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soapymansuds · 19 days

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Eternity and Counting

Pt.3

(Pt1, Pt2)

(I am SOOOOOO sorry I didn't post on Tuesday. Full honestly, I forgot. But today's chapter is a touch longer than usual as an apology. And by just a touch, I mean almost double the length of both previous chapters<3)

Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)

TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad.

MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.Keep reading

~/\~

Since that day, my life, or afterlife I suppose, has been relatively simple. When I'm not resting in the garden, I'm running small errands for Michael. It's easy enough to avoid recognition here, but for the sake of my peace of mind, I wear a cloaking spell whenever I'm out. Simeon agreed not to tell anybody about my presence, and in exchange, he asked that I let him join me on my errands, even if he doesn't recognize me. He claims I could have any face in all three realms, and my presence would still bring him comfort. Sometimes he brings me updates on how the others are doing. Usually, he talks about Luke and his growth. He often avoids talking about the Devildom, and whether that's because he doesn't want to upset me or because he simply can't face them knowing what he knows, I've yet to figure out. It's a nice thought, him trying not to remind me of the best part of my life. But it's not overly helpful, given that, even if physical representations of our bonds weren't burned into my skin, everything I do reminds me of them anyway. I know it's selfish of me to make him keep my secret. But to be fair, I decided nearly a year ago that I am an inherently selfish creature, and I've come to terms with it.

Now that I'm on my own, things are easier. Nobody relies on me for much more than fetching papers or goods, and any failures that occur are mine to handle alone. It's simple. It's lonely. But it's simple. And it's good.

I suppose all good things must come to an end though. As I follow my long-since memorized path through the Celestial Palace, I can't help but wonder why I've been summoned. Usually, if Michael has a task for me, he simply brings it to me. But today he asked I meet him in the throne room, so here I am.

I'm greeted as soon as I swing open the door. "MC! Thank you for coming so quickly."

I'm nearly caught off guard by the use of my real name in public. For the sake of secrecy, Michael and Simeon have taken to calling me a fake name for the duration of my stay here.

"How can I help?" I nod as I close the door behind me. I take notice of Simeon's presence and he looks nervous. Never a good sign.

"I have some paperwork I need run to the Devildom. Usually I'd send Simeon, but I need him for another task today and this is rather urgent." Michael grins at me, likely in an attempt to sweeten the plan he's certain I would protest if given the chance.

I'm nearly nauseous at the idea of it. "You're joking, right? I mean this so genuinely, have you lost it?"

There's a flash of amusement on his face before he responds, "I would never make light of your trauma, no I am not joking. You have your cloaking spell, and all you need to do is hand the papers over to Barbatos. Maybe if he's busy, you'll have to hand them to Lord Diavolo himself. But then you can just come straight back. Simple and easy."

I stare at him, dead eyed and confused. "Yeah, seems super simple." I groan, sarcasm laced in every letter. "There's no getting out of this, is there?" I glance desperately at Simeon who seems to have loosened some of the tension in his spine at my pseudo acceptance of the whole ordeal. He shakes his head.

"Fine." I sigh. "Open'r up." with a lazy wave of my arm.

Michael nods, same fatherly grin plastered on his face as always. I'm sure he's convinced he's won some sort of mental battle, and maybe he has. Either way, he summons the portal, and I steal my nerves to step through. "I'm getting two days off when I get back." I call, lunging through the portal.

On the other side, I take a quick moment to make sure my cloaking spell hasn't warn off before looking around. I'm right where I had assumed I'd be. The courtyard's grand arches and elegant gazebo bring a chilly feeling of recognition to the back of my mind. How many gallas and celebrations had I spent out here, in search of some form of peace from the hustle and bustle? How many times had I stumbled upon Levi, or him upon me, in search of the same thing? I think for a moment that I wouldn't mind him stumbling upon me now.

I shake the thought from my mind as quickly as it occurs. Just deliver the paperwork.

I begin the path to the castle without a thought. The trail ingrained into my very psyche. I almost laugh at the thought. I abandoned this place, yet it never left me. What is it Djo said about men and cities?

I never allowed myself to dwell on it from the comfort of Michael's garden, but God did I miss the sky here. Something about the ever present swirling of purples and blues splashed across the stars is purely... divine. Not to say that the Celestial realm wasn't stunning. But there was always this sense of perfectionism, even in the natural landscape. It never felt right to me. Not like this at least. This has always been chaotic, but in the way a toddler helping in the kitchen is chaotic. Sure, shit's a mess and you're near certain it's going to end poorly, but if you take just a moment to watch it unfold, there's beauty in it.

I wish I could have been reborn as a demon.

No. No I don't. Living out the rest of my days, infinite as they may be, facing them with my own selfishness. I'm sure it would kill me a second time.

I'm utterly lost in thought and the view of the sky as I follow the path. So much so, I nearly miss the tail swishing on the ground in front of me. Luckily for me, it bats my ankle gently before I manage to step on it. Double luck, the contact doesn't wake it's sleeping owner.

Belphegor snores softly in the grass next to the path, curled up with his back to me. Something in me instinctively wants to curl up with him, but I know I can't. So instead, I sit. Divine garb be damned, I'm sitting on the dirt, watching him sleep. I consider making a run for it, but the subtle pull he's always had keeps me calm and still. Even in his sleep, even with our pact burned away, his presence still lulls me like a child.

I shake my head as if I were actually dozing off. Was I? Regardless, I stand up, settling to move him out of the trail, just a little. For the sake of the hazard he poses to himself and others. He's as warm as I remember as I press him further into the grass, tucking his tail over his leg before quickly stepping away and back to my task.

A warm feeling I can just barely remember washes over me and stops me in my tracks. How could I, after over a year away, fall so quickly back into routine. Not only how could I, but how dare I? I made my decision, and I've got no right to just wander in here and return to my position, doting and fawning over them. I truly am a selfish creature.

I tried to explain it to them, time and time again. But they simply refused to believe me. I cared so much, not because of them, but because I needed to. I needed to care for them to feel useful. Asmodeus once told me that I was a "pleasure sub". I told him I was willing to rip my own heart out to please him, but mostly because i never much cared for it anyway.

(As always, thank you soooo much for reading. If you'd like to be tagged in future uploads, please comment to be added to the list!)

-Your Friend, The Author

*tags*

@spffldlbrnf

#obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me #mammon x reader #obey me angst #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon

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oxygenbefore1775 · 1 year

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when you have to leave him in the morning

➥featuring: porco, reiner, zeke x fem!reader

➥cw: petnames, suggestive aka hints of sex and groping in porco's, also forgery in zeke's (as if ud expect anything else from him), also zeke's a doctor here

➥summary: after staying the night at his place, you have to leave in the morning yet he's dead-set to get in your way (or not)

➥a/n: aka my beloved tagelied trope (i can't fucking get enough of it)

Porco

tries to get off one last time

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you noticed his figure appearing in the mirror's reflection, silently entering the bathroom while you were getting ready to leave for work. His eyes found you in a heartbeat as did his arms, snaking their way around your waist and getting dangerously close to the hem of your shirt.

He observed you hastily going through your skincare routine for a few moments before emitting a low grunt, his lips gingerly brushing against the nape of your neck. "C'mon baby you don't need all that shit," his hold on you tightened, turning possessive, "you're already so pretty. Save this time for something else." With the bluntest of insinuations leaping of his tongue, Porco slid his fingers under your shirt and started tracing shapes on the tender skin of your stomach.

Yet, you remained strong in the face of his bold caresses, "It's only thanks to this 'shit' that I've been so 'pretty', Pock." Your breath hitched as his palm slid up to your breast, gently cupping it, but you continued, though with a clear strain to your voice. "And no, the last time I caved, I was late to work and I couldn't exactly tell my boss that my boyfriend wanting to get his dick wet was the one to blame."

"You know that's not what I meant," he pleaded, his brows furrowing in growing desperation. His voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, weaving a seductive melody that lingered in the air. "Oh, please. I can't bear to wait a whole day to have you back at my place. I'll drive you there myself, even if it means getting a ticket. It's just too good, that pussy of yours."

As his words hung in the air, followed by thoughtless pecks to your neck and back of your head, you couldn't help but to feel the allure of his proposition. The thought of succumbing to his enticing offer tugged at your resolve and coiling familiar warmth in your stomach, tempting you to give in to the desires.

Fortunately for Porco, your self-restraint was practically non-existent.

With a gentle nudge you pried yourself out of his grasp to face him and fall back into his arms again. "Ok, but only this last time," you playfully interjected between breathless kisses.

His dark chuckle melted against your lips, the low rumble of amusement sending more heat into your stomach. "You say that everytime."

Reiner

helps you to get ready

With a delicate yet persistent rub to your shoulder Reiner roused you out of the deep sleep, calling out your name in an affectionate manner to make sure you were awake. Blinking your eyes open, you smiled at him in recognition before wandering your still hazy gaze to the clock. The burning white digital numbers jolted you awake as you realized you had overslept.

A drawn-out "shit" flew past your lips along with curses directed at your phone for not setting off the alarm clock, and you scrambled out of bed, your mind racing. Your eyes lay to Reiner. If it wasn't for your phone, then was he the one to wake you up?

Your head void of any other thoughts, you stated bluntly, "I'm running late." With those words you turned to Reiner, a surge of hope and pleading momentarily glimmered in your eyes, desperate for a solution to your predicament. However, as the weight of the situation fully settled in, a new wave of despair crashed over you, overwhelming you with the number of all the tasks that needed to be accomplished in such a short amount of time. That initial glint of hope irrevocably faded, replaced by a deep sense of worry and frustration.

Ever the paragon of composure (at least when it came to your predicaments), Reiner flashed a reassuring smile at you. "Not to worry," he mused, his voice laced with warmth. "I've already taken care of a few things for you." As you stood there, momentarily dumbfounded by his thoughtfulness, he gently nudged you toward the bathroom. "Just go and start off the day while I finish up some other tasks. Alright?"

As it turned out, Reiner took his time in the morning to fix up a breakfast for you and iron your outfit for the day. As you sat at the kitchen counter, gobbling up the prepared meal in haste, Reiner exuded strange serenity unfit for the rush of the mornings that somehow transferred to you too. So much so, that when you were standing in the hallway waiting for the cab (another courtesy of Reiner) you were absolutely calm as if coming in late wasn't a threat anymore.

As you were about to leave, Reiner handed you a container and explained under the unspoken question of your eyes. "Packed some lunch for you." Clarification sounded so simple coming out of his mouth yet it still swelled your chest with affection. A belated surge of tenderness overcame you, and you leaned in to leave a gentle peck on his cheek, before leaving for the cab.

Zeke

pulls all the strings at his disposal to make you stay

The soft rays of the morning light filtered through the curtains as the alarm clock in its infinite persistence urged you to wake up. With a yawn and a stretch, along with some crude laments about such an early awakening, you made a feeble attempt to get up but a clutch of his hands, closed in around you, only grew stronger.

"Zeke," you groaned in protest but nonetheless let him pull you closer into his embrace. "We're not playing this game again."

His response was barely an audible murmur yet still managed to convey an untolerable level of sneer, "Yes, we are."

With that, he peeled one of his eyes open just to register the sheer annoyance painted across your features and fall back into slumber as soon as he saw the desired outcome of his antics. Your struggle seemed to amuse him to no end.

Trying to cover up the boiling irritation, you pleaded with him one last time, "I have to get up. Mind you, we both have work today," you pointed out and followed with a reasonable, at least at first glance, argument. "Doubt that your patients would be all that happy to not see you at your office today."

"Oh, I'm afraid they'll have to deal with that," he rebuked in a state of absolute calm, "The same goes for your boss."

Shifting around in his embrace to find some sort of comfort, you furrowed your brows in confusion. "The fuck you mean?" you asked him bluntly, running out of patience and time to get ready.

His whole body trembled as curt laughter escaped his chest. "Well, it has come to my attention that both of us contracted a rare strain of disease and — oh no — it's extremely contagious and dangerous to the outside world so we must quarantine for the rest of the day." To add defiance to his words and irate you even more, he nestled closer, his beard scratching at your skin. "As you can see, I'm already taking measures. It's you who's the irresponsible one right now."

"You talking forgery," you rebuked meekly yet it didn't seem to get a rise out of him. "Not if you're a real doctor which, luckily, I am."

You still seemed tense when his hot breath seered against your ear, "Relax, we're sleeping in today."

A valid excuse provided, you melted into his touch as you finally caved to his request. "You're very fortunate to have me, you know? Maybe reconsider to start appreciating me some more." The playfulness to his voice quickly faded off into the distance as you fell back asleep.

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot warriors #aot headcanons #porco #porco galliard #porco x reader #reiner #reiner braun #reiner x reader #zeke #zeke jeager #zeke yeager #zeke x reader #aot oneshots

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vivmaek · 7 months

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PLUTO IN THE 5th HOUSE: Observations

People with this placement feel a desperate need to create something. They have something important to share with the world and they know it. Pluto fifth housers are known for their strong egos and large personalities. They may struggle with bouts of insecurity, but it isn’t strong enough to overtake their self expression. If anything, they channel their insecurity into proving others wrong. Pluto fifth housers garner a lot of admirers for the work that they create. They receive a lot of attention, but this also comes with haters and people who wish to tear them down. They evoke strong reactions within people through their creativity. People with this placement have a strong connection with their subconscious and this is showcased through their creative pursuits. They’re not afraid to explore ugly or taboo subjects, and this will make quite a few people angry. Despite the pushback they may receive, they will still continue with their efforts. Their sense of self expression is deeply tied to who they are as a person. They don’t want to betray themselves and they find a sense of power through their ability to manipulate appearances, visuals, and stories. They might isolate themselves for long periods of time during their creative pursuits. They have an unbreakable sense of concentration and they don’t allow for any distractions to sway them from their work. Sometimes they force themselves to go to a dark place so they can explore these feelings through their sense of creativity. They could overcome traumas through creative self expression. Art therapy could be especially beneficial for people with this placement. Pluto fifth housers might struggle with feelings of always needing to be the center of attention. When they see other artists receiving recognition when they’re not, strong feelings of jealousy might come through. This is oftentimes a trigger for their insecurities, and they start to compare themselves to others. As I said before, they feel a need to prove themselves. But sometimes they can over do it by trying to overpower people they feel threatened by. They want people to recognize their hard work, and most importantly their vulnerabilities. Their emotions are so deeply connected to their artwork that it's hard for them not to get upset when they feel that it's not getting the attention it deserves. But ultimately, their sense of emotional bravery is what leads them to great success.

✰ my masterlist

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cinnamongorll · 15 days

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a fragile line - chapter 33

read on ao3! (153k words) | previous chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: animal death. threats of cannibalism. gore.

Word count: 6.4k

Chapter 33

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet hadn’t noticed the men who clung to the side of the building like dark moss. She didn’t see the sight that had made Joel pause. But Juliet saw, with the harshest of clarity, the back end of the shotgun as it assaulted Joel’s temple.

Mouth open in a silent display of horror, Juliet watched as his body crumpled to the ground like paper in a tight fist.

The self preservation that guided her for many years and protected her like a sure compass was nowhere to be found. She didn’t look to her left to find Joel’s attacker. She didn’t even raise her gun, instead, it slipped through her fingers and hit the ground with a sound that never reached her ears.

Juliet didn’t hear herself scream for him but she felt her lips form his name.

Why wasn’t he listening to her? Why wasn’t he moving?

Her skin was numb by the time the first man touched her skin, gripping her wrists and roughly pulling them behind her body before a rope enclosed around them again, again, blocking her blood flow. But Juliet felt nothing. The men around her didn’t exist. They couldn’t exist, because if they did, and that rope around her wrists was real too, then that meant that Joel… that Joel…

No, no no no NO.

“Get up, Joel,” Juliet demanded, her voice hard, mimicking his past commands. “Get up,” she continued when he still didn’t move, louder this time. “Get up. Get up. Get up. GET UP,” Juliet begged.

She tried to drop to her knees, tried to crawl to him. But the men around her had hands under her arms, keeping her upright. Juliet just writhed and bared her teeth, seething like a woman possessed.

Why wouldn’t they let her crawl to him?

Through her burning vision, Juliet watched in cold, biting horror as hands were shoved under Joel’s arms and his motionless body was lifted into the air.

She was screaming again then his feet began to drag against the ground.

Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he -

Juliet couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel anything beyond stunned terror.

Take me with him! She wanted to scream. And maybe she did scream it. Maybe she couldn’t stop screaming.

Sharp heat and a welcome numbness hit her cheek. Too slowly, Juliet’s head tilted towards the hand that slapped her. Her eyes widened when she realised that she knew the man the hands belonged to. Juliet scrambled her confused mind for his name as recognition flared within her. The man had become almost synonymous with her father when she was young; he watched her from corners and lingered in open doorwards as her father hurt her. And he was always first in line when her father opened their game up to other players.

John, Juliet remembered.

“What’re you doing back here, Juliet?” John’s sneering voice asked as the hand that slapped her now gripped her chin, tilting her chin up to meet his face.

Through her hazy mind, she felt his breath coat her cheek and she blinked up at his, too thin, face.

“Don’t care who she is, pick her up and let’s go,” a voice called from behind them.

John’s cracked lips spread into a bloody smile before he pulled her even closer until his lips met her ear.

“You might’ve been something in this town once, sweetheart,” he murmured, causing Juliet's already broken and pounding heart to jump. “Do you know what you are now?” he asked as he pulled back to meet her wide stare.

John’s eyes roamed down her body before he answered.

“Fresh meat.”

……………..

They dragged Juliet through the gate, passing the corpse of the horse that had carried them here.

Its hollowed body told her what fate awaited her.

Her head whipped around. She couldn’t see Joel. Juliet began to scream his name in a guttural cry. She thought that if she yelled enough it might wake her from his nightmare.

God, they must have been watching them since they entered the town.

Joel had questioned Danny for looking over his shoulder but that’s what they should have been doing. Maybe they had grown too comfortable in Jackson, had forgotten the habit all together.

The tall gate that protected the town had been open. Why had it been open? The question had plagued Juliet’s mind as they had searched for Danny.

Only now, as she was dragged through the same streets, did the answer reveal itself like the solution to an old riddle…

What does a starving town, in the midst of winter, with a dead leader, and no contacts or suppliers need most?

Fresh meat.

It was a trap, the open gate had been a snare and they had walked right into it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Juliet just wanted to know if she was destined to her father’s fate, if his blood had truly corrupted her.

Stupid, fucking selfish suicidal mistake.

Joel was right, he was always right, and yet he still came with her…

And now he was … and now he …

“Joel!” The scream erupted from Juliet’s raw throat.

“Shut her up, will you?” One of the men she only vaguely recognised groaned from behind her.

“It’d be my fucking pleasure,” another one said before the back end of a gun sped towards the side of her head.

…………………………….

Her bed was so cold that the feeling bit through her layers of clothing.

Juliet groaned, trying to turn over away from the chill, but her body wouldn’t follow her commands.

Juliet’s eyes flashed open to a ceiling that she didn’t recognise. Her mind was foggy and the world was still blurry as Juliet blinked a few times and tried to raise a hand to rub at her eyes. But she couldn’t move her arm, why couldn’t she move her arm?

Her memories barreled into her like another hit to the temple.

Joel.

Juliet’s pulse began to roar in her ears as she remembered what had happened and she realised where she was.

She couldn’t move her arms or legs, and it wasn’t a bed she was lying on.

Juliet was strapped to a metal table in what looked like Ethan’s father’s old medic office.

The room had always been kept immaculate when Ethan’s father was alive, but now every surface was overflowing with dirty rags, containers and knives which all had a slick red coating to them which made Juliet’s stomach drop.

She remembered their horse.

“Fresh meat,” John had called her.

Juliet swallowed down her nausea as she tilted her head the best she could to see the floor.

It was stained with blood.

This wasn’t an examination table anymore… It was a butcher’s block.

Despite the chill, a sweat broke out across her forehead. She tried to think of a strategy to get out but all she could think about was Joel.

Where was he? How long had she been out for? … Was he alive?

The door opened so suddenly, Juliet didn’t have time to wipe the horrified look from her face.

It was John. He looked the same as he did in the dark memories of her childhood, except he was now a lot thinner, like Danny. Lost leadership and the effects of winter had hit this town hard.

He opened his mouth but Juliet spoke first.

“Where is he?” she demanded in a voice far stronger than she felt.

John shook his head slowly, and walked to pull a chair over to the table she lay on.

“Slow your horses, sweetheart. You’re not the one asking questions here,” he warned as he sat down and rested his hands on his knees.

“Where is he?” Juliet bit out, ignoring him.

John laughed and leaned back in his chair.

“So you’ve come back, and with Elijah’s killer, no less,” he observed with a quizzical look. “I was out on a supply run when your father was murdered. Knew he was looking for you, though. Just didn’t expect you to betray us, Juliet.”

She swallowed down the fear that was crawling up her throat.

“God, what a disappointment you were to him,” John sighed. “Your father gave you everything, he saved you and yet you brought that monster straight to him.”

Juliet’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest it was difficult to hear John’s voice.

“When I came back, they told me that Elijah was murdered by this crazy man and I -” John paused, shook his head and clasped his hands in front of him. “I vowed that I’d get revenge, one way or another but keeping this town alive became more important.” He rubbed a hand over his face and barked out a surprised, almost delighted laugh. “And then you walk right in, like you own this fucking town and with the psychopath himself. It’s just perfect, couldn’t have wrote it better myself.”

Juliet began to shake her head. “We don’t want any trouble,” she promised.

John tilted his face to the side, to match her position on the table, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Oh we’re way past that now, sweetheart,” he said almost softly as his eyes roamed down her restrained body. “All you are is trouble.”

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She couldn’t see a way out of this, she couldn’t even begin to make a plan because her mind was playing a constant loop of Joel’s body crumpling to the ground. Juliet analysed it over and over. Did she see him breathing? Could he have survived this?

“Where is he?” she pleaded.

John stood so suddenly that Juliet flinched. He pushed his chair back with a biting shriek and walked over to the counter.

“He’s no concern of yours now. You brought him right to us, sweetheart,” John replied with his back turned as he fiddled with something on the counter. “You didn’t think we’d want to have a little chat with the man who killed Elijah and left us all to starve?”

Hope slammed into Juliet’s chest, fast and sudden.

“He’s alive?” she choked out. Her eyes began to flood with tears and they leaked onto the cold metal table beneath her.

John turned suddenly, resting his back on the counter, as his lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” He scoffed, then shook his head. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Juliet said nothing, just bit her lip to stop another scream from erupting.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“Why’d you come here, Juliet?” John demanded, turning his head to the side. The action made him look menacing, and Juliet remembered that she should be afraid of him, not just because of what he might do to Joel, but what he might do to her.

“We want nothing from you,” she bit out as she struggled against the restraints. Juliet was growing restless, and her breathing grew laboured as she realised there wasn’t an easy way out of this.

She was entirely at John’s mercy; whatever his revenge may include.

“Just let us go,” Juliet pleaded as the ropes that bound her scratched red welts into her skin.

John’s look stretched several moments as he watched her struggle, then he reached for something behind him that Juliet couldn’t see from the angle she lay at.

“No,” he replied quietly as he began to walk towards her, his footsteps slow and careful as though he were approaching a wild beast. “No, this is just too good. You took everything from us,” John’s voice had grown darker. “Your father was a proud man and he provided for us, kept us from starvation every winter… now you’ll have to fulfil that duty.”

Juliet’s stomach dropped as she noticed what was in his hand. The stark overhead lights reflected off the sharpened edge of the cleaver.

“Wait,” she begged and begged and begged.

Juliet’s eyes widened as John’s steps paused. Her entire body trembled as he raised her knife and its mirrored surface reflected her horror stricken face.

This couldn’t be the end. She couldn’t die here.

Juliet had survived this town, she had survived her father, and now…

“Elijah was against this practice, said it was against the word of God,” John murmured in a voice that sounded underwater to Juliet’s ears.

“Wait!” She pleaded again, her own voice almost unrecognisable in her state of terror.

John ignored her.

“But I think under the current circumstances, he’d understand.”

Juliet writhed against her restraints, pushing further against the metal table, wanting to melt into the surface if only to get away from the cleaver now angled dangerously over her body.

“You don’t have to do this,” she screeched. “We have food in our bags, you can have it, you can have it all.”

John’s eyes hit the ceiling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we got that already.”

The cleaver dropped to her stomach and Juliet’s eyes squeezed shut.

But the blade didn’t pierce her skin. Instead, John used the pointed edge to trace along her jacket, watching as it formed a perfect slash in the fabric.

Nausea washed over her as she pictured what the blade would do to her skin.

“It’s just not enough,” John continued with a click of his tongue.

Her knife was in her boot, if it was even still there. But there was no way for her to get to it. She was entirely defenceless. All the years of fighting and bleeding and learning how to defend herself and, in her final moments, it still wasn’t enough.

Her mind went to Joel. If he was gone already then at least she would join him, wherever they ended up.

In her sweetest fantasies, she’d always imagined they would find a farmhouse, like the one he had described almost a lifetime ago, and live together. They might sit on a porch swing in the evenings and watch as the sun set, then they would walk up the stairs to the bed they shared and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Maybe in another life, she thought.

Juliet’s mind tuned back into reality and John’s voice filtered back through.

Despite the fear and the adrenaline that was pumping through her bloodstream, Juliet frowned as she watched, through tear soaked eyes, as John moved the cleaver away from her chest and, with his other hand, he gripped her wrist.

“We’ll start with something small, see how you manage,” John explained, coldly.

John winced as Juliet’s scream began to fill the room, echoing off every surface. Her throat burned and raged.

He struggled to grip her flailing hand but a quick elbow to her gut paused all her movements.

“This is for Elijah,” John seethed.

Then he brought the cleaver down on her finger, slicing through the bone until it was no longer attached to her body.

Black spots filled her vision immediately and Juliet’s scream vanished at the first flash of pain.

Then there was nothing at all.

……………………………….

“Juliet.”

Her eyes opened, then immediately closed again.

The lights were so bright and something was on fire, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Juliet, please wake up.”

The voice wouldn’t stop harassing her, it was like a hand had reached through her mind and was dragging her subconscious out of the dark waters up to the surface.

Panic hit her with the first gasp of air.

“Joel?”

Her eyes searched frantically through her tears as her head bent in different directions, desperately trying to find who had pulled her back to life.

“No, it’s me. It’s Danny.”

To her left, there he was, crouched against the table, shaking Juliet’s shoulders.

“Danny?” she asked.

“Listen, we don’t have much time,” he cautioned, letting go of her shoulders.

“Where is he? Is he alive? Please,” Juliet’s questions poured from her, the words overlapped and sleep still clung to her slurred speech.

“Don’t move, I need to wrap your finger,” Danny whispered, avoiding her questions.

My finger?

Juliet had discovered the source of the thick, burning pain and she remembered the glint of satisfaction in John’s eyes.

She tried to lift her hand to her face, to see if it was really gone, but she still couldn’t move her arms. The restraints still held her to the table.

“Untie me. I - I can’t move,” Juliet croaked, her throat raw.

Danny just shook his head and lifted her injured hand, still restricted by the binding on her arm.

Juliet watched with her mouth open in a silent scream as he began to wrap a bandage over the stump of what was left of her finger and around the palm of her hand, over and over until he tied it tight.

Her breathing bordered on hyperventilating as she struggled to not pass out again.

When the job was done, Danny lay her hand by her side and took a step backwards, making no move to untie her.

“Please, untie me. I have to get to him,” Juliet almost sobbed, her voice confused and desperate.

Danny shook his head again, quicker this time, as though he was ashamed.

“I can’t. There’s no time,” he replied quietly.

“What do you mean? Where’s John?” Juliet demanded as her eyes flashed to the closed door.

Danny ran a shaking hand, covered in her blood, over the sharp bones of his face. “He’ll be back soon. He went to Joel,” he revealed reluctantly.

Juliet’s chest ached as the restraints bit through her clothing. “Do you know where they’re keeping him?” she begged.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Danny sighed, then nodded to the table she lay on. “That night you were last here, I found you on this table. You were unconscious and Ethan was patching you up while Joel hovered over your body like he’d shoot anyone who came near you,” Danny paused and let out a humourless laugh, “he almost shot me, actually.”

“When he carried you got of here, I thought that, despite everything he’d done, that at least he’d protect you, that maybe you’d have a chance at a life,” Danny said solemnly, staring down at his feet, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Untie me,” Juliet commanded, her voice angry.

Danny stood so still, it was as though he hadn’t heard her at all, then he turned and looked behind him at the door. He was terrified, she realised. Maybe if they hadn't come to the town, it would have been Danny on this table instead of her.

Then he broke the silence, with words sharper and more ruinous than the edge of John’s cleaver:

“Elijah wasn’t lying to you.”

Juliet’s heart stopped.

Danny sat in the empty chair, left behind by John, and dropped his head into his hands. And when his face rose to meet hers, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“You were born not far from here, we all were,” he began. “I was younger than your parents, but I knew them well. I was the son of the town minister and they came to our church, the whole town did, really. I was there at your parents’ wedding and your christening.”

His words didn’t feel real. Juliet could have sworn she was asleep again, floating in her fantasies.

“You were such a happy toddler, you know, you were always smiling,” Danny smiled too, like the memory was clear in his head, until his face darkened. “Then the end of the world happened,” he said grimly, wringing his hands, “and nothing was ever the same.”

“It was a small town and those of us who weren’t infected, we banded together in the church. There were some supplies there and, for a while, we managed.” His voice was quieter now. “Then, a few weeks in, we heard a knock at the door. We knew by that point that the infected didn’t knock, so we opened the door and,” Danny paused to meet Juliet’s eyes, “Elijah was on the other side, with his daughter.”

Juliet swallowed roughly, and her heart jumped at the mention of his name.

“He’d always lived in town with his wife, and their daughter was about your age. They always kept to themselves, they came to church but never stayed long afterwards,” Danny explained. “It was a surprise to see them, to say the least. Especially because they were covered in blood and his wife was gone.”

A chill settled over Juliet’s body, sinking deep into her bones.

“We checked them for bites and we let them stay and Elijah I guess slowly took up the role as the leader of our group. He was skilled and he knew how to appeal to people,” Danny paused to run a hand through the greasy strands of his thinning, grey speckled hair. “Then… then his daughter was killed.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat.

“It was a freak accident. The church was swarmed and so many survivors were bitten, including his daughter.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he considered his next words. “I watched him kill her. A bullet straight between her eyes. She was only three.”

Tears hit the metal table.

Danny stretched his back and nervously looked around him at the door as though John would walk in at any moment, then he turned back to Juliet. “Things are hazy in my mind after that,” he stated. “We moved out of the church, Elijah had found us an abandoned farm with some good land, and we started hunting for food.”

“Your parents were strong, and brave. They volunteered to hunt and I didn’t notice it at first but Elijah started to spend more and more time with them, and more time with you. It seemed like a man grieving his daughter and no one really paid any mind but, I don’t know, it was almost possessive.”

Danny’s story unravelled like an old ball of tangled string, bringing more troubles with every pull.

“I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t there, but your father went on a supply run… and only Elijah returned.”

Juliet bit her lip hard and a sharp metallic taste entered her mouth. She swallowed it down.

“Your mother was… I’ve never heard anyone scream like that. Elijah said your father had been bit and he had to kill him but,” Danny shrugged. “Your mother died not long after.”

“No,” Juliet whispered, not realising the word had left her mouth. It was too much to take in. Her whole world was unravelling.

“She had taken you down to the river to bathe but hours later, neither of you had returned. Elijah eventually found you, sitting on the riverbank, alone with your mother’s jacket draped over you.”

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain of her severed finger anymore. She was numb with a loss of people she couldn’t remember, but had offered her a love that had been taken from her.

“He said that she drowned herself on purpose,” Danny’s voice cracked. “But your mother would have never left you alone.”

A sob worked its way up Juliet’s throat but she didn’t let it out. Danny wasn’t finished.

“Elijah took you in straight away. You even looked like his daughter,” he winced. “I - no one could even question it. People worshipped him, and if we wanted to live, we had to go along with it.”

Juliet tried to speak but her voice was muted. She coughed out a weak sound and then tried again.

“What were they like, my parents?” she asked quietly.

At her question, Danny’s hollow eyes found some life again.

“They were good people, Juliet,” he tried to smile. “Truly good. They were kind and they loved you so much. They were nothing like him.”

Juliet let out the sob this time, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Why did no one tell me? Why did you all let him hurt me?” she asked like a confused child.

Danny held the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, wincing. “I was a coward. We all were.” He let go of his nose and his eyes locked on the ropes around her body. “I still am.”

“No,” Juliet gasped out as she began to write against her restraints again. “No, you can get me out of here, just hand me a knife. Please.”

Danny shook his head slowly. “He’ll kill me.”

“Elijah’s dead,” Juliet said forcefully, the words still felt unreal to her. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Danny still didn’t look up at her.

“Don’t let someone else dictate your life for another twenty years,” she ground out. “Come on, please.You owe me this,” Juliet seethed.

Danny’s eyes flashed to hers. His mouth opened and for a split second, Juliet saw him make a decision, and watched him begin to speak the words and then -

The door flew open, banging against the wall with a sound that made Danny jump from his chair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John demanded as his hard gaze bounced between Juliet, still bound to the table, and Danny, now standing in front of him.

To his credit, Danny didn’t flinch. “Just came to check on her,” he explained.

“Yeah?” John asked, tilting his head to the side. “And who fucking told you to do that?”

“I’m leaving,” Danny said as he tried to move around John to the door.

“No you’re not,” John protested with a heavy hand on his chest, pushing him towards the table Juliet lay on.

“Do you wanna be the one on the table?” John demanded, then laughed sickly when Danny didn’t answer. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

John’s hand pushed him again, until Danny practically leant against the table.

Juliet stared at Danny’s back, desperately avoiding eye contact with John lest he take another finger as retribution.

Her eyes were focused on Danny’s thin, hunched shoulders until a flare of light caught her eye. She looked down… there was a knife in Danny’s back pocket. Her knife. The blade was open and ready.

He’d brought it for her, despite not having the courage to give it to her himself.

Maybe there was some bravery left in him.

Juliet tuned out John’s anger fueled words as he fired them at Danny and she started to inch her hand towards the knife. The pain from her missing finger was stronger than she’d expected and Juliet had to bite down on her lip again to stop a scream from escaping.

Her remaining fingers inched closer and closer to the knife until finally they enclosed around the blade. Its sharp edge cut into her flesh, forcing Juliet to bite her lip even harder, and every time she thought she gained a grip… it slid from her fingers again.

She was losing time. John was going to kick Danny out any second… or worse. She had to get this knife now.

Ignoring the bite of the blade, Juliet tugged with all the strength she had remaining in her butchered hand and the knife finally slid free. She grasped it carefully, terrified that it would drop onto the metal table.

John continued his power trip, pointing vile accusations Danny’s way. Juliet tuned him out again and focused on turning the blade in her trembling hand until the sharp edge grazed the rope around her wrist.

Sweat began to bead across her forehead despite the temperature in the room as the knife threatened to slip from her hand. Without her index finger, gaining a good grip was impossible but she kept trying until the blade cut through the first fibres of the rope.

John had Danny by the throat now but his body was still covering the movement of her hand as she pushed the knife harder and faster, slicing the rope again and again and again.

Then, as Danny was pushed against the counter, and a gun was pressed to his head, the rope released from her wrist.

Juliet choked out a strangled gasp as she rapidly assessed the situation around her.

Danny was shouting at John, with words that her panicked mind couldn’t comprehend.

John’s back was turned, this was the distraction she needed.

With her hand freed, Juliet pushed down the pain and used the knife to cut through the rope on her other wrist, faster this time with her returned mobility.

John landed a punch on Danny’s face, causing him to sag against the counter.

Juliet’s eyes flashed towards him but she had to keep working. The knife was at the rope around her chest then finally the rope around her legs.

Time slowed to a crawl as she lifted her numb legs and managed to drop onto the floor. She stumbled but caught herself on the metal table with her damaged hand.

She couldn’t help it. Juliet yelled out in pain.

John whirled towards her, gun in hand. Juliet’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened.

“No, you don’t,” he growled and stepped towards her, aiming to grab her by the middle.

But, despite the shock, Juliet was ready. As he reached for her side, Juliet whipped her arm around until her knife lodged in his shoulder then she pulled back, unleashing it with a spray of blood.

“Fuck,” he shouted, stumbling back as his free hand rose to cover the fresh wound.

Juliet eyed the door, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate, searing need to find Joel. But unfortunately John handled a stab wound better than Juliet expected, because within seconds he had his gun pointed at her head.

Despite the adrenaline in her bloodstream, the injury and the lack of food and water had taken its toll. Juliet’s hands rose in the hair as her body began to sway.

“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” John sneered.

In her desperation, Juliet’s eyes flickered to Danny’s, begging him desperately to help her. But Danny had a different idea, quickly he began to mouth a phrase over and over, urging her to understand.

She peered closer, blinking fast as her mind whirled.

Juliet thought he was saying “Elijah’s house.”

She gasped when realisation slapped her across the face. Elijah’s house. That’s where Joel was. He was telling her where Joel was being kept.

“Don’t look at him,” John interrupted fiercely. “He can’t help you.”

The sound of the gunshot was so unexpected that Juliet’s hands flew to her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

She hadn’t even seen him move the gun in his direction. She hadn't even noticed when he decided to change target.

The gunshot rang in her ears, muting the rest of the world.

But Juliet could see clearly and her eyes dropped to Danny’s body, now slumped on the floor against the cabinet with a ring of red surrounding his face.

It took a moment for the moment to catch up with her. Juliet felt two steps behind. How did this happen?

Juliet’s eyes slowly lifted from Danny’s unresponsive body to John’s towering presence, breathing heavy as he watched her reaction.

“What did you do?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What did I do?” he scoffed. “Get back on the table.”

Juliet shook her head like an impudent child.

John rolled his eyes and tucked his gun into his back pocket, then in two strides he was in front of her, gripping her knife from her numb fingers and dropping it on the floor, before he kicked it out the way.

Then his hands were on her shoulders, roughly pushing her towards the table.

Juliet’s thoughts were too slow and her actions too weak, as the events washed over her in disjointed moments. Danny was dead. Her parents were good people. Joel was still out there.

Oh god.

He was still out there. He needed her.

Juliet twisted her body before her mind realised what she was doing and she pushed with all of her strength against John’s unsuspecting body.

He stumbled backwards with a frown, then his eyes grew darker and he reached for her again.

But Juliet was smaller than him, and she knew how to use this to her advantage when men were coming towards her. She ducked immediately, twisting herself under his arm until she stood behind him, breathing heavy, waiting.

She had no plan other than ‘don’t get killed.’

Juliet was moving on pure instinct from all her years surviving. John staggered towards her, a snarl taking over his mouth.

Strangely, he didn’t use his gun on her.

He must prefer his meat fresh, she thought.

An image of herself lying on that table for days on end as body part after body part was hacked off flashed into her mind and Juliet’s body went into overdrive.

She darted to the side, avoiding John’s outstretched hand.

He was strong but she was quick, and finally, she had a plan.

The cat and mouse game continued as Juliet steered John towards the counter closest to Danny’s body.

She was quick but that didn’t matter when she backed herself into a corner. John’s hands found her throat and he squeezed and squeezed as he pushed her into the cabinet behind her.

His eyes were flaring with sick pleasure as Juliet felt her face turn red with dwindling oxygen.

Panic struck her mind but she didn’t let it linger. Her hands flailed out, as though she were gripping for the counter to hold her weakening body up. But she wasn’t.

Juliet was searching, searching for the cleaver.

Black spots appeared in her vision as she finally enclosed her fingers around the wooden handle. Her wrist was still weak from the restraints so she had to tighten her hold before she could swing the makeshift weapon.

Just as it had sliced off her finger in one fell swoop, the cleaver lodged itself in John’s back like his spine didn’t even exist.

Through her hazy oxygen deprived eyes, Juliet watched John’s mouth form a shocked silent expression before his legs crumpled beneath him… just as Joel’s had.

At the reminder, Juliet’s hazy vision turned a dark, dangerous red and she drowned out the sound of his gasping whimpers.

Juliet kept her eyes locked on his and she took her time bending to her knees, until she straddled his writhing body.

The cleaver was high in the air before she had even committed to her act. Then she dropped it down.

The spray of blood splattered against her face like a hot shower after a cold day.

In the back of her mind, Juliet thought of Elijah and the cruelty that was housed within his body. With every slash of the cleaver as she brought it down again and again on John’s already butchered stomach, Juliet wondered if it was already too late for her. If Elijah’s sickness had found its way into her bloodstream despite their lack of relation.

But he had no claim to her, he never had. She wasn’t destined to be locked in that basement, she wasn’t destined to be tortured every day of her childhood, she wasn’t even destined to turn out like him.

Juliet had parents, real parents who loved her. She was supposed to grow up with kind parents and become a kind person, the type of person who forgave and who never lifted a hand against another.

But that didn’t happen.

And in this world, that girl, the girl she was supposed to be, would have been killed a long time ago.

Finally, she was free from the curse of her father’s possession and the sick promise of his heritage. Juliet could be her own person, she wasn’t bound to become one thing or another.

Maybe one day, she might allow herself to be kind and try out a life without bloodshed and violence.

But today wasn’t that day. And, despite everything, Elijah had taught her well.

For a final time, Juliet would heed his lessons of pain and torture, to save Joel.

To save the man she loved.

Juliet’s arm ached viciously but she brought the cleaver down a final time, welcoming the blood that dripped down her face.

As Juliet stood on trembling legs, she stared down at John’s still form and empty chest and realised with a sick satisfaction that he now looked a little like their horse.

She didn’t bother wiping the blood from her face, Juliet just bent down to collect her knife from where it landed on the floor and tuck it firmly in her boot. Then she dug John’s gun from his back pocket and put it in her own.

When she walked around the table towards the back door, Juliet forced herself not to look at Danny. He was the last connection to the parents she never knew she had. And now he, too, was gone.

In the end, he tried not to be a coward, and maybe there was some forgiveness in Juliet afterall.

The backdoor opened easily. John had a lot of trust in the ropes that bound her to the table.

The winter sun was bright in the sky when she opened the door, and Juliet blinked several times as her brain processed the change from the artificial lighting.

She started walking in the direction of the house where almost every scar on her body was formed. Her legs were weak and she kept stumbling but that didn’t stop her.

Joel had to be alive. Juliet couldn’t even consider a possibility where he wasn’t.

She got him into this fucking mess, and she would get him out.

The desperation poured over her and Juliet was choked by it.

She was going too slow, she had to move faster. Juliet had brought Elijah’s murderer back here and the town wanted its revenge.

But she wouldn’t let that happen. This town owed her, for every blind eye when her blood was spilled, for every silent voice when she begged them for help.

This town couldn’t have him.

It had taken her childhood, her innocence, and her faith in humanity.

It wouldn’t take him too.

Juliet started to run, her feet crushing over the frosted grass as she raced across the field. Her loose hair flew around her head, mimicking the thoughts that sped through her mind.

He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone.

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@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx

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Nearing the last few chapters of this story 😭 I'm going to be so sad when it's done but I'm also just super proud of it. Thanks for reading this far ❤️

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller hbo #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #joel hbo #the last of us hbo #Spotify

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joys-of-everyday · 9 months

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SJ and the Pitfalls of Toxic Masculinity

Liking women wasn’t shameful in the least, but treating a woman as your savior, shrinking into her embrace in search of self-confidence—Shen Qingqiu needed no one to tell him how incredibly shameful that was. So he would rather die than tell anyone, particularly not Yue Qingyuan.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Hot take: og!SQQ had toxic ideas about masculinity, and it ruined him.

SVSSS is all about the ✨Toxic Masculinity✨ but this seems to be more associated with SY than SJ??? So yeah, lets talk about SJ (my poor meow meow).

There’s actually some subtlety here, because talking about SJ and masculinity naturally involves an interplay between historical and modern views on masculinity in China, which is something that has developed over time and has influences from other cultures (e.g. the west and our views on masculinity). (Interesting thing if you haven't already come across it) I am… not qualified to read the subtleties here.

To note, SJ is coded as masculine… sort of. He’s the head of the scholarly peak, a master of the Four Arts, which is one facet of ideal masculinity in traditional Chinese values. (Fluttering a fan around was very gentleman-like. Although also, expressing your emotions through poetry and copious amounts of tears was very masculine back in the day. 'Traditional masculinity' has and always will be an elusive ideal.) But I get the feeling nowadays ‘scholarly’ has more feminine connotations than ‘martial’, albeit a slightly weaker one than in the west. Also, on the topic of toxic masculinity, certain groups of people Who Shall Not Be Named would like you to believe that Real Chinese Men are stoic warriors and ‘gayness is a western thing’ (my rage is unreal but we will not talk about that).

Anyway, broad strokes, broad strokes.

Arrogance and Insecurity

A big part of toxic masculinity is a need for social recognition, to be the ‘alpha male’ (not an ABO pun and on a side note I literally cannot take anyone talking about alpha males seriously now, for many reasons, but this is the funniest).

SJ is obsessed with his cultivation, but more pertinently, he is obsessed with his reputation. He demonstrates this in a few ways. Firstly, he works his ass off, which is not bad in itself, but he does this to the extent it is detrimental to his health (that grindset lol). Secondly, he projects a certain image with his actions and mannerisms: reading in order to seem intelligent, looking down at people to seem superior etc. Thirdly, he responds to any perceived slights of his ability with violence. (Fighting with LQG is an example, but also drawing a sword on SQH when he pointed out that he was reading an upside-down book.)

Now interestingly, the unanimous vibe that Cang Qiong seem to get from SQQ is that he is ‘arrogant’. When in truth, all of this is compensating for his insecurity.

Shen Qingqiu was overly suspicious, always feeling as if everyone was talking behind his back about how he was still incapable of forming a core, didn’t accept his position, wanted to sabotage him in secret, and so on and so forth.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Sadly, SJ is justified in being afraid of other people’s opinion. His comfort and security rely entirely on his status, which in turn rely on other people’s opinion of his competence. Of course he wants to get to the top – he’s been under other people’s power before, and suffered terribly as a result. Why should he not desperately defend what he has worked so hard for? Yet ultimately it works against him, because when he’s in serious trouble, he hasn’t been able to build the human connections he needs to get help.

The problem is with the system. The idea that having strength allows you to do whatever you want hurts not only the people regarded as inferior, but also creates a collective sense of anxiety for those who find themselves ‘at the top’. Anyone can be kicked down and treated like scum. Everyone is afraid.

Dominance and Bullying

The phrase ‘toxic masculinity is fragile’ quite often, but to elaborate, these kinds of rigid ideas of masculinity are by nature constantly under threat. Because any crack in the perfect shell is regarded as failure, it requires constant, aggressive maintenance, which takes the form of bullying the weak in order to elevate oneself.

SJ’s treatment of LBH is complicated, but here I want to draw attention to a different character – Ming Fan.

SQQ (SY) would have you know that MF is not a bad kid, other than the fact he’s a huge bully to LBH. And in part that comes from jealousy of NYY’s crush on him, but what allows it to happen is the way SJ runs the peak. It's interesting to note that so much of SJ's bullying of LBH happens through MF, whether it be giving him the faulty cultivation manual, giving him chores or physically assaulting him. In doing this, SJ creates a system that firmly establishes himself at the top, likely in order to give himself some semblance of security.

But ironically, this is the very system that SJ has suffered under his entire life, recreated to it's extreme on the peak that he controls. When he was completely under the power of others (QJL, LBH) he suffered. When other people were under his power, he inflicted suffering. He encouraged other people to do the same. Again, the whole thing is a scam! He is putting all of his energy into things that aren't helping him, things that ultimately bring him down.

Real Men Don’t Cry – the Dangers of Emotional Repression

SJ has many, very justifiable reasons in life to be upset and angry. The things he went through are both terrible and extremely unfair. Being angry at everything is not a healthy outlet for these feelings, but he hasn’t exactly been taught an alternative either. On the streets, tears would have gotten him absolutely nothing. Anger at least gave him energy to fight back.

And this destroys him. He is angry at the fact he had no one in his life who loved him, his talents were wasted because of QJL/WYZ, nobody takes his abilities seriously… and with no healthy way of expressing this, he goes onto bully LBH. LBH then returns to destroy him, literally. More subtly, he is unable to express his fear and anxiety in healthy ways, so acts standoff-ish and aggressive to his those around him. As his relationship with them deteriorates, his fear and anxiety increases. Feedback loops.

SJ puts on a mask of anger and stoicism to the point that everyone around him (including himself) is convinced that he is unrepentant and evil. Suppresses and suppresses until it breaks him, until he has nothing – not his comfort, nor status, nor the one that he truly cared for:

He had single-handedly facilitated Luo Binghe’s today, and now who had single-handedly created this outcome for him? Yue Qingyuan was never supposed to have an end like this. In order to come to a decades-late appointment, to fulfill a completely useless promise. A broken sword and a dead man. It shouldn’t be like this.

A Note on Ambivalent Sexism

It’s funny because I think there’s a fandom vibe that SJ was the secret feminist of SVSSS. Don’t get me wrong, I love this in fanfics. Badass feminist SJ all the way. But my honest opinion is that I don’t think that was the case.

More explicitly, I don’t think SJ took women seriously. NYY, for example. Certainly, SJ valued NYY. But the expression of this care involved doting on her, hiding his treatment of LBH from her, and not particularly pushing her to grow. And PIDW!NYY wasn’t implied to be the most mature of the lot. Okay, while we don’t know a lot about PIDW!NYY (narrator unreliable), it’s probably safe to say some distance from SJ helped her a lot.

Another point – the Qiu massacre. SJ killed the men, but not the women. And while this says more about his distaste for men, it also indicates (possibly - I will float this idea but I won't die on this hill) that he straight up doesn’t see any woman as an enemy, or capable of being a threat. Which is possibly a natural conclusion he’s drawn from his experiences (QHT was not very perceptive, or very threatening) but also inaccurate as a worldview.

And his attitude towards the women he sees as saviours? Has the same vibe as ‘it’s so embarrassing to be protected by a girl’.

Okay, so being doted on and not being killed are positives compared to being abused or murdered, but this kind of attitude is the opposite side of the same coin to ‘women are incompetent and inferior’. And when it comes to raising kids, not allowing them to grow can be extremely harmful as well. See e.g. Ambivalent sexism.

Although I do want to mention that I do not think SJ was like… actively misogynistic. I think he genuinely liked women more than men. The point is you can be sexist without realising it.

Conclusions

To conclude, SJ had ideas of success and self-worth associated with toxic masculinity which were instrumental in his downfall.

Masculinity doesn’t have to be toxic. While the Cang Qiong family aren’t exactly the healthiest bunch, YQY’s calm and patient leadership, LQG’s steadfast loyalty, LBH’s ability to cry like a maiden and still be the strongest… these are all traditionally masculine traits that can be very positive. These are also people who can have feminine traits and explore their gender identity without being prissy or weak.

It's the great tragedy of SJ that he had many positive characteristics. He was talented, intelligent, articulate, perceptive, loyal, and caring… under the right circumstances, he could have grown into a great person.

And maybe he still had that chance, right until the end.

#svsss #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #svsss meta #having said i would disappear i have things to dislodge from my drafts

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jwirecs · 9 months

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RECOMMENDED SEVENTEEN FICS OF AUGUST 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my recs for seventeen for august! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Dare You || @dontflailmenow🔞💕✅💯

↳��One dare. One night. One creepy, people-died-here, dilapidated house. Two reluctant explorers. Of course it’s Halloween.

Keep It Quiet || @jaemified🔞💕✅💯

↳ you and seungcheol never liked taking risks, especially with 8 of his 12 roommates home. but, up until your self control couldn’t handle it anymore, you both found it was best to keep it quiet.

Laundry Room || @ikigaisvt🔞💕✅

↳ in which your husband is really good at cleaning - and he looks hot doing so.

Taking Care of Their S/O having Foot Pain From Their Heels || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ Anon Req: heyy there! your blog is amazing <3 i recently went to a party and wore a new pair of very uncomfortable 4in heels for like five to six hours ( ended up getting cuts and blisters :’)) so may I request svt members reacting to s/o who tortured their feet in heels for a party? tysm<3

Your Cherry Flavored Kisses || @hannyoontify💕✅

↳ as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

I Hate U, I Love U || @wonusite🔞💕💔✅

↳ After finally managing to escape the lifelong rivalry you once had with Yoon Jeonghan, you’re unexpectedly thrown back into the undesirable feud after receiving a scholarship to the most prestigious private school in the city. Despite your attempts to leave the past in the past, you discover too late that you’re the only one interested in letting the vendetta go. Years later, there’s a switch in dynamic when you’re the one unwilling to let it go.

The Very First Night || @shuadrive💕💔✅

↳ the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

Close Proximity || @chilligyu💕💔✅

↳ when she first met mingyu, she didn’t know what to expect. she was desperate for a roommate, he needed a place to stay. they were exactly what the other needed, in more ways than one.

Contusion Confusion || @seungkwansphd💕💔✅

↳ your clumsy lab partner left a bruise on you. seungcheol seems disproportionately upset by it, but it makes way more sense once you understand why.

Jihoon's Puppy || @rubyreduji💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ jihoon can’t seem to shake the puppy dog who keeps following him around or the teasing he gets for it

Kidult || @hoeforhao💕💔✅💯

↳ can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

Real Eyes, Fake Lies || @wooataes💕💔🔄💯

↳ What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

Willow || @wongyuuu💕💔✅

↳ seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

Your Games Suck: Next Level || @onlymingyus🔞✅💯💯

↳ (no summary but just think, wonwoo and seungcheol???. yes please.)

I'm Dating Woozi || @jihoonotes💕✅

↳ y/n is in a public relationship w/ woozi of SVTZ and decides to make a twitter acc to support jihoon, but SVTZ fans seem to think they're delusional.

Pang! || @kkumawrites💕💔✅

↳ You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

Yearning || @jihoonotes💕💔✅💯

↳ for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight.. oops?

[Tales From The Pack] Soonyoung: Imperfect || @gamerwoo🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. Then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. He’d always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected.

Do check out all of the other seventeen fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen social media au #seventeen werewolf au #seventeen established relationship au #seventeen enemies to lovers au #seventeen exes to lovers au #svt fic recs #svt recs #seventeen fic recs #seventeen recs

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littlemissaddict · 4 months

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Just a little StevexFem!Reader something, not proofread and unedited.

I Told You So

“You've got to be kidding me!” Robin's voice echoes throughout the empty store as soon as the door closes behind the last customer.

“What have you done now?” Steve sighs from behind the counter as he tries to peer around the shelves to find where Robin's voice came from.

“Me? Nothing” she answers, finally revealing her location and moving, with purpose, to join Steve at the counter. “You on the other hand” she trails off as Steve scoffs.

“Me? What have I done other than doing what we are paid to do?” He defends, not liking that he's been blamed for something when he doesn't even know what that something is.

“Oh my god, I knew you were an idiot but I didn’t think you were blind as well” Robin groans dramatically and buries her head in her hands. Steve is even more confused now but he's starting to realise that this has to have nothing to do with work. “I swear you flirt with everyone girl that walks through that door but that girl,” Robin throws her arm in the direction of the door where said girl has not long since left, “That one girl who is so clearly into you, you have never even thrown a line her way” she explains but by the confused look still on Steve's face she can tell he has no idea who she is talking about until she says her name.

A look of recognition washes over Steve's face and finally she thinks he's realised but then a frown settles on his face. “I think you've gotten it mixed up Robs, she's not into me she's just friendly is all” he replies with a shake of his head. Sure Steve's desperate to find ‘the girl’ the one that he can love and who will love him back, the one who he can share a future with, a family with but the girl Robin is talking about is not her. Yes she's friendly, always greeting him with a smile, asking him how his day was or how his weekend had been but they were not signs that she was into him.

Robin feels like banging her head against a wall at how stupid Steve is being. “Really!?” She fixed him with a stare and he nodded in reply. “Okay so let's say she is just being friendly, why does she come in almost every shift that you're here?”

“She likes movies, me being here has nothing to do with it” he answers with a shrug.

Robin groans, “So when she comes in, she says hi to both of us, just being friendly but say she's browsing the films and I go over to ask if she wants any help you can guarantee her answer will be she's just looking” she sets up the scene for him, it's something she'd noticed after just a couple of visits to the store not that she's bothered by it but she just wishes Steve would do something to put the poor girl out of her misery. “However, if you go over and ask if she wants any help then the answer is always yes and she'll spend ages listening to your awful taste in movies and she'll always leave with one of the films you recommend” Robin adds, hoping that Steve will finally get it.

“I don't have awful taste in movies” he protests, thankful that the store is empty as he doesn’t want anyone else to have to listen to Robin's fantasy world. “And clearly it's just a case of right time right place” he responds in answer to her previous accusation.

Robin answers his stupidity with a groan of frustration, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Fine don't believe me but next time she's in and you're being your normal charming self, flirt a little and you'll see” she says, pushing herself from the counter and walking back towards the pile of movies she was sorting through before all this.

For the next week Steve had been scrutinising his every encounter with her because as much as he hated to admit he was wrong, Robin's words had stuck with him and while he wasn't getting his hopes up that a pretty girl was finally into him, he had started realise that Robin had been right and that she seemed to hang around and wait for him instead of Robin. So he'd had it planned, he was going to do as Robin said, he was going to flirt a little and see her reaction just to make sure.

As if on cue the door chime sounded and he looked up from the pile of videos he was scanning back into stock only to be greeted with her smile. Steve couldn't help but smile back, “If it isn't my favourite customer, what can we find for you today?” He asks, abandoning the tapes and making his way around the counter towards her. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Robin's head peek over the top of one of the racks from where she was returning already scanned tapes back to the shelves.

“Oh uh” she stumbled over her words and Steve wondered if it had been his ‘favourite customer’ quip or if she was just surprised by his forwardness today as usually she would browse the shelves for a bit before either he or Robin asked if she needed any help. “Um I'm not sure, what do you suggest” she covers her words with a small smile hoping it would distract from her earlier slip up of nerves.

“Well what do you fancy, action?”

She shakes her head.

“Horror?”

Another no. Steve had expected that though as he knew she didn't like them but he liked to tease.

“No I know, no tough guy to keep you safe while watching. Sci-fi?” He moved on as if it were nothing, like he hadn't just remembered something she'd said months ago, even if it was a joke, and that she wasn't short circuiting in front of him.

Another, albeit delayed shake of the head.

“How about a bit of romance?” He followed his words with suggestive raises of his eyebrows that had her stuttering out an ‘okay’ as she followed behind him towards the right section.

Steve was enjoying himself, it'd been a while since his attempts to flirt had received anything but a roll of the eyes or in some cases a giggle if they'd been after a bit on discount but he doesn’t think he'd managed to turn anyone into a stuttering mess. Maybe Robin was right and he was expecting a ‘told you so’ in the very near future but he was going to make it worth it, maybe get her to agree to a date before she left.

“Now this one I have been told, from a very credible source, is a classic” he played it up, reaching toward the shelf and pulling out The Princess Bride, “it tells the tale of a beautiful princess who falls for a simple farm boy, who is in search of employment and gets attacked by a pirate?” Steve stops a little confused by the synopsis of the film and as he hears a giggle he looks up to find it coming from her.

“Sounds like it has a bit of everything” she smiles, sounding more like her normal self than the stuttering mess Steve had made her with his unexpected flirting. “Ok you've convinced me, I'll take it” she adds, holding out her hand for the tape.

Steve moves to give her it before he seems to rethink pulling it back again. “Too late, I think it's already been rented,” he teases, a sad smile on his face, “so I guess you'll just have to come watch it with me” he adds notchantly as though it's an afterthought and not as if he'd planned it from the moment he realised that Robin was right.

“Well then I suppose that'll have to do” she tries to play it cool when really she's freaking out because Steve Harrington has practically just asked her on a date. “Friday night, your place?” She asks.

“Friday night, my place” he confirms with a nod. Problems, or in this case perks, of living in a small town everyone knew everyone's business including where they lived.

“I'll be seeing you then” she nods, the smile in full force on her face as she turns, heading towards the door but she stops before she exits. This time turning in the opposite direction, Robin's direction, and that's when Steve notices that Robin's still peeking over the shelves but she's quick to duck down as if she hadn't been watching the two of them. “bye Robin” she chuckles before actually leaving this time.

After the sound of the door closing and the footsteps retreating does Robin finally exit her hiding place. “You know Robin, if this works out then I owe you one” Steve smiles appreciatively at her as he places the tape on the counter ready to ring out.

“Yeah, yeah that's just what friends are for, just don't parade it in front of my lonely, single self” laughs with a shake of her head.

#steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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part-time-zombie · 4 months

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It's honestly heartbreaking how little we see of who abigail really is. So much of her is merely a reflection of what other people want from her or who she pretends to be for them, but there isn't very much about her authentic self and who she is when she's alone.

Will wants to see a survivor in her, proof that if she can endure this trauma and emerge whole and without corruption then so can he. He saw her as a manifestation of his own struggle and guilt, he needed to protect her since he never felt safe. He placed himself as a nurterer to her, someone who can understand her and help her grow into someone good so he can too.

Hannibal saw himself in her. Wounded, terrified, alone and betrayed, he saw the child he once was and sought to mold thos new child in his image. He saw the look of recognition on her face when she ate at his table, and understood that she had also fed on others the same way he fed on his sister. He saw the opportunity to guide her through this darkness in a way he never was, and all of his attempts at helping her also isolated her and kept her reliant on him, so he could better craft her in his image.

Alana saw the good in everyone, and she fought to prove that goodness in abigail. When she knew she couldn't help will, she turned to abigail as another wounded bird to nurse back to health. Alana wanted to protect her long shattered innocence, and as so coddled and cared for her even when it wasn't in her best interest.

Jack wanted answers, and hoped he'd find them in her. He needed to solve every case and lock every killer up in the hopes that it would somehow make up for his inability to find and save Miriam. The shrike case, though closed, was not solved in a satisfying enough manner for him, and he looked to abigail for answers when she clearly was not able or willing to provide them. She was just another peice of the puzzle to him.

Freddie saw opportunity in her. She saw a glimpse of abigails resolution, her drive to keep her be clean, and found a chance at fame by proxy, using her desperation for deliverance to further her fame and maybe even take up a prodigy as eager to write as she is.

Even with her father she is pretending. She waves cheerily at him when she visits him at work, she is warm and casual during breakfast. She focuses on the hunt and never questions him. She let's him guide her, pointing out the next girl for her to meet, who she wears a practiced smile and performed friendliness to, even when she knows what will happen.

I don't know much about who she is when she is alone. What music does she listen to, what shows does she watch? Does she read and if so, what? Does she like puzzles or games or animals, did she ever like hunting? How did she learn to escape the hospital, and why could t we have joined her on one of those nights out? Who is abigail hobbs, when she is herself?

#abigail hobbs #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal #will and hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #jack crawford #alana bloom #freddie lounds #garret jacob hobbs

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glyphes · 6 months

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i think part of the reason why bloodweave works so well is because it’s self recognition through the other. 2 sides of the same coin

astarion didn’t like gale at first and i think it’s because it was like looking into a mirror. the same hunger, the same need to chase after power because neither of them think they’re safe/good enough as they are, the same desperation for love and acceptance

and they could very well be the pair that breaks each other out of this pattern of thinking

we see how gentle astarion can be with someone he cares for and how he doesn’t want to see the other hurt. we see how understanding and sympathetic gale can be and how devoted he is to his partner no matter what. they won’t want to ruin the other because they’re all they have. i might even go so far to say that they understand each other on a deeper level than any of the other companions do

#in this essay i will #there are just so many ways to pair these 2 together and it can be tragic or wholesome and that’s the beauty of this pair #it’s just SUCH a good dynamic idk why people reduce it to toxic old man yaoi #im actually soooo against toxic relationships they are so much more than that #ive actually not been this insane about a ship for a while thank u larian #they COULD be toxic or they could be wholesome #I could be devil or your angle #it’s delicious im eating it up slurping my fingers yum yum yum #baldur's gate 3 #bloodweave #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #vg #post.text()

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defectivevillain · 5 months

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judgment by the hounds

pairing: Loki Laufeyson & Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic; reader's race is ambiguous and gender/pronouns are unspecified)

summary:

Loki is captured and held in S.H.I.E.L.D. captivity. However, he doesn’t attempt to break free right away. Instead, he bides his time by waiting for something—or, more accurately, someone.

You’re an FBI agent called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to interrogate their newest prisoner, Loki Laufeyson.

word count: 5.6k | ao3 version

warnings: blood, injury & gore typical to SotL; manipulation & mind games

I thought about writing this as I was reading Silence of the Lambs — I imagined questioning Loki & having a similar dynamic with him during his temporary imprisonment. There aren’t any explicit references to SoL in here, but I wanted to include it as a fandom tag because Hannibal & Clarice’s dynamic really inspired this fic.

This is not canon compliant, and there will likely be some discrepancies. Just pretend this is an alternate timeline. :>

The title of this fic is from I’m Your Man by Mitski. The lyrics “I’ll meet judgment by the hounds… People always gave me love… Others were never to blame after all… You believe me like a god, I’ll betray you like a man” felt pretty relevant to this fic.

The reader is racially ambiguous, gender is ambiguous, and pronouns aren't used. warnings: canon-typical violence and gore (typical to SotL)

thanks anna (@pinocchiospissrock) for the beta! (any remaining mistakes are mine.) luv u and so excited to see u soon!!!! <333

If you told your younger self that your criminal investigative work would earn you a conversation with the legendary Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., your younger self would have laughed. The mere thought would be preposterous. Fury is the face of the entire organization, and the founder of the Avengers! What would a mere FBI agent like yourself do to even earn a moment with him, let alone a full conversation?

Apparently, you’re becoming somewhat renowned for your investigative work. You’ve always avoided the press—otherwise you would have noticed your name cropping up in cases with big profiles in the public eye. You would’ve noticed that you were slowly starting to get more and more credit for your accomplishments; you would’ve been able to connect the dots between Nick Fury—desperate for information and willing to do anything to get it—and you—an FBI agent rising in the ranks for important work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Jack Crawford.

Despite these recognitions, however, you can’t quite believe that you’re being flown to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York City to speak with Nick Fury. Truly, this feels like some kind of fever dream. As you’re escorted through the high-level security installments on the ground floor of the building, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not meant to be here. This must be some kind of mistake, you’re thinking to yourself, even as you’re given a visitor ID badge. You’re led into a glass elevator that rises to the twentieth floor, through a cold stone hall and even more security installments. Eventually, you come face-to-face with a nondescript wooden door. The security guard knocks on the door and opens it for you, revealing a clean and modern space with black leather furniture and an array of windows (bulletproof and likely very durable) overlooking the street below. There is a figure seated at the grand desk in the center of the room. Nick Fury looks up at the sudden disturbance, his brown eye immediately assessing your form before moving to the guard in the doorway. He nods and the guard steps out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Agent, have a seat,” Fury offers. It’s an order, not a simple statement. You comply immediately and Fury raises an eyebrow. For a long moment, tension settles in the air as Nick Fury unsubtly scrutinizes you. Fury puts a contemplative hand on his chin and stares at you. Despite the eye patch covering his left eye, his menacing gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Fury remarks vaguely. You nod. “I need you to do something for me.” You raise an eyebrow. When he continues, any confidence you gained from the notion of him requesting something of you promptly fades from existence. He tells you about a god with a penchant for mischief that borders on cruelty—about a devastating attack on New York City that left thousands injured and hundreds dead. You had heard about the attack on the news, but you had too much going on to truly process what you were seeing. Fury tells you that this trickster, a Norse god by the name of Loki, is currently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most secure containment. It’s clear S.H.I.E.L.D. is desperate for information, otherwise they wouldn’t be bringing you in for something like this—this is far above your pay grade. Norse gods were never mentioned in your training at Quantico.

“Loki has been largely uncooperative,” Fury continues, immune to the emotional whiplash you’re currently experiencing. “We needed to try a different approach.” He looks at you after that. “And we need more information. Can I count on you to do this?” You take a slow breath in. Do you really have a choice?

“Yes, sir,” you respond. Fury regards you for another second, before evidently deciding that your answer is satisfactory. He then hands you a device, which appears to be a pass that allows you entrance into the high-security cells. It’s an effective dismissal. You take it and murmur a word of thanks, before stepping out of the room. With the security guard’s guidance, you’re able to learn the location of the high-security prison and you take another elevator ride. When the doors ding, a giant metronome sounds off in your head. You can’t go back now, you think to yourself as you cross the threshold of the elevator and step towards the reinforced metal door with a fingerprint and retinal scanner. You glance at the guard, who nods and urges you to continue. Somehow, in the brief time that you spoke with Fury, your information must've been registered in the system—as your name appears on screen after it scans your finger. You then lean down and allow the machine to scan your retina, before a blue light flashes once. You frown at the door, before seeing a screen flashing on the left side. You press the pad Fury gave you to the screen and the door clicks, swinging open ominously.

You take a step forward and leave the door open, expecting for the guard to follow you. They shoot you a disbelieving look and take a step backwards, letting the door fall shut. You’re left alone in a hallway reminiscent of a steel prison. As you slowly walk down the narrow path between iron bars, you feel hard gazes boring into your very skin. Someone jeers at you. You keep walking until you reach the solitary cell at the end of the hall. For the first time since entering the space, you allow yourself to look up—only to look into the glimmering green eyes of Loki Laufeyson.

Safe to say, Fury neglected to mention that Loki would be the single most intimidating individual you’ve ever had the misfortune and displeasure to meet. Staring at him through the thick walls of glass, you’re suffocated with a sudden, intense dread. Even if Fury hadn’t given you any background on him, you’re sure you still would’ve been able to surmise this man’s maleficence and cruelty. He has long dark hair, sharp features, and a positively malevolent grin on his face.

“Hello,” you murmur guardedly. The thick walls of glass aren’t enough to ensure you of your safety—that attentive gaze cuts straight through your skin and sinks deep into the bone. The god raises an eyebrow at you, pausing for a moment to allow you the opportunity to turn tail and run away. You very nearly take the gifted opportunity, before you remember that information on the invasion could save lives.

“Are you lost?” Loki asks, regarding you with as much respect as someone regards a pebble beneath their feet. Your hands are ever so slightly trembling from your sides and you stuff your hands in your pockets, suddenly feeling the need to keep yourself occupied.

“No,” You eventually reply. You decide to introduce yourself, before raising your eyebrows at the god in return. You resist the urge to ask him to introduce himself. You know who he is, and you would likely end up insulting him with the question anyway. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to be very careful around him. The slightest word or provocation would lose the information for good. Why are you being called in for this, again?

“What could possibly have possessed Fury to send a mere agent such as yourself to speak with me?” The god questions, echoing your very own thoughts. You take a deep breath and try to steel your nerves.

“I’m a criminal investigator,” you respond, once your tongue is no longer ironed to the roof of your mouth. “I’ve spent most of my life studying how criminal types think and what motivates them. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Interesting,” Loki hums. He doesn’t seem the least bit intrigued; rather, he appears incredibly bored. “And you think this Midgardian experience is enough to grant you a conversation with me? You know nothing of who I am and what I am capable of.”

You want to be surprised, but you expected something along those lines. A brief white-hot fury overtakes you as you remember the tension in Fury’s shoulders, the withdrawn tone in his voice, how he seemed to expect you to fail. Everyone is expecting you to fail. “I know enough,” you respond, before you can contemplate the consequences of doing so. In truth, Fury had given you Loki’s file earlier. He also left you with a few words of warning. You manage to tear yourself away from your conversation with Fury and focus on what you viewed in Loki’s file. The information comes to mind within seconds. “You caused quite the scene in Germany. I suspect that was the intention.” There is no acknowledgement that he’s even listening to you, save for the intense gaze that seems to be dissecting you for his own amusement.

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. “You’re the adopted son of Odin and Frigga, and the brother of Thor. Your real father is Laufey, the Frost Giant King. You’re the God of Mischief. And you’re a constant thorn in the side of the Avengers and Nick Fury.”

“Those are just the facts,” you conclude. You’re met with nothing but silence. There’s an undercurrent of expectation in the air, as if he’s waiting for you to continue. You grit your teeth. Somehow, you have his attention now. It would be best if you didn’t lose it. “As for my first impressions… You’re manipulative, obviously. Cunning and clever. Selfish, extremely controlling. You derive pleasure from other people’s pain. You enjoy being the chessmaster—manipulating your pawns and discarding them the moment they’ve fulfilled their purpose.”

“Beneath all that, you’re frighteningly human. Jealousy, envy, a visceral desire for Odin’s approval, and a thirst for power… You delight in your darkest urges and scorn any of the ones that come close to resembling even a hint of genuine emotion.”

“Now will you answer my questions?” You finish.

Loki’s head is down now. His shoulders are shaking and for a second, you think he’s crying. Then he raises his head, revealing a twisted grin on his face. “No one has possessed the courage to talk to me in such a manner in millenia,” the god remarks, his hands clasped behind his back. He takes a step forward and inspects you through the glass. You remember your fear from earlier. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’ve already told you,” you answer. You’ve done this song and dance before, and you have enough experience to know nothing good comes from giving a criminal your name. In the few rare instances in which it seemed that they simply wouldn’t give in, you would give a fake name. You weren't foolish enough to try that with the God of Mischief, though. “Besides, that doesn’t matter. I’m here for information.” You repeat for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Loki says, studying you with scrutiny. Your skin crawls. Everything about this feels like a horrible idea. Not for the first time, you question why you were called in for this assignment. “I’m not allowed visitors otherwise—on account of the last one being found in his home with his throat slit.” There’s another flash of amusement in his eyes.

“Fun,” you remark flatly. Your heart is racing out of your chest, but you know not to show your apprehension. Fear is Loki’s game. “Seriously, though. I assume you want to get out of here in the next millennium.” You remark.

“Au contraire,” Loki replies. It takes you a few seconds to process what he says, and several more seconds to recall the translation: ‘On the contrary.’ You wait patiently for the god to continue. “You don’t really think I’ll be released, do you? And don’t bother pretending otherwise—you don’t have the power or authority to make promises here.”

“I’m not sure why you’re entertaining conversation with me in the first place, then,” you reason. You feel lost in this conversation, admittedly. It’s taking an unhealthy amount of mental energy to keep yourself afloat in these verbal traps.

“Maybe I’m bored,” Loki drawls. In the fluorescent lighting beaming down on him, he looks every bit as royal as he is rumored to be. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to let your guard down, for your mental defenses to fade away and corrode into nothingness before my control slips into your psyche, forcing you to be a spectator as I pilot your body and mind.”

You stare at him for a moment, heart hammering away in your chest. Somehow, it’s that sentiment that cements the reality of the situation. You’re not qualified enough for whatever the hell this is. You’ve interrogated loads of criminals before, but they’ve never posed a legitimate physical and mental threat to you in the same manner that Loki does. You find yourself genuinely fearing for your safety as you stare at Loki’s glittering green eyes.

As your heart races and you take a few steps backwards, you catch a sudden blur in your peripheral vision, before you’re struck with white-hot pain that flares up the left side of your face. You blink dazedly and bring a hand up to your left cheek, only to find blood splattered across your skin. There’s a jagged fragment resting on the floor near your foot—evidently the cause of the wound. You turn to the left, only to find the man from before clutching at the bars of his cell with ferocity—a crazed look in his eyes as he stares at you. Your gaze then falls to the porcelain toilet in the corner of his cell, with a notable chunk missing. That must’ve been where he got the shard. The side of your face is burning, hot blood trickling down your cheek. You press the back of your hand to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Unsurprisingly, the wound doesn’t magically heal or stop bleeding. You grimace and set off down the hallway, intending to leave and find a first-aid kit. Just as your palm flattens on the door, Loki says your name.

You pause, your cheek stinging. You feel Loki’s gaze at your back and you know you probably don’t have the luxury to continue walking away. Yet… you can’t bear to turn around. You open the door and walk away, unaware of the furious expression on Loki’s face. The security guard’s eyebrows climb up their face as they see the blood trickling down your face, but you simply hand them the keypad and walk away.

You have nothing in lieu of information and a fresh, jagged cut on your cheek. You don’t expect to be called to the high-security cells again any time soon—not after that complete and utter failure. You leave S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters that day with a bandage on your cheek and wounded pride. The conversation with Loki keeps you up that night in your hotel room, as you turn over every statement in your head. There’s a notable disconnect between Loki’s words and his actions. Furthermore, if he’s truly so powerful, then why is he still contained? You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is well-equipped to handle villains, but Loki is a Norse god. Surely he could snap his fingers and transport himself somewhere else? If that’s the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t escaped yet.

You avoid work the next few days to fully recover from the physical and mental injuries acquired that day. It’s nice to have some free time, but it is still somewhat dampened by the knowledge that you didn’t get any information from Loki. Fury is going to be, well, furious.

Safe to say, you don’t expect to see Nick Fury on your doorstep one morning, a troubled expression on his face. You greet him and try to invite him in, but he remains outside. His dissecting gaze flits about your face, searching for something. “It’s been an interesting day, Agent,” he evidently decides to say.

“How so?” You ask. Fury glances to his left and right, before taking a small step forward and leaning closer.

“A prisoner in the high security area was murdered,” he murmurs, “He was found in his cell. It seems he was fed his own tongue before he choked and suffocated to death. Miggs. Awful guy, but… we had intended on getting more information from him.” Fury shakes his head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling. There’s no way the victim was the same prisoner who assaulted you earlier. That would be a truly troubling occurrence—one you’re not quite sure you could put down to coincidence.

“Anyway… I need you to speak with Loki again.” Fury continues, his expression serious. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the slight shock that must be showing on your face. “You seem surprised.”

You nod. “I was under the impression that our conversation didn’t go well,” you decide to respond honestly. Fury seems to appreciate the truthfulness, although his eyebrows furrow and he takes a deep breath.

There’s a beat of silence. “He’s refused to speak with anyone else we’ve sent,” Fury explains, “Since your last visit, he’s been exceptionally…Well. He asked for you specifically.”

What was Fury going to say just then? And, more importantly, did you even hear him correctly? Did Loki really ask to speak with you, even after the tense conversation you had? You’re immediately suspicious.

“Listen,” Fury breaks off, looking conflicted and resolved all at once. “For whatever reason, he’s different with you. I’m not sure why, but whatever the reason, we need to take advantage. Loki has valuable information about the attack on New York.”

“In reality, he asked for you a few days ago,” Fury continues, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. You look over to him in surprise. “I refused. But… since then, he’s been extremely disagreeable—and we’re running out of time.”

“I’ll try to speak with him,” you answer. That’s the best you can promise. You certainly can’t promise that it’ll be a productive conversation, or that you’ll get any information from him. Indeed, the last discussion you had with Loki, it felt as if you were disclosing more information than he was. Still, the prospect seems to be good enough for Fury.

“Thank you, Agent,” he nods, returning the keycard that grants access to the high security area. You take a deep breath and follow him back to his car, steeling your nerves as the city buildings pass before your vision. Once you reach the headquarters, you walk down the halls and head to the elevators. Fury and you part ways as he gets off the elevator, and he leaves you with a brief nod.

It only takes a few steps in the hallway of the high-security cells for you to notice that something’s missing. A cell is empty—the same one that Miggs had occupied before. You feel dread coiling in your chest, yet you can’t stop yourself from taking a step closer and getting a better look at the empty cell. There’s blood splattered all across the ground—although it appears as if someone tried to clean it, since it bears a closer resemblance to dark brown than red. The sheets of the mattress are clean and the cell looks entirely untouched, save for the stains across the floor and the noticeable chunk missing from the toilet.

Your attention is captured by the cell—so much so that you forget your company. “Ah, what a pleasant surprise,” Loki remarks, sending your heart racing as you remember his presence. You take a deep breath and tear your eyes away from the evidence of Miggs’s death. As you break the distance between Loki’s enclosure and you, you can’t help but shake the feeling that he had something to do with the death of Miggs. You don’t have any proof, but the awful feeling stirring in your gut certainly makes you question what you thought you knew.

Loki clears his throat pointedly and you remember yourself. “You asked for me,” you then answer cautiously.

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if Fury would oblige,” Loki drawls, regarding you with mild amusement. You’re not sure what he thinks is entertaining, so you just pretend not to have noticed his smug grin. “He doesn’t seem to care for me much.”

“I’d argue most of us don’t,” you hear yourself blurt out. You really need a better filter, especially in a conversation as important as this one. If you want information from Loki, you’ll have to be nicer to him. Despite that thought, Loki is staring at you with the same amusement as before. There’s no sense that the insult even registered.

“And yourself?” The god asks, once again reminding you that you’re the one at the mercy of the conversation. You grit your teeth and try to remain calm, despite the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy that threaten to send you down the hall.

“What about me?” You raise an eyebrow.

“You said most of us,” Loki says, “Does that include you?”

You don’t bother to dignify that question with a response. “What do you want?” He doesn’t respond and you resist the urge to exhibit any signs of your growing impatience. “You asked to speak with me—I’m assuming you want something.”

“I have information you want,” Loki states, his eyes boring into yours and sending a prickling sensation down your skin. His intense gaze is unnerving, and you feel as if you’re being intensely scrutinized. “You have information I want. I propose a trade.”

You’re not surprised by the remark, save for the idea that you have something he wants. “I’m not quite sure what information I could give you,” you frown, shifting your balance slightly to keep your body occupied. You cross your arms over your chest and pretend you don’t feel entirely vulnerable in front of Loki.

“I’ll be the one to determine that,” the god says. His next statement is entirely unexpected. “Now, tell me about yourself, your childhood.”

“What?” You choke out. “About myself? I don’t see how that’s relevant.” You break off. Loki’s gaze is focused on you with burning intensity. You take a shuddering breath in and try to summon some information that isn’t dangerous for you to disclose. “I’m a criminal investigator—have been for years. I’m from around here, grew up here.” You end up settling for a mix of ambiguity and omission. Loki seems to pick up on it regardless.

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze is dark and dangerous. It suddenly feels as if the temperature dropped in the space around you. You’re pinned under the god’s watchful eyes. “I think I deserve more than that, don’t you?” You can’t find the words to answer. You have, once again, severely underestimated Loki’s capabilities.

“Very well, then,” Loki murmurs some time later, after it’s clear that you’re unwilling to give him more information. His posture is effortlessly casual, but you know it’s just a façade. “I can start for you. You worked as a criminal investigator for years in your hometown, until you decided to become an FBI agent. With more responsibility came more criminals, and closer calls. Even so, you began to gain notoriety for your cases. Your name appears in more and more press coverage. Meanwhile, Nick Fury grows increasingly frustrated with me, with the lack of information. He sees you on the morning news and finds his perfect solution. He calls you here to New York, tells you that he needs you for this pivotal role. An exaggeration, of course.”

“You agree with his offer—surely, you don’t have any other choice. Meanwhile, Fury promptly forgets your existence, until he needs you once more. A tool in a toolbox is all you are to him. Why else would he send you to me? He doesn’t have faith in your abilities, Agent—he just needs bait.”

You know it’s true, but it still hurts. Truthfully, you had suspected the same thing; something about the Norse god speaking on your thoughts cements them in reality. Indeed, why else would Fury have called you in? There are plenty of high-ranking officials that would’ve been better suited for such a task.

“You come in here and provoke me,” Loki continues, as if you aren’t even there. He seems entirely in his element as he paces about his cell. “I attack you, then break out of captivity. A group of agents lurks outside to interrupt my eventual escape. The whole thing is laughably predictable, really.” Your eyes widen as you realize just why the security guard lingered outside the door. They aren’t guarding the door—it’s secure enough on its own. They’re guarding you, waiting for you to fail and for Loki to escape. The thought sends a shiver down your spine.

“And, of course, you have a visceral desire for Fury’s approval,” he continues, repeating what you said to him mere days ago. You feel as if a bucket of ice cold water was just dumped all over you, making you shiver and question everything you thought you knew. Are you really so formulaic? Have you been lured into a false sense of confidence these past few years? You try to grapple with these questions, while the god stares at you. “Am I ‘in the ballpark,’ as you mortals say?” There’s a sharp grin on Loki’s face that deeply unsettles you.

It takes you several moments to collect your composure and find the words to say. “I think you know you are,” you respond, ignoring your heart pounding out of your chest. It’s unnerving that Loki could glean that much about you in such a short time span. Despite his obvious attempt at mockery, you know that you need to answer his questions if you want information. You keep silent and wait for Loki to continue.

“Now, you still haven’t given me anything,” Loki reminds you, dispelling any hope that he may have forgotten. You feel extremely restless and steadily avoid his gaze, even when you feel his eyes practically tearing holes through your form. “So, I ask once more: what was your childhood like?”

You can’t afford to argue this time—not if you want information. The glint in Loki’s eyes grows brighter with each tidbit you give him. At his request, you tell him about your past—everything from your childhood home to the relationships you have with your family. Time becomes fickle and you don’t realize you’re oversharing until you glance down at your watch and see that far too much time has passed. “That’s more than enough,” you interject some time later. You don’t feel as if you can truly grasp the severity of your actions just now. Even so, you know that you’ve given him too much ammunition. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache developing. “It’s your turn.”

“Very well,” Loki responds, his lips parting to reveal a crooked smirk. The expression on his face confirms your suspicions that he was planning on continuing the conversation until you stopped him. “I will answer two of your questions.” You feel your heart drop.

“Two?” You exclaim in disbelief, “You must’ve asked me a hundred just now-”

“I didn’t force you to answer any of my questions,” Loki reasons. Unfortunately, he’s correct in that regard—you should’ve been more wary. You let your guard down and he was content to take advantage of it. “Now, do you want information or not?”

You grit your teeth. Damn it. Two questions is a very insignificant number. You try to remember what Fury told you mere minutes before. “He’s been extremely disagreeable… and we’re running out of time.” You can’t afford to slip up here.

“Fine,” you say. The look on Loki’s face doesn’t change, but you can still sense arrogance radiating off of him. “Why?” You decide to ask.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Loki drawls, continuing to pace about. He looks completely and utterly bored. “Why does one do anything?” You resist an eye roll.

“Why did you do it?” You rephrase. You don’t need to specify for Loki to understand what you’re referring to: the attack on New York, the Chitauri invasion. Surely, knowing his motivations would help S.H.I.E.L.D. prevent instances like it from happening in the future. Besides, you’re not sure what else to ask. As has been established, you don’t think you’re the best fit for this task of vital importance.

“I was seeking revenge,” Loki answers without hesitation. His unblinking gaze is beginning to unnerve you. “Is that what you’d like me to say?”

“I’d like you to tell the truth,” you assert, unable to hide some of your irritation. The god picks up on it and smiles infuriatingly, as if your annoyance is entertaining. Perhaps it is entertaining to him. You take a deep breath and remind yourself to keep calm. It would do you no good to get riled up. You have one job: collecting information.

“The truth,” Loki remarks languidly, tearing you from your thoughts. His answer comes without hesitation. “I was bored.” Boredom. Boredom pushed him to wreak havoc on the city, causing hundreds of casualties and inordinate bloodshed. Loki was motivated by a lack of fulfillment. The thought is extremely disconcerting. On the one hand, you’re not sure what you were expecting. On the other, you had been looking for a more clear-cut, legitimate reason to contextualize his actions. You weren’t planning on excusing his crimes, but if he provided something that seemed to somewhat justify his reaction, you would’ve been able to get more information and also deduce a clear motive to these kinds of attacks. Perhaps that was your error in thinking, though: Loki can’t be a predictor of a pattern. He is wildly unpredictable, and trying to predict him will both waste your time and result in more frustration.

“One more question,” Loki reminds you tauntingly. You grit your teeth, pushing past your irritation. The god seems to enjoy emphasizing the differences between you and him—your mortality, your weakness.

You try to think a little harder. Admittedly, a particular question has been weighing on your mind throughout most of your interactions, burrowing into your subconscious and refusing to let go. After a few moments, you decide to verbalize it. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

The god laughs. “Haven’t I?” Loki asks in response. A shiver rolls down your spine. You watch warily as he takes one step forward, then another. From what you’ve seen, the god will often pace about his cell. However, his current movements make it seem as if he has a purpose, an endgame. Loki’s eyes flash. He takes another step forward and his foot crosses the threshold where the glass is supposed to be. Loki grins and crosses the entirety of the boundary, before looking at you with a truly malicious smile. He’s free from captivity.

You can’t even take a step backwards before the god is there, extending a hand to your temple and pressing his fingertips past your skin, into your very being. And suddenly, you’re a child again. Everything you told Loki is rushing through your head all at once. You’re trapped in vivid memories. The world around you is blurred with childlike joy and hope. Your surroundings all seem to fall away; despite your knowledge that you aren’t a child anymore, you can’t escape this onslaught of memory that Loki seemed to force on you.

When Loki removes his hand from your temple, you nearly choke on your breath. There’s an excruciating pain running through your head—strong enough to make you lose your balance. Despite the fact that you’re horribly outmatched, you still try to get away from him. You’re not sure what the God of Mischief wants, but you doubt it’s anything good. This interest—as Fury said—that he’s cultivated in you… It’s dangerous.

You should be dead right now. Surely, were you any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, your corpse would be slowly decaying on the ground in front of you. You heard whispers of what Loki did to some of the agents that spoke to him before you. One of them was directly admitted to a mental hospital—unable to ground themself in reality. The thought shakes you to your core.

You take another step backwards, only for him to match your retreat with a step forward. Your balance is growing more and more unsteady as you try to fight against the vertigo threatening to send you tumbling. Your vision is oscillating between painful sharpness and indiscernible blurriness. “What do you want from me?” You manage to spit out through the pained haze.

“Everything.” Loki answers. Before you can push him away, he’s bringing a hand to your temple again. Your mind explodes with energy and you feel your eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. You try your hardest to remain conscious and you manage to catch glimpses: Loki’s hand slipping from your temple as you fall to the ground, Loki carrying you out of the building. You’re stuck in the recesses of your own mind, with no hope for escape. Eventually, you’re forced to succumb to the darkness lurking in the corners of your vision.

It may strike you all as strange that Loki stays in captivity rather than escaping, but I think I can justify that with a multitude of reasons. First of all, he's immortal—time passes differently for him. While a mortal may agonize at the thought of being trapped in a capsule for an indefinite time, Loki is entirely unbothered by it. He knows that he has the ability to escape; the question then becomes when he will escape, not if he will escape. Second, Loki has a reason to stay: the reader. He is interested in the reader [the nature of this interest is up to you]. He enjoys the conversations they have, especially when they’re under the false guise of him being trapped and in a position of need. The God of Mischief isn’t one to rush things. Anyway, that’s how I justified these choices to myself. *shrugs*

I desperately wanted to add something like this, but I couldn’t find an authentic moment for it… It may seem a little out of character, too… So I’ll throw it here and walk away:

“You should put some ointment on that,” Loki suggests, looking pointedly at the scar on your face. “Don’t Midgardians care about that sort of thing? Quite foolish, in my opinion.” “How is that foolish?” You ask. “Scars are proof of conquest,” Loki responds. “Of course,” you sigh.

#loki x reader #loki x gn reader #loki laufeyson #loki x male reader #male reader #gn reader #x male reader #nb reader #etc

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sybaritick · 6 months

Text

cal sybaritick's

durgetash fic recs 🔪⚙️

i love durgetash. i love evil/evil power couples. i love the drama and the religious guilt and the self-recognition through the other (derogatory) and the insane definitely-not-safe-sane-and-consensual kink.

for this reason, i have read several hundred durgetash fics on ao3. here is a non-exhaustive list of my favorites!

all of the recs will be marked with pronouns, race, and genitals (when relevant) of the durge for your convenience

An Obedient Butcher, A Beast On A Leash by NeverwinterThistle

durge notes: og/white dragonborn dark urge (my favorite!!), he/him with dick

E / 4.8k / sadism and masochism, choking, frottage and grinding / complete

The room was warm. It smelt strongly of skin; overheated, overcrowded, overscented to hide sweat. Fill for this prompt on the Baldur's Gate kink meme: Gortash and the Durge are lovers, but due to the strict orders of tyranny in all things that Bane requires, Gortash is not allowed to bottom, on pain of retribution or revocation of Chosen status from his god. And, well, maybe Gortash really wants to. What might their sex look like with such a restriction? How do they deal?

this author has done multiple incredibly good durgetash fics but this is definitely one of my favorites. the dynamic and push-and-pull between them is excellent, and you can tell they truly do respect each other in a sense, despite being godawful people. they glory in their empire of blood and that's so much fun. and of course, the kink in this one is delicious... yknow, every time i do fic recs i have the impulse to share things no one needs to know about my personal life for at least a couple of them, but you know what, maybe i can keep it to myself just this once. but the point is the way gortash wants to let durge tear his ass up but can't is incredibly hot, and i particularly like that gortash essentially considers it an outdated religious restriction... that bottoming is not actually indicative of True Submission in the way Banites are told to believe it does.

lose the halo, don't need to resist by @lamortactuallywrites

durge notes: they/them half-orc with dick :)

E / 7.0k words / bondage, orgasm delay/edging, kink negotiation / complete

There is no absolution to be found here. They wonder if their father is watching, if Bane is watching, if they will each know the wrath of their gods before the night is through. Yet somehow, with blood drying tacky on their hand, bruises pressed deep into their flesh, and his mouth hot around them like he was made for this, it feels private. Protected.

i adore the kink negotiation in this. gortash is such a jackass (affectionate)... and once they're in it, durge snapping back like an angry dog, struggling so beautifully, when they're too tied up to really fight back is hot. someone insulting you so desperately because in reality they know they're not the one in control is. extremely hot. like "come on tell me more about what a monster i am while you're tied up begging for me to touch you" ygm??? read the fic it's good.

Mutual Manipulations by fermiparadox

durge notes: he/him drow with dick

E / 3.1k words / hate sex, power dynamics, handjobs / complete

Bloodlust is its own kind of aphrodisiac.

i love the characterization of both Durge and Gortash in this one-- resplendently awful. and considerably less trusting of each other, in a way that's very enjoyable. this is absolutely hate sex, and done very well... Gortash wants to subjugate Durge and keep him on a leash, and Durge wants to murder him violently. beautiful!

Marsember Syrah by say_lene

durge notes: she/her with pussy

E / 5.7k words / dom/sub, [consensual] mind control, power dynamics / complete

After a successful operation in the High House of Wonders, Bhaal's Chosen and Bane's express their admiration for each other. It is, predictably, very tense. “Ah, so you’re concerned for my wellbeing,” he said – calm, even as a thin trickle of blood rolled down his neck. “You needn’t be. Our masters commanded us to cooperate, after all, and in suffering me to live, Bhaal opens the door to veritable rivers of blood. You know him better than I, of course, but surely even the Lord of Murder can see the value of delayed gratification.”

this author has done multiple incredibly good durgetash fics, but this one is my favorite. i love the way they characterize gortash. anyway, normally, being the mind control/brainwashing/hypnosis/etc fetishist i am, i would barely have anything to say about this other than "read this for the mind control descriptions they're so hot that i've read this fic at least four times." (which i have). however not only is that hot but everything else is *also* extremely hot, and well written/well paced. particularly the way gortash "offers" durge lesser banites to kill, and how she enjoys it so, despite not quite wanting to just let him hand-feed her like that yknow... very tasty.

Yank of the Leash by BlueCloverInGreen

durge notes: he/him with dick

E / 28.2k words / dom/sub, grooming, noncon and dubcon / complete

Many, many potential triggers. Please read the tags carefully. I will also post specific tags before each chapter. This is a work in progress and my first project. Critique is welcomed and appreciated. Not beta read.

definitely do mind the trigger tags on this one, as the summary mentions, but it's a great guilty pleasure-- and by guilty i mean you'll feel something for finding it hot considering how dark it is, especially with regards to the grooming aspect. i can read some very gory fics, noncon, heavy kink, etc and not question how into it i am, but this fic?? this fic made me feel guilty and uncomfortable and that's a compliment. it definitely gave me the sense "yeah, Gortash would want it like this"

Knowing by @chocolatecatcupcakecheese

durge notes: they/them

E / 3.4k words / power dynamics, cunnilingus, bondage / complete

“What were we to one another?” Tav asks at last. “We were allies before,” Gortash says. “We—” “Allies?” Tav interrupts, sing-song with insinuation. Gortash takes a slow, steadying breath against the echo of desire. That teasing tone of voice is so damnably familiar. “Yes.” His voice emerges lower than he intends. Tav laughs, a single exhaled note of contempt. Gortash steels himself and does not move away when they step closer, close enough to share the same breath. “Is that all?”

oh hey, gortash is trans in this!! that's definitely a favorite headcanon of mine. and it's totally for story-based reasons only (he's so transhumanist cmon) and not because i am also transmasc and also have several power-hungry techbro sellout things wrong with me. anyway, the way they talk to each other in this is *so* fun... their dynamic-- and their foreplay and dirty talk (which for a normal couple would perhaps not qualify as dirty talk) is great.

ménage à quatre by isolasea

durge notes: second person (you) with pussy

E / 2.9k words / power dynamics, BDSM, dubious consent / complete

Your Urge and his Hand, on each side of your mind and body, pulling you apart. Or, Gortash: [fucks like a tyrannical despot] Durge: [surprised pikachu meme face]

this fic is so much fun for the d/s power kink stuff and it also has some excellent lines wrt gortash's obsession with control. i mean right at the beginning even, “All murder and no play in the Church of Bhaal?” that and gortash trying to put another finger in durge even while he's fucking them and they're barely taking it as it is-- it's so greedy and so very fitting for him.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #durgetash #enver gortash #cal txt #fandom

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dreamiehan · 8 months

Text

i have more than enough.

ʚĭɞ pairings — seungmin x reader

ʚĭɞ genre — slice of life

ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ" words — 1.2k

drabbles n’ short works 🍓

Maybe it was envy you felt. Honestly, the feeling was indescribably consuming, it dwelled in every of aspect of your discontent and frustrated eye rolls as you scrolled through social media

Birthdays were always a touchy subject for you and Seungmin knew that well. Throughout the entirety of your two years together, he could never forget the look of utter desperation that plagued your face when you had unintentionally lashed out on him about the subject.

It had been one of the firsts in your relationship with him, both of you knowing there were bound to be some hiccups along the way.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, did you have anything in mind to celebrate?”

You failed to tear your eyes away from the television at his sudden question, some documentary about the pyramids filled up the remaining silence of shared space while you bit your lip as hard as you could.

“I don’t”, you replied, desperately avoiding his fixated gaze.

He shuffled his posture on the sofa where he sat an arms length beside you, attempting to mitigate the tension that suddenly filled the room.

Your silence and lack of desire to face him spoke volumes.

Seugnmin always prided himself on being able to figure you out, he was quiet and observant of the way you chose to navigate the world even before the two of you started dating but your current actions had thrown him for an unsuspecting loop.

Before he could relish in a sharp inhale to speak his mind, you were already on the defensive.

“I don’t want to celebrate anything!” You snapped, “so just.. drop it okay?”.

Your tone fell deflated as you finally gained the confidence to face him, lash line full of shimmer and threatening to spill.

Seungmin nodded, eyes a bit wide as your outburst slightly startled him but in truth, he understood.

You would always struggle to open up, letting people in felt like a threat, and you were not to blame for the actions that maintained your lifeline of self preservation.

Predisposed to trauma at a young age, fight or flight was your art of survival.

Except, you had always been more of fighter. Confrontational and advocative, yet still learning to navigate the world with an open mind and a broken heart.

Seungmin had always admired you for that.

As your relationship developed, you began to share more intimate parts about yourself. Unpacked family tragedies, feelings of innate loneliness, overarching battles of existential dread, and the desire to rot.

Even with every ugly truth that forced you to bare your soul naked and afraid, Seungmin loved you.

It was not your fault that violent words and screaming at the top of your lungs taught you love. For your identity was mauled and disfigured beyond recognition and still some fragment of that canvas remained.

How could he possibly blame you for pulling yourself out of a house made of cinders buried and in ashe?

You survived and he stood in awe of all your glory.

Today is just another day, Seungmin thought to himself as he greedily allowed his eyes to take in your form.

Nestled beneath the blankets of the bed you two had spent many nights eating each others hearts out.

These walls now held secrets that would die with them and as Seungmin continued to stare at your peaceful state accompanied by slow breaths and little dreamland murmurs, he thinks he could die too.

For the world could end tomorrow and loving you would still surpass any decade old bucket list he’d made as a child.

In all honesty, Seungmin would rather die than ever make you feel uncomfortable, so he went about his morning routine, absent in celebrating all things that signified that today you were one year older.

Two empty mugs set beside the espresso machine that he had diligently washed the night before. Something about the sentiment of matching drinkware with you made him warm on the inside. It was incredibly simple but romantic nonetheless, another one of the many things about your relationship he held dear.

To his knowledge, you had made no indication of plans for the day either. Beyond the normativity of your full-time job, you took your weekends very seriously. Usually that meant lazing the morning away, groggily strolling out of your shared bedroom sometime past noon and somehow still managing to act like you hadn’t slept a wink.

Hence why he was a little bewildered to see your sleepy figure sauntering out into the kitchen before nine in the morning on a Saturday.

“Good morning”.

Seungmin always greeted you, every morning without fail. Despite the on-going unpredictability of the both of your schedules, an early kiss on the forehead and his fleeting presence was commonplace between you two.

Still, seeing him like this.. bare faced and golden, hair untamed, mug in hand with your coffee made just how he knows you like it was infamous for making you fall deeper in love with each passing day.

“You’re awake early”, he noted, carefully placing the warm mug between your hands.

A soft “mhm” of agreement escaped your lips as you sipped the comforting taste of caffeine and caramel.

“I was thinking of doing something today, just us two”.

Your words were quiet, endearing and near child-like as the remnants of sleep still hung over you. Seungmin followed your eyes carefully as you spoke, remembering how today was nothing more than that of ordinary.

He nodded in agreement before you could even begin to expand on your plans for the day.

Who was he to deny you? A mortal man, that’s for sure and although the God’s probably pity him a tad bit, he was more than content with playing the role of jester in exchange for your smile.

“I was thinking we could go strawberry picking, since today is..”, and just like before, your words trailed off into nothing.

Before you could open your mouth to speak once more, Seungmin placed his mug down, freeing both his hands which were now draped upon your waist.

He smiled in light of your aura, cocking his head slightly to the side as his mannerisms begged you to continue.

“Today is..?”, he asked, slowly drawing out each word, waiting for you to fill in the blank.

For a moment, your breath staggered and Seungmin’s grip on your hip bones were replaced with the comforting circular motions of his thumb.

“Today is my birthday”.

Your tone was clear, almost confident if not for the glossy eyes that made a mandatory appearance whenever you were faced with growing beyond the life you knew before you met Seungmin.

“Would that be okay?” You asked, allowing your head to fall flush against chest.

Oh, how his heart ached at your uncertainty. Determined to rewrite the stars if that meant you’d be destined to be loved by him in every time line.

You were healing and growing, fighting a silent battle that not even he could meet you for upon the front lines.

He knew that when he met you but then again, what person was truly absent of age old skeletons in their closet?

With each passing moment together, he watched the fear that once held you hostage begin to quelle. Blooming into a tenacious flame in which you danced at the center.

“I would love nothing more”.

#dreamiehan 🥳#dreamiehan drabbles🍓#kim seungmin #seungmin imagines #seungmin x reader #stray kids imagines #straykids #stray kids #han jisung #bang chan #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #yang jeongin #lee felix #lee know #skz imagines #stray kids drabbles #seungmin scenarios

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starseungs · 2 years

Text

➳ invisible ties. ksm

pairing — kim seungmin x gn!reader

not all childhood friends are known as such. those with invisible ties also exist, a bittersweet reminder of such friendship.

genre — hurt-comfort, angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, highschool au, popular!seungmin • 2.6k words

warnings — self doubt, a whole lot of doubts in general, misunderstandings (with a happy ending)

note — #1 on your love through the ages series | tbh i didn't think i was going to like how i wrote this as much as i actually do but its one of my favorites now-

Kim Seungmin had always been a talented guy. He had a knack for being good at whatever you would throw at him, proving to you that he could, in fact, probably do anything. But if there was one thing Seungmin was a total master at, it would be getting on people's good sides—heck, even just the bare minimum of gaining their attention. He was a shining star in everyone's eyes. That was the kind of guy Seungmin was.

So it was to absolutely no one's surprise that he was always considered popular, even as a kid in kindergarten.

That small neighborhood kindergarten was also where you met Seungmin. At the age of five, your little brain had already decided that making friends was a social construct, stubbornly refusing to interact with the other kids for more than three minutes. You were quite an interesting child, to say the least. And maybe that was why five-year-old Seungmin quickly took an interest in you—making it his life's goal to befriend the "shy kid" in class. The teachers would actually beg to differ with that title. You weren't shy, they said. Just "troubled."

As if that changed anything (and it really didn't.)

Yet, Seungmin did what no other kid would have dreamed of attempting, aka, interacting with you. And boy, did he do it with the passion of an Olympic athlete desperate for a medal. The five-year-old was determined to make you his friend—which, now that you think about it, maybe could have just been his pride; not wanting to accept that he couldn't charm someone. Kim Seungmin was the center of attention; that was just his natural role in life. But he stuck to his goal anyway, so you applaud him for his determination on that one. There were a lot of things to describe Seungmin, and being persistent was certainly on the list.

From sitting with you during activities to following you around on the playground, Seungmin would not leave you alone at all. He would trail behind you like a lost puppy (to be fair, he does resemble one) throughout most of the day, even though you barely looked back and acknowledged him. The only time you ever did so was when you got annoyed and told him to go away. And he did.

For about six minutes, before you had someone tailing you again.

One day, you'd just had enough of his antics, already planning to blow up without a single remorse on the poor guy to stop all this nonsense—up until he suddenly presented you with a pen with your favorite cartoon character on it, saying it was a gift he got you. Apparently, he begged his mom to buy it as a gift for you because you were the first thing he thought of the moment he saw the pen's design. Young you immediately felt so bad for plotting war on him only a few minutes back, your resolve folding only seconds later.

Seungmin wasn't that bad, you remember convincing yourself.

Your view of Seungmin turned a complete one-eighty after that event. It was then that you finally accepted his advances and allowed the friendship to start. Surprisingly, it survived past kindergarten all the way to elementary—something you probably should have expected since you even ended up in the same grade school (courtesy of your dear mother, who—like everyone else—took a liking to Seungmin and wanted you to keep being friends with him.)

Seungmin was as popular as ever, earning countless recognitions left and right for anything and everything under the sun. The complete opposite of you, who your classmates often forget was even there in the first place. You didn't mind, of course—still bearing the same mindset you had in kindergarten. As long as you had Seungmin, everything was fine. You didn't need anyone else; you'd already made it through life without your only friend before he even remembered your name. It's not like they were really needed.

Right?

That's what you originally thought, anyway. Yet, there was something you failed to notice up until the two of you reached middle school. And boy, were you in for a rude awakening. One that was worse than hearing your father turn the TV on at the break of dawn, with a volume louder than you flushing the toilet at midnight.

The first seed of doubt was planted during ninth grade, when you overheard a group of girls from your class talking about Seungmin. It wasn't long 'til you understood that they were his admirers, seeing as they were blatantly conversing about how Seungmin looked very attractive during baseball practice yesterday. How they could find him handsome in all his sweaty glory is beyond you. He honestly just looked like a whole bucket of water was dumped on him. But you guess there was always something for everyone, and continued to listen in. After all, even you knew that the Kim Seungmin of your school was pretty well-known as the "campus crush."

So when one of the girls mentioned wanting to give him a drink during today's practice break, you decided to give them money-worthy information—revealing your best friend's favorite drink. You knew that Seungmin wasn't very vocal about his own preferences, very much aware of how that would only cause more problems for him—his words, not yours. If his middle school fan club heard him complaining about them at the kitchen counter, shuddering over the sheer thought of what they could and are capable of doing, they'd be floored.

It was merely a short comment. "Seungmin likes coffee beverages," was all you inserted into their (rather loud) conversation. You had no particular expectation of the response you were going to get, but the one you actually got caught you off guard. That was because instead of focusing on the detail you had just dropped, they were more dumbfounded by the fact that you even knew that at all. What, did they think you were a stalker or something? Seungmin's fangirl deep inside? You knew what drinks he liked because he was your best friend—oh.

That was the exact moment you realized: in the eyes of almost everyone else, you and Seungmin had no connection other than being schoolmates in the same batch.

All your interactions with Seungmin were after school: you would go to school and home together, as well as hang out on free days. But you had little to no contact once you entered the school gates, which was where Seungmin normally bid you farewell to head straight towards his other friends. And that was fine with you. Not everything has to be shoved in people's faces.

You could survive even without your and Seungmin's friendship being public knowledge.

Except you soon come to the conclusion that you actually do—because that ugly green and sticky feeling in your stomach (which you later recognized as envy) was loudly screaming every time you heard one of his friends get addressed as "Seungmin's friend." Now, getting your identity watered down to being classified as merely a friend of another person is something that would greatly piss other people off, but you could care less. Your brain was experiencing tunnel vision on the fact that these people could be seen as Seungmin's friends by everyone else while you were stuck hiding in the shadows. It was eating you alive at that point; you wanted to stand right beside him too, like the "best friend" you claimed you were.

The ache grew even more during high school, when you found out you had formed romantic feelings towards Seungmin. It was sudden—or maybe not. Who knows? All you did know was that the realization crashed into you like a speeding bullet train. Seungmin wasn't even doing anything noteworthy—simply on the verge of dozing off during one of your many study sessions. But you found yourself focusing on little intricate details, such as the way he held the pen in a way that made him look like he was ready to write anytime in the next second despite his eyelids drooping oh-so-endearingly to the point that it warmed your heart (and face.)

Something about him that day was making you feel things you knew you shouldn't be feeling. And the mere knowledge of this terrified you, because how could you? If you couldn't even be known as his friend, how could you ever become his lover? And so you chose the most rational course of action.

To distance yourself from him.

Fine, maybe that wasn't the best decision you ever made. Especially not when the Kim Seungmin himself starts chasing you around school just to get you to talk to him. The whole deal greatly reminded you of your younger years, when it all started. And maybe that was why you folded once again, exactly like you did back then.

"Y/N, just talk to me," you remember his exhausted plea along the school's covered pathway, the one connected to the gym where the rest of your classmates were. Why was he even here? His class didn't have the same PE schedule as yours—if anything, you remember from the short conversation you had with Seungmin back at the start of the school year that they had math during this time (a detail you scolded yourself over, because why did you know that?)

His softening grip on your arm brought you back to reality, effectively making you turn and finally look at him. What you saw broke your heart entirely. Seungmin, the Kim Seungmin, campus crush, the main character of everyone's lives, was barely holding back his tears from escaping his glistening eyes, swirling with anxiousness and fear. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked in a fragile tone, his voice so small and soft it was practically a whisper—almost as if he were any louder, you'd fade away into the wind and leave him. "If I did, please tell me. I—I don't want to lose you," Seungmin choked out, the words feeling so heavy on his mouth. The same words he spent days dreading the implications of, nights he lost sleep over from the overwhelming emotion.

To you and everyone else who knew him, Kim Seungmin was a bright light. Yet, right now, only for your eyes—he was the dimmest he had ever been.

"No. There's nothing wrong," you lied through your teeth, tearing yourself apart inside for subjecting him to another kind of pain; one that he wasn't even aware of yet. All you had to do was cover it up with a white lie, "I was just—I was just being stupid. This thing... It was bothering me so much. So, I just wanted to be alone. That's all."

"I'm sorry," were the final words of your guilt-laced excuse. You didn't know how you even got through the whole thing. At this point, you don't even think you deserved to be called Seungmin's friend anymore. He trusted you, but you betrayed him with lies. Maybe the shadows really were the right place for you. A place where you could enjoy everything you desired, even in the midst of complete darkness.

These thoughts stayed as you relayed every single detail of your fully made-up concern to Seungmin after school.

Both of your lives returned to normal after that. Or at least, how normal it would be for you after the shocking revelation. You often found yourself worrying over almost everything, overthinking even the smallest of details. It certainly didn't help that Seungmin had been acting all weird lately—unconsciously avoiding your eyes when you spoke to him, and getting all fidgety when you two were alone. Maybe it was the weeks of silently doubting the validity of your friendship, or the dismay of feeling like he wanted to be anywhere else other than with you during your hangouts, that you finally burst out crying in front of him one day.

Seungmin was completely rattled, not expecting you to suddenly break down in his room while you two were watching a comedy movie. One would think that you were supposed to be laughing; that's because you actually should have been—not full on sobbing. Yet when he eventually got you to pour out everything you've been holding back, his mind went into static.

All he could say was that his thoughts greatly differed from yours.

This whole time, he believed that just like in kindergarten, you would have preferred him to stay away from you in school—wanting to attract as little attention as possible; something that was unavoidable if you were to be known as someone connected to him. So, for that reason, he kept his distance, opting to make up for the time you spent practically ignoring each other by walking you to and from school, treating you to small meals and snacks along the way, and hanging out whenever you both were free.

Don't get him wrong, though; his actions weren't just purely platonic. Seungmin had actually liked you since elementary school but decided to keep it to himself until you showed any signs of returning the sentiment. Admittedly, he first approached you with the aim of being friends for a petty reason. "Y/N doesn't seem to like you, Seungmin," he recalls as clearly as a bright day. The observation came from one of his classmates back in kindergarten, and as a child used to receiving only love, Seungmin was not about to accept not earning yours.

Yet, as time went on, he soon realized that you were the only one who actually stuck by him (aside from his family, of course.) Seungmin never wanted to admit it, but he grew quite attached to you—to the point that if someone asked him if he saw you in his future, he would one-hundred percent say yes without any hesitation at all.

You were a very precious person to him, and there was no denying it.

During elementary years, Seungmin's fondness turned into something more. He wasn't ignorant, even as a child; he knew well what crushes were and had no issue classifying you as his. At that time, though, just like any other kid, he didn't dwell too much on it—opting to enjoy growing up with you rather than bother himself with feelings that he believed didn't need to be complicated.

Seungmin's not-so-platonic emotions directed towards you were placed to the side, unmoving and silenced. It stayed there until high school—when they pushed their way back to the forefront of his mind, where there was no escaping it. The reason? Your decision to distance yourself from him.

In school was one thing, but for you to avoid him outside of it? Unheard of. There was only one time you two were separated for this long, and that was back before you even became friends. Seungmin was definitely suffering with each passing day, but he still chased you. Giving up was not a choice when you were probably hurting too. The thought pained him more than he wanted it to be.

Though the memory of him revealing his raw emotions to you in such a manner was sort of humiliating (but because it was you, he felt less judged); Seungmin didn't regret it one bit. Still, he found it hard to act normally after all that. Having his romantic feelings out in a place where he could barely contain them was more difficult than he thought. Every moment with you just felt so overwhelming—he had to restrain himself from smothering you in a tight hug and never letting you go.

But he didn't need to hide it anymore.

"You're worth more to me than you'll ever know," he says, cupping your face gently as you hiccup through muffled apologies, unable to stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks like waves. Seungmin placed a feathery kiss on your forehead, the unexpected feeling taking you out of your own spiraling thoughts of negativity to notice that his hands were trembling—along with his wavering voice. "I'm sorry too," he swallowed, sensing his emotions rising as a result of your sniffling. "I'll do my best to never let you feel that way again."

"So give us another chance, please."

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