#if not for meeting Slaughter so there's a silver lining in all of this but goddamn dude. the bullshit it took to get there. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vixstarria · 8 months

Text

"Where my nice, simple plan fell apart"

This is my take on how Astarion’s romance might have progressed with a silly, chaotic energy bard Tav, who doesn’t really fall for his initial manipulation but rather humours it, throughout Act 1.

There will be more – I want to flesh this out and write more ‘behind the scenes’ moments, and continue this into Acts 2 and 3 (I’m still only at the beginning of Act 2 as I write this!)

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav

Comfort, fluff, budding love, cuddling, humour, no spoilers, non-explicit, light angst

Approximately 2,000 words.

~~~~~

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all this madness.”

“Astarion, you insufferable trollop, what piece of cheap pulp did you fish that line from?!” you squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, wait, let me guess... Madame Scarlett?”

You watched his face turn from indignation to irritation, to finally settle in a resigned amusement, in a rapid succession.

“My, a fellow connoisseur of the vulgar arts? The Madame’s been dead and out of print for over a century. But yes.”

“A professional interest – a bard must be able to entertain all kinds of audiences, with all kinds of material”

“And would you indulge me with your expertise tonight? But I do much prefer show to tell...”.

This was the beginning. You did end up sleeping with him that night, despite his initial soppy attempt at seduction. And then it happened again another night. And then it kept happening...

You tried to be discreet about it at first, but of course it wasn’t long before the other members of your party noticed your nightly disappearances, and there was no point trying to conceal it.

You were vexed by their reactions – just about everyone found it necessary to at one point pull you aside and express their concerns about the vampire, asking you to be careful. This was, perhaps, justifiable – Astarion was admittedly quite stab-happy and had an inclination for bloodthirst (literally and figuratively). But he was on your side! And damned if you needed anyone’s approval for your choices in whom to bed!

By that point you and Astarion had turned the cliched language of poorly written erotica novels into an inside joke. Casually addressing each other in increasingly mawkish and over-elaborate terms had turned into a game. Once the secret of your escapades was out, you weaponised this game, turning it to deliberately exasperate everyone around you with your antics.

With your shared penchant for dramatic flair the two of you became utterly insufferable.

You would shout corny names at each other across camp:

“Oh precious, it’s your turn to set up the campfire! And no, I don’t care that you won’t be eating with us” you called out as the group stopped for the day to set up camp, but no answer followed. “My silver lynx..? Starry?? Snickerdoodle??”

“Your snickerdoodle wandered off to slaughter another bear!” came an exasperated shout from Wyll.

Strangers weren’t safe from your hijinks either:

“My sun, my beating heart, flame of my loins, ache of my head. All my riches, at your feet”, he declaimed to you in front of a confused and embarrassed vendor, as he rummaged through and shook out his pockets and sleeves, spilling an assortment of semi-precious gems, silver cutlery and somehow even an entire silver tray, pilfered from an abandoned manor you came across earlier.

Just to make the others uncomfortable, you would unceremoniously plop into Astarion’s lap at any given opportunity, including in your morning meetings to establish your itinerary for the day.

One evening, as you all sat around the campfire to enjoy a shared meal, Astarion (who would ordinarily stay away during this time, or sit nearby with a book) sank down next to you, lifted your hand towards his mouth, and nonchalantly sank his fangs into your wrist and began to suck, slurping.

“Oh, so I can’t enjoy a nice meal with everyone else, and have to be excluded? Bigots, the lot of you!” he chided, your blood dripping from his lips, to the sound of everyone’s shouts of shocked revulsion. Surprisingly, this was the closest you’d ever seen Lae’zel come to laughing.

(You and Astarion had arranged this prior, of course. Ever the gentleman, he always asked before he bit.)

Another night, as you were having a quiet chat with Shadowheart at her tent, while everyone else lounged at the fire, she asked: “So what is it like with him, really..? How is he?”

Suddenly finding yourself abashed by this genuinely intimate question, you covered it up with pomp and bravado. Winking at Shadowheart, you stood up, threw your head back and began to orate, making sure your thundering voice would be heard by the fire, which you had been separated from by a distance and some bushes:

“HIS MAGESTIC MANHOOD, WHEN UNSHEATHED, IS AN OBELISC OF MASCULINITY AND GLORY. IT IS A WONDER BIRDS DON’T CRASH INTO IT WHEN IT IS FULLY E- Ow! Who threw that?!”

A projectile salami from your camp supplies came flying from behind the bushes, and slammed into the side of your face.

All hell was breaking loose back at the campfire, as Wyll, Gale and a smug Astarion convulsed and shouted through poorly concealed laughter, blaming each other for the missile, as Karlach shook in hysterics and Lae’zel complimented the mystery thrower’s accuracy.

Gale did look more sheepish than the rest once you started to develop a black eye from the impact, promptly healed by Shadowheart.

What was it like with him?

Despite the flowery epithets and exaggerated displays of affection you awarded each other in public, in private you had a mutual understanding that it was all frivolous, no strings play. You had a parasite that could turn you into a mind flayer at any given moment, twisting in your brain. Every day bore violent encounters. Since the nautiloid crash, you hadn’t gone a single day without something trying to murder you. You didn’t want to have to worry about anything other than survival, and you took life day by day. Distractions were welcome, but actual romantic attachment would be a burden, you told yourself.

You thought of it as being friends with extended benefits.

You let him feed (well, snack, really) on you, of course. It wasn’t sexual, not since the first night. He used your wrist, so as not to be overwhelmed by the blood flow. He ended the sessions by healing you himself, assisted by a magical trinket he’d picked up somewhere on your journey. You made sure not to let Gale get his hands on that one.

In battles his arrows always picked off foes in your immediate vicinity, before they were directed to other targets. You’ve yelled at him for this, saying you were more than capable of holding your own, whilst you’d lost count of the revivify scrolls you’ve spent on Gale.

“Yes, well, the way the man goes on about his ‘natural talents’ and ‘mastery of the weave’, you’d think he’d put that big wise brain of his to developing a strategy for not getting stabbed so often” - Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m just encouraging him to improve, really. And besides”, his eyes narrowed, “only I’m allowed to spill your blood, darling”. You frowned at that last bit, as he flashed you a sweet and almost innocent smile, and stalked off.

As for the other ‘benefits’ - the sex was intricate, if somewhat mechanic, almost too skillful on his behalf. Wanting more passion than efficiency, you eventually asked him to talk dirty to you. That made it nearly too intense for you to handle, and seemed to keep him more... personally engaged. During daytime you had to force yourself not to get caught up in flashbacks of his red eyes watching you writhe as he described what he was doing to you, what he was going to do to you, or how you looked while he worked your body.

The night that you, wanting to reciprocate, asked him exactly how he wanted to be pleasured and what he liked was a fiasco. You didn’t understand why. First he said something about being able to please you being his greatest reward and satisfaction (which you immediately shut down). Then he grew flustered and irritated, becoming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. You tried to divert the conversation, but the mood was unsalvageably ruined.

There was one takeaway from that debacle, however. After abandoning the idea of sex for the night, you laid next to each other, talking about nothing in particular: Baldur’s Gate, places you were both familiar with, comforts you were looking forward to having again. At one point he looked at his jacket, which you’d been lying on, and lamented that he couldn’t find any gold thread to fix the embroidery. You laughed and rolled over to give him a hug, and simply never let go. He wordlessly pulled you closer once it was clear you had no intention of leaving. That was the first time that you fell asleep and slept through the night in his arms.

This became somewhat of a ritual, or another game with unspoken rules. Once you were done with each other, you’d pretend to quickly fall asleep with your face nested in the crook of his neck, or to otherwise be too exhausted to get up and make way to your own tent or bedroll. He pretended not to notice the regularity with which this was happening. You pretended not to notice the soft kisses he started leaving on your neck or forehead once he thought you were really asleep. It seemed... important, somehow, that you both pointedly refused to acknowledge any of it. You sensed that otherwise a certain line would be crossed.

Last night, you were too exhausted to even think of anything but sleep by the time everyone started turning in for the night. Yet rest wasn’t even on the horizon for you – you remembered that you’d neglected to clean your weapons and carry out the well overdue maintenance on your equipment, which you did not allow anyone else to touch even when offered. You were planning to venture into the shadow-cursed lands the following day. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy. You begrudgingly set about your tasks. Astarion was as tired as everyone else, you figured it was needless to say you’d spend the night apart. And yet...

“I guess I finally get my bedroll all to myself tonight, how delightful” you heard behind you. “No one to wrap themselves around me, no one nuzzling into my neck... Only free, undisturbed personal space” You heard a hint of dejection beneath the sarcasm, and something in your stomach flipped, giving you pause.

“I’ll come back for a cuddle if you say please” you murmured over your shoulder.

“Never!” he rasped in a perfect imitation of Lae’zel when you asked the same of her before freeing her from a tiefling cage, and disappeared into his tent.

Over an hour later, as you collapsed into your own bedroll, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from across the camp, tent flap ajar. You held Astarion’s gaze.

“Please”, he mouthed soundlessly, smiling as he lifted the edge of his blanket.

Within moments, you slipped into his embrace, pressing your lips against his. But his kisses were gentle and feather light, lacking the usual persistent neediness.

You pulled away from him, locking eyes as he softly ran his hand down your cheek, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.

“Gods, you’re beautiful” he breathed.

That night he fell asleep with his head against your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.

Your breath caught in a silent sob as you were overwhelmed by a bittersweet realization of how much you really stood to lose if you failed in the journey still ahead of you. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier or more miserable before in your life, as you hugged him tighter.

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #fkn Gale #why is it always Gale

1K notes · View notes

comfortless · 2 months

Note

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

868 notes · View notes

mitsies · 1 year

Text

he doesn't remember your name.

jaws snap shut around empty syllables, searching for something memory can't conjure. looking. hungry for the missing piece. but he doesn't know.

he remembers your face, hot and puffy with youth and indignation when he poked fun at you, and burning with life left to live. he remembers your voice and how it sounded when you called for him, or chided him. he remembers your mannerisms, the way your fingers thrummed against your desk, the way your fighting was flighty as if you were barely bound to this plane of existence. he remembers the smell of your blood and how it lingered long after you were gone. he remembers the way you looked at him.

most people observe him with reverence. unabashed, clear reverence. like he’s some god because to them, he very well may be. to them, gojo satoru is the highlight of their lives, the silver lining.

you, however, did none of that. when you'd first arrived on the campus of tokyo's very own jujutsu high, you'd looked.. unimpressed.

gojo had taken offense to that one. you, a new 1st-year student, not acknowledging your own teacher's prowess? how blasphemous. how rude. had anyone taught you manners?

and this offense was made even worse by the fact that you were his very first student. this year marked not only your arrival at the school but his debut as a teacher. you were the only student in your class- numbers of sorcerers were running low, so low. he didn't like that you'd be all alone but for that greeting maybe you deserved it.

how many years ago was it, now? when he'd shown you to your dorm room and you'd slammed the door in his face? okay, maybe that action was warranted- he was a little too excited to meet his very first student, ever. enthusiastic in a way that came off as deranged, maybe even a little insane. you looked at him like he was crazy. he remembers that, too.

you usually slept through lessons. he'd pretend to not notice. you pretended like you didn't get hurt on missions, too stubborn to see shoko. he'd act like he didn't see right through you and would opt to slip you some bandages on the ride home. and you used to act like you hated him. he played along.

(a name comes to mind, but he knows it's not yours. twin black plaits, sharp teeth in a bristling, boisterous grin. a little girl. she is not you but both of your stories end the same.)

gojo remembers your death better than your life. dying was a matter of fact- you knew, he knew. it was bound to happen. he just didn't think it would be so soon. it was almost the end of your 1st year and he was looking into promoting you up a level, too, when he was called down to the morgue.

copper. metal wire. pennies. the smell hit him before reality. a body, smaller in death, lies covered by a white sheet. he hears your voice, scolding him for being embarrassing in public. he hears you but it's just in his head.

you were his first student. you hadn't even graduated.

gojo satoru is no stranger to the cruelties of the world. he's not, truly. he has seen his friends come and go. he has seen lives flicker out like flames of candles, gone just like that. he thought, foolishly, that you'd be safe. that he could protect you. (like the girl with twin plaits. like the boy who stood beside him.)

the world should've been kinder. he should've been better. you, lying motionless on the metal table, have done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this. (his first student. not his last, never his last. there will be more after you, more bodies to the morgue, more lambs to the slaughter. is this his fault?)

he remembers a day in july. summer heat was beating down on you as you staggered out of a dilapidated apartment complex. gojo was waiting, slouched against the door, arms crossed. he beamed when you exit. "how'd it go?"

you were panting, leaning against the brick wall, hand clutching your chest. your hair is disheveled and he practically heard the thud of your heart. but there is not a single scratch on you and a burst of pride warmed him.

"there was no way that was a second-grade curse," you gasped out. he handed you a water bottle and you went to take a sip, only to find it's empty. you glared at him and throw it against his head, where it clanged off his infinity uselessly.

"you're right, very astute observation from my favourite student!"

your eyes bulged out of your head as he continued, "it was a first grade! look at you go, hotshot!"

you were too tired at the moment but he's certain that given the opportunity, you'd have tried your hardest to strangle him. and you had promised, "i'm gonna kill you one day, gojo."

he ignores how you avoid any formalities- it's not like he cares. he ruffled your hair (not twin plaits, not two braids, not her, just you) and walked ahead. "you can wait! as a treat, let's go get dinner. i'll pay."

you had jogged to catch up to his long strides, purposefully slamming into his side as some sort of final act of vengeance. he's sure you expected to hit his infinity, but you stumbled against the fabric of his clothes, the cold touch of his arm. you blinked. he grinned. you were family. you were a younger sibling. as was the bond between a man too young to be a teacher and a child too young to be a soldier. he sees you in his memory, trying hard to not let a twin smile sneak across your face. you failed.

gojo wishes he could see your smile again. you were so young, too young. you were a child. innocent. and innocence deserves to thrive. he remembers your ice cream order. he remembers your laugh. he remembers your handwriting. he remembers you. but he doesn't recall your name.

he sits, now, watching the new first years. he thinks you'd have gotten along with them. (megumi especially. the both of you shared a mutual hatred for him, it seemed. gojo shudders. maybe it's a good thing he didn't have to deal with that.) how old would you be, now? maybe in your early twenties or late teen years. he wishes you got to grow old.

"what're you thinking about?" the smell of smoke. lavender, lilac, blood. it's shoko. she sits down on the bench next to him, following his gaze as one leg crosses over the other. yuuji and nobara scream in the distance. megumi looks like he wants to die. gojo smiles.

"nothing much."

wind blows, hitting his face. his head tips up as if to look at the sky through his blindfold, the one he'd switched to when you'd told him his glasses were ugly and tacky and out of style. he'd taken that one to heart. shoko sighs. "you always have to be cryptic and mysterious, don't you?"

"sure do." he allows calm to take him. he allows the travesty of his heart, your ache, your pain, to replay in his mind over and over. he allows the face without a name to scream out to him, to call for him, to lament, to grieve. in the distance, he hears the first-years laugh. he thinks that he will do anything to protect them, in the ways he failed to protect you.

gojo satoru was no god, especially not when he met you. but now, he will try to be. now, he has to be.

he can't remember your name.

[ more jujutsu kaisen fics! ] [ home page! ]

#this is platonic!! reader is a student!! do not misinterpret #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #reader insert

976 notes · View notes

little-tyrant-gortash · 6 months

Text

I have to move my theory to another post from here, so I can properly save it in my headcanons in my pinned post. 😊

Well yes, after being sold as a slave by your bloody parents to a warlock, you'd think one would be more cautious around a person who slaughtered his ally, butchered countless minions that supported him and literally pissed in his soup. (Because frankly. That's what we fucking did. 😂)

By rights, we should've lost our heads the moment we neared Baldur's Gate.

He does the complete opposite and since he's highly intelligent, I refuse to believe that he's doing it because he's stupid. No, there has to be another reason... why he... automatically... thinks the best of us. And yes, we ARE useful to him if he can persuade us to kill Orin for him, but he offers SO MUCH MORE in exchange for that.

His reaction to us - either Tav or Dark Urge - is overwhelmingly, frighteningly positive. He made a pact with Orin she wouldn't kill him but our mere word was enough. What's that if not hope and positivity?

I was thinking about something concerning this all. When we first talk to him face-to-face, we're in literal neck deep shit... he still has ideas how to proceed, he still has a positive look on our collective future.

I have a theory. I've been collecting these for a fanfic where he eventually turns away from Bane to Lathander. Because for me it's all. Right. There. It's also interesting that there's a MASSIVE lore on other gods but they've made an entire fucking Lathanderian monastery for us to wander in BEFORE we even know Gortash exists.

Okay, let me rant because I'm losing my mind, sorry:

Enver (Anwar) means "brighter, more luminous" in Arabic.

Enver Gortash's title is Lord Lightbringer. For comparison, Lathander's other name is the Morninglord. Very, very similar. And Lathander is rather the God of Dawn, representing a new day, a new beginning. It's also interesting that one of the titles a priest could get is Sunrise Lord. Sunrise Lord / Lord Lightbringer? Jesus fucking Christ Larian.

His Steel Watch have this big silver symbol on them that (to me at least) resembles the sun. Interesting he designed it in silver - the sun also looks white when we look directly at it, isn't it? Also: gold on black (light in the dark). And there are literal sunrays. Like dawn.

His exact words to us are "[we will] rise over Toril like a roaring sun"

Lathander's portfolio includes "birth, renewal, spring and youth, as well as athletics, self-perfection, vitality and creativity". Some of these definitely apply to Gortash, at least self-perfection, vitality and creativity does.

This entire passage on this page: "[Lathander] is the god of dawn, which represented the potential of a new day. A god of hope and beginnings, Lathander's name was invoked at the start of new endeavors, (once again, "[we will] rise over Toril like a roaring sun"] whether sealing a new deal, or setting out on a new journey."

Once more: like a roaring sun, because these words are burned in my brain. Bane is often called the God of Darkness. Why, pray tell, does Gortash say roaring sun? I'm going mental at that fucking line.

God of Hope - House of Hope (painful, but strange coincidence 😫)

"His was an eternal optimism, a constant willingness to focus on hopes for the future rather than wallow in the failures of the present. He was a doggedly determined god who encouraged proactive altruism and constant reevaluation of the old ways."

This ^ is also interesting because upon meeting him, Gortash doesn't focus on the past or the failures of the present either, he focuses on the future and what we can do together. He's also determined and constantly reevaluates the old ways (with his creations, his involvement in politics, his ascension, with his plans).

And how could he escape the House of Hope if he had no hope that he had a future, a new dawn?

I don't think that the creators did all of this by accident. It's visible they've paid careful attention to other details, too.

Maybe, just maybe... deep, very deep down... unconsciously... hidden from even Bane...

Gortash is drawn to Lathander. To the light. To the dawn and new beginnings.

And perhaps... maybe... he hopes that we are the ones who can bring him back to the light.

#little tyrant [enver gortash]#bg3 #enver gortash #baldur's gate 3 #archduke enver gortash #lord enver gortash #bg 3 #little tyrant [musings]

109 notes · View notes

yandereforme · 3 months

Text

Twin Yandere Dieties, Axdon and Amis, who loved you in another life and weren’t willing to let you leave in this one.

You were originally a reluctant visitor to the temple, who only came due to pressure from friends and family, but you were interesting enough to draw their attention. They loved you deeply, but they didn’t always pay very much attention to you, and were manipulative and dismissive towards your concerns about the relationship.

Things came to a head when you caught Axdon with another person. You stopped visiting them all together, angry and heartbroken. This was what started their descent into a yandere mindset. Both Axdon and Amis missed you, but you wouldn’t accept their gifts, straight up ignoring the Axdon’s gifts and being cold to Amis after you found out they knew about the affair. The twins were starting to go crazy due to the lack of your love, causing major disasters to start up in different parts of the country. Finally, you agreed to meet up with them again in the temple. They were sitting waiting for you when they heard the scream, your scream.

They held you while you died, neither noticing the binding spells around them until it was too late. In anger, Amis cast a curse condemning that family line to always be marked for their sins, with a red mark on their body, similar to the silver and gold their lover had gotten for them on the small of their back, but this mark would cause pain when touched and work as a brand/mark of their crimes. Axdon cursed the family to always endure tragedy, and never live a happy or blissful life until you were returned to them.

(The reason you were killed? Revenge, plain and simple. They blamed you and your twin gods for the disasters (which were the gods faults) and decided to destroy the threat by killing you and encasing the gods in a ritual object(I’m thinking a knife or pot))

Fast forward several hundred years later, to modern times when some European archaeologists discovered and accidentally released the gods, who immediately released hell on earth. After a few days, they brought in a translator of the dead language the gods were speaking, and managed to discern that Axdon and Amis would not stop until all who were marked were brought to them to kill. Amis decided to make it easier on the mortals by keeping a counter of the amount of people left.

Fast forward again, it’s a post apocalyptic world following the gods’ return. There are only three marked people left(the number went up a month ago, making both of the gods’ angry.)

You, your little sister, and your newborn child are the last people to have the mark. You saw your family slaughtered around you, and ran. You watched in horror, as those ‘gods’ killed and tortured your family one after another. You may have not cared for your family, may have been angry with their treatment of you and your sister, but this? They didn’t deserve to suffer this.

Now, the father of your baby, your now ex-fiancée, was standing smugly with a new girl on his arm as you and your sister were brought in chains to the gods. You held your baby close to your chest, not making eye contact with the gods, until one got closer and you heard them singing under their breath a song you knew vaguely, a song you used to hum when working, but-

“Your singing it wrong.” It took a second for you to realize what you said. You could hear the gasps behind you, and you moved in front of your sister, shoving the baby into her arms as you did so.

“You little-“ One started before the other cut them off. “How should I be singing it then?” The voice was cold, making you shiver, but you steeled your nerves and looked up at the bastards. If you were going to die, you might as well not be a little bitch about it.

You cleared your throat, and with hatred in your heart and eyes, you started to sing. It was a song of unrequited but undeniable love, but you channeled your anger into it, making it as if the singer was angry at being made to fall in love.

You watched as the gods grew still as you sang, how their looks of explosive anger and sadistic cruelty changed to shock and awe. You could feel your sister shifting behind you, but you didn’t look away from the cruel gods, not even after your song ended.

“Where is your mark?” The second one asked coolly. The guard nearest to you grabbed you, eager to show it off, but the first one growled and he let go. You glared as you shifted around to show it off, turning to face your sister. You could hear two sets of footsteps grow closer, and see your sister’s frightened expression.

The guards had carved a whole into your shirt, showing off your mark on the small of your back. You knew your mark was different than the others, and had heard the guards joking about if this made you more important to be killed, and meant they would get paid more for helping to bring you in.

You could feel their hands tracing your mark, and you were surprised by how nice it felt. Your mark usually burned at touch, but this felt almost relaxing, something that would have made you smile if not for the situation at hand.

“It can’t be…” the angrier twins voice was hushed, almost reverent. Suddenly, your baby let out a whimper, and you grabbed them into your arms as quickly as you could, but you could hear the stillness behind you.

You turned around with your baby in your arms. You could see the little red mark on their arm, amid the bruises you knew the guards caused. You saw a hand reach out to the baby and pulled away, keeping your sister behind you. Suddenly, you had a desperate, wild idea. They seemed interested in you right? Maybe they would spare your sister and child if you went with them, or at least grant them a quick death.

“Leave them alone. I- I’ll let you kill me and do whatever you want just, leave them be, please.” Your voice shook and you hated yourself for it. The twins looked …. Shocked. The angrier one looked devastated, while the other one looked contemplatively at you, your baby, and your sister

You felt the shock of a guard kicking you down to the ground, but you only had a moment before the gods struck. One of them grabbed the guard by the throat, while the other rested a hand on your face, turning it upwards towards them.

“We will not kill you, nor your siblings. No one will take you from us again.” You couldn’t understand what was going on. You could vaguely hear the crowd murmuring behind you, and the sounds of the other god slowly torturing the guard who kicked you, but you could only really focus on your blood roaring in your ears and the worried, almost tender look the the god in front of you was giving you.

What the actual fuck?

Note:in case you didn’t realize it when you read it, you are your own reincarnation. The gods started to figure it out with the song, but your mark and its coloring confirmed their suspicions. Also, you don’t know their names when you meet them after being reborn, but Amis was the one humming. If you want to request anything with them, let me know!

Also, I’m running on jet lag and so tired so idk if this is terrible

#yandere #romantic yandere #non binary darling #reincarnation #reincarnated reader #yandere deity #yandere deities #I’m so jet lagged and tired

45 notes · View notes

nonobadcat · 11 months

Text

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Chapter 2: Nomination - 3.4k words

TW: Drinking, quirk discrimination, Incel Tomura being a massive jerk for "reasons", author makes a Javascript joke but only understands html Special thanks to @krystalwithakay for laughing at the aforementioned joke and programming the much more complicated Javascript joke yet to come.

“You have a nomination.”

Plastering the bandage to the back of your bleeding heel, you slipped your pumps back on. Your manager stared down her beak at you. You blinked at her before rising to your full height.

“A nomination? I thought Azuma-san canceled our Thursdays permanently after that fight with his wife?”

“It’s another client.” Blue plumage fluffed as she whipped her fan open. “An important client,” she stressed, narrowing her amber eyes.

“So this is the ‘best bunny behavior’ speech?” Tossing a floppy ear back behind your neck, you pitched your voice an octave higher. “Okay! I’m super duper excited to meet him, Mama-san.”

The fan snapped shut. She cocked her head and beckoned you towards the front desk. You tailed her, watching embroidered folds of black taffeta sway back and forth with every calculated swing of her Coke bottle hips. With all the grace of a prima ballerina, she dipped below the countertop and headed for the towel warmer. “You’ve met him before. Briefly. Last Friday.”

Your eyes rolled to the creamy plaster ceiling as you wracked your brain. “But Usagi is back, right? Wouldn’t Tano-san rather have her?”

“It’s not Tano-san.”

A cold sweat broke on your neck as memories of a tooth-and-nail conversation slammed into you like a loose brick. You staggered under the weighty realization. “Wait… you don’t mean—”

Long tongs placed cozy terry cloth on a small silver platter. Leaning over the counter, she snatched your wrist and foisted the tray into your grip. “I don’t know what you did, but you’re the first hostess he’s asked for by name.” Her glare could cut iron. “His sponsor is very well connected and I’m running out of staff. Do not fail me.”

“Yes, Mama-san,” you agreed, shrinking under her heavy expectations.

Just past the ratty leaves of the money tree, slouched in the center of the entryway, the slender-man of Nyanko’s nightmares looked just as bored as you remembered. Poor posture ruined the flawless lines of his expensive wool suit. Dull eyes and a flat expression looked better suited to a mummy than a man of twenty something. His dry, shrunken lips only enhanced the impression. However, the moment you slid into view, he lifted his chin.

It was hard to contain a confident smirk as red eyes rolled over your outfit from top to bottom. The sight of a real, live bunny girl in a halter neck, sleeveless tuxedo shirt and black leather miniskirt slaughtered most men on sight. Though conservative compared to usual club attire (read: T&A: on display), delicate ruffles drew the eye to pearl buttons trailing between sculpted cleavage. Chunky Mary Jane platforms elongated your legs until they could stop traffic. Add in a flash of thin garter belts holding old-school silk stockings at mid thigh and the entire collection could be classified as a weapon of mass erection.

“Welcome back, Shigaraki-san! ♡” Voice stuffed into a falsetto, you dipped into a bow while holding out the hot towel. “I’m soooooo excited that you requested me!”

Hair bristling silence was your only reply. He lifted the wipe up using only two fingers. With all the enthusiasm of a robot, he washed his hands one digit at a time before replacing the cloth on the tray.

Ouch. Like smacking your forehead against an iceberg.

"Please step this way." You gestured to one of the open booths like a variety show host.

He shuffled past, paying less attention to you than one would pay to a stray soda can laying on the pavement.

You hoisted the brown, leather bound menu. "Would you like me to recommend something? There’s a super taste cham—"

He rested his head on his palm, long fingers denting his cheek. "Cassis Orange."

An error has occurred. See error log for details. Java.lang.NullPointerException Error Log: Shigaraki.drinkorder cannot be defined 0: He is joking 1: He cares ≤ 0

…

1= True

“Oh, yummy!” you cooed, flagging the bartender for one of the sweet cocktails. “Most guys won’t order that drink because of some weird macho complex.” You leaned into your palm, mimicking his stance. “It’s nice to drink with a man who is confident in himself.”

Unblinking eyes stared you down. “What do you want to drink?”

Sake bomb.

You tapped your chin. “Um… I think my favorite is a mimosa with Dom Pérignon.” The tinkling laugh you faked grated on your own nerves. You glanced away, curling inwards to fake lady-like shyness. “Champagne goes straight to my head though…”

Liar. In this profession, drinking skills made bank. Champagne was pricey. Pricey drinks lead to better bonuses. A little white lie here, a coy seduction there and while he was chasing bubbles for a chance to paw you up, you could rake in the cash.

“—so I should probably stick with something like a—”

Sake bomb.

No. Stick to the brand. Frufru girly-girls drink frufru girly drinks. No man picks the adorable bunny to have her drink him under the table. Way too emasculating.

“—lemon sour.”

SAKE BOMB.

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “That’s lame.”

Says the guy drinking the cocktail equivalent of a pink polka dot ribbon?!

You scratched your cheek to cover the wince. “Well, it’s what I can manage. After all, it wouldn't be much fun for you if I got all silly and clingy, right?”

Perfect delivery. If that didn’t make him order you a champagne, the man was a eunuch.

He huffed, scratching his neck. “That does sound gross,” he agreed.

Excuse you?! What kind of man comes to a HOSTESS CLUB and says “ew… I hope hot women DON’T cling to me.” What was he?! Afraid of catching cooties?

You flinched into a fake grin. “I-I know, right? I try very hard to manage myself so I’m fun to be around.”

Ugh. You needed a sake bomb.

Shigaraki’s bored stare cut through you like a knife. You whipped your head around, flashing the waiter the sign for a lemon sour. With a deep breath to soothe your ruffled fur, you turned back to your new arch nemesis.

Game on, crusty boy. Let’s show you what max level charm can do!

Sliding smoothly beside him, you dragged one calf up your thigh until your tight little skirt nearly broke public decency laws. His eyes flicked to your legs. You schooled your expression into a peaceful smile more relaxing than a shiatsu massage.

“So Shigaraki-san, Mama-san mentioned you have a mentor. What is that like?”

“Pretty much the same as anyone with a mentor I guess.”

“What type of things does he teach you?”

“This and that.”

“It sounds like a well rounded education then.”

“I guess.”

Give a girl something to work with, you tight lipped little snot!

“What’s the favorite thing you learned so far?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes rolling to the ceiling. The edge of his lip twitched upwards for one heartbeat. “Not to judge people at face value. To always assume they’re hiding something.”

You giggled. “Well, that’s good advice. He sounds very wise.”

“He’s done a lot of different things over the years.”

“How eclectic.”

“Eclectic?”

Crap! You let your bimbo face slip. Dial it back. Dial it back.

“Just something I heard Mama-san say once. She says people who have many interests are eclectic.” You raised one finger and put a bubble-gum pop into your words. “I guess that means they have a lot of energy or something since it sounds like electric!”

Perfect. Now he can “well, actually…” you and feel superior. Men love that. Nice save.

“You’re lying.”

You cocked your head and stared at him with the bald-faced bemusement of a proper airhead.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. Red eyes bored into yours. “You used the word correctly. You knew what it meant.”

When the waiter set the drinks by your elbow, you could have hugged him. You broke off eye contact with Shigaraki, clasped your hands together, and let out an excited squeal. “Oh my gosh this looks so cool! They cut the orange in the shape of a star. How fancy is that?!”

The deadpan stare continued.

You inhaled to puff your chest before carefully placing the drink before him. Steady hands kept the sunset colored gradient exactly as the bartender had prepared it. Then, you gripped your glass, being sure to twist your wrist and show off baby pink nails with tiny glitter bows.

See crusty boy? Nothing here but an empty headed bunny doll made of rack and back.

“Toasties?” you asked, holding your cup up for the clink.

Never breaking his gaze, your client lifted his drink with his pinky out and tapped your glass as if the sound repulsed him. He stirred the gradient away before sipping his fruity cocktail.

With a long suck, you drained half the lemon-sweet mixer in one go. “Yummy!” you cooed, licking your lips. “How does yours taste, Shigaraki-san?”

“Apparently, not as good as yours.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Ah! How embarrassing. It’s been a long time since I met a guy like you. When I get nervous I drink more.”

Peeling lips cracked into an amused sneer. “Oh really?”

“Being with someone like you is so exciting.” You took another sip, glancing at him from under mascara coated lashes. “It makes it hard to hold back.”

He laughed. “...and therefore you’ll be blowing through your drinks pretty quick, wracking up a big tab at my expense, right?”

“Maybe…” you teased coyly, tracing the rim of your glass with one finger. “I mean, it’s your fault for looking so good.”

He snorted. “How do you say that stuff with a straight face?”

“Huh?” You cocked your head the other way and pointed at your underbust. “Straight lace? No, my corset is a criss cross.” You leaned forward, angling your torso for maximum ‘round mound’ effect. “See? It’s all back and forth.”

Shigaraki looked you up and down, the smile dipping back to a frown. “That’s pretty boring though.”

Boring? Oh screw off. You try holding up a one sided conversation, douchebag!

“You don’t like fashion? But you’re dressed so nice!”

“No, what I don’t like is—” he gestured to all of you. “—this. Whatever this is.”

Hair bristling, you sat back in your seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“The lines are pretty good lies but that—” he waved at the whole of you again “—is messing it up.”

Your throat tensed, leaving a touch of gravel in your voice. “I’m sorry, but you’re talking too complicated for a stupid bunny girl like me. Can you dumb it down so I can understand?”

Now the grin was back but it was… pointy? Yes. That was the best way to describe it. All sharp lines and shadows like some creepy monster hiding in the closet.

“I want that.”

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He leaned forward. “That. You. The real you. Not the act.”

“Act? I don’t understand—”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t play stupid. I want the girl from the alley.”

BANG

In an instant you were on your feet, shaking hands flat against the glossy table top. Manicured nails raked the surface until the glass shrieked under your sweaty palms. The room went silent. Dark shadows obscured your face. With a crack, your head snapped up to reveal a mechanical smile.

“Shigaraki-san, I am having difficulty hearing you over all the noise in this room.” You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder towards the back corner. “If we’re going to continue our little chat I think we should move to a private suite. The champagne room is lovely for cozy conversation. There is a 200,000 yen cover charge and the first bottle of Dom Pérignon is included.”

Curious eyes from all corners of the room stared at the show. Good. Now that he was on blast, he’d have to put up to save face or shut up and clamp down on his prying. Your chest burned with bated breath as you awaited his response.

Shigaraki groped into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a black, leather wallet arced through the air. Wide eyed, you caught it with both hands. He slid out of his seat and onto his feet.

“Sure. I’m game for a bonus stage.”

You glanced down at the thick billfold only to see a hefty clump of 10,000 yen banknotes sticking out the top. Your mouth ran dry. Shoving the wallet back into his hands, you gestured to the bouncer. He bustled over, tapping his key card to the electronic lock. As Shigaraki strolled past you into the private room, you glanced back at Mama-san. Her inscrutable expression disappeared behind the fluttering fan with a sharp snap.

Welp, hopefully that meant she wouldn’t fire you for what you were about to do.

Beyond the tufted leather door, the two of you entered a shrine to leisure and pleasure. Mirrored walls reflected soft, glittering light from the teardrop chandelier above. Upon plush, red carpet, overstuffed sofas crafted from butter soft, ivory leather begged for only the most pampered backsides. On the far wall, a massive television complete with jumbo speakers and a full karaoke set waited patiently for any party sized two to twenty. Glowing copper trim on the seating matched the metal frame of the oversized coffee table. Shigaraki flopped down on the low-backed loveseat. The waiter carried your chilled champagne in on a silver platter before quickly bowing out of the room.

As the door clicked shut, Shigaraki draped his arms across the back of the sofa and flashed you a sneer. "Got something to say?"

Sashaying across the floor, you smoothed the sofa and took your place next to your guest. Graceful as a swan, you lifted the bottle and sliced the foil with your thumbnail. A few quick twists freed the cork from its wire prison. With a roll of your wrist, his flute dangled between your digits.

POP

The speeding cork grazed his ear.

Golden bubbles arced from the bottle. When his glass was nearly full, you twisted the flow to a stop. Leaning forward flashed him a glance at your cleavage. A naughty smile hovered just above it. You set the bottle by his elbow and stroked the stem of your glass like a porn actress.

"Fill me up, Shigaraki-san?" you teased.

He flushed.

So crusty boy liked it a little dirty, huh? File that away for future reference.

Your guest sloshed the expensive liquid into your flute. The bottle clanked onto the table. He stared at you with a raised brow.

With a sweet smile, you hoisted your drink. The delicate tinkle of crystal on crystal accompanied a syrupy salute. "Toasties~!"

You shot the champagne like a middle aged manager whining about his alimony payment. The glass hit the table with a hard CLANK.

"All right, listen up," you growled. “First, I’ve spent a long time pretending 'Miss Sugar-Tits' is my personality and outing me in front of the clients is a dick move. If my regulars see me act like this—” you whipped your hand across your face “—my happy tail doesn’t get paid and you better believe I am all kinds of nasty when I can’t afford to eat.”

Shigaraki sipped his drink with a vulgar grin.

You crossed your arms and scowled. “Second, what is your deal?! You’re bored with the girls, you barely drink the booze, and you don’t want to talk. Why drag yourself out here night after night just to be a massive jerk to a bunch of women who you are paying to suck up to you?!” You huffed and turned your cheek. “Heck of a fetish if it is one.”

“I need to level up my coercion.”

You blinked. “Excuse me, what?”

Cracked nails scraped his neck “Sensei told me I needed practice handling people I don’t like. Hostesses are top tier at that skill. It was useful to learn but pretty boring until I saw you whaling on that dumpster. Not something I expected from the fluff-for-brains bunny girl you pretend to be.” He folded his hands in front of his face, resting his pointed chin on top. With a smirk he added: “The part about tearing down society was pretty interesting. Do you call that ‘hare razing’?”

You grabbed a floppy ear and shook it at him. “I’m a rabbit, not a hare, douchebag.”

He leaned back into the chair, arms open wide. “Whatever. The point is that I like that version of you much better than the act.”

You snorted. “Well literally everyone else disagrees with you on that one. Trust me.”

“That’s because society values sappy platitudes over the straight truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

He reached for his glass, knocking back the drink like you had only moments ago. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, when rose to his feet and leered down at you, you felt oddly small by comparison. Something about the glowing gaze left you rigid in your seat. Your breath hitched. Scarlet eyes burned as they rolled over your face.

“That the game is buggy and needs a hard reset.”

You shifted in your seat, looking away from his searing stare. Shaking hands balled in your lap. Ringing filled your ears. Voices from the past cried out from painful memories.

“No need to push yourself sweetie. We’re just happy to have you be our team mascot.”

“Aw… look at you trying so hard. How cute.”

“Don’t act like such a prude. We all know how you got this internship.”

Bile bubbled up your throat. You choked it down. A weary scoff puffed from quivering lips. “Not wrong there,” you muttered.

He blew out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it. “I knew you understood.”

Shaking off a prickling at the back of your neck, you forced a laugh. “But I’m just a bunny girl. I can’t do something as grand as change the world.”

Your guest narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Chcc. Boring.” He groped into his pocket, pulling out his phone. One glance at the screen and he shoved it into hiding again. “I have to leave anyway.”

Liquid rage poured through your body. “Excuse you!? What did you just call me ‘Mr. couldn’t-carry-a-conversation-if-it-had-a-handle?!’”

He raised his chin and sneered at you. “You’re boring when you’re like that. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Sharp nails pricked your palms. “Oh!? Is that so?! Then, pray tell, when am I not boring?”

Shigaraki scoffed. “When you’re the real you.”

Bristling with fury, you stomped your heel. “Fine! You want the real me?! Screw it.” You jabbed a finger at his face. “You. Me. Paid date. Wednesday at 2 PM. 25,000 yen per hour.”

“Two? Isn’t that early?”

“What’s the matter?” A cruel smirk twisted on your lips. “Ain’t got the stamina?”

He scratched his neck. Red heat crawled across his skin.

You reached towards him, palm out. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

You rolled your eyes. “So I can put my number in it?”

He dragged out the device and tapped in the unlock code. “This better be worth it,” he declared, dropping it in your palm.

“I’m always worth it.” You zeroed in on his texts, stabbing in your number to the recipient line. There were only two words in the message: “crusty boy”. Pressing “send” so hard it nearly cracked the screen, you shoved the phone back in his chest. “What’s your first name?”

He squinted at you suspiciously. “Why?”

You put your hand on one hip. “You want me to spend the entire date calling you ‘Shigaraki-san’?”

After a long pause he muttered, “Tomura.”

You tapped the name into your contacts. “Got it. “I’ll drop you the details later—” Fluttering lashes accompanied a smile more sadistic than seductive. “—Tomura.”

His breath hitched as the warm flush tipped his ears.

You hummed, craning your neck.

His lips curled in a feral snarl. Snatching up the door handle, he nodded to the bottle. “It won’t keep. Finish it yourself.”

“How generous—” you licked your lips “—Tomura.”

As the door slammed shut, you giggled and picked up the champagne.

Maybe you could trade it in for a sake bomb.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Next Chapter Expected: July 15th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

Taglist: @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shig-a-shig-ah @castershellwrites @smilinghowever @krystalwithakay @iris-goddess @ss-syche @mortallysparklyfun @meameows @magnificentclodpiezonk @betterfettered @utena-akashiya @ventdavi154 @st4rrust @imaginedheroine @the-lady-writes-what @shiggysimp69 @toughbook @naughteehee @tampon-earrings @alotofpussy @derobsawiempleh @jadke-bean @saintvinny @cookiecrumblemoonster @curlyangelsblog @hurthermore @prehistoricfreak @insomniamoth22 @celesterdzc18 @sasuqahs @gloomysel @ohnoitsthatonekid @tracksuit-goth @cinnatwisted @anteabelle @unlikelytrio @meru-the-succubus @diawh0re @linastired @mikeyrights @headmastermephistopheles @omisdolly @nochedeodio @starstruckvega @laurelyna @shiggysimp69 @certainlygay @rxyno @ventdavi154 @patch-workk @paranormal-dude @grenosethino @fancylardbucket @utena-akashiya @toughbook @oklolnoty @zombiegr1 @shyyykat @ushi-uri @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @vampirec0w @perpetual-fangirl900 @nekolover93 @saskenma @betterfettered @thread-knight @st4rrust @sparrowwritesforop @aphorditeslust @pindelighted @tadokorochann @usaggii

@beeandtrees @justineangelrococo @aaangeliii

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #yandere x reader #bnha x reader #yandere shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki

163 notes · View notes

gothicbabydollz · 1 year

Note

100% get this is not everyone’s cup of tea but I would absolutely crumble if you ever wrote an Amarantha x fem! Reader drabble or fic involving sex pollen/dub con themes where she’s just making you eat her out

(I’m so sorry if this is disturbing)

Lap Cat

~~~

Pairings: Amarantha x f!reader

Warnings: this is a dark fic, read at your own risk. smut, dark themes, dubcon, mentions of torture/killing, oral (a!recieving)

Summary: You didn’t really think you’d get away with deceiving the Queen now did you?

Word count: around 2k

a/n: this ended up being a lot longer than i expected… (not proof read)

~~~

I imagine you being the daughter of a High Lord, which one is up to you but essentially you are very well known throughout Prythian.

Maybe you’re relatively younger, like 100 years old compared to other High Lord offspring’s.

Therefore, you’ve spent your first years of adulthood under Amarantha’s reign, and as your father is a high lord the Queen prefers to keep close - you’ve also spend the first years of adulthood stuck under the mountain.

This fuels your knowledge when conspiring against her, knowing your way around, having been accustomed to the horrific displays almost every night, being paid no mind from the Queen herself…or so you thought.

You were good. Truly. Yet Amarantha was better.

And you were still too young, too naive to truly attempt to deceive her.

Those helping you were tormented and slaughtered the previous nights. Your friends, your allies. Now hanging on the walls of the throne room. Under torture, you’re sure your name would have slipped out.

Now you were just counting down the hours until your time came.

The Attor himself was sent to retrieve you, and it took every ounce of strength you had left to keep the tears at way. As your mind ran wild of the possible ways the Queen would make you suffer.

When you’re released from the Attor’s punishing grip, your knees meet soft ground. Unlike the cool stone of the throne room. Cracking your eyes open, you stare at the detailed rug beneath you. One of the last things you’ll see. You run your shaking fingers through the wool, savouring the soft feel.

“I had expected better from you.”

You don’t bother trying to defend yourself, you know you’ve been caught. Instead you force your eyes upwards, looking towards the direction her voice came from.

You’re in the Queen’s personal chambers, you realise. As you see her standing in only a robe, so purple it could be black. Her crown still sits atop her head, copper hair weaved throughout. Her eyes find yours, cold and unforgiving, that prominent smirk evident on her mouth. “Up. Drink,” She gestures to the flagon of wine sitting on the table, the lone silver cup waiting to be filled. She holds its twin in her own hand, the eye trapped within her ring darts, as if telling you to do as she says.

Rising on shaky legs, you walk to the table. You struggle to suck air into your lungs, chest tight with the impending fear of death. You put all your effort in keeping the flagon steady as you pour yourself a cup of deep red wine. It looks like blood. Mother knows you’ve watched Amarantha draw pint after pint of blood from her victims. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes.

Poison. You think as you raise the cup to your mouth, sniffing the liquid within. “If I were going to kill you, do you honestly believe I would choose poison?” She asks, obviously having noticed your hesitance. You turn to face her, watching her settle on the edge of her large bed. You find your voice, “I wouldn’t know. You’re unpredictable.” The Queen laughs at that, a heartless sort of sound, “Drink.”

You do.

As the cool, bittersweet wine coats your throat, you pick up on what she said. “If you were to kill me?” She takes a sip from her own wine, humming, and points with a sharp, pointed nail to the floor at her feet. Kneel. Her gesture tells you. Tendrils of hope encase your mind, so you slowly walk towards her and settle onto your knees at her feet.

“I should kill you,” she looks down at you, with such terrifyingly beautiful features, “but i don’t want to.” Your heart pounds, could you get out of this alive? Amarantha reaches out, long, slender fingers catching your cheeks in her grip. She tilts your head to her will, “It would be an awful shame to ruin such a pretty face or the body hiding underneath that dress.” From the way she looks at you, it was if she could truly see beneath your clothes. You gulp.

She releases your face as she continues, “Killing you would be a waste of potential,” You follow her hands as they move to the tie holding her robe together, “I believe you could prove…useful. I simply need to know who’s side you’re on.” Your breath is caught in your throat as you watch the Queen strip off her robe, exposing the smooth, pale and utterly naked skin beneath. She sighs in her fresh nudity, her full, perky breasts shifting with the movement. Dark nipples peak in the chill air. You have to drag your stare away, instead down her stomach, flexing as she moves to get comfortable, propping her feet on the bed and ultimately widening the stance of her thighs, leaving you between them. With a view of her wet cunt, slick shining in your eyesight. It’s pathetic, that you can do absolutely nothing to stop the flood of arousal igniting a fire between your own legs. Guilt and lust cloud your mind as you stare at the Queen, awaiting her next move.

She lifts her cup, tilting it to allow the wine within to drip onto her skin. Dark against her pale complexion. The droplet runs down the valley of her breasts. “So, pet. What will it be?” Amarantha asks, smugness lacing her voice. Pet. The word echoes between your ears. That’s what she wants. Though she leaves the final choice to you. Would you rather be her plaything, her puppet? Or die.

You catch the droplet of wine as it reaches her mound. The taste melting on your tongue. Looking up at her, you follow the path back up, and she grins. It’s frightening. “Smart choice.” It all she says before tipping more wine over herself. This time, the liquid coats her breasts, and like a good little plaything, you clean it up. The Queen says nothing as your tongue licks at the plump flesh of her tit, collecting the wine before swallowing it down. She tilts her head when your tongue flattens over her nipple, testing you. So you pull then taut bud into your mouth, suckling like a kitten on her mother’s tit. Amarantha moans when you do, the sound shooting straight to the pits of your tummy. It shames you almost as much as it arouses you.

You chase the droplets that escaped your searching tongue. Finding one on the very same path as the first. You kiss your way back down her stomach, eyes watching her breasts as they rise and fall with each breath, nipples glistening with your spit. Her face only shows off her amusement, yet the smell of her gives it away, she’s aroused and getting off on having you bend to her will.

Her cunt is soaking, juices dripping onto the sheets beneath her. You know there’s no going back the second you put your mouth on her. Not if you want to live, that is. The thought scares you, shames you, that you’d rather live to serve her to escape your fear of death. You try to believe that you’re forcing yourself to become aroused, as a means to make her think you enjoy this. Truth is, you’re not sure.

Long fingers find home in your hair as you kiss down the length of her, inhaling her scent and feeling her slick smear over your lips. Nails lightly rake over your scalp and you look up, meeting her gaze while your tongue licks back up. Amarantha’s lips part when you catch on her clit, hint of a moan on her breath. You give her a few more kitten licks before wrapping your lips around her bud and sucking. That earns you a groan and tight grip on your hair, “That’s more like it. Come on, don’t be shy.”

You whimper against her, worried of what she’ll do if you fail to please her. Dipping down, your tongue delves between her folds, tasting her built up arousal. Her essence explodes on your tongue, sweeter than you could have ever imagined. She tastes like fine wine, and you lap her up, finding some sick pleasure in the taste of her on your tongue.

Urged to double your efforts, you press closer, slurping on her cunt, parting her with your tongue to dip inside. Amarantha moans, hips grinding into your face as she used the right grip on your hair to pull you closer. Your nose rubs against her clit, tongue massaging her inner walls in tandem. “Fuck, pet,” She purrs, meeting each thrust of your tongue, “That mouth. I think i’ll have keep you.” She clenches around your tongue when you whine against her in response, feeling drunk off her cunt. A wave of submission washing over your body.

Her breathing picks up as you continue your ministration. Burying your face in her sex, tongue pushing inside her and exploring her soft, warm walls, searching for spots to make her tighten and moan. Your nose is pushed against her hot clit, adding to the stimulation you’re giving her. You find yourself releasing frequent sounds of pleasure, losing yourself in the taste and feel of her cunt. Amarantha relishes in you, grinning as she moans out, loud and filled with lust. She’s pulling at your hair so hard, it hurts. And her thighs close around your head, keeping you locked against her.

“Like licking cunt, don’t you?” Her words come out as a groan, yet you still depict ever ounce of mockery laced in her tone. You watch her stomach flex, feel her cunt tighten rhythmically. Along with the slick and spit dripping down your chin, your cheeks, your neck. Making a complete mess of you. “At least that’s one thing you’ll be good for,” she laughs through her moans, “Gonna make me fucking cum on that pretty face of yours, mmph fuck-”

She does. The Queen of Prythian climaxes hard, thighs trembling on either side of your face. She cries out a string of curses, drenching your chin with her juices. You fuck her through it, keeping up pace to drag her climax out for as long as possible. Your tongue glides in and out of her pulsing hole, collecting each wave of cum that escapes her.

You don’t stop until Amarantha drops her thighs and forces your head back with a sharp tug. Her hand wraps around your throat before you can suck down a breath of well needed air. You choke out a yelp, eyes widening in a mix of fear and surprise.

Amarantha leans down until the tip of her nose brushes yours, and you can feel her breath fanning across your face. Her expression has changed. No amusement lingers in her gaze. Only ice is left, serious and unforgiving. “You are mine.” Her grip tightens, “Always have been, always will be. Understood?” It’s not a question. You’re smart enough to know that.

“Yes,” your voice is a whisper, strained due to the hold she has on your throat. Her eyes darken. “Yes, my Queen.”

Satisfied, she releases her grip. “Good.” You’re finally able to breathe, dropping onto your hands until you no longer feel lightheaded. “Why don’t you pour us another drink, hm? The night is still early, and i’m not done with you yet.”

This is your life now, you realise. Utterly at your Queen’s mercy. As she said…her pet.

#dark fic #amarantha #amarantha x reader #amarantha smut #amarantha x reader smut #amarantha acotar #acotar amarantha #acotar x reader #acotar x reader smut #amarantha’s riddle #a court of thorns and roses x reader #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses smut

246 notes · View notes

fandomgamersimp · 2 months

Text

I don't know if I'm the only one who noticed, but like, why the shipping fandom is so "no fun at all" on tiktok (and kinda on Pinterest too)? Maybe I've been too often on tumblr, maybe the contrast of this social media app and any other is so big, but like, have they always been so boring on there and I just didn't know?

I've gotten into Ghost x König for example, I've seen some cute fanart, read some cool fics, also they've been appearing on my feeds more often than other characters; and I see comments like "they hate each other" and "they don't know each other", etc.

... and? Like, since when this has stopped anyone? 😭 Do people not know/remember how big the whole "Elsa x Jack Frost" was? Do they forgot "enemies to lovers" exists? I feel like I've seen some crazy ships when I was in middle school and high school, and literally no one cared, unless the ship was genuinely problematic.

Not to mention that I feel like people say "they hate each other" to literally anything while it's not even actual hate. Do you not know how hate looks? 😭😭 The characters gave each other one kinda mean look or bickered once? Hate. Characters were nasty to each other, but then developed a healthy bond and worked on their relationship? Nah, character X was really rude 438534985 years ago, they still despise each other. Opposing teams/forces/bands/whatever else? They would TOTALLY slaughter each other upon meeting (no they wouldn't). No media literacy, no comprehension, no energy to actually use the search engine, not to mention think critically.

It just makes me sad that anything that may be "cringe" or "weird" is apparently something that has to be immediately obliterated, becase God forbid someone else doesn't find what you enjoy fun; or God forbid they feel the need to debate you on it. Again, I fully understand having a conversation about actually problematic ships and fetishizing/romanticising something that should not, in any way, be portrayed in a positive light; or just not liking what other people like. But I've seen people treating it like you murdered someone?? Let people have some spice in life 😭

The only silver lining/ reason to laugh about all of this is the fact that these people would go apeshit on/ not survive tumblr. And if they're already on here- bro, they DO NOT know what kind of site this is, lmaooo.

26 notes · View notes

drama-glob · 4 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Thoughts (Based on what we now know about Lucifer)

HAZBIN HOTEL SPOILERS!!!

Now that we've seen Lucifer and gotten to see how he acts/how bad his depression is and his disgust/disregard for Sinners, it had me thinking about a few things about Hell, the other Deadly Sins and motivations for messing with Earth.

As mentioned by Lute, Lucifer pardoned Charlie and the hellborn from the Extermination when it was being set up, so by the time this happened, Lucifer had already tried to rehabilitate Sinners too but had given up (based on what he said anyway and since it likely took centuries to a thousand years or so for Hell to have enough of a population that Heaven felt threatened by it), so clearly he doesn't want the actual natives to be harmed during the slaughter; this and the fact that Lucifer has the Sinners restricted to Pride indicates to me he does at least care about them and maybe even saw them as less horrible than Sinners since we've seen that they're not wholly evil despite where they're born. (Yes, I know there's a chance Lilith played a big part in the negotiation if he was so disheartened by this point, but Lucifer didn't seem particularly evil or cruel, so him having some compassion for those that are true citizens of Hell that would also be killed without a second thought doesn't seem too hard to believe :/).

But with the fact that Lucifer shows such disdain for Sinners as a whole and even seems to regret them being given free will, it makes me curious as to the fact why would he want Pride to be riddled with more of them by having the Deadly Sins infiltrate Earth more and more? The best I can figure is that since he found himself as the King of Hell and despite his angelic origins, this is his home and kingdom now, so his concern lay with making sure it was as powerful and fortified as possible and just resigned to believing that humans were basically awful and the Deadly Sins' influence wasn't really going to change what was predestined, basically seeing the souls in Heaven as the exception not the rule. :/ I wonder if the Extermination also helps Hell's environment by feeding the planet or whatever with all that energy from the Sinners when they are killed, so there's that potential possible "silver-lining" to having so many die each year. :/ Earth does seem admittedly crucial to some grand plot in the universe, but since Hell only seems to get souls from there, it makes sense so much focus would be spent on it in addition to the stars that affect it.

On a side-note, I'm guessing the more depressed Lucifer got, the less engaged he was with the others and held less and less meetings, maybe even sending Lilith or Charlie in his place. It may have even got to the point after Lilith left that Lucifer was just apathetic about the whole thing and said, "Do what you want. Just keep your rings in order and don't let humanity catch on. I don't care." :/ I also wouldn't be surprised if Charlie even spoke/found comfort with those like Ozzie and Bee more than Lucifer just because they were more open and available to talk. :(

I just don't think he had the Sins and the Goetia focused on Earth out of spite/it being a big middle finger to Heaven, but merely as a recourse to make sure Hell survived since they are after all at Heaven's mercy with how powerful their weapons are. Granted, I'm sure the royals held their own feelings about Heaven and have their own intentions with the whole spreading Hell's influence agenda, (whether they all turn out to be fallen angels or not, which so far they've only mentioned Lucifer is one so that leaves their origins still up in the air), but Lucifer seemed more defeated and scared of Heaven taking what was left from him at this point than needing to prove his ideas were right and that it's purely Heaven that's wrong (even if he did try to defend them in the past mind you). :/

*It's just some things that were rattling around in my brain and I wanted to get them out, especially before we get the season finale that may debunk some or all of this. :)

32 notes · View notes

flameohotpotatooo · 2 months

Text

The silver thread

Chapter 1: Did you miss me?

Word count: 5k

Summary: After Hosea went dark in your regular exchange of letter, you heard the news of your old gang and family, how Blackwater heist went down and they escaped. Now you go back to check on them, halting your operation in New York for your family, but it's deeper than what you think.

Tags: Mention of death, not proof read, also english is not my first language so I'm trying, no use of y/n instead it's MC, I'm not american my knowledge comes from researching and media, idk how tags work tell me what to add.

You had to put everything down back in New York to get to the Blackwater. The news of what had transpired was all over the news.

“BLACKWATER LOCKDOWN!”

“BANK BOAT HEIST LARGEST ROBBERY IN YEARS. DUTCH'S BOYS ACCUSED. BOUNTIES PLACED.”

Sending a telegraph to Trelwany in saint Denis to scout and gather information while you handled your business. He was closer than any of your men, and had the connection with the gang and common thieves to get what you needed. As you told him, you set up a meeting a saloon in which you rented whole so nobody can eavesdrop. You had your crow, and 5 men with you in this worrisome mission.

So you are waiting for him, in a rented room in the Blackwater saloon, the window is open letting the chill air in, and your friendly crow sit on the fence. You are looking over a map of the area, marked places you think they might have had hole up there. South and South east is out of question. The place is technically dead end, so it’s north where they run… a straight line up to belly of the storm, in snowy mountains of Grizzles.

You pulled the same plan before. When Hosea took you in, the four of you ran somewhere the law couldn’t run after you. It wasn’t a freezing mountain tops back then but still, Dutch probably hasn’t changed that much.

A series of knock on the door, followed by a pauses and rapid knocks indicates the passcode from your WatchGuard. Trelawney is here, you unlock the door and let the gentleman in.

“My apologize for the delay madam.” He takes off his top hat with a bow, ever so theatrically flourish. “Our boys had made such a mess; it was a delicate work not to attract attention with asking around.”

“How is your wife?” you say, gesturing him to sit as you pour a glass of wine. “Is Saint Denis up to your standards?” He sits and takes the offered glass, looking over to the map you have on display, with a pin on the mountains.

“She only found disappointment in leaving her dear friend behind.” He jokes, following your movement as you take a sit mirroring his, he turns his gaze back to the map as he swirls the wine in glass to let it breathe. “Uh, you truly have sharp wits on you.” he then pulls out a cutout newspaper from his pocket and hands it to you.

“PITCHED BATTLE LEAVES MANY DEAD.

OUTLAWS SEND TRAIN ON DRIVERLESS JOURNEY.

OWNED BY LEVITICUS CORNWALL”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration as you read the article.

“A private train owned by the railroad, sugar and oil magnate Leviticus Cornwall was robbed in broad daylight by masked outlaws. Headed North towards the Grizzlies, the outlaws boarded and stopped the train shortly after it had departed from West Elizabeth. Initial cables sent as of printing time indicate the bloody takeover occurred in order to steal railroad bonds from the personal car of Mr. Cornwall.

Shortly after the robbery, the train was set in motion without a driver or crew, barreling dangerously through the area at a high rate of speed. The train was eventually brought to a stop by engineers and lawmen north of Annesburg, who reported a scene of violent struggle and bloody carnage of board.

Some engineers and guards from the train survived the slaughter but were too startled to report much information of value to authorities.”

“Cornwall? Is he that disparate?” you crumble the paper and toss it into the fire. Too angered to think rational at the moment you stand and walk back and forth.

“Indeed it appears he is. They have lost some men in this endeavor. The Callanders are dead, a young girl named Jenny Kirk from the gang was also killed, the Irish boy, Sean, taken.” He pauses, taking in your restless expression already piecing together your plan and continues, “It is said that Dutch has killed a young lady, innocent and without fault.”

You had to take a moment to think this over. Did you hear that right?

“But…” maybe he has changed to your worst fears. This wasn’t something the old Dutch you knew would do. “What about Arthur?” you can’t help but to wonder out loud. If Dutch has changed into a merciless man, has Arthur changed to something you wouldn’t recognize him?

He always sought Dutch’s approval, he would command ‘jump’ and Arthur would ask ‘how high?’

Trelawney lets the silence linger for your sake, so you can gather your thoughts before you square up your shoulders, having a semi solid plan form in your head. “Where are we going?” he asks, finishing his wine and putting the glass aside.

“Find whereabouts on Sean.” You order, looking at your raven, and it tilts its head looking back at you. “I have a meeting before catching up to them.”

You had a hard time convincing the Wapiti tribe into trusting you to get a mutual ground of helping. Whereas the chieftain, Rains fall, was a calm collected man, easy to talk to, his son was impatient and hot headed, hard to reason with but easy to manipulate.

You don’t blame him though, you had to sit with their shaman and converse about what you need to see, before planning a careful route for all of you.

“Cornwall is a greedy man, drove you out of your house.” You argued, “He will chase you out of here too.”

Rains fall thought you wanted war, so did his son. Eagle flies was all for fighting Cornwall men out of the land, and Rains fall had to chime in his worry of not wanting to fight in their condition. It’s the only ways they know of, but you’ve been in the privilege of being in higher power ranks of society.

“Fighting face to face and front with someone who has power of words is…” you don’t want to insult them, “not ideal and results in a lost.”

“You kill him in silence?” Eagle flies was a bit too excited to think you’re planning an assassination.

“No.” you smile at him, oh to be young. “Give me time, and you’ll see it.” you reassure them.

Before you can continue, sound of rapid stomps running towards your tent. “Chief!” Paytah jumps in, a slight bow in head, addressing to everyone. “The people you told us to watch over are moving.”

You nod to him in appreciation, and look at Rains fall, “I will inform you on what I’m doing. Continuing with Miller’s attempt wouldn’t harm my plan.” He can’t really do anything.

“Very well. We see you off.” He states as he rises, followed by his son. “When she comes back, I’ll send word to you.”

“Thanks, chief.” You bow slightly.

You step out of the tent and look at the men you brought from New York. “Boys, scatter. The eyes are near now. Dames,” you give a piece of paper of massage to one of them, “Send a telegraph to Evangeline back in New York.” He nods and all of them depart for their destination. Each taking a particular area among themselves.

On the ride with three Wapitis, anxiety is crashing your brain, that you didn’t realized they left your sides and you’re moving forward on your own. You didn’t think what would you say as greetings in such time, after how you left 5 years ago…

‘Miss me?’ no, it sounds like a psychopath.

‘You like jazz?’ has jazz made its way here?

‘Should I clean up after you boys?’ what exactly have you done yet to be considered cleaning after their mess? This line is so cringe too.

‘Howdy, pardners?’ WHAT IS THAT!?

Why is it so hard to talk to people? Maybe you can go forward and look at them till they talk to you? How about…

Your anxious train of thoughts is interrupted by the sound of a crash, and someone cussing.

“I broke the goddamn wheel.” You look up to see, Arthur pulling the reins of horses and jump down, followed by Hosea and another man.

“Alright, let’s get it fixed.” Hosea says, as he looks at the broken wheel.

“You need help?” you say in sync with the other man, as you jump down your horse, keeping your head low, face hidden by brim of your hat.

“I reckon we can handle it, ma’am.” Hosea eyes you, suspicious. “Mr. Smith you and me hold the thing up…”

“I insist.” You step forward, closer to Hosea and smile at him, “I ain’t letting my pa do the hard work.” You announce, cheerfully.

It took a bit of second for him to get his reaction before laughing and pulling you into a hug. “Arthur! Looks who’s here!”

You laugh and hug him back. “Yeah, I missed you too old man. Now let get your wagon fix?”

“Charles, this is MC.” He introduces you to the quiet gentleman, with long dark locks, and sepia colored skin, and sharp eyes watching you, then glancing at Arthur. “MC, I think I wrote of Charles in last the paper.”

You glance at Arthur out of the corner of your eye, seeing his unpleased expression. He’s trying to busy himself with the wheel, checking a spot on it which you’re sure he’s been staring at it just to avoid you.

“Nice to meet ya, Charles. Mindin’ I give a hand in this?” you point to the wagon and stand beside him.

“go ahead.” You both crouch, and Hosea picks up a hammer.

“Arthur!” He calls for Arthur, who’s deeply invested in wood texture of the wheel.

“On it.” Arthur answers back, and rolls it towards you.

You and Charles pull the wagon up, you’d expected to be heavier than this, only to realize Charles is basically carrying the wagon.

Holy shit, is this man made of steel? You try to ease his work and help him as much as you can.

“And… there. Put it down.” Hosea taps the wheel few more times just to make sure. “Good to go now.”

You smile at Charles, in mixture of appreciation and apologetic manner.

“Okay let’s get movin’.” Hosea takes back his sit as the shotgun, Charles jumps on the back of the wagon.

You look at Arthur, as he’s still insisting on silent treatment and giving you the cold shoulder.

What a child…

You whistle low for your horse, Midnight.

He’s a black Turkman horse, with Wapiti kids braided his tail and mane. You mount up and ride along the wagon. “You boys made a big splash, eh? Came to visit you, only found the town swarming with Pinkertons.” You look at them, tilting your head.

“If life was predictable, it be boring.” Hosea comments, chuckling a little bit and searching in his satchel. He’s cheery to see you, that’s for sure; but that laugh? He’s worried. He can hide his worries well in front of most people, but even after so time not seeing him, you can practically see the lines dancing around his head.

You were about to say something about that, when all your eyes catch the three wapiti men. They keep watching as your wagon moves on the road, not hiding, but in the plain sight.

Your eye meets their gazes from distance, and after a silent warning on their side, or silent prayer, they ride away.

“What you think?” Arthur finally breaks his silence.

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn't have seen them.” Charles replies calmly.

“They never want trouble…” You whisper, “It’s other way around.”

“Poor bastards. We really screwed them over down here” Hosea shakes his head.

“What happened?” Arthur asks, urging the horses to go forward.

“We'll follow the river, then cut left inland.” Hosea instructs, pointing to the way ahead. “the Indians in these parts got sold a very raw deal. This is the Heartlands we're going to.” He has his old mortar and pestle in his hand, “Good farming and grazing country. They lost it all.” He shakes his head, in pity, “Stolen, clean away from them, it was, every blade of grass. Killed or herded up to the reservations in the middle of nowhere.”

“How's that different from anywhere else?” Charles asks, a mock in his tone as he’s still watching where the Wapiti stood.

“Well, maybe it's not. I just heard some of the army out here was particularly unpleasant about it.”

You and Charles scoff at the same time.

“Unpleasant. How do you rob and kill people pleasantly? We don't, in spite of Dutch's talk.” Charles shakes his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

“Not anymore we don’t” You whisper to yourself, not known to you, Arthur heard it.

“I fear I was perhaps trying to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our block-headed driver here.” Hosea jabs Arthur in ribs as he jokes.

You smile. Despite yourself, you missed this. You missed the jokes, the gang… the freedom of once again riding in the wild.

“Hey, don't blame it on me.” Arthur laughs, heartedly, “Never forget this here's a con-man, Charles, born and bred. Just because he sounds fancy don't mean he knows a damn thing about what he's talking about.”

“Well,” Are you in position to joke with Arthur at the moment? You bite back at your lip and direct it at Hosea instead. “Least is, you can bullshit your way, till you have a smart mouth and an attitude.”

“True that.”

A small silent falls in between the three of you. Hosea feeling the tension, and knowing you two, decides to cut in. “What happened to your tribe?” He asks Charles.

Charles takes a fast glance your way before answering; “I don't even know if I have one, at least not that I can remember.” It’s either he has moved on from the feelings, or he’s really good at keeping his words neutral. You decide it’s both and the fact of not talking in details. “My father was a colored man.” He states a fact, that is enough to explain subtexts everyone can pick up on. “He told me he lived with our people for a while, a number of free men did. But when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much. My whole life I've been on the run.”

You dig in your pocket to hand him a flask of gin you carry, with a nod and sympathy smile. He nods his thanks and continues, “A couple of years later, some soldiers captured my mother, took her somewhere. We never saw her again. We drifted around. He was a very sad man and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around 13, I just took off on my own.” He smells the gin, and takes a small sip and hands it back.

“That was about the age we found these two here, maybe a little older.” He then points to Arthur with his head, “A wilder delinquent you never did see, but he learned fast.”

“Not as fast as Marston and MC, apparently.” He glares at you for a second and you answer the glare with the same energy.

“Wait, I don't understand. What’s the problem between you three?” Charles looks between you and Arthur.

“Yeah Arthur. What’s the problem?” You ask, with a gritted teeth smile. You really don’t understand what his problem is. First you used to think it was about Annabelle, same reason Dutch got distant from you, but the last time you visit, it was clearly not that.

“It's a long story.” He looks at the road ahead, again, ignoring you. “We still headed the right way?

Hosea looks between you and Arthur, and sighs. “That depends. Are we still heading West in search of fortune and repose in virgin forest as we planned? No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”

“We moving too east, we’ll be in New York by Christmas.” Arthur jokes, or better, shoots the insult at you.

“Well, at least you visit me once, and in Christmas too? You’re the perfect gift Mr. Morgan.” You bite back at him, with a so friendly smile.

“You know this area?” Charles asks Hosea, really uneasy by the energy crackling between Arthur and you.

“A little. I've been through a couple of times. There's a livestock town not too far from here called Valentine. Cowboys, Outlaws, working girls, our kind of place.” Hosea somewhat used to us bickering and barking at one on another, answers, unfazed.

“O'Driscolls?” Arthur asks.

“Probably them too.”

“Pinkertons?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“You chose Horseshoe overlook? It’s a nice place to lie low.” You chime in, seizing the moment of slow riding, you feed Midnight an oatcake.

“how low do you think Dutch is really going to lie? It's just, you know,” Hosea chews on his words before voicing them out, “maybe it's me that's changed and not him, but we kept telling him not that ferry job didn't feel right.” He gestures to Arthur and himself, “Arthur and me had a real lead in Blackwater that could have worked out.”

It did work out… For someone else.

“Life ain’t predictable now, issit?” You voice his old comment back to him, and he rolls his eyes. It's not like Dutch to ignore Hoses's words, Arthur's? Sometimes but never his old friend.

“It just isn't like Dutch to lose his head like that.” Hosea says slowly.

Does he mean the girl he killed in there? Or something else had happened in the mountains.

“Things go wrong sometimes. People die. That's the way it is, always has been. Me, you, Dutch,” He pauses, “MC, we've all been in this line of work a long time and we're still here, so I figure we must've got it right a hell of a lot more than we got it wrong.”

You look at him for a moment. It must be hard on Dutch to loose people. He’s not someone who can walk away from people. If he’s making decisions on the run, with much pressure on his shoulders?

Pinkertons are after the gang. Why they aren’t talking about a scape plan? Maybe you should wait and talk to Dutch.

You’re close to Van Horn. Considering how much money they have from the job… wait…

“You got no money.” You whisper, eyes widened as the reason of this desperation shows itself. Dutch is alone as a leader, he’s whom the whole gang look up to as a savior. A picture he painted of himself as a forgiving father, never yielding, never losing… now he seemed to lose and is scared to lose more.

You look to your immediate right, where Arthur is sitting on the wagon, jaw clenched, knuckles turned white from the peer pressure he’s fisting them on the reins.

Oh dear…

This does interfere with parts of your plan. You thought they ran away with the money so their escape route gets clear and they can be on their way with the cash; But no cash, means they’re at the rock bottom.

Of course! The Cornwall train.

You sigh, massaging your temples. The conversation between Arthur and Hosea fades back in your head, as you piece another plan together.

You got to see the steps of what destiny puts in front of you, before you can save them one by one.

“There you are, brother. Head in there. Follow the track for a bit.” You hear the sing song Mexican accent, and you can’t help but sit straight and look at the source.

“Javi!” You exclaim, excited as you see the dashing fellow step out of the tree line.

“Oh my god,” He cheers in Spanish, “My eyes deceive me?”

“Jump up.” You stop and help him up on Midnight, “How are you?” You reply in Spanish.

“What you doing here? How you found us?” He asks, turning back into English.

“Good question.” Arthur shouts back. “How DID you find us?”

“How ‘bout I tell Dutch that and don’t waste my breath?” You snap towards Arthur and turn back to Javier. “I knew of this place. Hosea and Bessie took me here way back. Thought I can find you here after running away from Blackwater.”

He nods, scratching his chin. “How long you staying, though?” He has one casual hand on side of your hip from behind.

“I came to visit. If y’all are alright… I should head back then.”

“Pretty convenient of ye, don’cha think?” Arthur puts on a cigarette between his lips, and strikes a match by his side.

If your glare could drill holes in his skull, he would look like Swiss cheese. “Hosea didn’t write me back for a month.” It’s not a lie and also every two months you send letters to each other. “You stopped some years back, I asked Hosea if you died, hopefully.”

“Stay disappointed lady. I ain’t plannin’ on leavin’ just yet.”

“There’s hopin’.” You mumble, for a second forgot Javier was behind you and see his grin widening and looks between you two.

“It’s on again, ey?” he teases as he nudges your side in respond you just groan and see the camp ground approaching.

The lake can provide fruitful for resources, and the trees are hiding the spot pretty well. The location is close to a small town, not too near to draw attention though.

The gang is already in middle of making the floor panels for Dutch’s tent, and… is that a man tied to a pole?

The man looks weak and miserable. God, you pity him.

With the wagon approaching, some eyes look your way, and the familiar faces you know have a double take, not expecting to see you here.

“Oh, look ‘er.” You hop down from Midnight, a little boy was sitting near the entrance. From what John told you 3 or 4 years ago, and the letters from Hosea, this should be Jack. “Hi!” you smile and bend down. The kid shifts nervous, and looks at his mother close behind him.

Abigail puts down a crate she was carrying and walks over, crouching beside Jack to his ear level. “Jack.” In a kind type of warning, she looks at him, signaling him you greeted him, now it’s his turn.

“I’m MC.” You say, extending your hand. Is this how kids work? You don’t know. It’s been a long time you talked to a kid. “I’m friends’ of your ma.”

Jack steals another glance at Abigail before accepting your hand, “Hello ma’am. I’m Jack.”

Oh dear, he’s so sweet…

“ ‘s great to meet ya.” You smile and look at Abigail with a smile as you both stand.

“Go ‘long, Jack. See what you find around.” Abigail urges Jack to go, and he takes the chance immediately and runs off.

“ABBY!” You exclaim, and she pulls you into a hug, the happy screeches alerts others, and heads turn your way.

You missed the gang, dearly. There are new faces you meet, like the stand-offish girl in Dutch’s tent Molly, Charles that you met, and the boy tied to the pole named Kieran. Mary-beth and Abigail also told you about a new member Dutch brought from the mountains named Saddie Adler. She’s grieving yet, so they leave her to her peace most of times; there’s also a young boy named Lenny and another man named Micah that have gone ahead to scout.

They didn’t talk much about Micah, the expressions told you enough to keep away from him, but Lenny seems like a type you can talk with “All big brains and books of yers.” As put in by Karen.

With all this people around, the more job there is to tidy the camp, so Mrs. Grimshaw is grumpier than who you remembered her be. Before, she could talk with Bessie and Annabelle, and was in lighter mood… now seems she aged 10 years instead, and girls see her as a mean bitter woman. You can’t relate, being there when she first came into the gang; but saying she wasn’t always like this, makes you sound ancient.

Honestly, you dread meeting Dutch. Last time you saw him, was before Annabelle’s death. You’re still scared he might blame you for it. He’s the last man you encounter in the camp, as he was standing by the lake, accompanied by his right hand men.

“Miss. Prince!” He greets, nodding your way with a polite smile. “Came down from your tall buildings to visit your humble family?”

“You’re anything but, Dutch.” You tease as you walk towards him. “Was worried I didn’t get any papers from you, then I heard the news. Feared something happened to y’all.”

“something did happen, dear.” He shakes his head, putting a cigar between his lips and striking a match to light it. “But we survived.” He opens his arms gesturing to scenery around him like he’s a prophet, a savior, trying to show case his new miracle.

“For now.” Hosea adds.

“Now it is time to prosper.” Dutch deflects Hosea’s concerned tone.

“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater.” Hosea protests, gesturing to Arthur and himself. “We were onto something big. Then Micah got you all excited about that ferry and here we are.”

This seems unlikely Dutch gets tips from someone other than the famous two he trusts. Also the job was so unreliable to be a good tip. Is this Micah a new outlaw and shoots in the dark? Then Dutch wouldn’t’ve listen to him.

“We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea, every last one of us.” There he goes, getting defensive “But I kept us together. Kept us alive. Kept the noses off our neck”

So much for keeping the noses off their necks when they have Pinkertons and Cornwall on their trail. And as to alive? There are 3 to possible 4 corpses disagreeing. Together? Sure.

“I guess I'm just worried.” Hosea sighs, shaking his head “I ain't got that long, Dutch. I want folks safe before I go.”

It always pained you how he accepted his death already but ever since his sickness and Bessie’s passing, he showed you there’s a way to redemption. Yet it hurts when someone you hold dear is so ready to die and go away.

You step a little further, giving them space for their talk.

“Me too.” You hear Dutch, also voicing his worries.

“You’re deep in thought.” You bump Arthur with your shoulder.

He looks down towards you, “Just thinking ahead.”

“You don’t see all the plays to think ahead.” You tilt your head, “I can show you though.”

He’s about to respond, but a German accent cuts through both conversations, “Gentlemen, I am going to head into the local town and see if I can strike up a little business.” Straus tips his head towards the 4 of you.

“Of course, Herr Straus.” Dutch nods as the gentleman walks away and talks to rest of you, “I prefer robbing banks to usury, seems more dignified somehow.”

“Of course it does,” you wrinkle your nose, “Poor folk don’t afford banks.” You hated when Dutch brought that shark loaner, but defying Dutch so openly is only allowed for Hosea and occasionally Uncle who jesters his way out of Dutch’s wrath.

“Desperate times, calls desperate choices.” He inhales his smoke and flickers the ash aside, “Providing for a gang in these areas, there’s no more fancy options.”

“Of course.” You don’t want to argue with him out of the gate, you just hang your head low and let the man walk back to the crowd and have his speech.

“Now, everyone, put your tools down for a moment. Come on, gather round. Quickly now.” He gestures for them to gather around him, “I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now and we were far too poor. It is time for everyone to get to work.”

“Get to work, but stay out of trouble.” Hosea instructs. “Remember, we are itinerant workers.”

“Laid off when they shut down our factory to the north.” He puts loops his thumbs in his gun belt, “Now get out there and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson, no more passengers.” He points to the men in question then to you, “It goes for you too, Miss Prince. As long as you stay in the gang, of course. It is time for everyone to earn their keep.” You nod, following his words like always.

“There's a town little way down the track name of Valentine, livestock town, all mud and morons, if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start.” Hosea continues the speech, in which Pearson chimes in to remind everyone about the shortage of food.

You stride towards Arthur who was checking his sleeping quarters the girl put together around for him. “Shaking off the cold coat?”

“Heartlands are warm enough to make me sweat without. How’s New York this time of year? Cold?”

“Honestly?” you scoff, shaking your head, “No idea.”

He looks at you, questioning. “What you mean?”

“I told you, I was training.” You tap your foot on the ground, looking at the dust in front of you.

“Yeah, you was training 10 years ago.” He frowns. “Reckon you said it was about to finish.”

“Oh, so you read my letters?” you fold your arms in front of your chest. “I’m busy.”

“And yet,” he walks towards you, standing a foot apart “You don’t seem busy leaving to come here because Hosea didn’t write you a week later.”

You look up at him, still same eyes you remember from all the years. You tried to memorize them all the years you didn’t gaze into them, but now? Each time it seems to hypnotize you all over again.

Why is there so much hurt in his eyes when he looks at you? What have you done to hurt him like this? “I was scared…” you whisper between the two of you, “That something had happened.”

“Nothing happened to your concerns, your majesty.” He has a bitter mocking tone to his smile. “You can leave again.” And he walks around you, out of his tent.

You stare at his pictures beside his bed, pinned to the wagon. The picture of Cooper, and the picture of four of you; with Hosea and Dutch standing behind both of you. Seems the second picture of that day has been lost to the years.

You sigh.

You have to save them from this swamp they’re drowning in, whether he likes you or not. That’s what you promised each other after all.

#rdr #arthur morgan #rdr fanfiction #rdr fandom #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john marston #abigail roberts #jack marston #molly oshea

7 notes · View notes

starry2959 · 4 months

Text

A new Angel on the Block

But not for long

a/n: Aaaaaaa- first fanfic everrr. This is going to be a series where a gender-neutral (Y/N) is an angel, a Seraphim related to Sera and Emily who has been gone a while... They may not quite agree with Heaven's actions thus far and things might get a little messy. Eventually will be LuciferxReader, but we've got a few parts before things get juicy (brevity is not my strong suit...)

I hope you enjoy! <3

Part 1, eventual Luciferxreader. (Y/N) supports rebirth/reincarnation in my au and the Soul Department is responsible for making new Souls to go to Earth.

Extermination Day. Members of the Angelic army line up before the battle to hear Adam give a speech. The members of the hotel and their cannibalistic allies prepare themselves for battle- staring up at the sky awaiting the portal to open and the hordes to rain down.

Up in Heaven the day continues like any other. The majority of angelic residents have no clue something Hell-shattering is happening. For them, it is another Tuesday.

Sera and Emily enjoy breakfast, though they are two of the few angels who know what is to happen today. Sera’s morning meeting with Adam did not go as she had hoped- unable to calm him in his rage, he left that meeting just as hungry for blood as ever. Emily is upset that so many souls will be lost today and her sister does nothing to stop it. Sera has tried to console her, telling her that they will be replaced by the Soul Department in no time, but Emily rebuffs her. She knows full well that so much will be lost with those souls today, after all, human life is precious- whether in life or afterlife.

At the base of the skyscraper the two Seraphim reside in, a new angel stands. Well, you’re not new. You’re quite old in fact, older than Emily at least. The middle Seraphim sibling, garbed in a middle-ages era set of armor, white leather armor with an angelic steel-plated breastplate stamped with the seal of heaven in the center, armor for your arms and legs, and a dark blue cloth hanging between your legs, stitched with the seal of Heaven again. Under your arm is a bird’s head shaped helmet. You stand at the base of the building, silver wings twitching, adjusting to the crisp Heaven air. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to see your sisters again after so many years.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just stop him, Sera! You’re a Seraphim for goodness’ sake!” Emily exclaims, exasperated. “You out rank him- just tell him you made a mistake in letting him do this in the first place and stop it here! Before any more souls are lost.” It seems their peaceful breakfast has been disturbed by the elephant in the room.

“I can’t stop him, Emily. The Elder Council has approved it. There’s nothing we can do.” Sera tries to calm her sister down, afraid that too much show of disagreement with the Council’s decisions will end poorly for her youngest sister.

“We both know the Extermination is wrong. Human souls should not be pointlessly slaughtered for his enjoyment! It’s wrong.” Emily says.

“I know it's not ideal, but they were going to riot against us eventually. How else were we to decrease the numbers of sinners?” Sera’s fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, frustrated.

“(Y/N) talked of rebirth, couldn’t they be reincarnated?” Emily mumbles under her breath.

Sera stands. A frown turns her face sour as she stares down at Emily, angry. “Do not speak of that. We don’t know that it’s a viable option, and the Council has forbidden talk of it. Do not bring it, or them, up again. Understood?” Sera’s voice is firm, she needs to express the importance of this to her sister. The gravity of speaking of something so blasphemous.

Emily glares at her sister, defensive. “We saw that demon improve at the trial, he met all of Adam’s requirements, yet you turned him down for redemption. You won’t stop this Extermination, dooming him and every other hopeful sinner to death. What do you expect them to do? Nothing? Accept their fate? They have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. They are truly lambs at the slaughter and you see nothing wrong with that?”

Sera looks away, ashamed. She opens her mouth to respond but Emily interrupts her; “At least give them an option- to be redeemed, to try, to improve. To see the light. Or choose to face your Exterminators. It's against our morals to kill, yet here we are. And human souls… I just can’t…” She turns away from her Sera, tears forming in her eyes.

“Emily…” Sera reaches a hand out to her, to try to comfort her confused sister. This is simply the way it must be, why can’t she see that? The Council’s word is final.

On the other side of the door, you’ve been standing, listening to this conversation for a few minutes now. Extermination? What are they talking about? What has happened since you’ve been gone?

You swing open the door, knocking as you do; “Heyyyy guys, bad time?�� You say with a slight smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

Both sisters swivel towards you, blindsighted. Sera’s face drops in shock and Emily jumps with joy. “(Y/N)!! Oh my gosh!! It’s been so long!” She flies into your open arms, and you drop your helmet in the process of catching her.

“Woah, wow Emmy! Look how big you’ve grown- and your wings! They are so beautiful, I knew you would turn into the prettiest angel of us all. Sera-” You turn to your older sister with a tight smile and nod. She’s recovered from your sudden arrival and turns to greet you with a hug as well.

“(Y/N). We’ve missed you very much. When did you get back?” Sera calmly asks, a little angry the Council gave her no notice her rambunctious younger sibling would be home.

“Oh, not long ago. Barely had time to drop off my gear before coming here. How are you guys? It’s only been a few hundred years we’ve got to catch up on.” You say with a smile and sit at the table with your sisters.

After chatting for a little while, you decide to bring up the elephant in the room again. “Sooo, I couldn’t help but hear a little of what you two were talking about before I came in.” You pause, testing the waters to see how pissed Sera would be at your snooping. She doesn’t react, as far as you can tell, so you continue.

“What is the Extermination?” You ask cluelessly.

Sera chokes on her tea- she hoped that wasn’t what you were going to ask. Anything but that. Emily looks forlorn and stares at the ground, leaving Sera to respond. To account for what she has allowed to happen.

“Well, (Y/N). Since you’ve been gone, the population in Hell has become… unsustainable. For fear that they would amass the numbers required to attack Heaven, we instated an… Extermination… to quell the rebellion.” Sera sips her tea once more.

“What? Attack Heaven? How would they even do that? Sinners don’t have a way to get here, no way to open a portal, no weapons that could hurt us. Why would that be a concern?” You ask, confused. Hell had never been a problem before. Sure, Lilith’s singing didn’t help, but all it really did was cause riots, which doesn’t impact Heaven. Has Lilith turned Hell against us? You can see no other way Hell would be a threat. They’re much too disorganized on their own to actually attack Heaven, even if they had weapons and a portal. And even if they did- your army would wipe the insurrectionists out before they even reached the pearly gates. It would be utterly pointless.

“Well, Adam believed-” You cut her off. “Adam?”

Sera nods, refusing to look you in the eye.

“Adam, as in the first man, Adam? That Adam?” You ask again in disbelief. “What does that brute have to do with anything?”

Sera slowly looks at you for a moment before closing her eyes and sipping her tea once more. She then says: “Yes, that Adam. We instated him as your replacement as General of the Angelic Army.”

You look at her in utter disbelief. No way. No way they gave your army, your girls to that… pig. That useless waste of a halo is in charge of your army. You built that army from the ground up- literally. You made each and every one of those angels yourself. Trained them, taught them battle strategies, fortified Heaven’s defense with them. Because that’s what they were for. Defense.

“So… so let me get this straight.” You say, standing and placing your hands together in front of your mouth as a reminder to watch your words. “You let Adam- a human soul- control my army of Heaven-born angels.”

Sera nods.

“And you listen to him? Are you insane? Because he is. He is deranged and obsessed with his life on Earth. And you gave him the most powerful tool Heaven has to offer. Wow Sera, I can’t believe…” you trail off.

“He is an Archangel. He is more than capable of handling the army and the duties that go along with it.” Sera states simply. She sets the cup of tea down and turns her gaze to yours.

You are still stunned.

“So, okay. Archangel. Right. I am a Seraphim! And the rightful leader of the army- why didn’t you take over, Sera??” You ask, frantic now. Dreading what nonsense Adam has fed her. You know she doesn’t have the time to lead the army, but you would have hoped she’d pick a better interim General than Adam.

“I did what I had to do, (Y/N). Adam was who the Council picked.”

“Oh the Council, how could I forget about the Council?” you snark.

“Careful (Y/N). You know what happens when you question the Council.” Sera responds standing up to face you fully. The two of you face off while Emily pipes up; “Why don’t you tell them what the Extermination is, Sera?” She bats her eyelashes at the eldest Seraphim.

Your head turns from Emily slowly to face Sera, your fangs bared.

“Yes Sera, what is the Extermination?”

…

“You mean to tell me…” You stop, the room spinning around you.

No.

No. Your Army. Killing human souls?? What were they thinking?? Why would the Council ever approve of that?

“They go down there… They kill… and you? You let them? You approved that? You presented that to the Council and said ‘Hey guys, here’s a great solution for a problem that Adam fucking made up?!’” Your voice rises to a shout as your eyes glow silver and your fangs extend.

You were given some more… intimidating characteristics at your creation as you were intended for war. They show themselves when you are angry, and you are angry.

“(Y/N). Calm down.” Sera’s words do nothing. Silver dust starts pooling in the room as you stew in your rage. Emily flies up to meet your eyes. She motions for you to take a deep breath and you do, the dust dispersing. You take one final deep breath and turn to Sera.

“So Adam… convinced you to do this Extermination. How bad was it? How many souls did you kill?” you ask. Emily has returned to the ground and glances at Sera, afraid that if Sera answers your question, she might lose a sister today.

She turns back to you and says; “Countless. The Extermination was not just a one time thing… They do it every year. Well…” She trails off, turning to Sera who picks up where she left off. “Now it is every six months, as of today.” She responds curtly.

You nearly fall to your knees. Every six months? How many souls could that even leave in Hell? Are they trying to truly exterminate the entirety of Hell? Dear Lord…

You’re silent for a few moments. Wait.

“As of today? What’s today?” You ask.

“The Extermination.” Emily responds solemnly.

No. This is not happening. Not on your watch. You stand and pick up your helmet. “I’m going down there.” You state simply.

“What?” Both sisters respond in tandem. “You are not going down there (Y/N)! Be reasonable, the Council just allowed you to come home, please. Please let’s talk about this.” Sera steps toward you and you turn, eyes a fiery silver as you say: “Maybe they shouldn’t have allowed me to come home.”

You walk out the door without a second glance.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin spoilers #fanfic #fanfiction #new writer #part 1 #fic: A New Angel on the Block

6 notes · View notes

marvelouslycaptivating · 2 years

Text

At First Sight: Part Seven

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson X Reader

Summary: Your father finds out about you and Loki

Author’s Note: Here is Part 7 for all of you that have been patiently waiting. Please reblog so others can read too!

Three days had passed since you and Loki spent the night researching in Frigga's chambers. Every moment since had been filled with joy. You'd stayed up well into the night and exchanged stories of your childhood. You'd snuck into the garden and danced beneath the light of the silver moon. You'd stolen kisses and laughed until your stomach hurt.

You had never felt more at peace in your existence, but you and your father were set to return home in just two days' time. The mere thought of leaving Loki behind filled you to the brim with dread. You knew you'd both be in immense torment if you left, and you needed to confront your father about remaining behind with your beloved.

You walked down the gilded hallways toward your father's chambers. It was early morning and sunlight streamed through the windows, warming your exposed arms and bringing a smile to your face. You could hear birds chirping just beyond the glass, and their sweet song eased your nerves slightly.

You approached your father's room rather quickly. The large door was closed, and you could hear him muttering to himself on the other side. You inhaled a deep breath and raised a shaky hand to knock on the weathered wood.

"Come in." his deep voice called. He sounded irritated. His normally gentle voice two octaves deeper.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside the large room. An oversized bed took up the right side of the room. A large window with long, billowing curtains was behind the bed. On the left side of the room there was a small sitting area, two cream-colored sofas were sat facing each other with a glass table between them. A large bookshelf sat behind the sitting area, overflowing with books.

Your father was sitting on one of the sofas, running a hand through his thick, grey hair. A stack of paperwork was laid out before him on the table. His brows were furrowed, his lips set into a thin line.

"Father." you called as you approached, your voice soft as not to startle him.

He looked up from his work to meet your eyes. Deep purple lined his under eyes, signaling that he hadn't had much sleep. His broad shoulders slumped in what seemed like defeat.

"Yes?" he questioned, eyebrows raising on his wrinkle lined forehead.

You cleared your throat and crossed the room, taking a seat on the sofa opposite of him. His dark, chocolate eyes followed you.

"Are you alright, father?" you asked cautiously, clasping your trembling palms together in your lap. You hoped your voice didn't give away how nervous you felt.

"No," he was quick to reply. His voice was gruff.

"Odin wishes for us to stand beside him in war." he growled, his eyes falling back down to the paperwork before him.

Your curiosity peaked at his words. Your people were a peaceful people and hadn't fought a war in hundreds of thousands of years.

"War?" you questioned, worry filling you.

"Yes, against Muspelheim." He seethed, his large hands clenching into tight fists.

You gasped and your heart began to beat ferociously in your chest. Muspelheim was the land of fire and ruled by ruthless demons. Your land was filled with farmers. Farmers with young families who were not well versed in the art of war. If your people were forced onto the battlefield they would surely be slaughtered.

"Does he know that we are but farmers?!" you spat, blood beginning to boil with rage at the Allfather.

Your father laughed. The sound was ominous and bitter. It reverberated off of the stone walls and transcended throughout the room. It sent unwelcome chills down your spine.

"Of course, he knows daughter. We have remained a peaceful people for quite some time now." he explained, rising to his feet.

"Then why would he ask us to fight?" you shrieked, throwing your hands up.

Your father turned away abruptly and stalked over to the large window, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because Odin is a selfish man. If he believes that Muspelheim is a direct threat to Asgard he will stop at nothing to eliminate them, even if it means sacrificing thousands of innocent lives." He barked, pacing the marble floors.

Your mind swirled with the faces of your friends back at home. All of the people whose lives would be at risk.

"What will come of us if we say no?" You asked, rising from the sofa. You fiddled nervously with the silver bracelet on your wrist, it had once been your mother's. The action often brought you comfort in times of turmoil.

"If we refuse to comply, he will terminate our treaty of peace. Which will in turn make us the enemy, and we will lose the protection of the Asgardian army." Your father lowered his head in defeat. You could hear the emotion in his voice.

Without the protection of Asgard your land would be invaded by the other realms. Vanehiem was rich in recourses that many other realms did not possess. Either way your people would suffer.

"Who shall he have us send?" you bellowed, "we haven't any soldiers!"

Your father turned to face you; his dark eyes somber.

"The strongest man from each family. The strongest two from large families." He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes.

Your eyes welled with tears. Sending all of those men would leave the realm to women and children. Women and children would not be able to tend their farms alone. The food would grow scarce, and the people would begin to starve.

A sob ripped itself from the depths of your chest. Your heart felt as though it was being pressed in a metal vice.

Your father crossed the room and took you into his large arms. He too would have to fight, leaving you to rule alone. You'd have to watch everyone suffer and be powerless to stop it.

"Come now, daughter. I have taught you to be stronger than this." You father whispered into your hair. His hands rubbed shaky circles across your shoulders.

"I am strong, yes, but no one should have to endure such a burden." You whimpered.

"I know, but we haven't a choice. Sometimes as rulers we are forced to do things, we do not desire." He stated, as if trying to convince himself. Your father had been in many battles, but since his rule began Vanehiem had lived in quiet peace.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to think of a better option.

"I can ask Loki to speak to Odin, maybe he can help!" You blurted, without thinking. You wished you could retract the words as soon as you'd said them. This was not how you wished your father to find out.

Your father stepped away roughly. The look on his face as cold as stone.

"Loki?" your father questioned. "The God of lies?" he spat.

You blinked rapidly, twisting your hands in front of you. You could feel the disdain radiating off of him in waves.

“What do you know of that demon?” Your father questioned, the veins in his neck bulging.

Your heart began to race and anger began to claw its way to the surface.

“He is not a demon!” You defended, “He is a wonderful man that is misunderstood.”

“Wonderful?!” Your father laughed. Your heart plummeted.

“Yes, he is wonderful. He is kind. He is brilliant.” You spoke, your passion shining through. You squared your shoulders and tried to look confident.

“You have been deceived, daughter. Loki is not to be trusted, and that is from the lips of Odin himself.” Your father stated, turning his back to you.

“Odin?!” You bellowed, “You would believe Odin, the man sending our people into a war that is not our own, over your own daughter?!” You spat. Your eyes began to fill with tears of rage.

“When it comes to this matter, yes. Odin has known Loki the entirety of his existence. You have known him a mere twelve days. I hadn’t even the slightest idea that you’d been spending time with him, if I had I would’ve sent you back home.” Your father explained. He paced the floor angrily, his boots slapping against the marble.

"Sent me home?!" You laughed incredulously, "I am not a child." You barked. Your anger finally bubbling over.

"Odin knows only of Loki what Loki allows him to see. Odin has never bothered to look beyond the surface. Odin knows nothing of the prince." You explained, chest heaving, and fists clenched.

"And what makes you think you do?" Your father questioned, abruptly spinning around to face you once more.

You took a deep breath and took a brave step forward. You would not let him intimidate you.

"He is my soulmate, the one to whom my heart belongs. I know him better than anyone else ever could." You spoke, tipping your chin up confidently.

Your fathers' brown eyes suddenly turned pitch black, raging like a storm. He no longer looked like the kind man you'd always known. He was unrecognizable.

He stepped forward grabbing your biceps harshly. It felt as though your bones were being crushed. His fingertips were sure to bruise your delicate skin.

"He is not your soulmate Y/N. Never utter those words again." He commanded, his voice was deep and the look in his eyes was feral.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken. You had never feared your father, but the look in his eyes terrified you to your very core.

You didn't let your fear deter you. You took a breath and looked into his eyes.

"He is my soul mate." you said definitively.

"Love at first sight is real...we have the proof. I love him and he loves me. I will allow nothing, not even you, to keep me from him." you stated, with as much conviction as you could muster.

He flung you to the marble floor with unbridled force. Your head smashed into the wall behind you, the sound of your skull hitting the marble resounded throughout the room. Your vision was blurry, and your head ached.

Your father towered over you. His hands shaking at his sides.

"I am going to find Odin to inform him that our treaty has come to an end. We will be departing Asgard immediately." Your father growled.

He turned away from you and began to stalk over to the door. You had to stop him. You had to let him know that he could not control you no matter how much force he exerted.

"No!!" you screamed, slowly standing from your spot on the floor. "I will not go with you." You defied, your head spinning.

You took a few shaky steps forward. Your stomach turning at the motion.

"You haven't a choice!" your father shouted, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. "Once we return home, I will have the healers make something to cure you from this infatuation. All will be well." he stated, slamming the large wooden door behind him.

You rushed forward as quickly as your wobbly legs would allow. You clutched at the golden doorknob and twisted it, only to find that your father had locked you inside.

A river of warm tears began to flow down your flushed cheeks. Your head was swimming, and your breathing was becoming labored. You were angry, afraid, in pain, and alone.

Your vison began to darken, and your head pounded. You reached your hand up to feel your head, and when you pulled it away it was covered in crimson.

Your fear intensified, and so you did all you could think of. You closed your eyes and thought of your prince. You desperately hoped that he would hear your silent pleas for help.

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki god of mischief #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki layfeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki angst #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki of asgard #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #thor imagine

22 notes · View notes

dramioneasks · 2 years

Note

Are there any fics where Draco and Hermione are the last order members, or have been hiding/on the run for many years in a world where Voldemort has won?

Draconian by hepburnettes - M, 50 Chapters - Draco Malfoy has got too much blood on his hands. And Hermione Granger might be his only route to redemption.

The girl in the cage by margotbear - M, WIP - The boy who lived is dead. In the aftermath of the war, a new world is being built where “Magic is might”. The brightest witch of her age, or what is left of her, asks the help of one Draco Malfoy.

Manacled by senlinyu - E, 77 chapters, Words: 370,515 -Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.

Master - AkashaTheKitty - M, one-shot - The war drags on and Hermione Granger is caught and then bought by her old enemy Draco Malfoy. But why did he do that when he obviously isn’t really interested in using her for anything? AU, very ugly themes, ONESHOT!

Crimson with a Silver Lining by Lady Cailan - M, 78 Chapters - It is six years since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort. Those other than purebloods are deemed less than human. When Ginny’s daughter ends up in grave danger, Hermione sells herself to the Death Eaters to save her life. Draco/Hermione. Not fluffy.

The Tower Window By: XoDramaQueenoX - M, 30 chapters - We all know the story. Harry Potter vanquishes the Dark Lord and the battle of Hogwarts is won. But the untold wrinkle is this: The Death Eaters didn’t quit and the war continued. After untold losses the Order of the Phoenix is almost gone. To save the wizarding world, Hermione takes it on herself to invoke a dangerous mission. She gives herself, as prisoner, to Draco Malfoy.

Soteria by Felgia_Starr - M, one-shot - 150 years after Voldemort won the Greatest War, nothing has changed. The Rebellion is still fighting against His regime. The Salvation is still defending their benevolent Dark Lord. Several generations came and went, but the world remains the same. Who knows? Maybe things will change soon. Maybe when fate forces Prince Draco of the Salvation and Hermione of the Rebellion to meet in the only neutral zone in the world, something different will finally happen.

The Alliance by AMJohnson0518 - M, WIP - Their marriage was to bring the Seven Realms of Europe together into a new age of peace and prosperity after the world falls into nuclear despair. But will their union foster more than just a political alliance? Conquest, treachery, and alliances are the only way to survive in this new world order, where only the strongest survive the game. When there is no one left to trust, can they learn to trust each other? Slightly AU. Slow-Burn Dramione. EWE, forced marriage bond. Written in the format of a sweeping epic fantasy novel, set in a modern, but post-apocalyptic Europe.

Euneirophrenia by calliebby - E, WIP - Voldemort’s army has succeeded. Harry Potter has been slaughtered. All previous ties to The Order of the Phoenix have been cut. Hermione Granger, the last remaining member of the golden trio, has been deposited in a jail cell with four of her classmates to rot. Nobody would find them, nobody would come looking. Once gone missing, you were considered another body on top of a tall pile of dead. Her dreams and dissociation are the only things keeping her sane, until a certain blonde boy, who’s climbed high in Voldemort’s ranks becomes the tender to her cell. She must walk with her enemy, once every two weeks at two in the morning, with tired feet and fatigued bones to have her health checked due to the death eaters’ brutality. The walk takes one hour. One hour less of dreams, one hour more of twigs poking at her soles, walking through the darkness with her hands tied behind her back. Draco Malfoy had stolen her dreams. And Hermione Granger was furious.

-Lisa

#anonymous #voldemort wins #dystopian #au

31 notes · View notes

omegaplus · 9 months

Text

# 4,461

August 9, 2018 Mixtape.

A few months ago, I asked to meet up with a goth-girl mutual named Holly, whom I was genuinely interested in, and she agreed. She later revealed that she enjoyed a night out by celebrating her boyfriend’s birthday. She outright lied to me and led me on with a smiling face. I was devastated. The hurt forever changed me, and I was hit with a brand-new era of anxiety, depression, and devaluation. I would never see or feel the same ever again.

I would experience feelings I never had before. Feelings so wild, intense, and vivid that I started seeing the fear and think of things I never thought possible. The ‘June Visions’, I called them. The past strikes and losses of the past unforgivably returned to assure me that I was feeling lesser-than. I’d arrive to work everyday unfocused, lost, worried, and saddened while still trying to justify and convince myself to have her around before the inevitable silence. Time around me moved forward as my mind was at a total standstill, endlessly processing why someone who seemed interested and wanting to meet up would take advantage of me. Plans of having a city contact and new experiences long overdue became null and void. I’d now carry the barbed-wire cross with me everywhere I go, with no volunteers wanting to take it off my back.

I wasn’t told that I’d be trapped, slaughtered, skinned, and hung up to be bled dry. Built up only to collapse. But the show must go on, they tell you. You keep fighting on the front-lines as the empty shells smoke hot and nestle near your heart. You can do the same with your daily deeds while fighting injured until you can’t fight anymore.

I haven’t seen my (Italian) Aunt Laura in ten years. After months of back-and-forth messaging, we both found a day and time to meet up in her neighborhood of Coney Island. I hopped off the ‘D’ line to Surf Avenue and walked through the amusement park and towards the shore. The rides split away from my peripherals as I was in awe of witnessing the infinite waters and flush hazy sunny skies past the thick shoreline in melting temperatures and humidity. It was an experience in the making. I didn’t know it when I was right in the center of it until I was on the outside looking in. The moment burned so bright that the day spent uniting with long-lost family would leave an impression on me.

A doctor’s appointment on a sweltering Thursday made for another day in the city. Since it was an early afternoon visit, I desired to do a photoshoot in Manhattan. I meant to cross off some specific landmarks from the list because something inside me for months was aching to do it. I take my kit and tripod with me for what would be a full day of urgency.

I board the Brentwood train heading west to Penn Station as always, this afternoon under the dull silver skies. I take a seat on the right-hand side of the car moving backwards. There are not many empty seats, so I take my backpack and rest it on my lap. Since I’m headed to Manhattan, I’ll send Holly a text and let her know I’ll be in Manhattan. A roll of chuck-a-luck, but the odds are against me. The sounds in my ear are playing one after another to create the day’s memories as I do my best to distract myself from a newfound pain that persists. My eyes are fixated on the motion blur of the receding buildings, steel structures, streets, shopping centers, trees, and graffiti all over. It wasn’t until the train riding through Woodside that I heard from Holly. “Have fun.” she texted. A passive message of indifference with no emotion or effort. Two words was all it took to show me that she didn’t care.

My arrival in Manhattan started off by arriving at Penn Station in hazy grayscale skies and steady sticky Eighties’ heat. As soon as my check-up was over, I bolted out and took the N/R/W line south to Bryant Park and the American Radiator / Standard Building. I had an interest in seeing the structure ever since Chris Stewart used it for the album cover, and over time became a huge fan. I’d had no idea if the clouds would give way to more clarity, but by the time I stood at the park’s northwestern corner, I’d see them dissipate and stream out to make way for sharper, bluer skies. The park was densely occupied. Foreign families took pictures of their modelesque daughters posing in front of the crowds. The females in indie-rock fashion would sit by themselves under the shade to read their New York Times-recommended bestsellers or the bookshelves lined on the outer edge of the park. I’d take my time, an hour’s worth, to take a multitude of shots facing south at the park’s entrance. I sat down and had a row of saltines stashed in my backpack to satiate my appetite, then called my other Italian aunt Theresa to tell her I was enjoying myself. In reality, I wasn’t.

From there I’d take the 1/2/3 line down to Tribeca and arrive only a few blocks away from the new 1 World Trade Center / Freedom Tower. There was no trace of clouds by then. Just the ever-present blue skies and the shearing sun looking over me. I set up my kit and tripod on the corner of Broadway and Leonard St. facing south and started snapping my ideas away. Natural light, low light, filtered, non-filtered, color mode, telephoto, wide-angle depth. I’d zoom in to the maximum to see the trade center’s metal framing, windows, and antennas in any which way I could, then pull back to capture the vast landscape of Tribeca’s city streets. But it wasn’t enough. I walk a few blocks east over West St. And 9A to the Hudson River, all along Rockefeller Park and Pier 25 to take closer shots of the Freedom Tower. I’m surrounded by strenuous activity all on the mini-golf courses, volleyball courts, children’s playgrounds, and tricks on the skate park. Two hours pass since arriving here, and I sit down to face the water to call my sister to say that I made it safe and sound.

I reversed course on the 1/2/3 line heading up north for my last destination: Times Square. I walk up from the underground stop and I see the multi-million-dollar high-resolution advertisements towering over me. The older digital photos of my visit there in New Year’s Eve 2007 were a factor in me returning. I snap the aesthetics like no tomorrow. My penchant for Helvetica and subway aesthetic were the first targets; synonymous with New York transit shining bright and aesthetically pleasing. The bright dazzling arrays of electronic signs, neons, storefronts, and marquees of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Everything was fair game to me; all while avoiding the infinite stream of passers-by. Me versus mammoth Manhattan’s hustle-and-bustle.

The sun was setting for all of ninety minutes taking photos there, ushering in the day’s conclusion. The mix of Manhattan’s Eighties heat, roasted sulphur and steel had me exhausted, bent, and expired by sundown. I did all what I could’ve done today. I walked back down leaving Times Square carrying the cross to Penn Station and 33rd Street to take the train back home.

Everywhere I went that day, I realize: she’s here. She’s right here - and yet so far away from me.

I enter Penn Station and walk into the station’s department store which was depressing. Old, outdated aesthetics. The shelves were running on empty and I look around for clearance sweets and discounted snacks to tide me over for the hour-long ride. The location was going out of business. No half-off water. It’s Summer. Don’t even dare to be kind or show any mercy for thirst. I roam around in the lobby for an hour before the ticket booths and the large display of destinations and times, waiting to jump on the first indication of what track my train arrives. The Brentwood line finally arrives, and I run with the passengers-slash-school of fish who look to compete for the seat of their choice.

I had a lot of thinking to do; as if I haven’t already in the past two months. I paid a hefty price for pursuing someone, and all I got was collateral damage that will never be fully cleaned up. I tried to negotiate with myself in doing the right thing by hanging in there and still be friends with her, but odds are I’ll never see her. I will continue to place my bets and pay - and pay - and pay - and pay. I’ll pay at a sunken cost to torture myself by foolishly believing that she’ll reach out to me again because who knows what could happen.

And after I step off the train, I’ll be thinking on the drive home. I’ll be thinking what I could’ve had and lost out on. I’ll be thinking what I might have possibly done wrong, what I did or didn’t do, or what I didn’t have enough of for her to do this to me. I’ll be thinking about the wasted time needlessly thrown away. I’ll be thinking about this every night I go to sleep, when I get out of bed, and when I’m at work struggling to balance customers’ childish mentality and entitled attitudes with the whirlwind concoction of loneliness, depression, and every loss coming back; paid in full to haunt me until the day I die.

Those two words would be the very last I’d hear of her.

Viet Cong / Preoccupations “Disarray”

Lower Dens “Ondine”

Black Marble “A Great Design”

Hot Flash Heat Wave “Glo Ride”

Odd Couple “What Kings Do”

Oldbills “Tablecloth”

Holydrug Couple, The “I’ll Only Say This”

Negative Gemini “Bad Baby”

Refreshers “How Bout U?”

Secret Circle “Tube Socks”

Eyedress: "1990" (ft. Pyramid Vritra)

6lack “Prblms”

Oldbills “Salsa Verde”

LaMont Johnson Aces

Uniform & The Body “In My Skin”

Water From Your Eyes “We’re Set Up”

Beat Detectives “Call It What You Want (Segment One)”

End Of A Year / Self Defense Family “Self-Immolation Family”

Ice Age “Under The Sun”

Daughters “Satan In The Wait”

Nothing “Blue Line Baby”

Sean Price “STFU Pt. 2”

Tislatin Onzar 3=2+1

Nothing “Zero Day”

Prison Religion “007”

Big Boss, The motion picture soundtrack “The Killing Fight”

Oldbills “Black Ice”

Eyedress “High Street Drive”

Tanya Tagaq f. Shad “Centre”

Ta-Ra “L’il Bit”

Sweet Valley “Sentimental Trash”

Wati Heru X Kashaka “BKWYA”

All These Fingers “Puerta Vallarta”

Body Without Organs “Osiris Rises”

Underworld & Iggy Pop “Bells And Circles”

Alt-J “Story 4 Sleeplessly Embracing” (clipping. RMX)

Moor Mother “Washington Park”

Erick Arc Elliott “Breaking”

Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever “An Air Conditioned Man”

Cansei De Ser Sexy “Girlfriend”

Flastbush Zombies “The Results Are In”

Miss Red “Come Again”

Prison Religion “Glass”

Happy Meals / Free Love “Pushing Too Hard”

Erick Arc Elliott “Fifteen Minutes”

Palm “Dog Milk”

Oldbills “Weekendluv”

Cellars “Real Good Day”

Addison Groove “Footcrab” (DJ Rashad & DJ Spinn RMX)

Charles Manson Lie

Water From Your Eyes “That’s The Girl”

Miss Red “Dagga”

Chvrches “Never Say Die”

Nine Inch Nails “The Background World”

Oh No “Banger”

Curren$y f. The Game & Prodigy “The Type”

CASisDEAD “Leon Best”

Diseno Corbusier “Meta Metalic”

Beat Detectives“ (Undiscernable) Repetition Heavy Traffic: New NYC Vibe 2”

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #hip-hop #rap #industrial #dancehall #synthpop #cloudrap #techno #electronic #shoegaze #indie #beats #jungle #drum-and-bass

3 notes · View notes

blorboclaw · 2 years

Note

what do you think would‘ve happened if Bluestar had developed feelings for Thrushpelt upon seeing how good he was with her kits?

Alas, it changes nothing to the Thistleclaw situation. She has to give up the kits.

However we might think she would trust him enough to put him in on the plan and she gets him to help her carry them. Mosskit is saved.

For narrative parallels purposes, the Erins give Silverstream three kits who will be apprenticed to Mistyfoot (Featherpaw), Stonefur (Stormpaw) and Mosslight (Willowpaw).

Feathertail and Stormfur are not each other's whole kin since they've got another sibling (let's say Willow is female and warrior name is Willowbark). Stormfur doesn't go with Feathertail in Midnight. There's no Chosen One to get back to Riverclan after Feathertail's death. Willowbark and Stormfur are now each other's whole kin, which means Stormfur will not stay with the tribe.

Mosslight's survival also means Hawkfrost is not the first in line to be temporary deputy. She becomes temporary deputy and leads search patrols. When Mistyfoot is freed, she resigns from deputyship and lets Mistyfoot get her role back.

Everything else happens, except Stormfur is not kicked out of Riverclan. Mosslight becomes Mistystar’s deputy, but is killed in the Great Battle. Mistystar then choses Reedwhisker and the rest is history.

Now what would be interesting is if, after she became a leader, Bluestar had a second litter, this time with Thrushpelt. I don’t think she would, because of the guilt of having abandonned the first. But let’s say she does. Three kits. Named Moonkit, Rainkit and Eaglekit because of family links and whatnot. They’ll be refered to as Moonfur, Rainfall and Eaglefeather later on.

Three more warriors in Into the Wild. Maybe more if they have kits. No need for Rusty. Bluestar decides she won’t take the risk to take in one more mouth to feed, particularly a kittypet kitten, and will seek Fire somewhere else.

Then we have two possibilities stemming from here.

- Rainfall discovers Tigerclaw’s treachery and basically takes Fireheart’s role in the plot with a few deviations. They also discover that they have half-siblings in Riverclan.

- No one is the wiser and Tigerclaw takes controle of Thunderclan.

The first one is basically an AU where Fireheart is Bluestar’s son so I won’t take it. The second I don’t like either because it feels like just too much to explain in all the possible ways.

So let’s think up a third.

Moonfur and Redtail get together. Moonfur becomes Sandstorm’s mother.

Seeing a red kit be born from her blood (particularly with the fact it makes no sense dna-wise but... erins amirite), Bluestar suggests that they call her firekit and is now convinced Sandstorm (or, rather, Firestorm) is the One.

And so she treats Firestorm like she treated Fireheart.

Dustpelt and Firestorm are made warriors early. They are given apprentices early. Ravenpaw is slaughtered by Tigerclaw and Graypaw, sloppy as he is, becomes a warrior at the same time as Swiftpaw, around Forest of Secrets (the only reason Swiftpaw didn’t get his warrior name before Brackenfur, who was younger than him, was because he wasn’t there during I don’t know what battle, but his absence was due to FIreheart’s decisions, which Firestorm doesn’t take the same way). Swiftpaw becomes Swiftheart.

No Gray x Silver because of the timing of their first meeting. Let’s say Cinderpaw still gets hurt. But no Cloudkit/paw/tail.

Firestorm is none the wiser until she goes to check on her grandmother during the rogues attack and prevents Tigerclaw from killing her. Bluestar exiles him and starts spiraling down. She names Firestorm her new deputy. Gives her Fernpaw as her apprentice (and, on Firestorm’s suggestion, Ashpaw to Dustpelt).

As for the new couples here’s a brief summary:

Swiftheart x Brightheart (will have Whitewing)

Thornclaw x Ferncloud (will have all of DustFern’s canon kids)

Firestorm x Dustpelt (will have the FireSand canon kids)

(yes I tend to consider that the mother gets the kids when I change the pairings)

Anyway.

It goes basically like in canon. Sandstorm was not any less smart than Fireheart, and was actually more socially/emotionally intelligent, so there’s no reason she doesn’t figure out the whole dog pack and windclan thing etc. Actually that emotional/social intelligence gives her the advantage here: when she stands in for Bluestar after the fire, and Tigerclaw arrives all “i’m head of shadowclan now”-y, she actually tells everyone that the storm is here to support here not to silent her, since she’s is named -storm. She tells everyone what’s going on. Shadowclan probably still supports Tigerstar because... Starclan approved of him, and they’re still too weak to be left alone without leadership.

But his close guard, Blackfoot and others, don’t trust him as much as they did before. Actually it could be the start of self reflection for Blackfoot. Realizing he betrayed his clan without realizing it by bringing Tigerclaw in. Realizing some things are true while not being perceptible by him and so on. Boulder might think it best not to mention Blood Clan. Also... maybe Leopardfur/star is not going to trust him so easily, now.

Bluestar dies.

Firestorm becomes leader under the name Firestar.

She choses her mate Dustpelt as her deputy. He doesn’t die and neither do Whitestorm (who only died so that Graystripe could become deputy).

They get SquirrelLeaf. Skyclan is never revived since Firestorm would listen to Starclan and not go. I know Sandstorm did go but she was going with her mate and leader, she didn’t have to take, herself, the decision to tell Starclan to go eff themselves and to leave her clan for who knows how long.

She does the same deeds as Fireheart did basically. No Darktail because no Skyclan means no Alderheart going and all.

That alas means Alderpaw keeps being fascinated by Needlepaw and even when a full medicine cat, they keep meeting. Needletail ends up giving birth to Alderheart’s kits and refuses to give the name of the father, which is not as accepted as it was for, say, Silverstream or Bluestar, because Needletail is known to be lackadaisical with the warrior code’s application. Everybody suspects a father from out of the clan, but no one has any proof.

Alderheart’s kids end up being called Violetkit and Twigkit and might become the heroines of their own prophecy or something, with the same complicated relationship to kin they have in canon. But here they’re together and have less damage as they had when both split and one of them in the Kin and the other changing clans all the time.

TL;DR: If Bluestar had developped feelings for Thrushpelt along the way, Sandstorm would have been the Fire to Save the Clan, and Needletail would have been Twig and Violet’s mother.

#blorboclaw's aus #wc au #thrushpelt #bluestar

12 notes · View notes