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tawnfawn · 5 months

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intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead.

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons.

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?”

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

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vidavalor · 1 month

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Crowley and Plosives

@kimberleyjean asked in my recent post on rings and apostrophes why it is that I think Crowley pops the consonants of words at times, as in "BooK. shoP", and if there is a technical term for what he is doing. There is.

Let's talk about Crowley's exaggerated plosive sounds--as well as his little "mmm" thing-- and what this all probably has to do with his hiss.

In order to talk about why it likely is that Crowley pops specific consonants when he speaks-- with it being more pronounced at certain times than at other times-- we first actually have to talk about his hiss.

Crowley's hiss is less of a separate sound and more of a slur of what's known as a sibilant sound in phonology-- it's the sound of the letter s or the letters sh. If you say the word "sash" aloud, you're using sibilant sounds twice over-- once at the start and once at the end of the word. While Crowley could probably just hiss like a snake when he's in human form, we never actually hear him do that. We hear a hissing sound manifest in his sibilant sound when he is speaking-- which is to say when he's being a human over a snake. The same is true of Lord Beezlebub, whose fly buzz sound affects their speech. In their case, their sibilant sounds turn into the letter z to mimic a fly (as in, "It izzzzz written" on the tarmac in Tadfield in S1).

Sibilant sounds are part of a group of sounds known as fricatives, which are all softer in sound. They are grouped together based on how your mouth and throat move in forming the sounds and how much air is needed to move through them and in what way to say them. The letters k, p, t-- and sometimes d, b and g, depending on the word and the position of the letter in the word-- are "hard" sounds and are known as plosives. These are the sounds that Crowley tends to pop or to which he gives exaggerated emphasis in his speech. My theory as to why is basically that David Tennant decided that Crowley would feel the hiss is weak and react to it by popping his plosives to seem more intimidating, which really does go along with Crowley's psychology well.

Crowley's hiss is a feature of what of him is a snake and, as a result, will show up in the times that a snake would hiss. That means the slurred sibilant sounds show up primarily in situations in which he feels a sense of vulnerability. Snakes hiss when they're stressed or under duress and they hiss if you try to interact with them while they are digesting a big meal. In demon snake terms lol, it means Crowley is most likely to hiss in exactly the moment he does not want to (when he's anxious or afraid, which is usually when around other demons or angels). He probably cares a bit less about slurring sibilant sounds around Aziraphale after a big meal--or a "big meal"-- and Aziraphale actually probably likes it a bit as it's his life goal to keep that snake blissssssed out but the hissing around other people thing?

Crowley hates it. He haaaaaaates it. There is evidence of Crowley hating the slurred sibilants in a few scenes.

One is that when he shapeshifts into a monstrous snake to scare the guy at Tadfield Manor in S1, Crowley doesn't hiss at him-- he roars. Like a lion. (Lions are also on the arms and legs of his reason-for-therapy-alone throne chair in S1.) And this is his reaction when he makes the guy faint from fright:

He loves it. Ah, control...

Because Crowley is a lot of things, really-- he's a snake, yeah, but he's a big cat, he's a crow, he's a nightingale, he's a black swan, he's a horse... we could go on. To control the hiss when he wants to is to feel in control of himself.

We all know how much Crowley seeks as maximum control over how he's perceived by others as he's capable of generating. It's a normal response to all the trauma he's suffered. It's probably worth considering as well that Satan's attacks on Crowley render him incapable of controlling his own mind and body for the duration of the assault. He doesn't have the option to speak or, if he does, the words aren't his own. These are bodily autonomy violation issues and the result is that Crowley hates anything that makes him feel weak and the fact that he has in the hiss what amounts to a nervous tic that is a symptom of his anxiety disorder makes him feel out of control of himself.

Another example of him hating the hiss is when he intentionally slurs the sibilant s sound while mocking Heaven:

Crowley is not just talking about composers in this scene in general but using first-class composers as innuendo for sexual partners and mocking Aziraphale's potential choices if he gets stuck in Heaven for all of eternity. He does so by combining soft fricatives and his slurred sibilant hiss, showing how he equates the hiss with a sense of what he considers weak and unattractive.

The other scene that suggests this-- and shows how Crowley pops his plosives as a counter to the hiss-- is actually the end of the apology dance, when Crowley pops a t so hard, it's almost its own word: "You were righTTTTTT."

The apology dance scene and its hard T as the final note of the mock-submissive dance also makes it clear that, unsurprisingly, Aziraphale knows what the popped plosives are all about. Plosives are, well, explosive. They have harder, louder, more dramatic sounds. It seems like Crowley pops them both as a measure to counter his hiss and as a measure to try to control it. He's taught himself to respond verbally with intensive plosive popping instead of hissing, which is also why we don't actually hear him hiss all that often.

One of the only times is almost immediately after this:

Because saints and demons preserve us, it's Master Crowley, right? But then Satanic Nun!Nina interrupts them and Crowley starts slurring his sibilant sounds in sarcastic response to Aziraphale telling him that he didn't need to put the woman in a trance.

"Oh, oh, 'xcccussse me, ma'am, we're two supernatural entities looking for the notorioussss SSSSSon of SSSSSatan. Wonder if you might help us with our inquiries?'" How he controls the sentence, though, is really interesting. The extra-exaggerated sarcasm of the last sentence helps him regain control enough that the final 's' in 'inquiries' isn't hissed and he's back in control of it. He's also almost amping up the sibilant sounds he does slur sarcastically as well. Part of why it comes out here is that he allows himself to be less guarded with his speech in front of Aziraphale.

We've actually only heard him hiss his sibilant sounds about three times, if memory serves me correctly, and two of them are related to Heaven and Hell-- the two moments I mentioned above. They're examples of him trying to control-- and then sarcastically wield-- the hiss. (Particularly "celestial harmonies", which he did entirely intentionally.)

There's also one more positive instance of a sibilant slur though and that's this: "Yessssss, the 'Reign of Terror.'"

The long hiss of a "yesssss" in this scene is not one that bothers him because drawing out a sibilant sound during a sexy conversation with Aziraphale is a very different situation than one about or involving Heaven or Hell.

If you look back on the series, there are probably no more popped plosives than in Crowley trying to ascertain just wtf Gabriel is doing in the bookshop wearing nothing but their tartan bedsheet.

"WHaT. Arrre. You. DO. ING. In. THis. BooK. ShhhOP?" 😂

Crowley was literally terrified (and also losing it internally because he just jumped and basically screamed at the sight of Gabriel) and there's a very brief "shhhh" in "bookshop" that starts to slur and has him practically shouting the "OP" to finish the word without full-on hissing. It's a scene built around the plosives, really.

Gabriel probably understands Crowley's manner of speaking more than "Jim" did in this moment as Gabriel has his own affected way of speaking. His defensive speech has the same need for a sense of maintaining an appearance of control and dominance but is usually less about emphasizing plosives and more about conveying a sense of power through a perceived sense of "manliness" in a smug, corporate sort of way. The way he says "but as The Almighty likes to say: 'Climb Every Mountain'" in that 'CEO saying the bullshit company slogan to a junior employee at the company retreat' sort of way.

Gabriel usually uses intimidation through lower, more frighteningly measured tones that carry the sense that if you pissed him off, he would explode and it would not be pretty for you. It's what makes the moment when he does actually a bit shocking and that's when you hear the force come out in his speech a bit.

He pops plosives in the curse and owns the 'fucking' in that sentence as a result. That is top shelf use of a curse word, in that it's selective enough and pronounced in such a way as to give it real power. You know he's going to lose this round because he can't win it but you're still kind of afraid of him-- maybe for the first time.

But Jim? Jim has none of this.

Jim is a guileless lovebug who doesn't understand why Crowley would feel the need to speak-shout at him and pause dramatically so his "I. AM. DUSTING." response is priceless. Jim over-emphasizes all of the sounds because he doesn't know why Crowley only emphasizes the plosives and he pauses dramatically between the words more out of confused repetition of Crowley's speech pattern to try to relate to Crowley than out of understanding that it was meant to intimidate him. He uses the same sense of theatre that Crowley uses without any context as to why Crowley feels like he has to and, as a result, it guts Crowley's whole attempt to intimidate him to compensate for his own feelings of vulnerability.

Crowley and Aziraphale both are fascinated by words and the evolution of language and they speak every language in the world. This means that they both have the ability, in theory, to correctly speak in any accent in the world, which is necessary to be able to pronounce the words in every language. Between that and his self-conscious, trauma-adjacent, plosive/fricative issues, as well as just being interested in how things like pronunciation informs the evolution of language, Crowley is more aware than most of how he sounds when he speaks.

But there's also that his unique way of speaking-- when combined with his low, rumbly voice-- can be very sexy and he's aware of it, namely because it's clear that Aziraphale thinks his sounds-- all his sounds, along the full spectrum of them-- are hot. As a result, we also have scenes in the series wherein Crowley will sometimes heavily emphasize plosives-- and fricatives-- around Aziraphale just for fun because to do so has become a part of how he speaks and because the angel likes it. An example: the "lotsss of GooD DeeDsssss" bit of this:

That Aziraphale likes the full range of Crowley sounds is symbolic of the fact that Aziraphale likes the full range of Crowley, full stop. As a result, Crowley plays around with how he enunciates words, often drawing out parts of them in ways he knows Aziraphale will enjoy. His "oo" and "ou" sounds are often elongated into an "oooh"; he softens fricatives to a breath at times when speaking more gently. At other times, he amps up his RP accent and emphasizes certain words in a sentence with pauses and heavier enunciation ("canopy", "astonish") to maximize their appeal and to draw Aziraphale's attention to them, usually also for wordplay-related reasons ("did you smite them with your wrath?" in Lockdown, for example.)

Then, there is that part of their language thing also appears to be an interest in onomatopoeia, which are words that have derived in language not from a connection to other, previously-existing words but from the sounds of Earth. Crowley, in particular, loves onomatopoeia, and likes to weave words that are that into his conversation-- "frou frou", "whoop", etc.. The word "hiss" is onomatopoeia. Unlike other etymology posts I have written or will write, there is no "derived from the Old French x" or "from the Latin x" or the like for the history of "hiss"-- it's just literally that people heard a snake hissing and said that sounds like "hssss" and so we're going to call it a "hiss."

While Crowley has issues with his anxious snake hiss, though, he actively likes to make the pleasurable sound the humans (and angels and demons) can make-- the ultimate in onomatopoeia. The word that is actually more his anti-hiss than his popped plosives:

"Mmm."

"Mmm" is derived from nothing more than the human sound of contentment. It's an often almost involuntarily hum of pleasure-- the human sound of satiation. There is no other history to the word but that and there has not been since beings began to exist.

Crowley makes the sound unconsciously but he also makes it consciously at times when speaking with Aziraphale because he knows Aziraphale likes the sound of it. Case in point: the very obviously intentional "mmm" in the Edinburgh phone call (and the heavy, exaggerated plosives emphasis on what followed it):

"Mmm" is also something of an etymology joke as well because, at last count, I think I had at least twenty-five instances in a note file here about intentional wordplay between Crowley and Aziraphale that focuses on frequently confused words and phrases (to founder vs. to flounder; whoop vs. whoomp; wittering vs. withering; to get a wriggle on vs. to get a wiggle on, etc..) which I bring up mainly because, especially when written, "mmm" is frequently confused with "hmm", and the etymology of "hmm" is pretty funny from a Good Omens perspective.

While "mmm" is a sound of pleasure, "hmm" is a sound made of consideration, a kind of pause in a sentence to acknowledge something that was spoken and to either suggest you're giving it thought or to show hesitation over what was said-- or, possibly, both. While "mmm" is a contented sound derived from the human body, "hmm" is onomatopoeia because it is imitative of a different, very specific sound in nature...

...it comes from the droning sound of buzzing bees.

To Crowley and Aziraphale, "hmm"-- the sound of hesitation and reflective contemplation-- is a sound of the insects that are symbolically the angels and that's amusing to them since the humans frequently swap it out with their signature sound of pleasure while Crowley and Aziraphale do not find much about Heaven very arousing.

Crowley's new favorite hobby in S2 is making dirty jokes that are going over Muriel's head-- some of which, like his handcuff innuendo while getting Muriel to take him to (literal) Heaven, are a bit on the surface. Others, though, like the frequently confused words wordplay of using "mmm" in protest of Heaven instead of "hmm" in the "mmm, bees" moment after successfully getting one over on the angels-- are examples of just wordplay jokes that Aziraphale would have found funny that Crowley was amusing himself with in the moment.

Crowley is definitely not the only one of the two of them amping up those mmms though. The only bee who has his attention is playing right back...

...and the mmm thing is not exactly new, either...

...like for him to mmm his way through an entire barbecued ox five minutes after this...

Original post that prompted this response:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #aziracrow #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands speak #etymology

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jeannineee · 3 months

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nsfw alphabet: satoru gojo

warnings: obv nsfw under the cut. Minors go away.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

listen...he's normally just as exhausted as you are after sex. but he'll absolutely clean you up and cuddle with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on himself, he's proud of his entire body, honestly. but he especially likes his abs. would not be against you riding them honestly

on you, he likes your neck. kissing it, marking it. will occasionally wrap his hand around it, just to watch your eyes roll back.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

ususally cums inside you, but something about your chest does it for him too. just seeing his release painted on your skin.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

this probably comes as a shock to no one, but he would not mind subbing for you; giving you the control in the bedroom.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

be for real. he's canonically not the most experienced with women, but he definitely knows what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirl!! he loves watching you struggle to take him, and he can thrust up into you if you start to get tired.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

while he can be serious during sex, he's usually very teasing and will crack jokes, but not to the extent of ruining the mood.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

yes the carpet matches the drapes and yes he keeps it very trimmed. he simply prefers it that way.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

i know a lot of people perceive him as this childish baby but satoru can be veryyyy intimate. i'm talking candles, flower petals on the bed, massages, etc. he's a lover boy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

masturbated very regularly before you, and still does it occasionally after meeting you--usually only when the two of you are away from each other for an extended period of time.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

oh boy!!

orgasm control (edging and overstimulation) both ways!! sensory deprivation, temperature play, breath play, bondage, breeding. praise and a liiiitle degradation. exhibitionism. with lots of communication, he'd be down for some dom/sub dynamics in the bedroom. (again, both ways. this man is a switch.)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

literally anywhere. he has no shame. empty classroom, bathroom at a restaurant, your car, etc. he will take you anywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

it doesn't take much for him, but your touch especially gets him going. resting your hand on his knee, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i can't imagine him being into sadism. he's miiiight be a bit of a masochist though. wouldn't want to hurt you in any way.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he's almost torn. almost. but for him, nothing beats the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

typically leans towards fast and rough, but also knows when to slow it down.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

yes yes and yes. any time, any place.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

again, yes. won't literally have sex in broad daylight, but definitely gets off on the idea that someone could catch you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

unfortunately for you (or at least unforunately for the lower half of your body) satoru has a looooot of stamina. can literally go until the sun comes up and the birds are singing.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

uh duh. mostly basic stuff like vibrators and handcuffs. but is also down to try anything you want.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he is absolutely the biggest tease and is so whiny when you give him a taste of his own medicine. you can have him begging rather easily.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he is very, very vocal. moaning, whining, whimpering. very much a talker. like almost pornographic with it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

would not mind a threesome, as long as the two of you choose the third person together.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

okay so i know with nanami i expressed the need for realistic dick sizes but i digress. satoru is a solid 8 inches and has enough girth that you need prep every time to fit him. very veiny. do with that what you will.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

see stamina.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he can fall asleep fairly quickly, and oftentimes is out before you are.

#Satoru Gojo smut #Gojo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu Kaisen #Gojo satoru x reader

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ladythornofrivia · 6 months

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Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Four)— Revised

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: Aemond and reader meet. King’s Landing became interesting as he often asked himself since the night of your arrival: “where did she come from?”

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

Chapter Four: The Wandering Light

~Your POV~

As the council is dimmed with silence—exchanged with whispers, Aemond escorted you out from the room with his hand clutched to yours. As much as you’re in content beside him, you’re mortified perceiving him with the uphold of his infamous reputation as a one-eyed dragon prince. Let alone sliced Ser Marrow’s head split into two. Nonetheless, his infamous reputation precedes you in a pleasant way; the way you acted, all composed and alleviate. With you under his protection, nothing can go wrong.

Gladly, at the end of your little accomplishment, he seems relieved that Helaena is safe and sound. But, the undeniable and tangible evidence of him and Aegon being present is caused for others to choose chaos. Though, of course, this wasn’t your misdeeds. Unsure what to think—due to you beaten to a pulp, you decided to rest your eyes and relaxed your tensed shoulders and leaned back more whilst walking.

You couldn’t help but swore that Aemond was smirking at your relaxed movement. But when you look up, Aemond’s eye darted onward. But once in a while, Aemond’s blue eye gleamed at you. Despite your sleepiness, your heart found giddiness at his mannerism, of holding your wrist and leading you out from trouble.

However, it wasn't a good time to scream.

Your eyes snapped wide open.

"Wait, stop!"

He didn't stop; his hand compacted your wrist, continuously striding up the staircase, then lead to a narrow hall.

"I said, "stop"," you said, a little frantic.

“I’m taking you far from here, my lady,” he said, composed.

“Huh? No, just let go of me,” you answered. “I know where my room is.”

“You’re injured,” Aemond replied.

“I’m fine,” you protested.

“Lie all you want, my lady, but you cannot lie to a dragon,” he said.

Is he serious?

As he halted his tracks in the midst of the great hall nearby the staircase, he released your wrist, giving you a chance to breathe air.

“That was unnecessary,” you told him. “I mean, your life is going to be at stake if you keep doing this. What the fuck are you thinking?”

Aemond’s eye glared at you.

You gulped, stepping back. “There’s enough trouble as it is. Now all the people inside are so caught off guard. They won’t stop questioning you, won’t leave you alone until you give the satisfaction they acquire.”

Guards stepped forward with their hands on the hilt of the sword, but Aemond reassured them to stand down. You watched as the guards backed away.

“You could’ve at least bestow me your gratitude, girl,” he said with quiet venom.

Stuttered, you compiled and strained the anxiety from talking to the dragon prince. “I don’t mean to offend you; all I’m trying to say is that you should just stay out of it. You could’ve been punished by defending some stranger—a woman, no less. I’m an outsider! The people here, no one knows shit about me.”

“My, my,” Aemond began, his head slightly tilted, striding as slow and scheming; the hint of venom is long gone. “It appears you have quite a mouth on you.”

Stepping back, clutching your abdomen, you uttered, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Aemond chortled, hands on his back, staring at your discolored and drained look upon your bleeding face. Aemond stood tall over you, all proud and formidable elegance, while you positioned your neck to meet his infamous scar, as you’re vulnerable and pathetic, you kept your head high despite the white sting scorched in your vision. “Interesting, indeed. I never met a woman of my age would consider to be so agile with hostility.”

Your eyes bewildered at him, head spinning at his tall imposing stature.

“Most noble ladies would send their most beloved gratitude on me if I chose to shield them and battle the opposers with my sword and wit. And yet, somehow, you seemed ungrateful.”

His voice sent a tingle down your spine—hot and bothered. Seeing your favorite fictional up close whilst speaking to you, you wanted to faint on the spot.

Sighing, your head lowered. “Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful, but what I don’t get is that—”

Grunting, your body was shot forward and descended with twinge and suffocation. Your nose was bleeding and the noise in your ears were ringing, almost scraping like nails on a chalkboard.

“Come, my lady,” he said, gathering you in his arms, but you maintained your distance.

Your hand held up, stepping backwards from his outstretched hands from wanting to hold you. “Stay back. Scandal is the last thing you need.”

Aemond chuckled once more. “My dear warrior, you have fought and withstood your ground. Allow me to accompany you, at the very least.”

“Are you usually this…”

His head tilted. “This what?”

You shook your head in embarrassment, not wanting to say from your intrusive thoughts. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Aemond studied you as you marched onward with your hand clutched on your bruised abdomen, back slightly slouching.

You studied him for brief moment before you could turn away with blush, walking beside him. “I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble,” you said, with apologetic eyes aiming at him. “Well, disregarding the bridge incident.”

“You did what you have to survive, my lady,” he said. “Ser Criston brought you here at the Red Keep. What were you saying earlier? You never finish your word.”

“I was going to ask if you’re always this persistent,” you clarified. “But I don’t want to be rude, especially when I’m talking to someone important as you.”

Aemond hummed. “Where did you come from, if I may ask?”

You halted your tracks, heart pounded. “What makes you say that?”

Aemond lowered his gaze for a moment before returning his gaze back to yours. “Your voice,” he started.

“What about my voice? Is it weird?” The fingers on your left hand touched your throat, alerted.

Aemond’s eye blinked. “It’s unusually different. You don’t speak as the ladies in court. I assume you’re from another kingdom. Or perhaps from elsewhere far from Westeros.”

Oh yes. Very far.

And having a different accent is a dead giveaway.

“Sorry,” you replied, flustered. “It’s kinda difficult for me to explain. You’ll have a hard time keeping up. You already saw my clothes before. It’s not a gown or a dress. That might be as the first clue. Not might, sorry. I mean, you already got one.”

“I’ll attempt to gain knowledge,” he insisted, getting closer to you. “Whatever it takes, especially a fearless maiden who saved my sister.”

You shook your head. “Trust me, you won’t get it. Not everyone here will get it. It’s best if you forget and move on. I’m just an outsider.”

Aemond watched your movements. “That is why I’m questioning you, my lady. You have managed to garner everyone’s attention from the moment you stepped into King’s Landing, even the wandering light.”

“What wandering light?”

Aemond stood in silence, his face paled.

Shrugging, you recollect your strength. “You’re not wrong about garnering attention,” you said. “Then again, I’ll do my damndest to answer your questions. Hope you’re ready by then.”

“May I acquire your name? I wish to properly thank you,” Aemond insisted, the sound of his quiet voice tingling against your skin and prickled the sides on your back.

You found yourself flustered again, somewhat chuckling as your face veiled by your long hair from your head lowering. Aemond took this by surprise, unsure of how to act of a giggling maiden like you.

“Is something the matter, my lady? Your face is quite red.” Aemond looked at you with concern yet with keenness of the unusual act.

“I’m okay, but you’re so persistent,” you commented, heaving a sigh, then a notion of how to say your introduction. Fuck, after reading so many fanfics, romance books and watching K-Drama in your spare time, you think you know what you’re doing. But you have to fuck all your flirting up.

“You’ve certainly captured my utmost attention,” he said, gentle.

Gazing into his dreamy face and his glow flowing locks, your heart melted.

He is undeniably gorgeous.

“Alright,” you said with smallest grin, somewhat fatigue, “guess is as good time as any.”

You went near him—cautiously with your hand out. “Name’s…” The pain in your stomach grew hotter, sharper. Then a shot of cough drained on the floor, filled with blood; the blood stained in your cupped hand first from trying to shield the ailing condition.

Meanwhile, you caught a sight of Aemond gobsmacked at the sudden blood spilled from your mouth, his hand reached to your back shoulder but never grasped it.

Smiling, you resumed, “My…name…is…”

Dropping down onto your knees, wobbling, then your upper body collapsed, and the last thing you saw was Aemond caught you in his arms; his right hand placed behind your head, and the glowing silver-blond hair casted like halo under a sunlight, gaping at you in perturbation.

If this is heaven, you’re sure you’ll die happy in the arms of a Targaryen prince.

~Aemond’s POV~

By the time they found Aemond, the Maester took care of your new abrasions, over layered the old ones, dabbing your skin with wet cotton, a wet cotton that contains a chemical that summons a sting and a hiss producing from your lips.

In a blurry haze of a daylight sun, he examined Alicent and Aemond’s older brother, Aegon, who wore a subtle smirk and darting his glances back and forth between you and Aemond.

Aemond, of course guard you over from Aegon’s stupidity, but in gladness, Alicent defended Aemond by sending Aegon away, but Aegon’s stubborn. The Maester informed the Queen that your wounds will take another week to rejuvenate with recuperation. Alicent is distraught of a young woman such as yourself nearly snapped in half by men who are twice the size or the strength.

Needless to say, Aemond agreed. Albeit he found your strength is great quality of stubbornness—a good kind of stubbornness—untouchable. Whoever you are, Aemond wished to thank you.

From there, Alicent dismissed the Maester and left the four people alone. While you’re asleep, Alicent encountered Aemond with, “Aemond, I thought I gave you an order to steer clear from the council,” she lectured. “Your father nearly threw a fit.”

“I was curious to what it was all about, mother,” Aemond replied nonchalantly. “If it wasn’t for me, you would all be in grave danger.”

Alicent shook her head, facing the oldest son. “And why in the Seven Hells would you accompany him, Aegon,” she asked, eyes broadened. “Taking this as a thrill is no jesting matter!”

Aegon shrugged. “I came there for the wine, but it seems to be rather empty. I needed catharsis on sending the guard seriously injured.” Then he threw a soft chuckle.

Sighing, the Queen is disapproved from the recklessness from her sons. “The Blacks were there to bequeath her a gratuitous moment. As do I. But Ser Marrow was a dull-witted for throwing a fit that is worse than Aegon’s drunken antics.”

Aegon ignored the statement; his eyes focused on you with curiosity. Queen Alicent pivoted her focus onto your sleeping figure.

At the corner of Alicent’s eye, Aemond glimpsed at you, longer than it should’ve been.

Alicent’s head lowered, shutting her eyes and sighed. The harsh timbre in her voice softened, as does her hues, all drained from anger and guarded nature she mustered up against the former member of Kingsguard. “If Aemond wasn’t there, Ser Marrow might annihilate the members of the council with his foolishness. And with Aegon’s quick act prevented another traitor.”

Both Alicent’s sons flabbergasted, but briskly shifted their attitude to normalcy.“Regardless, we must get on. Aegon, return back to whatever you’re doing. I shall see you both at supper.”

Uninterested, Aegon left, leaving Aemond, Alicent and you alone in your quarters.

“Aemond, what is your real reason for you to rescue her?”

Aemond’s heart pattered. “As I have declared before. She rescued Helaena from those wretched cunts from Flea Bottom.”

Alicent shaken her head. “I know you. Lying to your mother is no good. You have caused a scene—the Black saw to that testimony.”

Aemond said nothing, lingering his gape at you.

Her gaze widened in fret, her voice lowered. “Was it…was it because of that dream again, is it?”

Aemond hasn’t shifted.

“That dream—when you lost your eye and obtained Vhagar, you saw the green star—the wandering light that befell from the sky,” Alicent concluded. “It’s the same one, isn’t it?”

The vision of wandering light flashed before his eyes, clouded his judgment as he fixed his eye on you. He could’ve sworn he heard voices, but it’s never clear cut.

The question replayed. Where is she from?

“Do you think it’s possible, mother?” Aemond began.

Her hand soothed Aemond’s upper arm, then a thick string of silver-blond locks. “Whatever your heart lies, anything you’ll do, it will be possible to prevent the causes—terrible things must prevent and prevail with redemption. But the truest of your heart—your love must be hidden in secret.”

Aemond’s heart stung at her words.

How could he kept his feeling furtive when the answer from his dreams lies before him?

“Watch her for me,” she begged. “I cannot afford to witness another innocent girl suffer.”

With Alicent fled, Aemond sat down on a spare chair and monitored your every move.

Unfortunately, his supervising has been cut short by the summoned doubts and bleak conclusions, somewhere far where he could no longer see you—the wandering light. His duty as a prince mustn’t fail. At what cost? His love in secret has been deeply buried, bound by duty, bound by the fate of fire and blood.

~Your POV~

The lively soul in you nearly slipped.

It was close.

Too close, in fact, you went too far to stand out apart from crowd of army and spectators. And you paid it with blood. Blood of the blade you withheld against the blood of men. Blade against the blade of injustice. A world that rules by lords and dragons, someone like you—a women in a modern future—have no place to outshine. But how could you stand out, when you all did was to survive the game?

In the world of Westeros, women aren’t allowed to hold daggers and swords and shields, rather needles and jewelries and dresses, infants and books—the hymns about goodly knights and godly kings and graceful princesses—due to a fan of Game of Thrones, you know this. You’re aware of the risks, if standing out too much from the patriarchal system. Damn the patriarchy and its rules. Being as a girl from a modern world, you’d rather eat and sleep on the couch, replaying F.R.I.E.N.D.S. episodes, reciting every line from the show while eating stacks of cheesy pizza and burger with spicy takeout food and big chunk of chocolate chip cookies and large cup of soda.

But there you were, laying down on the bedside, eating less meals, waiting for the new wounds to heal. After the Maester treated your lesion and gashes, he informed you that it will take more days for your strength to revive.

Nearly a month or so—thought you’re positively unsure and inaccurate the timeline.

Unfortunate, but better weeks than years.

It was then Westeros was nothing but another cage, despite a large continent with millions of people—of nobles and peasants and knights and criminals alike--dragons, included. It’s no different, but in the medieval century, least in the fictional world, you want nothing more but this as a fever dream, and admire the world from afar and separate—hoping you’d jump back into the real world from fictional novel.

Only then, the hell descended further.

Fever rose in your weakened system. Long story short, it went away for three days. By then, the servant informed you of meeting with Queen Alicent. First and foremost, Lady Rhaenys and Lord Coryls Velaryon from Driftmark visited you, but by then you were asleep at the time, resting in a lingering dreamland, but awoken, spotting them in your half-asleep. Secondly, Rhaenyra, who seems to be not to be disturbed in your sleep, but says her words of gratitude, regardless—while you’re half-awake. Thus, Rhaenyra left the premise—she promised beforehand that you and the Blacks are going to have a proper discussion.

After three days rest, the fever was gone, and the following hour—in sundown—the guards awoke you, without so much of announcement or decency to alter and improve your appearance—beaten you when you resisted—and escorted you out to a long passageways and stopped at the great doors, despite your body is drowned with milk of the poppy.

With the great doors shut, yanking you in, you were walking towards the council, everyone laid their eyes on you, and you eyeing them back—anxious and daring thrill and paralyzing unprepared all in one. A new odyssey and purpose lies in the council has begun.

Taglist: @galactict3a @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @darylandbethfanforever9 @kimsubin05 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

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thebellearchives · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

~ solomon ; obey me

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : it’s been a year since Solomon gifted you your most precious possession and now you want to return the gesture

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : fem!mc, fluff

‧₊˚ a / n : alternatively: a romantic coffee shop date with Solomon in London ~ this is set between season 3 and 4, the passage of time may not be accurate?? anyways, enjoy ✨

As the time passed and the clock’s second hand clicked endlessly, you leaned into the jewelry’s counter and checked your old text messages once again.

Solomon:

Hello Mc

Quick question, do you ever wear anklets?

You:

Not really

I do like bracelets though!

Solomon:

Oh, well, you see

Leviathan just taught me how to make them

Apparently it’s the hobby of an idol named Zaramela

"A true otaku takes an interest in his favorite idol's hobbies!"

Or so Leviathan said, anyway. He had all the materials laid out on his desk.

Listening to him ramble, I decided to try it as well.

But while I was working, my thoughts turned to you, and I ended up making one that I think will suit you.

Maybe I could adjust it as a bracelet, would you like that?

You:

Yes! Id love that, thank you!

The bracelet Solomon had made for you about a year ago suddenly blinged with the dimming sunlight streaming from the window. It was a delicate golden chain with a sun charm and four cloud charms around it. So much had happened since then, you had been his apprentice for some time, now in the human world you had acquired your sorcerer license and the brothers had gone back to the devildom two weeks ago. Solomon probably didn’t even remember the date he gifted you your precious bracelet, which you never took off, but you did. And considering the feelings that had made a home in your chest since that day… you wanted to make this date special.

“Here it is miss, silver plated just like you asked” the jeweler’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

Inside a small rectangular box, the chain you had made just some days ago looked beautiful. A smile widened your lips.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

So you picked up the gift, paid and then headed outside. The wind welcomed you softly, the sun was setting and it painted the clear sky, the elegant buildings and busy people in a beautiful pastel pink colour. A fluttering feeling filled your chest as you made your way through the Londoner streets, the animated chatter of people and the sound of cars passing by accompanying your thoughts as background noise. You weren’t sure if it was just your hopeful mood or everything genuinely was perfect that afternoon, because just a quick glance around made you feel like you were seeing the world through rose tinted glasses. The smell of coffee and pastries filled your senses once you were close to the coffee shop where you had asked Solomon to meet you. He had asked why you wanted to meet here instead of the Angel’s Halo, but you wanted to make sure you were alone with him this time. So when you stepped inside of the cozy cafeteria and you spotted him at the back, you weren’t sure if your heart stopped or if it had just started beating so fast you could not perceive it. With heated cheeks you watched as his long pale fingers flipped the pages of an old book, his white eyelashes blinked in fascinated interest, he licked his lower lip and tilted his head to the side, squinting.

“Afternoon miss, may I get you a seat?” a cheery freckled girl startled you out of your lovesick state.

“Uhm, I was just looking for him” you pointed at Solomon with a nod.

“Oh, you're with him?” her blue eyes widened “you’re a lucky gal.”

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes.

“Not like th-”

“Come with me” the girl didn’t even hear you out, instead happily walked over to Solomon’s table.

With a nervous sigh, you chewed your lower lip and followed in silence.

“Here” the girl made your presence known.

Solomon’s attention then settled on you and he immediately smiled tenderly.

“Mc, you’re here”

“Yes, sorry for the wait” you offered him an apologetic smile back.

“No worries” with a chuckle, he closed the book and set it aside.

“You’re ready to order now, sir?“ a nice menu was placed in front of you.

“Oh no, I’ll order when she’s ready” Solomon didn’t tear his gaze away from you, you tried to focus on the menu instead of his hovering eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon then”

When the girl left, you inspected the menu as much as you could, even when you felt him staring at you.

“Is everything okay?” you asked curiously.

“Yeah” he giggled and relaxed his posture, his back hitting the back of his seat again “you just look lovely today, more than usual I mean”

“Thanks” you sighed with a shy smile, glad that you had taken your time to pick a nice outfit and accessories.

“I brought some of the books you said you wanted to take a look at, but I have a feeling we won’t be studying today?”

Surprised, your eyes abandoned the menu to look back at him. How was he able to read you so well?

“I…” you couldn’t find the words, he raised his brows expectantly with a cheeky grin “…yeah, can we just have some coffee and chat?”

“Yeah, I’d like that” the sorcerer’s frisky expression was then replaced by a heart-stopping smile.

Smiling too, you went back to looking for a nice drink. Solomon made small talk with you in the meantime. The same girl from before came a couple of minutes after that, you ended up ordering the usual thing you ordered in every cafe, and Solomon just ordered a black coffee. The time spent with your magic teacher flowed in between your fingers quickly and naturally like spring water. Your beverages were placed in front of you at some point, and soon stories, jokes, laughs, flirty comments, quick remarks and witty retorts built a whole different world around you two. Unconsciously, both of you were leaning over the table closer to one another, the lights of the coffee shop were now turned on, making his soft silvery hair shine. The passage of time was easy to forget when you had such a beautiful smile to look at, and that charming laugh to listen to. When you had the chance to just casually brush the soft skin of the back of his hand, or the opportunity to study the subtle ring of amber tint around his pupils, hidden in between the silver pools of his irises. But then his smile faded away, his lips turning into a fine line.

“What is it?” you raised your brows, worry filling your chest, had you said something you shouldn’t?

“I’m just wondering, is there something you want to tell me?”

You blinked twice, cluelessly.

“Like what?”

He just chuckled.

“I don’t know, I just had a feeling you had something on your mind when you first arrived, since you looked kind of restless”

Oh, that’s right, the bracelet!

You licked your lip, suddenly nervous again.

“Right yes…” taking a deep breath, your hands went looking for the deep blue box in you bag, and then placed it in the table before you.

Solomon’s curious grey eyes flickered between the box and your face. An anxious feeling washed over your stomach, but you tried to dismiss it in order to start talking.

“I’m sure you don’t remember, since you’re bad at remembering dates and everything, but it’s been a year since you first gifted me this bracelet” you held you wrist at eye level, he nodded slightly “and you’ve been such an amazing teacher, and- I mean, just an amazing person overall, you know? I just wanted to do something nice for you in return, to thank you for everything you’ve done and continue to do for me”

Pressing your lips into a fine line, you slid the box over to him. He seemed surprised for a second, but then a fond smile softened his expression.

“Love, you didn’t have to”

The sudden pet name caught you off guard, you face was quickly tinted a shade of pink and a giddy feeling rushed through your body.

“I wanted to”

Solomon opened the box delicately, and then picked up the chain you dedicatedly made for him.

“It’s silver plated, you know, because of your hair and eyes. The moon charm is meant to symbolize that too, and also because the moon is mysterious and alluring. And the star charms stand for the constellation pattern in your cloak.” he stared at it in awe, and then looked back at you, you extended your arm over the table to show off your bracelet “and now we’re matching!”

The sorcerer giggled in amusement.

“How’d you know?!”

A confused frown appeared in your face while he locked the bracelet around his wrist. You tried to ask, but he grabbed you hand with his and laced his fingers between yours.

“You’re golden to me Mc, that’s why your bracelet is gold plated. The sun charm is because you’re warm and bright, you shine in my eyes, you light up every single room with your presence.”

With widened eyes and flushed cheeks, you inhaled to try and calm dow your heart rate, but the air got stuck in your throat. You tried to swallow it down.

“Solomon…”

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we give them our own personal twist?” with a wink, Solomon placed his other hand over the bracelets, a sudden glow making them shine momentarily.

“Charmed bracelets?”

“If you ever need me, just touch your bracelet and call for me, I’ll come for you whenever you want me to. How’s that?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.” your other hand found a comforting place over his, and you offered him the most genuine smile you could.

He chuckled.

“You’re the one giving me a gift, why are you thanking me? Thank you, Mc, this is my favourite present ever, by far.”

“I’ll be taking this, is that alright?” the waitress’ voice suddenly bursted your bubble, grabbing your empty coffee cups.

“Yeah, sure” Solomon cleared his throat “thank you”

“You’re welcome” her eyes lingered over your matching bracelets, and then she glanced at you with a proud smile and a complicit wink before waking away.

Solomon smiled.

“I think she knows something”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

#; fluffy belle #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me solomon #solomon obey me #om solomon #solomon x mc #solomon x reader #solomon x you #solomon x y/n #obey me x reader

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boldlypurplelight · 5 months

Text

Love is a drug|| JJK|| 1

Pairing: Yandere Jungkook × Female Reader

Genre: Yandere Themes, a bit fluff, angst, betrayal.

Warning: Fluff, Loverboy jk

Summary: YN had a very Happy life with her lovely Boyfriend Jeon Jungkook, a 24 year old ceo ; but things take a vast turn and yn finds herself in critical condition.

CHAPTER ONE

The day started off with hustling and bustling of peoples, the birds chirping were clearly heard cause there were people but no voices everyone in their own work. Well this was the side of Jeon Industries, a regular one.

The CEO and Grandson of founder, Jeon Jungkook was no different from these people. Infact he was the boss, holding the power on this very building, a 24 year old handsome bachelor that's what people called him.

Sitting on the chair which belonged to his a month ago was satisfying for him. Jungkook believed that power could give him everything he want and need.

"This plan can actually be useful for our company, I hope you put consideration into it Mr. Jeon Jungkook." The lab department voiced out their plan for growing business of Jeon Industries. Honestly Jungkook was bored, he just wanted to go home and relax but some stupids wanted him to collaborate with Seoul's no.1 hospital Asan.

Asan is one of the biggest hospital and basically they wanted to bring out some good electronics for technicians in hospital.

Jungkook wasn't a bit interested, he even hated hospitals how is he supposed to go and make this offer but he knew better with his father glaring at him from the corner of the room.

"Alright!! We can consider this for the sake of growth of our company. Secretary Park, when are we going?" Jungkook turns to Park Jimin his secretary as well as his bestfriend.

" We have the appointment of tomorrow Mr. Jeon" Jimin exclaimed.

They were here at the very next day and much to Jungkook's anger the dean made them wait for 10 minutes for the meeting. Jungkook moved to the technician department to demand about the dean.

'BLOOD TECHNICIAN' he reads the tag aand aks "Where the hell is dean? How dare he-"

His world stops as he looks at lady. She was pretty and mesmerizing.He don't know the exact thing he liked. Was it pretty face? was it her wavy hairs? Or was it her beautiful voice?

"Sir!! May I help you?" YN it read on her badge said and Jungkook's heart couldn't stop hammering. Let's just say he was glad for the dean's delay that day.

Jungkook and YN laughs at the memory of their first meet at their now a year anniversary. At how Jungkook developed a crush on her and started visiting the hospital ofter with any, it means ANY chance he gets.

YN got attached and impressed with his cute tactics very quick. Jungkook looked hopelessly in love with her so much that he imagined himself with her for the rest of his.

" YN-ah!! You can't leave your boyfriend at anniversary like that. Look I even turned sexy for you " Jungkook claimed with holding her tightly in the arms. She can already see the pout on lips buldge out and certainly he ruined his sexy facade.

"Babe!! I told I have work tomorrow " You teased. You didn't had any work, you just loved the way he was clinging onto you.

Well Jungkook knew more than anyone that you don't have work tomorrow. But he wanted to perceive you longer, be in your arms, talk with you all night cause he knew you won't leave ever.

And let's just say the night went pretty well...p

previous or next

#bts yandere #yandere #bts jungkook #yandere jjk #lover boy #ceo #jungkook imagine #bts army

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quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things.

Whumptober 2023: Day 1 - How many fingers am I holding up

Warnings: perceived death (no death I promise), panic

Word Count: 2.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: The marriage of Clint and Natasha.

A/N: there are people that stand with you in darkness, brave the shadows and not shy away, if you have friends like that hold them tight. This is for you @broken--bow .

Friend, without you there would be no whumptober, there are no words for the consistency of friendship you have supported over the last month, and thank you doesn’t seem enough. I wish it were more, but thank you all the same.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

KASHMIR

2011

“It’s cold,” Natasha grumbles.

“Yep,” Clint replies, popping the p, and trudging on through the snow.

“How far?”

The snow is white and endless, and Natasha is sure they aren’t going the right way. Her rifle, slung across her shoulder, rubs and feels heavy, as it hits the back of her thighs; even though likely it’s her backpack that has the weight.

Clint glances at the gps, a small look of surprise on his face.

Natasha stops.

“What?”

“It’s less that two hundred metres,” he says, pointing to the left.

He adjusts his pack and trudges forward, giving Natasha places to put her feet as she grumbled again.

“You’re Russian!” he says, exasperated as the safe house comes into sight.

She throws him a look a rolls her eyes.

“I don’t like the cold,” she deadpans.

Approaching the house, they both split up, covering the front and back and simultaneously breach the door way.

Covering the rooms in a pattern, Natasha is first to call all clear, followed by Clint, as she beelines for the generator and sets up the heater.

The white noise of the generator infuriates Clint as he keeps the first watch; more snow falling. He

wonders if it will ever stop.

The cold that penetrates is icy, even though they’ve used spare blankets under the doorways and old newspapers on the window.

Natasha was finally asleep.

He knows by the soft breaths, slow and even.

She doesn’t like sleeping in the cold, and he knows why, it reminds her too much of the barracks of the Red Room.

She berates herself about becoming too soft, even as she makes their apartment and their rooms a constant temperature.

Less nightmares.

He tells her it’s not a bad thing to protect yourself from bad dreams, but it never seems to stick.

She sighs audibly and he wonders what she’s dreaming.

If the snow continues to fall at this rate, they’ll be snowed in. The trek here all uphill, and he hates Maria a little for directing them to this one.

“Hydra,” she’d said, “they’ve taken advantage of the political climate, and infiltrated the region.”

It’s a shame; he think idly, Kashmir is beautiful, but the evil that has infiltrated made it unsightly.

The man that they had killed was wanted by Interpol, crimes against humanity and all that.

Natasha’s kill shot hitting him between the eyes, as Clint had done the calculations quickly around wind speed and elevation.

One shot, one kill.

They made it look easy; isn’t that why Fury sent them?

Now, stuck in the snow, in a quaint house, Clint has too much time to reflect and worry about the repercussions of not being extracted until the snow stops.

His grip tightens on the gun, and he adjusts his position.

Natasha focuses on the landscape, the parts she can see anyway. Snow covers the door, just reaching the window and she feels vulnerable at not being able to see all the ways around them.

She knows if she looks at Clint, she won’t be able to hide her disappointment.

He won’t be able to hide his fear.

The satcom phone lays inert, as they await the next call.

Any way out.

Any opportunities for exfil.

Not likely for the next twenty four hours anyway.

The tension in the room is palpable. The generator has enough petrol for the next five hours, and the temperature is far below zero.

Clint focuses on the bowl of cereal, the snow still around them.

This was supposed to be easy.

He suppresses a shiver and pulls his coat around him trying to gain any heat he can.

The one room they’d kept heated, now growing colder.

He knows they both feel it.

Natasha pushes away her bowl, half eaten.

“You gotta eat, Nat,” he murmurs.

“We need to leave,” she argues, “the generator is done, the food almost gone, and the pipes are frozen. We have no water apart from what we have in that bucket.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s cold outside, no one is coming here in that weather; plus where are we gonna go? We have to wait for them to come.”

She’s knows he’s right. Standing and staring out the window, she shivers.

It’s not a good sign.

“Clint.”

The seriousness in her tone has him on edge as he joins her.

“It’s stopped snowing.”

They both know, when the temperature drops the snow stops, the sun, or what was left of it, hides behind the dark as the black starts to descend, night approaching; though the hour not late.

“What are we going to do?” she whispers.

They move to the smallest room, a tiny broom closet, big enough for the both of them. No windows, blankets piled in.

“I hate the cold,” she gristles, her teeth gnashing.

Clint pulls her closer, trying to stay warm, even though he’s sure it’s not helping.

“Talk,” he asks, “take my mind off this.”

The request isn’t lost on Natasha, the beginning of the third day had begun and they still had no way out, the sat phone silent, stood next to the door.

“Mmmm,” she says; trying to stop her teeth chattering.

“If you changed around this house, what would you do to make it better?”

It’s an old game, one they used to play when nightmares would keep either of them awake and neither wanted sleep.

Clint bites, he wants nothing more than the deep dread that fills his body to go away.

“Thicker windows,” he starts, “and for there to be a better security system.”

Natasha grunts in agreement.

“Insulation,” she continues, “the bedroom, I’d move to the back of the house, maybe another bathroom.”

Clint snorts.

“Like our house?”

She laughs, shivers hard and suppresses another.

“What’s that like again?”

He sits up a little straighter, and starts talking about the blueprints he’s sketched out when they’d first started dating.

“You know, you’ll have a library, and I’ll have a target room, the kitchen will be big, and the bathroom always warm.”

“The house is always warm,” she corrects.

“Heated floors?”

He nods, “definitely heated floors.”

She rests her head on his shoulder.

“”It sounds nice.”

The night passes slowly.

Both in and of consciousness, eating where they can and bodies shivering hard against the cold.

“My lungs hurt,” she grunts, forcing herself to take a breath.

Clint can’t answer, he agrees, but can’t do anything but nod his head.

She’s terrified; not because she’s going to die, but because he is.

“Talk to me,” she says, her teeth chattering.

She remembers Russia, the coldness of the room and the lack of heat in their dormitory rooms. The blankets thread bare.

She felt it then, but had no context about how warm the world could be.

“You think the world is warm?”

Natasha hadn’t realised she was talking out loud.

“It’s different, here, don’t you think?”

He swallows, trying to readjust his position but finds his limbs uncooperative.

She’s not making sense and he’s worried. He can’t think straight though and maybe she can’t either.

They won’t die here.

Someone will come.

“When we get married,” she starts.

They both laugh.

But it’s the silence that hangs.

“What are we going to do, Clint?”

She can see their breath, and movement is getting harder. Natasha knows this cold, Russian winters this biting, freezing kind of bitter. If they die….

If they die it’s not a bad way to go, here, safe with someone she loves and a life she curated for herself.

If she dies…

“What kind of wedding will it be?”

Clint stops her train of thought.

Desperate to change the subject to anything apart from their imminent death, he hugs her closer, trying to not be unnerved by how cold her skin is.

“Small,” she considers, indulging him.

“I’ll wear white, you’ll wear a tux, but it’ll only be our closest friends.”

He nods.

“Who are we inviting?”

“Maria.”

“Coulson.”

They take turns naming their friends.

“Pepper.”

Clint frowns, “really?”

“Yeah, why?”

The shiver stops him from answering, and she tries to pull the blankets more around him.

“If you invite Pepper, we’d have to invite Tony,” he says grumpily, disliking the fact that someone who heavily objectified Natasha would be invited.

Natasha’s head rolls over to him, a smile on her cracked lips.

“We’d make him sign a NDA,” she almost laughs.

“He wouldn’t be able to talk about it, and it would destroy him.”

Clint laughs, a cough bubbling as he sucks in too much cold air.

“He’d probably get a good present anyway.”

“Fury?” Natasha asks, and Clint nods.

“Yeah I think so.”

He sighs.

“Is it sad it’s such a short list?”

She shrugs.

“Who else would you invite?”

Clint knows.

Family. Isn’t that who you’re supposed to invite for your wedding? For you brother to be your best man? Or for your mother and father to sit in the front row and cry?

“Who’d walk you down the aisle?”

She ignores the question.

“I’d invite Yelena,” she decides, looking wistful.

Clint rubs her leg.

“Yeah. I’d invite Barney,” he agrees. Even though it’s likely his brother and her sister as long since dead, it’s a nice thought to have.

“Your mom,” she opens the thought.

Natasha stops but continues after a moment.

“I think I would have liked our mothers to come, even if mine abandoned me.”

Clint doesn’t know what to say.

“I would have liked that too,” he breathes.

“I think you’d walk me down the aisle,” she whispers, coughing into her gloves.

“Where?”

He knows where, he just wants her to say it.

“Okinawa,” she smiles, knowing he loves the shores of the tiny island as much as she does.

“Of course,” he smiles back.

They sit in silence

“We can find them, I think.”

Clint says it with conviction.

Natasha looks at him intensely, breath white, nose red.

They’re going to die here, he thinks idly. Why not give them another mission, even if it only gives them hope.

“Our parents?”

He shakes his head.

“Our siblings.”

Natasha sees Yelena standing at the door, sad eyes, hands waving goodbye.

Her eyes open and close languidly.

“Okay.”

She knows what he’s doing.

Offering hope when there isn’t any.

Gloved hand reaches out under the blankets and takes his.

“If we survive this, and if we find Barney and Yelena, we will get married. You just have to ask,” she proposes.

Clint nods, his movement slow, his voice quiet and somber.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Natasha? Will you marry me?”

Head against his, she kisses him slowly, purposefully; like it’s the last draw of breath she’ll ever take.

“Yeah, Clint, of course I’ll marry you.”

Maria panics at the empty house, wondering where her friends are.

If they thought she wasn’t coming, maybe they left to find safety; it would have been a death sentence.

Temperatures outside so cold it had taken far too long to trek anywhere for safety, the snow too deep.

As it was, it had taken too long for the helicopter to land anywhere safely.

Maria looks around.

Two people that already have so much trust issues, she’s not sure what they would have done.

She’s sure they would have thought no one was coming.

In the instant, Maria feels panic.

She clears the first room and the medic clears two more rooms; then — Maria finds them.

Huddled together, Natasha’s head on Clint’s shoulders their faces pale and they look half dead.

She calls the medic over, unwrapping them from the blankets.

“Thready,” the man tells her, assessing Clint, then Natasha.

They drag them out, laying them down on stretchers as they both call it in on the sat phone.

Maria places the warmers over their chests, as the medic works on placing an IV for both of them.

They work quickly and efficiently; slowly working to warm their friends, hoping against all hopes that the hypothermia has no permanent effects.

Natasha hears before she sees, the whir of the plane, the pain in all her muscles as life starts flowing back into her.

“Clint,” she tries.

Voice cracking, not loud enough, she can’t see him or hear him, her heart hurts and her thoughts race.

They’re going to get married.

They’re going to find Yelena and Barney.

They’re going to…

Breath comes fast, alarms blare and she panics; sitting up, eyes now open she finds herself connected to machines and monitors.

Clint lays next to her.

Laying back, doctors surround her.

“Clint,” she says again.

Maria appears in her field of vision, a stoic face.

“He’s okay too,” she clarifies.

Panicked eyes greet her.

“Natasha,” Maria says, “look at me.”

Wild eyes look her.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

She sticks two fingers in Natasha’s face, and predictably, her friend rolls her eyes.

“Two.”

Maria puts three more.

“Three.”

She nods.

“He’s okay,” she assures.

Closing her eyes, Natasha grunts and sinks back into a deep sleep.

“God you’re both so predictable,” Maria grunts, half holding him down.

“She’s fine, look, okay?”

Clint gives her a goofy smile, clearly still delirious.

He sees Natasha, oxygen mask on, eyes closed.

“She’sgonnamarryme,” he tells her, words mumbled.

“What?”

Maria thinks she misheard, because neither Clint or Natasha feel like the marrying type.

He nods, “jus’ gotta find Yelena and Barney.”

Clint’s eyes slip closed.

“She’sgonnamarryme,” he says again, falling back into a drugged sleep.

#whumptober2023 #no. 1 #how many fingers am i holding up?#marvel fic #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #clint barton fic #clint barton x natasha romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x Clint barton #the language of flowers

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virgobingo · 5 months

Note

What's your take on the way Gojo dresses after being unsealed? Other than the fact the after he changed outfit he got killed, so maybe he shouldn't have done that...also, merry Christmas/have a happy Monday!

happy holidays! hope you're well :)

gojo's outfits can be tied to his emotional arc. i know you asked specifically of his outfits after being unsealed but i think context is needed to see where i'm coming from.

when we first meet gojo in jjk0, his outfit is oversized and his eyes are covered— it hardly gives away his body language, or any emotions he's feeling, really, unless he's being particularly boisterous.

which sort of makes him an enigma to his students who haven't been in jujutsu society as long as he has; who don't know him or his past. the scene where he goes from sunglasses and casual clothes (when he meets the higher-ups) to bandages and uniform (when he goes to meet his students) comes to mind.

while the bandages within the world of jujutsu kaisen maybe simply serve the purpose of relieving the strain in gojo's eyes. on a meta level, they also hide a lot. the eyes are the window to the soul after all. a lot of cultures believe this— japanese included, though it seems that the idiom goes, "the eyes are the mirror of the heart" instead.

which is ofc why they're completely uncovered when gojo meets geto at the end of jjk0. and also why, framing-wise gege distances the reader from the scene. we only see the back of gojo's head in the manga when he says the words that fluster geto. in the anime adaptation, we only see his lips. his eyes aren't shown to us (only geto sees them then), creating the sense that we're kind of intruding.

this all leads me to believe that gojo's eyes being covered is strongly tied to the masking or suppression of his emotions. his blindfold later in the series serves the same purpose.

so when gege decided to depict gojo with his hand over his eyes instead of a blindfold (precisely after having him mention his "dream")— gege probably wanted gojo to be perceived as someone that is both honest and yet still omitting some information. specifically about where his "dream" stems from (his blue spring/geto). it's worth mentioning that his jacket is uncharacteristically zipped down a little too (chapter 11, p. 2).

as for his youth, gojo sported glasses most of the time. it seems to represent his haughty attitude? him speaking his mind brazenly. since he can easily tilt his head or remove his glasses to show his eyes. as an adult, he uses them when he spoke to the higher-ups as i meantioned before in jjk0, during the baseball game he proposed for the students' sake, and in megumi's flashback (and some other minor instances).

so overwhelmingly, at this point, it seems like gojo doesn't sport eye coverings at all in (1) serious battle, or (2) when he's confronting geto emotionally (when he seeks him out) or being confronted by his feelings surrounding geto (when he hears about what he's done). gojo's clothing is also overwhelmingly loose. he doesn't ever show much skin, and he mostly wears long sleeves. especially as an adult.

i want to say everything shifts after shibuya, where he's confronted with himself (and his past); the feelings that he's repressed. (remember the eyes are the mirror of the heart?)

so when he's eventually freed from the prison realm, his uniform jacket is torn to pieces and he's not wearing his blindfold over his eyes (that we know for a fact he had with him when he was sealed).

something that stands out to me too, is how he doesn't ever cover his eyes again after this. also how the first thing he chooses to see is geto's body. as if he is no longer suppressing the truth. he is bearing his heart to the world; he goes on to be extremely sincere to many people. my favorite example being his conversation with ijichi.

later, in shinjuku, during what is essentially a ceremony of jujutsu to determine who is the challenger (him or sukuna), gojo dons traditional robes. i think this is purely because of the context. worth noting, gakuganji and utahime who represent kyoto, otherwise known as "jujutsu's sacred land" are also present.

gojo quickly disposes of the robes once the pleasantries are out of the way,

and basically goes on to shine as himself to the very end, until we're shown his face more intimately than we have ever seen it before—

(right after we see him encounter his blue spring/geto again, and he tells geto everything about his fight as well as how he always wanted him by his side).

#hope this is coherent #gojo satoru #satosugu #jjk analysis

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vashtijoy · 9 months

Note

Hey there! First off, I wanted to thank you for all your analyses and thoughts on P5 - they've really helped deepen my appreciation of this monster of a game! Now, onto the question (why yes I did create a Tumblr just to ask this, ha) - when do you think Akiren was arrested? I'd guess late March from context clues (or a little earlier if he's from a warmer place), but a couple weeks seems like a really quick turnaround to be placed in Sojiro's care. Curious to know what your thoughts are!

Wow, thank you! That's really kind of you. Great journal name, BTW.

I don't think it will have been two weeks. IMO it will have been some time the previous year, most likely in the summer holiday. Ren is out after dark, and he and the woman are both lightly dressed. You can see green leaves on the trees in the background—this is not definitive by any means, but by September, leaves on trees in P5 tend to have faded to brown, while in March the trees tend to be pink and in blossom.

(Also, notice how built-up this area is, and how tall the buildings are. A lot of people think Ren is from somewhere like Inaba, but this scene makes it look like he's from somewhere more like a regional capital.)

Ren is what's known as a "Type 1 Juvenile" (p. 123)—he's been sentenced to probation by the family/juvenile court, for at most until his 20th birthday. After a year, he can be discharged from probation if he's behaved himself:

If the probationer has complied with their conditions and has led a sound life for at least a year, the Director of the Probation Office can permit an early discharge.

Note that "live a sound life". We see it quite often in the top right-hand corner, as "live an honest student life". And that period of a year that Sojiro keeps bringing up is important—Ren won't have been allowed to sit around waiting for the new school year; he's likely just been sentenced, and reported in short order to Leblanc.

How long was the trial process? Ohya mentions in her confidant that she looked into Ren's conviction and thought it was obviously unsafe: "I have to say though, the ruling made in your case was really odd. Some kind of deal must have gone down behind the scenes to make sure that was the end result."

So it was probably rushed through. But it's Japan—even a rushed trial is going to chew up a fair amount of time. The prosecutors have to investigate and compile reports that make them look good and not corrupt, the trial date has to be set, the judge has to read everyone's reports and make a decision (Japanese trials are often essentially conducted on paper). Then there's sentencing and appeal. Then Ren's professional probation officer in his hometown (Sojiro is a volunteer probation officer, or VPO) has to find a school that will take him and a place for him to stay and (technically) receive guidance.

Could it be seven months or so, August-ish to March? Probably easily, yeah.

why doesn't he repeat a year

So if Ren is arrested around August 2015, and started his first year of high school in April 2015, why doesn't he repeat the year?

Well, first of all, do we know Ren is 16? Could he have been in his second year in his home town? I think we would have heard about this, honestly—someone would mention that he looks too old, or Kamoshida would have mentioned that the terrible transfer student is Repeating A Year. Ren likely is the same age as the rest of his year group.

While it's almost unheard-of for children in Japanese elementary and middle schools to repeat years, it's quite common in high schools. You can repeat for not getting good enough grades, or for poor attendance. But repeating must be approved. If you're seen as having, say, a poor attitude? You're likely to be politely told to shove it, and move up with the rest of your year.

I don't think we can fairly say that post-conviction Ren is perceived as having a good attitude. He certainly is not at Shujin. I think Kobayakawa threw him into the second year not caring too much if he sank or swam.

Ren also may not have been expelled from his original school until he was convicted—which would mean, based on this timeline, that he did get most of his first year of high school.

#asks #persona 5 #p5 meta #ren amamiya

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jellypear · 1 year

Text

I think you're worth holding onto PT4

Ayo besties I return from the void. This chapter is brought to you by the Undertale soundtrack and not wanting to do my uni worksheets <3. Also I'm really mad because I can't get the link for Part 2 to work on any of these posts and it's clearly all tumblr's fault.

@wolfythewitch, I understand that there is a strong Odyssey fixation atm but I have brought you an offering my liege.

——————————–

Philza has learnt a few things about Technoblade over the course of his sickness. The first being that the kid really loves potatoes. It didn’t matter how ill and uninterested in food he felt, if Phil put a potato in front of Techno, he would eat it. Even if he threw it up a couple of hours later.

Phil is a notorious worrywart. And having Techno sick in bed as a consequence of trying to meet Phil makes him think about the boy’s journey. Whether they were warm enough, if the weather was decent, if they had to walk the entire way? He’s especially concerned as to whether they were able to acquire enough for both of them. Because Tommy is young and Techno is a mage. Both kids and magic require fuel and a failure to supply it can be catastrophic.

But despite Phil’s worries, Techno manages to keep his food down after the first day. Sure he’s only eating mashed potatoes but it’s still something. And it honestly brings joy to his heart when he sees Techno’s face light up at the plate of potatoes.

And Phil laughs because he’s never met someone so in love with one food.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur never managed to keep any food down when he was sick.)

The second is that cabin fever sets in incredibly quickly for Techno. It didn’t even take a full day before he was complaining and trying to get out of bed despite how weak his legs were. There were many times Phil watched as Techno attempted to escape his plush prison, too sick to actually succeed.

Except there was one time Philza had left Techno alone so he could make dinner that night. He had assumed that the boy would be too tired that day to try and get up, and it wasn’t like Phil could just not feed them all. But apparently the second Phil took his eyes off him, Techno decided it was time for bad ideas! Which led to both Phil and Tommy being incredibly alarmed when they heard a thump from the bedroom.

What they discovered when they ran into the room was Techno. On the floor. Desperately trying to extract his legs from where he’d caught them in his blankets. Nobody had been impressed by the situation, and once Techno was back into bed and given the scolding of his life, he complained.

And Phil laughs because it's so simple, but Tommy was doing the exact same thing just a few days ago.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur could never manage to make it out of bed on his worst days, his very existence weighed down by something he couldn't control.)

The third is that Techno for all his silence is wonderful to talk to. The boy is incredibly intelligent and he has a wicked sense of humor. He has a love for the mythological, especially Greek. Phil has had the pleasure of listening to Techno recount his favorite myths. The way he tells them may be a tad unconventional, but honestly? Phil hasn’t had this much fun in years.

But at the same time, Techno is so clearly unused to talking to people outside of Tommy. There’s an awkwardness in how he talks to Phil, like he isn’t really sure what he’s doing. And there is a likelihood he’s naturally awkward. That Techno would communicate in the same way even if he was used to others. It comes across in Tommy as well, in how blunt he is with his feelings and questions.

But alas, Phil has become prone to worrying in recent years. His brain will latch onto anything that could be perceived as a problem and rotate it around in his head. But here, looking after Techno and listening to him talk, Phil can’t help but feel more content than he has in a while.

And Phil laughs because Techno has a way with words that is captivating.

(And Phil cries because Wilbur also had a way with words, Wilbur was able to spin tales from nothing and captivate people with only some words and a smile.)

The last thing is that Techno, in all his charm and awkwardness, holds a lot of similarities to Wilbur.

Phil laughs because he’s like Wilbur.

(Phil cries because he’s nothing like Wilbur.)

——————————–

Technoblade doesn't know how to feel about this Philza Minecraft.

He's a completely different man from the stories he and Tommy grew up hearing.

The Philza from the legends and rumors was powerful, a magical prodigy and a kind soul above all else. The man in front of Techno is different. He doesn't carry himself like one of the most revered men in the world. He doesn’t appear as if he once held the might of nature in his very hands. He doesn’t look like High Wizard Philza Minecraft, Advisor to the King and Master of the Arcane Arts.

The Philza in front of him looks… tired. Sad. And Techno doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because while he didn’t really have any expectations for what Philza would look like, this blows it all away.

He just looks like… Phil. Weird old Phil who talks to crows like they talk back.

Who still hasn’t kicked him and Tommy out yet.

Because here’s the thing, Techno and Tommy are resource drains. They’re two extra people in a house built for one. There’s only enough space and resources for Phil and Techno is expecting that it's only a matter of time before they’re asked to leave.

So he’s not surprised when one day Phil approaches him with a request.

What he isn't expecting, is what the request actually is.

“Come help me out in the garden mate” Techno is shocked. “What?”

“Come help me in the garden. The storm swept away a good chunk of the crops so I want to get on top of that as soon as we can” “But, why?” “Well I can’t just let us go and starve now can I?”

“No, I don’t understand. Why haven’t you asked Tommy and I to leave” It takes Phil a while to answer that one. He stills and gets lost in his head as Techno has watched him do so many times. And just as Techno begins to fear that he’s accidentally wandered into some unknown sorespot, Phil shrugs. “I can’t. I won't Techno”

And Techno can’t reply to that. He doesn’t know how. So he follows Phil into the garden and learns to help.

Phil shows him how to safely fill up buckets in the river, and shows him how to rinse off any mud that remains on the plants. Phil shows him how to cover any revealed roots, how to identify and remove broken stems.

The process of saving the garden only takes a couple days, but Phil warns him that the garden itself needs constant upkeep.

And he grows to enjoy it.

Techno enjoys the constant and methodical calm that comes with looking after the plants. The routine of it grants him a peace that he's never found before, the garden grants him respite.

And once the yard work is finished, he and Phil will head back inside to wash up and then Techno spends the rest of the day reading or playing with Tommy.

But one day this pattern breaks.

Techno has just finished putting the tools away, when Phil gestures for him to follow, and he begins to walk into the forest.

Techno isn't sure where they're going. The forest is massive, there is so much more to it than the confined area the crows keep Tommy in.

But something about the way he walks makes Techno think that Phil knows exactly where they're headed.

They walk past clearings, over streams further into the trees until Phil comes to a halt. They’ve stopped in a clearing that contains a stream, the water clear and bubbling onwards. There’s a fallen log lying haphazardly on the ground and that’s what Philza lowers himself onto as he stares at the gurgling water.

“People tend to think of magic as this mysterious energy, as something to be utilized. I used to have people ask me what the trick was. How they could get so good at magic as well," Phil turns away from the stream now to look at him. Techno steps forward, his breath leaving his chest. Surely Phil can’t be…

"That's all bullshit. There is no secret and there never was one."

Phil reaches over to tap on Techno's chest. "This is where magic comes from. You. And nature. Magic is no more special than lightning or flame, it is simply another force within our world."

Phil sighs, and Techno can't help but think that Phil looks, sad. Resigned. And Techno doesn't know why but it makes him feel the same way as when Tommy cries.

"I’ll help you Techno, I’ll teach you how to stop treating your magic like lightning in a bottle”

——————————–

Orignal AU by Wolfy | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | Part 4 |

#fanfiction #sbi #sbi fanfic #sbi au #mcyt #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #tommyinnit #tommyinit mcyt #philza #philza minecraft #technoblade #fanfic #lighting in a bottle au

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kalcifers-blog · 2 months

Text

So I had the idea that all of the JSE Egos get possessed by Anti at some point- but all of their possessions look and work completely differently in comparison to each other because rather it being based on what's possessing them- Anti is utilizing what they perceive as their own worst traits/the image they have of themselves (in an extremely /neg way).

It's worth mentioning that it doesn't necessarily mean that these perceptions are true or not- the only thing that necessarily matters is that the Egos themselves think that it's true.

I'm going to go through each ego, describe what their possessions are like and go into detail as to why they're like that.

Buckle in dudes this is gonna be a long one

Chase Brody:

Chase to me has the most unstable variation of the possessions. His plays on the fact that they're constantly questioning their reality and feeling like a danger to not just himself but to those around him. Right now it's unclear if Chase has been experiencing alcoholism or his unstable view of reality before Anti but I do think Chase's entire life has been nothing short of turbulent it's a constant crashing rollercoaster, with the carriages shaking uneasily and sparks flying everywhere and the only thing he's able to do is hold onto the ride and hopes he gets to the end of it unscathed. Chase's possess has ALL of this on full display- it's the closest thing to the original Anti and it's far from pretty.

Visually I think the closest thing to Chases possession is Jinx's Hallucinations in Arcane. They're made up of the faces of his lost family mocking and taunting him while everyone else can only see Chase as an extremely unstable individual with unnatural eyes

[This shot in particular with the glowing eyes is what I imagine P!Chase to be like]

Marvin The Magnificent:

Now I've already briefly shown how I imagine Marvin's possession- and if I'm being honest it's my favourite one!! Marvin would by far be the hardest Ego to possess out of all of them, he's the only one with actual knowledge on Anti and the only one with the power to fight back against him. With that I think that Anti would only be able to possess Marvin with the help of IRIS- be honest, IRIS would JUMP at the opportunity to see what effects Anti could have on an individual with magic the way Marvin does. However, Marvin's biggest flaw is definitely his arrogance and his isolation. His "trust nobody" mindset has left him cold and uncaring to others and in my opinion this is something that he doesn't do because he enjoys it- something about Marvin screams that he wants to be able to connect with others but can't at every turn and that's what is portrayed in their possession. They're cold, robotic and uncaring. Their magic has been locked away deep in their subconscious because Anti knows it's too risky to let them utilise it. They've been forced into a state that's far removed from who Marvin really is. In a way it would make sense with how much of Marvin's memories have been tampered with for god knows how long- at a certain point there's only so much of yourself you can lose before you become unrecognisable to yourself.

The inspiration for P!Marvin is Chipped Catra from She-Ra Princess of Power

JackieBoy Man:

Jackie was by far the hardest to come up with- mostly because I couldn't come up with something that narratively would make sense. But I came to the conclusion that Jackie's worst perception of himself would come from the idea that he's not a true hero and only hurts the people around him, that he's a danger or a monster. That his powers make him a threat rather than a saviour. I personally think this would be a lot more effective if Jackie was possessed after an experience that left him doubting his role as a hero- maybe he couldn't save someone or someone he was trying to save and ended up dying instead. His grief and self loathing would come together into being possessed into being a weapon.

P!Jackie is nothing short of a weapon made for destruction- something that was designed to destroy. Part of the horror would be for him to wake up from his possession, only to realise that the ones he cares about the most and the only people he has left are now afraid of him and wants nothing to do with him.

The idea for P!Jackie is Infected She-Ra from She-Ra Princess of Power

Henrik Von Schneeplestien:

Henrik was another one that took me a while to figure out but I did eventually get to it!! Henrik would come from his insecurities as a doctor, the weight of people's lives being on his shoulders day in and out would wear him down over time and the idea that he could be at fault for the deaths of many whether he could've actually saved them or not plays in his brain so much its unbearable. Henrik's possession would take form as moss- or a general depiction of something rotting, a walking contamination that he can't heal or fix and he knows he's the route problem and to keep everyone else safe he'd need to remove himself from the equation. For the most part I don't think he'd be aware of how far his corruption goes, at first he'd write it off as being unwell, overworked maybe, but he has seen the others get possessed and harmed by their own possessions and he would never let himself succumb to that. Doctors do make the worst patients after all.

The inspiration for this has came from The Corruption in The Magnus Archives and Belos from The Owl House

Jameson Jackson:

JJ's possession is the one I'm most proud of and it's the one that's the most loyal to his debut in 2017. However the way I perceive JJs possession is that he is almost the exact same. But it's not him. He's fully conscious and aware of everything around him but he's trapped in his own skin with movements that are not his own. He's forced to watch and able to do nothing when those around him drop dead by his own hand. And the worst part about all of it is that Anti is clever enough to make him continue his daily routine, to carry on as normal. To let JJ see those closest to him not notice that something is deeply and horrifyingly wrong, that the person they're interacting with and bonding with isn't who they think they are. And no one notices. And there's nothing he's able to do about it. It's a play on his fear of no one really seeing him for who is is, no one notices something's wrong because they didn't know him to begin with. The entire experience makes him think about how much he actually spent time with these people. How much of him do they actually see and how much of Anti has painted over that.

If anything I might tweak Chase or Jackie's possessions slightly because they are extremely similar to each other??? BUT part of me wants to keep the similarities between them a constant thing because I personally see them as being two sides of the same coin

JJs possession was inspired by The Stranger and The Web from The Magnus Archives

AND THATS EVERYTHING‼️‼️ FEEL FREE TO REBLOG WITH THOUGHTS AND ANY ADD-ONS YOU WANT‼️‼️

#jacksepticeye #jse egos #jse #jacksepticeye egos #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #chase brody #jameson jackson #henrik von schneeplestein #jse ego lore #jse ego theory #kals thoughts #kal rambles #kal writes #kalcifers blog

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torialefay · 3 months

Note

Hello there! Haven’t seen you around for quite a bit now, is everything okay?🥺

I wanted to request a reading on Chan and if he’s really the way he shows himself to us, if he’s all sweet and caring or could maybe hide some mean parts that would come out in a relationship (like him being an asshole).

I’ve had pretty bad experiences with libra men, they all act sweet and caring the firsts days, basically love bombing you, and then they just show their true asshole nature… soo idk im kinda scared he’s like that too hahah

hi baby!!! everything is okay, tysm for asking 🥺 i'm on clinical rotations right now, which is basically where you train to be a different type of doctor each month. it's been a lottttt this past month, so i haven't been able to write or be on here as much :( but hopefully i'll be able to do more in this next month!

first, i'm so sorry you've had a bad experience with libra men! i just got out of a long-term relationship with a libra man, so i understand what you mean. one thing i WILL say is that as far as acting like an asshole, i don't know that that's a libra quality more than it is something else in their chart. a lot of my best friends are also libra suns and i think the love-bombing aspect of that can be very true for all of them. livras just need that reassurance that you like them and they know how to make you feel special. as far as being an asshole though, i think that we'd have to search deeper into the chart for that.

for chris:

one thing i want to say about libra suns right off the bat is that obviously they like to appease everybody. that's why a lot of people find them likeable. libra suns understand what you want them to act like, and that's exactly what they do. so what does this mean for chan? i think he 100% knows that we like it when he is our "sweet, shy, humble father of 7 kids", but he also knows we like it when he's got major daddy vibes. and he knows WHEN to bring them out... now that side of him is what he shows to US, but it could be vastly different from what he shows others. you've probably seen that when he's around other guys, he takes on a more masculine, playful character than what he normally shows us. i think behind closed doors when he's just with his members or friends, he's def more of a "guy's guy" than what he lets on. i think he probably cuts up a lot, makes crude jokes, says stupid boy shit, etc. but it's not that he's trying to be deceitful in not showing us this... i just think that he knows when it comes to stays, he needs to behave a certain way. i think when it comes to GIRLS in general, he knows he needs to behave a certain way. i don't think any of it is insincere at all, and i think he def still has those traits that come out when he's hanging with the boys, BUT in everday life, i see him as more "dude-ish" than he probably shows us. any man that's out here wear shorts in the fucking cold is a dude's dude, let's be honest.

so, whether he's an asshole or not i think depends on 1) his other chart placements, and 2) what your own chart placements are. for example, i know some people got upset ab what he posted on bubble a week or so ago. to ME, i thought it was just all jokes and him messing around (like dudes do) and thought it was annoying but funny tbh. like i don't have time for your shit today christopher 🙄 BUT obviously some people did not like it and really took it to heart.... so in that regard, it's like "okay, is he an asshole, or do i just perceive him as an asshole bc we don't have the same sense of 'joking around'?" i think that's a big factor in it. but let's look at his chart and see OBJECTIVELY do i think he'd switch it up and be an asshole after a certain amount of time.

as far as communication goes, NO, i do not think he would intentionally be an asshole on a regular basis. his personality AND his communication style both sit in libra in the 5th house. i think this shows he's really funny and creative, flirty, and likes to mess around and get people riled up. random note, but 5th house also is heavily involved in children, so i think he'd talk ab having kids or raising a family together a LOT. but on the regular, i think he'd actually be a good communicator in relationships and try his best to make them fun.

something i find interesting ab channie is that both his moon in libra and his venus in scorp lie in the 6th house. 6th house governs work, service, and health. i feel like this makes TOTAL sense for him. his moon rooted in libra here means that in relationships, he probably has to feel very giving and feel that he needs his partner to integrate into his work life in order to feel balanced. i have sooooo much more to say on this, which i will do later. his venus in scorp here also tells me that he pours a lot of love and beauty into what he does in work, and that he is vvvvv passionate ab it. i think with this combo, it could actually come up that he is "married to work" in a way. he could REALLY struggle finding balance between relationships and work. and let me emphasize why:

his mars is in sagittarius on the 6th/7th house cusp. stick with me here. mars represents action and aggression, while sagittarius is a fiery and independent sign. i talked previously about how 6th house represents work and service, but 7th house is the ruler of partnerships and marriage. so put all of this together and what we are seeing is someone who REALLY struggles in balancing work and relationships, and this is happening in the placements that rule aggression and independence. can def be a scary combo tbh.

so how do i see this playing out? overall, i think chan is lovely in relationships. basically will be whoever you need him to be and actually is very loving. he has that 6th house placement, so although work is extremely important to him, so is service, which INCLUDES taking care of you. HOWEVER, he has a very difficult time balancing these two things. i think when things are going poorly at work, he will bring that home and into your relationship. when things aren't great in your relationship, he will really struggle at work.... so as much as i hate to say it, i do think if he's having a difficult time at work, he could accidentally take it out on you. even if he doesn't mean to... either 2 things would initially happen: (1) he gets really upset and bottles it all in and/or gets flighty all of a sudden and acts like he doesn't know what he wants, (2) he explodes on you for no reason... like when he feels like his life is off-balance, he can genuinely get that worked up. don't get me wrong, he would regret it later and do everything to try and make up for it, but i see him having that problem for the time being.

so i think it's up to everyone individually how they're able to handle those traits in a relationship. i see people say something like "when chan gets stressed at work, all he wants to do is come home and lay in your arms", but i genuinely disagree. he may END UP wanting that by the end of the night, but when he's upset, he needs to be alone for a bit. so i think that's up to you if you think that makes him an asshole or not? i think it depends on compatibility and how you also react 100%

#bangchan #skz astrology

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j-almori · 4 months

Text

m6 as greek gods

(or other important figures in greek mythology)

note: this is more of a ramble than a proper headcanon/au post. and i must say that i am not that sure about all the comparisons — for some of the m6, it was harder to find characters of greek mythology that would resemble them well, and for others i found several characters that are comparable to them in some ways. and i just wanted to indulge in both these interests of mine so here it is

lucio:

ares, the god of violence in war and courage. besides lucio having a violent mindset by default ('kill or be killed', yknow) and most of the time trying to show bravado, which clearly ties to ares' main traits, there is another similarity which lies in how other people perceive lucio and ares: the fact that ares represented all the horrors of war didn't do well for his popularity among the greeks. majority of people didn't like him at all, and he had little respect as a god, often ending up humiliated in myths. it reminds me of how lucio wasn't actually liked nor respected among the people of vesuvia

cronos, the god of time. tbh i myself think this comparison isn't very fitting, but i like the fact that they have some specific parallels in their stories: 1) patricide :); 2) acting selfish and committing atrocities simply out of extreme fear of death; 3) being locked in one place after being defeated (cronos was defeated in war, lucio was.. metaphorically defeated by death. or you can see it as him being defeated by asra when they sabotaged the ritual) without an ability to escape the imprisonment (yes, lucio is again metaphorically imprisoned in the palace as a ghost before receiving external help) (i know the last point is forced but i'll keep it anyways :p)

another character that could resemble lucio is narcissus, but i think the parallels between them are a bit superficial

nadia: athena, the goddess of wisdom, strategy in war, craft. i don't think there's any other more suitable option for her, since they both possess and represent very similar traits. for nadia, war strategy could represent her rational approach to being a leader of vesuvia and her skill for battle and war tactics that are shown in the confrontation with the devil. besides, one of the main symbols of athena is an owl, much like in nadia's case

//about lucio and nadia being ares and athena: ares and athena's contrast in what they're representing in war is, i think, very similar to differences in lucio and nadia's view of leadership, what kind of rulers they wanted to be, and how they used their power to achieve their goals. lucio wanted to affirm his power by brute force and domination above all, punishing even those who help him (e.g. asra's parents), without thinking of long-term consequences. nadia sees that true power comes from strategy, maintaining balance, and a way of thinking that equally considers everyone's well-being.

muriel:

hades, the god of the dead. honestly my first reason for associating muriel with hades is hades' helm of invisibility, which instantly reminded me of muriel's gift-curse. another thing about hades that reminds me of muriel is how hades isn't often depicted in ancient greek art bc of people's fear of him, making his overall image very hazy, much like muriel doesn't leave any tangible memories of himself bc of his curse. they also resemble each other in how they are disconnected from the rest of the 'cast': in hades' case, it's how he's obliged to stay in the underworld to carry out his duty as the god of the dead, making it difficult for him to interact with other gods (besides, he himself doesn't show much interest in the affairs of the overworld); in muriel's case, it's how he also willingly chooses a solitary life in the woods, staying isolated from others

artemis, the goddess of wilderness, healing, purity. (she's also the goddess of hunt but that doesn't connect well with muriel so ignore that). she, like hades, is also a much more reserved goddess who prefers to stay in the forests surrounded only by animals and her nymphs (who are basically personified nature) than to participate in the olympians' drama. i would say that this comparison relies more on the importance of wild nature in relation to both artemis and muriel than on their character traits, since artemis doesn't hesitate to show her wrath and cruelty when punishing someone, unlike muriel

asra:

orpheus. i don't think it's really necessary to explain this choice if you're familiar with the myth

among the olympians, i would say that he resembles hermes the most — the god of roads, travelers, wit, humor, and too many other things to list them all. he has a unique role of a soul guide, who helps souls travel to the afterlife (well let's say that asra would be a soul guide for one particular soul and that he helped them travel back to life than vice versa). i'd say that hermes is a bit too mischevious and trickster-ish for asra, but i like how hermes' function of a traveler between realms fits to asra's magical abilities and frequent travels outside vesuvia.

ok i just realised that there's also hecate, the goddess of magic (!), crossroads, necromancy (!!) and ghosts — all things that asra is connected with, in some way. she, too, is a goddess who travels between realms. besides, people were placing shrines to hecate at the entrance of homes/temples to keep the dead spirits away, which reminds me of asra's protective spells against lucio's ghost. one of hecate's many symbols is a serpent, and, well... asra has faust, so...

julian: it was difficult to find a resembling enough figure for him, but here's what i decided:

dionysus, the god of wine, fertility, festivity, theatre. he's also referred to as a god of resurrection (!), and sometimes is said to be a foreigner (and i think the motif of being a foreigner is mostly present in julian's image, even though most of the m6 aren't native to vesuvia). despite dionysus being a popular god, there's a lot of uncertainty surrounding his origins and true identity, which could be tied to how julian likes to keep a mysterious external image of himself (imo) (and regarding dionysus' identity: he's sometimes said to be hades or zagreus, hades' son, both of which have death motifs, and, well, julian does have some deathly symbolism too)

note: i also thought of some similarities between julian and eros, but ultimately i didn't find this comparison fitting enough

portia:

hestia, the goddess of hearth, sacred fire, family. she is the youngest among children of cronus (after they were freed by zeus). she doesn't have much representation in mythology, being a non-confrontational and kind goddess who couldn't leave her duty of keeping the olympian hearth (therefore not taking part in any godly drama). still, she was very important to the greeks due to her being a keeper of the home and sacred fire: "among all mortals, she was chief of the goddesses." to say shortly, i think all these traits resemble portia very well, with her greatest assets being her caring, considerate and dutiful nature (she's literally responsible for the entire palace!!). and, like hestia, portia carries great importance in lives of the others without causing any drama or creating some aggrandized persona for herself: her sincere friendliness and attentiveness to others are enough for her to be greatly valued.

persephone, the goddess of spring, vegetation, nature (and the underworld but that's not really relevant in portia's case (afaik)). tbh this association is the least supported by facts, i just think portia and persephone have similar vibes

note: i must say that the arcana character whom i haven't gotten to know in much depth is portia, so i'm sorry if her description wasn't accurate enough

✦✦✦

that's all for my rambling today. thank you for reading! honestly this is the first time i'm writing smth like this, sorry if it's a bit all over the place (which it probably is). just wanted to finally write down these associations that have been plaguing my brain for some time now. (and i would be happy to read your thoughts on this too!)

last note: i definitely wouldn't call myself an expert on greek mythology, i mostly relied on my not-that-deep knowledge of it which i got from a bunch of different sources over the years + fact-checked some things while writing this. overall, don't take this too seriously

#the arcana #rambling #count lucio #lucio morgasson #julian devorak #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #nadia satrinava #also i'm kinda anxious about misphrasing something bc i'm not a native english speaker so i'm sorry if smth sounds weird to you 💀💀#AND this probably has been done before but idc :p #the arcana game #the arcana mystic romance #the arcana m6

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