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thegnomelord · 5 months

Note

sof and cute hcs of eldritch reader trying to learn how to people (and maybe some raunchy ones about learning how human "mating" works) hhhhnnnngggh

Imagine Learning To Be Human

CW: SFW and NSFW First TF141 with SFW, then NSFW headcannons, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, morning after (no sex), sexual nudity, nonsexual nudity, implied poly141. GN reader, 500-900 words for each blurb, so somewhere around 5.5k words. Imma be quiet for the next week or so as I prepare for an exam so I'm feeding ya'll :Dd

Imagine SOAP— It's safe to say you're not the best with expressing what you think, especially not in this hollowed out corpse a tiny fraction of your consciousness inhabits. The more you try, the less human your attempts come out, only remembering that humans don't bend that way or don't do something after you've done it. You find yourself gravitating to Soap because he is the opposite of you, so open and responsive like an open book.

Imagine; observing Soap as he tries to piece together the fragments of a bomb, muttering curses under his breath as if the object had just called football 'soccer'. He's so concentrated he forgets the rest of the world exists, oblivious to you sitting across from him. But that's not a problem as it gives you a chance to watch and try to mimic what his face does; the slight hint of teeth as he nibbles on his lip, the furrow of his brows, the tenseness of his jaw pulling on his throat muscles…

You try to mimic every emotion he goes through as he tries and fails and succeeds and fails again to fit the pieces together like a jigsaw, but the hardest one to do is that smile of his. For some reason you just can't get it right, lips pulling back too far, teeth too much on display and brows too furrowed so you end up looking like an old savage.

Then as if to spite you, Soap looks up at you and immediately snorts. "What're yea doin' there Bonnie?" He coughingly laughs as your facial features return to your statue like state.

"Trying to look like you." You huff; at least you can do that correctly.

"Oh, look strapping don't I?" He snorts, doing what Ghost calls 'fishing for compliments' (though you're unsure how one can fish for abstract ideas).

"No more than the rest." You shrug and see him roll his eyes, though the corners of his lips are still quirked up, a hint of teeth on display and vestiges of dimples framing his mouth. "How do I do that?" You ask and motion to his face.

"Do what? Smile?" You snorts, already beckoning you over like you're a dog. "It's easy."

You lean across the table, tilting your head to indicate confusion but leaving your face a blank canvas. It takes all of your presence of mind not to give an earth shattering purr when his hands cup your jaw, distant stars quivering as his blunt nails scratch at your throat for a blissful second.

"Here," His thumbs settle at both corners of your lips, putting gentle pressure until he pushes the flesh back and up in a way that's natural to the skin suit but not you. "There yea go." He grins and pulls his thumbs away after a few moments, grinning when you hold the expression.

"Now yea're as dashing as me." He chuckles and you two must look like utter buffoons just grinning at one another; you wouldn't have it any other way.

Imagine GAZ — You're not exactly alive, technically you're the antithesis to life and existence, so to you, simple rules like eating or sleeping are no more than chalk guidelines after a rainstorm. Gaz doesn't subscribe to this idea, he's always trying to get you to indulge in these human comforts and you always allow him, even if it does include eating more things in a week than most of your kin have consumed in a millennia, if that.

Imagine; wandering the halls on a lazy Sunday morning, no drills to run or missions to prep for, and being drawn to the communal kitchen by the sound of boiling water and banding pans. You find Gaz cooking breakfast for the boys; he's the only one who can cook (according to him) seeing as Price seasons his food with hope, Ghost burns everything into coal and Soap's not allowed into the kitchen after he'd tried to make tea in the microwave (which Gaz had later asked you to exorcise).

"Mornin'." Kyle yawns and smiles at you, dressed in shorts and one of your 'lost' shirts. You do your best to replicate his expression. "Help me, yeah?" He asks and nods his head at what he's cooking.

Your expression falls back to neutral. "You'll need to show me how." You admit as you get next to him.

"Not a problem," He chuckles as he shifts behind you, pressing his chest flush with your back with his hands hovering over yours. You feel his warmth when he rests his head on your shoulder, his hands firm and steady as he shows you how to chop tomatoes and sausages, how to hold the knife correctly and pulling your fingers back when the blade draws too close to the flesh, talking you through it until you can do it on your own.

After that he leaves you to your task as he almost dances around the kitchen, stirring a pot here then putting the kettle on there and so many more little things while you remain where you are because you, by nature, are slow; to adapt, to age, to change.

But you do it for him.

"Those look great." He grins when you're done and then herds you in front of the cooking pans, and you're a little apprehensive about the bubbling oil when he dumps what you'd cut up into the pan. But his warmth is at your back again, steady hands guiding you on how to cook the food without burning your skin and leaving you to it when you catch on.

Then you feel a tug on your shirt, his presence once again next to you, but this time he's holding a piece of sausage on the end of a fork, a hand beneath it so it doesn't drop, "Hey, taste this for me."

You contemplate arguing you can't actually taste food the same way he does, but he gives you a look that has you letting him feed you. Though it tastes no different from everything else, from his hand it may as well be sweeter than ambrosia.

"Tastes good." The way he brightens up at your words makes the food only taste sweeter.

Imagine GHOST —You and him are similar in some ways, you both prefer to stick to what you know, who you know. It's harder for you to contain what you are inside your flesh body when there is so much life around you that every additional heartbeat pulls at the edge of your cold existence. So you stick to close to the people who's warmth has grown so familiar it's indistinguishable from the burning starts making up your real body.

Imagine; attending a celebration held by both TF141 and Los Vaqueros after a mission gone well, loud music and lewd lyrics blaring in your ears as men drink like teenagers at their first frat party. You're in a more secluded part of the bar next to Ghost, both of you nursing drinks while you watch the rest act like fools.

You're a little confused when you see Gaz and Soap move in a strange way, grinding against one another and pressed so close you'd think they're trying to mate, their hands roaming the other's body so roughly you're surprised no pieces of clothing come flying your way.

"Got a free show for my drink." Ghost chuckles next to you.

"What are they doing?" You finally ask when you can't contain your curiosity.

"Dancing." He answers and swallows the last inch of booze in his cup, setting it down on the bar. "For fun." He adds, already expecting the line of questioning, as if that's supposed to make you understand.

"They just look like they're trying to mate." You point out, receiving a long sigh in return.

"How 'bout I just show you." Before you can say anything he nicks the cup of untouched alcohol in your hand and swallows it all down in one go, putting the empty cup next to his before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside through the back entrance. You go along with him, but you're confused when you catch Soap's eyes and he wolf whistles at the two of you.

The world outside is calmer than the busy bar, the air much colder; closer to what you are. You turn to him once he lets you go, tilting your head and furrowing your brow to convey confusion. "So…what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead." A gravely chuckle escapes Simon as he closes the distance between you two, his rough hands settling on your waist as he begins to slowly rock both of your bodies along with the music, though his movements are more contained than what you'd seen, a steady push and pull compelling you to follow him.

"Why is this different than what Soap and Gaz were doing?" You ask, clutching his shoulders in return, your forehead almost resting on his chest as you look at your feet so you don't step on his toes.

You feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles, "They set a low bar." He rumbles and his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up so you two lock eyes, the intensity in his brown irises drowning out the sounds of the bar. "Eyes on me."

You nod. Your eyes stay firmly on him as you sway together to a tune he hums, finding a common ground in the way your cold and his heat mixes together. Above you millions of your eyes peer down at him, for as vast as you are, for this moment your attention is on him.

Imagine PRICE — He can tell how tired you are, not physically but mentally; having to communicate and understand people without the use of a mental link, when even the most complex ideas can be conveyed easily, was starting to fray the edges of your control over your human body. He decided to do something about it.

Imagine; Price taking you and the boys fishing to a remote cabin next to a lake. Knowing you don't sleep he pulls you out by the lake at the ass crack of dawn, having you watch as he sits down on the dock, his pants pulled up to his knees so he can dip his feet in the water while he sets up the fishing rods.

"What are we doing?" You ask but follow his example and sit next to him, the cool water of the lake similar enough to the cold abyss your true body resides to calm your nerves, though you're unsure of what to do when he gives you the fishing rod.

"Fishing." He says as he shows you how to cast out the line. "You look like you need it."

You don't argue with him and just try focusing on fishing, letting him teach you how to watch the line to see when something takes the bait and when to reel it in. You’re unsuccessful your first few attempts, and you have half the mind to just jump in and wrangle the fish in the lake with liquid abyss, but he stops you.

"Catching isn't the point." He says as he smokes his cigar while he takes an old boot off your hook. "It's about relaxing, the fish are just a bonus."

You let out a low sound that vibrates the water, but you settle next to him and cast out the line again. You don’t know how long you sit there next to him, your sides touching with the fishing rod sitting loosely in your hands. After some time you manage to yank out your first fish, and you certainly don't gloat when you pull a few more fish out of the lake while he only pulls out seaweed, but the look of pride in his eyes makes it even better.

Any prospects of catching any more fish are dashed when Gaz and Soap wake up and take running jumps into the lake, scaring all the fish with their splashing. "Like school boys." Price remarks as Ghost comes up to you both, offering beers as he sits down on your other side.

"Summer vacation, captain." Ghost says and slips into the water, and you realize this is calming; in the way you haven't felt before, doing something familiar like watching Soap and Gaz trying to dunk each other in the water but feeling like you’re right there with them, laughing alongside them when Ghost scares the shit out of them by lunging out of the water.

“See sweetheart? ‘S not hard.” Price hums, adjusting his hat though his shoulders are already reddened from sunburns. He offers you his cigar and you accept it, breathing in the nicotine and smoke despite not having lungs or a circulatory system to be affected by it, before you give it back. “Taking it easy is good for you.”

You nod your head, content to sit next to him until something tugs on the line of your forgotten fishing rod and you scramble to reel it in. You give a small grunt as whatever is on the hook struggles, "Yank on it." Price tells you and you do, nearly toppling on your back when you finally win the tug of war. You blink as you look at what you've caught.

A Speedo.

"Well would you look at that." Price chuckles.

Judging by the way Johnny's suddenly bare assed and throwing obscenities in Gaelic your way, you assume that it's his.

“Caught a big one there.” Ghost notes, not yet laughing but his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he slaps Soap's cheeks (of his rear).

He yelps, confident enough to be naked in front of all of you, but not shameless enough to where his cheeks (on his face) don't redden from the way Gaz cackles and wheezes with laughter so loudly he nearly drowns. You give Johnny back his trunks before he can drown Gaz but, maybe you should fish any more.

NSFW:

Imagine SOAP— If anyone ever asks Soap why he would ever send a dick pick to an ancient god, he'll blame anything and everything; on being stood up, on loving himself a little less, on mixing up the numbers, in being black out drunk…

Imagine; him being stone cold sober when the thought invades his mind and he spends the next hour trying to take a good picture: in front of the mirror, on the bed, no clothes, some clothes, the list of positions goes on. He doesn't want to come across like he's compensating by just holding his dick in his hand like some cunt; as silly as it is, he wants the picture to actually tempt you, to make you feel something, though the question of if you even can doesn't cross his mind. He ends up with a picture of him on the bed, the tip of his hard cock peeking out from beneath the band of his boxers.

He won’t admit he holds his breath when he sends the suggestive picture to you alongside a ;) , watching the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times before you just leave him on seen. He deflates and has half the mind to delete the picture and chuck his phone to the other end of his bed but he’s stopped when he gets a message from Price.

‘My office. Now.’

Turns out you were with Price when you saw that photo and without a second thought had shown him it and asked what it meant. Granted Price had seen more than just his dick, but he was less than happy about Johnny sending you unsolicited dick pics.

You quiz Soap for nearly an hour, stone faced and unbothered while he gets redder with every question (what can you send, what not to send, how much to send, etc.) and he gets the impression that's how his ma' felt when she gave him and his sisters 'the talk'. “So, yeah.” He clears his throat, whole face feeling hot. “Don’t do it ‘lest yea’r asked or yea like ‘em.”

Thankfully Price finally lets you go when you’re satisfied with his answers and Soap can’t scamper fast enough out of his office with his whole face in flames.

He deletes the photo soon after but you've already burned it into your memory where it will outlast the stars, and the idea to reciprocate festers in your ageless mind like rot until you find yourself in front of your mirror after a shower. You play with the phone for a long time, snapping a few blurry close up shots of your face while you attempt to change it from the front to the back facing camera.

It takes even longer to figure out what to send as Soap wasn't that clear with his answers. Your siblings give you pointers, and first you attempt to take a picture of your most private part — bones snap as your rib cage splits open into a maw, vines full of eyes wrapping around your ribs like ivy as tendrils of darkness unwind just enough for the anti-light of your very essence sucks up all the light in the room — but the mirror cracks and your phone just shuts off with a pitiful whimper.

After fixing the mirror you end up doing what you do best; you mimic one of the statues you'd seen the Greeks make, the towel wrapped just along the V where your thighs connect to your pelvis, exposed from the waist up with your skin still wet. Your body isn't as demure as the muses that sculptor had used, but you hope Soap will appreciate it as you snap a few more photos and send them to Johnny with the same ;) he'd sent you.

Soap nearly chokes on his spit when he gets the photo, all the blood in his brain flooding south as his eyes rake over every exposed inch of skin, every curve and every dip in the muscles making him drool and cock harden and he's racing to your room before you even have the time to turn your phone off.

Imagine GAZ — For all of your pitfalls and misunderstandings he likes the little hints of inhumanity in your speech, in your mannerisms, in knowing you could be anywhere and anytime but you choose to be next to him. He couldn't imagine himself being enamored with an ant, yet you hang on his every word like he's revealing secrets you don't know, making him feel special; he feels so bad when his thoughts of you stop being innocent.

Imagine; He tries to keep things respectful, but his imagination runs wild when you do the simplest things. Bend down to tie your shoe? He's checking out your arse from the corner of his eyes. Stand behind him? He's suppressing a shiver just imagining your body draped over his in post-coital bliss. Check his skin for injuries? Gaz has to bite his lip to keep from begging you to touch all of him, to explore his body. Work out? Kyle's lucky if he doesn't start drooling imagining going over and licking the sweat off your skin, of feeling your muscles tense beneath his tongue while you continue to work out with him between your legs.

When he can't think of you without popping a boner he ends up having to compromise before the shame eats him whole. He goes on a random porn site; he usually prefers just using his imagination but when his mind keeps circling back to you he has no other option, and his conscience gnaws on him when he ends up finding a porn star with similar features to yours. It's not wrong if he's wanking off to a different person, right?

Heat's already burning in his stomach when he slouches in his chair, his back to his room and one earbud in his ear. Shame continues to eat at him when he's both delighted and disheartened by the fact the porn star sounds nothing like you, that his bones don't shiver like they do when you talk.

He keeps the volume low and instead focuses on rubbing and squeezing his cock the way the porn star does to a second actor, and he can't help imagining what you'd sound like; high pitched and whiny? Husky and low? Completely silent or animalistic? The idea of pulling sounds of pleasure out of your throat has him leaking. His head lolls back and he moans as he squeezes the base of his cock, his eyes open just enough to blur the fine details on the porn star's face so you two become indistinguishable.

His heart stops when you burst through his door, a random question leaving your lips before your ears pick up the moans and slick sounds coming from his direction. You're next to him in an instant, looming over his chair and caging him in with your eyes stuck to the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Get out!" He yelps and tries to push you away but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"Why does that human look like my vessel?" You persist, "And why are you watching humans mating when you told me it's wrong?" You tilt your head, luckily not seeing his hand on his hard cock, the porn reflecting in the blacks of your eyes.

“It’s on the net it’s different! People upload it for others' pleasure and-” He sputters and cuts himself off when he registers your words, freezing in place and that accidentally gets him to squeeze the head of his cock.

Your pupils widen like a cat’s when you hear the little moan escape his chest, your head automatically dropping down to see where his other hand is. "Oh,” is what comes out of your mouth when you see his hard weeping cock. “Can I?” You ask, making an odd motion with your head.

He thinks you're asking to leave and nods. "Yeah-" Gaz wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, his cheeks burning red like he's a lobster in a pot. “-can you pl-please leave-”

He wheezes when your cold hand suddenly wraps around his cock, your hold firm and just at the edge of pain but still making him throb. A few more eyes spread across your skin to see him while you watch the video still playing on his computer, giving his cock a small pump and shaking the stars with your purr when he moans.

"What are-" He neck nearly snaps to look at you, a shiver raking his body and another moan escaping him as you squeeze the head of his cock, your skin like ice yet it makes him burn with arousal.

"Watch." You order and turn his head with your free hand so his eyes are back on the screen. You don't know why he's watching a fake 'you' mate when he could just ask you, but you know one thing; the person on the screen is competition, and by the way you roughly stroke his cock until he's whining and leaking like a tap, Gaz can tell— you don't like competition.

Imagine PRICE — He never imagined he'd need to have 'the talk' with a god; sure, you may understand how sex works, but you're hopeless in understanding the nuances of it all. If someone doesn't directly say 'let's fuck' you assume any touches from them, even groping, is just them being friendly. It makes his blood boil, seeing you be taken advantage of like that.

Imagine; You're in the bar with the boys and Price is a couple of drinks in when he sees being felt up by a stranger and you're oblivious to his advances. A green eyed monster nips at Price's heels and he doesn't notice when he puts himself next to you, 'accidentally' shoving the other guy back with just his bulk. His presence, his demeanor, and the few harsh words spoken in a clipped tone has the other guy scampering off.

He doesn't remember much after that, only the way you'd looked at him — with the intensity of a ravenous void, like he was a bright star you wanted to devour.

What wakes him isn't his clock, but the rays of sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. He groans as he registers the awful ache behind his eyes before he even has a chance to open them. He feels his bed shift and his eyes snap open automatically, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you laying on your side as you stare at him.

"Jesus!" He jumps up, nearly topples over from the sudden vertigo but your steady hand on his shoulder keeps him upright, making him realize he's nude.

"He's not here." You shrug and as you sit up his sheets pool around your waist, making him realize you're naked from the waist up, though he doesn't want to think if you're naked naked. His fists clench when his eyes roam over your exposed body against his will, settling on the various hickeys decorating your shoulders and neck.

His heart sinks. "What…what happened last night?" He asks and doesn't want to know the answer, his stomach churns with shame.

"Oh, uh, you got drunk, I got you home, you started kissing and biting me." You say, tracing the numerous hickeys and indents of his teeth across your human form like they're medals. "Then you pulled me into your bed and wouldn't let me go. Then you passed out." You say as if nothing's wrong, and even if no sex happened it's little consolidation to the fact he took advantage of you.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He asks as he takes a shaky breath, shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes downcast, bile burning in his stomach.

"Why would I?" You tilt your head and shift positions to face him fully, the sheets falling away to reveal you are naked naked. "I may not understand you fully, but I would have stopped you if you did something I didn't want."

Price hates himself for how he can't tear his eyes away from your body. "But you let me." He insists and tries to get you to see reason, to be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself.

“Yes.” You are growing annoyed as well, silently cursing the frailty of the human mind; things would be easier to explain if you could just use mental communication… “You are less than insects to my kin.” You sigh and move to straddle him before he can get away, pinning him under you. “You are a sun to me.”

Even calling him a sun doesn’t do him justice; suns die out like firecrackers when your immeasurable body passes over them, when you devour them, him, you want to keep, to protect, to wrap in your cold abyss until he’s warm and safe.

He sucks in a breath, the gears in his head turning as he tries to understand. “What?-”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, your hands respectfully on your thighs as if you’re not pinning him in place with your weight. There’s a dark intelligence in your eyes, the same ravenous void staring at him behind the black of your eyes. You are not a child, you are a god.

"Why?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he breathes in your smell, the scent of dying stars and burn ozone tickling his lungs. "You don't have to." He says weakly, because what would anyone, god or not, want with him?

"You left marks on me, I want to do the same." The way you say it makes him think of godhood; not the bleak madness you are, but the type humanity romanticizes. Your lips part as if you're thinking of marking him, bits of oblivion staring back at him from the darkness of your throat when he looks too closely at your mouth.

He submits so fast. "C'mere then," He pulls you close by your head, kissing you like he's trying to steal your ichor, his body burning hot when your hands grip him tight enough to leave moon shaped bruises in his skin — the first of many you intend to give him, until you've marked him as yours and yours alone.

Imagine GHOST — Ghost prefers to show you rather than spend hours trying to explain things to you, he's more stricter with you when you try to do things you're told not to, both for your and everyone's safety. You never do quite learn.

Imagine; Ghost recently confiscated your phone when you tried to see what humans thought about you, or what they imagined you and your kin to be, on a website called 'Rule34'. Ghost had snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even click the link. After a week he gave you the go ahead to take it back, but got called to run a drill so just said to go find it.

Now, you've been told not to go rooting around other people's belongings, but while searching for your phone you'd fallen back into your old habit and snooped around until you found a small box in the bottom of his dresser. Thinking nothing of it you opened it and found…something. A lot of somethings; handcuffs, rope, weird egg shaped thing, a weird tube with a hole in it that squished like a stress toy but had a cunt molded at one end, but what drew your attention — was the dismembered black cock in the middle of the box.

You and all of your kin scratched your collective heads over the thing you now held in your hand, you'd been under the impression humans didn't carry around body parts anymore so you were stumped why Ghost had a dismembered dick and balls in his dresser. Besides the pitch black color and flat base it looked so realistic and the way it flopped when you turned it in your hand made you feel the same way humans did when seeing you.

So you got up and wen to ask Ghost about it, the thing held out in your hand when you found him with the rest of the boys. "Ghost, why do you a have body part in your closet?"

Your question made them all turn to look at you, Ghost made a strange sound like a strangled dog while Gaz and Soap fell over laughing and Price shielded his eyes with the rim of his hat.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He snarls and before you know it he’s stomping over to you and dragging you by the front of your clothes, “What I tell you about snooping?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” You try to argue but don’t struggle and just let him drag you somewhere like you're a kitten until you find yourself in his room with the door firmly locked behind him.

"Right." His tone makes it sound like he doesn't believe you, his rough hand pushes you down on his bed and he yanks the thing from your hold. “You want to know what this is for?” He asks and holds the the cock with the head pointed at you like a knife.

You nod your head and try to rise up but he pushes you back down, you're not even sure where he gets the handcuffs from but there's cold steel around your wrists before you can notice it. It's his order to "Sit and watch." that actually keeps you down, and you see the corners of his eyes shift to denote a smirk. "Do what you're good at."

You don't blink as you watch him disrobe until he's only wearing his mask, and your surprise is obvious when he sticks the thing on the floor and it stays up right. "This," He growls and sinks to his knees on the floor, a towel under him, "Is a fuckin' dildo." He reaches over and takes a small tube, squirting viscous liquid on his fingers. "You don't ever take it out of my room. Got it."

He leaves no room to argue and you rapidly nod your head. You find yourself breathless as you watch him reach behind himself and you don’t even notice how a bit of your oblivion leaks from your pores and spreads across the ground like spiderwebs, eyes blooming in the small pools all around him so you can see the way he roughly pushes a finger into himself, your hands clenching as his rim flutters around his large fingers.

"What is it for?" You find your voice, the sound ringing like the inside of a dead star the longer you watch him roughly stretch himself, pushing two then three fingers into his ass.

"Fun," He chuckles and feels so powerful when your eyes have all but turned black with hunger you've yet to notice. "It's a toy, for adults." He pulls his fingers out and squirts more liquid on the dildo, before sinking down on the toy in one fluid move that leaves him hissing at the stretch, his rim fluttering around the thick base.

Something about the way the toy is of a similar color to your real body has you wriggling beneath your human skin, the air vibrating as you groan and try to reach out to him, wanting to cover him in your body and have all of him feel all of you.

"No." Just one word has you sitting back on the bed like a dog, a pitiful sound rumbling across the void as you can do nothing but watch. "This is what you get for snooping." He's so smug with the way he has such control over you without even touching you, his thick thighs tensing as he slowly bounces on the dildo, "Now watch. Maybe if you're good I'll let you touch me."

You'll do whatever he says so long as you get to feel him.

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bracketsoffear · 11 months

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The Radiance (Hollow Knight) "The Radiance is one of the few higher beings / gods in Hollow Knight. It was previously the main higher being of the land know known as Hallownest. Then along came The Pale King. The Pale King buried The Radiance’s religious relevance with his own, becoming the knew main higher being of Hallownest. This! is because The Pale King was able to give the bugs thought, and let them have minds of their own instead of being savage beasts.

Also yes, every character in Hollow Knight is a bug. very corruption aligned as well.

Eventually, eons later, The Radiance came back, upset about being replaced. It brought about a mind-controlling plague known as The Infection. This was a mass breakout of a disease in Hallownest, which caused bugs to loose their minds and become obsessed with praising The Radiance. Not to mention the fact that orange sludge / goop drips out of the infected bugs in a really grotesque way. This is MULTIPLE elements of the corruption. Corruption of physical form, Corruption of thought, and religious corruption, as well as general themes of bugs. literally this entire game and franchise revolves around bugs.

The Pale King tries to fight back many times, sacrificing his own children and failing. By the time the player character arrives, The Knight/Ghost, Hallownest is already in a post apocalyptic state of infection, very few bugs with thought and true being remaining."

Bugsnax (Bugsnax) "The game starts with you finding out about the existence of Bugsnax: fascinating, mysterious and wonderful creatures of legend with big googly eyes that are shaped like food! They taste like the meals you imagine they do, but far better than it had ever been, satisfying you easily with a single one but still leaving you wanting more. As you progress, the inhabitants of the island where they're found ask you to find more and more of them to give them; they're enjoying them, and for each of them, these bugsnax signify something deeper than what it seems at first glance. It isn't just food: for some, they're like family; for others, they're mysterious creatures they grow obsessed to research about; and for others they're the sources of stability in their otherwise intensely unstable lives. One way or another, eating or just being near bugsnax can easily get a hold of you and make you completely dependent on them, making you believe they're the solution to all of your life's problems. The fact that by eating a single one it affects your body structure and turns your limbs one by one into food shaped skin also adds to the horrors that everyone seem to be too blind to, too focused on their own dependence as it builds and builds until, eventually, you're fully food shaped and then your body structure weakens, destroying you and turning you into another of the island's victims, and so become a meal of the meal you had been eating all along. At the end of the day, you find out what they really are: parasites, made in cute shapes with adorable or funny sounds for the sole purpose of convincing you to having them nearby, eat them, and so slowly build up to eating you from the inside out. You are what you eat, and all life is Bugsnax."

#corruption poll #the magnus archives #the corruption #hollow knight #bugsnax #poll

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wildstar25 · 2 months

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I was thinking about WOL outfits and what not, so here's a question:

And to elaborate on the difference between option 1 and option 2, a brief explanation of my interpretations under the cut:

Illusion magic only masks the true appearance of an item, bending the light aether around the item to make it look different to the naked eye. No physical properties of the armour changes. It maintains its original dimensions and weight. If your WOL was wearing full plate armour then glamoured it to something more revealing, if someone tried to stab an exposed area, their knife would stop on impact of the concealed armour.

Transformation magic will fully alter the physical appearance of the armour into the applied glamour. It will take on the shape and structure of the WOL's desired form, but the properties of the materials used will be maintained. The high grade metal of the armour will be altered to a state where it was like a woven thread. The item would provide the same degree of protection as the original where it physically exists in its glamoured state. If your WOL glamoured their plate armour into a the street wear top, their actual abdomen could be pierced by weapon. Because this is magic you could fudge the physics if you so choose or say there's a secondary spell involved; but I'd imagine that if the transformation was completely lossless, your glamoured item will weight the same amount as the un-glamoured version. (Otherwise it would be more like a transmutation which is a lossy conversion and not reversible. The WOL turned their new savage tier BIS armour into a hempen camise and lost 95% of the material in the process. When they dispel the glamour they have that hempen camise's amount of the original armour piece.)

That's my take on the two options! I don't know if either of them really contradict any canon in-game explanations to the glamour system tbh. It's been so long since I picked up the intro quest and the only time I remember glamours being used as a plot device it was in the ARR Hildebrand quest line (I think the very end or within the coliseum arc, either way I'm not doing all that just to check and see that it says nothing of note)

#ffxiv #ffxiv poll #wolqotd #For Arsay her glams are what shes actually wearing!#Tataru will either be the one crafting the outfit for Arsay making sure its made out of strong materials #or she will modify what Arsay brings to her fortifying it and making it adventure-ready #Arsay has simply gotten very good at not getting stabbed in the gut #She needs to be fast on her feet and nimble at all times so she has to stick to lightweight gear of durable woven cloths and treated leathe #She also uses glamours on her skin and for that case its illusion magic #She's covering up her many arcane geometry tattoos and a whole lot of scars from battle #If you were to run your hand over her skin you'd feel the scar tissue easily

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one-flower-one-sword · 3 months

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Jun Wu using living humans as a blood sacrifice to triumph over Mount Tonglu:

"Days passed, and the eruption continued. The entire kingdom of Wuyong was mired in terror, unable to escape. No one knew how to make it stop, how to escape this nightmare. But one day, His Highness told us that he had found a way to calm the volcano. When he told us how, we had a huge fight."

"Let me guess," Hua Cheng said. "The 'how' was human sacrifice."

"Correct," the state preceptor replied. "His Highness said that we could use a group of wicked degenerates as a sacrifice - we could throw them into the Kiln to pacify its furious flames. The four of us each had different opinions on the matter, but the consensus was opposition - we could never do anything of the sort. In the beginning, His Highness didn't want Wuyong to invade other kingdoms precisely because he didn't want to use a life to save a life. How would sacrificing lives to the Kiln be any different? It'd be even worse, in fact."

[...] "As it turned out, the other three had still been worried even after they left, so they returned in secret to speak to His Highness. But when they found him, he was herding a crowd of people toward the volcano's peak. That was when they found out that His Highness had never abandoned the idea of living sacrifices. Seized by shock and rage, they attempted to stop him and began to fight with him. Yet unexpectedly, he savagely killed them and threw them into the Kiln along with the rest!"

TGCF Volume 7, page 209-210 + 214

versus Hua Cheng refusing to use living humans as a blood sacrifice and sacrificing his own eye - half his vision - instead:

"The only things that live inside Mount Tonglu's domain are nefarious creatures. Ordinary people have no way to break out of the domain; their certain fate is to become nourishment for the rest. But the wrath ghost, in his confused state, took the large group of living humans under his wing and fled for many days - for what reason, I can't say. They were eventually cornered and surrounded by nefarious creatures, and the wrath ghost was about to be eaten along with the humans."

Xie Lian knew that the solitary, wandering ghost must have been Hua Cheng!

"And then?" he pushed. "Was there a way to flee to safety?"

"Yes," the state preceptor replied. "He could escape by forging a blood weapon and killing his way out."

Mu Qing couldn't help chiming in. "Then wouldn't the easiest sacrifice be...?"

It would be the group of humans that had fallen into such a hopeless situation!

[...] "The wrath ghost almost made a move against the humans as well, but for some reason, he didn't go through with it," the state preceptor continued. "He instead used one of his own eyes as the price to forge a blood weapon. The wrath ghost was already clinging to existence with his last breath; after digging out his eye, he should've broken apart completely. But something had shocked him to action, and he instead fully regained his senses. I don't know what kind of wicked weapon he forged, but it somehow carried him through that battle."

TGCF Volume 8, page 76-77

I was thinking about Hua Cheng at Mount Tonglu and it occurred to me how stark the contrasts between his choices and the consequences thereof are to those of Jun Wu.

Choosing to sacrifice humans - in particular humans he considered lesser or deserving of punishment - leads to the Kiln recognizing Jun Wu as its master and also to him becoming cursed with human face disease:

"The ordinary citizens were of course burned to dust and ash as soon as they were thrown in. But the three of them were cultivators, and they had been murdered by His Highness - their resentment and attachment to the world was deeply profound. Their souls took his body as their host and grew as lesions on his body, venting their rage and berating him constantly in the hope of stopping him from pursuing his terrible endeavors."

[...] "The former kingdom of Wuyong had become hell, and the Kiln had been glutted with countless living souls and the souls of three former heavenly officials - it now recognized him as its master."

TGCF Volume 7, page 214 + 226

Meanwhile, Hua Cheng refusing to use human sacrifice leads to him not only gaining a weapon to defend himself and those very humans with, the heavens recognize him as worthy of ascension due to this:

"After that battle, the heavens sent forth a Heavenly Tribulation and lightning struck straight into Mount Tonglu," the state preceptor said. "Do you understand what that means?"

Was there any need to explain? If a Heavenly Tribulation had been sent forth, it meant the heavens believed there was someone worthy of ascension within Mount Tonglu.

TGCF Volume 8, page 77

Hua Cheng chose to rather sacrifice a part of himself than other people's lives - and while yes, he never did like his right eye and suffered immense abuse because of it, he was risking to dissipate completely by gouging it out, and also, the consequences of that action didn't end there. He is, from then on, blind on that side, and as we've established in my previous post, that is something he has to make up for in other ways and that others can take advantage of.

Hua Cheng’s choices at Mount Tonglu make him worthy of ascension, Jun Wu's leave him cursed and mark his descent from the Crown Prince of Wuyong to becoming Bai Wuxiang. One rises up, one falls down further. While sacrificing part of himself, Hua Cheng fully regains his senses. Jun Wu, in planning to sacrifice others, loses himself:

"And yet in the heat of the moment, blows were exchanged, and one of us even accused His Highness of no longer being the Highness of the past - that he'd changed, that he'd forgotten his heart."

TGCF Volume 7, page 210

Since the text is quite clear on the fact that Jun Wu knows Hua Cheng is Wu Ming, and, as its master, is very aware of what happens at Mount Tonglu, it's very likely that he knew about this incident. And also that it felt like a very personal slap in the face to him, which explains his very pointed hypocrisy when he warns Xie Lian about Eming:

"Be especially careful of that wicked blade of his," Jun Wu added.

"What do you mean?" Xie Lian asked.

"The scimitar Eming is a cursed blade, a blade of misfortune. To forge such an evil weapon would require terrifyingly cruel sacrifice and bloody determination."

TGCF Volume 2, page 37

'Terrifyingly cruel sacrifice', huh? Like for example throwing people inside a live volcano?

"Oh? Has gege heard of my scimitar too?"

"I've heard some rumors," Xie Lian replied.

Hua Cheng snickered. "I bet they weren't nice rumors. Did someone tell you that my scimitar was forged by an evil, bloody ritual? That I sacrificed living humans?"

TGCF Volume 2, page 120

Huh, wonder who started those rumors >.>

Jun Wu's palpable saltiness and bitterness about all this is probably only exacerbated by the fact that, despite fearing Hua Cheng, there are many who worship him:

There were also many reasons for the gods to fear Hua Cheng. For example, his behavior was unpredictable: sometimes he would carry out a massacre in cold blood, and sometimes he would do odd acts of kindness. He also wielded a great deal of influence in the Mortal Realm and had legions of followers. That's right. Mortals worshipped gods to ask for blessings and protection so they could escape the evils of the Ghost Realm, and that was how the gods came to gain so many followers. Yet Hua Cheng, a ghost, had such a large following on earth that he could influence the world single-handedly.

TGCF Volume 1, page 157

Even other gods, while they do fear him, also start to develop a sort of admiration and respect for Hua Cheng (Vol 1, page 160).

Meanwhile Jun Wu:

"Currently, he is the most exalted martial god of the Heavenly Realm," the state preceptor continued. "He looks glorious and scintillating on the surface, but an infinite darkness is suppressed deep within his heart. Resentment, pain, anger, hatred... he must release those poisonous emotions to maintain his internal balance, lest he go berserk and slaughter everyone around him. That is the only way he is able to uphold his position as the ruler of all three realms. [...] He regularly releases his dark emotions into the Kiln, using the millions of Wuyong souls within as kindling to stoke the flames of hell and forge many malicious things."

TGCF Volume 7, page 226

Despite his widely known nature as a ghost king born of Mount Tonglu, Hua Cheng has a huge amount of worshippers. Jun Wu, to keep being worshipped as someone he is not, has to hide his own connection to Mount Tonglu and his true nature - figuratively inside of himself and literally inside of Mount Tonglu.

#tgcf #rereading tgcf #jun wu #hua cheng

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gatheringbones · 2 years

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[“But if French assessments of the character of ‘savages’ tended to be decidedly mixed, the indigenous assessment of French character was distinctly less so. Father Pierre Biard, for example, was a former theology professor assigned in 1608 to evangelize the Algonkian-speaking Mi’kmaq in Nova Scotia, who had lived for some time next to a French fort.

Biard did not think much of the Mi’kmaq, but reported that the feeling was mutual: ‘They consider themselves better than the French: “For,” they say, “you are always fighting and quarrelling among yourselves; we live peaceably. You are envious and are all the time slandering each other; you are thieves and deceivers; you are covetous, and are neither generous nor kind; as for us, if we have a morsel of bread we share it with our neighbour.” They are saying these and like things continually.’

What seemed to irritate Biard the most was that the Mi’kmaq would constantly assert that they were, as a result, ‘richer’ than the French. The French had more material possessions, the Mi’kmaq conceded; but they had other, greater assets: ease, comfort and time. Twenty years later Brother Gabriel Sagard, a Recollect Friar, wrote similar things of the Wendat nation.

Sagard was at first highly critical of Wendat life, which he described as inherently sinful (he was obsessed with the idea that Wendat women were all intent on seducing him), but by the end of his sojourn he had come to the conclusion their social arrangements were in many ways superior to those at home in France. In the following passages he was clearly echoing Wendat opinion: ‘They have no lawsuits and take little pains to acquire the goods of this life, for which we Christians torment ourselves so much, and for our excessive and insatiable greed in acquiring them we are justly and with reason reproved by their quiet life and tranquil dispositions.’

Much like Biard’s Mi’kmaq, the Wendat were particularly offended by the French lack of generosity to one another: ‘They reciprocate hospitality and give such assistance to one another that the necessities of all are provided for without there being any indigent beggar in their towns and villages; and they considered it a very bad thing when they heard it said that there were in France a great many of these needy beggars, and thought that this was for lack of charity in us, and blamed us for it severely.’

Wendat cast a similarly jaundiced eye at French habits of conversation. Sagard was surprised and impressed by his hosts’ eloquence and powers of reasoned argument, skills honed by near-daily public discussions of communal affairs; his hosts, in contrast, when they did get to see a group of Frenchmen gathered together, often remarked on the way they seemed to be constantly scrambling over each other and cutting each other off in conversation, employing weak arguments, and overall (or so the subtext seemed to be) not showing themselves to be particularly bright. People who tried to grab the stage, denying others the means to present their arguments, were acting in much the same way as those who grabbed the material means of subsistence and refused to share it; it is hard to avoid the impression that Americans saw the French as existing in a kind of Hobbesian state of ‘war of all against all’.”]

david graeber and david wengrow, the dawn of everything: a new history of humanity, 2021

#david graeber #history stuff #currently reading

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darklydeliciousdesires · 21 days

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Nobody's Girl - Chapter Five.

Thank you everyone for your kind praise of the last chapter! I appreciate you all so much :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,554

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

“God, you are so fuckin’ beautiful, doll, but if you don’t look even prettier when you’re takin’ a pounding. God damn,” he cussed, hands gripped onto her thighs as he held her spread before him, cock driving into her like a jackhammer. Now he’d gotten over his fear that anything even bordering on brutal would shatter his pretty little creature like she was heirloom glass, he was very, very much enjoying letting the beast in his nature run wild.

After all, she had demanded he fuck her harder, reducing his blood to pure magma.

As for Emily... not words existed. Merely static where her thoughts once resided, mouth dropped open, crying out as her lover fucked her so hard, she was sure he was attempting to actually go through her. The sexual finesse, the dirty talk, the way he fed her his thumb while grasping her jaw, slowing the savage onslaught of his thick cock as he leaned to her, kissing her neck sumptuously. God... it was both too much and not enough, if such a juxtapose could exist.

His mouth met hers, kisses of filthy indulgence shared, hand still clutching her jaw as he drove himself into her hard, but slow, oh so blindingly slow. He kissed every little sob that fell from her pretty mouth, the twitch of her slick walls around him sending a flare over his nerves, willing himself not to give in to it. He didn’t, hanging onto his own release until she shattered beneath him, both lying there in a state of blissed out contentment in the aftermath.

“You have all those books over there,” she began a while later, lying on her side as she gestured to the packed-out bookshelf across the apartment, “but I never see you reading any of them.”

“Don’t get much chance to these days,” he confessed, his hand wandering over the curve of her ass. He’d never seen an ass that perfect in all his damned life. “All my good stuff is at my house upstate, anyways. Gotta small library up there.”

“Yeah? Wow, that’s my dream, to stay in one place long enough that I can accumulate books, rather than sitting in a library for hours on end while I read,” she revealed, Luca looking interested.

“Who do you enjoy reading, hm?” he asked, fingers skimming back and forth over the curve of her waist and hip.

She took only a second to ponder. “Edith Wharton, the Brontë’s, Anton Chekov, Franz Kafka. God, I love Kafka. I get giddy on Kafka!” she enthused, watching his eyebrows rise significantly.

“Chekov and Kafka? Really?”

Her mouth dropped open, poking the centre of his chest with her index finger. “Hey, enough with this face of disbelief!”

“No, no, cara mia,” he was quick to speak, shaking his head. “No disbelief, just surprise. Kafka is my favourite author, yet I can’t think of a single other woman I have ever met who has even heard of him, let alone read his work.” He hummed a chuckle, his eyebrows fluttering. “Then again, the kinda broads I meet ain’t exactly bookworms.”

Her eye roll displayed a little bit of attitude he’d never witnessed in her before, and it made him chuckle, reaching to stroke the side of her neck. “Do I detect judgement there, Miss. Mortensen?”

She looked a little uncomfortable for a second before raising her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. “I suppose, but that’s only because I don’t know how people can’t find reading somebody else’s words fascinating, especially when there’s so much affinity to be found with them.”

“Gimme an example,” he requested, curling a piece of her hair around his middle finger.

“Kafka once said, ‘I am free, and that is why I am lost.’ It resounded with me so much, after leaving my mother and San Francisco behind. I finally felt free, but so lost for so long, not rooting myself anywhere. Moreso, never finding a place or a person to root myself with,” she spoke, her hand drifting up to cup his face, taking a brave breath. “Until I found you.”

The breadth of his smile made butterflies burst in her tummy, Luca covering her hand with his, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Let your roots wrap around mine all you want.”

“Like two vines curling together?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning to kiss her, “just like that.” Peeling back the protective layers that surrounded her, he was finding a woman who seldom let people see what lay beneath. Quiet still, but so, so intelligent. Well-read and thoughtful, his absolute dream. He had yearned for a woman both of beauty and the intellect to discuss literature.

Why oh why had he wasted his time with whores?

He knew why, actually. Since he’d hammered in the final nail into the coffin that was his marriage, he had not sought women for permanence, merely a means to an end. And now here she was, the permanence he hadn’t been searching for at all, but who he now couldn’t see himself letting go of without a fight.

“So, tell me more about these.” Her hand wandered from his chest, over to the tattoos upon his arms, a seemingly random, haphazard collection of black brandings that marked his olive toned flesh.

“Whaddya wanna know?” he asked, his eyes following where her finger trailed down to his inner elbow.

“What does omerta mean?”

“The code of silence. It’s a Sicilian thing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean a mafia thing?”

Laughing softly through his nose, he nodded. “Yeah, honey. A mafia thing. It’s a code of honour as well as silence. Very big in my world, omerta.”

“And the snake?” she then asked, her finger tracing the swirl of the viper upon his inner forearm.

“No reason, I just liked it.”

Good enough reason as any, she thought, to have a certain pattern of ink etched into your flesh for the rest of your life. Her finger continued to glide, reaching his hand and swirling over the number six. “This?”

“It’s my lucky number, solidified even more lately. I met you on the sixth, and your birthday is on the sixth, too. The sixth of...” he trailed off, frowning with thought.

“The sixth of?” she repeated, winding her hand around.

He looked pained, face creasing as he wracked his brain. “The sixth of one of the months of the year.”

She couldn’t help but fall apart laughing, Luca grumbling softly. “Hey, it’s eleven thirty in the morning and I already blew my load twice. You have to forgive a fella for havin’ a scrambled-up brain.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven. April, by the way.” Leaning in, she kissed his jaw a couple of times, resting her head down on his chest, her fingers gently tickling over the dark hair. “How long do I have you here for today, then?”

“As long as you like. That call I made earlier, it was me tellin’ Angelo to handle everything ‘cuz I knew I’d be busy with somethin’ or another. Glad it was the way I wasn’t expecting to be.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nah, not just yet, I wasn’t. Thought I’d have to deal with why you suddenly stared acting like a rabbit caught in headlights,” he told her, fingers slowly stroking up and down her arm. “Why was that?”

“I’ll tell you another time.”

Oh, she should be so lucky. “Tell me now.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” she muffled, hiding her face.

“Can’t hide behind your hair forever,” he snorted, popping his shoulder against her face to make her look up at him.

“No, but I can burrow.” Detangling herself from his embrace, she grabbed the pillows, piling them atop her head and then pointing. “See? Successful burrowing,” she muffled, making him laugh quietly.

He grabbed the pillows, throwing them off and reaching an arm beneath her, hauling her body atop his. “Successful unearthing. Now, tell me.” She made a small noise of discomfort. “Emily.”

“I had a sex dream, alright? Are you happy now, mortifying it out of me?”

He laughed again, louder this time. “Sweetheart, when my tongue has been pushed right up in your holiest of holes, I think we’re past embarrassment, ain’t we?”

Her concession came at the expense of a very pink face. “Hmm, suppose you’re right.”

“Was I as good in your dream as I am in reality?”

Of course, he’d ask that. “It was more of a combined effort.”

The grin he fixed her with had her blushing, hiding her face against his chest. “I demand to be shown.”

Just then, her stomach gurgled. Loudly. “And I think my belly demands to be fed.” Save by the rumble. Phew.

“You wanna eat?” he asked. “I can make that happen for ya. Whatcha want?”

Her head shot up from his chest, her eyebrow arching. “Are you going to cook?”

“I am not,” he chuckled, “Luca Changretta does not cook. He burns. Seriously, I decided to try and be a good husband one morning, when Filomena was days away from giving birth to Milania. Attempted to make her breakfast and started a small fire.”

“Not a good cook, huh?” she laughed, watching him grimace slightly as he shook his head. “Tell me, what are you good at?”

He eyes slowly found hers, grinning widely before sticking his tongue out and giving it a very rapid wiggle.

“Yeah, I think I might know that already, Luca!” she snorted with soft sarcasm, moving to lie at his side again. “What else?”

“I’m a mean shot,” he began, watching her widen her eyes.

“I think that’s standard for a successful wiseguy.”

“I did mean animals opposed to people. But yeah, them too,” he informed her, linking his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand. “I hunt when I’m up at my place in the Catskills. Always manage to get a clean head shot.”

“What else?”

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I prefer listening to talking. Trust me, this here, this is real fuckin’ chatty for me,” he spoke, pointing between them. She had noticed that the usually quite verbally concise man had indulged a little more than he normally would. It made her belly tingle. And then it rumbled, quite audibly.

He looked down, running a fingertip around her navel. “So, food?”

“Pastrami and Swiss on white bread, with lots of sauerkraut and mustard, please.”

He kissed her head, detangling himself. “Comin’ right up, doll.” While he walked to the telephone, she admired his form, chiselled back, a few scratches here and there from her nails, more tattoos as well. Oh, and the most perfectly pert ass in existence.

He made a call to the deli just up the block, putting in their order for the shop boy to bring down on his pushbike, her request followed by something loaded with mozzarella and assorted deli meats for himself, returning to the bed as soon as he’d hung up.

“Fifteen minutes. Just enough time for you to give me a live rendition of your dream.”

She should have known that he wouldn’t let it go. “I will, one day. When you’ve forgotten about it.”

He raised en eyebrow, shaking his head. “I’m a guy, darlin’. Trust me, we don’t forget things like that. Ever.”

Leaning to him, she tickled his cupid’s bow with the tip of her tongue, squeaking when he rapidly, but gently moved to bite it. “I’m still not showing you now.”

She got up to fetch herself a water, leaving him grumbling in mild agitation in her wake. Once they’d eaten, they returned to the bed, lying there talking for much of the afternoon in between bouts of sex that only got even steamier than the session before. They did finally make it out of bed, Luca taking her out for dinner in the city before they arrived back at Bella Vita.

While he went for a sit and a drink with his buddies, Angelo and Donny raising their glasses to her, she slid into a seat at the bar, being greeted with a cheek kiss from Maggie.

“So, I hear somebody was enjoyin’ herself with the big boss this morning, huh?” she grinned, her red lips curving to reveal a huge, beautiful grin. “I’d say tell me how you like his cock, but baby love, I fuckin’ heard!”

Emily’s eyes widened in an instant, reaching for the glass of vodka rocks she was furnished with, her hand missing the receptacle a few times before Maggie steered it into place. “Oh my god, how? I didn’t think I was that loud?”

Pointing up and to the side, the barmaid’s grin continued to widen. “Air vent, sugar. Trust me, when the music ain’t blastin’ out down here, the sound travels well. I ain’t even ashamed to admit it got me all hot in my undies, hearin’ you two goin’ at it!”

Her booming laugh filled the space at Emily hiding her face in her hands, reaching to squeeze her shoulders. “Next time you get that hot with ya man, at least let me come up and watch, eh?”

“Jesus, Maggie!” she cried, her friend reaching to pinch her cheek playfully.

“Come on, miss lady!” she laughed, pouring out a measure of rum for a waiting patron, sliding the glass over to him. “You’re the boss’s gal now, you gotta carry yourself like you are. No more wallflower behaviour. Lift that pretty chin, ‘cuz round these parts, you’re the fuckin’ queen now, darl. Everybody knows it, therefore so should you.”

The words absorbed like ink to blotting paper, Emily sitting up a little straighter, casting her glance around the room. She’d walked in there with her hand in Luca’s, and the patrons had noticed. The way they viewed her, it was with nothing but respect from the men, and envy from the women. She wasn’t nobody’s girl any longer, elevated to the most coveted position in that particular corner of Brooklyn.

She turned back to an expectant Maggie, paused in a lull, waiting for her thoughts on the observation. Her eyebrow rose, lifting her chin, remembering. Remembering the way he’d barely let her go for even a second all day, the way he’d praised and lavished her, the way the words cara mia had rolled so effortlessly off his tongue... the way his eyes had shone like peridot wildfire when he came for her.

“Hm,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “I guess I am, and honey...” Leaning close, she made a motion with her finger for her friend to lean closer, Maggie obliging, “...you should see how glorious my throne is.”

A very mischievous wink was delivered, and her mouth fell open, squealing as she drummed her hands repeatedly off the bar, pointing at Emily with both forefingers. “And that is how you be a queen, my gal!”

They shared laughter, Maggie counting down the minutes to her break, taking Emily with her when she went out back to the small rear alleyway behind the speakeasy, where it was quiet and free of people. Well, as quiet as Brooklyn could get on a Friday night.

“There is a way you could help me become queenlier, you know, Maggie,” she spoke, her friend lighting herself a cigarette, offering the case. “Ah, why not?” Cigarettes were a rare treat she couldn’t usually afford. Pulling one out, the redhead offered her light, snapping the lighter shut again.

“Ahhh, my regal acolyte comes to the oracle for her sage advice,” she nodded, blowing smoke down her nose. “Whatcha need help with?”

“Can I be blunt?”

“Are you gonna blush while you do it?” she couldn’t help but tease.

“Probably,” Emily confessed, taking a drag on her cigarette. “I need tips. Blowjob tips. Luca is nothing short of giving – and very talented – when it comes to pleasing me with his mouth, but I’m just so stunted by inexperience that I don’t want to shame myself by trying to return the favour when I have no real clue what I’m doing.”

Maggie began nodding rapidly, pointing her cigarette at her. “Now this, sistah, this is my mother fucking forte! Oh, you have come to exactly the right place, and please do feel free to mention I was the one who taught you to suck dick like a champion. I could do with a pay bump.” They shared giggles, Maggie continuing. “Alright, so first, you gotta make like his manhood is the most amazing thing on god’s green earth, like there ain’t nothin’ you want in your mouth more.”

“I’m there already,” she confirmed, smirking. “Continue.”

“Alright, so with your technique, think popsicle. Don’t go at it all guns blazin’ to begin with, give him a few strokes with your hand, couple’a licks over the head a few times, which you’ve probably noticed already is the most sensitive part of a cock.” A nod confirmed that such had indeed been noted. “Few little sucks, and I cannot stress this enough, get his dick real fuckin’ wet. It’ll feel amazing for him, think mimicking your pussy in terms of wetness.”

“So yeah, keep teasing, taking a little more of him back, go an inch at a time, and for the love of all things holy, cover your teeth. I mean, some guys like a gentle graze, so if he does, he’ll probably tell ya. Keep ‘em away until you know for sure, though. Tease the fuck outta him with your tongue, don’t give him too much at once, and yeah, just build on it. Speed up the closer he gets, then once he’s come, slow it down, be gentler.”

Nodding rapidly at her own advice, she was all done until something popped into her brain, her eyes widening as she flapped her hand. “Oh, just a warning, too. If you let him come in your mouth, be warned. Cum ain’t exactly tasty, so be prepared! He don’t smoke no more, though, so you have that goin’ for ya. Always tastes like salty bleach when they smoke, for some reason.”

“Gotcha, I think I can remember all that. And the warning? Appreciated.”

“Don’t panic about it, though. I mean, it don’t taste the best, but shit, darl. It’s fuckin’ sexy to have a guy blow right in your mouth, and he’ll love ya for it if you swallow. All men do.”

Armed with her new information, Emily made rapid mental notes, feeling herself growing aroused at the mere thought of having his cock in her mouth. She and Maggie walked back in, returning to the bar, unable to stop herself from swinging her ass as she walked, feeling her man’s eyes right upon her, turning to wink at him.

The conversation at his table was much, much more concise over the matter, but conveyed all it needed to.

“Oh, so she finally let you in there, huh, cuz?” Angelo chirped, waving to Emily before grinning at Luca.

He sipped his whiskey, enjoying the buzz. “A gentleman never tells.”

His statement earned a snort. “Yeah? I’ve heard all about your exploits, amico. You ain’t no goddamned gentleman!” he laughed, leaning closer. “So, how many times you jump her today, huh?”

“Yeah, I might not be,” Luca began, putting a fresh toothpick between his teeth, “but that gal over there is my fuckin’ lady, and you don’t get to hear shit.” He then paused, rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek, a devilish grin beginning to widen his mouth. “Four.”

“You horny bastard.”

Luca raised his eyebrows, sinking his drink. “That’s what she called me, too, cugino. Now, cousin or not, you talk about my gal like that again and I’ll crack your teeth out your goddamned jaw.” Angelo knew he was only half joking, Luca winking as he rose and left the table, gliding across the room and over to the bar.

Emily felt his hand touch against her bare upper back, sliding down at he leaned in close. “Havin’ a good night, doll?”

It could stand to be better. “I am, but I think I need you to take me back upstairs.” Waving to Maggie, she sank her drink and slid from the stool, fingernail running along his jaw before she sauntered off in the direction of the heavy door. It was surprising to nobody more than her, how different a woman she was walking through it than she’d been two weeks before, carried through by Luca a bloodied and battered mess.

She could feel him behind her, her back tingling from his presence, sliding her feet from her shoes and her stockings from her legs once she reached the top of the stairs, moving to the couch and sitting down. “Get over here, handsome.”

“Oh, look at this now, making her demands of me,” he drawled, walking over to her all the same, halting once he was right in front of where she sat. “And what can I do ya for, now I’m here, huh?”

Without a single word, she stood, pushing the jacket from his shoulders, his waistcoat, tie and shirt following before sitting back down again, her gaze never leaving his while undoing his pants. “Stand there and enjoy, is what you can do.”

He had a distinct feeling he was about to do just that.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

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storiesbyrhi · 10 months

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Violence comes twofold. 2909 words.

Notes: Since canon Eddie doesn’t exist in the 1986 timeline, Chrissy’s death went down differently. This chapter explains what happened to Hawkins’ sweetest cheerleader. Stranger Things terminology you’ll need to know: The Void.

Credits to @jo-harrington, @toomanyacorns, and @somnambulic-thing for helping with this chapter, and a huge thank you to @munson-blurbs, who helped map out the action sequences of this chapter and the next.

1843

Penelope’s powdered spell was like anthrax to the vampires, and it was the turning point in the battle for the flatlands. The coven lost not another member from that year forward, but the colony of vampires grew more feral and savage when faced with their new mortality. They burned and pillaged just as fast as you could give and take their breath.

Some of the coven focused their time on helping the humans rebuild structures and acquire new seeds to plant. Some of them worked tirelessly, tinkering away at the collective memory of the flatlands, ensuring vampires and witches remained folklore and scary stories to tell in the dark. Some, like you, felt emboldened by a bloodlust that could only be satiated by killing evil.

“Did we fail her?” your mother asked your aunt as they watched you arm yourself with pockets of Penelope’s powder and blessed blades.

Sally and Gillian had borne the weight of their decision differently. For sister, they were not much alike. Sally, your mother, was burdened with regret whereas Gillian grew harder with each difficult choice she made.

“This is holy work,” Gillian stated.

“Is it?” Sally was grief-stricken. You used to be gentle, feeding wildflowers to deer and making mischief by moonlight. Now you slept, ate, and killed.

“The Witches Who Came Before foretell of us leaving this place. The humans will remain on consecrated ground and we will retire to where no sisters have been dissected by beasts. We will not live on their graves. When we leave, she will heal,”

“Will she ever know?”

“No,” Gillian answered. It has been seven years of not knowing. “Not ever.”

…

1986

Between the burning yarrow spell that had not stuck and the magic bath that brought Eddie back, you felt practiced in the healing arts. There wouldn’t be time for any rituals though. You would have mere seconds to take the twisted, pulsating flesh Henry Creel grew into in the Upside Down and restore it. The spell would take the inner magic you possessed and would force you to deliver it by touch.

A potion, though, could help the cause. All the plants you’d used before became paste in your mortar and pestle. Echinacea and elecampane. Rue, sweetgrass, and yarrow. As you worked, you spoke freely, writing a spell into the air.

“Seven years of cheated death,

Felt deep pain but kept his breath.

These plants I crush and bend to will,

Impart my magic,

Let me heal to kill.”

You scooped the paste into a pouch and then stood at the kitchen bar on unsteady feet. There was more to be done. An easy spell to hide the night from anyone who went looking, witches or monsters alike. A candle and an old spell uttered, you could finally crawl into your bed and close your eyes.

…

Like your body was set to a nighttime alarm, your eyes snapped open as soon as the sun had set. You moved quickly through the trailer, expecting Eddie to be there. No vampire. No bat. Just a groggy head after only a few hours of sleep and a pouch on the kitchen bench reminding you of what the night would bring.

After pacing and trying to telepathically call Eddie home (home…?) you settled your nerves with tea and tried to stomach some food.

Hand. Spoon. Bowl. Mouth. Hand. Spoon. Bowl. It was mechanical until the taste turned bitter. You pulled the spoon from your mouth to find a pen. Before you, the bowl was pushed off the bench and instead, your notebook sat open.

“A witch cannot fight alone,” was scrawled out.

The Witches Who Came Before had never initiated contact before. They’d never taken your hand for automatic writing without you calling first. You watched helplessly as your arm moved on its own accord, the pen gliding along the paper.

“He knows,” came the next caution.

“I know,” you said. “I know you’ve warned the coven. I know what’s at stake,”

“It is coming into focus. The voice that called you to consecrated ground.”

You paused, reading the words a couple of times over. “You said I should have never come here,” you reminded them.

“It is coming into focus,” was repeated. “A witch cannot fight alone. So, a witch will not fight alone.”

Did they mean the humans? El and Will and their own coven of sorts?

“You were wrong?” you asked them. Could they be wrong? Was that possible? “What… What do you see now? What’s coming into focus?”

The words were ripping from the pen too quickly, letters stacked on top of one another. Your hand hurt, the grip too tight.

HISTORY WILL NOT REPEAT A witch will not fight alone A WITCH WILL NOT repeat history will not repeat history LORE WILL BE REWRITTEN A witch will not fight alone a witch will not fight alone HISTORY REWRITTEN lore lore lore rewritten a witch will not fight alone a witch will not fight alone he knows he knows he knows A witch will not fight alone We Are Superstition a witch a witch A WITCH will not fight alone He came calling He came for help Not alone. Not alone. Not alone. History will not repeat.

The pen flew from your hand and across the room, embedding itself into the cheap plaster wall of the trailer. You were breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. They were gone, leaving no comfort nor clear warning, just a hollow sort of fear and sense that maybe now the calling to Hawkins had indeed been sanctified.

You cleaned the mess off the kitchen floor, then considered leaving Eddie a note. Something in you said that if he wanted, he could find you. With one last look at the trailer you’d barely had a fortnight in, you locked the door and got in your car.

…

Vecna had ripped Hawkins apart using each of the four gates as a starting point. The gateways to the Upside Down represented a place of death, but not all of them were accessible. Max’s death (and subsequent resurrection at the hands of El) took place inside the Creel House, which was reduced to rubble, burying gate four too deep to get to. Patrick McKinney died over Lovers’ Lake, making gate three underwater. Both Nancy and Robin were violently against that option. Fred Benson’s road top ending left gate two hidden under thick layers of asphalt and concrete, the street having caved in entirely. That left the first gate, the one that had festered open under the corpse of Chrissy Cunningham.

Haunted and hunted, Chrissy had been chased into the woods near Hawkins High by visions of her monstrous mother. There, her body broke and the end of her life had ushered in Vecna’s dark hold over the town. The gateway left in the wake of the murder was the one you, Nancy, and Robin climbed through.

The Upside Down was eerie. It felt like a place that had absolutely no right existing. Doomed from inception. It smelt of ash and sulfur. The bodies of what looked like malformed bats were rotting everywhere. And it rained a kind of soot you’d seen slowly appearing in Hawkins.

Vines covered a lot of the landscape. They moved, like pulsating appendages. The motion of them, sliding and crawling over one another, reminded you of the squirming desperateness of garter snakes as they ball themselves together for days on end.

If your coven believed Hawkins was no place for a witch, what would they think of the hellscape you were marching through with only teenage girls for backup?

“What if he’s not in there?” Robin asked, her eyes glued to the ground as she carefully stepped over hivemind vines and other ghoulish obstacles.

Nancy stopped so abruptly that you bumped into the back of her. She turned around quickly, eyes wide. “What if he’s not in there?!” she repeated. “How… How did we not think-”

“He is,” you interrupted. “I can feel him.”

Their looks of relief lasted only a second before the fear returned and you all continued.

Treading a similar path in the real Hawkins, the rest of the humans were already coaxing Vecna out. Will’s skin prickled with goosebumps, the hairs on his arms standing on end. El could hear that voice in her head. “I can see…” he began. “I can see all. All your plans. All your hopes… Soon to be failures… I told you… It was just the beginning.”

The staircase in the Upside Down Creel House was covered in writhing tentacle vines. “These attacked… last time we were here,” Nancy whispered. She shared the same raw bruise as Robin. Steve would have shared it, had he survived.

Steve. He was all the girls could think about. How he’d led them up those stairs. How he’d stood and watched in awe as Nancy fired her sawed-off shotgun and Robin threw Molotov cocktails. How it was meant to be the three of them.

You stood in his place and sooner than they would have liked, you’d arrived in front of Vecna’s sleeping body.

“Shhhesh,” Robin hissed quietly. “Didn’t think he could get any uglier.”

The bullets and flames slowed him down but they hadn’t killed him. The scars became part of him, as all of his scars had. They shaped him. Built him. Powered him.

“Stay at the door,” you whispered to them. “If it looks bad, fire once then run.”

Nancy and Robin nodded in unison.

The room was quiet. Ironically, it felt cleaner than anywhere else in the Upside Down. It smelt of dust and human life. Had Henry carved out a small piece of normal there? Was there a soul beneath the horror?

You moved towards him. Each step was measured and you watched him for any twitch of movement. He felt sedate, but Vecna had mastered trickery long ago.

He was held high by the attached vines. “Per magica, oriri me,” you cast, levitating from the ground steadily until you were close enough that you could see the veins and tubing pulsate, you stopped. At the room’s threshold, Nancy and Robin held hands.

“Seven years of cheated death,” you whispered. “Felt deep pain but kept his breath.”

You covered your fingers in the potion and reached out swiping it across Vecna’s chest.

“These plants I crush and bend to will,

Impart my magic,

Let me heal to kill.”

The room held its breath, waiting for something.

Back on Earth, El and Will were laying side by side in the dirt near the rubble of Creel House. Jonathan knelt beside his brother, Joyce next to El. Their eyes were closed but they weren’t asleep. El had pulled them into The Void. It was quiet.

There, El and Will – siblings for all intents and purposes – stood facing Vecna. “A vessel,” Vecna almost crooned, reaching his clawed hand to Will’s soft face.

El stood between them. “Do not touch him,”

“This is done, Eleven. Look around. Hawkins is in ruins. Your friends have fled... those that still live,”

“It is not done until you are dead,” she spat back at him.

Vecna almost laughed. Almost.

You repeated the spell again and again, covering Vecna in the thick potion of flower and magic. His skin was changing, clearing.

“Ho-ly-shiiiiit,” Robin said.

Nancy’s eyes glazed over with tears.

It was working. It was fucking working.

Vecna reached out for Will a second time, but froze in place as he felt a burning sensation. The children in front of him both stumbled backward, staring at his body. He looked down and watched scar tissue heal in real time.

He roared; El and Will covered their ears, screaming at the sound.

“What! Is! This?!” The force of his anger knocked them off their feet and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

“Where’d he go?! El?!”

“He’s- He’s-” But she was too panicked to say it. Vecna had returned to his physical body in the Upside Down.

Will and El bolted upright, panting. Their families embraced them. It’s all they could do. It was all up to the bravest teenage girls they knew and a witch they hoped was stronger than Vecna.

His eyes snapped open and his hateful stare bore into your soul.

You don’t know how you did it and neither did they, but your voice was loud in Nancy and Robin’s heads. Run. It was too late. Vecna’s arm shot out and held them frozen in place. The slithery tentacles peeled off the wall and wrapped around the girls’ wrists and ankles. They struggled to no avail.

“Your fight’s with me now. Let the humans go,”

“What are you?” Vecna asked. The healing magic was spreading slowly, a thin line of porcelain skin and a brilliantly blue eye twinkled with curiosity.

“You want to talk? Let them go.”

Vecna looked over at Nancy and Robin. With a flick of the hand, one of the tentacles tightened, breaking Robin’s wrist. A sharp intake of air let him know it hurt you too. “All you… heroes… You and Eleven… So much power wasted on loving the humans…”

It wasn’t going to work. You knew it then. The healing was happening too slowly. He’d kill the girls before he was Henry enough for you to use witchfire to any effect. He’d never let them go.

The only bargaining chip you had was the one thing you could never offer – insight into the craft. Even if you could save Nancy and Robin now, handing that over would doom them and the entire world later.

You had answered the call to come to Hawkins.

You had done what you thought was just and kind.

You had loved the humans for all of your years.

You would die with them, fighting with them, for them.

The coven would intercept him. They could do together what you could never do alone. Not alone echoed in your mind. The Witches Who Came Before. Not alone.

As Vecna held his claw out, hellbent on snapping Nancy’s left ankle, a loud and revolting squelching sound ripped through the room, followed by a howl spilling from Vecna’s mouth. He thrashed, hitting you hard, sending you toppling to the floor. He crashed down next to you, quickly standing to face his new enemy.

You followed his gaze to where something – moving so fast it was like watching static – was shredding through the tentacles holding the girls up. Suddenly, they were free. Both their faces were red and covered in tears. Before taking in any new information, you yelled, “Go!”

Robin pulled Nancy up and they were gone. In their place stood a figure with blood and Vecna-goo dripping from their face and hands.

Eddie.

…

1836

It was unmistakably vampire carnage.

They had come in the night and stolen a child. They’d left her father, the village’s best apple farmer, weeping and wounded. He was bleeding out, the only way to save him would be to let him turn. That was a fate worse than death though.

“It begins now,” Gillian spoke to the coven. “Witchfire at will. Penelope, all your focus must be on finding a true death for them. We will create closer borders. Accompany the humans whenever they leave. We will hunt them… Make no mistake, sisters… This is war.”

Eddie met you by the stream that night. The grief was written all over your face and it shattered him to see. He held on tightly, arms squeezed around you, and kissed the top of your head.

“I can’t leave now,” you whimpered, crying softly into his coolness.

“I know, little witch, I know.”

“No. No! You do not understand. There’s no way both you and I survive this! There’s no… No… No us… anymore.” You hit at his chest and pushed him away, only to let him pull you back into his embrace.

Eddie was stoic, but if he was honest with himself – a little pissed off that he was able to feel heartbreak when his heart didn’t beat at all. He hurt more then than he ever had before. Dying hurt less.

“And I, for my part, cannot stop them. The chasm between them and I has grown. They are… becoming suspicious of me. If I-”

“I know. I know. I don’t… I don’t want you to…” But you did. You did want him to be able to stop the colony from reigning hell on the flatlands. You knew he couldn’t, not if you wanted him to live. “You have to leave. You must go somewhere far away from here.”

There was no more discussion for there were no more options. Eddie could not fight against the colony; it would be suicide. He couldn’t and wouldn’t join them either. Not if it brought harm to you, or your coven and human charges. So, he would run.

“I would die again and again, my love, if I meant I met you again and again,” Eddie whispered. “I have loved you more than I have loved life, than blood and the night.”

Eddie took your face in his hands, pushing his forehead against yours. In your last kiss, he split his lip and bit down on yours.

“Blood of my blood,” he said. “My little witch.”

Tears poured down your face. Between shaky breaths, you replied, “Blood of my blood. My lonely vampire.”

End Note: The Grimoire and timeline have been updated. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings! xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie

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lucid-ivory · 6 months

Text

ex Anam Cara

Anam Cara is a phrase that refers to the Celtic concept of the "soul friend" in religion and spirituality.

summary: reader was betrayed by a friend who somehow ended up leading the cartel you were "hunting". you showed no mercy.

characters: ghost, soap, price, gaz & alejandro x fem reader

genre: angst-ish with comfort

cw: typical violence, gore, implied SA attempt

note: reader is young, again. "he" is just an imaginary villain aaand there's a long introduction.

you've known him for long enough, maybe there was a spark between you two.

you barely had alone time for yourselves, but maybe that was better.

the other friends in your group never said anything, at least in front of you.

he was...

gentle, caring.

lovely.

but he vanished.

Your teammates, including you, were tied to different chairs in an eerie room. Walls were covered in dry blood and you all could see cut limbs from people that don't exist anymore scattered all over the floor.

You knew for a while already he was in charge. All the clues you've found just reaffirmated this.

Fortunately for you, the adrenaline in your brain wasn't letting you feel. Why would you care now about all the memories you had together along with the other friends? Your mission was to make it out alive before he sold your organs for a simple gram of any drug he could find.

The rest of your teammates knew how hard this case was for you: betrayal was nothing unknown for them, though you were kind of new to this.

You had him in front of you, almost wanting to make you submit; you felt his punches and harsh words, you heard him admit everything he's done, you've heard him whispering all the cruel things he'd do to you. In his eyes, you were the traitor for exposing his business.

You expected the worse: he knew your fears, your triggers. He knew how much splitting your arms open would make you cringe, he knew how humiliated and dirty you would feel if he just did filthy and profane things to you in front of the other men, your so called "teammates". He convinced you they would enjoy it.

All of you were tied , but only you were threatened. It's like he didn't see the rest.

You felt irritated, your arm was shaking though not in fear precisely; you felt the need to punch, cut, split open, harm, hurt, kill. You felt responsible and almost guilty for leading your team to this place, for bringing up this cartel.

What about the rest of your friends?

They weren't clueless.

You still remember this girl that suddenly vanished too. She was close to you. You remember the police saying how she simply ran away. And now you remember his words from some seconds ago, explaining how he tortured her, how he ate her alive, how he "made her a woman" only to finally kill her and pick her organs like anyone would pick cherries from a tree.

To sell them later.

"What did you expect me to do?"

His words only made you want to bite him and spit his skin far away like a savage animal would.

"Hm. You'd be expensive".

Your wrists were burnt from all the friction with the goddamn rope that was holding you in place, but you weren't even able to feel it. You just needed to free your hands, and then you'll think what goes next.

His fingers started undoing your hair that you usually kept in different hairstyles to not bother you. It was almost loving, he did it carefully.

You did not want his hands on you, you did not want him near you or anyone else. You could only use your teeth, and so you did.

A hiss of agony was heard, as if he was still trying to play tough in front of you. He tried to remove his hand from you, but you kept biting through only to free yourself from his threatening aura.

Your teeth were now stained crimson, and he stared almost in horror at his hand as he finally removed it. You groaned and spat the blood.

Ghost was the only one who felt almost proud at seeing you in such a violent and primal state. He knew he didn't have to worry, at least for now. He was convincing himself you could handle this.

Price was worried, though. He wasn't fond of the way he was "caressing" you after so casually explaining how he would "physically corrupt" you.

Soap was almost as angry as you, about to go feral. He appreciated your emotional and physical strength to just bite him as if you were some sort of dog; using the last resources you had.

Gaz didn't do or say anything. He was just constantly looking at Price. Maybe that's why Price tried to act rough in front of him. If the leader is scared, everyone will get scared.

"Leave her alone, cabrón!"

His words were ignored.

"I always wanted it to be you".

You almost froze, eyes sharp staring at him as if you were about to snap at any moment.

"But she was always hanging out with us. She won it".

"You fucker! You killed her!"

A different type of hate and disgust could be heard in your voice.

"She was your friend, I know. Mine too."

You let out a heavy breath along with a shaky groan.

"..you killed her..."

You could simply repeat your words all over again. She wasn't missing, she wasn't kidnapped, she was killed. By *him*.

If it wasn't for the situation, your reaction would almost be fascinating and mesmerizing. Strong.

You felt the blood on your wrists, and a kick on your stomach. You were now laying down on the floor, you don't even know when it happened.

He grabbed you by the shirt, he screamed in your face, he punched your stomach again. You couldn't breathe.

The rest of the team could only sit and watch you in agony, watch you being dragged by him almost as if you were...

...dead?

You struggled, but you still managed to move around and kick. They knew you were still alive, but probably on the verge of passing out.

But everything went for the better when you got rid of the rope holding your wrists and you managed to punch him in specific parts of his legs that would make him see stars for a while. Your wrists ached and stung, burned by the friction with the rope. You didn't care, you went for it, for everything, for the sharpest tool you could find to cut his ankles and legs. You threw him on the ground, you opened his throat. The men swore they could see you almost trying to drink his blood. You stabbed his chest and stomach several times, enough to make him unrecognizable.

Soap looked at you amazed, almost with some sort of psychotic smile on his face, he never expected to see you in such a state of pure rage. Ghost calmly watched you do your job. Gaz was surprised, almost... terrified.

When you were done with your massacre, your whole body was covered in blood and you were breathing heavily. You were sure you probably hurt yourself too in the process, but the fear and shock in your brain wasn't letting you realize. You stopped, and stared at the mutilated body below you. Nothing felt real anymore. You killed lots of people already but... it was never that bloody and violent. It was never someone close to you.

You slowly got up, your hands weren't dirty with blood; they felt stained.

"Good job, mi chula".

You faked a smile at Alejandro and proceeded to use the same knife to cut the other ropes that were tying the rest of your teammates to their chairs. Your hands were shaky and everyone noticed, you simply said it was the adrenaline.

Price could almost hear your heart crushing, it was like he read your mind: you didn't want to be there anymore. You wanted to cry your eyes out. You killed him in the most disturbing way possible.

Maybe your mission was already done. The cartel would not work with all the people and their leader being dead.

[...]

"It's okay, you're okay".

Ghost wanted to comfort you. Your eyes were watery, your leg was non-stop bouncing and your hands were still shaking yet you would never show your panic.

"You did great, Sergeant".

You turned around to look at Soap on your other side, crouching on the floor next to you, holding onto the chair in which you were sitting.

Price was in front of you with his arms crossed. This type of violence wasn't anything new for them, but this kind of reaction, especially coming from you, was.

You were surrounded by the entire team, and you didn't quite know if it was comforting or overwhelming.

"It could've been worse, trust me. I thought he was going to kill you right there".

Gaz still looked terrified; terrified of you, and terrified of the entire situation they just survived thanks to her.

"You saved yourself, and us too." Price said. "Maybe you deserve a higher rank."

"You were badass back there, querida" Alejandro continued. "No need to cry".

It almost felt unreal how everyone was trying to cheer you up. Their words still didn't help that much as you simply stared at some empty point of the room with your eyes wide open and your entire body still shaking.

"Betrayal hurts, Sergeant. But by the way you're still trying to keep your tears inside I can guarantee you were made for us".

You let out a shaky breath.

"Thanks, Ghost..."

You barely finished your sentence when you were immersed in warm, tight hugs and friendly pats.

shorter than i expected it to actually be and it's a bit shit but hope there's someone out there who likes it 😭 also this is my first time writing an actual story instead of just headcanons so i'm not sure if it's fine. ALSO my requests are open !!

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