventing him from going any further,

“Wait.” Ice has his gaze fixed on the ground, “Look.” 

“There’s water on the ground.” Tip tells him. Vanilla kneels down, observing the puddles on the floor.

“Something’s… off about these puddles. The way that they’re formed.” Ice narrows his eyes. “Nngh?!” Ice jumps up and pushes Tippy away, “They’re both identical! Quickly!! Move up against the wall!”

“What?! Why is that a bad thing?!” Tippy yelps. Ice hollers an order,

“Whatever you do, don’t let it bite you!!!”

“Don’t- Huh?!” Tippy turns and is met with a horrifying looking stand. The stand looks like a malformed, beige ragdoll with razor sharp teeth poking out of the fabric. Tippy screams and forms his crystal shield. The ragdoll stand’s terrifying serpent-like yellow eyes stare directly into Tippy’s soul. The creature gnaws on the crystal shield, somehow duplicating it around Tippy.

“W-what?!” His voice cracks as he watches two force fields get put up in front of him. Ice has backflipped inside of Cream, ready to attack the imp. 

BVRRRRMMM!!! Cream smashes through the pillar, missing the stand and knocking Tippy back. The pillar now has a circular piece taken out of it.

“HEY! WATCH IT!!” Tippy shouts at Vanilla’s carelessness. Now that the crystal shield is down, the stand decides to take this opportunity to try and pounce on Tippy. In a flash, Ice reaches his arm out of Cream and drags Tippy into the void inside of his stand with him. 

“AAAAAAAUUGHH!!” Tippy cries out as he is sent hurtling inside of a dark abyss. Flipping and twisting around in an endless void, his terrified shrieks are echoed throughout the darkness. Suddenly, a large hand grasps Tippy’s bicep.

“SHHHHH!!! RELAX! RELAX!! We’re safe in here for now.” Vanilla Ice uses his phone flashlight to brighten up the void a little bit. Tippy and Vanilla are very close to one another. Ice can feel Tip trembling in terror. “We need to come up with a plan to stop that thing.” The blue haired boy catches his breath, all while staring Ice in the eyes for comfort. He doesn’t know why… but Vanilla’s presence alone makes him feel so much safer. 

“O-okay… What… What is that stand anyway? You know what it can do?” Tip inquires.

“Yes. That stand is called ‘Copycat’. Real creative, I know. Like the stand’s name suggests, it can make copies of things. Lord Dio found this power to be exciting and would have the user make the stand bite things to make copies of them for safe keeping. In case important things got lost, there was always a copy somewhere. I heard sire even has a copy of his diary… n-not that I would know where that is.”

Tippy raises an eyebrow at Ice. Vanilla clears his throat, “Er, I digress. When the stand bites an object, it creates an exact replica of that thing… however when it bites a living thing… it creates a soulless copy of them. It appears that this stand can create a copy of literally anything besides a soul. It cannot create copies of souls nor stands.”

“Wait wait, but it could copy my crystal shield ability. That’s part of my soul, right?” Tippy tries not to float away into the void, so xe clings to Vanilla’s vest. Tippy's extremely close to Ice right now. This is the closest they've ever been to each other. Feeling Tippy's body heat, especially from being used to being in the void all alone is exciting and somewhat comforting. Vanilla looks to his side,

“Powers… are a bit different. It’s complicated. The stand can copy behaviors as well. I suppose…” Vanilla holds onto Tippy a little closer and looks into his deep chocolate brown eyes. Ice thinks, Hmm… an odd, tickly feeling in my belly all of a sudden… “I suppose… a stand power is like a behavior. Something of that sort.” Tip nods in agreement, “Back to the soulless copy thing… Lord Dio found that the stand can make zombified copies out of already living humans. However, that plan quickly fell flat when it turns out, though the copies are alive, they do nothing but droop over and lie on the floor. Essentially, the lights are on, but nobody’s home.” Ice explains. 

“Huh… So is there any way we can actually kill it?” Tip asks.

“Um… I’m not sure. It seems to be protected by that crochet covering it uses as a second skin. I’ve noticed that there appears to be something inside. Whatever it’s hiding in there, it doesn’t want to be exposed.” Vanilla scratches his head.

“Hey.. wait. Instead of trying to kill the stand itself, why not go for the user? He may be locked inside of a room, but at the end of the day he’s just a normal guy! I could just stab him to death with my diamond spear, eh? If you kill the user, you kill the stand.” Tip gives Vanilla a prideful grin.

“Well, that’s not always the case. I’ve heard of cases where stands go rogue after their master is killed. They live on pretty much as ghosts of somebody’s past.” Ice tells Tippy.

“Well, that sucks. You don’t suppose… Er… let’s hope not. I mean, the dude is still in that room, right?” Tip says.

“Yes.” My heart is racing. I’ve never let another soul inside of the void before. Not even Lord Dio. Vanilla thinks to himself. “Perhaps, that’s why he decided to lock himself in the boiler room, so nobody would get past his stand and kill him.” Ice wraps his arm around Tippy and in a flash, they peer out of Cream’s mouth, “Shit. There’s no sign of that thing. Okay, look. We need to bust down that door and kill the user inside like you said, Termite. Let’s do it.”

The two leap out of Cream’s mouth and are on guard, waiting for the creature to strike once again. 

RRAAAARRRGHHH!!! The imp-like stand screeches and flies in from the ceiling. Sapphire Heart thrusts his diamond spear up in the air and all around to attack the creature. Vanilla is sneaking off to break down the boiler room door with his body. The stand turns around and notices, suddenly making its target Vanilla.

“Vanilla! What the hell are you doing?!” Tippy screams at him. The creature dives onto Vanilla and slashes the brunette’s left shoulder with its claws. Vanilla grunts in pain and holds his arm, bleeding heavily. “USE YOUR STAND TO BUST A HOLE IN THE DOOR!!” Tippy yells. Ice jumps inside of Cream and breaks a circular hole in the wall. The two men enter the boiler room. It’s dark and eerie. The creature screeches, this time not in anger, but in terror. Ice pulls out his phone flashlight once again, revealing the deceased and decaying body of the stand user. 

“Hey, Vans, you were right. I guess he-”

“No… look.” Vanilla points his phone to the left of the body. There it is, a slumped over zombified copy of the stand user. The zombie's eyes are open and unblinking, mouth agape, and yet still alive, “The stand must’ve bitten the user… then killed him. But why?”

“Maybe we were both right and wrong? Maybe there is part of the soul inside the zombified copy… just no consciousness.” Tippy gulps. Behind them, they both hear a screech. The stand is howling and throwing a tantrum. Suddenly, a piece of thread hanging off of its ragdoll covering gets snagged on a screw from one of the pipes. It is revealed that inside of the ragdoll-like appearance, the stand itself looks like a horrific, glowing neon green, demonic cat. The creature lunges at them, jaws gnashing and claws scratching.

“VANILLA!! KILL THE ZOMBIE!! IT’S TRYING TO PROTECT THAT THING!!!” Tippy screams and tries to hold off the stand with Sapphire Heart. 

Vanilla quickly commands Cream to bite the head off of the zombified copy. The stand stops dead in its tracks. Its head explodes and the body disintegrates. It disappears, leaving behind nothing but a whisper of rage. Tippy pants and gulps, his heart just might beat out of his chest. 

“Good riddance,” Vanilla mumbles, holding onto his bleeding shoulder, “Hnngh!”

“Vans! You’re bleeding! That thing sliced you up pretty good, huh?” Tippy rushes over to his aid.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that thing is dead… and we…” The brunette pants and feels blood continue to gush out of his left shoulder, “And we finished Lord Dio’s mission.”

“Dude, you need stitches.” Tippy takes Vanilla’s right arm over his shoulder, in an attempt to help him. It doesn’t help at all, but Vanilla doesn’t tell him that.

At the hospital

After Vanilla receives stitches to fix up his shoulder, Tippy meets up with him to get checked out. One of the doctor goes over how to clean and care for his stitches at home.

“Thank you. I will be sure to do so.” Vanilla nods politely.

“You take care out there, Mr Ezekiel.” The doctor leaves to go back to work.

“Your name is Ezekiel?” Tippy looks up at the brunette with curiosity. Ice looks down and thinks for a few moments before replying with a dry,

“Yeah.”

Tippy is driving them back to the mansion in a little bit of an awkward silence. 

“So,” They attempt to break the silence, “Ezeki-”

“Don’t. Do not call me that. Don’t ever call me that.” Vanilla’s voice may not be raised, but his tone is still hostile and defensive.

“I’m sorry…” The blue haired boy apologizes with a forlorn mumble. A few moments later, Tip decides to speak a bit more gently,

“How are you feeling right now?”

“... It…” There it is again… The tickling, sick feeling in my belly. “It hurts. But it doesn’t matter what I feel. That stand and its user have been destroyed, therefore making Lord Dio happy.” Ice looks out the window.

“Well, I’m more concerned about you right now. I wouldn’t feel good knowing you’re trying to sleep while in pain, dude. Did you take those meds the doctor gave you?” Tippy asks. Vanilla’s cheeks lightly flush but he remains silent for a moment,

“... Why do you care?”

“Because…” Tippy gives a small sigh, “because I just do, okay? I consider you to be one of my friends. Yeah, I know we drive each other freaking nuts but… I don’t know.”

“You think I’m your friend? I’m just your higher up…” Vanilla’s voice trails off. Friend? Does this fool really believe such an infantile thing?! Friend… what a stupid concept… and yet…

At The Mansion

“Don’t forget to take those meds, alright, Vans?” Tippy tells him. Vanilla has his head down and watches Tip leave out of his periphery.

“Wait.” Ice’s voice is soft. Tip turns around,

“You okay?”

“Come. Follow me.” Vanilla takes Tippy into his bedroom. It’s very neat and tidy. Though his walls are lightly sparsed in posters of scantily clad men, it’s very classy and adorable. His bed looks luxurious, with its deep violet sheets and pillows to match. He has beautiful lilac dressers with little hearts as the drawer knobs. Vanilla even has his own bathroom,

“Wow! You get your own bathroom too? Dang, I have to go down the hall for mine.” Tippy looks around the room. Vanilla daintily sits on his bed,

“Yeah.”

“I like that heart pillow, it’s so cute. Oh! You have a heart clock too? That’s adorable! I like the pastel goth thing you’ve got going on here, that’s awesome. This is so cool, Vans.” Tippy smiles while holding one of Vanilla’s heart shaped pillows. Ice looks over at Tippy,

“Having fun?”

“Oh, sorry.” The blue haired boy puts the pillow down.

“You can sit down. I want to talk to you.” Vanilla sighs. Tip politely takes a seat next to Vanilla on his bed. “I might as well say these things. I don't know why... But..." Ice looks into Tippy's eyes. He wants to tell him I trust you. But the words fail him. "Yes… my real name is Ezekiel.” Ice points at Tippy and gives him a stern look, “What I tell you now, will never leave your lips. Capisce? Good.” 

TW: IMPLIED CHILDHOOD ABUSE. YOU CAN SKIP THIS PART IF YOU WANT TO!! THERE WILL BE OTHER RED TEXT AFTER IT ENDS SO YOU CAN CONTINUE!

Tippy gulps and waits for Vanilla to continue what he was going to say. Ice looks off in the distance,

“I grew up in an orphanage. I was told my parents didn’t want me so they dumped me off at an orphanage to get rid of me. I was a ‘defective child’ as my caretakers told me. Yes, Ezekiel is my name, but that is not the name I answer to. It is the name that was supposedly given to me by my parents… my birth parents.” Vanilla adjusts his sitting position a little, “Bad things happened at that place.” Ice gives Tip a sinister glare, “awful things… cruelty beyond your comprehension. Things no child should ever have to bear, nor bear witness to for that matter. I was one of those children.”

Tippy’s brows furrow with concern and fear of what Vanilla is telling him. The brunette continues,

“After... certain horrors have befallen me, and I lie there sobbing in grief… he appeared. My stand. I didn’t know what he was at first and I assumed he was just an imaginary friend." Vanilla looks at his bathroom door, not wanting to look at Tippy.

"I didn’t name him at first either. But ever since I was around 6 years old, I had him. He kept me happy, he kept me company, and most of all… he kept me safe.” Vanilla bows his head… He swallows hard, but remains stoic, “I had him gulp the people who have harmed me into the void, never to be seen again. However, I couldn’t do that all the time. I still had fear in my heart. Yet, I had a yearning to belong. I was treated poorly because of my sexuality. I was viciously bullied by my peers and even the adults around me. I pretended to be what they wanted, or I just wouldn’t express myself at all.” 

ABUSE MENTION PART IS OVER!!!

Ice rubs his neck and sighs with his eyes closed before continuing,

“You know… I had dreams before all this, right?”

“W…what did you want to do before this job, Vanilla?” Tippy asks with hesitation.

“I wanted to be a gymnast. No, I consider myself a gymnast already.” The brunette turns to him, “I would practice my stretches, jumps, flips, backflips, you name it. Yes, the torment from others was awful, but I figured, ‘I’m already an outcast. I might as well go all the way with it.’ So I started wearing leotards regularly. I started working out routinely as well. Nobody wanted to mess with a 6’8” full grown muscular man. Well… besides you apparently, Termite.” Vanilla Ice… smiles at Tippy. 

It’s not Tip’s mind playing tricks on xem, it’s not a smirk… but Vanilla actually gave xem a genuine warm smile. Ice continues,

“Oh. I forgot to mention what I brought you in here for. I got so caught up in my life story, I forgot to tell you why I don’t answer to ‘Ezekiel’ and why my preferred name is ‘Vanilla Ice’.” Vanilla looks up at the ceiling then closes his eyes. He inhales deeply, then exhales,

“I was going to be adopted once. There was a kind couple who were planning on adopting a child. I had a strong attachment to the woman who was preparing to be my mother. The couple would visit, and that woman was so kind to me. She would give me gifts and treats of all sorts… then one day it happened. That kind woman gave me something I have never tried before. It was ice cream. That was the first time I had ever eaten ice cream and…” Vanilla realizes he's showing too much emotion and clears his throat to speak calmly, “Pardon me. That was the first time I had eaten ice cream. I didn’t want to try any other flavor besides vanilla. I had that treat all over my face…” 

Tippy just listens to him, letting him take pauses.

“That woman thought it was so funny and cute that she decided to nickname me ‘vanilla ice cream’. I would always hear her call me ‘vanilla’ and it just stuck.” He speaks.

“But then one day… she didn’t come over. I waited for hours. She said she would see me again that day. She said she would bring more ice cream. She said I was coming home with them one day. I waited and waited… She never came back…” Vanilla’s clutches his fist, “I was told… she was murdered. She and her husband were brutally murdered. I didn’t get to be part of a big happy family. I was never adopted. I was kicked out when I became an adult and I lived on the streets… filthy, smelly… starving to death.” Ice hides his face in his hair, “But everything changed when I met Lord Dio. I needed this job to survive. I showed him what my stand could do and he loved it, and he loved me. He accepted me for who I am. He loved me for me. He encouraged me to be myself. He was my first…” Ice touches his own chest, feeling his heart pound,

“Lord Dio. In exchange for giving me a lavish place to stay, hot meals to eat, clean water to drink, a place to bathe and sleep. I would give him everything I have to offer. My life, my body, my will. Lord Dio… my love. I work as his most loyal and favorite servant for love. I do everything he says without hesitation. I trust him with my full being…” Vanilla explains with a dreamy sigh.

He turns towards Tippy and speaks quietly and calmly, “Well… there you have it, Termite. Remember, let none of this leave those lips of yours.”

“Y-you got it, Vans.” Tippy nods and looks up into his eyes, “Hey… I could, um… I could help you with things around the mansion. Consider this a truce.” He holds out his right hand. Vanilla shakes it gently. Tippy's hand is so small and fragile compared to mine... I suppose that's why Lord Dio wanted me of all his servants to protect him.

“Hmhm… you’ve got yourself a truce, Tip.” Vanilla’s lips curl up into a slight smile.

“Tip?”

“What? Am I not allowed to call you nicknames other than Termite?” Ice teases. 

The two gentlemen end up talking all night. Vanilla walks Tippy back to his room.

“Hey,” Tippy holds the bedroom door open.

“Yes?” Vanilla looks back at him.

“Goodnight… Vanilla Ice.” Tippy smiles warmly. There it is again… that funny cotton ball feeling in the pit of my stomach. Vanilla blushes a bit and stammers,

“G-...goodnight… Tippy.” 

To be continued…

#sapphire heartverse fanfic #tw implied abuse #sapphire heartverse #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba oc #jjba self ship #jjba self insert #jjba #vanilla ice jojo #vanilla ice jjba #safeship