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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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The Apprentice - Part 2

Ok, ok, ok. The Mihawk mind-rot got to me. I will absolutely be making another part. I really enjoy this dynamic and honestly, any excuse to bring out my wide range of wine collection to enjoy while I write.

Warnings: blood, cursing, nudity (no graphic smut, but suggestive themes: minors beware).

Part 1 here.

Word Count: 4,455

“You’re wrong,” the disinterested voice carried over as grunts and echoes of combat reverberated among the tavern walls. Unsure as to how the fight first broke out within the polished walls and at such intensity as it was; you were thrown amongst the flurry to ‘rid the pestilence from presenting their grotesque stature and cleanse the grounds before your lord’ as your mentor so eloquently put it.

You utilised your leg to thrust upwards and capture the jaw of one of the brutes challenging you, while twisting your body around mid-kick and throwing a bar stool at one of the men approaching Mihawk, who had yet to lift a finger to defend himself.

To say things hadn’t changed between you would not be a complete and utter lie. Although neither of you spoke on your former passionate exchange with one another from three weeks ago, you noticed your mentor would choose his words more wisely with you; as such was his negotiation at continuing your apprenticeship. However, you had noticed he was more careful with you in your training; not pushing you further to reach beyond your physical limitations and not entertaining you by prodding you with insults. You had also noticed he had not been seeking out nor actively engaging in whoring his body out from port to port, causing him to remain slightly more on edge.

You missed it, truly: the bickering, the hatred, the intensity. In its place, you now found rocky and unsure waters that were yet to be tested but always crashing against the coastal shore between you both; building its choppy intensity the further you avoided speaking about the kiss.

As to completely dance around the subject matter while continuing your training, you both pulled yourselves to the one thing that brought about your mutual enjoyment: wine.

“How am I wrong, my lord?” you asked him, reaching into your thigh holster and retrieving three throwing knives and releasing them from your hand; pinning a victim to the wall by their shirt sleeves.

He released a groan in disinterest and turned to the bar and reached his hand below it to bring up a freshly decantated bottle of wine he ordered prior to combat ensuing. He began reaching for a glass to empty the liquid into to drink from it, only to find the glass shattering within his fingertips as one of your blades flew at it. He snapped his gaze at you with a deep frown, only to meet with your own smirk before you turned to rid another incoming brute from their ability to breathe by plunging your sword up into their jaw.

“Why would you ever think shattering my wine glass be a good idea, Apprentice?” he scolded you with his intense, hawk-like yellow eyes.

“To get a rise out of you,” you smirked at your thoughts, choosing to grace him with your vocal response: “because you were about to pour yourself a glass. And that-,”

Your words became halted as you withdrew your blade from within the cranium of your prior victim, turning to slash at the final remaining pirate of the crew that engaged you; cutting him from shoulder to bladder in one fell swipe, “-is my job,” you added, sheathing your blade within your scabbard.

You sauntered over to the bar, stepping around the various fallen bodies that lay in pools of their own blood. Moving your fingertips to the neck of the decanter, you contained the subtle hitch in your breath to the best of your abilities as your fingertips grazed your mentor’s as you took the crystal object into your grasp. You craned your neck over the bar and located a fresh wine glass and set its base to rest against the felt material, rising the lip of the vessel to bring the crimson liquid to meet and pool at the bottom of the chalice.

You placed your index and middle finger at the base of the glass, setting aside the decanter while swirling the liquid in the glass against the bar.

Bringing the crystal glass upwards, you turned to your mentor and made to grant the glass within his outstretched and awaiting hand. You presented the glass to him, narrowing your eyes at him as he narrowed his own at yours.

Refusing to be the one to shy away from the gaze first, you were surprised as the mighty Dracule Mihawk relented in his visual challenge of you to turn his sights to the crimson liquid within the glass and swirling it to release more of the bouquet.

He brought the wine up towards his nose and inhaled the liquid first before brining his moustache-clad lips and tongue up to the glass and taking a small sip. He chirped the liquid within his lips as he inhaled a whistle through his partly puckered mouth, savouring the flavour.

“This is meant to be a Malbec,” he snarled, “why does it taste like Petit Verdot?”

You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes, gesturing out to take the glass from between his fingers and sip from the contents; raising the chalice mouth to your lips and sipping a small amount to roll over your tongue.

“Because it’s both, my lord,” you rolled your eyes and crossed your unoccupied arm over your waist and leant your back against the bar to recline your shoulders against it. You rose the glass again to your lips before passing the half-drunken vessel back to its rightful owner.

“It’s a classic Bordeaux. I can taste Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Cabernet Franc in here too,” you shrugged and fluttered your eyelashes at him.

Mihawk growled and turned to face the tavern keeper, who was cowering behind the bar and covering his head with his arms to make himself as small as possible.

“You said this was a Malbec,” he roared at the cowering man, “and you give me a Bordeaux?”

You looked down and shook your head, a small smirk pulling at your lips at his animosity. He placed the glass against the bar with a small huff of his shoulders, and rolled his neck back to release a small crack from behind it.

“If you are that desperate for a Malbec, my lord,” you raised your eyebrow in suggestion, “I did see a tour advertised in the next town over.”

He brought his yellow hued eyes to meet with yours once more, intrigue pulling at his face.

“We could pick up a couple dozen,” you shrugged your shoulders, “and then I can put them with the other mid-range varietals when I completely reorganise your cellar to intensities rather than alphabetised varietals.”

“You see, Apprentice,” he engaged you, and at long last reaching out his right arm for you to take, “that is where you are wrong.”

“Oh?” you asked with a quirk of your brow, lacing your left arm within his own and allowing him to escort you out of the completely ransacked tavern.

“I like knowing I have the Malbec with the Merlot,” he continued, “and the Syrah with the Shiraz.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed under your breath at his comment.

“The Malbec and the Merlot can stay, as will the Syrah and the Shiraz,” you continued, “but I refuse to place the Cognac with the Champagne. That’s illegal.”

He sniffed out a small snicker at your comment, looking down with smiling eyes; hoping you didn’t catch his affectionate gaze.

“You put your sparkling’s with your apéritifs, your white varietals building in intensity: the chardonnays near the rose,” you listed off while nodding your head, gesturing with your right hand the exact floor plan of Mihawk’s cellar on Kuraigana Island.

He trailed his eyes over your blood-spattered face, noticing how your hair lay slightly different than the day before as he zoned your words out as you spoke them.

“-What possessed you to put all of the Pinots in the same place. Honestly,” his attention immediately snapped back at your words as you made your way to the inn you were staying in, “for someone with such disdain for Pinot Noir, you sure keep a fair few.”

“What did you say, Apprentice?” he quirked at you, eyes narrowing at your former words spoken.

“Pinot Noir, my lord,” you reiterated, “does not belong next to Pinot Gris or Pinot Grigio. You can keep it next to the Pinot Meunier, but you must let me rearrange the cellar.”

He sighed before reaching into his long jacket pocket, retrieving an embroidered pocket square from within and wordlessly passing it to you with a roll of his eyes.

“What is this for, my lord?” you asked him, clasping your hand around the material; hand meeting the fingers of one of the warlords of the sea.

“Your face,” he uttered disinterestedly, “you made a mess. You know how I despise mess.”

Bringing your sights to one of the windows of a shop front, you had indeed manage to collect a fair amount of the dark, metallic substance over your face and neck in the thralls of your ferocity. You growled as you began swiping at your skin to rid it of the blood atop it, groaning as much of the liquid had congealed and solidified against your skin; making it next to impossible to clear it from your face without soap and water.

You clutched the material and unfolded it, absentmindedly tracing your fingertips around the golden “D” and “M” as you refolded the soiled material and placed it in your side satchel.

No comment was made about the noises that had been released in frustration. It could be said that you missed his banter a little, but as you had got what you wanted; you negated your thoughts and chose to say nothing about it.

As the both of you continued to walk toe in toe with one another, you passed a large arched entranceway to a sandstone building; bamboo trees and fine bleached coarse pebbles lining the pathway towards the open entrance of the building. Your eyes widened and mouth drew up into a smile as you read the sign beside the archway.

“An onsen,” you gasped, turning your attention back to Mihawk. He halted his movements and craned his head to look at you with complete and utter disregard.

“No,” he uttered, turning back around and continuing to make his journey onwards,

“Oh, please, my lord,” you almost begged, “I’m desperate to submerge myself in deep waters to relax.”

Stretching your arms to arch above your head, you almost felt the calming of your overused muscles as the scents of perfumed bathwater drew its way to your nose; solidifying your resolve.

“There’s bathwater at the inn. We can’t waste valuable wine-tasting hours on something as time consuming as a bath house,” he called over his shoulder, “come, Apprentice.”

Your body froze, a reactionary response to the final words he spoke to you over your shoulder; thighs clenching slightly together as a rosy blush found its way to your face.

Not one step was made from your body as you drew your arms back down from its extension as you laced them together to circle your front and tapped your foot against the pavement. Mihawk, too, halted his movements and clicked his neck to the side to release the knot-riddled tension within his shoulders. You smirked at him, reading the fine print on the side of the building.

You hardened your resolve, approaching your master as you laced your hands around the crook of his left arm and brought your lips up to his ear.

“They have an on-sight masseuse,” you purred into his ear, whispering suggestively, “could relieve some of the tension in your neck.”

Yellow, hawk-like eyes snapped to meet yours as he angled his refined jaw down to gaze into your blood-spattered face. His lips curled up into almost a snarl before he exhaled a sigh, relenting to your insistence.

“Fine,” he groaned, turning back towards the archway of the onsen and bringing his right hand to rest atop your laced fingertips around his left arm to keep you against him. You hadn’t walked in such proximity like this since you relinquished your resignation request, enjoying the closeness between you and your mentor.

Your heels began grinding the pebbled floor beneath your weight, more so Mihawk’s as his mighty blade Yoru lay equipped against his back. A giddy sensation rose in your chest as you walked past the entrance and found the front desk, manned by a fishman.

“Weapons are to remain as checked items at the front desk,” he addressed you, prompting you to eagerly part with your blade as it hung loosely at your side. Mihawk looked at your overzealous removal of your several compartments of weapons with disapproval as he, too, reached his hand behind his back and withdrew Yoru from its scabbard; placing it atop the counter.

Reaching down and unclasping your thigh hilt, you felt the watchful eyes of your mentor bare into you as you fiddled with the buckle. After unequipping yourself of your weapons, you huffed out your breath in excitement as a broad smile fell over your face.

“If that will be all your arms,” the fishman smiled, gesturing to the entranceway of the side room, “welcome to our onsen.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said with a polite nod of your head.

“You may disrobe in the changing room,” he gestured to another section of the front desk, “towels and bathrobes are available on the hooks in the ensuite. Please place any used objects in the baskets at the front before you leave.”

Your gaze turned to the side counter, noticing a taped-off area.

“Ah,” the fishman followed your gaze, “yes. Unfortunately we are undergoing some renovations in the men’s area. The women’s bath is also currently occupied by an elderly rehabilitation group using the healing waters to rid their joints of arthric pain.”

Mihawk tensed his shoulders and inhaled an agitated breath through his nose.

“We currently have the cool plunge, showers, and mixed communal bath available,” he continued, “and we also have a masseuse in the hammam should you desire their services.”

Your mentor made to reequip himself of his mighty blade, only to have his actions halted as you pressed a hand against his chest while addressing the fishman once again.

“Thank you, sir,” you spoke, “do you have any baskets we could use to store our clothing? My mentor,” you turned your sites towards Mihawk and narrowed your eyes at him, “is in desperate need for the hammam and I,” you turned your warm gaze back to the front desk, “honestly can’t wait to utilise the waters.”

You felt a low rumble-like growl form within the chest of your mentor as your hand lay flush against it, relishing in the fury you had managed to pull from your boss. You missed this.

“There are several lockers you can use to place your clothing within,” he nodded with a smile.

You thanked him and relaced your arms within your mentor’s and practically dragged him into the changing room.

“Halt your enthusiasm, apprentice,” he uttered out an order to you, “we won’t be staying for long. Hot shower, cold plunge and a quick dip: Malbec awaits.”

You laughed at his command and shook your head at him as you began to disrobe and place your clothes in a neat pile within one of the cubical booths of the onsen room. As you stripped to your undergarments, you clasped one of the bathrobes provided and wrapped it around your shoulders before removing the final two items of clothing.

Sighing in relief, you placed your arms within the sleeves of the bathrobe and laced the material around the front of you, turning around to see the muscular bare back of your mentor as he brought his own robe up and over his shoulders. A small blush rose itself once again to your cheeks as you turned your head to look at the artwork on the walls in front of you.

After tying his bath robe, he turned to face you; noticing your eyeline focussing on a painting of a large cherry blossom tree.

“Shall we, then?” he uttered disinterestedly, eyes trailing over your robe-wrapped form as you turned to face him.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said with a nod of respect.

“For what now, Apprentice?” he rolled his eyes and made to open the doors of the communal bath.

“For allowing me this privilege, sir,” you said, trailing behind him as he brought his hands up to the sliding double doors. He halted his gaze and arched his head back around to face you.

“Just this once, Apprentice,” he warned you, narrowing his eyes. A small smile almost broke through his lips as he watched you beam with giddy anticipation.

He slid the doors open to reveal a beautifully maintained garden with several varieties of cropped trees, rock garden and layers of naturally occurring waterfalls cascade the area. The smile that was so beautifully almost breaking through his sinister gaze all but fell completely from his face at the next words spoken.

“Hawk-Eyes, you old gloomy prick!” a voice called, prompting you to bring your sites to rest on one of the many men within the bath waters, “what are the odds?”

The gentlemen that so unceremoniously addressed your mentor had a large smile on his face, three scars over his left eye and a mess of currently damp red hair. Several other men around him were also adorning battle scars, carefree attitudes and broad smiles on their faces.

“Absolutely not,” your mentor spoke, turning back towards the double doors.

“Who’s that you got with you?” the man spoke again, looking to you and threw you a small wink.

You furrowed your brows at his attention and allowed a small scowl to pull over your face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you turned to your mentor and placed your hand on his retreating wrist to halt him in place; prompting him to glare at you with his intense yellow eyes.

“Sir,” you addressed the redhead in front of you.

“Miss,” he taunted you with a slight smirk. You inhaled a sharp breath at his mocking tone before releasing Mihawk’s wrist from its place collected in your grasp.

You sighed out an angry breath, “I have had a particularly long day and I was so looking forward to a relaxing bath. If it be all the same to you, I would prefer it if you withheld your taunts from bringing them against my mentor.”

Turning back to face your boss, you grit your teeth and whispered at him; “Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah and Malbec. And I’ll leave the cellar alphabetised, even though it’s impractical.”

He allowed a small growl to escape his lips before he rolled his eyes at your negotiation and brought his rebuttal against you with a smirk; “and we only remain here for a shower and a cold plunge. Absolutely no talking with Shanks or his sorry excuse for a crew.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you watched his gaze soften at you, nodding his chin over to the showerheads lining the wall behind a bamboo screen; “go rinse your face. You still have a small amount of blood on your cheek.”

“Oh, and you despise mess, my lord,” you taunted him with a smirk.

“Watch your tone, Apprentice,” he warned you with a low growl, prompting you to smile and release him from your grip and make to the showers with towel in hand.

“She’s a bit of a feisty one,” Shanks called to Mihawk with a chuckle, as the yellow-eyed man made his way over to the baths, “bet she keeps you young.”

“And what is that meant to mean, you drunken idiot?” he spat at his old associate with venomousity.

Shanks raised his single right hand defensively with a teasing smile.

“I meant no disrespect,” he said with a small shake of his head, “who you choose to warm your bed is no business of my own. You sure know how to choose them, though. She’s stunning-.”

“She’s my apprentice,” he hissed at the redhead as he disrobed and hung the large object on a hook on the sandstone wall.

Wolf-whistles and hollers were called from the Red-Hair Pirates at that comment, prompting Mihawk to harden his stare.

“Is that how it is, then?” Shanks laughed at Mihawk.

The warlord made his way to join the Red-Hair pirates within the warm waters of the onsen and audibly sighed as the heat penetrated his aching muscles. He dipped his raven hair below the waters and allowed the water to begin healing his body of their pent up afflictions.

He then released a groan as he turned to see the large grin on the red-headed captain who brought himself next to him.

“How is it going then, the training,” he asked with interest, his eyes playfully twinkling behind his brown eyes, “sword user, then?”

“She has a great many talents,” he uttered with complete disinterest at continuing the conversation, “but swords and knives are her greatest strengths.”

Shanks hummed in response, nodding in deep thought while scratching his stubbled chin with his right hand.

“Are you planning on going for a drink after this?” he asked curiously, “my men and I could use a couple of brews.”

Mihawk released a small exasperated sigh, “I will not have your carefree crew undo all of my hard work I have drilled into my apprentice.”

Shanks laughed and tossed his head back before stifling his laughter, teetering it off into a low chuckle.

“If you wanted to be alone with her, you should just say so,” he teased him with a playful punch against Mihawk’s shoulder.

After a brisk shower, you readorned yourself with the robe provided and walked away from the screen and back into the view of your mentor and his former associates.

Before you could take a step towards the onsen bath, your mentor rose a hand to halt your movements before pointing to the small pool at the side of the bath.

“Cold plunge,” he ordered monotonously, “then back to the inn.”

You narrowed your eyes and a snarl pulled its way at the lefthand corner of your upper lip.

“Oh, lighten up,” the redhead spoke up with a laugh, “disregard that, love. Come and join us!”

The motley crew of pirates all cheered at the aspect of you joining them within the warm waters, and the desire you had was also prominent. However, not one step was made in either direction as you kept your gaze locked on your mentor to await his new command or dismissal of his prior order.

Mihawk huffed a sigh and narrowed his yellow-eyes at you before he again addressed you.

“Cold plunge,” he again reiterated, “then five minutes in the onsen.”

“Ten,” you smirked your rebuttal at him and rose your left eyebrow upwards.

“Eight,” he reiterated, “and you have to do the cold plunge twice.”

You laughed as you disrobed to bare yourself completely before the assortment of pirates and your current boss. Both you and Mihawk regularly would change in front of one another to equip yourselves ready for battle, not really caring if one glance was shared between you or not. Of late, however, the intensity of the rising tension between you had those looks trailing between you last longer than the average glance.

Not ashamed of your body in the slightest, you turned to retreat to the many hooks lining the sandstone wall and began to place your towel on the bench below. You moved to place the robe on the hook beside your mentor’s own robe and began psyching yourself up to jump into the icy depths of the cold plunge.

You made it to the ledge of the small, circular pool and arched your shoulders back and rolled your head. After releasing a small shaky breath, you brought your right foot outwards and sprung your left foot upwards, falling towards the dark and deep cool water.

Your body became overwhelmed at the icy waters as you plunged into the deep waters. You kicked your legs and resurfaced, gasping in a large breath as you did so. Your feet found the ladder and you hoisted yourself above the water with ease, shaking slightly under the cold as you made your way toward the shallows of the onsen as you gracefully made your descent.

Although the bathwater was a warm 37C, you felt every inch burning into you as the ice-water from the cold-plunge rewrote your internal body temperature. As you sat against one of the many walls of the onsen, you reclined your head to rest against the ledge, closing your eyes and sighing as the warmth overcame you.

“I’m Shanks,” you heard a voice address you. You cracked open your right eye and glanced at him before promptly shutting your eyes once again.

“And I’ve been forbidden from entertaining this conversation,” you smirked and scrunched up your nose.

“Really, Mihawk?” the redhead called, prompting a wide smile to bring itself on your face as your view remained obstructed by your closed eyelids, “you banned me?”

“That I did,” your boss said offhandedly, “and you’ve only got four minutes remaining, Apprentice.”

You groaned as you arched your shoulders, relishing in the warm, scented waters as they worked at your relaxing your muscles.

“And why would he ban me, I wonder,” the voice cooed at you with a slight taunt.

“Although curious myself,” you sighed, “again, you’re contraband. No talking.”

Shanks laughed at your dismissal of him before resting his body beside yours and relishing in the glare that was baring into him at his proximity.

“Then we won’t talk,” he smirked before turning his head and whispered in your ear; “nod or shake your head. Are you sweet on your boss?”

Your jaw fell slack in shock as you opened your eyes to look at the playful features of the redhead beside you. You made to reprimand him vocally for his suggestion, halting as you turned to meet the gaze of Mihawk.

Trailing your eyes over his raven hair before flittering your gaze down to his finely maintained facial hair, pulling your sights down to the lips that so roughly engaged you earlier in the month.

“Nod or shake,” Shanks uttered in a voice below a whisper. Almost invisible to the untrained eye, a subtle nod was all the confirmation required for the redhead to sigh out a laugh.

“Good girl,” he praised you in a low tone before whispering, “now let’s make him angry.”

Part 3

#one piece #opla #x reader #one piece live action #opla fic #mihawk fic #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk #shanks opla #red haired shanks #shanks

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bellewintersroe · 7 months

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Hiiii I was listening to music with my dad the other day and the song caballero by Alejando Fernandez came up and all I could do was think about carlos being in love with the gf (reader) of another driver. The song is about respecting the other guy in a way but what if he didn’t and that’s when I thought of secreto de amor by Joan Sebastian it literally says “Delante de la gente no me mires. No suspires no me llames. Aunque me ames. Delante de la gente soy tu amigo. Hoy te digo, que castigo” and i love the idea of carlos trying to be a gentleman like with the first song and then snapping bc he knows reader loves him too and having an affair with her and it being their secret like the second song

You don’t have to write anything I just wanted to get the idea out of my head and I thought I’d share

No I LOVE this, this is so creative honestly thank you for the inbox I appreciate it sm!! I’ve tried to use some Google translate and I got a bit confused (I’m so sorry) but I’ve attempted to write something along the lines of your scenario because I absolutely love it and how angsty it is. I’m not aware of the songs so I apologise if it’s not exactly what you were imagining. Feel free to inbox me again if this is all completely wrong HAHA.

Carlos Sainz x AlonsoGirlfriend! Reader..

warnings: smut, mentions of affair (I’m sorry) hurting feelings, secrecy, jealousy… reader is Spanish but I won’t try butcher the translations.

Desde el día en que te miré Ibas bien acompañada Ibas con él de la mano De repente te reías De reojo me mirabas The champagne Carlos had consumed all night began to weigh heavy on his eyelids, wandering around the room as though he was in a subdued trance. His intoxication was, of course, due to the expensive alcohol he’d drunk excessive amounts of, but deep down Carlos knew there was something else weighing heavily on his sobriety. Her. The dark, olive skin exposed between the risky slit in her black dress, the valley between her breasts, the almost jet black hair that cascaded down her spine- she had him in a trance.

Carlos’ heart tightened, jaw falling a little slack at the sight of you once again. It was movie like. The beautiful girl, gently batting her eyelids at her prince-like boyfriend, and the depressed, drunk man watching from the corner. Alone. Her hands smoothed up over the other man’s creased shirt, flattening the material crisp over the bicep as his hand reached out to curl at the curve of her hip. His finger tips tightened into the flash of her behind. The corners of her red lips turned and she offered him a simple kiss, once on the cheek. Fernando caught her again, this time catching the plump of her lips. Carlos grimaced. That was enough. Carlos had enough of seeing the scene and turned back down to the alcohol in his glass. Simultaneously, she spared a singular glance in Carlos’ direction, one he assumed he was imagining, a deluded sight he could only dream of. No es mi gran amigo él Pero claro lo conozco Y no suelo ser aquel Que no le importa con quién Trato de ser respetuoso The man that Carlos so desperately wanted to trade places with? Fernando Alonso. His childhood idol, his fellow Spaniard on the grid and good friend, mentor- he was everything Carlos respected and more. Carlos knew better than to sought after a taken lady, especially one of his friends. Fernando was a lucky man, a lucky, lucky man… as soon as they were embracing, did she begin her journey towards Carlos. He felt the tips of his fingers unconsciously dig into his jeans and the swell of his heart speed. Carlos’ eyes fell down her body, her beautiful curves, the sleek of her dress clung to all the right places, hair bouncing with each stride she took. Ay, pero ven tantito Es la única vez que te voy a contar mi secreto Si no tuvieras compromiso, te perdería el respeto

With a sparing glimpse back to an occupied Fernando, busy talking to another young, beautiful woman, Carlos fell to the temptation of the beautiful woman, who was now inching closer to him. She was unearthly, a goddess, and when she offered him a smirk, he had to double take that it was actually aimed towards him. He would risk it all, he knew he would, the brush of her arm against his caused a deep breath to catch in his throat. She offered him a sympathetic smile at the strange noise it created.

“I’m sorry… I’m Carlos.” He cleared his throat, the sound of his voice almost startling him. Her dark eyes fell to the outstretched hand in front of her. In that moment Carlos didn’t know if she wanted to laugh in his face or punch him. He was puzzled by her confused expression.

Slowly, she raised her left hand, the cold metal of a ring touching his own almost making him feel physically sick. “I’m sorry. Im not used to shaking with my left.” She laughed, a soft, gentle kind, one that had Carlos already grinning to himself. She then offered her name, soft hand still embraced within his own. Carlos swore he’d never felt skin as soft as hers. She offered her name, a beautiful one, one in which Carlos repeated.

When their hands retrieved, he noticed the diamond cladded on her ring finger. His teeth ground against one another as they shared a glance at the ring, then back to Fernando.

“I’m Fernando’s-” the woman’s face winced as her eyes gazed over what Carlos now recognised to be her fiancé, with the hand on the waist of another woman. He recognised the the heaviness in her voice, the sigh which escaped her lips sounding almost painful. “-I’m getting another drink. Would you like to join?” Y si no fuera un caballero, te lo juro Te arrancaba de sus brazos sin pensarlo ni un segundo Eres la mujer que más me gusta en el mundo Pero tengo un respeto por ese suertudo

The minutes spent together turned into hours. Hours of uninterrupted conversation and laughter. Carlos felt as though she had captured his heart in a way no woman had before, she was sensual, even in the way she talked, Carlos thought he was imagining things when her gaze fell up and down his front on numerous occasions. She was swift, but flirtatious. Her eyelids were becoming heavier as the night and alcohol effected her. When a hand rested on Carlos’ forearm he had an overwhelming desire to pull her in his arms and spend the whole night with her. Although he recognised his feelings to be beyond lust (which was frightening for Carlos to happen so quickly) he still felt the twitch of his manhood whenever she would hold eye contact, or touch him. Occasionally she would bend forwards, exposing the further curve of her breasts. Carlos pretended not to realise. Y si no fuera un caballero Te robaba, y no un beso, sino toda la semana Para hacerte el amor hasta que te cansaras Pero soy un caballero y mejor Mejor no te digo nada When the night was nearing its end he felt almost desperate to express his feelings, he was almost certain she felt the same. It was bad, he knew it was. He still felt like there was too much respect for Fernando to pull any kind of move on the beautiful lady. God, he was so lucky. So, so lucky.

But it seemed her luckiness had run out, something that broke Carlos’ heart to see her eyes wide and scanning the room for her missing fiancé. “Where has he gone?” Carlos cleared his throat, the first mention of Alonso all night. “Um..” she glanced down to her phone, no notifications, nothing. She recognised the same sickness she felt every time something like this happened with Alonso.

“I think… he’s gone home.” Carlos watched her gulp, sliding her phone back into her clutch, the slight tremble of her fingers causing his brows to furrow. It was as though on instinct that he reached out, steadying her tremor. “I should go.” Her voice barely reached above a whisper, focusing on the gentle hand Carlos had placed on hers. She intended the words to come across more inviting than what they did, fear grasped her too much to speak up. It was now or never.

“I will walk you…” finally, a smile grew on her face. One that Carlos reciprocated as they shared a moment of silence, eyes meeting, speaking a thousand different things that words could not.

Delante de la gente no me mires. No suspires no me llames. Aunque me ames. Delante de la gente soy tu amigo. Hoy te digo, que castigo…

“I need you.” Her soft pants had Carlos writhing up against her body, hips bucking harder into hers. “I needed you all night… Carlos.” All he could do was moan in response, teeth grind in together in pleasure as he pressed his lips onto her cheek bone.

Every breath, every sound, every movement had Carlos feeling like he was driven crazy. And when he watched her slide the ring off her finger, dropping it to the floor below he felt all respect for the other man go out of the window. The sex felt too good, it was lustful, dirty, anything and more that Carlos could have dreamt of. He felt selfish, but at the same time he didn’t care. He wanted her, he needed her, and now he had her.

Her body below his moved in time with his, the bounce of her breasts sending Carlos into a pleasure filled trance. “I needed you.” He managed to tell her back. She was tight around him, wet, it was pure bliss. Carlos could feel his orgasm creeping up on him quicker than anything. He wanted to finish inside her, make her his, claim her as his own and vice versa.

His release was beyond earthly. He almost couldn’t compute the level of pleasure as he collapsed on top body, still squeezing, caressing, stroking her skin and hair. His hips still milked his orgasm as he unloaded his seed deep inside her, arm wrapping under the warmth of her body and holding closer and tighter than before, sealing a promise that he would never let her go, and keep her as his own…

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr smut #carlos sainz x oc #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz imagine #F1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut

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dontbesoweirdkira · 1 month

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A/N: I love platonic yandere Johnny Cage so much. Here’s Johnny obsessing over a new and upcoming talent. He wants to protect you and boost your career but he ends up going overboard with it.

Inspired by

Warnings: Yandere themes (stalking, murder, physical abuse and manipulation) blah blah blah it’s a very fun time for you!! :D

Request: open 24/7

Masterlist

I think we as a community all agree that Yandere Johnny Cage is absolutely batshit insane…I mean he’s already operating on a certain kind of time usually but it’s just cranked up to 1000% with you.

Everything in his life just has to be picture perfect, his hair, movies, cars, house, and…you. Especially you! He sees himself in you, full of life and absolutely beautiful! You will have the absolute best if you just do exactly what he says.😀👍

Don’t get me wrong, he absolutely adores the crap out of you and he truly means well. He’s trying his absolute best to take care of you, he’s just an emotionally unregulated fuck.

When Johnny saw your audition tape he just knew you were destined to become America’s next sweetheart. It’s so hard to come by a natural like you in today’s world so he’d be a fool to just let you go.

His career is steadily on the decline so why not try to save it by living vicariously through you. If his name is attached to the new hot shit then he’s sure to skyrocket back into fame.

Johnny coming to you with this deal at first glance was the dream! THE JOHNNY CAGE LIKES YOU?! He thinks you’re star material?? Who wouldn’t take up this one in a lifetime opportunity.

Press conferences, interviews, red carpet and product reviews…Johnny kept you booked with little to no free time.

There was no saying no to this aswell. Take a good look at what you signed sweetheart! You’re his property. You have a script to follow and you better follow it.

What you wear, the way you walk, talk and dress are all under his creative direction.

Just smile at the camera, y/n and say how he’s the best co-star in the entire world and how perfect it is working with for him!

He’d flip out so fucking bad if you even suggest you wanted to leave the spotlight.

He’s the main reason anyone ever even looked your way! Johnny is the “only one” who cares for you, don’t you think that he knows what’s best for you?

He brought the shirt on your back and the food in the fridge and if you want to be an ungrateful little cunt, he’ll take it away from you.

He’ll tell you how if you really didn’t want to be here, he’d just hire someone else to take your place. And not just as America’s sweetheart…as his too.

Yeah you're an adult and he technically has no legal rights over you once your contract is up but imagine the constant conditioning that you’re going to be nothing without him.

He set up everything in a way where you can’t escape. The house he “gifted” you is all under his name, so is that fancy car and even your cell phone.

Even though he consistently threatens to disown, replace and ruin you, he will go absolutely psychotic if you decide to ignore him.

Oh and that cell phone I mentioned earlier? He’s constantly tracking you with it. Has access to personal files and even a parental mode at his disposal.

The revival of his career is crumbling in front of his eyes…worst yet, the entire WORLD.

He’ll blow up your phone with tons of texts and voice messages, spend copious amounts of money on gifts to bribe you back, kick up the charm too and tell you he didn’t mean what he said and that he’s such a terrible mentor.

He cries how he just wanted a better life for you and how he just wants to do something great and if all of this work fails he’ll become even more of a joke.

If that doesn't work he’ll even go as far as to try to manipulate you by saying he’s going to terminate all of his projects, delete his social media and tell the world he’s such a horrible man and that he doesn’t deserve any of the fame he has because he’s hurt you.

Of course you come back and start doing as he says again, only for the cycle to repeat.

Johnny isn’t the absolute worst, he does protect you from any potential dangers out there. He works extremely hard to keep your image very clean and pure even though you’re in your 20's . As much as you hate basically being stuck in a girl next door persona, he explains how once you start becoming a sex icon like him…the exploitation becomes worse.

Johnny definitely has been through and seen a lot of shit so he’s got the right spirit but wrong execution.

He even beat the shit out of a producer and got arrested because he tried forcing himself on you.

Speaking of getting arrested for fighting, this is such a common occurrence for him that you hold onto some of his credit cards just in case you have to bail him out on any given day.

Has threatened to murder multiple people in great detail for making you uncomfortable…now I’m not saying he’s ever carried out those plans but have you ever seen any of those co-stars ever again? Eh..Johnny said they just weren’t working with the camera.

He will vet any jobs you want to take and hand pick the safest sets and crews for you to work with. Your real manager doesn’t even argue with him anymore, he just accepts the fact Johnny is the self proclaimed one.

Hey well at least your idol doesn’t interfere in your romantic life! He just has to run background checks, stalk their socials and inner circles, be there on the date…nothing major….

You just can’t hook up with anyone, y/n. Can you imagine what this would do to your image??

Don’t bring up the hypocrisy of him practically dating most of the tri-state area….in the past year!

Has thought about getting a conservatorship over you but has been rejected because if anyone needs one, it’s really him.

#johnny cage #yandere mortal kombat #Yandere Johnny cage #jonathan carlton #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #johnny cage x reader #Yandere Jonny cage x reader #kung lao x reader #lui kang x reader #mortal kombat x reader

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 4 months

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Yandere Brother Pt 3

Tw: suffocating unbearable love, violence, general yandere, female reader shenanigans, infantilization, and of course incest. also christmas

minors and ageless blogs dni please <3

click here for part 1 and part 2

Click here for my new oc Yves (PLEASE READ IT I LOVE YVES)

plotholes and emglish errors everywhere and i could not be bothered :100emoji: please dont point it out thanks xoxo

Caught the Covid fuk now i cant leave my bed im so damn sick and pukey all the time, i dont fuckin know where my roommate is but at least they're not here to get infected, feeling like a busted up rustbucket rn

So this was originally written last year, couldnt find what else to write but this christmas time is perfect, so like dont mind the shoehorning of Christmas somewhere in this fic

You're having your summer break and you plan to pick up on a new hobby. Crocheting, perhaps.

Fuck, your brother picked up your search history from his spyware. Now you're left to deal with $1000 worth of wonderful quality crocheting materials and your big brother being your personal crocheting mentor.

This is where it gets frustrating. Yes, if you have the resources, you would enjoy your hobbies more. But, just like... What if you didn't like crocheting in the end? You're stuck with all these.

It happens to every single potential hobby. Stamp collecting? Your big brother will bid to the death for an extremely rare stamp from the 1900. You're not even fucking collecting the stamps, the stamp book already comes arranged with all the stamps ever produced. A collection that would only give a hardcore stamp collector an instant orgasm upon sniffing it.

Nail art? Where the hell should you keep all the acrylic powders, fake nails, drills and drill bits? Not to mention the dizzying numbers of nail polishes, nail brushes, nail stickers and cuticle sticks. Of course, your big brother is going to hire a professional nail artist to make sure you're practicing your hobby safely while he's learning how to do it himself, so he could replace your mentor too. He would become so skilled that he could qualify to open up a 5 star nail salon. But he's not interested unless you are.

Painting? you absolutely do NOT need all of those tubes of paint. The difference in shades for some of them are so small that you mistook it for the same colour. You would have a headache choosing the right type of paper, right type of primer and right type of fixative to use.

Are you having troubles on painting? Let big brother teach you. You would sit on his lap as he guide your hands across the canvas. Don't you think his warm hand enveloping yours feel nice? Doesn't his free hand feels nice sensually rubbing your thigh? Don't you just feel protected in his hold?

Makeup? Same situation with your nail hobby. You're essentially being babied by him and experienced celebrity makeup artists, you would drown in a mountain of eyeshadow palettes, primers, setting sprays, skin care products, anything and everything related to makeup.

Every instrument ever? Big brother would insist lovingly providing all the music lessons you need. He is a musical prodigy after all. If it's something ridiculously obscure like a Glass Armonica or the Theremin, big brother would master it in a couple of weeks, earn a fucking pHD in it and THEN teach you. No instrument is too expensive or hard for him. Your big brother is crossing his fingers HARD for you to have this hobby.

Chess? Oh, he is also a prodigy in it. He could teach you. Your chess pieces would be custom made to your liking, by the way. It would be the perfect density, perfect size, perfect texture for you. He knows what you like and you hate that.

Sports? Take a look at his "achievement room". It's filled to the brim with golden medals and trophies of every sport competition ever. He's not leaving you alone for this one.

Pottery? Welcome to your very own personal pottery studio, furnished with all types of drying racks, ovens, kilns, turntables and equipments you have never heard of. Big brother is always there to supervise you, making sure there won't be any accidents.

Cooking and baking? You get to have an industrial sized kitchen all for yourself. Everything is decorated such that it looks like you would be on television, starring in a cooking show. You don't need to clean anything, or prep anything, or actually do anything, really. There's a team of professional chefs and assistants to do everything for you. They're paid to cheer and clap and celebrate when you pour cake batter into a pan.

Gardening? Well, there's a massive plot of fertile land for you to garden to your heart's content at the house he bought as your 18th birthday gift. If you want a big project, it will be done overnight. You wouldn't hear the gigantic machineries and vehicles tumbling about due to the soundproof walls he installed. No one would be able to hear you both either, doing god-knows-what inside.

Video games? Your big brother personally do not encourage you to pursue this. But... Nonetheless, he would spoil you rotten with all the latest gaming consoles, limited edition merchandises, pre release copies of your favorite game franchises and whatever your gamer heart desires. All at a hefty price of... Daily cuddles and kisses. And you also have to move in with him. And he gets to decide what game you're playing, if he deems it a "bad influence"? It is not staying in his house.

You rather not.

Nothing is fun because the fun parts are already done for you. You don't get to experience the highs and lows of picking up a hobby, you don't get to explore and experiment. You're literally cursed with luxury.

So imagine your boredom, stress and paranoia during summer break. All your friends are spies for your brother, your hobbies aren't even "yours", leaving your house would inevitably lead you to your brother and all digital footprints are heavily scrutinized by him too. No privacy, no autonomy, all monotony.

You juggled three smartphones at once. Throwing one up in the air, catching the other one with your dominant hand, throwing the last to your other hand. Who gives a damn if one, or all of them breaks? It's riddled with spyware and your big brother would buy you every time a new model is released anyways. Which is... A new phone, a month?

You stopped caring where he gets the money. Obviously he has an assload and can afford to wipe his ass with thousand dollar bills regularly.

It's summer break. One last resort to try and spend your time like a regular ol teenager is taking up a part time summer job. There is a wide variety of jobs to choose from with your qualification. Granted, it's minimum wage and mostly customer service.

If you work as a barista, the cafe or juice bar you'll be working at will LOVE the crap out of you.

Your older brother will visit daily and increase their sales tenfold. Of course, he would pick the drinks that you like doing. It's okay if you fucked up, its only your beloved big brother's order, you can add as much sugar, salt, pepper, cyanide as you want. He will never yell at you, never tell you that you made anything wrong or never even die.

The management will suddenly see a surge in daily customer count. Thanks to big brother's networking. And like him, they also will accept anything you make with no complaint... As per his instructions. You could go full on ridiculous and give them a cup of ice drizzled with strawberry scented dish soap and call it Tutti Frutti, they would still pay for it and take it with them. Though, you're not sure if they ever consumed anything from you.

Without fail, your brother would visit you during every break and hand you your meal along with a kiss on the forehead or the cheek. He would bring you out to eat but you would refuse everytime. You also didn't want his company, which made him pout and whine without fail. But it's nice that he would actually back off after the sixth "no".

However, you know that fucker is watching you from a hidden camera somewhere in the nooks and crannies of whatever breakroom you're resting in.

He would engulf you in a big hug when you get off work, telling you how proud he is of you for getting through another workday like a champ. Praising you for all the hard work and excellent performance, making sure to soothe and comfort you if you happen to come across a rude customer earlier in the day.

You try not to think too much about their fate.

You will be fed, bathed and loved after every shift.

Hell, he would even build up a company from scratch just to hire you. Any position you want, barista, manager, cashier, back office work, janitor- you name it, you get the "job" and get paid a pretty penny. All your other coworkers and customers are probably paid actors and actresses to simulate a "real life working experience" safely. He controls it all, making sure you have just the right amount of drama, the right amount of diplomacy and the right amount of gossiping. You're rarely pushed out of your comfort zone, though. Big brother always has your safety and best interests at heart.

Of course, he will never tell you all of this, to keep the immersion going. You're going to feel sad that you're not exactly experiencing reality. But a bastardization of it. Might as well star in a trashy reality TV show instead, at least, it's much more authentic than whatever your big brother has going on for you.

He doesn't need to even tell you though. You would pick it up easily and quickly especially if you already watched the Truman Show. Don't tell him you did, god help you if he ever gets an inkling that you knew about the existence of the Truman Show. He deemed that movie as demonic propaganda and he needs to lecture some sense into you. If you want out, just say that you're 'bored' and want to do something else. Your big brother will gladly drop everything and do anything in his power to help you "achieve" what you want.

But for the sake of "plot" in this latest installment, you agreed to work in a quaint little bubble tea stall. Where you're the only employee, making drinks for whoever is ordering in front of the shop's decorated window.

Of course, your big brother miraculously happens to work in a nearby skyscraper as one does. It's not that you didn't do your research, you were a hundred percent certain he didn't work in that building, because that fucker never goes to work... At least, physically. Perhaps he does his job, whatever that may be, through online means.

You were planning to use your bicycle to get there that you got yourself with "your" money. He never bought you a car or a bike or anything that would get you around, he saw it as something unnecessary. Why would you need it when big brother is available 24/7 to bring you anywhere?

Actually, you could have gotten yourself a car with the allowance he gives you every day for being cute and adorable, and being patient with his incessant kisses and hugs and cuddles and love and touches and his fucking insanity in general.

But you know that he's going to kick up a massive fuss about driving alone. It was hell to even get your license with him actively trying to sabotage you at every exam- which includes him stooping so low to bribe the examiner to fail you. However, you persevered, and you got that stupid license. All the while, he was lamenting about how you're going to leave him all alone, how you don't need big brother anymore, how society pressured you to grow up too fast and recklessly drive off wherever.

You knew better than to fall for that. Or even entertain it either. Eventually, he gave up trying to guilt trip you into crying, apologizing to him and sobbing in his arms, promising that you won't leave him.

It's not like he DIDN'T kick up a fuss when you said you're using a bicycle either. He began freaking out about your safety, fearing that you might get run over.

Well. You admitted defeat. He's driving you to fucking work and back. It's not worth it to fight this battle.

So you began working in the stall. You had someone train you for your first 2 weeks. Then you were on your own.

The owner, who is also the person who showed you the ropes around there, said business isn't good, but it isn't bad either. So you didn't need to worry about rush hour where hoards of thirsty, sleep deprived office workers trample over each other to get their daily boba fix. It's pretty peaceful working there.

But what you do need to worry about, is your fucking big brother.

He would come and buy a drink, whichever you like to make. It can be the most expensive one, or the cheapest one, the most elaborate one or the simplest one. It's up to you, he will pay for it and happily drink what you made.

You could make him pay for the most expensive drink there is but serve him a cup of lukewarm water, and he would still drink it with glee and fork over his money, telling you to keep the change (which is usually a hundred bucks extra).

Let's say you want to be decent and make him drink that you know he would actually like. Which is anything that tastes generally fruity. And insist that you like making it even though it actually sucks.

He knows. He can tell that you're specially making his favourite drink. And that makes him happy and more obsessed with you if that's even possible at this point.

He would leave a massive tip and a kiss on your forehead.

Although your brother is fucking gross and weird like that, you still love him. Probably a bad idea but you're working so hard, trying your best to earn money honestly just to get him a Christmas gift.

Despite the restraining order between your parents and him, your brother is still invited back home each year to be jolly together. Preparations start a few days before Christmas, where you would see an unusual sight.

All of your immediate family members in the same room, or at least in the same house together without fighting to the death. Your dad's bones are intact, your mom didn't have her insecurities jabbed on for once. They're not exactly on speaking terms, per se.

You woke up one morning to see an... appropriate sized tree for your parent's house, erected in the middle of the living room. Adorned with beautiful ornaments and... are those pictures of you on the ornaments?

Wrapped presents were patiently sitting under the tree. There was a small box with your father's name on its tag, another small one with your mother's name on it. A decent sized box was addressed to your brother, must be a combined present from your parents.

Your shoulders sagged in defeat when you saw your presents took up the perimeter of the tree and even conquered the couch, the back of the couch and under the coffee table. You lost count after gift box #27.

Since everyone is in the kitchen, you quickly place the presents you got for your parents... and your brother.

You panned to the fireplace. Your Christmas stocking is filled so much to the brim that your brother must have added 5 more next to your original one. Your parents' and your brother's stockings are relatively empty. You stuffed them with candies and nuts to make them look less embarrassing.

You straightened your back, that should do it. Your ears perked up when you heard some clamoring in the kitchen. It must be your brother.

You let out a surprised yelp when you're yanked back by a pair of arms that snuck around your waist. "Merry Christmas, my little wittle precious baby!" You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face as he attacked you with a barrage of kisses.

He giggled and squealed as he held you in his arms and twirled you around in glee. You let out a scream of horror as your feet dangle off the ground. He does this every Christmas morning when you were a child to wake you up further and get you excited for the holiday. But you're not a kid anymore, and this is horrifying.

Finally, he stopped and put you down. Your hair is frazzled and the world around you is gyrating. He squeezed you in another hug and gently rocked you side to side.

He immediately unlatched when you said you're hungry. Your big brother gleefully lead you to the dining table, where he fixes up a napkin around your neck like a bib. You asked him why is he tying a ribbon on your hair, he said that you are his Christmas present and he is spoiling himself this year.

Before you could respond, he gave you a brief peck on the head before frolicking away into the kitchen.

Your parents came out of the kitchen, greeting you. They're holding a tray full of steaming hot breakfast foods, no doubt your brother forced them to make it for you. Every Christmas generated a metric ton of leftovers. It's because your brother wanted you to try all of the foods from all over the world. But don't worry though, the leftovers could be so intact that it was given out to neighbors and friends and extended families. Some didn't even need to cook after that, the sheer amount of leftovers was enough to fuel ten more Christmas gatherings.

Croissants, quiches, various types of bread, eggs, ham, bacon even panettone made from scratch. Looking at the spread in front of you is dizzying, your big brother sets down the last plate right between your hands. It's a breakfast plate your brother customized to fit your usual preference, everything is shaped into a heart. He patted your head as he took a seat next to you.

Everyone ate in silence. Everyone was focusing on their own meal except... your brother. Who else would rather stare at you adoringly instead?

He asked if you wanted to go make snowmen outside. Not without proper winter protection, that is. You shrugged, it's not like you could escape your family anyway. Your friends are all busy with their own families, and you don't even have friends. Everything is closed and if you lock yourself in your room, your brother will just pick the fucking lock and force his way in.

Your parents tried making small talk, this earned a feral glare from your brother because it interrupted the connection between the both of you. They paid him no mind and began asking about your life. You tiredly replied to their questions and asked some back yourself, to try to find any sense of normalcy. Your brother would be disengaged with the words coming out of your parents mouth, but highly interested in what you had to say.

The rest of the morning went by uneventfully. You offered to help clear the table and do the dishes. Your brother just 'aww'd at you and gave you an appreciative kiss on your forehead. That wasn't an explicit yes, he appreciated the gesture, but he wouldn't allow you to dirty your hands doing chores.

He told you to wait for him to clean up. In the mean time, he gave you permission to open some of the gifts he got you. Frankly, you don't even want to deal with it at all, it's just too much crap. You decided to go through the stockings instead and grab some snacks for yourself.

As expected, he filled it with the most expensive treats and the freshest oranges. These types of foods are usually served in a formal setting, like eating gold crusted caviar at a 10 star restaurant, all dressed up in fancy clothes. But he just... shoved it in a Christmas stocking as if they're mundane chocolates.

Whatever, you shoved some into your pockets.

You turned around to see your brother smiling lovingly at you. He wrapped a puffer jacket around you, his scarf with his cologne on it, a pair of thick mittens on your hands , a winter hat snuggly fitted to your head, and a pair of thick pants he made you wear in front of him.

He picked one of your numerous christmas presents and handed it to you. He clasped his hands together expectedly as he watches you.

Your brother urged you to open it, go wild. Rip the wrapping to shreds. You felt so bad seeing how well wrapped it is and the quality of the wrapping paper is... indescribably good. It doesn't even feel like paper, it feels like silk.

So your carefully dismantled it, trying not to tear anything. You look up to see that your brother is pointing his camera at you, capturing this very precious moment. He encouraged you to go on.

You managed to remove the packaging and revealed a box of expensive winter boots. These are high quality and you would have been the source of envy even though most of your "friends" are also from wealthy families. Not everyone gets to have these.

You appreciate it but... You already had a pair of winter boots, the ones from last year, and the year before that. And the year before that, and a week ago where your brother is freaking out about you potentially having frostbite on your toes.

"It's the latest model! It was released as a part of a Christmas special, it will keep you warm and protect your feet too. It was selling out fast, I'm so glad I managed to get a pair for you, I can't have my sweetiepie sad on Christmas day!" Gushed your brother. You slipped them on.

You can't tell the difference between the one you had last year and the one on your feet now. Maybe some minor difference in it's stylistic design but... they're equally as comfortable.

You thanked your brother and finally gave him what he actually wanted from all this: a hug. He put away his phone and returned the embrace, sinking so deep into your jacket that neither of you can move without stumbling. You know he expected you to show gratitude for all his gifts through his main love language; touch.

It is exhausting.

After that, he brought you out to his private plot of land which he made into a park, complete with swingsets, monkey bars and slides. But these aren't for the public, it's for you. All the equipment are well maintained and look brand new even though you know it's been there for years.

He's not fond of throwing snowballs because it could hurt you. But he allows you to throw as much as you want at him. Even after the stunt you pulled last year.

You packed snow around a rock and hurled at him with all your might, it went straight to his head and his right eye was busted for months. Your brother didn't see that as something wrong, though. Even if you tried to apologize, he said that it was an accident and it was alright, he still loves you dearly and you did 'nothing wrong'. The first thing he did after recovering from his injuries at the hospital is to take you out for hot chocolate and then give you a backrub back home because winter could make your muscles stiff; and hence you must feel strained and sore.

He was still mildly bleeding from his gauze at the time, it was covering at least 70% of his upper head. Your brother was clueless when you asked if he needs any painkiller for his recent injury. He claimed to not feel the pain, but his wincing tells you otherwise. He rewarded you for your concern nonetheless with hugs and kisses and another massage.

You laid yourself on the snowy ground and started making snow angels. Your brother had his camera out and began capturing every moment he has with you.

You felt uncomfortable. And the cold is nipping at your bones even though you're thoroughly insulated by the sophisticated winter gear your brother made you wear. You're ready to go home now.

It shocked your brother and made him a bit desperate. He stammered and stumbled over his words, asking you if you wanted to play on the swing, build a snow man, play on the slides, the merry go around and... throw snowballs at him. Are you cold? He was in the middle of removing his own jacket to layer it onto you, but you stopped him.

You said you're tired. You don't find this fun and you're too old for this.

Maybe you're thirsty? He packed a flask filed with steaming hot chocolate for you- no? You're not thirsty or hungry? Maybe you wanted to use the bathroom-- no? You don't have to go?

He tried listing out all the possible reasons you wanted to go home and all its' solutions. Desperately wanting you to stop growing up so fast.

You got sick and tired of this, you yelled at him at the top of your lungs that you wanted to go home. You then stormed away towards the car, leaving your brother to stand there in silence, his camera capturing your explosive outburst.

Your brother saw you slamming the door angrily as you got in.

He sighed, gulping and hovering his finger over the delete button. But he ultimately decided against erasing the footage, it's still a video of you after all. Your brother assured that he's coming to the car, he wipes a stray tear away as he heads to his vehicle.

The both of you stayed silent as he drove you home.

Once you arrived, you bolted out of the car and ran back in. Locking yourself in the bedroom and barricading the door with random furniture. Hugging your knees close to your chest as you pray that your brother does not go after you by climbing into your windows.

And... he didn't. He left you alone for once. For a few hours too. It gave you the much needed relief, you felt like you could breathe now.

You're starting to feel a bit hungry. And you're hungry enough to be willing to face your older brother. So you began unbarricading, placing your dressers to it's original place.

You carefully unlocked the door, fully expecting him to be waiting outside for you. To your surprise, no one was in the hallway. You could hear some noises downstairs, in the kitchen.

You cautiously went down, the tree is still intact. Nothing is broken and there doesn't seem to be signs of a fight. You released a breath that you didn't know that you were holding, happy to know that you don't need to spend another Christmas at the hospital visiting your badly battered parents.

You whipped your head to the sound of your brother calling your name softly. He's holding a baking tray and a bowl, you can't tell what is in there because he's too tall. He smiled at you as he set it down on the dining table. The tray contained freshly baked parts of a gingerbread house and the bowl contained vanilla frosting.

You scanned the rest of the table. There are numerous small glass bowls containing different types of candy and snacks; from pretzel sticks to colourful chocolate rocks, to real gold leaves. Piping bags with metal tips are present too next to a box of plastic gloves.

Your brother pulled your chair out and invited you to sit there. You did, and he called you a good girl. His good girl. As you put on a pair of plastic gloves, he kissed you on the temple.

You asked where your parents are. He said that they're preparing the food for dinner, which includes ham and a roast turkey. And 15 other dishes.

You quizzed on, asking if there will be more people coming in. He shook his head: no. It's only the four of you. In the meantime, you should enjoy yourself building this gingerbread house. He puts on his own pair of plastic gloves too and began filling the piping bag with icing.

The two of you worked in peace, you opting to decorate the house while he pipes the details on the gingerbread men.

There is only two, a large one and a smaller one. You can guess which represents who.

You noticed the odd choice of attaching the small one to the large one's torso. With strategic use of the candies and frosting, he made it look like the larger gingerbread man is carrying the smaller one on its hip. He piped your defining features onto the baby gingerbread, and piped his features on the larger one.

He noticed you staring, your brother asked if you had a hard time connecting the pieces with frosting and if you needed his help. You said no, you just need a spatula from the kitchen. He tried to get up from his seat, but you pushed him back down, saying that you can get it yourself. He pouted, telling you to be careful and not touch the knives or stoves. Your brother went back to obsessing over the details on his gingerbread men.

You went inside the kitchen and greeted your parents who are busy cooking. You go through the drawers to find a silicone spatula and decided to help pick up some stray food scraps on the floor, throwing them into the bin. But as soon as you step on the pedal and have the lid swing open, you saw two crushed, but perfectly edible, gingerbread men in the garbage bin.

You returned to the dining table to see that your big brother is proudly presenting his work. He said this represents you and him... as if you already haven't figured it out. He said he dreams of having you live with him in a perfect fantasy house, fantasy world where you never have to grow up. And he will always be there by your side, taking care of you till the end of time. You will be pampered and spoiled rotten, you don't have to do anything, you don't have to lift a finger. Your big brother will do everything for you. He would even breathe for you if he could.

You nodded in acknowledgement, too tired to engage with him. You sat back down, continued with the gingerbread house. You failed to notice the flicker of sadness in his eyes, your brother felt so neglected and unwanted these few years. He wished that you were a kid again so the both of you could play together and be happy. The more he tries to win your favour, the more distant you get from him. He is endlessly chasing and you are running non-stop.

The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully, other than the fact that your big brother rests his head on your shoulder the whole time.

Now, it's time for dinner. You tried helping them bring out the dishes, your brother praised you for being a darling as usual. He lets you have the first bite of the turkey, tearing a small inconspicuous piece of flesh from the bird and hand feeding it to you. It's still warm, juicy and delicious. Maybe it's the feeling of being special that makes it even tastier.

You chew as you brought out the casserole, setting it down on the table.

You looked at the spread. It looks like a buffet at a high end hotel. So many varieties and extremely nutritious.

Your brother fixed your napkin bib for you again and took food for you. Slumping in your seat, you were thinking of protesting but you knew it's easier to just wait for him to carve the best parts of the turkey for you and let the food pile up neatly on your plate first. He returned it to you, all your favourite dishes are on it within sensible portions. But these are still a lot of food for a person.

He didn't care about praying. Your brother wanted you to eat as soon as possible because you must be hungry. And it is absolute sacrilege to let you go hungry.

You insisted that you join your parents in saying grace and you're not that hungry. Your brother looks uncomfortable, still believing in his sick mind that you're starving to the point of emaciation. But since you are adamant in doing such 'pointless' things In his mind, he agrees, only if he leads it.

Everyone bowed their head down and held each others' hands.

Your brother said the shortest, most insincere, laziest grace ever. Once he fulfilled your requirement, he urged you to eat.

You're upset, you felt really angry and you thought he was mocking you instead. So you opted to eat alone in your room, you made it clear that you didn't want anyone in. Especially not your big brother.

He cried out a desperate plea to get you to stay with him. You ignored him and took a couple more of your favourite finger foods. Predicting a fight between your brother and your parents.

You wrenched your arm away from his powerful grip and fled the scene, hurrying up the flight of stairs. Only slowing down when you're out of sight.

As you thought, sounds of verbal fighting started resonating throughout the house. You heard your brother screaming his head off at your parents for being bad influences and poisoning you to hate him. Your parents defended themselves and this only fuelled the fire. You didn't want to be around when your brother started hurling chairs, so you slammed the door as hard as you could. The sudden loud noise did stop the commotion downstairs briefly. But it continued soon after.

You ate alone, in your barricaded room. Wishing that you're born into a 'normal' family, with 'normal' trauma. To a lot of people, you are complaining about a blessing. But you are always feeling alone, the only person facing a problem which everyone sees as a solution.

You scraped the last bits of food with your spoon. Waiting for the sounds of the ambulance or at least for the fighting to quiet down.

You looked at the clock. It's 1 AM. It's been relatively quiet for a while now, they should be finishing up their fight or cleaning up. Time for you to return your plate.

You grunted as you pushed the furniture away from your door which felt like the umpteenth time. You left your room and head downstairs.

Hearing soft sobs from one person, your brother. He's sitting in front of the tree, hugging the present you left for him earlier. The presents addressed to your parents are both missing, presumably being taken back to their room. A blanket is loosely draped around his shoulders.

You took slow steps, unsure if you should comfort him or not. But before you can even decide to chicken out, he spotted you. However, to your surprise, he didn't approach you or tell you to come forward. He gave you a soft assuring smile, before returning his attention to the tree.

You set your plate aside and went by his side. Your brother watched you with puffy eyes full of love, yet it tells you that he has been irreparably hurt by something... or an accumulation of things.

"Thank you..." He whispered, refering to the gift you gave him. It isn't something particularly valuable to you. It's a picture of the entire family in a photo frame. Your brother is going to cherish it, because it is a gift from the person he loves most in the world. But deep down, he secretly wishes that it was a photo of you and him alone.

He still looks extremely upset and distraught. Almost like he is at the brink of a breakdown. Your brother usually verbalizes what he wanted, but he couldn't this time.

You wonder what your parents got for him. You peeked over his shoulder to see that an unopened box containing a plain T-shirt and a pair of socks is carelessly discarded to the corner of the room.

Then, it clicked. Just like you, he felt alone. Maybe you will never understand why he holds you so dear in his heart. Just like how no one will understand him either, his struggles are unique to him with no one to relate.

He destroyed the relationship between himself and your parents. His friends are all superficial. You're grown up and constantly rejecting his love.

Not a single one of you paid attention to him. Yes, it is hard to think of a present for someone who has everything. But they could have put in a bit more effort, the colour of the shirt and socks aren't even in his favourite colour or in the correct size. You could have removed your parents from the photo, your brother will never remove it himself. Because that would mean defacing your gift for him.

And growing up, your parents never saw him as... a person. As someone with feelings and a personality. They only saw his value as a trophy piece to show off to their friends and family. Same goes to his friends now, if it wasn't for his skills and possessions, he would be nothing to anyone.

He had to beg to be loved. Even that isn't reliable, he could give it his all and everyone around him will expect more. Your brother could never dream of being the receiving end of his own affection. It seems like an impossibility to him.

Perhaps he is doing all of these despite getting nothing but disgust and disdain from you is all to protect your innocence, to not put you through what he had to face. It's just that he went about it the wrong way. Or maybe he is just... wrong in the head. Or maybe he was hoping by loving you so much, you would give him the intense type of love he was yearning for his entire life.

Either way, he is alone.

The both of you are now seated in front of the fireplace. You didn't want to open presents, your brother is okay with that. He did not nag you to do it for once. Snuggling closer, the both of you shared a blanket. He still looks unhappy and crestfallen.

You remember you still had the ribbon bow on your head.

He hovered his arms around you as you squirm in his grip. You managed to crawl into his lap and rest your head on his chest. He lets out a chuckle and some sniffles, clamping his arms back down around you.

You reminded him of one last gift. Your brother is confused until he saw your ribbon.

From that moment on, he burst into tears of joy. He found you so unbearably adorable, so unbearably cute that his heart couldn't take it. An excited squeak escaped his lips as he held you even tighter. Peppering kisses all over your face, neck and head.

He started blabbering in baby talk, calling you every pet name and listing out everything he loved about his 'gift'. Repeating that this is the best gift he ever received and this is all he ever wanted. You are all he ever wanted. Praising that you remembered what he loves.

You hope that he could feel a little less lonely tonight. You can't peer into his head and know exactly what is going on inside. But you knew, he was happy.

Your breathing calmed him down and he closed his eyes, nuzzling against your neck. The collar of your shirt wet from his tears and your arms are secure around him. Your brother mumbled "I love you." as he adjusted you on his lap. Pressing your form against his, enjoying the heat that the both of you shared. Wishing that this moment will never end and you will never part from him.

You realized another thing too as he strokes your hair.

Your older brother is the only person in the world who harbors true, undying, unconditional love for you.

Even though he has his flaws, there will be no one else like him. Ever.

So you closed your eyes and melt into him. Just like before, you felt safe.

The both of you fell alseep in front of the hearth, surrounded by gifts, mostly unopened ones. Snowflakes floating down from the skies and landing delicately at the edge of the roof. Feeling unburdened and content in the living room.

Merry Christmas.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #tw infantilization #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere concept #male yandere oc x reader #yandere brother #tw incest

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fantastic-nonsense · 4 months

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THANK YOU that co-parenting post was driving me crazy

Listen I let sooooooo many obviously fanon-based takes go at this point because not only is it way too much effort trying to respond to all of them, but I'm not that much of an asshole. But then there's just some things that transcend any possible scope of fanon/cultural osmosis-acquired "knowledge" and veer into "you have absolutely no clue what you're talking about and even just reading fandom takes couldn't get you here." And that post was definitely one of them.

Like, if it had just been a crack about the Bruce-Dick-Clark relationship I absolutely would have let it go, because despite it not being canon and Clark textually acting as Dick's pseudo-uncle there's a lot of basis for you to make jokes about Bruce and Clark co-parenting Dick in a lot of older Golden and Silver Age issues, particularly in World's Finest!

And I'm literally writing a fic that, in part, explores how Jason and Talia's canon relationship walks the boundary between "grudging allies and confidants" and "teacher/student" and "my dad's ex/my ex's kid' and "parent/child," so while it's not correct to say that Bruce is "co-parenting" Jason with Talia (he's most definitely not doing so) it's not exactly an objectively wrong conclusion to come to either.

But the rest of them? Just. The most baffling takes on the face of the planet. I don't understand where they got them and I don't understand why they felt so confident stating them the way they did. Leaving out Babs acting as Cass's surrogate mother, saying Bruce was co-parenting Tim with Shiva of all people over Jack Drake and Dana Winters, saying that Bruce was a parent or even a parental figure to Babs and Steph in any way, shape or form, adding in a random Bat-affiliated person as Duke's parent who not only is less than 5 years older than him and hasn't interacted with the core Batfam in nearly 5 years (because John Ridley is holding him hostage over in Jace's books) but has quite literally never canonically shared panel-time with Duke...just wild. Please just acknowledge that Bruce can be someone's coworker and/or mentor without being their parent and that the vast majority of the Batfam do in fact have other parents and parental figures that are not Bruce!

Kind of wonder what it's like in their brain, because I can't imagine the levels of active rejection of the source material required to get to the takes they got to.

#asks #dc fanwank #batman #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #clark kent #duke thomas

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milks-thoughts · 11 months

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Futuer Leo with apprentice reader?

like reader was made his apprentice alongside Casey Jr and people keep comparing the two, how Casey was more mature, how he was stronger physically and emotionally

thankss

I warned y’all, i warned ya it was coming

(shout out to @yanteetle who makes me chuckle every time they react with my angst posts)

summary: Reader just wants to make him proud

TW: death, in detail character death, meaning the POV is dying, murder, reader runs away, reader has a breakdown, the dove is dead. why? cause I killed it, reader just wants to make him proud :(

It Was Not Your Fault But Mine

When Leonardo became the leader of the resistance he expected many things, war? mhm, death? absolutely. it came with the territory. being placed in charge of two preteens, to train them to be able to live in this brutal world? no, he was never expecting you to become his apprentice. He trained you both, but…he couldn’t help but see himself in you. the self he hated. his past, a cocky teenager that thought his older brother would carry everything for him.

You couldn’t help but resent Casey. Why did he get special treatment? You two were on the same patrol where you watched half the patrol get wiped out…and yet, you listened to your mentor, Leonardo, comfort Casey… why didn’t he also comfort you? His gruff voice broke through your thoughts “ You're okay, You're alright. I'll never, ever leave your side- “ you gripped your elbows as your buried your head in your knees “ -I will stay and I will fight. “ his humming filled the space he and Casey were sharing, you weren’t even supposed to be here “ With you, you're okay, you're alright. I'll stay here through the darkest night. All the way, I will fight….with you “ when you heard Leonardo start to leave the space, you quickly left the surrounding area. collapsing onto the floor and sighing, nothing but harsh memories being your company.

When you and Casey were allowed out on serious patrols, you were exploring a apartment building. You entered one door and recoiled at the dead person in the room, you backed up and knocked over a pot which caught the attention of a kraang dog nearby…which alterted its friends… which had them chasing after you and Casey. You both narrowly avoided them by closing yourselves in a apartment, you sheepishly grinned at Casey and he looked down at you with a unimpressed face. You two had waited two hours before Leonardo and a patrol could rescue you two, when he found out what happened…he sighed and walked off. You and Casey followed him back, being able to tell he was going to yell at you two when you got back. You dreaded it, you always ended up crying when Leonardo shouted at you, or, whenever anyone shouted at you.

You sniffled in your room, you didn’t miss how Leonardo’s frame was exhausted looking. He walked past your area and into Casey’s room. You suddenly shot up. “ I’ll make him proud of me. I’ll- I’ll do something impactful. I’ll bring back so much material that he can’t help but notice me! “ pushing out your room, grabbing a bottle of water and a nutrition bar, you left the resistance camp behind. Your eyes hard as you held your weapon tightly. You were going to force him to see you.

It was a horrible mistake. You were doing so good! Being stealthy! but a building crashed over top you, leaving a metal beam through your leg. You collar bones were broken as your weak arms tried to push off the large slab of concrete. realizing you couldn’t…tears started rolling down your face. you didn’t want to die alone…you didn’t want to die here. In the darkness your only companion was your emergency button, it’s blue color that it glowed was illuminating your face. You felt like a old dog, a dog that stopped being useful to your farmer. You whimpered and cried, whispering a small lullaby to yourself “ You're okay, You're alright. I'll never, ever leave your side- “ you gripped the concrete slab as you buried your head in the sand like floor behind you “ -I will stay and I will fight…. “ your humming filled the space, you weren’t even supposed to be here… “ With you, you're okay, you're alright. I'll stay here through the darkest night.- “ your sob echoed through the rubble “ -All the way, I will fight….with you… “ your body started hyperventilating to the best of its ability, the concrete slab feeling so..so heavy. You didn’t want to die alone with your thigh pinned down by a metal bar, by concrete holding down your chest…you wanted your mentor…you wanted…you…

Leonardo’s patrol finally got through the rubble, his hands scrapped and bleeding as he found you, a wail escaping him as he rushed forwards. Pushing the concrete slab you so clearly tried to push off, your scrapped and bleeding hands being a painful reminder how you both struggled with the rubble. He leaned his head down and sobbed when your chest never thudded with a heart beat. He pushed the hair out of your face so carefully and took in your tear streaked cheeks, still damp. Some may say that your death was your own fault. That you should’ve never left because you were jealous. But it was not your fault but his instead. He neglected you and he’ll defend your death and your name, and everything you stood for with his life, because he failed you, like he failed his brothers, like he failed New York…like he failed the world. He’s Icarus and he flew way too close to the sun.

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #ask response #this is all purely platonic #angst #fluff #rottmnt leo #<3 #i warned yall #rottmnt casey junior #reader and Casey’s relationship is sibling and brother goals #save rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #no future leo bashing #he’s depressed guys #and can’t help it #but also he’s kinda shitty until he realizes what he’s done

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bellaaldamas · 13 days

Note

OH MY GOD I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO LOWKEY SHIPPED HILDISVÍNI AND SIF!!! The whole mending ties between the nations and realizing that they like each other as time goes on is so 😋

they’re great very slow slowburn material :D

This makes the two of us, then ;) Because admittedly, I wholeheartedly assumed it's my unapologetically pro-romance, "more girly interests and less male power fantasies in the media" self that invests in the potential of these two having a romantic relationship. On a serious note, a romantic arc with these characters opens innumerable possibilities for development and would serve as an excellent continuation of GowR message of moving on from toxic past and forging a better future of free will (first concept was the foundation of Freya's arc - especially Freya's missing peace side quest. Whereas the second one reflects Kratos and Atreus's journey - "so much to rebuild", Atreus embarking on his quest to find remaining giants; with Angrboda, yet again, honoring his decision and letting him go despite how difficult it was for her to part with him while also giving him the option to seek her out if he wanted to; hence gifting him her marble like he did his before).

Hildisvini is shown as a mentor type. He fulfilled a definite fatherly role for Freya and Freyr whereas with Atreus he didn't at all hold it against him that the latter mortally wounded him in his boar form (although that wound still gave Hildisvini trouble in his human form). Furthermore, he didn't baby or infantilize Atreus but rather saw him for a skilled young warrior with a lot of potential which he encouraged Atreus to use and treated him like an equal partner (another perfect mentor trait).

However, Hildisvini could benefit from abandoning the mentor role for a change and trying a different one, where he would have a partner-opponent whom he could have healthy and constructive arguments with and who would challenge him. Sif, showing her willingness to work with Hildisvini in the end in order to "rebuild" and create a better future, would, for her part, have the chance to partner with a self reliant and mentally independent man. A drastic change from her marriage to a passionate but spineless, easily manipulated late husband Thor. Who was never able break free from the toxic influence of his own father, even when he and Sif lost both sons because of Odin and were confronted with the risk of potentially losing their daughter. Who, despite being different and less self destructive than Magni and Modi, still absorbed her grandfather's problematic thinking and fell for his manipulations (such as when Thrud referred to Freya as Odin's "treacherous ex wife"). In that vein, Hildisvini's possible interactions with Thrud and an inevitable conflict would make for an interesting and necessary development for Thrud (as @stupidrant accurately pointed out in our recent exchange).

You're absolutely right about Hildisvini and Sif being a perfect slow burn material in a way that would logically fit into their story and characters as opposed to being a needlessly stretched out drama. Atreus and Angrboda, for instance, are more about open self expression and an unfolding in real time budding romance - the first such arc in Gow universe so far if I'm not mistaken (I've still yet to familiarize myself with the Greek saga), especially where first real and substantial feeling is concerned. Kratos and Faye were a classic "relationship of the past that the characters can never get back" (because - which is also a classical trope - one half of the pair has passed away) and that the leading character and the main story arc are fundamentally influenced by.

Sif and Hildisvini could provide a different but no less enticing type of romantic build up where two characters with rich personal history realize their attraction and feelings through active communication for the sake of the common cause.

#duck-noises #reply #text

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purifiedclitoris69 · 10 months

Text

When To Give up - 2

A/n : Hi! Very raw unedited short ch just to try and get me going again. hope u enjoy. thanks :)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of torture, violence, angst.

Word Count: 1.9k

It wasn’t suppose to go like this. It was suppose to be a simple mission, how come you didn’t see it.

You had been watching from afar, keeping tabs on the base in question for a month and a half, it was a pretty boring mission, weren’t getting much lead way, until you entered that shitty diner. It was shady from the beginning but you had intel from the bugs you planted in that base, a deal would be going down there, you just didn’t know that the deal involved you. Unknown to you shield or at the time hydra was handing you over for experimentation. You are a highly trained world class assassin, who wouldn��t want to experiment with your capabilities. You had tried to fight your way out and things were looking good for a minute until you felt the two pricks in the back of your shoulder, two tranquilizers.

That’s how you ended up here, day after day of pure torture. They would stick you with as many things as possible, putting your brain in the blender over and over again. You fought at first, but how much fight could you put up with the things they did and after the hours of torture they put you through you would get thrown in a concrete cell with absolutely nothing in it. You’d lay there for hours on the cold, damp floor hoping and praying to a god that you didn’t even believe in that someone would save you.

But things started to get bigger than you imagined.

“ ahh good morning Miss y/l/n,” you heard the thick accent say as you felt the cold water splash across you,” get up we have great plans for you this week.”

Your attempt to sit up slowly was futile as two brutes came in and picked you up by the arms as your body stayed limp from pure exhaustion. They threw you on the table in the middle of the experimentation room that you have become so accustom and began to unchain you just to strap you back down to the table.

“just kill me,” you pleaded tiredly.

“oh but with our new materials, you are going to do amazing things..help us discover amazing things,” the chilling voice belonging to Strucker,” prepare the gallery,” he directed one of the brutes,” now be good today, we have an audience.”

You lazily turned your head to see the usually empty gallery was an older man with a clean white cut and circle black glasses in a grey suit.

“Daniel Whitehall,” Strucker informed you,” my longterm mentor and friend, we will not be letting him down today,” Strucker turned towards one of the other doctors in the room and nodded his head.

You heard treys being moved and machines begin to run as cold medal gripped your shoulders and upper arms as well as your thighs and calfs. You closed your eyes and let tears fall silently as some kind of metal wired helmet was placed on your head. You opened your eyes to see unknown ugly bubbly black purple liquid prepared to corse through your veins.

“eins..zwei..drei..injizieren,” you felt hundreds of needles prick you were the medal pads laid as shocks came from the helmet and an intense burn set throughout your body. It felt like you were being set on fire from the inside out, you could feel the unknown thick liquid run through you as you let out blood curdling screams, just begging to be killed. You were scared, in pain, and all alone, and you felt like it was never going to end. You blacked out after that, waking up alone on the experimentation table.

You were in a daze, they usually just throw you back into your cold damp cell, but something was different. Voices arouse in your mind; not saying anything , just mumbles and sorrow. It was painful like your skin was being pealed back layer by layer, they were practically screaming to be let out, so that’s what you did, you screamed. Everything you’ve been through flashing through your mind, the red room, the training, the killing, your friends, Bobbi, Yelena, Natasha, your sweet beautiful Natasha, her breaking your heart, Strucker breaking you, the voices going quiet after youve ripped your throat raw, you were left with broking sobs, just for you to hear the whispers return.

“That was beautiful,” you heard the static of the intercom,” really bravo.”

“You have done an excellent job, Strucker,” you slowly opened your eyes as your tears slowed. The Whitehall man and Strucker stood above in the gallery as you took in the damage surrounding you. Everything around you was thrown, black residue everywhere.

“What have you done.”

“We’ve made a new discovery, Miss Y/l/n,” White stated straightening his tie,” prep her for another injection.”

“Please, please, just kill me,” you sobbed.

“You should be grateful, your playing such a big part in this,” Strucker spoke as more hydra agents came in extinguishing the small fires.

“Discovery requires experimentation, Miss Y/l/n,” Whitehall smirked, “and we have much much more to discover.”

——————————————————————

Discoveries hydra made.

With the amount of chemicals and things they did to you. You developed a series of powers, enhanced strength, agility, hearing, and of course your shadow manipulation. You were one of their favorite little lab rats. They had tried to make duplicates of you, others, but it didn’t work, not the way they wanted. Those it made it through that actual injection went mad, blood thirsty, built up a rage they couldn’t contain, that only you were able to.

Clenching your teeth as yet another needle is stabbed into your neck. The liquid flowed throughout your veins, as you thrashed around trying to get out, with futile efforts.

“Come on Y/l/n, you’ve been here long enough to know there’s not point in fighting it,” Strucker spoke as he wrote down notes. He comes into view as he prepares another needle for injection,” soon you will be the perfect killing machine, that hydra needs to rise once more.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe through gritted teeth as another needle is stabbed into the other side of your neck.

“Oh Y/n, don’t worry, the pain will be over soon enough,” Strucker spoke condescendingly,” after your physiological conditioning you won’t feel anything, but they need to obey.”

“You’re fucking dead,” you breathed panting,” you hear me?” you shout,” I’m going to get out of hear, and once I do I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Strucker lets out a chuckle,” prepare another injection.”

They finished four more rounds of injections in your arms, ignoring your screams of pain.

“Let’s open her restraints,” Strucker orders as he makes he makes his way out of the room. All of your restraints are undone and you breathing begins to slow and you sit up with a new rage, ready to get your pay back for everything this man has done. But he smirks as he’s about to leave room and three of his brutes walk in with fire resistant gear and sticks and shields,” don’t worry Miss Y/l/n if the injections worked, you should be healed and ready for another round in less then 12 hours.”

Looking between the three men, one of the batons collides with your face and you stumble backward loosing you footing. You haven’t exactly figured out your powers but You light a flame in your hand began to get back up before, one of the other guys stick you in the neck with the electricity running on his baton. Your vision goes blurry after the weeks of tortures as the other two men hold your arms behind your back.

“Let’s get to work boys.”

Pain, that’s all you were processing. The men hit you over and over again, not even knowing for how long.

——————————————————————

They broke you about a year and a half back, turning you into the loyal killing machine needed to keep them a float.

They turned you back into the assassin that the red room crafted, so naturally SHEILD got word of your ‘abilities’ natural and enhanced. You were labeled as the Shadow thing. An assassin showing up worldwide on SHIELD’s radar for about 7 months, known for leaving black residue at your scenes, and your victims with milk white eyes and black infesting knife wounds, knives unknown to man. You had been a mystery; but with the flash drive Kate and Yelena had found, answers were being revealed.

The flash drive documented what had happened to you; the experimenting, torturing, and brainwashing of you. You’ve become their main muscle to build it all back up. once again in the shadows.

Your screams were further heard on a small screen projected in the lab, Tony and Bruce both with grimaces on their faces. Natasha stood in the doorway unnoticed with tears in her eyes. Those were your screams. Y/n screams, and all Natasha could do was listen.

“You shouldn’t be listening Nat,” Bruce had stood up and the tv remained off as Natasha blinked away her tears.

“You guys have been watching going through that thing for almost 6 hours.” Natasha blinked, “please tell me you found something.”

“The last time this was updated was almost 14 months,” Tony spoke running his eyes, “and it was of her going through the winter solider initiative.”

Natasha’s breath was caught. Everything they had fought to get out of; you had been thrown back into..and she wasn’t there, all because she was scared. She didn’t want to loose her best friend because of some feelings. She couldn’t, but now she had.

“We’re trying to understand her full capabilities,” Bruce had interrupted Natasha’s thoughts, “she has some sort of shadow manipulation ability; traveling through them, forming matter through them, and expelling physical, very powerful, clouds.

“Clouds?” Natasha had question, flashes of what they might have done to you running through her head.

“It’s unreal, I mean I thought I’ve seen everything,” Stark had stated starting to pace, “she’s not only manipulating dark matter,” he rambled,” it’s like she is physically it, I mean if we can get ahold of her and what she was inject—.”

“ahold of her,” Natasha began to seethe;, after everything you’ve been through, “this is a rescue mission,” she spoke getting closer and closer as Tony backed away, “you’re not getting ahold of anything, you’re not poking and prodding someone, I love, no ones gonna lay a fucking hand on her again.” Natasha backed Tony up into the desk.

“Understood Romanoff,” Tony had said as Bruce pulled Natasha back and Steve entered the room upon hearing Nat.

“Let’s focus on the task Nat, Stark,” Steve mediated, “Last we know of the Shadow things location is in Tokyo; she had taken out a drug lord in a small bar, again with an unknown knife.”

“It’s formed out of dark matter,” Bruce spoke up as Tony went back on the flash drive.

“She forms weapons out of the substance,” the video showed you doing so in the cell.

“How’d they contain her,” Steve questioned with his arms crossed.

“Before the brainwashing——bear tranquilizers.” Tony spoke backing away from Nat.

Bruce cleared his throat, “from what we know now, she’s brainwashed, and—chipped.”

Steve looked back at Nat, “this is going to be very difficult Nat, Hydra—.”

“I know,” Nat answered, “I can handle it.”

Bobbi and Maria entered in Mission attire, “we have a list,” Maria spoke.

“we know where her employers are planning to be, where she is,” Bobbi said looking at Nat.

Steve stood up straight,” go tell Wanda to suit up,” Steve pressed his lips, “you too Nat.”

Walking up to the quinjet, Natasha didn’t know what to think, all she was thinking about, all she was praying for, was for you to come back…remember her.

Part 3

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #enhanced!reader #marvel fanfic #natasha x fem!reader

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tagedeszorns · 1 month

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How’s the Chirurgeon and its brood doing? I notice nobody ever asks about them.

Anyone who has arrived on this side of the Eye of Terror has a history of fratricide. No one, no, not a single one here whose hands are not red with the blood of those who trusted him. Before Isstvan. Before the other Isstvan. Before Nikaea. No matter.

The difference is that some have put this time of betrayed brotherhood behind them - or are constantly trying to do so with stubborn energy - while others have embraced the fact that betrayal will always give birth to more betrayal and made it a principle.

The one as illusory as the other. No one changes the past. Everyone here carries with them what they have done.

How you deal with it … well, that's individual, of course.

Oleander has realised that it is not enough for him to distance himself with caustic sarcasm and work with energetic mania towards a golden future that will certainly never come true. On the contrary. As much as Fabius' strange idealism in this regard fascinates him, he needs the dark thrill that the hunt for his own blood gives him.

Of course, these are all just petty exercises. It's about feeling something. Which, after all these centuries and with Slaanesh's fingers burning in the black remnants of his soul, isn't easy.

And what would be more arousing than killing the one who is his teacher? His role model. His cold mentor.

No. That would be incredibly reckless.

Nevertheless. He is hungry for it.

He can't give in to it.

At least not directly.

But he can play pretend. With something almost as good as the Chief Apothecary himself. That which has spent centuries becoming one with the Pater Mutatis. Which harbours his cunning and his cruelty. And which, like its creator, knows absolutely no scruples.

Oleander grins, shows his pointed teeth and feels alive. In the midst of the deepest darkness beneath Urum, where the ghostly remains of the long-dead Aeldari scream and whisper in the corners of his vision. Amidst the ruins with their creatures without names, who have made their home in decay. Mutants, refuse, remnants.

And the hunters.

The silver hunters. Nothing but limbs and cold. Splinters of one of the most complex brains in the galaxy, brought to life by … yes, what?

The Emperor's Children Apothecary is waiting. Lurks. Not far from here is one of the chambers where the strange non-living creatures have made their home. From where they make their raids and which they guard well.

Striking there is like attacking Fabius himself. Although the Chief Apothecary almost certainly doesn't even know about this place and is only peripherally interested in it.

But for Oleander, that's what he needs.

A soft metallic clatter in the darkness. A handspan-sized version of the chirurgeon shimmies along the ceiling, disappearing into a crack between the stones. Further ahead, a larger, much more complex version of the non-living creature claws at what may once have been a cybernetic arm. Prey? Nesting material? Oleander is interested.

But he's actually on the hunt. He has his swords drawn. Waiting.

Another metallic noise behind him. He grins. They were hunting him, just like he was hunting them. Oh yes, they're clever. Why wouldn't they be? Their creator has given them so much.

"Hello, my little ones!"

#warhammer #emperor's children #warhammer 40k #The Consortium #Oleander Koh #I need more Oleander content #I love him but give him not enough attention #Also wrong blog to ask #have to repost to the consortium

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 1 day

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sooo I noticed that you write for dark themes and I came up with this request

Yandere reader who doesn't have any ideas on how to attract Scott so they decide to be bratty x mentor Scott who I think would be a perfect brat tamer

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓-𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑…

!!! 18+ THEMES, GN reader, mentor Scott, where do I even fucking begin with this, inappropriate relationship, power imbalance, hints of an age gap, brattiness, stern Scott, jealousy, poor Jubilee, mentions of impact-play, slapping, belts, sir-kink, collaring mentioned, Scott’s a meanie, penetration mention, brief mentions of asphyxiation, reader’s a fucking FREEEAAAK, I could literally reread this blurb 10 times and still not catch everything, just generally read at your own risk.

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sor—

… Oh, LAWRD.

Lemme just say, before we begin, you are absolutely right about everything for the history of ever. Scott is 100% brat tamer material and I don’t think this is talked about much (WHICH IS FUCKING CRIMINAL, RAAAAA—). This man will put you in your place if you start acting up, and brother, the up is acting for me right about now, lemme tell ya. I am about to fucking kill someone. This ask is perfect.

Ahem. Anyways.

This type of dynamic starts off as something rather tame. You’re just the rookie wondering why you should do this or that; you have no ulterior motives whatsoever!! It has nothing to do with the unreadable expression Scott gives you whenever you question him, or the low tone he uses as he warns you to listen. Nope! Nuh-uh! But on a completely unrelated note, isn’t it so hot how he points an authoritative finger at you, letting an unspoken threat linger in the air as you have no choice but to obediently follow his orders? God, you’d maim and mutilate for that finger to— *prolonged censor beep*

Hmm? Is the edge in his voice wearing down over time? Is he getting too used to your simple inquiries? Wait, no!! No, no, no, no, no!! C’mon, Mr. Leader man, now’s not the time to lose that sternness!! Why doesn’t he wanna give you his full, undivided attention?!

… Well, maybe it’s time to test the waters a bit, hm?

Of course he can’t let you off the hook when you blatantly ignore an order. God, the way he snapped at you was something else, causing an explosion of butterflies in your abdomen and your knees to feel weak. There it is!! There’s that commanding presence that’s focused on you and you only!! Now he’s pulling you aside after training to give you a lecture… can this day get any better?? That’s right, Mr. Leader Man… tell this poor rookie all about working as a team and following directions… they’re definitely listening and totally not distracted by that low, serious, no-nonsense voice…

Your rebellious streak is now in full swing as you deliberately ignore him. Spar with Wolverine? Nah, he’s too rough. Clean the dining room? But you’ve got better things to do!! Your turn for monitor duty? You’re pretty sure it’s actually Gambit’s (this one’s genuine; let the bastard do his own damn chores). When Cyclops finds out you’ve practically dismissed all of your duties, he looks about ready to explode. Why can’t you just listen to him, huh?! Stop acting like a brat and get it together!! If you don’t start pulling your weight, he’ll—!!

…????

He’ll what??

What is Mr. Leader Man gonna do to you??

He doesn’t finish his sentence (much to your disappointment). Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, putting one hand on his hips and the other in his hair. There’s a few seconds where he seems to recompose himself. A sigh then falls from his mouth, and with one last curt word of chastisement, he brushes past you to do something else.

Your thoughts are racing as you watch him leave.

(Come back, Mr. Leader Man! Please come back!! Tell me what you’re gonna do!! Please, please, please, please, please, please, please!!)

Naturally, you start pushing your luck even further. What happens if you start rolling your eyes at him, hm? Mumbling something under your breath just loud enough for him to hear? Full-on sassing him, giving him enough lip to put Wolverine to shame?

Oh, yeah. You’re really pushing him towards his breaking point.

There isn’t a day that goes by without a back and forth skirmish between you two. He tells you to do something, you talk back, he borderline threatens you, and you revel in the fact that he’s giving you all his attention. All of the other X-Men blend into to background completely; it’s just you and him, just as it should be!! No one is allowed to get in the way… you’ll do anything to make sure of it.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Because why does Jubilee get a gentle head pat and you don’t?! He doesn’t even lay a hand on you, even when you try your best to really piss him off!! It’s not fair… not fair, not fair, not fair!! All she did was mediocre perform some dumb maneuver correctly. Why is that rewarded with his attention?!

Oh, what’s this? Jubilee wants to try it out in an actual one-on-one spar?

You’ll volunteer for that!!

… It’s a good thing Wolverine taught you a few illegal moves a while back, huh.

The sparring session is immediately called off the moment Jubilee lets out a cry of pain. Uh-oh!! What happened?? Why is she clutching her wrist?? Did you accidentally sprain it while twisting her arm behind her back?? Whoopsies! Who could’ve seen that coming?

The answer is Scott; a very livid Scott.

You don’t even get the chance to put on your best innocent act. There’s a firm hand on your bicep before you can even process it, and he’s dragging you out of the Danger Room towards a secluded area where he can let you have it. What the hell were you thinking?! You are not allowed to pull stunts like that during training. You should know better than this… hey, are you even listening to him?!

“Look at me,” he orders.

You merely cross your arms, continuing to stare to the side with disinterest. With a sound of frustration, he grabs at your face and forces you to look at him. The movement was rough enough to catch you by surprise, and if you had any less self-control, you probably would’ve started drooling then and there.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

The low rumble of his voice makes you realize you’re standing at a crossroads. Either you start acting right now, or you could plunge further into this uncharted territory. There’s always the risk of him kicking off the team, which means you can no longer take up all of his focus, and that’s the last thing you want!! But the grip he has on your jaw is like a drug to you, making you want more and more and more and more and moremoremoremoremoremore—

Your eyes defiantly drift to the side, still trying to maintain a disinterested look.

There’s a long stretch of silence between you two. Though you didn’t dare flick your eyes back to him, you knew there was that tight frown on his face. God, you loved it whenever he studied you. You might not be able to see his eyes, but you can always feel his calculative gaze from miles away, like he’s trying to figure out every cog inside of your mind.

Finally, with his hand tightening around your face, he lowly muttered, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

This gets you to actually spare a glance at him, your eyes shining with faux innocence as you let out a questioning hum.

“Stop it,” he growls.

You tried so desperately to keep your mouth from curling into a crazed smile. “Make me.”

Famous last words, right?

Scott isn’t stupid; he’s well aware that you’re basically asking for it, and even more aware of how… inappropriate this is. There’s an obvious power imbalance between the two of you — an obvious gap, even — which only adds a new layer of dubiousness to whatever the fuck your dynamic is. But the way you’ve been acting recently has him hitting a wall. If you don’t wanna behave the easy way, does he really have much of a choice?

(For the sake of his conscience, he’s ignoring that dark side of him that’s slightly satisfied with this outcome.)

He’s not giving you the courtesy of maintaining your dignity after your fate is sealed. You’re immediately thrown over his shoulder, the sheer force of how he manhandles you being enough to knock the wind out of your lungs. Consider yourself lucky that the halls were empty as he marched towards his room (not that you probably care that much. Is it really a bad thing to let the whole world know that Mr. Leader Man is finally indulging in you?).

Upon kicking open his door and practically throwing you on the bed, he makes his intentions crystal clear; he’s putting an end to this bratty behavior. From here on out, you’re gonna follow each and every one of his orders, and don’t even think about trying anything. Oh, you got something smart you wanna retort with? You’re not even given the chance to finish it. A sharp sting from the back of his hand connecting with your cheek is enough to shut you up, reminding you of what you’ve exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Yes, sir,” “no, sir,” “please, sir,” and “thank you, sir.” Those are the only for things you’re allowed to say. It’s his first order of business to drill that into your skull, and failure to call him sir is punished with a slap to the face, followed by him forcing you to look at him while coldly prompting you to correct yourself.

Hm? Already getting worked up over a few slaps? “You’re disgusting,” he’ll say. “You really don’t have any shame, do you?”

You have no choice but to answer honestly.

Touching him without his permission is completely out of the question. He catches your wrist before you manage to make contact, tutting at you with disappointment as he ignores your desperate pleas. Did he say you could touch him? God, you’re such an entitled brat. He should’ve known it would have to come to this…

… A perfect segway to his belt!

He really only uses it to restrain your arms. The thought of hitting you with it is a little too mean, even for him, but should he feel like he has no other choice, you may find yourself getting familiar with the sting of leather against your skin. And, yes, he makes you count every hit. But his go-to form of impact is usually his hand. He’ll slap you around a bit, maybe even the occasional spanking if you’re really bad (again, he makes you keep count). Resorting to the belt for that is his nuclear option.

If you’re a fucking freak like me, then you’ll absolutely love his belt. The way it tightly binds your wrists together is like heaven, and you love to run your tongue over the little marks it leaves behind (IT’S MY YANDERE READER BLURB, I GET TO DECIDE OUR KINKS). Wanna be a full-on freak? Steal his belt and wear it around your neck as a casual accessory! That won’t get weird looks at all!

… Who knows, maybe it’ll prompt him to get you a collar.

AAAAAAAANYWAYS, Scott is so cruel. He’s been letting you get away with your act for too long, so he’s really hellbent on reminding you who’s boss. But he also likes to reward good behavior. Expect the occasional soft praise and caress when you’re being especially obedient. He knows you fold like a house of cards at any sort of attention from him; he likes to use that to his advantage to further condition you.

Now, you may be wondering just how far he goes with these… sessions. When you’ve got a little freak like you who’s obsessed with a natural hard dom, the sexual tension is going to be suffocating. No matter how hard he tries to keep this solely on correcting your brattiness, he can only stay strong for so long…

He likes to think of it as one of his rewards for you. Nothing more. And if he just so happens to enjoy it a little bit too much, that’s nobody’s business.

His favorite way to take you is in his lap, facing each other as his hands on your hips guide you up and down. He’ll let you set the pace at first, cuz it’s your reward, but don’t expect him to let you be a tease. He’s shutting that shit down real quick. You’re expected to behave from now on, remember? Don’t make him turn this into another punishment… he’s got the patience to edge you for a long time.

This is when he’ll indulge in any sort of weird yandere quirks you have. Want him to call you his? Sure thing. Bite you? Not really his thing, but alright. Grab you by the next? He does this one with a little too much enthusiasm (HE’S INTO IT BECAUSE I SAID SO).

Aftercare is filled with soft cuddles, mainly initiated by you cuz there’s no way in hell you’re letting him go. They’d have to shoot you dead 80 times and pry your cold hands off him with a damn crowbar. It takes him a bit to convince you to at least wipe both of you down, but you eventually relent at the promise of even more cuddles later.

So. Post brat-taming session, does this mean your rebellious streak is officially done? Well… that’s for you to decide. If you’re mainly just out for Scott’s affection, he’s more than willing to shower you in it. Cuz, y’know, he’s a good mentor who likes to positively reinforce the rookie. No subtext behind this whatsoever. However, if you’re a little masochist, you may find yourself acting out every now and then so he can immediately put you back in your place. He doesn’t mind reminding you at all.

The other X-Men are completely taken aback at your change in attitude. You’re no longer doing everything in your power to oppose Scott, and instead follow all of his orders to a T. Huh. How strange. Whatever stern lecture he gave you must’ve really did the trick, cuz now you’re dutifully standing at his side and even calling him sir.

… Say, what are those strange bruises around your neck?

Oh my god, you make it so hard to push the narrative that everything is completely normal between you two. Can’t you just act normal for five minutes?! Stop trying to lick is fingers in a public area, damnit!!

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ ROMANTIC(?) YANDERE #❥ DOM SCOTT SUMMERS #❥ SCOTT SUMMERS X YANDERE READER #❥ YANDERE READER #❥ GN READER #❥ SUB READER

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mmikmmik · 4 months

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I just wish my non-tokusatsu friends could know how much of a whump fic Kamen Rider Saber turns into like halfway through the series.

There’s a designated rooftop for brooding

There’s a designated dormitory for lying in bed gravely injured, angsting and deciding to get up and go fight while still swathed in bandages

Everyone thinks Kento died but actually he spent weeks/months trapped in nightmare visions of bad futures, comes back with dark and ominous powers and looking all pale and sickly, and he’s like isolating himself and committing to doing a solo plan that everyone else hates and fighting his friends, which he and everyone else are all super angsty about, and at one point his best friend tries to reach out to him again and brings like a whole picnic basket full of sandwiches because Kento so clearly hasn’t been eating

Rintaro is beating himself up for not deserting the bad guy team sooner and he’s being taunted by the nemesis who killed his mentor/father figure and he’s being taunted by a MOTW possessing his love interest who keeps telling him how she’s thinking about what a loser he is, and at one point Rintaro’s best friend saves Rintaro from being killed after he lost (another) fight instead of seizing a chance to save his love interest from the MOTW, and he’s like lying on the ground screaming in anguish about it

Ren is a bit younger than the other characters and absolutely idolizes Kento (like, the “younger brother with an obsessive crush on your cool friend” vibes) but Kento hurts Ren due to angsty bad future reasons, and Ren finally turns on Kento and is like “fine then fuck you too”, but then in that very fight Kento takes a bullet for Ren, and then while Kento is passing out in Ren’s arms he says someone else’s name. Like how is Ren supposed to get over that. Just when you think you’re out he pulls you back in

You could write dozens of Saber whumpfics without running out of canon source material. People keep getting kidnapped and possessed and mistakenly thinking their friends are betraying them. I think it’s pretty normal for children’s media and the more normie fanfic genres to have some overlap like this because it’s easily digestible, engaging, exciting dramatic beats, but Saber is an outlier.

#kamen rider saber #my tokusatsu tag #i do not recommend watching saber

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bunnieshoneys · 1 month

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hiiiiii!!! :D dropping by to let you know that i just read the entirety of coanda effect over the course of the last 2-3 days or so, and, even though i’ve never been interested in motorsport in my entire life (thanks nascar for being boring), your fic single-handedly has gotten me interested in f1 LMAO so like… is there an f1 for dummies somewhere that i can read orrrrrr :3c

but! aside from that, your passion for racing definitely shines through in your writing, and it is so, so refreshing to read an au based around a sport that’s equal parts about the sport as it is about the characters, so major props to you there! i’ve thoroughly enjoyed everything so far, and i can’t wait to see where you take it for the rest of the way through!! :)

as for my personal theories, i think yuji is gonna win the whole thing, but gojo will retire anyway in order to leave the future of the sport to the kids. becoming a mentor or a team principal definitely seems like the natural parallel to his role as a teacher in the source material. my current working theory for how he ends up is team principal for jtr so he’s still directly competing with geto. even if they’re not on the racetrack anymore, it’s such a wonderful full circle moment. like yeah, those two really did end up following each other through everything, despite it all…. idk it just seems so sweet to me. :’) lovers and rivals, better off on separate teams so they don’t have to sacrifice one to boost the other, and they wouldn’t have to hold back as much from each other either since they’d be in less media-facing roles. it also gives yaga the space to actually own the team and have a more focused role in management (at least if my understanding of his current role is correct)!

anyway, absolutely incredible work, i’m recommending coanda effect and talking about it to anyone who will listen to me, and i am genuinely sad that i did not pay to read it because it’s just that good. good luck for the rest of uni!! finish strong, i’ll be cheering for you!!! :D

p.s. shoutout to tumblr user fushiglow for sending me here :3

hiii omg.. if u havent been looking up stuff already theres a blog on here called @/f1-primers, that has some really useful technical stuff about tracks, drivers (including past drivers, not currently on the grid!!), the cars, and team personnel. they just rblog stuff from other accounts and group it together, but it is useful! that being said theres some tags dedicated to what looks like ships and i have to say i dont really condone that at all. theres a reason i dont typically interact with irl f1 fanbase on this app, the lines are quite blurred on here.

otherwise, theres the f1 explained series on F1's official tiktok account. the first video of that basically breaks down the weekend timetable, and part 6 explains the running order in more detail :) otherwise, i love answering f1 questions on here, i have a whole tag for it! (bunny talks f1, its tagged here)

i love writing about the sport lol, and i like sport aus to read that use the sport as a plot device so thats what i did here, lol. i am also planning a figure skating au, showjumping au, and possibly an ice hockey au (but i dont play it myself, so ... maybe not for a while, lol)

no spoilers, but gojo's future post end of this fic is not decided, lol. itll be decided when i write the sequel, lol.

(@fushiglow i love you, you got one)

#fic: coanda effect #jjk #bunny answers #bunny talks f1

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gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 18 days

Text

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 4, Poll 12

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Andrew Minyard-All for the Game

Qualifications:

He’s gay and has some sort of trauma disorder probably.

Propaganda:

Very gay, pretty commonly thought of to have some sort of trauma disorder, he’s neat. I have many thoughts about him as a character but I don’t really feel like writing them.

Chicory-Chicory: A Colorful Tale

Qualifications:

Just a hare full of depression. Chicory notes early on in her appearances that she often feels depressed and in general absolutely has depression. The LGBTQ+ part isn't 100% canon, but it's pretty widely accepted that Chicory is trans (to the point where I had to actively search to see if Chicory was confirmed as such for this because everybody accepts it as fact), and I've also seen many sapphic headcanons for her

Propaganda:

I love this hare so much. Okay so Chicory is a character who never really had friends or anything, had a very fractured relationship with her old mentor and had so many mental problems a the start of the game, since the levels of perfectionism, pressure and imposter syndrome she was dealing with at that point had been taking a toll on her for a while. Chicory was a wielder, who is the one responsible for coloring in the world until they pass down the brush, and was also connected to a recent wave of corruption (or rather, tied to the brush which was tied to the corruption. Chicory just blamed it solely on herself pre-chapter 6) that spawned due to her own emotions, which first began after she had defied the former wielder and became the new one without her blessing. The color ended up just disappearing one day, and Chicory ended up just leaving the brush outside her room for anybody to find it, wanting the cycle of expectations tied to it to be broken, though she still was tied to the corruption afterwards, which isn't great, because she was in a really horrible place and that only fueled things further, which was not great for anybody involved considering that the embodiment of her doubts about Pizza, the character who had since picked up the brush, being the new wielder came to confront them, and when Pizza asked her about this, she couldn't give Pizza a straight answer about the situation because of how much the whole situation took a toll on her. Then in chapter 5 she got to be hit with the realization that she wouldn't be given up on just because she thought she messed up, because, after being confronted by their own doubts, Pizza came back, and refused to give up on her. After chapter 5, Chicory gets to be in a healthier place overall, especially since she realized that the whole corruption thing wasn't her messing up, but was instead the result of the Brush responding to and materializing the emotions of all past wielders, with her own turmoil just being the breaking point instead of something which was her fault. She also gets to have Pizza, who makes things a lot easier. When the game ends, the Brush is destroyed and new brushes unaffected by the pressure placed on wielders are grown by Pizza and Chicory, Chicory absolutely isn't in a perfect place, because that's just how depression works. But she's healing, and helping pave the way to others being able to access color without the expectations she had to endure.

I know none of this clarified the trans-coded and sapphic-coded parts of her, so I will clarify that that headcanon was started due to the instances where Chicory is actually voiced being one where she's voiced by a trans woman and backed up by many different parts of her story. The sapphic headcanons largely came from her dynamic with Pizza, who does not have a canon gender (and is portrayed as non-binary by a lot of creators) but still ultimately spawned a lot of these headcanons, plus the fact that both Chicory and Pizza have gay love songs in their dev team assigned playlists which are very likely meant to tie them to each other and also lend a lot to Chicory being very sapphic.

Anything Else?:

I am so sorry for the propaganda section being so long. I just love her

Mod note: tell me why, despite the submission mentioning her being a hare multiple times I was still surprised when I went to do her image description.

#polls #poll #disabled characters #lgbtq characters #disability #lgbtq #lgbtq dcs round 1 #lgbtq dcs wave 4 #andrew minyard #all for the game #aftg #chicory #chicory a colorful tale

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solaneceae · 5 months

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grief

a team bolas oneshot (read on ao3) written before green team was split between red and blue, so in this they all died. angst with a side of family comfort. tw: blood and gore, temporary character death, self-inflicted burns

Pac wakes with a deep ache inside his chest and at the back of his mind — like a fresh, open wound that’s still bleeding. He reaches out, for the comforting hum of his soulmate’s sleeping mind on the other side, and finds nothing.

He doesn’t understand. But he also does. He’s surprised he’s not immediately breaking down screaming, but maybe he’s been broken for a long time and just didn’t notice until now.

He finds Pierre and Bad, busying themselves at the anvils. And he asks.

(Nothing, he has nothing, Richas missing, Cellbit insane and on the hunt for him, Forever dead, Mike dead, Bagi dead, Felps still MIA.

Fit.

Fit’s gone. Fit has died hating him.)

“I see,” he says, numb and empty.

And he draws out his sword.

When Red Team wakes the next morning, some of them are still holding onto hope. Hope that it was all a lie, hope that Green would merely be dissolved, its members assigned to the two remaining teams.

Hope is a cruel, fickle thing. And it dwindles fast in the minds of team Bolas as the hours start to trickle by, with no sign of any green-tinted name popping up on the global chat. Even faster when Carré comes back from recon, reporting the disappearance of Green’s spawn barrier as well as their mission NPCs.

The silence within their cave is deafening, only broken by the sound of a hammer hitting red-hot metal over the anvil. Some of them just check their comms obsessively, fraying minds tethering between denial and a complete breakdown.

Cellbit hasn’t moved an inch since he woke up, sitting up at the center of their shared nest with absolutely nothing in his icy, blue slitted eyes as they stare at his commlink. At the last messages he’d sent to Roier, still unanswered. (His husband is gone. His sister is gone. His best friend, his President is gone. He has nothing left, and his tongue tastes like unspilled blood.)

Phil is looming over a crafting table, mindlessly placing and removing materials with no rhyme or reason. (Étoiles is gone, his best friend and brother in arms, his devil-may-care attitude, his humor, his fearless smile. Fit’s gone, his shameless flirting and unwavering determination. Forever. Forever. Kristin is eerily silent.)

Jaiden sits in a faraway corner, sharpening her sword until the edge can slice the very empty space between atoms. (Roier taught her. He taught her so much. She would make him proud.)

Charlie is off near the ovens, baking bread after bread after bread in a compulsive act of self-soothing that doesn’t quite work. (He thinks of his bitch wife, and hopes he’ll be smart enough to stay asleep today.)

Baghera’s shaking, huddled close to her fellow avian and mentor as she watches him work without really processing it, the crow’s hand occasionally tapper on her arm to keep her from ripping her feathers off. (She thinks of her brother. Her stubborn, annoying baby brother and his cursed bleeding heart. His hair had been cut so short, she’d been wanting to take a moment to even it, maybe style it a little even. She thinks of Pierre, and feels hatred. She thinks of Badboy, and feels betrayal.)

Foolish straightens up, rolls his shoulder as he admires his handiwork. (He thinks of his adopted son, and remembers why Bad always told him not to get attached to mortals. But Foolish never listens, and never will, despite how much it hurts every single time.) “It’s ready,” he drones out, catching the attention of everyone present. Phil turns to him, expression set in stone and unreadable. “Let me see.”

Team Bolas congregates around their leader, slightly bowed in something like reverence as he walks past them towards the shark-totem. Foolish grins, mirthless and cold, as he hands him a metal stick. The head of it is adorned with a strange shape, still reddish from heat. “Good job,” the Angel of Death nods, eyes and hands stained black as a few stray plants and roots wither away under his feet. His flock shivers like a single entity, all of them fastening their masks over weary, tear-streaked faces. Foolish whistles, spinning the branding iron like a majorette would their stick. “Thanks, Crowfather sir! Wanna do the honours?” Foolish chirps.

Philza Minecraft nods, silently letting his robe fall off his shoulders, exposing his naked back. “Let’s do it quick,” he says, looking over each of his fledgelings, who bow their heads in unwavering loyalty. “Today, we don’t let them rest. Not for a second. Doesn’t matter how many times they kill us, we swarm them, again and again. We, teach them pain.” He feels the heat of the furnace on his back as he sits before it, Foolish humming a cheery tune as he pokes at the blazing inferno inside. “Baghera, how many chainsaws did you make?”

The duck tilts her head. He can see her red-tinted eyes through the mask, and they crinkle in vindictive joy. “More than enough,” she coos, and Jaiden bumps her mask against hers, hello, clean, flock, hello. Phil croons out a yesyes. “Good. Very good.” He beckons her over, runs his claws through her hair-feathers lovingly. “You’ve become stronger. I’m proud of you. All of you.”

“Thanks Dad,” the duck hybrid whispers, preening under the praise. “Get ready,” Foolish warns. Phil doesn’t wince, doesn’t brace himself. Doesn’t care. “Jaiden,” he says, and the conure chirps in acknowledgment. “Taunt them. Trick them. Use every dirty tactic you can think of, I don’t care, this is no longer a fight. It’s retribution. Carré,” he turns to the warrior in the cat onesie, “I trust you. Put the fear of you in their hearts.” Carré gives a salute, sword gleaming in the dim light of their den. “Charlie, Foolish, literally go apeshit. Now’s the time.” Foolish laughs, eager, and Charlie’s codified parts glitch in anticipation. “Cellbit.” and the detective perks up. Phil flashes him a cruel smile. “Do what you do best,” he declares, and the Brazilian looks like Christmas came early.

Then red-hot iron slams against the skin of his back, and Phil lets out a gasp as his flesh starts to sizzle and burn. His talons dig deep into his own thighs in an attempt to distract himself from the pain, and the air smells like cooking meat. Cellbit starts howling first, the last of his sanity breaking when the smell hits his nostrils even through the mask, pupils dilating — like a shark smelling blood. The rest of them soon join in, screeching and laughing, too loud, too high-pitched and broken. Then Foolish removes the iron, and Philza almost falls over under the mixture of pain and relief. The rest of the flock rush over to support him, glancing at the result of Foolish’s hard work with barely disguised awe.

Angry red lines, bloody and bubbling, form the simplified shape of a gas mask right between the mangled remains of his ebony wings. A symbol of loyalty, devotion, belonging. (Pack, flock, family, murder.) “How’s it look?” the crow wheezing out, somehow still mustering the strength to make a joke out of his own agony. Jaiden flashes him a thumbs up. “Nice.”

“I want to go next,” Baghera pipes up, wings twitching with anticipation. Foolish nods, letting the others help Philza wobble away to let him recover for a minute. “Alright. Get over here then, sister.”

(There is no coming back after this, they all know that. Those marks would be here to stay, because self-inflicted scars don’t get erased by respawn, as some of them had found out over time. They all count on it.)

***

The trip is like a blur, partly because of the pain making their vision go hazy and, partly because the sky is red red red and it makes their minds fuzzy and time all wibbly-wobbly.

Charlie remembers hot desert sun hitting his shoulders and colouring them an angry red, Carré taking off his hood to breathe properly. He remembers Foolish carrying them through a freezing river, ice-cold water a temporary balm against the fresh burns in the center of his chest. (He doesn’t regret it. The pain is worth it. And the code infection is so cold, cold cold, the blazing heat radiating from the brand mark is almost soothing in comparison.) He remembers Baghera, limping the whole way, yet refusing any help. Pushing herself further than she ever has to keep up with them. Refusing to be a burden, refusing to drag them down. “I’m fine,” she would say, brushing her feathers over the mark on her right hip. “I’m fine.”

The sky is red, everything is. The blood-fog rolls in, or maybe it’s the toxic gas disaster. They can’t tell, with the masks that keep them breathing and tinted lenses painting the landscape crimson. They press on, helping each other whenever one falls, because their armors might be shit still despite yesterday’s grind, and they might have nothing. But they have each other.

When they finally find Blue, it doesn’t quite feel like catharsis. Not yet. All seven of them loom over their location - Pierre, Bad, Tubbo. (A shame. A shame he was here. He’d tried, they all knew that. But it hadn’t been enough.) They can’t see Pac anywhere, but given the few death messages that popped into global chat earlier, Phil can take a guess at what happened. (Note to self: extend an invitation to the Brazilian later.) No words are exchanged (quiet, quiet, don’t get spotted), only quick glances and flexing talons and flashes of teeth hidden beneath rubber masks. The sun hits their backs (it hurts, for Phil and Cellbit, who has chosen to place his own brand in the small of his back. He’s forsaken armor for this, he wants to feel every slash and tear, he wants to feel something, anything), their shadow-cast silhouettes stark against the red skies.

(They are pack, scavengers. They are eager to sink their teeth into writhing flesh and sharpen their claws on picked-clean bones.)

Philza raises an arm when Bad spots them, immediately barking out orders at Pierre and Tubbo, who doesn’t look like much of a leader at the moment. (What a shame. He deserved better.) The flock tenses, talons and claws digging into loose dirt, eerie growling and giggling and Charlie’s eager ‘how about now? can we go, please, dad?’

The Angel of Death looks down as his children. He lets his arm fall, and six shadows take off and rush downhill in a cacophony of barks and howls and cackling, hyena-like laughter.

Cellbit can see nothing at all, blinded by burning demon blood in his eyes, in his mouth, in his hair and beard. His knife digs into something soft and warm, someone screams, doesn’t know who. Something trips him and his head hits the ground, stunning him, and a sword stabs him in the shoulder and he laughs, ripping it out to roll away, uncaring of the copious amount of blood he’s losing. He hears the revving of an engine nearby, and wipes the blue liquid out of his eyes just in time to see Baghera slice at Pierre with her chainsaw, severing bone and tendons from his left shoulder to his right hip. Blood and viscera fall out of the gaping wound as he chokes, impossibly blue eyes widening, and then his body falls and the chime of death-respawn rings out over the battlefield. One.

“First kill!” Carré woops, blocking strike after strike from a hissing Bad. “My turn now,” he grins, feral and they all know he’s the only human here how could a human feel so much like them, and his legs do a thing none of them can comprehend but he’s behind the demon now, thrusting his blade forward and into a groove in the fiend’s diamond armor. Chime. Bad falls, dead before his body hits the ground. Two. The Argentinian Beast swipes to the side, ridding his blade of sickly blue liquid. His sleeve creeps back up his arm, revealing the bottom of their symbol. “Mejórate, noob.”

“Oh SHIT!” Jaiden cackles, busy carving out the inside of Tubbo’s ribcage like a halloween pumpkin. “Carré’s out for blood, we love to see it.”

“Where’s Pac?” Cellbit grumbles, teeth around someone’s liver. Foolish rushed back from respawn, waving at them cheerfully, and bodies an incoming Pierre to the ground to bash his head against a rock until his skull gives and splits in half like a watermelon. “Uuuuh, dunno! Why, wanna eat his other leg?”

“Maybe.”

“Be nice,” Baghera pouts, beak splattered in red as she discards her broken saw, only to summon a fresh one from her inventory. She looks down at it with motherly fondness. “He did kill Bad earlier. And he lost Mike, and my brother. I say we leave him be.”

“Mmmh. Careful, here comes BitchBoy.”

“Oh, hello,” the duck chirps, evading a strike from Bad’s scythe. “Did you miss me, Bébou?” she giggles, thrusting her saw forward and cutting through the demon’s armor like it’s butter. Bad lets out a frustrated what the FUDGE before the blades pierce through the enchantments and through his belly. Chime. “I don’t know if I missed you,” she hums, throws her machine away, summons a new one. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Jaiden howls at her, Foolish barks, and all of them devolve into throat-tearing screams as their clothes soak up all the red, red above, red below, red, red. Philza climbs up a tower and swoops in, deadly precise, skewers another Tubbo that just showed up. “You should really give it a rest, mate,” he hums without an ounce of aggressivity, sitting on the lad’s chest as he wheezes out his last breath. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be.”

“Can’t—” the goat hybrid chokes, bloody foam bubbling out of his mouth as his lungs fill up with fluid. “I’m. Tina. Nikki, Missa.” The name makes Phil blink. “Can’t… abandon them.”

“Suit yourself,” the Crowfather shrugs, then plants his blade into his former protégé’s neck with nary a sound. Chime.

Chime.

They don’t always win, far from it. Chime . But they don’t care, losing themselves in the cycle of fight-kill-die-respawn-run-fight. Chime. Even when their resources run out, when they have nothing left but their own hands to fight with, they still come, again and again, moved by the collective desire to make them pay. They get less and less kills, armors and weapons gone, their own bodies piling up in a grotesque display. Chime. Chime. Chime. Blue Team tries to run and hide, but Jaiden and Foolish sniff them out like a pair of bloodhounds, always on their tail as the rest of the flock follows. The hours trickle, too slow yet too fast, and Blue is now winning because they kill them a lot more often than Red kills them, but they don’t give a single shit about that stupid bar made up but a stupid eyeball thing that they are done entertaining because THEIR FUCKING FRIENDS AND FAMILY ARE DEAD.

They rip, and tear, and bite when nothing else works anymore. Everything hurts, repeated respaws and the brand mark making their bodies stumble and fall and shake and seize against the cold dirt, making them easy targets. But they keep fighting.

Cellbit starts crying at some point, tears washing off the blood in twin lines on both his cheeks, and he repeats his husband’s nickname like some fucked up mantra as he stabs into Pierre’s chest over and over again, the engineer long dead. Yet he still keeps going, until Phil gently tears him away from the body to press his own bloody forehead against the Brazilian’s, letting him cling to his robes like the crow’s his last anchor to the mortal plane. Foolish and Jaiden come back, huffing, saying they’ve lost track of their target, and everyone stands still for a moment.

Phil’s commlink buzzes. He glances at it, spots something blue, turns it off. No more parlé, no more talks. “I think they’re done for today,” he sighs, helping Cellbit to his feet. “Let’s go back.”

“To the den?” Charlie asks, ripping off his mask to shake off stray pieces of viscera before putting it back on. His entire body is soaked in red, but Phil can spot some green beneath it. His code arm glitching erratically, but he barely seems to feel it.

Philza nods. “To the nest.”

“Can we burn?” Baghera asks. Her voice is shot, just like after an intense session of karaoke. “I don’t wanna walk back. I wanna burn.”

“Me too,” Jaiden raises her hand, Charlie following suit. “Oooh, we should all do it,” the conure gasps, already piling up dead wood and whipping out her flint and steel. “It’s like a warpstone! But crispier.”

Maybe Phil should discourage that. But his bad knee hurts like a motherfucker, and what’s a little more agony after today. “Sure, fuck it.”

The pier lights up their surroundings as they dance their way into the flames, hot coal burning the soles of their feet. They briefly wonder if this is what witches did back in the day, before their last hearts are drained and they fall into the space-between-spaces, respawn mechanic spitting them out the other side and into the damp coolness of their cave-home-nest-den.

Their wounds are gone, as always. But not the brand, still pulsing with dull pain on each of their bodies. They all put ice on it, mechanically, minds already far away as their timer nears its end for the day.

None of them bother to clean up before it hits zero. The pack huddles into the nest together, blood-sticky and shaky and Cellbit is still sobbing, Jaiden’s arms around him while she croons and chirps, avian words eaten up by her own hiccuping sobs ( help, sad, sad, flock) , Charlie rubbing soothing circles into the cat hybrid’s back as he wails. Carré whispers praise and fighting tips to Baghera’s who’s only half-listening, wrapping up Dad’s sprained wing in a makeshift splint. Foolish sits close, humming absentmindedly as he finger-combs the knots and bits of flesh out of Jaiden’s long hair. “...You guys wanna move to Eggxile with me?” Charlie asks, drowsy and sluggish, Baghera’s hand-wing in his code-infected one. “When we go back. You can- you can take care of Flippa with me, if… you know. If this shit doesn’t work out.”

Jaiden laughs, wet and unstable. “I’d love that actually.”

“Your house has fumes in it,” Cellbit adds, so quiet it’s hard to make out. “I like that. It’s homey.”

“We can keep the masks there, it’s perfect,” Baghera approves, and Phil finds himself considering it because Charlie’s ramshackle house might be turning into code shit, but at least it’s far away, safe, away, away, and he doesn’t know if he can trust anyone outside his flock after this. Not stay on the wall, where everyone and their dog can show up unannounced. “Maybe,” he says.

Then their comms buzz, darkness claiming them quick.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #tw blood #tw gore #fanfic

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