#i do think his first kill might have been provoked | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welcometowhore-rrorville · 10 months

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I AM LIVING FOR YOUR SLASHER HEADCANONS, esp the last post!! but i have a question: what do you think michael would do if the next time he wants to fuck, they’re like “nope, don’t want to, you didn’t make me cum” and is generally just provoking him and saying shit like “i can just find someone that CAN satisfy me” and other dumb shit. would he not care?? get jealous? knife through the door?? so many possibilities

Thank you thank you!!! <3

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐹𝑜𝓇

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: oral sex, fingering, rough sex, overstimulation, general nsfw things, mdni, i got carried away, unedited because I didn't think i'd write this much

As for your question(s):

I think it definitely depends on how long you've known him. The only way he'd give a flying fuck about what you think is if he was down bad. Especially if we're talking about the OG Michael. RZ Michael is easier to convince to actually give a shit what you want in bed, but it's still not a priority for him. Still, there are certain personality traits you can exploit to get what you want. . .

When you first brought up that you were unsatisfied in bed, it was a very soft comment after he was done and zipping his jumpsuit back up.

"I didn't even cum. . ." you mumbled, staring at your bare abdomen and leaking cunt. It was all him. You didn't even have the chance to pleasure yourself; it was too difficult with him constantly flipping you over and manhandling you. Your body was sore and bruised, but you laid there, discontent.

You moved your gaze to look at his masked face. Judging by the way he stopped his movements, he'd heard you. You bit your lip, turning your eyes away and down to your hands which fiddled with each other. You knew he didn't care, but it would be nice if he did.

"Just get out, okay?" you spoke, embarrassed and a little angry. "I'll just get myself off since you can't seem to do it."

Your tone had him walking around to the side of the bed, grabbing his discarded knife from the nightstand. You flinched, but didn't bother to run. If he wanted to kill you, he would have already.

Just as you figured, he turned back around, trudging out of your bedroom with the blade in his grip. You rolled your eyes. You were half tempted to call up and old friend of yours for a night, but realized that might end in bloodshed. Michael was much too possessive for that.

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You knew Michael was selfish, but he also always had something to prove. He wanted to, no, needed to be the best at everything. Nobody could escape, outrun, or hide from him, and he knew that. So what if. . .

It was a few days later when he came back, heavy footsteps on your porch alerting you. Still, you pretended not to notice, phone up to your ear as you chatted. You were leaned against the kitchen counter, occasionally popping some popcorn into your mouth.

The door to your house creaked open before shutting again. You paid no mind.

"Go out? Ha," you spoke, fingers moving around a stray popcorn kernel absentmindedly. "If I want to get drunk, I'll do it in my own home, thank you very much."

At this point, he was looming in the kitchen doorway, but you didn't even bother with a glance.

"Oh, go out to meet someone, huh? Yeah, I guess that would be nice. . . I mean sure, there's a guy that stops by, but I'd be lying if I said I was satisfied." You leaned against your fridge, his massive form still lingering just a few feet away.

"It's just. . . other people I've been with have gotten me off four, five times a night, but this guy? Not once. Yeah. You heard me. Not once."

You made sure to emphasize that last phrase. You knew the dangerous game you were playing, but you didn't care. "Talk to him? Girl, I've tried. He's like a brick wall. Doesn't even say goodbye. As soon as he's done he's out the door. Rude? Tell me about it. Sure, I've had better, but he always keeps crawling back looking like a kicked puppy. I just kind of feel sorry for him."

You didn't have time to speak again before the phone was ripped from your grasp and tossed carelessly across the kitchen, plastic pieces shattering across the tile.

One hand wrapped around your throat while the other rested just beside your head, almost denting your poor fridge with the force. The choke was painful but not deadly, and you locked eyes with the culprit, staring intently.

He pulled you against him before slamming you back against the fridge, and you winced at the sudden force. "What's wrong with you?" you sputtered out, your hands trying to fight the grip on your throat.

He glanced at the destroyed phone, and you had to stifle a smirk from appearing on your lips.

With another slam, he finally released his hand from your neck, and you took in a few shaky breaths. Still, he loomed close enough to leave you pressed against him.

"You're angry," you spoke, rubbing the marks forming on your neck. "I assumed Michael Myers never got angry."

He looked to the shattered telephone again before looking back at you. He wanted an explanation.

"What do you want me to say? It's true. And I'm pissed about it. All you ever do is use me then leave. I haven't had a proper orgasm in weeks!" You pushed your hands against his chest angrily, but he didn't budge. "I know you're not a good man, but it still isn't fair. I can't even call anyone because you'll have a knife through their neck before they can get their pants off."

He let out a breath, both hands finding purchase on your hips. "Now's not the time," you huffed, moving to push his hands away. His grip tightened. You headbutted his chest, forehead resting against the rough material of his jumpsuit. How could he be raring to go at a time like this? "Unless you've got anything planned for me tonight, I'm not interested."

He didn't falter. You looked back up to try and read his face through his mask. It did not work. You could tell he was. . . different than usual, but he was probably still pissed off from your words over the phone.

His fingers nestled behind the waistband of your shorts, and in one fell swoop they dropped to the floor. You stayed silent. He never had the decency to take your clothes off. It was always ripped or sliced, and there was never any time taken. Hell, he'd never taken your shorts off without your underwear going with.

You stifled a laugh. Was he actually. . . trying?

He slid a knee between your thighs, pinning you. One hand explored your upper half, sliding under your shirt until he hit your bra. His other hand travelled downwards, slipping underneath your panties. You felt a rough digit slide against your clit and let out a sudden breath. Quickly, he backtracked, moving back up until he found that same spot.

You had to bite your lip to prevent a gasp from leaving it. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been stimulated there. It was suddenly all too-sensitive.

Two fingers caught the small nub, and you had to grip his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling. The digits toyed with it, squeezing and brushing like he was testing something. Your forehead pressed against his chest as heavy breaths left you.

One hand worked at massaging your chest, running a thumb against your nipple, while the other played with your clit harshly. You didn't expect him to be gentle in the slightest, but it still had you shimmying your hips in discomfort. It's not that you weren't aroused, and in fact, you were all too turned on. He'd never shown any interest in any part of you besides your cunt and mouth, and even then it was only to slide his dick into. This? This was all new. This feeling of rough hands overtaking your body, touching your skin, pleasuring you for the first time. . .

You pushed your hips forwards, trying to gain friction. With any luck, you could actually get off tonight.

Suddenly, all hands were off of you and he stepped back, tilting his head.

You rushed to hold yourself up, knees wobbly. You shot daggers at him, eyes burning. He stopped. Why the fuck did he stop?

He stared at you, waiting for something. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking as put-together as you could with wetness creeping down your thighs and shorts discarded on the floor.

"I'm not apologizing, if that's what you want," you muttered. "Congratulations, you found the clit. Took you long enough. You'll have to work a little harder if you're looking to clear your name."

In a flash, he had you hauled over his shoulder, and you let out a gasp of surprise. You could only sigh as he took you to your destination.

You were dropped onto your bed, legs dangling off the front as he pushed you down into the mattress. You cocked a brow.

In an event you'd never thought would happen, he kneeled down in front of you, hands spreading your thighs apart. Was this a dream? You were in shock. There's no way he was going to. . .

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your panties were slid down your legs and tossed aside. It didn't take long before one hand was back between your legs, rubbing your clit as the other pressed against your stomach to keep you in place. You couldn't move your thighs which were locked apart, blocked by his shoulders.

You couldn't sit up with the way he had you pinned, and so stared at the ceiling, hands gripping the sheets.

A new sensation startled you, and you tried desperately to sit up enough to see, but it was no use.

It was his tongue, dragging up your folds until he reached your clit. He took the nub in his mouth, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent the noise that threatened to come out.

That old and familiar feeling built within you, like a spring coiling and coiling, ready to snap. Your mind went blank as a tension built within you. It was like everything but your cunt was numb. There, feeling was in overdrive. Every swipe of his tongue, every prod of his fingers inside of you, swiping forward to push against your favorite spot: it was too much.

You came with a breathless gasp, back arched as your hands dug into the sheets. Even without seeing, you knew your cunt was a mess. You could feel your cum seeping out. You could smell the scent of sex in the room. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching around nothing.

You expected him to pull back, but instead you felt his tongue licking at your cunt, swiping up any spill into his mouth. You let out a whine as he prodded inside, tongue lapping up your wetness.

Digits were back to circling your clit, and you moaned, still much too sensitive. Despite this, he had no intentions of stopping, instead switching out his fingers for his mouth as he thrust a finger inside of you. You had no time to process before another joined the first. Your head pressed desperately against your bedsheets.

"Slow down," you gasped, voice shaking. He didn't heed your words, and in fact, sped up the way his fingers pushed in and out of you. You whined. The tension was already back and ready to snap within you.

"Michael," you cried, eyes clenched shut. "Please!" You weren't sure what you were pleading for.

You came again, more violently than the last. Over and over your cunt pulsed, leaking your cum to pool at your enterance, only to be pushed back in with the shove of his fingers.

"Okay! Okay! You win!" you panted, wiping the sweat from your face.

When he still showed no signs of letting up, all you could do was let out a weak groan. You got what you desired, you supposed. But it seemed he found something he liked as well.

All this because you decided to talk a little shit about him. You didn't dare tell him there was nobody on the other line.

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rineptune · 2 months

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before i request i just wanted to say your writing is so good!!!(literally made me giggle and scream no joke) and if this may interest you I'd love to request something! so the idea is a bit abstract you can play around with it- the reader is a relatively new vampiric overlord, and became close friends with rosie because well, cannibal and a blood sucker just have common grounds of friendship, and this all happened during Alastor's absence. And the reader is also at neutral terms with the other overlords, and kinda like a person who just everyone wants to talk to, and itls generally nice. so it's kinda like she is taking over Alastor's life in a way? like, Alastor thinks finally no one is singing her praises at the hazbin hotel and boom charlie introduces a new employee, the reader. i know this is a lot and I'd totally understand if you dont take up this request, but if you do thanks a lot!! thank you so much!!

bloody hell.

summary: the new vampire overlord that rose during alastor’s absence? he’s awfully tired of hearing others sing you praise, because what’s so great about her?

warnings: foul language, description of gore, canon-typical violence

a/n: thank you for taking your time and writing this request!! and i’m giggling bcs of your compliment 💗

alastor’s absence for seven years was a great mystery to many.

most sinners feared his sudden return to massacre a good amount of them in one go. but during this absence, a lot has changed in pride ring—and that includes the rise of a new overlord that would sooner or later be the cause of major changes in his life, and whether those changes are good or bad is for him to find out.

the first time he meets you is during the overlord meeting after yet another extermination.

“oh, alastor! this is yn, the most uncanny bloodsucker in all of hell,” rosie says.

“she’s an absolute dear.”

“hello, i believe this is our first meeting.” you extend your hand.

alastor’s glare is sharp and unreadable. for a second, he doesn’t say anything and simply assesses your figure, though eventually he takes your hand and shakes it.

“pleasure’s all mine,” he replies.

there’s something in the back of alastor’s head that’s nagging him that something is about to go wrong, and yet he paid no mind to the incessant worrying of both his thoughts and the shadow that tailed him wherever he went. he just had to be cautious, play his cards right, and eliminate you if need be.

but judging by how most overlords had already greeted you and looked forward to talking to you, he assumed that you were on common ground with the majority of them.

that’s no good.

he won’t let a newcomer hog most of the attention now, can he?

•

alastor might just lose his wit and massacre every passing sinner that mentions your name.

the vampire overlord this, the vampire overlord that—hello! he was back in town! and not one sinner cowered before him, as they’re too busy to even notice his presence.

too busy talking about you.

for satan’s sake, everywhere he went, he kept hearing of you.

rosie’s emporium? you just bought fresh bloody fingers and even took a cannibal with you—or so he’s heard.

his trusted tailor? too busy to finish your custom-made suit, alastor didn’t even get the chance to get his suit fixed.

it seemed as though anywhere he went, you were always ahead of him.

it’s fine; it’s ok.

alastor is reassuring himself because no one has been on his nerves this much before. not even the noisy picture box of an old pal of his. not even the king of hell himself, the majesty that was just too easy to provoke.

but you—you were just too passive—too mysterious—dare he say out of reach?

it’s mentally taxing to plot against you when you’ve done nothing wrong to him personally.

if he killed you, would anyone know that it was him?

he contemplates in his room, most of his thoughts immersed in you. it’s so out of character for him, but then again, who in this wretched place understood him thoroughly?

•

just when alastor thought that he could have a pleasant, quiet morning of listening to nothing but the screams of sinners dying in the recent newspaper, charlotte had gathered everyone in the main lobby for a “super-duper important meeting.”

“i wonder what this could be about,” his static voice is heard.

“quite frankly, i was in the middle of reading my favorite newspaper.”

“you could still read it even when you’re here,” vaggie’s unamused reply came.

“oh, where are your manners, my dear? i’m certain that your lover would not be ecstatic to find out that not all of the inhabitants of this hotel are listening to her, isn’t that right?” his smile broadened at the last question, fixing his black knotted bowtie.

“whatever,” she sighs, “just pay attention.”

charlotte came in practically jumping with every step she took as the patrons of the hotel awaited what she was about to say.

“ok, so i know that our hotel is still a bit understaffed—but! i have amazing news!”

“we’re finally charging the guests an expensive price without changing the way we treat them?”

“what? no!” she shook her head.

“capitalism is one of the worst things there is to exist. that, and violence—and the extermination, of course.”

“then?”

“we have a new staff.” charlotte opened a portal, and the demon who stepped from it had alastor ripping the seams of the leather couch unintentionally.

“ta-da!”

a wave of bats came rushing in and dropped pieces of confetti over them.

how fun.

“this is yn; you may know her for being an overlord, just like a certain investor we have, but now she’s our chef!”

this might just be alastor’s nightmare incarnate.

•

“what is it that you’re after?” he confronts you just when you’re putting away the dishes.

“hm? whatever could you mean, alastor? ”

“disregard what i said.”

alastor smiled, getting uncomfortably close to you.

your reaction is, as always, unbothered and confused. he doesn’t find it entertaining when demons shrug him off as if he were nobody—no more than a mere sinner.

“but do remember that if you put this hotel in harm’s way, i’ll be the one you’ll be dealing with,” he chuckled.

“noted,” you reply.

“bloody venison? i heard from charlie that you preferred meals like this, and i must say, we have quite a lot in common than you think.”

you licked the blood that spilled on your arm once you set the plate on the huge dining table, nodding your head. it’s just now that he noticed the blood that stained your apron and sleeves, and he’s tempted to have a taste too.

and he physically and mentally stops himself from doing so to show you that he’s indifferent to the way you captivate almost everyone.

“a lot in common,” you say once more.

alastor watches you leave, and his curiosity is at an all-time high. he’s tasted no one’s cooking other than his or his mother’s cooking before, not that anyone really bothered to prepare him a meal because he’d turn them down without a second thought.

but he doesn’t let the effort go to waste.

#classic ໒꒱ ink #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor fluff #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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lenaellsi · 5 months

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Something I've been thinking about: Crowley was not sent to kill Job's children.

(Under the cut for length; this got away from me.)

I think we can safely infer that Hell actually did send him to destroy the goats. He has his permit ready when Aziraphale shows up, and even cheekily calls himself one of Satan's "diabolical ministers." I wouldn't be surprised if he was sent to supervise the family during the bet as well, reporting in on whether Job seems to be losing faith. We don't know whether he volunteered for the assignment or whether he was chosen because he's one of Satan's favorites, but it's clear he's meant to be there in some capacity.

But it's specifically mentioned in the basement scene that Satan sent a storm to kill the children. Not Crowley--a storm. And that means that Crowley is in that house against orders. He's not just refusing to do something terrible on behalf of Hell, he's actively working to thwart them. That's a step further than "a demon who goes along with Hell as far as he can" would imply, and it has to be incredibly dangerous for him to meddle in something Satan has such a keen interest in. So why help these humans in particular? He can't save them all--he knows that. He knows that better than anyone. (Nothing lasts forever.)

And there are a lot of reasons Crowley might choose to help Job's family, despite the risks. We know from the Flood that Crowley is disturbed by the idea of killing children just to make a point. We know that Crowley loves humanity, and that he dreads their eventual, inevitable destruction. We know that Crowley is brave enough to stand against Hell when it counts, even when it could mean his own death.

But I'd argue that in the case of Job and Sitis, it's personal. He's angry about this bet because it cuts to the core of the reason he Fell in the first place. This isn't about getting one over on Hell; it's about God. And we know that because the moment Crowley intervenes at the end, the moment he runs into a room full of archangels with no plan and no allies except an angel he's still not sure he can trust, is the moment where Sitis snaps.

Sitis is surrounded by impossibly powerful beings, the only human in the room save for her husband, who still refuses to fault God for anything. She is distraught, raging at the unfairness of it all, the callousness of the angels who have shown up to congratulate her even as she drowns in grief for her children who will never grow up. (Plenty to say here about star nurseries, about wasted potential, about futility and senseless endings--but this post is too long already). So she says so, because what else does she have to lose? If my children are dead, then I will curse God--

Enter Crowley. That never ends well, he says, barging in with a big silly grin, but we've seen Crowley as an angel, now, and we know what he means: I know how that ends. I know how it ended for me. I won't let you Fall the way I did.

This is especially interesting because earlier in the episode, Crowley seems to be nudging Job the other way. I burn with fury, Job says, and Crowley says of course you do. (That's just how it started for me.) Crowley is encouraging Job to see things his way, zeroing in on the righteous rage he thinks he's hearing, because truth and knowledge are important to him. Crowley has never been able to stop himself from offering the apple, even when he knows the stakes. (See you in Hell.)

But then Job turns his anger inward. If he's being punished, he reasons, if he's so horrified by what must be God's will, then he must be the one at fault. (I lied, Aziraphale sobs, to thwart the will of God!) And Crowley is visibly confused, maybe even a bit frustrated. What do you mean? What have you done? And you know he wants to say, You didn't do anything wrong.

Neither of us did.

Because he knows. He's read the contract. He knows that Job is a good, kind man, and that he's done nothing at all to provoke God except to be the perfect pawn for Her game with Satan. He knows that if Job objects to the obvious injustice he's suffering, he'll be damned for failing a test he had no knowledge of and no hope of passing. And of course that feels familiar. How could it not?

The Job contract is as much confirmation as Crowley will ever get, from a God who answered his first questions with a Fall into boiling sulfur, that his suffering has never been 'deserved.' God is willing to take the best of the humans, Her special favorites, the ones his stars were built for, and cast them into damnation at the first sign of doubt. So when he Fell--

You didn't do anything wrong, Crowley is thinking, as he sees Job in his despair and Sitis in her fury and the children in their fear and Aziraphale in his guilt. And even if you did, even if you weren't perfect, even if you were angry and resentful and full of doubt, how could any transgression be worthy of this?

I'm sure plenty of people have talked about how the flashbacks in S2 are from Aziraphale's point of view, and course the purpose of that is to show the audience how he comes to his decision in 2x06. We follow Aziraphale closely this episode, from when he first hears about the contract to when he decides to lie to the Supreme Archangel's face. It's an important story beat for him, one of the high points in his character arc. This episode isn't about Crowley, really--it's about what Aziraphale thinks of Crowley, and about Aziraphale's long journey to discovering his own sense of right and wrong outside of Heaven's dogma.

But that means that we never see Crowley accept the assignment to kill the goats. We never see him worry over the danger he'll be in if he refuses. We learn that he's going against Hell only when Aziraphale does. Crowley isn't the kind of person to stew in self-reflection--he spends millennia doing his best to outrun his own emotions--but even if he was, we as the audience aren't often privy to those thoughts. Crowley is as closed-off to us as he is to Aziraphale for most of S2's flashbacks.

But we still get more than enough to understand exactly why Crowley is so disgusted by the offer to return to Heaven. Because the one scene in the Job minisode that happens before Aziraphale shows up, and one of the only scenes in the flashbacks that takes place from solely Crowley's perspective, is this speech:

You should know why you’re about to die. God has abandoned you. The god who claims to love you, who demands your praise, has given you up to be destroyed.

Bad luck.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #rambling on about 2x02 because it turns out it still makes me feral #long post

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delulujuls · 6 months

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fuck, marry, kill | lh44, gr63

hi! im sorry for not being on time but hey, no surprise to having the best ideas when its already too late. anyway please enjoy!

summary: the mercedes trio is getting ready for halloween party, lewis is being a total babygirl as always, georgie boy being unbothered king as always too

warnings: none, they are pure goofballs

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!mercdriver x george russell

George scrunched his nose, feeling the first stamp of paint on his cheek.

"I already don't like this."

Y/N rolled her eyes, putting more paint onto the sponge.

"I've just started, so please cooperate and let me work."

He squeezed his eyelids as he felt his face gradually being covered in white color. The atmosphere at the Mercedes headquarters that afternoon was very exciting, all due to preparations for the evening Halloween party.

"Is it at least vegan?" George asked again, nervously adjusting himself in his place.

Lewis sitting next to them couldn't help but laugh, tearing his gaze away from his phone.

"Give me one reason why makeup paint wouldn't be vegan" he asked.

"I have no idea, that's why I'd rather make sure."

Y/N shook her head and returned to covering his face with paint.

"And you, Lewis, do you have any ideas yet?"

She asked, glancing at the man who had been searching for inspiration for his costume for the past few minutes.

"I'd advise against anything with white paint and it's not just because it could be seen as racist."

George chimed in, trying to scratch his nose for which he immediately received a tap on the hand.

"Men in Black? The Weeknd?" the man shook his head while scrolling through Pinterest. "Everything is too simple and obvious."

"We could have some matching costumes," Russell suggested, feeling relieved as the girl put down the paint and reached for powder. "I'd feel better knowing that you guys are going through this as well."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Y/N nodded, looking at her friends. "The only question is, what kind?"

Lewis exhaled and focused on his phone again. The trio remained silent for a moment until the man showed them a photo with an potential inspiration.

"I think I have a favorite."

Y/N furrowed her brows, looking at the photo he showed. It took her a moment to decipher what the trio of girls in the picture was dressed up as.

"Fuck, Marry, Kill! Oh God, that is brilliant!"

"Let me be 'Kill' because I might as well kill myself if I have to wash this off" George said, adjusting the headband holding his hair.

"I'm fine with that" the girl assured, taking a brush, black eyeshadow and starting to paint skull elements on his face. "And what about you, Lewis?"

"I can let you have the first choice."

The man replied, resting on his hand and watching as George's makeup slowly began to take shape.

"Everyone thinks 'Fuck' when they look at you, so I guess we know the answer."

The girl said, giving him a meaningful look.

Lewis looked a little flustered, trying to cover his reaction with laughter. The three of them had been friends for almost four years, but Lewis was very easy to embarrass, even in jokes.

"You'd look good as the groom though, but I'm sure that everyone would probably point out that Y/N is being objectified for letting her being "Fuck", what about woman rights and all the other shitty nonsense," George added "PR people would have a busy evening."

"Geez Georgie boy, just say that I'm not attractive and no one would want to fuck me," Y/N interjected with feigned seriousness, struggling to hold back her laughter.

"Don't provoke me into this conversation, especially not now when I'm not at my best," he replied, trying to remain still as she painted his eyes.

Lewis returned to browsing his phone, this time with a clear idea of what he was looking for. When he found a specific photo, he hesitated for a moment about presenting his idea.

"Do you have red lipstick, Y/N?" He asked uncertainly, glancing at his friend. She nodded, not breaking her concentration. However, when he didn't expand on the topic, she looked at him.

"But what do you need red lipstick for, exactly?"

Lewis wordlessly showed her his phone with a picture where a guy was covered in red lipstick kisses. Y/N raised her eyebrows in shock, while George nodded approvingly.

"The idea is great and I truly love you, but don't count me as the one to give you those kisses,"Russell replied.

Lewis looked at Y/N, unsure if this suggestion wasn't too much and could potentially offend her in any way. However, she didn't react negatively at all; instead, she nodded and smiled enthusiastically.

"People on Twitter are gonna shit themselves."

When George's makeup was ready, the rest of the preparations went smoothly. Even getting the wedding accessories for Y/N wasn't as problematic as keeping Russell in one place with his mouth shut for more than five minutes during his make up. When the girl was ready, she took the red lipstick, which was the highlight of the program and found Lewis, who was already dressed in his dark red suit pants, perfectly matching his shirt. The man smiled at the sight of his friend, who had done a great job finding her costume at the last minute.

"How do you feel about the party?" the girl asked, opening a small mirror and painting her lips.

"I'm okay, and you?" the man replied, nervously adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

"Me too, I must admit I like these kinds of parties."

Y/N closed the mirror and glanced at her friend, signaling him to sit down. He followed her command, getting nervous almost as if it were his first interaction with a girl ever.

"Do you have any specific idea about how to arrange these kisses, or can I improvise?"

"I trust you completely."

The girl nodded and without thinking too much just leaned toward him. Just then George entered the room, also dressed and ready to go.

"Thank goodness I found you in time," he said, closing the door behind him. "Now no one can accuse you of deliberate kisses."

"You're definitely taking this too seriously," Y/N laughed and leaned toward Lewis, pressing her lips to his cheek. The man smiled involuntarily and looked at her, slightly taken aback when she moved away and examined her work.

"One down, about twenty-nine to go," George commented, sitting in a nearby chair. "Don't fall in love with each other during this time."

Lewis sat still, even trying not to breathe too loudly. Y/N left kisses on his cheek, neck and chest like stamps. When she finished, she nodded approvingly.

"It turned out better than I thought."

"We all look awesome, but now get rid of the evidence and let's go because I'm starving."

The girl wiped her lips clean and the three of them headed to the company's party. Y/N secured seats, Lewis went for drinks and George immediately greeted the snacks. Toto holding a champagne glass took a big sip when he noticed Lewis's rather original outfit.

"I guess you're not the author of those kisses."

The man stated more than he asked, when he approached George.

"Come on, boss, I used my best lipstick for this. Huda Beauty," George said with utmost seriousness and holding three plates of snacks he returned to his friends, ready for the next adventures of the Halloween night.

#george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x reader x george russell #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #f1 imagines #lh44 #gr63 #mercedes baby

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thecuriousquest · 9 months

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yandere alphabet for dabi?

Yandere Alphabet: Dabi

Tag List: @issamomma

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, dark shit, non con, kidnapping, dacryphilia, nudity, controlling behavior, dominant, sadistic behavior, possessive behavior, degradation, sexual needs mentioned, death mentioned, branding kink, spanking punishment

Checkout my Master List here.

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Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Dabi shows his love by making fun of you. You are his and always will be, so he reserves the right to tease you relentlessly. There are his softer moments where he’ll sneak up behind you and wrap you up in a hug, but this doesn’t exactly last long because he’s more than likely going to whisper something very dirty in your ear.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Dabi is literally a villain who has killed before and has no problem with doing it again. Whereas he can be impulsive and just off a bitch, he does like to play the long game and make his predators piss themselves. This might look like hunting them down after days of psychologically tormenting them.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Oh, you betchya! He is 100% going to make you cry within the first hour, and not just from scaring you. “What’s the matter? Already crying and I haven’t even hit you yet.” He taunts you because he loves provoking you. He wants you to get riled up so that he has a reason to be violent with you, not that he actually needs one.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

I’m sorry to say this, but I honestly believe Dabi would rape you. He just seems like a yandere who doesn’t give two shits about if you want it or not. He has you, so he’ll have all of you.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

When the two of you are in bed together, he’ll hold you in his arms and whisper about how pretty you are. “I picked a good one.” These are the nicest things he’ll ever say to you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

I think he likes to see you be feisty. It shows him that you haven’t been broken yet. He doesn’t want a lifeless doll. He wants someone he can interact with. He views you fighting him as a plus because it just means that he can fight back and show off how powerful he is.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It’s not like he’d leave the door open on purpose. It’s more like he’s so confident in his ability to track you down that he’ll give you a fifteen minute head start. He likes catching you in a state of panic. He likes snatching you by your waist and throwing you over his shoulder. He, especially, likes beating your ass when you get home for trying to escape.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Being chained up and starved. Dabi uses this method for more extreme cases if you’re not cooperating. Not having any food in you for a few days to a week makes you docile. Your head will kind of just lull from side to side, and it takes you a while to start acting like yourself again. Seeing you so weak makes him laugh because he finds it adorable. For you, it’s a fucking nightmare.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Dabi just wants something to belong to him. As long as you’re with him (he doesn’t really care if you’re happy), he’s happy. It’ll be better if you make things easier for him, but all in all, he just wants you to be with him.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Dabi gets hella jealous. You’re his and only his. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder, he’s cussing them out and doing irreparable damage. You’ll be lucky if brain matter doesn’t coat the walls. He’ll turn it around on you once he’s done with the guy you were talking to, though. “Why are you fucking talking to him like that?” He’s definitely kicking your ass for that stupid mistake you made.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He always has an arm hung around your shoulders, giving others the hint that you’re taken. It’s a plus that he gets to hold you close as well. He’ll also make out with you in public too. He’s not ashamed as he gropes your ass any time, any where.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

You two never started dating. You guys hooked up, had a one night stand. At least, it was supposed to be. The sex was too good for Dabi to just let you go, so he kidnapped you, and now you’re in this twisted relationship with him.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

When he decides to not be so rough with you, he can be kind of romantic. He shows his softer side to you during these times. He won’t threaten you, he won’t make almost every comment out of his mouth sexual. Surprise, surprise, the man actually has a filter. He can’t act this way around others, however. He still has a villainous reputation to maintain.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

With a flaming blue hand. He’s not afraid to mark up your body. It’s one of his favorite pass times. Putting you over his knee, branding your ass with his palm, it’s exhilarating to him. When you start uttering pleas for forgiveness or declarations of apologies, he still keeps beating the hell out of you. He pushes you well past your limits, but it’s only for “his pleasure and your best interest”.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

All of them. Say goodbye to pissing with the bathroom door shut. You don’t even have bodily autonomy anymore.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He’s not patient like you think. If you start yelling at him, he’ll wait for you to finish throwing your tantrum. “Are you done? You finally done shrieking in my ear? Alright, let me tell you what’s gonna happen now.” He’ll grab you by the throat and slam you down on the table. “You’re gonna go to the room, you’re gonna get naked, and you’re gonna make this little incident up to me. Got it? Good.” He’ll send you off with a light slap to your face.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Dabi is possessive. Even though he likes to rough you up in and out of the bedroom, you’re still his girl. He has a special bond with you, one that’s not easy to break. He needs to keep you with him, and he can keep you safe from others while he does that. He needs to have you in every way possible. Despite all of this, if you ended up dying, I think he would be able to move on, but that’s only if you die. If you manage to successfully escape, he will exhaust every available resource in order to hunt you down, and he will find you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

He doesn’t feel guilty about abducting you. If you really fuck up with him, if you really can’t find it in yourself to just make things easy for Dabi, then he will contemplate killing you. The villain can only put up with so much. If he actually does kill you, then that’s what he’ll feel guilty about because he formed a bond with you that he ended up having to cut ties with in such a horrible way.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)? Well, his childhood turned him into a villain. I’d say his sadistic and yandere tendencies stem from being a villain but are rooted in his childhood.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He relishes in your pain. It completely turns him on. Whether your sobs are from pain, torment, or fear, it doesn’t matter to him. You could say he has a crying kink.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

His cruelty is unlike the classic yandere. The man has frustrations and limited outlets, so you end up as his punching bag or cock sleeve most of the time. It’s not like he can just go take a karate class during his free time.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Use his physical weakness against him. Keep asking if that’s “all he’s got”. Dabi isn’t immune to his own fire. It literally causes him damage that takes a long while to recover from. If you can find a way to withstand his quirk or have him burn something for you, then you might just find a way to escape.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes, 100% would hurt you mentally and physically. He’d laugh at you too.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn’t worship you. In fact, it would delight him if YOU worshipped him. It would give him a major ego boost. He doesn’t feel the need to win you over. It’s either comply or get hurt.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He doesn’t leave you hanging for long after that “one night stand”. It only takes a few days to a week maybe before he snatches you up and takes you to your forever nightmare home.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If you do break, he’ll either use you as a flesh light or kill you. He doesn’t have time to put up with this kind of mind set. It’s pathetic to him. He can’t help thinking this. He knows he did it to you, but he thought you were so much stronger than this.

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cleabellanov · 1 month

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Jet-Skiing through identity: A deep dive into Mobius M. Mobius (part 4)🛥️

"And I'm yours but you're not mine" (Say Don't Go)

That's Mobius in season 1, because from all we know, he was the one to fall first. A fall that, just like domino pieces, results in a beautiful union of...well, everything.

But now, in season 2, his love is finally reciprocated. He showed Loki something they hadn't seen in themselves. And not only he loved them, but proved to Loki why they're deserving of that love as well. And now that he is finally appreciated and seen by the last person he was expecting, he also gets the insight he never knew he was looking for. This is like always running from something right into the chasm, until someone takes your hand and makes you stop. Even if it means facing your fears.

Open first episode of season 2, when the entire Loki legion was on the verge of a heart attack waiting to see what will happen. (That's actually me, I think I'm not alone). Those were crazy times indeed. Now, to our Mobius: a relative present version of him, not the one that didn't recognize Loki. That was scary. His first line is:

<<Hey, everything you've been doing is wrong, and all your gods are dead. How are people gonna take that?>>

I interpret this as his own thoughts and feelings projected on the collective. It's true for them, but it's relatable to Mobius.

And after all, why would everyone at the TVA believe all this time? The same reason as why we do it: we want to: that's where it all starts. And for someone like Mobius, who didn't believe in himself, it was much more logical to believe in the time gods. Putting the blame on fate takes the burden off your shoulders. But no burden, no glory. Few of them had guts to admit. But even indirectly, Mobius did (and has been for a while).

Backing the argument that he cares about Loki, and that he fell first, his reaction to hearing his name from Casey is immaculate.

He immediately tries to figure out a way to locate him. He might take a more "slow, deliberate approach", but not when he knows people he cares about are in danger. Not when he can still help.

Then, to X-5's attempt to make him feel bad about his spot on the original timeline, he responds with a neutral approach, not letting such things get to him. He even goes to explaining why jet-skis are so cool. This is something that shows how passionate Mobius can be about the things he likes. I don't think he would do this if he wouldn't be provoked in some sort of way, because the total absence of interest from others can kill a spark pretty quick. But he doesn't let it go just because no one around him sees jet-skis as important as he does. I love him for it.

His pure care for Loki and the way he comforts them the best he can is also very important in this episode. Mobius does his best to calm Loki down, trying to see the situation from an outside point of view so it can be solved efficiently. He's there, he doesn't let Loki down, and we know he would never; "Okay, you wanted time to think, so let's think." - as in let's think together, you're not alone.

Also, when Loki rushes to find Sylvie so they can fix what is happening, Mobius slows him down. He knows Loki wouldn't take the time to take care of themselves, so he does it for him, knowing exactly how much to insist, and that the timeslipping can't be let out if control for a long while.

Another trait resulting from the episode is sort of a disapproval avoidance, from the convo with O.B. Mobius obviously had his memory wiped and doesn't remember him, but doesn't admit it: it could hurt this nice guy and make him look like a fool (it wouldn't, really. he didn't have to worry abt it).

Then, at the end of the episode, this care (LOVE!!!) he carries for Loki is once again is highlighted:

Because, even at the risk of losing his skin (and, jokes aside, losing his life), Mobius still waits over the limit for Loki to make it back. What was I saying about believing? Even if the gods of the TVA are dead, the God of Mischief isn't. And Mobius always believed in him.

#me: “this analysis won't have a lot of parts it will be short” also me still writing #where are my people I need to know if you're enjoying this #marvel #mobius #loki #lokius #ouroboros #sylvie laufeydottir #variants #miss minutes #kang the conqueror #loki series #comics #taylor swift lyrics

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pillowsoup · 4 months

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Moon bullets straight to your heart. (Moon Knight x COD au / GHOSTSOAP)

Continuation of a head canon I wrote a week ago, the brainrot is unstoppable, I'm afraid.

TW: gaslighting, angst, mention of poor mental health, use of simon and ghost.

Simon had a hard time balancing his new lives. Being a lieutenant in the Task Force 141 and becoming an Egyptian's god avatar were surprisingly not compatible. When Khonshu wanted something from him, big or small, he had to immediately end whatever he was doing and it started to put his colleagues' lives in jeopardy. Especially Soap.

Ghost was starting to see through the diety, Khonshu had let it slip that's first choice was Johnny, which made the masked soldier's blood boil with anger and protectiveness. Was it all a tactic to make him behave ? Surely Khonshu could see through him, hell even read his mind and see his feelings towards his sergeant. To use such a vulnerability was really in character for such a childish vengeance-fulled god.

So he cornered the bird one day. Well, he happened to be alone in the rec room at an ungodly hour of the night so he started yelling insults to provoke his persecutor.

"Listen you old geezer, You seem to think that you can control me by threatening to hurt Johnny. There's one thing you don't know mate, I've been controlling you for my own benefits for a while."

A gust of wind made Khonshu's presence known to the lieutenant and Ghost turned on his heels to face the subject of his anger.

" You think you control a god, bug."

" You think you have it all under control Khonshu, that you have me tucked under your rotten wing."

The cupboard started to shake along with the vibrations caused by the deep laughter Khonshu allowed his hollow throat to give.

" I advise you to how more respect to a god, Simon Riley."

It was Ghost's turn to laugh, a laugh that could rival the god's. A laugh filled with sarcasm and disgust, one that expressed his current feeling with the precision he had when he handled a sniper rifle.

"What will you do if I misbehave ? Take back your powers ? Fine, go ahead. I'll be the same damn killing machine without your constant nagging in my fucking ears you bastard."

A staring contest ensued, no one daring to speak. Only frowning faces and eyes meeting hollow cavities.

"I have no feelings, romantic or whatever the hell you may think towards John MacTavish. He's just a subordinate, an annoyin' and clingy one. You need to find better leverage if you ever want me to listen like a good robot. I am not your past puppets. "

A gasp, then the sound of a cup exploding on the tiles near the entrance made Simon's head wipe toward the now opened door of the rec room. Soap, Johnny was standing mouth open in shock, his hands still in the shape of the cup he was holding mere seconds ago.

"Johnny-"

"Simon what the fuck is happening here, who the fucking hell are you to?"

Ghost marched quickly towards Soap but the sergeant made two steps back for every one Ghost made.

"Soap, please, I can explain."

"Explain what ? That you fucking fooled me into thinking we were close ? That you missed your psych eval again ? When did you start talking to things that aren't even real Si' ?"

Right, he can't see Khonshu. He just heard him said a bunch of bullshit about how he didn't care about him and how he was annoying. Fucking hell.

"Do not talk- I don't want to hear any of whatever you might say to convince me you're not going bonkers. I'm telling Prince in the morning. You're fucked up mate."

With that, Soap left hurriedly. Simon sighed, hands on his chest. An anxiety attack, fucking perfect.

He would get discharged and Khonshu could have him as his slave. Speaking of, the god was above Simon's now kneeling figure, smiling.

He was getting what he wanted. A broken shell of a man, a perfect little ghost.

#moon knight #call of duty #crossover au #alternate universe #simon ghost riley #khonshu #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap cod #tj writes

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koalas-koalas-everywhere · 1 year

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Ok, I'm going to say something a bit dodgy, do take into account that my beef is with Rick and not Annabeth.

I might have been tempted to read The Chalice of the Gods (as opposed to anything after Staff of Serapis, which I've given a pass) if I didn't know that, as long as Annabeth is there as well, Percy won't be well-written. More specifically, he won't be written as himself.

When Rick wrote HoO, he had to figure out how to include Annabeth in the seven without having all these other powers dwarf her out. He did this by establishing a strict division of labour, according to which she was the strategist, and no one else. That has never been the case, at least not in such an exacting way.

Percy's saved their butts with his plans at the very least as often as she has. He's outsmarted his opponents, he's manipulated them, he has like a signature move that he pulls in almost every single book that basically goes "forget you're an almighty entity who could probably just ignore me without any problem and get down here and fight me at my level!" (tlt: Ares, Luke (unsuccessfully, since he refuses). som: Luke again (successfully, since he plays on his need to control his army's opinion of him). botl: Antaeus. tlo: Kronos. technically Gaia in son), he's been the one to figure out what they needed to from the prophecies (som: that they needed to send Clarisse to camp. ttc: the thing with Atlas's curse. botl: that Nico was the ghost king. I don't include tlo bc Annabeth figured it out first), he often comes up with the winning plans, like how he was the one who figured out how to get past Cerberus, even if it was Annabeth's expertise that allowed them to pull through (just like it was Percy's skill and weapon that allowed Annabeth's plan for Medusa to succeed) or tangling Antaeus on the ceiling chains. The scene with Chrysaor? Perfect blend of knowledge of myths, strategic genius and pure labia. For all the times we see him lose his cool or speak impulsively, we also se him go "wait, this person is trying to provoke me, I have to chill". I saw a comment a little while ago that Percy should've been dragging Giants to the gods feet for them to finish off -- that's what he did! Only he didn't physically drag them there, he planned them there. He tricked Polybotes into following him to Terminus, into pissing Terminus off so he'd agree to help, then killed him. While it was far from complex, he's the one who came up with the strategy to beat Otis and Ephialtes, so they only had to wait for Bacchus to step up.

I'm not saying Annabeth isn't smart. She has an impressive store of knowledge, which in itself is a clever thing to store, because it matches with her style of managing resources -- be they mental, like her facts, or physical, like her hat or things she finds in her surroundings, like the glass balls in Medusa's lair. Annabeth is probably the best at looking at a situation and going "okay, let's look at what we have. Ah, yes, a limitless credit card. Ah, yes, a store-full of clothes that no one's going to want back. Ah, yes, those weird-ass proteins that Hermes gave us, just like Hermes gave someone else food for a place just like this. Ah, yes, knowledge of how to fly a helicopter."

Here's the thing, though. When I read the phrase "Athena-like chatter", I almost broke something laughing. She's good with lies, hers are better and more believable than her friends'. When it comes to chatter, though... I couldn't even tell you how good she is, because I don't think I've ever seen her do something like that before MoA?

But, you know, okay, Rick has to spend more time in her head, she's been elevated in status to one of several protagonists instead of a deuteragonist as she was in PJO (he has to solve this oopsie - I don't agree with everything here, like how, except for her intelligence, Annabeth's other skills are "dump stats", but...), so he has her expand. Good for her. I think it worked alright in her fights in MoA -- a little bit of the old (impressive expertise in certain areas, management of resources), add a little bit of the new (a perceptiveness and gift of gab that she's rarely shown before, if ever, although you could argue she might have taken the "talk your enemy into beating itself" from Percy just like she learned to simplify from Frank).

That's not my real problem. It's this, from when they're fighting Akhlys:

Percy wanted to give her more time. She was the brains. Better for him to get attacked while she came up with a brilliant plan.

... What. Of everything that we've seen of Percy. That I've described just now. Makes sense with this? And please don't give me crap about "it's because his self-esteem is so low!" because 1) this isn't just about what he's thinking, it's about what he's doing, which is pretty much nothing while he waits for Annabeth to save them. He's never lacked initiative like this. Even while thinking, "wow, this absolutely crazy and dimwitted plan is so bad that it's going to get us all killed!" he still did it. ( 2) I've heard "it's bc of his self-esteem/ he plays dumb on purpose" to justify fandom's constant underestimation of Percy's smarts too many time to let it fly now.)

"It's because he trusts Annabeth's judgement more than his own, and he lets her do what she does best when she's available. Other times he's been forced to come up with a plan, it's because she isn't." Did he wait for Annabeth to shoot her shot with Ares before going in with his own plan? Did he keep quiet his misgivings about her level of preparation for the Labyrinth in BotL? Did he leave her to organize the battle plan in TLO? Did he give up after Chrysaor beat him twice in a sword fight and wait for her to come up with a plan? Absolutely not.

"Well, he still beat Akhlys, so I don't see what you're complaining about, it's not like he's useless or anything." True. It wouldn't be the first time he has to resort to brute force to get past an enemy he couldn't outthink (the telekhines come to mind) or that he never even bothered trying to outthink (Hyperion comes to mind), because it's not like strategizing is something that's essential to Percy's style, even if it does come up a lot. I said before that it's his actions that bother me and not what he was thinking, but there is some of that, too. That he wasn't thinking "I can't figure out what to do" or even too busy fighting to start to wonder about what to do, but "there's nothing I can contribute here but my fighting skills". It's sadly a dynamic that Rick has tried to encourage between them.

Sure, Percy only ever gets more powerful, but, even without Annabeth around, he loses any of his braincells. Look at his underwater fight with Polybotes. He starts off in the ship with an impressive display of power -- holding the ship together in the middle of a supernatural storm. Then he gets underwater and immediately loses to PB. The guy he would've one-shotted several times if he could kill him without a god's help. "He doesn't have experience fighting underwater," water not only gives him a strength boost, it gives him a skill boost, as we see in TLT. Besides, how much skill do you need to not swim directly into a cloud of poison? And really, he doesn't get to do anything but that.

Compare it to SON. He's fighting an almost-whole legion of dead people, with a mix of sword fighting and a whirlwind, and he might have won if they hadn't been able to reform. Recognizing that he was about to lose and to give Frank and Hazel a chance to fight Alcyoneus without having to worry about the army, he brings a whole end of the iceberg down to drown them all. And yet, you know what really struck me of all this? How smart Percy was, because he didn't just fight the legion. He aimed for the eagle, realizing that that would be the best way to keep them focused on him and not Frank.

If he's this capable, though, where does that leave Annabeth, who's a skilled warrior but whose most distinctive trait is thinking?

The whole power/smarts dichotomy is also the actual context of that line about Annabeth being the most powerful demigod. He's just spent two weeks teaching Magnus how to survive at sea, when it suddenly occurs to him that the most helpful thing for him to learn is how to "use what you've got on hand -- your team, your wits, the enemy's own magical stuff." Which is how, despite how often he's done just that, he concludes that Annabeth is the most powerful demigod and the best person to teach him how to survive. (Which is, sadly, all that that comment amounts to. Annabeth doesn't then get a chance to strut her stuff, teach Magnus, show off her smarts, play a part however small in his quest, give some insight into her mind -- nope! She says it was sweet of him and then just leaves with Percy.)

With a bit of luck, RR reread pjo to nail down the feel of it in order to write a book that's supposed to be a tie in for a tv show set in the early days (that's a lot of subordinates!), so he might've rediscovered the characters and found a way to balance that with the... way that he writes them now. I'm not optimistic, though.

(Also, if I have to read more of Percy being always afraid of Annabeth getting angry at him or her looking angry at the smallest of things and this being played as her being a girlboss, or how you "have to keep your boyfriend on his toes", I'll claw my own eyes out, but that's another topic.)

#pjo #Percy Jackson #I don't think this is the case but to cover my bases #anti annabeth chase #anti rick riordan #really

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houseboywife · 10 months

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The primordial serpents of Dark Souls: there is something under the surface

Kingseeker Frampt and Darkstalker Kaathe are two characters that I would define as quite nebulous. Only appearing in person in Dark Souls 1, their presence nonetheless is felt even in future installments. But what exactly is their deal? It's a rather difficult question to answer, for a simple reason: they can't be trusted. At all. This post isn't gonna be a sort of unified theory on who the serpents exactly are: however I'll try to compile most of the information we know and can infer about them and why there's way, way more to them than what meets the eye. Waaaaay more. Yeah this is gonna be a long post. VERY long. But, in my humble opinion, quite thought provoking. Disclaimer: probably not all of the following was intended by the writers. But you know, death of the author and all. I think it's fun to speculate and create meaning even where there might be move.

That said, let's start with the Serpent Species.

Besides Frampt and Kaathe, the Dark Lord ending of Dark Souls 1 (which we'll get back to later) shows us a large number of Primordial Serpents, so we can assume that there's a whole species of them. Maybe. It's never brought up again. Nonetheless, there are several things we can infer about the Serpents in general, or World Snakes as they're known in japanese.

First off, presumably, they're ancient. Duh. How ancient? From the age before the First Flame, possibly. In Dark Souls 3, the description for the Covetous Silver Serpent Ring reads as follows:

A silver ring depicting a snake that could have been, but never was, a dragon.

Interesting. So snakes (or at least some of them) are some sort of imperfect, malformed dragons. Additionally, Dark Souls 3 shows some statues depicting a more humanoid version of the Serpents, of which we can ordinarily only see their heads. Considering their depictions are very different to each other, I'm assuming it's just an artistic interpretation and the sculptors didn't actually know what they looked like. However, one should note the locations of these statues: the Grand Archive (probably connected to Seath's Duke's Archives) and the Ringed City ("gifted" by Gwyn to the Pygmy Lords).

Now, let us talk about Frampt.

That Kingseeker Frampt is lying to you isn't exactly a groundbreaking fact. After all, this close confidant of Gwyn is in cahoots with him regarding the prophecy of a Chosen Undead, a made up folk story to get some poor undead bastard to throw themselves in the fire in order to kindle it once needed. This is all bullshit obviously, there's no such thing as the prophecy and the kindling of the fire is an unnatural sin performed by Gwyn. This means that Frampt is manipulating you with incomplete information in order to get you to link the Flame. One would assume that this would be his ultimate goal.

Or is it?

There are several odd things about Frampt.

For starters, as mentioned before, the Dark Lord Ending. In it, when you refuse to link the fire, Kaathe (we'll talk about him later) makes a point to say that both he and Frampt will now serve you. Why would Frampt do that? You could speculate that he's bound by some sort of oath to the Dark Lord, perhaps because of his nature as a quasi-dragon born in the dark. This could maybe explain the statue of him found in the Ringed City. But by this point, everyone that could be considered his "superior" is dead, and I'm not sure why he would have any obligations to serve you: if he feared being killed by the Dark Lord, well, he could just hide. Perhaps his oath is more fundamental, and he can't go against the Dark Lord because of the very nature of his being. Maybe he allied to Lord Gwyn to try and break this shackle? Perhaps. But I suspect, once again, that there's more to it.

Let's take a look at a very strange mechanic: feeding Frampt.

In Dark Souls 1, you can feed certain items to Frampt, and he'll pay you back with souls. Usually this is not really worth it, because he undervalues items a lot. However, here's the curious thing: for some items, he will only give you a meager 1 soul, while for others he will reward you with a bounty much higher than the value of the item. This is not a mistake, it's hardcoded in, so hey, it should have some significance. Let's look at these outliers.

Frampt will give you 1 soul for anything that has to do with either Seath the Scaleless or Smough; conversely, he will reward you handomely for anything that has to do with Gwyn (soul included), Gwyndolin (soul included), the Moonlight Butterfly, Dragons, Queelag and, funnily enough, women armor sets. So huh, let's unpack this.

It's the women's clothing, believe it or not, that provide some insight. Given that he pays you more for it, I'm assuming that he gives you more souls as a reward for bringing him that item. Either that or he's a misogynist, but I'm more leaning towards horny. And certainly the Soul of Gwyn, the one he pays you the most for, fits: your objective was to kill the crazed Gwyn, and his Soul proves that you've done it. You can't actually feed him it without going to ng+, but hey, it's a technical limitation

With Gwyndolin things start becoming a little bit strange. To have his Soul, you must have killed him. This is a problem for a few reasons: first off, it's his best friend's son. Why would he be happy about you killing him? Secondly, killing him means dispelling the Anor Londo illusion, meaning finding out that the Gods, and him, are lying to you. Now why would he be ok with you knowing that?

The Moonlight Butterfly is a bit strange, since it was created by Seath, but it seems to be connected in some way to Gwyndolin (the moon theming plus the same music). I don't think it's terribly relevant anyway.

Queelag, I have no clue about, epecially considering the fact that he gives no special reward for the Soul of the Witch of Izalith. It could either be because she's guarding the second bell of awakening or because she's hot. Probably cause she's hot.

Now, let's look at a strange thing. He gives nothing for Seath but a lot for the Dragons. Seath betrayed the Dragons, so this is relevant. But how? If he dislikes Seath, this would imply that he's on the dragon's side. But this cannot be, since the dragons and Gwyn are enemies. Maybe he just likes to consume dragon items in an attempt to become a full fledged dragon: this would also be strange considering his allegiance. Maybe he just enjoys eating dragon items but dislikes the taste of Seath (who is physiologically pretty different from other dragons). This, however, would imply that he also enjoyed eating Gwyn and Gwyndolin. Which, frankly, I find the most likely possibility, with interesting implications.

As for Smough, let's be honest, he probably tastes like shit.

Let's move on to Kaathe.

Darkstalker Kaathe seems to be, at the same time, more and less trustworthy than Frampt. More trustworty because he's the one to tell you about the lies of Gwyn, and the truth about the Dark Soul. And he's not lying to you about that. At the same time, he convinced the Lords of New Londo do embrace the Darkness, as well as the people of Oolacile to dig up the corpse of a Pygmy which didn't end very well.

Not much else is known about him: a somewhat obscure fact is that he considers Seath the Scaleless to be a traitor: so, it seems, he's aligned with the dragons despite not being one. What this says about the other Serpent is hard to tell.

However, one last thing is known about him. He wants to let the Flame die, and make the world turn back to an Age of Dark.

Or does he?

The Sable Church, helmed by Yuria of Londor, is an organization devoted to a single goal: usurp the Flame and bring forth an age not of Light or Dark, but of Hollows. This is different from an Age of Dark in several ways. First off, the Flame persists, but is claimed by an individual who is both Unkindled (that is someone who attempted to link the Flame but failed) and Hollow. In an Age of Dark, with the Flame gone, it is unclear what would happen: it is called many times "the age of humanity", but no one actually knows what humanity's original, primordial form is: for all we know, it could just be an existence spent in a formless void as wandering spirits.

At the same time, nothing says that it couldn't be an utopia: but the point is that you can't know, there is an impassable veil that hides its true nature until it happens. At some point some embers will reappear from the Dark again, and bring forth a new age of Fire. But will it be a good one? Who knows. In comparison usurping the Flame is much more straightforward: similar to the current Age of Fire, except it's Hollows that hold power and not Gods. It is not clear how sentient would Hollows be in such an age, considering their usual zombie-like behavior, but since hollowing is tied to Gwyn linking humanity to the Flame we can presume that something would change, otherwise it would be quite a shitty age and idk why they would pursue it.

There's another thing about the Sable Church. From item descriptions and dialogue it is evident that they worship none other than Darkstalker Kaathe, who appears to have perished since the first game (there's a theory I like about it but this post is already long enough).

Now hold on, hold on. Doesn't Kaathe want to bring forth an Age of Dark? Where did Frampt go in all of this? What is going on?

Let's take a step back. If Kaathe wasn't lying to the Sable Church (and I don't believe he is) then he was lying to you in the first game. Not an unlikely prospect, since Frampt was doing the same thing. But why try and get you to be the Dark Lord if what he was looking for was a Lord of Hollows?

First off let's establish something. No matter which ending you pick in Dark Souls 1, I don't believe that an Age of Dark ever happens between that game and 3. This is because there seems to be a linear continuity (somehwat) between the eras the game is set in, which wouldn't be possible if, well, the cycle underwent a big reset. So even if you become Dark Lord, something happens to stop a true Age of Dark from happening.

With that out of the way, here's what I think. When is the only time that a Lord of Hollows can arise? Only when the world is in shambles due to the strain of the artificial cycle taken to its extreme. How do you get to that point? By continously linking the Flame and making it fight the Abyss over and over, purposefully feeding the feud between Light and Dark that should have already ended long ago, slowly weakening the Flame until it is just barely able to hold on and the entire world has been burned to ashes. At that point the Lords of Cinders arise from their graves to link it again, and again and again, until even them refuse to do it. At this point, the Unkindled will rise: after an endless, purposeful cycle of stirring both the Flame and the Abyss.

Flame and Abyss. Frampt and Kaathe.

I want to show something, now. An interesting little design on an otherwise unremarkable shield. The caduceus round shield.

Two serpents heads, joined at the body. Now, is there any reason to presume that this shield is a true depiction of the nature of Frampt and Kaathe, some sort of bicephalous Ourobouros? Well, we don't know. It would certainly make some amount of sense, however. What I think is that, no matter how literally true this is, it shows at least metaphorically the relationship of the two Serpents. They're working together.

You're not the only undead that they contact, after all. Plenty more people, like you, in your world and parallel ones, are spurred by Frampt to link the Flame and by Kaathe to let it die. This is why neither of them particularly cares about you finding out the truth, or joining the other. You're just a disposable pawn in the grand scheme. When a Dark Lord arise, they pretend to worship them, only to betray them at the last second, getting someone else to kindle the Flame and keep the cycle going. Over, and over again. Till the Unkindled finally rise.

There are, of course, some open questions. Why do they want an age of Hollows to come to pass? Perhaps it is linked to their complicated relationship with dragons: after all, they're only incomplete dragons, and they would hardly have a place in an Age of Dark. Perhaps it has something to do with a promise made to the first Pygmies. Or then again, perhaps to defend against them. And then, what about the other Serpents? Are they working with them? Are they from other worlds? Are they all joined in some sort of giant eldrich hydra, its true body hidden from sight?

It is all very complicated, frankly. We probably will never know the true motives of the Serpents, as well as their nature: however, what I hope this analysis has made clear is that there is much, much more under the surface than what it seems like. Like their body. That's literally under the surface.

#dark souls #dark souls 3 #Dark souls lore #Dark souls theory #Soulsborne #Souls series #fromsoftware #fromsoft #Headcanon #fromsoft games #darkstalker kaathe #kingseeker frampt #Kaathe #Frampt #Gwyn #nicothoughts

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radioactivepeasant · 2 months

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Snippets Thursday: Meddling Mar (part 2 of 2)

(Jak is back from Haven and in so much trouble)

"Gate pass."

Two words, absolutely devoid of emotion, were all it took to shatter the facade of defiance Jak had crafted. Nausea churned his stomach, and he bit down on the insides of his cheeks until he tasted blood. He'd known there would be a price to pay. But this-

With a shaking hand, Jak drew the gate pass from his pocket and silently cursed the trembling limb for betraying his weakness as he held it out for Damas to take.

Damas didn’t look at him.

"Three weeks." His voice was a little too calm. Jak could feel anger underneath the words, waiting like vipers under the sand. "You left for three weeks without a word to me, to Phobos. To anyone. And in that time the only word from you I had, I had to get secondhand from Sig."

He didn't look at Jak.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

Jak tried to swallow around the boulder in his throat and wondered why this, of every scolding or reprimand he'd ever received, terrified him beyond words. He wanted to tell Damas that he'd tried to come back the first day, only to be stopped by the force fields. He wanted to tell him how Veger had paid for signal jammers around the walls, fearing that other city-states might take advantage of Haven's compromised capitol. He wanted to beg for forgiveness. But it all fell short, didn’t it? Pathetic excuses from a pathetic excuse for a hero. A runaway. A deserter, that's what he was.

Jak’s throat closed around his words, stifling them. He swallowed, felt the muscles of his neck tense and pulse. But the panic had a stranglehold on his throat and he just couldn't.

Damas wouldn't look at him.

Damas couldn’t see.

Look at me! Please, please look at me! he silently begged.

"Haven's-" Daxter's voice squeaked into the air between them, faltering and guilty. "They...made it real easy to get in and near impossible to get out. We got caught in the lockdown, just a couple hours after we got there. It wasn’t supposed to be three weeks. It wasn’t even supposed to be three days."

"And that somehow excuses you slipping out like thieves in the night, unsanctioned and unaccompanied?" Damas demanded, finally turning his eyes to them. "Do you know how many people were searching the city and desert for you? We did not even know you had made it to Haven until Sig went back to look for you! We feared Egil had taken you!"

Jak physically took a step back. Damas looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Deep, dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes, and his face was haggard.

I did this.

He opened and shut his mouth uselessly, then fell back on SparSign on instinct.

"I didn't think-"

"You didn't think," Damas interrupted, "Full stop. Haven is a hotbed of our enemies, Jak, and you just walked into the vipers' den. I had no idea where you were! What if you'd been injured? Or arrested? Hm? What if they’d framed you for something else and tried to kill you?"

A little confused, but afraid to further provoke the man, Jak kept his head down.

"It's never mattered before that they tried to kill me."

"Because I didn't know you were there!"

Even Damas seemed surprised by his own cracking voice.

"You run from one danger to the next like you think it doesn't matter if you live or die. It. matters. Jak. You think you're the only one who suffers if something happens to you?"

Jak cringed. He knew he wasn't. Daxter was always there. Daxter was always in danger because of him.

And he'd left Spargus down one person for three weeks, which meant someone else probably had to do his share of the work-

And Mar was alone that whole time-

Shame, hot and acidic as dark eco, burned in his gut. It reached up with long claws to pin his lungs shut.

"I- I'm sorry. I'll go. I'm sorry," he signed, utterly dejected. "But don't make our brother leave. Don't blame him or Daxter for what I did."

"Go?" Damas demanded, stepping closer, "And where, exactly, did you think you would be going?"

oh gods, he's going to make me say it. He's going to make me pronounce my own exile-!

Jak couldn’t speak. He just gestured to the gate pass resting in Damas’s clenched fist.

Shock colored the king’s eyes for an instant, softening his face into something sadder. Wearier.

"You-" he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "You think I- I'm exiling you?"

Jak kept his eyes on the floor and twisted his fingers into his tunic.

"I understand why," he answered, short and to the point.

A strangled noise startled him enough to drag his gaze upward, meeting Damas’s eyes.

"You-!"

He inhaled sharply through his nose and shut his eyes for four seconds.

Then he stormed down the steps and caught Jak by the shoulder. Before Jak had time to think, he'd been yanked into Damas’s arms, all but crushed against his chest.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"You stubborn, frustrating child-!" Damas croaked next to his ear. "Exiled?! After I spent three weeks barely knowing if you were alive, you think I would let you out of my sight?"

Jak stiffened. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He screwed up, he got rejected until he earned some kind of redemption. That was the script life followed. He didn't have a script for this.

"Mar told us you-" Damas swallowed. Gritted his teeth. "You thought you had to lead enemies away from our walls. Alone! Have we done nothing to earn your trust, even after all this time?"

Jak couldn’t answer. He could barely move. He wanted to protest that he fought his own battles, that he didn't want his past screw-ups to come haunt his only real home. But his mind caught on Damas’s words and rang in his ears.

Mar

Mar.

He knows.

Jak’s jaw worked in silence, and his eyes darted left to meet the same panic in Daxter's eyes.

Damas pulled back and gripped Jak’s face between his hands, forcing his gaze back to him.

"Jak, I lost you once before. I cannot endure it a second time. If you will not heed caution for your own sake, then at least think of your brothers first. Think of Phobos and me."

What.

Tongue finally loosened, Jak choked on questions and only managed inquiring noises. A second time? What was Damas talking about? Why was he hugging him instead of yelling at him?

"I don't...I don't understand-" he tried to breathe around the tightness still gripping his lungs. "I don't- Mar told you?"

Damas’s eyes glimmered, the only evidence betraying how close to breaking down he truly was. "No, son," he said quietly.

The word seemed weightier than usual.

"I knew."

Jak pulled back. "You knew?! How long?!"

"In truth? The day I found you in the desert." Damas blew out a breath that was just barely shakier than it should have been. "I knew in my heart who I had found, but after two years I was afraid to believe it without proof. That proof came sixteen days ago."

Sixteen days. While Jak was gone, then. Damas had been looking for Mar before Jak had come from the past? Why? He was nothing like the Underground, so Jak couldn't imagine that he'd meant to use Mar's powers for his own gain.

Swallowing hard, he tentatively asked, "What proof?"

Damas looked away for a moment, reaching for something in one of his belt pouches.

"The results of a cheek swab when we found you. A...computer test. One that can show us the building blocks of a person's blood, and who their parents were."

He knows I'm Mar! Jak realized, and excuses and justifications crowded behind his teeth. He knows we aren't blood brothers-!

Having apparently found what he was looking for, Damas opened his hand and held it out to Jak.

An amulet of Mar, far older than the one Jak shared with his brother, lay on his open palm, and the last pieces began to click into place.

"I see you, Jak," Damas whispered. "You don't have to keep fighting alone."

"You're...you're one of us?" Jak asked, "Like, from the- the future?"

"One of you?" Damas laughed, a little brokenly. "I'm your father, you ridiculous boy!"

His father?!

In the secrecy of his heart, Jak could easily admit that he saw the man as a father-figure, if an idealized one. And as he and Mar had started to ease up and let Damas closer, he'd pretended sometimes that their relationship was more familial than mentor and student. He knew Mar thought of Damas -- and Phobos a little moreso -- as "his" grown-ups.

Had they, somewhere deep inside, remembered them? Was that bond instinctive, picking up something that had always existed? Or had they built it themselves?

Jak wanted to apologize -- for leaving, for not explaining, maybe for existing in this form and not his childhood shape -- but what came out of him was only a noise. Soft, pained. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would help him keep his jaw clenched.

"Oh, oh-"

Damas pulled him close again, shushing him as if he were a child.

"Oh Jak."

His voice was hoarse, and full of pain.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I waited so long for proof. I should- I should have confronted you the first time I saw you using Mar's sign name."

He pressed Jak's head against his shoulder and held him tightly. "I'm- I'm sorry I made you think you might be sent away. I was- You scared me, Jak. I thought I was going to lose you before I could find out if you knew-"

Over Jak's shoulder, Damas looked down at Daxter and sighed. "Thank you," he said, "for going with him. If you say you got caught in a lockdown, I- I believe you, Daxter."

"You...do?" Daxter asked in a very small voice.

He didn't know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? A bitter envy?

"You've never given me a reason not to trust you," Damas answered simply.

Daxter swallowed twice. "So uh...does this mean you ain't mad anymore?"

Damas scoffed wetly. "No, I'm furious. But I'm so relieved that you're both safe."

He arched an eyebrow, though the stern look was softened somewhat by the tears in his eyes. "But. As the oldest, you should know better than to sneak out like that. You're as grounded as Jak is."

"Grounded?!" Daxter sputtered.

"So grounded." Damas nodded. "You two aren't- aren't getting this gate pass back for weeks."

Jak wanted to protest, to tell him all the responsibilities on his shoulders that required him to be able to go back and forth between cities. But he couldn't catch his breath long enough to form even a syllable.

He had a father. They had a father. Parents. That wanted them! All of them! But he didn't deserve it! Especially not now, after deserting the way he had!

"M- m- Mar?" he finally managed to force out.

Damas shushed him again and clicked his tongue. "He's alright. He's with your mother."

Your mother.

"I'm- I'm not...him, the right him-" Jak tried to warn Damas -- he ought to have known, he'd seen what Jak was like-

Damas’s arms trembled against his back.

"No. I don't want you to be your brother. Be you. Be my reckless, impudent, war-sage son, as you are." He gave a choked sob, wrapped partway around a chuckle, and added, "Though perhaps- perhaps so that I can sleep at night, a bit less reckless?"

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #dadmas angst #someone finally gets through to jak about people caring about him #meddling mar #meddling mar au #jak and daxter mar

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 8 months

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You know how Edward has this weird inflated pedestal view of Bella as the most wonderful woman of all time who absolutely must be protected at all costs and whom associating with is tarnishing but he can not stay away? In Canon his family is kinda nice to her but mostly seem to treat her as that oddity Edward brought over.

What if when he introduces Bella to the family, everyone else has the same weird view of her as he does. Leaving to alaska? Absurd! Turning her? Absolutely criminal.

Do you think meeting a family of Edwards turns Bella off Vampirism, or turns the family against each other? How would Aro react?

Anon, are you asking--

What if the entire family was actually just Edward?

I think this is the funniest ask I've received all month.

The trouble of course being that the Cullens would never be created, as Edlisle would be too in love with being miserable, likely fall off the diet, and either provoke Aro into killing him when they first meet or live a miserable life eating 'evil doers' and thus never turns Edward.

He'd also never turn Rosalie because Rosalie, even though she's Edward now, is still a beautiful woman who must be vain and stuck up. She's gross.

... I guess we'll say they're all suddenly Edward.

It's Edward's All the Way Down

The family arrives in Forks to all hate themselves. They sit in the cafeteria all wondering why they're living such a hellish existence filled with teenagers. Oh, woe to be a Cullen in this forced existence.

They all hate on Jasper for having poor control, except for Jasper, who is now too proud to admit he has poor control.

Anyways, Edward has his Biology class, flees the school, and instead of just giving Edward the car Edlisle view Edward with contempt as he clearly lost control and thus shouldn't have been in the school in the first place. He's ruining everyone's brooding, Edward.

Edward is thus humiliated even as he runs off to Alaska, unable to bear the thought of his family judging him (and they now are, immensely) and a similar thing happens where he comes back after a few days.

Edward manages to argue his way back into school but the entire family vocally shames him for it and makes it clear that he's dirt beneath their feet because he lost control and can't even admit it. Might as well live in the woods, Edward.

Canon proceeds, as Edward has even more motivation to prove he can do this and brush everything under the rug. He's just as intrigued by Bella, then she's nearly hit by the car.

The vote nearly goes the same except that the entire family is taking Edward's side had he not smelled delicious things and been fascinated by Bella: death to the teenager.

"Gosh, Edward, look at us having to clean up your mess. Jasper, take care of it."

Jasper murders Bella in her sleep.

They judge Edward for this forever, while Edward concludes he'll never be happy again and is for some reason haunted by this one human girl who he wasn't strong enough to resist. HER GHOST MOCKS HIM!

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #the cullens #meta #headcanon #opinion

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wakanai · 8 months

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Dazai played a role in the deaths of the Flags

SKL I'm kinda feeling low rn but I'm going to write this anyways. (cause at least maybe it might make me feel better to do something interesting TT). ANYWAYS.

some time ago, I came across a discussion in another platform about whether or not Dazai 'killed' the flags or had a role in doing so. and a lot of people were saying that Dazai is innocent of that?? I personally disagree and here's why.

"Everything. Verlaine's targets, the detective, the researcher - it was all based on the information I gave Verlaine. In other words, the system he used to assassinate people was my system too (. . .) I did it to buy time before Verlaine reached his final target. His final target is Ougai Mori, the Port Mafia boss. Normally, he would've been the first to be assassinated but after manipulating the intel a bit, I got him placed last in line. And thanks to the time I bought, I'm ready to assassinate Verlaine instead. Just need to make a few final touches (. . .)"

--- Dazai, Stormbringer

I think this quote can explain itself. But to break it down a bit, Mori was originally Verlaine's FIRST target. However, Dazai manipulated information so that it would change and Mori would be last. As Dazai says, "the system he used to assassinate people was my system too" -- and who did Verlaine target first instead of Mori? The Flags.

Dazai 100% knew what he was doing.

He's also the one who brought Chuuya to the Flags when Chuuya passed out and interestingly, prior to this, he must have known/seen Albatross still alive, still grasping for air - and did nothing about it. Except bring Chuuya there, likely hours later.

The Flags, Detective Murase, Chuuya's torture - Dazai is responsible for this.

A common occurrence with Dazai's character is his manipulation and passivity when it comes to ensuring the best outcome. He is willing to let bad things happen to people as long as it best serves his goals. Before I mention the more known things, I'd like to say that Dazai is like Ranpo in that they can both see through things. Dazai knew about the secret government facilities torturing children for skill research and used it as a part of his plan. How many times do you think Dazai saw suffering and actively chose to ignore it or utilize it to his advantage?

He does this multiple times through-out the series:

He lets Atsushi, Tanizaki and Naomi be lured in a trap, despite knowing that Higuchi was a mafiosi all along

He provokes Akutagawa's unhealthy obsession to get him to do things and even SMILES knowing this (manga: chapter 84) despite the fact that Aku literally has a terminal illness. Aku tells Atsushi that he can't bear to disappoint Dazai before he dies (chapter 87) - and Dazai fully takes advantage of this

Kunikida and Sasaki (Dazai's Entrance Exam LN)

and maybe some other stuff that I haven't mentioned

One big flaw Dazai has is that he doesn't trust people beyond the expectations he has for them. He doesn't share his plans and takes everything on by himself, planning ahead, using selective honesty and using those around him as pawns rather than team mates - even if his intentions are good.

An exception to this is when he fights as Double Black because he absolutely does trust Chuuya enough to share his plans and depend on him. But outside of these missions - Dazai's manipulative and control freak tendencies are still strong and standing.

Think of the current situation. Chuuya's a vampire. No matter how you look at it, Dazai's the one calling the shots. He's going to save Chuuya.

But it would be rather boring if everything went Dazai's way, don't you think? In Dead Apple, everything went his way and Chuuya saved him, just as he expected.

But this time, I want Chuuya to have a say in the grand scheme of things. How does he feel about being drowned by Dazai? How does he feel about Dazai in general - about his manipulation? Does he not feel used at times? Does he even know Dazai had a role in the Flags' demise?

A big big flaw of Dazai is his tendency to go full on chess-player mode and do things his way without regard or consultation from others -- and currently, I think one of - if not the best character to potentially call him out is none other than his ex-partner/childhood frenemy/person he's worked with the most, Chuuya Nakahara.

Thanks for reading <3.

(** extra notes that's lowkey unrelated but I want to mention it anyway cause I'm too lazy to make another post **)

it's funny how many people Dazai has callously let die or suffer for the sake of his plans/the optimal solution and yet when it happens to him (Mori -> Oda Sakunosuke), he is absolutely devastated. Maybe poetic justice in a sense (jk, I'm sorry Oda TT). I honestly want to see more emotional Dazai coming up in the future tho <3

I want Atsushi to stop viewing Dazai with rose-colored lenses and actually see the damage Dazai's caused Akutagawa

Also the part about Ranpo and Dazai being able to see through things like hidden evil that no one else can - this was actually inspired by a post from @dazailover420 about Ranpo's personality and how it's actually a coping facade to hide the pain from the things he sees daily (a pretty sad theory tbh). link to that is over here:

https://www.tumblr.com/dazailover420/190262904719/ranpos-personality-theory?source=share

<33

thanks for reading and adieu ✨

goodnight im going to sleep now LOL.

I still have school tomorrow pls fjrhgregh. t'was a pretty good writing experience though. take care of yourselves.

#bsd #stormbringer #stormbringer spoilers #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #double black #dazai and chuuya #the flags #ranpo #lowkey dazai analysis #lowkey double black analysis #LOWKEY #lol #goodnight

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starshine-hockey-girl · 2 months

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Here is my late entry for the Valentine's fic exchange. It is my first attempt at player/player HRPF. @deformed-globule, I hope you like it.

I also apologize that it got long. Actually, i should he sorry, but I am not.

Summary- My best guess to answer the question that has been haunting hockeylbr since the All-Star game. How and why was Sidney Crosby wearing Nate Mackinnon's hoodie during his post-game interview?

@pattiemac1 @penstxgal1968 @angry-geno-is-score @newlibrary @cellythefloshie @hockeyficexchange

Wednesday- January 31st- Nate MacKinnon’s hotel room

Nate watched as Cale Makar stood at the door and looked out into the hall. Cale looked back and forth several times to ensure that the hallway was clear before turning back to Nate. “So…. uhhhh…. I guess I will see you at breakfast? Maybe we can have round two before the Skills Competition,” the soft spoken defenseman said.

“I’m not sure,” Nate yawned as he wrapped the towel around his nude body. He had just started the shower and was anxious to get his latest conquest out of his room as quickly as possible. He was fully anticipating a video call from Sid, especially once the photo Nate had sent to him was opened.

“Oh, okay,” Cale replied, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t worry Kid,” Nate grimaced slightly, “I won’t leave you hanging.”

With that, Cale smiled and rushed down the hall towards his room. He had a naive fear of being caught doing the “walk of shame” down the hall. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost ran into Leon Draisaitl walking towards his room. Smiling at the near collision, it dawned on him that Leon was walking from the direction of Matthew Tkachuk’s room. The term “walk of shame” took on an entirely different tone during the ASG and Cale pondered just how many of his fellow All Stars would be taking the same walk during the next three days.

Inside Nate’s room, Nate stared at his phone. The message containing his nude selfie with Cale’s bare ass in the background had been seen by Sidney, but there was no response. After another fifteen minutes, Nate contemplated sending another message to provoke a response. It was a move that made him feel needy, but dammit, he NEEDED to know Sid’s response to the picture. Finally, the young buck couldn’t take the suspense any longer. He FaceTimed Sid who picked up while reclining on his hotel bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

Nate: Hey Sid

Sidney: Nate

Nate bit his lip before speaking: So, did you see the draft?

Sidney: No, I was busy. I saw the line-up though. Not bad.

Nate felt the flame of anger light in his gut. Not only had Sid not told him that he wouldn’t be at the draft, but he didn’t even have time to watch it. Nate had been selected as a team captain, after all, and he made sure to draft Sid as his first pick.

Nate spit out: Not bad? So not bad but not good? Well, maybe if I hadn’t been thrown off by you being represented by a damn toddler, I would have been more focused

Sidney yawned: Don’t overthink it Nate. It doesn’t really matter what team you end up on during the All Star game. Everything is usually pretty equal talent-wise. Although we might be hosed during a penalty kill.

Nate snarked: Well, then try not to take any dumbass penalties, Sid.

Sid leveled his gaze at Nate: Need anything else?

Nate responded without thinking: Did you get my pic?

Sid answered tersely: Yes, I did. Makar has a nice ass by the way.

Nate inwardly seethed. Sid was completely nonchalant by the knowledge that he fucked Cale. In the seven years since they had become “friends with benefits”, it had been generally accepted by both that what happened when they were apart in different cities went unquestioned.

It was that fact that made Sidney question why exactly Nate had sent such an obvious thirst trap picture. Then it dawned on Sidney that Nate was pissed about the draft. Sure he should have communicated better he thought, but it wasn’t like Nate was his girlfriend. “No, boyfriend,” Sidney corrected himself. Either way, Nate wasn’t entitled to an explanation and it irritated him that he reacted this way.

Nate finally came up with a response: Yeah, it was a nice ass to tap.

Immediately, Nate felt a pang of regret. It was a shitty thing to say about The Kid. It was a shitty thing to use him as a means to make Sid jealous. Nate paused. “Jealous?” Nate questioned himself, “Why would I want to make Sid jealous?”

Sidney responded with disinterest: “Was it good?”

Nate had repeated in disbelief: “Was it good?” “You don’t give a fuck?”

Sidney yawned and examined his feelings with a coldness that further infuriated his younger….. He paused to think of the correct term. What exactly was Nate to him? They definitely fell into the more than friends camp, but were they in a relationship? Definitely not. However in his gut, a tiny seed of something grew. It felt like a weird combination of jealousy, anger and outright annoyance.

Sidney and Nate’s physical relationship began at Sidney’s 2017 Stanley Cup party. A very drunk Nate followed Sidney up to his bedroom at the end of the night. When an equally drunk Sidney suggested that he walk home, Nate made his move with a sloppily drunken kiss. He moaned into Sidney's mouth, “Don't want to go home. I want to be fucked.”

It was an unexpected offer to Sidney, but not an unwelcome one. He had often imagined what it would be like to take the younger man. Solo jerk off sessions after their intense and competitive workouts had become routine. He wondered how his extremely fit body would feel in his hands. Sidney paused to contemplate the ethics involved. “How drunk are you?” Sidney asked before he returned Nate's kiss.

“Sober enough to consent,” Nate slid his hands under Sidney’s shirt, “I am also a grown ass man and I know what I want.” It was as if Nate had read his mind. It was just enough to release Sidney's tenuous hold on his last inhibition. He pulled Nate into the room and slammed the door shut. Nate grinned as he raced to strip. Sidney was slower and more deliberate in his actions. Nate gasped when Sidney’s semi-erect cock sprung out of his boxers.

“Is this your first time?” Sidney asked as he stroked his cock, getting it fully erect. Nate shook his head no. “Get ready for me,” Sidney drawled with seduction. Nate scampered onto the bed. Nate felt Sidney's large thighs behind his as his hands gripped Nate's hips. Sidney leaned forward and nipped at Nate's neck, “How do you want it?”

The blonde looked back at his hockey hero. “Any way you want to take it,” he answered. His eyes half closed in a state of extreme arousal and disbelief. He had dreamed of this moment for years. “Hard and fast it is,” Sidney smiled as he thrusted.

Sidney shook his head and pushed the memory out of his mind. Nate had fumed on the other end of the line. Sidney paused, unsure what to say. He wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit anything to Nate. “You’re free to do whatever you want, with whomever you want,” Sidney finally replied as coolly as possible.

On the other end of the line, Nate’s face reddened.

Nate: Fine, I will.

Nate ended the call abruptly and turned off his phone. He was sure that Sid would call back immediately. Sidney did not.

Thursday- February 1st- Scotiabank Arena

Sidney glanced at his phone once again as stepped out of the SUV at the All Star Game red carpet. Nate had continued his radio silence after the drunken phone call the night before. When Sidney walked into the assigned locker room, his eyes searched for Nate. He saw him huddled his fellow Avs - Cale and Georgie.

An awe-inspired silence fell over the room when Sidney walked into the locker room. It happened frequently these days when the younger players from other teams came into close proximity to their childhood hockey hero. All eyes turned to Sidney in various levels of adoration. All eyes except for Nate who felt the weight of Sid's eyes on him. He stubbornly looked at the floor and refused to acknowledge him. Sidney blinked then proceeded to his locker to dress, exchanging head nods with everyone else. Cale looked between the two friends and pondered the obvious tension.

Nate kept his focus on Cale, openly bantering with him. Sidney watched for a moment. In all of the years he had known Nate, the younger man had never failed to acknowledge him. The strange, unnamed feeling from the night before returned. The one that he had been trying to stuff down most of the morning and during flight to Toronto. Like most men when confronted by a difficult emotion, he turned it into anger. “Who in the fuck did he think was? Like I am going to be jealous of Salad boy,” Sidney thought to himself. “Any one of these guys would die to have my attention and you want to ignore me, Nate? Go ahead play with your new conquest. I will find my own.”

With that, Sidney turned his attention to Tom Wilson with a smile. “Are you here to give moral support to our boys or did you just want to spend time with me?” Sidney said flirtatiously. Nate’s ears perked up but he willed himself not to look.

“It can’t be both?” Wilson smiled back, “I won’t be on the ice today. I guess I will have to admire you from afar.”

“Just like always,” Sidney shot back, “I see you sneaking glances my way during games.” Nate’s head swiveled around and his eyes widened. Sid was openly flirting with Wilson. He was openly flirting with Wilson IN FRONT OF HIM.

Wilson inwardly laughed. He had been in the league long enough and was smart enough to realize that Sidney’s sudden flirtatiousness was not for his benefit, but MacKinnon’s. Despite that knowledge, he decided to play along because frankly he didn’t have anything better to do. The fact that it irritated the other golden boy from Nova Scotia? That was just an added bonus.

“You know I can’t help myself, Sid,” Wilson flirted, “That ass cannot be ignored.”

“Who says I want you to ignore it?” Crosby shot back.

Nate couldn’t take it anymore and stomped off towards the ice. Makar followed after him. Wilson laughed out loud, “Poor NateDogg - no longer Sid’s golden boy.”

“Shut up, Willie,” Sidney snapped.

“Or maybe he is,” Wilson answered coolly.

“It’s complicated,” Sidney said before he got up to walk to the rink. He turned to Wilson and smiled, “Thanks for the assist though. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, anytime,” Wilson smiled, “I’ll be glad to keep it up. Get him worked into a lather for you.” Sidney winked at Wilson and kept walking.

The Skills Competition essentially became a battle of two peacocks. Nate and Sidney both vying for the attention of the other by any means necessary. Nate hung tight with Cale, flirting shamelessly. Sidney flitted from young admirer to young admirer, mesmerizing them with his presence before leaving them with titillating hope of more. On the surface, the two appeared calm and collected. They joked superficially and appeared to be the same long-time friends that they had successfully projected into the world through the years. Beneath the surface, they battled to remain in control of the seething jealousy.

In the locker room after the skills competition, talk turned to evening celebrations. Nate made the first move and loudly pronounced his intent to go to a club with his fellow Avs. Sidney casually threw out that he had been invited to History, Drake’s nightclub. That announcement led to almost everyone else in the locker room to ask for an invite as well. Sidney was more than happy to text his new minions to the guest list. He threw out a half-hearted invitation to Nate which was soundly declined.

Friday - February 2nd- Scotiabank arena - Team MacKinnon locker room

Sidney threw his stick against the wall in disgust. Anger pulsating through his veins. Nate followed behind with proverbial steam coming out of his ears. The rest of Team MacKinnon followed in confused silence. “Yes, losing sucked” Oliver Bjorkstrand pondered, “but it’s just the All Star game. It’s not like the points counted.’

“What the fuck was that, Sid,” Nate screamed.

Sidney swiveled around, “What was what?”

“You missed your shoot out shot. You cost us the game,” Nate yelled.

“First, watch your tone with me. Second, you missed your shot right after me,” Sidney yelled back.

“Are you saying that I cost us the game,” the blonde huffed. The remaining players in the locker room looked back and forth as the two friends volleyed accusations at each other.

“I am saying that maybe you should have considered a penalty kill in your draft strategy,” Sidney said through clenched teeth.

“Maybe you should have been there if you were so concerned about draft strategy instead of sightseeing god damn bears and wolves!” Nate responded.

Sidney took a breath and looked around the room. Expressions ranged from the total amusement of Tom Wilson to the shock and awe of Makar. Sidney grabbed onto the bench to keep himself from walking over to the defenseman to slap the expression off his face. “Fuck this,” Sidney muttered, “I refuse to be a spectacle because you are behaving like a spoiled child.” He gathered his things and walked out of the back door into the hallway.

Nate watched in disbelief. “Where in the fuck do you think that you are going?” he thought to himself. His mind raced back to Wednesday and the blythe way Sid had dismissed his veiled cries for attention. He got up and followed him down the hall. Sid checked doors until he found an empty physical therapy room unlocked. He went and threw his stuff down. He was almost undressed when Nate entered the room. The rest of players looked at each other for a moment and scampered down the hall to listen.

“Don’t walk away from me, Sid,” Nate hissed.

“I am not going to indulge your temper tantrum, Nate,” Sidney shot back.

Nate crossed to him in a fury.

“What did you say to me?” Nate questioned.

“I said that I am not going to indulge your temper tantrum,” Sidney responded coolly. The detached tone fueled MacKinnon’s repressed anger.

“Like I am a god damn baby?” Nate laughed.

“Like a damn baby in need of a pacifier,” Sidney spit out.

The duo stared at each other, nostrils flared and chests heaving. In a split second, the anger turned to unbridled passion.

“I don’t need a pacifier but I want to suck on something,” Nate whispered. Sid smiled and tore off his remaining clothes. Nate pushed him until his ample ass bounced off the padded table. Sid pushed himself up onto the table and spread his legs. Silently he offered Nate the object of his desire- his thick and throbbing cock.

Nate began to suck like it was the first time they had explored each other’s bodies. The anger had fully subsided into pure passion. It was aggressive and rough. Sid’s large fingers grabbed onto Nate’s hair and guided him up and down. Nate, however, required no guidance. A silent look was exchanged and Nate stood up. Sid hopped down and Nate bent over the table.

“Is this what you want?” Sid hissed.

“Shut up and fucking give it me,” Nate hissed back.

Sid poured the unspoken anger of the last two days into his fucking. His jealousy of Nate fucking Cale, his anger at Nate’s passive aggressiveness over the past two days, the disappointment of losing to fucking Connor McDavid fueled his relentless thrusts.

Nate felt his anger fading away, replaced with the subtle confidence that Sid did, indeed, still want him. The jealousy faded as Sid fucked him like his life depended on it. The grunt and groans filled the room. Their usual banter replaced animalistic noises as they expressed their emotions in the only way they knew how. Sid collapsed in a heap on top of Nate momentarily before wrapping his arm around Nate’s waist. His hand stroked feverishly, bringing Nate to a quick orgasm. Nate’s back rose up and down as he collected this thoughts and let his breathing slow down.

Sid gently kissed Nate’s back and Nate froze. He allowed Sid to feather kisses across his shoulder blades. Sid seemed to be conveying something, but Nate wasn’t clear on the message. He was torn on wanting to let it continue and the need to know what the message was. He pushed up and turned around to face Crosby.

“What? All of the sudden you give a shit about me?” Nate quizzed.

“Of course, I give a shit about you Nate,” Sidney answered quietly.

“Right, you really gave a shit about me when you skipped the draft,” Nate accused, “I needed you and you bailed on me.”

“You needed me? Why?” Sidney answered, truly perplexed. “All of this is because I missed the draft? Seriously?” Nate reached for his sweatpants and shook his head. “Look at me, Nate,” Sidney commanded. Nate continued to look down. “Look at me please?” Sidney asked instead of ordered.

Nate looked up, the pain evident in his eyes. Sidney continued, “I didn’t know that you really wanted me there and I didn’t certainly didn’t know that you needed me there.” He ran his fingers through his silver and gray hair. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Nate,” Sidney explained, “I thought me not being there would allow the spotlight to be on you. I thought it would give you a chance to shine.”

“You wanted me to shine?” Nate asked softly, “That’s why you stayed away?”

Sidney pulled up his sweatpants, “You were selected to be a captain. It’s a big deal. I didn't want to take attention from you.”

“Really? You expect me to believe that? What did you say the other night Sid? You’re free to do whatever you want, with whomever you want,” Nate accused.

“You are,” Sidney replied as neutrally as possible. “You are free to fuck anyone you want. That doesn't change that I want the best for you.” Inwardly Sidney's heart raced. This conversation was getting close to dangerous emotional territory.

Nate stared at Sidney for a moment. The unspoken emotion simmered beneath the surface. Finally, Nate spoke, unable to stop himself, “You-you're what's good for me.”

“What?” Sidney gasped, “What did you say?”

Nate took a step toward Sidney, “I don't want anyone else but you.” He began to say before Sidney kissed him mid-sentence. The kiss was soft and gentle, completely different than any other of their shared kisses.

“Me too. I only want you- no one else,” Sidney moaned as his tongue languidly explored Nate's mouth.

Nate pulled back, “Seriously?“

“I only want you,” Sidney reiterated as Nate grabbed him and pulled into his body. They were both absorbed in the kiss when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Uhhhh, guys?” Oliver Bjorkstrand said, “They're looking for you. Neither of you did your post game media before you uhhhh.” He paused to think of a polite way to say retreated into an empty therapy room to fuck like animals.

Sidney called out, “Tell them you found me. I'll be right there.” In the hall, the members of Team MacKinnon scrambled back to the locker room. In the room, Sidney grinned at Nate, “I'll go first and let my captain have the last word” He grabbed a hoodie, threw it on, and kissed Nate quickly before rushing out the door.

Nate stared at the door for a brief moment before reaching for his hoodie. He grabbed the remaining hoodie and saw the 87 on the right side. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. “If I have Sid's hoodie,” he thought to himself, “Where is my hoodie? Shit, Sid has my hoodie.”

He raced to open the door. He called out to Sid, “Wait, you have the wrong hoodie,” Sid turned, looked the number on the hoodie and shrugged. Then he flashed a grin, pointed to the number and then to his heart. Nate stared for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face.

Later that night - Vince Dunn’s condo - Bellevue, Washington

Dunn looked up at the TV screen from his position between Larsson’s massive thighs. He did a double take when he saw the number 29 on Sidney Crosby’s chest. He turned to Larsson who looked down in mild annoyance to the interruption of the blow job he had been receiving. “Is Sid wearing MacKinnon’s hoodie?” Dunn asked in disbelief.

“Gubben,” the ginger spoke, “Focus.”

Dunn pouted slightly, “At least he isn't wearing some rookie's jersey like SOMEONE I know.”

Larsson gently grabbed Dunn’s face and turned it to him. “Gubben…. How long are you going to pout about that? I was simply trying to boost Garth's confidence. You know he means nothing to me. You are my special one.” Dunn grinned, basking in the reassurance of his beloved partner. “Now back to work,” the Swede playfully demanded, “Back to work.”

#sidney crosby imagine #hockey rpf #sidney crosby x nate mackinnon #nhl fic #nhl fiction

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aita-blorbos · 7 months

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AITA for sacrificing myself to save my best friend's life?

My best friend ""Wendy"" (21F, not her real name) and I (20F) are adventurers. Due to an encounter with godly power, I have a skeletal hand that's lethal to touch but enhances my combat skills. This hand can absorb death energy to heal people from the brink, but using this power causes the skeletal effect to spread and makes it deadlier. Anyway, a few months before all this, we were forced into a deadly trial by combat in a pirate city against a very powerful pirate. I hit him harder than intended with my skeleton hand, and ended up killing him. We got out of town, but I learned later there was a bounty for my head. Bounty hunters harassed our loved ones, making it evident they wanted me dead.

As the skeletal condition worsened from healing others, we devised a plan to fake my death, claim the bounty, and elude the pirates. Well, we were betrayed on the way there and I was thrown into a combat ring, where the winner would join the council of ruling city judges. Wendy entered the competition so she could protect me. I also found out one of my old friends, ""Thomas"" (20sM, not his real name) was entering the ring. One of the judges was his old mentor who didn't respect him at all and he really wanted to earn the guy's respect. Thomas told me he was sorry it came down to this, but he wanted the role of judge more than he liked me. Not a great thing to hear, but we've got this!

My friend and I defeated a ton of enemies, and I was very careful to try not to kill Thomas, even promising him I wouldn't. Finally, Wendy was knocked out, most of the challengers were dead, and it came down to me and Thomas. I knocked him out nonlethally, meaning I was the last person standing. But the judge running the competition told me if I wanted the judge role, I needed to kill Thomas. I refused— I'm not killing a defenseless friend even if he tried to kill me first. The judge told me I would have to choose and kill one of my friends, or he would come in the ring and kill them both, and then me.

So, this is where I might be TA: I still refused, used my skeleton hand to heal up Wendy, and told the judge if he entered the ring, I'd kill him myself. This may have been a bit of bravado because I was injured and completely out of combat power and Wendy had no spells left. The judge was true to his word and immediately killed Thomas, knocked Wendy unconscious, and was about to kill her too. Seeing no other way out and wanting to save her, I used my skeleton hand and let all of my life force seep into her, costing me my life but healing her up and allowing her to escape.

I've been dead about a year, and Wendy ended up venturing into the afterlife to rescue my soul. I told her I wasn't super eager to come back: I chose an end I was happy with, and my soul was at rest. Well, she blew up at me. She told me I almost got her killed by provoking the judge into an impossible fight when all I had to do was kill an unconscious person who was trying to kill me (and who ended up dying anyway!), and that it was selfish of me to die for her without even asking her if that was what she wanted. She said I took a pointless, risky principled stand that did nothing but get me killed and force her to spend a year grieving me and coming apart at the seams. She also told me said pirate judge has been gearing up to attack our hometown, so she still isn't even safe. I told her I'm sorry I hurt her but I'm not sorry I did it, and she got even more upset and said I don't always know what's best for other people. I don't think that's fair. I died to save her, and I didn't do anything wrong by refusing to kill my old friend. But she's really hurt and upset now, so maybe she has a point. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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sinner-sunflower · 19 days

Text

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 4/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14