#this is the skill to possess guilt without carrying shame.

[oatbugs]

WARNING: The penalty for trespassing on the railway is £1000.

#here is the story of two researchers and one 0 on the truth table. here is how you almost tied up my arm in a belt #because you lost your tourniquet and neither of you could find my veins. did it feel good to get it off your chest #did it feel cathartic to talk about sin? in a room full of policymakers and experts i shook hands with a theoretical #physicist creating breathing metal. we talked about annual ruination. there is a boy in gold earrings #and two strangers growing a fake hologram with their minds. you discover you like wine and that you are #perhaps only a little bit cutthroat. here is a teapot full of tequila and a glance a curling of the lips that renders you [0] #first on the index and quickly overlooked. you want to be loved? here is the difficult bit. girl teaches you how to speak mandarin. still #too drunk to find your veins but here i want to be loved anyway. in a shocking turn of events the thing that keeps me alive #projected through my lovers noise cancelling headphones causes a slow peak in the 10 millisecond span i process #falling lights and yet increases accuracy to almost 87.5%. is it magic or are you just discussing your downfall? #the truth is have no skill or qualification to my name. i want you to listen to me. he said you will be a king. he said if a bomb #fell on this room everything that matters would be over. YOU WANNA LEARN ABOUT LOVE YOU SELFISH FUCKER? YOU SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN ME #WHEN YOU WERE 15. THE LOVE IS GONE IF YOU HAVE TO ASK IT. hes the alaskan #WHEN YOU WERE 15. THE LOVE IS GONE IF YOU HAVE TO ASK IT. i am the alaskan malmute under the dinner table begging for scraps #in a place im not supposed to be. in the field it was me with the drumsticks her (the world piano champion and the researcher and the #the machine gun) with the 巴乌 him with the guitar this is outside of london this is the ex presidents ex advisor telling you to give up #this is your brain and this is the day after doom. this is her washing the EEG conductive gel out of your hair in the restaurant bathroom #this is the skill to possess guilt without carrying shame.

[kainscape]

Unfiltered Grief ~ Bo Sinclair: TW Reader Death, (Detailed Gore?)

AN; wrote this before and after crying to the music video of Logic: 1-800 at 3-4am.

The clear sweat beading on his forehead had slithered down to mix and swirl with the crimson blood on his face. He had come down with a terrible rage fit, his hunting for the visitors distressing and shameful. It had smelt and looked like a blood bath, multiple bodies thrown around and battered. Some looked to be beyond human, too morphed through horror and physical actions.

It would seem to be just another common day for the oldest Sinclair, luring in the soon victims and passing them off to his brother. But, you had finally convinced Bo through words and actions to let you help with that part of the town. You were confident in your abilities to protect yourself and the brothers if needed, but you would mainly reel them in through words.

Most of the group were tall, muscular players. Quick with their tongues and bodies, a strong component for both of you. The plan was to pick them off, one by one and return them to Vincent. Well, it was the plan until they caught on. It was unexpected and quick, and fucking ruthless. It turned into the hunter falling into the hunted, Bo yelling at you to run, anything to get away from them as they chased you out the front of the gas station and him through the back yards of the neighbor hood.

You knew to listen to Bo, knowing that he would never tell you to run from the fight unless it was something no one could handle. You were agile and quick, the adrenaline helping you maneuver you limbs in a way you didn't know you could. Your mind was flushed of bad endings like it was trying to make you give up all hope. You were moreover pissed at your boyfriends need and jealousy as he tried to take on the group in 'secret.' It just made things inevitable for you.

The same couldn't be said for Bo, his height and built frame able to fight off one or two as he ran inside the familiarized houses. Some he would throw the kitchen knives that tested his skills. Others it was up to fate if he could get out fast enough. Though, not even the rapid heart clenching up in his chest or the stampeding footsteps behind him could distract him from you.

Out of all the times his arrogance and temper caused him more trouble than he bargained for, it had to be with you on the line too. Bo wasn't one to admit that his strength was outnumbered, yet here he was telling you and himself to run from the group. It was odd and nerve racking, getting a taste of how it felt to actually be scared your life was falling from you.

Not long after you guys separated, had he got rid of the three chasing him in the storage placed filled with vehicles from the now wax figures. His mechanics suit seemed as though it was supposed to be covered in this color, the unsettling amount of blood drenching almost the entire length of it. Now he could focus on you. Where were you. Are you seriously hurt. Had they killed you and left you there to die alone.

It all mattered on him getting there on time, something he kept at the front of his mind. He stopped his walk out the building, trying to handle his train wreck of thoughts. He had to be calm if he wanted to find you alive. It was interrupted by your yelling and screaming, one thing he wish he'd never hear. His body had already reacted, sprinting to the sounds origin.

What he came across, he believed it would be best if you never lived to love him. Never lived long enough to see him hold you in his arms. If he had just given you over to Vincent. Just so he never had to see this and so you could be clamped in the jaws of death instead of torture. Your broken body laid out on the road, the men long gone.

It didn't matter if they were watching for some sick amusing joke or if they had gone looking for him, Bo could not stop himself as he slid down beside you, locking in on the slow and agonizing breaths you took. To be honest, it was traumatizing to look at you. The scarring on Vincent's' face closely resembling yours now. He had to turn his head, taking a minute to move the image out of his head. He looked back, swallowing down the vile throw up inching through his throat.

He placed you where your face was away from him, wanting to keep you close without losing it. There was no possible way for you to be able to see, the blood seeping from your eye sockets as they turned white. Your blood soaked back rested against his chest, the struggled breaths rattling against him.

Bo's arms had a place around your waist, pulling you against him. It was now a matter of time before you were ripped away from his arms. It all came racing through him. Guilt. Agony. Sorrow. Anger. It spilled from his heart like it was part of his body. There was no way for him to stop the tears draining his eyes and falling against your dislocated shoulder. Once more, he was broken from the memories he played back with you as he slowly lost himself. 

The scratchy and aching voice was forced from you, some words Bo couldn't place. He believed he was just hearing you try to comfort him, letting his mind ease himself as he let you leave him. The violent cough shaking your form as it released more blood told him that he wasn't just imagining. He leaned closer, his head going past your shoulders. Never had he heard his voice so weak and shattered as he spoke to you.

"Can you say that again, sweetheart. I didn't catch ya'.." He squeezed his eyes shut, the pain kicking at his mind and fueling his body with remorse. The droplets stained his skin as new ones fell once more, blurring his vision.

"please.. just finish.. kill me.." He couldn't ever express the dread and absolute terror that shattered his soul, tarnishing it with no mercy. You were begging him to kill you. To let you leave this pain fueled body and go somewhere new. There was no way he was capable of that, letting you vanish from his doing.

Yet, there was a creeping feeling roaring at the back of his head. The possessive part of him whole-heartedly wanting you to die by no one else but his hands. It was disgusting and sickening to him. Your shattered body manage to raise the bruised arm, revealing the red stained knife still within your frail hands. It was the present Bo had granted you on one of your birthdays, his and your initials chiseled into the handle.

The more he sat there, wallowing in his grief and mourning, the more he let you suffer with your wounds. A shaky and calloused hand slipped into yours, the blade now in his. The metal reflected the light coming from one of the poles behind him. The weak arms had no more strength as they fell limp at your side, the blood draining from your veins.

His body was frozen over, the panicked thoughts of saving you had been pushed to the front. It was fruitless thinking, not possible in your state. Even if he did miraculously manage to save you, it would be miserable, the wounds you sustained leaving an ever lasting impression.

Bo reeled himself in, his hand adjusting to the small handle. It was a slow line to your hearts resting place, stopping just before it touched you. He was now letting the tears travel to any spot they desired, his nose running and face red. Why was this so fucking hard. He had done it numerous times to others. Perhaps it was the silent and special bond he formed over the years of being with you.

Nothing mattered now, all that did was following your request. His other hand came to help, the palm resting against the hilt. He would count to help him. "I'll see you again, angel.." It was barely audible, as if he was telling himself that. 'Three..' He had to do this, he needed to be the one to take your life. It was his alone to do so. 'Two..." What happens after this. Would he just carry on like he did when he was alone before; trudging on his last days with the regret of not saving you. "One.." He would find out soon enough.

It was quick, his hand slamming down as the silver blade poked your heart. Your last jolt of nerves moving against it as you came back down, the last breath leaving your body. You went limp against his shaking body. He couldn't keep the screams from tearing out his mouth, the sobs and yelling echoing out for anybody close enough to hear.

It was anguish in its own form, swelling up in him for a permanent home. The night went on, the sun now peeking up against the trees. The world acted as though nothing happened, time still carrying on. Bo would lay there, your corpse still resting against him as any light drained from his eyes. The only light now was the shine from the sun, a worthless attempt to return something to never be found again.

#House of Wax #bo sinclair #reader death #GoreTW #bo sinclair x reader #Bo sinclair trauma #this is my way of coping #Bo sinclair x s/o #x reader #slashers #slasher #slasher fan fic

[taones]

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐍𝐒//𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

Pairing: tanka x gender neutral!reader (afab)

Note: Its 1am this probably sucks

Warnings: Smut (duh), mentions of public sex

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

tanaka is the sweetest and you cannot change my mind that he is touch starved. therefore, aftercare is the perfect opportunity for him to cuddle you and tell you how good you did or the other way round, depending on your preferred dynamics. If he's doing the aftercare, he always has a sports drink next to the bed for you and makes sure you drink it and have come down from your high before he drags you into the shower with him.

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

It's his abs. Not to be predictable but they're something he worked hard on and it definitely payed off, so what if he likes seeing the look on your face when you see them?

Ryu is an ass man through and through, he matter the size his hands are all over that thing. Even when you're making out his hands are squeezing and rubbing your ass like it's his personal treasure.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He is lowkey a messy person when it comes to cum, yours or his. He likes yours all over his face and in his mouth sk he can taste you. However, he prefers his to be over your ass or the back of your thighs if he isn't allowed to come inside you (his first choice).

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

He kinda likes pain. It isnt really a dirty secret cause it takes him a while to notice but he can't help but shiver and moan when you scratch your nails down his back or bite his neck to muffle your moans. Tanaka even likes pressing down on them to feel some pain when he gets off.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like he has a decent amount of experience maybe a couple of other people but he does research this kinda stuff and tries his best to adhere to any feedback you give him.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Any position he can see your ass in. Just the visual of his hips hitting your ass and it jiggling could make him come so he prefers reverse cowgirl etc. Not picky though, hes Tanaka.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I feel like its 50/50 with Ryu. He could totally go for giggly sex and a lot of the time it is. If you start laughing about something he'll join in and he even laughs at himself a lot during it too. However, if hes super worked up then it's all about ramming you/getting rammed into the mattress and giggles can come during aftercare thanks.

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

He probably shaves. If it's not almost completely hairless then it's very well groomed and kept short. Couldn't care less about your body hair, he just doesn't like it on him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

When he really gets into it, especially when hes about to finish, he gives out more and more praise. This can range from complimenting your body and making lewd comments to straight up repeating goes much he loves you. Apart from that, hes fairly romantic but not really if you get me. He'll praise you but he isnt exactly laying out verbal rose petals.

J = Jerk Off (How often, what are they thinking about, …)

Hes a horny bastard, he jerks off a lot. With your permission, he probably has some photos saved of you that he uses to get off and if not he has plenty of memories of you that he can use as inspiration.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I firmly believe he is up to trying anything at least once. However, does have a thing for quite literally fucking you stupid. The whole eyes unfocused, drooling and unable to say anything but his name makes him hard just at the thought.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. Has literally no shame but hes a little possessive so, if you're doing in in public, he's making sure nobody can see you because that's his and his only to look at. This being said, he has a thing for shower sex. The way the water flows down your body makes sure that he is at least a little hard and you can't really take a shower together without it ended with probably a blow job.

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

When you wear certain clothes. For example if you're wearing something tight or short he can't help but oggle a lot. God forbid you decided to wear some of his clothes or walk around in nothing but his tshirt and underwear. Tanaka really won't be able to control himself.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like nasty degradation. He doesn't like anything that could potentially emotionally hurt you, even if you like it. Insulting you, sexual or not, will always leave him with a feeling of guilt and he just can't carry on with whatever you guys were doing

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

Now, he likes getting his dick sucked cause duh. However, he lives for giving you oral. Tanaka can and will be between your legs all day if he could and this means face sitting is an amazing experience. His skills are nothing to blink at either, be can get you to be a moaning mess within seconds and he probably gets a couple of piercings just to make that experience better for you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

With the exception of when you're upset, Tanaka is usually fast and rough. He cant help himself, sometimes you're just too hot and he always fucks you like there's no tomorrow.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He is up for anything, like I said earlier. Plus he's very easily turned on so quickies are a fairly normal thing for you guys, they're not his favourite though because he tends to prefer a lot of rounds.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Like I said before, hes up for anything once. If you want him to do it, he'll probably give it a go! Risks are a thing he's willing to take as long as you're comfortable with it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is no joke. Seriously, he can go for a good 3 rounds before he even starts getting tired. Most of the time, you come more times than him cause you're the main focus so he tries to limit the amount of rounds for you two.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Very basic toys like a vibrator and a pair of handcuffs for either of you. Most of your guys sex isnt actually pre planned so the handcuffs are more common than other toys but he enjoys when he gets to bring them out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Little shit thinks it's funny to pull away to 'stretch' just when you're about to come. He is in this mainly for your pleasure but he can't help but rile you up sometimes and get you whining.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I'd say hes relitavely loud. Loud enough that public sex isn't often but not loud enough for that many noise complaints from the neighbours. He can't help but get caught up and start spewing dirty talk in your ear between grunts and low pitched moans and your response usually increases his volume a little.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Let him leave hickey hearts on you! Seriously, he has a thing for it and likes seeing them when you get changed in front of him. It's like a weird possession thing or maybe he just thinks it's cute, who knows.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I'd say he's slightly bigger than average in length and has a good girth for him. His dick has a few prominent veins that are sensitive.

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

Higher than average, definitely. Can and will have you every single night if you let him, even after a long day.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I feel like he gets kinda hungry after sex and his aftercare is kinda long. After your shower, he probably makes a sandwich or something, eats it and comes back to bed after. Might spend a little time talking to you before he's out like a light.

Tumblr mobile likes to be annoying so sorry for any spelling mistakes! Requests are open and enjoy

#tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka x reader #tanaka ryunosuke x reader #tanaka Ryuunosuke x reader #tanaka smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu alphabet #ns/fw alphabet #tanaka alphabet #haikyuu smut #karasuno x reader

[bosspigeon]

(hope the blood letting goes well :( ) nate/adam prompts??? lips chapped from the cold // warming the other's hands (or lips, 'cause, i mean)

in the dark, i can hear your heartbeat

Pairing: Adam du Mortain/Nate Sewell Word Count: 2603 Summary: Being sidelined during a mission isn’t too bad, if you ask Nate. Gives him plenty of time to ogle his commander. And maybe, if he’s very lucky, he’ll get to do a bit more than just ogle.

THIS PROMPT REALLY GOT AWAY FROM ME, HUH? Sorry it’s taken me so long to post it, I was just possessed by the spirit of Nate’s Intense Emotional Horniness. Title from “Cosmic Love” by Florence and the Machine~

Mild CW for some intense kissin’ and a bit of fondling, as well as some adult humor, but it doesn’t actually dip into anything too risque. Not for lack of trying on Nate’s part tho 👀

Watching Adam has become something of a self-soothing ritual for Nate over the centuries, even when it hurt him to do so. There was an odd sort of comfort in watching, in tracing the familiar paths of his silent, shackled longing with heavy eyes and quiet avarice. Then, he had to be careful not to overdo it, to make it obvious, however desperate he was to memorize every inch of his commanding agent, as if every moment with him would be the last. Adam’s eyes are sharp, his awareness of himself and how people observe him sometimes bordering on paranoia (though he would gut himself before admitting such weakness) and Nate learned to watch him when he was otherwise occupied, honed in with an intense, single-minded focus on whatever task the Agency had for them.

It became easier, over time, for him to contain the hunger of his gaze, to pick and choose the correct time to indulge himself in admiring the man who gradually became more than simply his superior, but his friend. Nate learned to play it off well when he was caught, to corral his racing heart like an errant beast, and he fervently thanked whatever power would listen to a lost creature like him that Adam’s interpersonal skills were not nearly so sharp as his observational ones. There was guilt, of course. A dark twist of shame that took far too long to shake, the niggling idea that there was something wicked about wanting the way he did, but Adam drew his gaze relentlessly from the very first moment they met. Nate was bedraggled, exhausted in a way beyond the physical, and no longer human, but meeting this steadfast, powerful, beautiful man lit a fire in his belly that warmed him, and even dulled the gnawing there, in a way he could never hope to explain.

He smiles to himself under the cover over darkness as he watches now, flushed with the knowledge that he does not have to hide it anymore.

Adam, body vibrating with restless tension as he watches the shadows, stiffens further when the weight of Nate’s gaze finally breaks through his focus. His spine somehow manages to straighten even further, and Nate’s smile widens, curling with mischief.

“What?” his commander hisses, breath fogging in the chilly gloom. The streets are quiet, and though this area is mostly condemned warehouses and abandoned factories, they lurk in the shadows and avoid the sparse yellow streetlights.

Nate’s smile does not falter, and he simply raises his brows. “Pardon?” he asks innocently.

Adam’s eyes narrow at him. “You are staring. Why?”

And, oh, he really can’t help himself, not when he is still all aflutter with the intoxicating freedom of having what he’s yearned for so long the ache had almost become a part of him. “You look quite striking in this light, is all,” he says. His gaze traces, unbidden, along the strong angle of Adam’s jaw, the proud curve of his nose, the breadth of his shoulders that strain enticingly against his coat, and when it finally drags itself back to his eyes, they are wide and startled. “What? Am I not allowed to admire you?” he teases, daring to slink closer.

“We… we are on a mission,” Adam protests, but his voice lacks the sharp edge of reproach it usually does when he is, say, chiding Mason or Felix.

“Chase, Mason, and Felix are on a mission,” Nate corrects gently, still smiling. “We are keeping watch until they return.”

Adam’s mouth twists, clearly sour about the reminder that they’ve been sidelined. Unfortunately, the mission is one that requires speed and subtlety, and the fewer of them to get in the way, the better. Chase was a rather last-minute addition— one that Adam did not approve of at first—until it was pointed out that his particular talents would be useful getting into the trapper hideout undetected. He even proved his skills by breaking into their Agency SUV without setting off the alarm. “That is still part of the mission,” Adam grumbles, turning away. Nate takes the final step that will get him where he wants to be, which is within touching distance of the brooding commander. Adam stiffens, but stubbornly keeps his gaze turned in the direction of the hideout, little more than a nondescript, barely-lit grey building in the distance. The radio silence makes them both antsy, but Nate takes comfort in knowing their team is a capable one, and if anything were wrong, they would be alerted. Nate allows himself another indulgence, and slides his hand over Adam’s arm. He’s done it countless times before. Even before this change, this new territory to chart, Adam allowed him and their team more intimacy than he allowed anyone else. Casual touches are not new, but now they feel strangely loaded. They carry a new weight.

An intent.

Nate squeezes the hard, tense muscle of Adam’s bicep, and Adam spins to face him again. He seems startled to realize Nate's gotten so close, and one hand comes up to press against his chest. Nate stops, lifts his head, and cocks his brows, waiting. There is a flush creeping up Adam’s cheeks, his breath seems to have frozen in his lungs (luckily he doesn’t really need it), and for a long moment, they simply stare at one another in silence.

Adam exhales in a plume of white mist, leaning forward ever so slightly. A hardly perceptible movement, but Nate has long since learned to read Adam’s gestures, his expressions, his silent requests. He slides his hand over the one on his chest, curling his fingers around it tenderly. “Your hands are cold,” he observes. Adam opens his mouth, likely to make some remark about Nate’s obvious comment, but it freezes before it even reaches the chilly air when Nate pulls the hand to his mouth to breathe warm air over it and rub it between his own. His eyes never leave Adam’s, wide and bright in the darkness, and that enticing flush only deepens when Nate presses his mouth softly to his knuckles. He kisses each one, slowly and sweetly, all the while rubbing circles into Adam's palm. Adam swallows, eyelids fluttering, and his lips part, but all that escapes them is a wordless, shaky little sigh.

And then Nate is being backed into the wall of the building behind them, Adam’s hands balled into the lapels of his coat. Nate’s shoulders hit the drab brick, and Adam crowds in close, green eyes flashing in the gloom. Nate’s hands find his hips, slipping underneath his coat, in part because his hands are somewhat cold as well, but mostly to get as close to skin as he can possibly get. He licks his lips, waiting. He’s waited three centuries for this, he can be patient a little while longer, and allow Adam to come to him when he’s ready.

The first kiss is quick, hardly more than a chaste peck. Adam's lips are cold, a little chapped, and Nate tries to follow them when they pull away. Thankfully, he isn't left wanting for long. Adam seems bolstered by his reaction, and kisses him again, more forcefully. His lips part in a sweet little gasp, and Nate takes the invitation, running his tongue along his lower lip and pulling it playfully between his teeth. He feels the sound that rumbles in Adam's chest more than he hears it, and he can't help but smirk. He hopes Adam can feel it pressed against his mouth, hopes he knows how much Nate delights in every reaction, relishes every little sound, and commits them to memory.

Adam's lips warm quickly against his, and his hands do too, sliding into Nate's open coat to brace against his chest. Nate warms his by tugging Adam's shirt from his belt and slipping his hands underneath. Adam gasps, his belly shuddering and twitching reflexively under his chilly fingers, but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he presses closer, clinging like a man drowning, soft, rough noises slipping helplessly from his mouth into Nate’s. Somehow, his thigh winds up between Adam’s, his hands creeper higher and higher underneath his shirt, inching it up over his belly. They’re pressed so close together, though, that his bare skin doesn’t meet the air.

Nate breaks away from the kiss with a heated gasp, and his wet lips are almost immediately stinging with the cold. It’s Adam’s turn to chase his mouth now, pushing up onto his toes to close the distance between them. He kisses at Nate’s jaw almost frantically, his fingers curling into his shirt, and when Nate doesn’t give him what he wants immediately, he growls.

It should be threatening. Nate has heard Adam growl before. He’s seen him bare his teeth and snarl to intimidate an enemy into backing down, or simply out of annoyance. Adam is a fierce presence when he wants to be, the very picture of an apex predator. Powerfully built, strong, and proud, with eyes that could gut a lesser man with a simple look. Now, growling as he mouths and nuzzles against Nate’s jaw, he just sounds needy.

Nate might die here, but it won’t be because Adam is any sort of threat. It’s easy enough to reverse their positions, pliant as Adam has gotten. It’s shockingly easy, really, and Nate is taken back to their conversation in Adam’s room, the way he simply let himself be spun around and pinned against his own desk, let Nate take whatever he wanted from him. They have sparred, however little Nate cares for it, and Adam’s beaten him every time. There’s no question which of them is physically stronger. The only reason Nate could push him anywhere is if Adam let him do so.

He shudders at the realization, an almost pained groan tearing free of him, and dips his head to catch Adam’s mouth again, earning another growl that he swallows up desperately. He wastes no time in slipping his tongue past Adam’s lips, tasting him with a feverish hunger that blisters with heat so intense he forgets the cold entirely. He gets his thigh between Adam’s legs again, and he pushes up, reveling in the choked moan it earns him. He swallows that too. Nate knows hunger, feels it gnawing at him even now, but even that ever-present, aching reminder of what he is drowns in the wake of this clawing need to get as close as possible, to taste as much of Adam as possible.

He is blearily considering how easy it would be to undo Adam’s fatigues and slip his hand inside, when he is nearly blinded by a sudden light washing over the little alcove they’ve sequestered into.

He snarls, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, and once the starbursts clear from his vision, he sees Chase standing at the mouth of the alleyway, shining his phone’s flashlight over them.

Nate doesn’t need the light to see the smirk curling the detective’s full lips, the wry quirk of his brow. He is flanked by Mason and Felix, who are wearing eerily matching, leering grins at the compromising position in which they’ve found their commanding agent and his second.

Heat rushes to his cheeks, and he peels himself away from Adam’s front (reluctantly, of course—embarrassed as he is, he still yearns to wrap himself around that powerful body and simply refuse to let go) with a sheepish cough. He finds his clothes are a bit… disheveled, to say the least, so he busies himself putting them back into order, risking a glance at Adam to find him hurrying to do the same.

Chase shakes his head disapprovingly and tuts at them. “Really, you two? Canoodling? In the middle of a mission?” He’s still smirking, eyeing them over with that sharp, knowing gaze.

Felix giggles helplessly and whispers “Canoodling” to Mason, who snorts.

“The mission,” Adam snaps, straightening his posture admirably, considering he is still hastily tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “You’ve gotten the information we need?” He sounds faintly breathless, but he hides it well. The pinkness of his lips, noticeably wet and swollen, less so. Nate wonders, a bit hysterically, if their accelerated healing mitigates things like beard burn.

Chase produces a manila folder from inside his jacket and waves it smugly. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“How did it go?” Nate asks, raking his fingers through his hair. “No difficulties, I hope? It’s still quiet.” He glances towards the building in the distance. Still and dimly lit. He breathes a sigh of relief. Even with the distraction, he does worry for his team, and is glad to see they seem no worse for wear. He is also, perhaps, glad to have a distraction from the heat still surging under his skin, the tangle of arousal still burning in his gut, the sharp awareness of Adam standing stiffly at his shoulder,  a person-shaped knot of tension.

“In and out,” Mason says with a nod and a little smile playing about his lips. Felix snickers again. “So easy it was almost boring.” The smile widens, and Nate braces for impact. “We definitely didn’t have as much fun as you two did.”

Felix collapses against Chase’s shoulder cackling.

Adam tenses even more, and Nate is concerned he’ll break something with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. “We'll return to the Warehouse and debrief there," he says stiffly, refusing to even deign the teasing with a response. Nate can't help but risk a touch to his lower back, light and barely there, in hopes it will soothe him even a little.

Adam meets his eyes for a fraction of a second, but Nate can feel the way his body loosens ever so slightly, and presses his palm more firmly to his back, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I bet you're real eager to debrief at least one of us," Felix manages to wheeze out, still recovering from his last little fit.

Adam's spine snaps straight again, and he begins to draw away from Nate's touch, to retreat into himself, to overthink. Chase sees it too, and he elbows Felix sharply in the side to quiet him. Nate takes the moment of distraction and loops his arm around Adam's waist and reels him in to brush a quick kiss to his temple. "Relax," he breathes into his ear.

He waits for Adam to react, keeps his grasp loose, so he can escape if he needs to. He wants this to be easy, but knows it may not be for Adam. This is uncharted territory for them both, but they have always handled uncharted territory in vastly different ways. He cannot expect Adam to simply be ready just because he is.

Adam doesn’t relax, so he begins to step away, keeping his face neutral, his posture loose. The rejection stings a bit, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. A strong hand latches around his wrist before he can withdraw it completely, and Adam’s eyes are stubbornly narrowed when they meet his. Nate smiles, warmth blooming bright in his chest, and curls his arm around Adam even tighter, slipping two fingers through his belt loops. He finally begins to relax, if slowly, and Nate can’t stop smiling.

Mason stomps his feet noisily against the cracked asphalt, interrupting the little moment, and Nate tears his eyes from Adam’s to see him rubbing his arms. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Is it?” Nate asks brightly, turning towards the black SUV parked deeper in the shadowed alleyway and steering Adam along with him. “I’d hardly noticed.”

#pidge writes #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #adam du mortain #nate sewell #adam/nate #HOO BOY THIS WAS A LONG ONE #i am SO SORRY #it's also messy as hell but i wanted desperately to at least post it before midnight #i hope y'all like it #nate kinda took over and needed to wax poetic about his feelings b*ner #we get it dude #chill maybe #this is kind of a direct sequel to my last adam/nate prompt #they're still figuring everything out #it's probably not easy to change the parameters of a relationship thats been the same for three centuries #but also its probably not easy to contain three centuries of pent up feelings #adam is also sensitive to teasing especially when he's trying to maintain his Commanding Leader persona #but like #this is his family #they love him #they're happy for both of them #but also they are absolutely not going to let them live #anyway ive rambled enough yeehaw #evilbunnyking #the bloodletting DID go well btw! #so well i had to do it TWICE in one week! #and i have to do it again NEXT WEEK

[freddieslater]

10 Favourite Female Characters From 10 Different Fandoms

(List your 10 favorite female characters from 10 fandoms, then tag 10 people)

Thank you so much for the tag @a-lil-bi-furious !! ❤️

1. Malia Tate from Teen Wolf

Starting off strong — literally, she has the strength of, like, a bear and the temper of one! My angry girl!! I just loved her from the very first second we were introduced to her after turning back. She went through so much, and it clearly had a big impact on her, and we got to see her grow through most of it (but not all of it because the writers suck a bit) and work to become a pack member instead of the lone coyote she had gotten used to being. Also, she insanely pretty and cute so she’s allowed to growl at people every so often!

2. Liv Parker from The Vampire Diaries

My angry and extra sassy girl — witch edition! There’s just something about her that I love. I really understand Tyler; she could insult me and blast me across a room with magic and I would fall in love with her. But we know that a lot of her mean-girl attitude comes from her family issues, and it’s more of a defense mechanism than anything. So, it was nice to see a softer side of her around both Luke and Tyler — and Jo, on occasion. She knew she was the “weaker” twin and as much as the thought of dying scared her, she still stood strong and tried to find a way to save Luke from having to live with that guilt by finding another way — just as she saved Tyler from triggering his curse by killing someone (who was already dying because of him) for him. And then in the end, knowing she was going to die anyway, she saved him again. She deserved a way better ending and more of a chance to grow since we definitely were not done with her story, so I will be forever bitter but I love and appreciate the time we had her for!

3. Hope Mikaelson from Legacies

Is it cheating if they’re from the same universe but not the same show? I just love this little Tribrid so much. She’s gone through a lot her entire life — literally, she had people trying to kill her before she was even born. She lost her mum, and then her dad, and her uncle. Not to mention the, uh, killing a bunch of people in between and also finding out your first boyfriend helped kidnapped your mum in a plot to kill her and you (that he didn’t know about, given, but still). And having virtually no friends at school. But she still tried to be so strong all the time, to a point where she really should let more people in it and see that soft, vulnerable part that’s still in there. Her anger is justified, and sometimes out of her control due to her family, and I wish they’d let her get real help for it. She shouldn’t have to be the “hero” or the “saviour” all the time and I wish they would just cut her a break, let her rest, and have a moment of happiness that doesn’t end with her feeling like she didn’t deserve it.

4. Wanda Maximoff from MCU

(First of all, you don’t know how painful it was having to wade through a bunch of Pietro gifs in the process of finding this one.) The version of Wanda in the MCU is very... complex. Obviously there’s a lot of issues With the character, but if I’m focusing solely on who she is in the MCU, then I love her so much. And she definitely has some issues in her life. She starts off as the bad guy, angry and seeking “justice” (and revenge) for what happened to her parents, and in the same movie, we see her realize that the side she was working for wasn’t any better. We see her character develop quite a bit in just her first movie, and then over the course of the next ones, we see more sides to her; her guilt over hurting innocent people through a quickly-made decision, her compassion for Vision and for those other people, her grief over losing Pietro and Vision. And she herself is so powerful! She tries to live with the pain she’s endured but it takes over without her control, because both her grief and her magic are all-consuming. And I add this because I still refuse WandaVision’s change to the timeline: she went through all of this before she was eighteen. She’s so young, and in pain, but she still tries so hard to push through because other people need her, and she doesn’t want them to suffer like she has. Also, I just think it’s pretty when she does those little hand movements to possess people and her eyes turn red.

5. Nymphadora Tonks from Harry Potter

She deserved the absolute world. Her death was unnecessary, and I hate it, because she should have gotten to live the rest of her life raising her son, happy with her husband, and just generally being alive. She was so full of life and joy, and she tried to be the source of those things in the middle of a literal war when everyone was at their lowest and felt hopeless or angry. Also would’ve loved more scenes of her and her favourite cousin, Sirius, because they would be chaotic and they both deserved that. ALSO also, she’s very pretty, can change her appearance and chose to have pink/purple hair and dresses like how tiny me wanted to dress, so I immediately fell in love, of course.

6. Kara Danvers from Supergirl

She’s just so kind and compassionate despite everything the world has put her through — but she’s also angry deep down, and she’s hurt and in pain, and some of my favourite moments of hers are when she’s allowed to express that. When she’s allowed to really just lose it and lash out at the people who hurt her because she pushes it down for so long so that she can help everyone else that it finally just explodes.

7. Jody Jackson from The Dumping Ground

TW: mentions of different forms of child abuse. This girl deserves the whole world but I promise you that the world does not deserve her. The same can be said for pretty much all of the characters in The Dumping Ground, to be honest, but god she has just been through so much. Neglected by her mum from a very young age, abused physically and verbally by her and (presumably) both of her brothers, and it’s implied she’s abused sexually by one of her brothers as well. Of course when we first meet her she is angry and terrified. She still is because the trauma developed and was never fully dealt with, so she still carries it all around in her mouth and fists, until one little thing happens to make her lash out. And she knows she has a problem — she is terrified of becoming her brother, and sometimes her mum, and all she wants is to not hurt the people she loves. Because she loves so much, it’s just hard for her to know how to show it sometimes because sometimes all she can remember is how her family “loved” her. But she’s grown so much since she went into care and she’s getting help at last, and I just have so much hope for her happiness in the next series to come.

8. Annie Marks from Good Girls

She’s short, fiesty, will make jokes at the worst possible time, won’t stop calling a literal gang leader who has threatened her life on more than one occasion “gang friend”, was incredibly supportive and accepting of her son when he came out as trans, will punch someone when necessary (probably also when not), has a semi-friendly co-parenting thing going on with her ex, and is just all around adorably ridiculous.

9. Casey McDonald from Life With Derek

Ignoring Derek in the gif — Casey usually does, too. Casey is a perfectionist, and frankly, sometimes quite annoying about it and some other things, and yes, she definitey initiates a lot of the arguments between her and Derek. And that is why I love her. She is in no way perfect, and her striving to be comes from anxiety and insecurities that are partially the result of the instability in her life. I love how, no matter how much she may despise Derek, when there’s a real problem, she tries to help. She cares about the people in her life, and I can’t wait for her to return to as a mum of four!

10. Ashley Garcia from The Expanding Universe of Ashley Garcia

Someone give the world TO her, please?? It’s a shame this fandom is so small because she deserves so much love and appreciation. She’s a literal genius but lacks... a lot of social skills at the start of the show. But she learns from her friends, and gets to experience new things, including having a crush for the time (and the second!) and she’s just generally living life as a fairly normal teenager. While still being an absolute genius. I just love this smiley little dork so much!

Tagging: @pad-foots @donnas-troia @childofsquidward @multifandomlover121 @superarrowverse @dance-is-life27 to participate if you want to, but as always, no pressure! And anyone who wants to do this but wasn’t tagged — you have been now! Go do it!

#tag games #favourite characters <3

[alittlelessdemocracy]

Chapter 22

Excerpt from Robert Jay Lifton’s excellent book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism:

A discussion of what is most central in the thought reform environment can lead us to a more general consideration of the psychology of human zealotry. For in identifying, on the basis of this study of thought reform, features common to all expressions of ideological totalism, I wish to suggest a set of criteria against which any environment may be judged - a basis for answering the ever-recurring question: "Isn't this just like 'brainwashing'?"

These criteria consist of eight psychological themes which are predominant within the social field of the thought reform milieu. Each has a totalistic quality; each depend upon an equally absolute philosophical assumption; and each mobilizes certain individual emotional tendencies, mostly of a polarizing nature. In combination they create an atmosphere which may temporarily energize or exhilarate, but which at the same time poses the gravest of human threats.

1. Milieu Control

The most basic feature of the thought reform environment, the psychological current upon which all else depends, is the control of human communication. Through this milieu control the totalist environment seeks to establish domain over not only the individual's communication with the outside (all that he sees and hears, reads or writes, experiences, and expresses), but also - in its penetration of his inner life - over what we may speak of as his communication with himself. It creates an atmosphere uncomfortably reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984.

Such milieu control never succeeds in becoming absolute, and its own human apparatus can - when permeated by outside information - become subject to discordant "noise" beyond that of any mechanical apparatus. To totalist administrators, however, such occurrences are no more than evidences of "incorrect" use of the apparatus. For they look upon milieu control as a just and necessary policy, one which need not be kept secret: thought reform participants may be in doubt as to who is telling what to whom, but the fact that extensive information about everyone is being conveyed to the authorities is always known. At the center of this self-justification is their assumption of omniscience, their conviction that reality is their exclusive possession. Having experienced the impact of what they consider to be an ultimate truth (and having the need to dispel any possible inner doubts of their own), they consider it their duty to create an environment containing no more and no less than this "truth." In order to be the engineers of the human soul, they must first bring it under full observational control.

2. Mystical Manipulation

The inevitable next step after milieu control is extensive personal manipulation. This manipulation assumes a no-holds-barred character, and uses every possible device at the milieu's command, no matter how bizarre or painful. Initiated from above, it seeks to provoke specific patterns of behavior and emotion in such a way that these will appear to have arisen spontaneously, directed as it is by an ostensibly omniscient group, must assume, for the manipulated, a near-mystical quality.

Ideological totalists do not pursue this approach solely for the purpose of maintaining a sense of power over others. Rather they are impelled by a special kind of mystique which not only justifies such manipulations, but makes them mandatory. Included in this mystique is a sense of "higher purpose," of having "directly perceived some imminent law of social development," and of being themselves the vanguard of this development. By thus becoming the instruments of their own mystique, they create a mystical aura around the manipulating institutions - the Party, the Government, the Organization. They are the agents "chosen" (by history, by God, or by some other supernatural force) to carry out the "mystical imperative," the pursuit of which must supersede all considerations of decency or of immediate human welfare. Similarly, any thought or action which questions the higher purpose is considered to be stimulated by a lower purpose, to be backward, selfish, and petty in the face of the great, overriding mission. This same mystical imperative produces the apparent extremes of idealism and cynicism which occur in connection with the manipulations of any totalist environment: even those actions which seem cynical in the extreme can be seen as having ultimate relationship to the "higher purpose."

At the level of the individual person, the psychological responses to this manipulative approach revolve about the basic polarity of trust and mistrust. One is asked to accept these manipulations on a basis of ultimate trust (or faith): "like a child in the arms of its mother." He who trusts in this degree can experience the manipulations within the idiom of the mystique behind them: that is, he may welcome their mysteriousness, find pleasure in their pain, and feel them to be necessary for the fulfillment of the "higher purpose" which he endorses as his own. But such elemental trust is difficult to maintain; and even the strongest can be dissipated by constant manipulation.

When trust gives way to mistrust (or when trust has never existed) the higher purpose cannot serve as adequate emotional sustenance. The individual then responds to the manipulations through developing what I shall call the psychology of the pawn. Feeling himself unable to escape from forces more powerful than himself, he subordinates everything to adapting himself to them. He becomes sensitive to all kinds of cues, expert at anticipating environmental pressures, and skillful in riding them in such a way that his psychological energies merge with the tide rather than turn painfully against himself. This requires that he participate actively in the manipulation of others, as well as in the endless round of betrayals and self-betrayals which are required.

But whatever his response - whether he is cheerful in the face of being manipulated, deeply resentful, or feels a combination of both - he has been deprived of the opportunity to exercise his capacities for self-expression and independent action.

3. The Demand for Purity

In the thought reform milieu, as in all situations of ideological totalism, the experiential world is sharply divided into the pure and the impure, into the absolutely good and the absolutely evil. The good and the pure are of course those ideas, feelings, and actions which are consistent with the totalist ideology and policy; anything else is apt to be relegated to the bad and the impure. Nothing human is immune from the flood of stern moral judgments. All "taints" and "poisons" which contribute to the existing state of impurity must be searched out and eliminated.

The philosophical assumption underlying this demand is that absolute purity is attainable, and that anything done to anyone in the name of this purity is ultimately moral. In actual practice, however, no one is really expected to achieve such perfection. Nor can this paradox be dismissed as merely a means of establishing a high standard to which all can aspire. Thought reform bears witness to its more malignant consequences: for by defining and manipulating the criteria of purity, and then by conducting an all-out war upon impurity, the ideological totalists create a narrow world of guilt and shame. This is perpetuated by an ethos of continuous reform, a demand that one strive permanently and painfully for something which not only does not exist but is in fact alien to the human condition.

At the level of the relationship between individual and environment, the demand for purity creates what we may term a guilty milieu and a shaming milieu. Since each man's impurities are deemed sinful and potentially harmful to himself and to others, he is, so to speak, expected to expect punishment - which results in a relationship of guilt and his environment. Similarly, when he fails to meet the prevailing standards in casting out such impurities, he is expected to expect humiliation and ostracism - thus establishing a relationship of shame with his milieu. Moreover, the sense of guilt and the sense of shame become highly-valued: they are preferred forms of communication, objects of public competition, and the basis for eventual bonds between the individual and his totalist accusers. One may attempt to simulate them for a while, but the subterfuge is likely to be detected, and it is safer to experience them genuinely.

People vary greatly in their susceptibilities to guilt and shame, depending upon patterns developed early in life. But since guilt and shame are basic to human existence, this variation can be no more than a matter of degree. Each person is made vulnerable through his profound inner sensitivities to his own limitations and to his unfulfilled potential; in other words, each is made vulnerable through his existential guilt. Since ideological totalists become the ultimate judges of good and evil within their world, they are able to use these universal tendencies toward guilt and shame as emotional levers for their controlling and manipulative influences. They become the arbiters of existential guilt, authorities without limit in dealing with others' limitations. And their power is nowhere more evident than in their capacity to "forgive."

The individual thus comes to apply the same totalist polarization of good and evil to his judgments of his own character: he tends to imbue certain aspects of himself with excessive virtue, and condemn even more excessively other personal qualities - all according to their ideological standing. He must also look upon his impurities as originating from outside influences - that is, from the ever-threatening world beyond the closed, totalist ken. Therefore, one of his best way to relieve himself of some of his burden of guilt is to denounce, continuously and hostilely, these same outside influences. The more guilty he feels, the greater his hatred, and the more threatening they seem. In this manner, the universal psychological tendency toward "projection" is nourished and institutionalized, leading to mass hatreds, purges of heretics, and to political and religious holy wars. Moreover, once an individual person has experienced the totalist polarization of good and evil, he has great difficulty in regaining a more balanced inner sensitivity to the complexities of human morality. For these is no emotional bondage greater than that of the man whose entire guilt potential - neurotic and existential - has become the property of ideological totalists.

4. The Cult of Confession

Closely related to the demand for absolute purity is an obsession with personal confession. Confession is carried beyond its ordinary religious, legal, and therapeutic expressions to the point of becoming a cult in itself. There is the demand that one confess to crimes one has not committed, to sinfulness that is artificially induced, in the name of a cure that is arbitrarily imposed. Such demands are made possible not only by the ubiquitous human tendencies toward guilt and shame but also by the need to give expression to these tendencies. In totalist hands, confession becomes a means of exploiting, rather than offering solace for, these vulnerabilities.

The totalist confession takes on a number of special meanings. It is first a vehicle for the kind of personal purification which we have just discussed, a means of maintaining a perpetual inner emptying or psychological purge of impurity; this purging milieu enhances the totalists' hold upon existential guilt. Second, it is an act of symbolic self-surrender, the expression of the merging of individual and environment. Third, it is a means of maintaining an ethos of total exposure - a policy of making public (or at least known to the Organization) everything possible about the life experiences, thoughts, and passions of each individual, and especially those elements which might be regarded as derogatory.

The assumption underlying total exposure (besides those which relate to the demand for purity) is the environment's claim to total ownership of each individual self within it. Private ownership of the mind and its products - of imagination or of memory - becomes highly immoral. The accompanying rationale (or rationalization) is familiar, the milieu has attained such a perfect state of enlightenment that any individual retention of ideas or emotions has become anachronistic.

The cult of confession can offer the individual person meaningful psychological satisfactions in the continuing opportunity for emotional catharsis and for relief of suppressed guilt feelings, especially insofar as these are associated with self-punitive tendencies to get pleasure from personal degradation. More than this, the sharing of confession enthusiasms can create an orgiastic sense of "oneness," of the most intense intimacy with fellow confessors and of the dissolution of self into the great flow of the Movement. And there is also, at least initially, the possibility of genuine self-revelation and of self-betterment through the recognition that "the thing that has been exposed is what I am."

But as totalist pressures turn confession into recurrent command performances, the element of histrionic public display takes precedence over genuine inner experience. Each man becomes concerned with the effectiveness of his personal performance, and this performance sometimes comes to serve the function of evading the very emotions and ideas about which one feels most guilty - confirming the statement by one of Camus' characters that "authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing, to tell nothing of what they know." The difficulty, of course, lies in the inevitable confusion which takes place between the actor's method and his separate personal reality, between the performer and the "real me."

In this sense, the cult of confession has effects quite the reverse of its ideal of total exposure: rather than eliminating personal secrets, it increases and intensifies them. In any situation the personal secret has two important elements: first, guilty and shameful ideas which one wishes to suppress in order to prevent their becoming known by others or their becoming too prominent in one's own awareness; and second, representations of parts of oneself too precious to be expressed except when alone or when involved in special loving relationships formed around this shared secret world. Personal secrets are always maintained in opposition to inner pressures toward self-exposure. The totalist milieu makes contact with these inner pressures through its own obsession with the expose and the unmasking process. As a result old secrets are revived and new ones proliferate; the latter frequently consist of resentments toward or doubts about the Movement, or else are related to aspects of identity still existing outside of the prescribed ideological sphere. Each person becomes caught up in a continuous conflict over which secrets to preserve and which to surrender, over ways to reveal lesser secrets in order to protect more important ones; his own boundaries between the secret and the known, between the public and the private, become blurred. And around one secret, or a complex of secrets, there may revolve an ultimate inner struggle between resistance and self-surrender.

Finally, the cult of confession makes it virtually impossible to attain a reasonable balance between worth and humility. The enthusiastic and aggressive confessor becomes like Camus' character whose perpetual confession is his means of judging others: "[I]…practice the profession of penitent to be able to end up as a judge…the more I accuse myself, the more I have a right to judge you." The identity of the "judge-penitent" thus becomes a vehicle for taking on some of the environment's arrogance and sense of omnipotence. Yet even this shared omnipotence cannot protect him from the opposite (but not unrelated) feelings of humiliation and weakness, feelings especially prevalent among those who remain more the enforced penitent than the all-powerful judge.

5. The "Sacred Science"

The totalist milieu maintains an aura of sacredness around its basic dogma, holding it out as an ultimate moral vision for the ordering of human existence. This sacredness is evident in the prohibition (whether or not explicit) against the questioning of basic assumptions, and in the reverence which is demanded for the originators of the Word, the present bearers of the Word, and the Word itself. While thus transcending ordinary concerns of logic, however, the milieu at the same time makes an exaggerated claim of airtight logic, of absolute "scientific" precision. Thus the ultimate moral vision becomes an ultimate science; and the man who dares to criticize it, or to harbor even unspoken alternative ideas, becomes not only immoral and irreverent, but also "unscientific." In this way, the philosopher kings of modern ideological totalism reinforce their authority by claiming to share in the rich and respected heritage of natural science.

The assumption here is not so much that man can be God, but rather that man's ideas can be God: that an absolute science of ideas (and implicitly, an absolute science of man) exists, or is at least very close to being attained; that this science can be combined with an equally absolute body of moral principles; and that the resulting doctrine is true for all men at all times. Although no ideology goes quite this far in overt statement, such assumptions are implicit in totalist practice.

At the level of the individual, the totalist sacred science can offer much comfort and security. Its appeal lies in its seeming unification of the mystical and the logical modes of experience (in psychoanalytic terms, of the primary and secondary thought processes). For within the framework of the sacred science, and sweeping, non-rational "insights." Since the distinction between the logical and the mystical is, to begin with, artificial and man-made, an opportunity for transcending it can create an extremely intense feeling of truth. But the posture of unquestioning faith - both rationally and non-rationally derived - is not easy to sustain, especially if one discovers that the world of experience is not nearly as absolute as the sacred science claims it to be.

Yet so strong a hold can the sacred science achieve over his mental processes that if one begins to feel himself attracted to ideas which either contradict or ignore it, he may become guilty and afraid. His quest for knowledge is consequently hampered, since in the name of science he is prevented from engaging in the receptive search for truth which characterizes the genuinely scientific approach. And his position is made more difficult by the absence, in a totalist environment, of any distinction between the sacred and the profane: there is no thought or action which cannot be related to the sacred science. To be sure, one can usually find areas of experience outside its immediate authority; but during periods of maximum totalist activity (like thought reform) any such areas are cut off, and there is virtually no escape from the milieu's ever-pressing edicts and demands. Whatever combination of continued adherence, inner resistance, or compromise co-existence the individual person adopts toward this blend of counterfeit science and back-door religion, it represents another continuous pressure toward personal closure, toward avoiding, rather than grappling with, the kinds of knowledge and experience necessary for genuine self-expression and for creative development.

6. Loading the Language

The language of the totalist environment is characterized by the thought-terminating cliché. The most far-reaching and complex of human problems are compressed into brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases, easily memorized and easily expressed. These become the start and finish of any ideological analysis. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, for instance, the phrase "bourgeois mentality" is used to encompass and critically dismiss ordinarily troublesome concerns like the quest for individual expression, the exploration of alternative ideas, and the search for perspective and balance in political judgments. And in addition to their function as interpretive shortcuts, these cliches become what Richard Weaver has called "ultimate terms" : either "god terms," representative of ultimate good; or "devil terms," representative of ultimate evil. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, "progress," "progressive," "liberation," "proletarian standpoints" and "the dialectic of history" fall into the former category; "capitalist," "imperialist," "exploiting classes," and "bourgeois" (mentality, liberalism, morality, superstition, greed) of course fall into the latter. Totalist language then, is repetitiously centered on all-encompassing jargon, prematurely abstract, highly categorical, relentlessly judging, and to anyone but its most devoted advocate, deadly dull: in Lionel Trilling's phrase, "the language of nonthought."

To be sure, this kind of language exists to some degree within any cultural or organizational group, and all systems of belief depend upon it. It is in part an expression of unity and exclusiveness: as Edward Sapir put it, "'He talks like us' is equivalent to saying 'He is one of us.'" The loading is much more extreme in ideological totalism, however, since the jargon expresses the claimed certitudes of the sacred science. Also involved is an underlying assumption that language - like all other human products - can be owned and operated by the Movement. No compunctions are felt about manipulating or loading it in any fashion; the only consideration is its usefulness to the cause.

For an individual person, the effect of the language of ideological totalism can be summed up in one word: constriction. He is, so to speak, linguistically deprived; and since language is so central to all human experience, his capacities for thinking and feeling are immensely narrowed. This is what Hu meant when he said, "using the same pattern of words for so long…you feel chained." Actually, not everyone exposed feels chained, but in effect everyone is profoundly confined by these verbal fetters. As in other aspects of totalism, this loading may provide an initial sense of insight and security, eventually followed by uneasiness. This uneasiness may result in a retreat into a rigid orthodoxy in which an individual shouts the ideological jargon all the louder in order to demonstrate his conformity, hide his own dilemma and his despair, and protect himself from the fear and guilt he would feel should he attempt to use words and phrases other than the correct ones. Or else he may adapt a complex pattern of inner division, and dutifully produce the expected cliché's in public performances while in his private moments he searches for more meaningful avenues of expression. Either way, his imagination becomes increasingly dissociated from his actual life experiences and may tend to atrophy from disuse.

7. Doctrine Over Person

This sterile language reflects characteristic feature of ideological totalism: the subordination of human experience to the claims of doctrine. This primacy of doctrine over person is evident in the continual shift between experience itself and the highly abstract interpretation of such experience - between genuine feelings and spurious cataloguing of feelings. It has much to do with the peculiar aura of half-reality which totalist environment seems, at least to the outsider, to possess.

The inspiriting force of such myths cannot be denied; nor can one ignore their capacity for mischief. For when the myth becomes fused with the totalist sacred science, the resulting "logic" can be so compelling and coercive that it simply replaces the realities of individual experience. Consequently, past historical events are retrospectively altered, wholly rewritten, or ignored, to make them consistent with the doctrinal logic. This alteration becomes especially malignant when its distortions are imposed upon individual memory as occurred in the false confession extracted during thought reform.

The same doctrinal primacy prevails in the totalist approach to changing people: the demand that character and identity be reshaped, not in accordance with one's special nature or potentialities, but rather to fit the rigid contours of the doctrinal mold. The human is thus subjected to the ahuman. And in this manner, the totalists, as Camus phrases it, "put an abstract idea above human life, even if they call it history, to which they themselves have submitted in advance and to which they will decide arbitrarily, to submit everyone else as well."

The underlying assumption is that the doctrine - including its mythological elements - is ultimately more valid, true, and real than is any aspect of actual human character or human experience. Thus, even when circumstances require that a totalist movement follow a course of action in conflict with or outside of the doctrine, there exists what Benjamin Schwartz described as a "will to orthodoxy" which requires an elaborate facade of new rationalizations designed to demonstrate the unerring consistency of the doctrine and the unfailing foresight which it provides. But its greater importance lies in more hidden manifestations, particularly the totalists' pattern of imposing their doctrine-dominated remolding upon people in order to seek confirmation of (and again, dispel their own doubts about) this same doctrine. Rather than modify the myth in accordance with experience, the will to orthodoxy requires instead that men be modified in order to reaffirm the myth.

The individual person who finds himself under such doctrine-dominated pressure to change is thrust into an intense struggle with his own sense of integrity, a struggle which takes place in relation to polarized feelings of sincerity and insincerity. In a totalist environment, absolute "sincerity" is demanded; and the major criterion for sincerity is likely to be one's degree of doctrinal compliance - both in regard to belief and to direction of personal change. Yet there is always the possibility of retaining an alternative version of sincerity (and of reality), the capacity to imagine a different kind of existence and another form of sincere commitment. These alternative visions depend upon such things as the strength of previous identity, the penetration of the milieu by outside ideas, and the retained capacity for eventual individual renewal. The totalist environment, however, counters such "deviant" tendencies with the accusation that they stem entirely from personal "problems" ("thought problems" or "ideological problems") derived from untoward earlier influences. The outcome will depend largely upon how much genuine relevance the doctrine has for the individual emotional predicament. And even for those to whom it seems totally appealing, the exuberant sense of well-being it temporarily affords may be more a "delusion of wholeness" than an expression of true and lasting inner harmony.

8. The Dispensing of Existence

The totalist environment draws a sharp line between those whose right to existence can be recognized, and those who possess no such right.

Are not men presumtuous to appoint themselves the dispensers of human existence? Surely this is a flagrant expression of what the Greeks called hubris, of arrogant man making himself God. Yet one underlying assumption makes this arrogance mandatory: the conviction that there is just one path to true existence, just one valid mode of being, and that all others are perforce invalid and false. Totalists thus feel themselves compelled to destroy all possibilities of false existence as a means of furthering the great plan of true existence to which they are committed.

For the individual, the polar emotional conflict is the ultimate existential one of "being versus nothingness." He is likely to be drawn to a conversion experience, which he sees as the only means of attaining a path of existence for the future. The totalist environment - even when it does not resort to physical abuse - thus stimulates in everyone a fear of extinction or annihilation. A person can overcome this fear and find (in martin Buber's term) "confirmation," not in his individual relationships, but only from the fount of all existence, the totalist Organization. Existence comes to depend upon creed (I believe, therefore I am), upon submission (I obey, therefore I am) and beyond these, upon a sense of total merger with the ideological movement. Ultimately of course one compromises and combines the totalist "confirmation" with independent elements of personal identity; but one is ever made aware that, should he stray too far along this "erroneous path," his right to existence may be withdrawn.

#robert jay lifton

[hopewrought]

@guideinferno​ said: ( SECRET ) || seduction meme

Heels clack on cobblestone as she hurries through the dimly lit streets, pausing only to glance both ways and be sure they truly are empty before making her move. Approaching one of their usual meeting spots, Bethany cannot see him but she feels him, allowing herself to be tugged by the ethereal thread of his presence that draws a smile to her lips. When he steps out of the shadows she sprints the last few feet, colliding with him in a fond hug and squeezing him tightly before reaching up to tug at his ascot and pull him down into a gentle kiss that, delicate as it is, still makes her heart leap. Even this almost chaste contact makes a hunger rise in her and she allows herself the indulgence of running a hand up his chest, parting her lips to deepen the kiss with a needy whine. She burns for him, and when they break apart for air her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright. There is a glow about her.

"Sorry I'm late," her apology is earnest and breathless as she loops her arm through his and allows him to lead. "It wasn't by choice. Mother has been watching me like a hawk lately, I swear she suspects something." She has not been caught sneaking out yet but Leandra has noticed her being more distracted lately. Daydreaming. Bethany had refuted it as being more tired than usual -- which is truth, the late-night excursions with Vergil are not without toll -- and the occasional bout of nausea that surely must be from the stress of hiding something so significant from her family. "I can't afford her finding anything out. Or the Order catching me." She means both the cavorting outside of wedlock, and her use of magic.

What good is power if it is not also freedom? Vergil silently wonders. Her life is a gilded cage, but she carries within her a force that could level cities. The Order would burn to ash just as easily as the rest. "Why not do as you please? You are strong enough that nobody should be able to stop you."

Her gaze drops to the ground with a small sense of shame. "It's not that simple. I'm afraid. And more than that, I don't want to have to use my magic to force things to be the way that I desire. That would prove them right when they say people like me are monsters. Hiding what I am and playing along in my role keeps my friends and family safe." Bethany exhales slowly, watching as her breath curls up into the cool night air, too nervous to meet his eyes. "Do you think me weak for that?"

Understanding dawns. The cage is the price she pays for still getting to have her loved ones. To remain in their society unchallenged and possessing a place in it. Having been estranged from both so long, they are factors he'd failed to consider, and ultimately his situation is not one he would wish on her. Covering her hand with one of his own, he refutes the notion. "No. You are not weak."

It is strange, to live in Fortuna all her life and yet to have been in complete ignorance of the things that reside beneath her feet, or that are tucked away in unassuming places. He takes her to a strange underground area where the air is musty, architecture unfamiliar. Apparently a place where his father, Lord Sparda, had stashed some things away. Her eye is immediately drawn to a wall that stands out from the rest, a different colour to the surrounding stone and thrumming with a kind of magic that is so powerful it practically sings to her. It appears to be a door, albeit with no clear lock mechanism nor a place for a key. Her gaze sweeps around, evaluating. Layers of dust coat everything and hang in the air. It has clearly had no visitors for years besides Vergil himself, the dust disturbed only on a nearby table where a random collection of items lay. Supplies she assumes he brought as part of figuring out this mystery; books, pens, paper and other miscellaneous paraphernalia. 

Something draws her attention back to the bespelled wall and curiosity gets the best of her. She reaches out to touch it. The contact is rebuffed, and Bethany lets out a startled yelp and pulls back but is otherwise unhurt, merely suffering a stinging sensation. "Well, it's magic, but it doesn't seem to like me." She notes. The mage then probes from a distance, testing its barrier first with fire and ice, looking for a weak point; then with telekinesis in the hope there is something she might be able to manipulate safely. Vergil touches it himself which results in a click, then a panel sliding open. Bethany notes faint staining in the grooves which she can tell are not rust.

The magic feels expectant now. It wants something. Calls for it.

"...I think I need some of your blood." Bethany ventures hesitantly. Vergil removes one of his gloves with an indifferent air, offering up his palm to her, expression neutral. Bethany stares back in mild incredulity. "You would let me bleed you, just like that?"

He gives her a look as if that were a ridiculous thing to ask. "Of course."

She knows he trusts her, and she him, but had expected some pushback or at least a question as to what she was planning to try. A small knife is produced from a sheath under her skirts and she takes his hand in one of hers, holding it above a small bowl. Father had always warned her against dabbling in blood magic, but surely if it is freely offered then what could be the harm? After taking a moment to numb his palm a little to minimize pain, Bethany raises the blade... and pauses.

"I can't do it." She can't bring herself to harm him, even with his consent and the necessity. Bethany is no stranger to blood nor violence; this is not a matter of squeamishness. It is an absolute lack of desire to hurt him. There is a sort of purity in how innocently she balks. Vergil has no such reservations and takes it from her to open his own veins.

"I think that's enough." Bethany suggests once it is filled sufficiently. With a handkerchief she delicately cleans the cut, marvelling as it closes before her very eyes. Such a wound on her own flesh would take weeks to heal without magical intervention and likely given how deeply he went, result in permanent damage. "More and more I learn how incredible you are," she murmurs with quiet respect. If only she knew the true extent of all that he has survived.

She pours the blood into the grooves with care. Something groans and clicks. The magic feels sated, but is yet incomplete. Bethany reaches out metaphysically, pushing back back against the enchantment with her willpower and mana. Blood is the key. Her skill is what will turn it. Odd symbols swim before her vision, too fast to comprehend on a conscious level yet she is able to grab a brush and replicate them on the stone using what remains of Vergil's blood before the impressions behind her eyes fade completely. It is absorbed into the surface, something snaps and she feels the protective force shatter like a physical thing, stirring her hair and sending a chill down her spine as a vertical line cracks open. "I think it's done." Bethany states, slightly dazed from the magical blowback. She feels an odd light headedness for a few moments and clutches at Vergil to steady herself to which he obliges her silent distress by curling an arm around her. 

When her equilibrium is restored it comes with a rush of adrenaline and triumph. “We did it!” she glows with pride. An incredible accomplishment to have cracked it open with something so experimental. “I didn’t think I had the strength to break the spellwork of Sparda himself.” To do such a thing was probably blasphemy, but far from her first transgression so it is difficult to raise even a specter of guilt for it.

Her fingers tangle with his. They are both eager to explore what has been uncovered but crave to explore each other too; and a quiet look passes between them before their lips crash together and hands begin to wander. 

#guideinferno #what if we kissed 👉👈 in one of sparda's secret vaults haha j/k unless #( drabble tag ) #( this wasnt really a seduction thing so much as a plot idea that got away from me but ohwell )

[mbti-notes]

Hi, INFJ (probably) here,I struggle with time management. Whenever I decide to do or study something, other things distract me and seem more interesting to me at that moment. I indirectly see the main project as a source of stress/boredom and become avoidant and avoid doing it or thinking about it by engaging in other more interesting things until it's too late. Then I get extremely stressed out and rush through doing it and do an average job at the last moment! How can I change this pattern?

[Anon #2: Hello! I’m an INFJ and I realized while reading your Ego Development that I was in a Se grip for a long time. I actively used my Se to numb my mind and devalued my Ni very much because it wasn’t appreciated in my environment, I didn’t want to be different. As a result, while I made big steps in my life by now I just still have many signs of Se grip out of habit, I guess. I have difficulties sticking to goals because I don’t trust in myself or my Ni. Instead, it feels like whatever I do or whatever happens in reality, my conviction that the worst case scenario happens stays the same. I’m not in control of myself, one of my biggest fears is being trapped in my body by paralysis or fatigue, I have dreams about this sometimes. I feel like I’m going to live forever and because of that, even realizing how much time I already lost (and getting motivated by it) doesn’t really stick. It’s not that I’m not motivated, I know I only have this life and I don’t want to be unhappy anymore. I just feel so out of control and as if my actions are not going to have an impact at all in the world, like I am too incapable or incompetent to achieve anything challenging. There’s no reason for thinking this but I still keep procrastinating and doubting myself. I feel like I’m not able to put myself out there and just do things because I should concentrate on university. What do you think I should do? I’m very thankful for your blog :)]

Anon #1, procrastination is usually rooted in an emotional problem, e.g., fear of failure, fear of difficulty, fear of imperfection, and so on. Time management strategies are easy enough to learn: prioritize properly, set logical goals, make good plans, carry them out (I’ve recommended books on the resources list if you struggle with this and there are also plenty of tips to be found online already). But even if you possess good time management and organization skills, you will still procrastinate if you haven’t understood the emotional root of your problem. Improve your emotional intelligence, see the Emotional Well-Being section. You must understand WHY you self-sabotage. You have not reached extremes yet, but severe Se grip is likely if this problem is left unchecked to the point that you start to visibly fail in your work. Right now, it’s still manageable, but you have much reflection to do on what’s actually causing your procrastination. I can’t answer for you because I don’t know you.

Anon #2, the last two thirds of your message contain many thoughts and judgments that are indicative of Ti dysfunction. You ruminate pointlessly in circles, convincing yourself of falsehoods of your own making. The primary cause of Ti loop is emotional dysfunction, as observed in the negative results of attempting emotional suppression. Improve your emotional intelligence, see the Emotional Well-Being section.

1) WRT emotional intelligence: INFJs who haven’t developed Fe properly don’t want to accept negative feelings and emotions, which only allows them to escalate over time, and then you attempt to use Ti mental gymnastics to disown them, which only makes your emotions worse, which only leads to more mental gymnastics in a vicious cycle. Break the cycle by finally accepting the fact that you are human and you have negative feelings and THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT as it’s normal for humans to feel bad at times - but the problem is that you believe there’s something fundamentally wrong with you. Then this belief triggers a whole new chain of negativity that includes guilt, shame, despair, self-loathing, etc.

2) This brings me to the second related problem: Perfectionism. Neurotic INFJs strive to be whatever they’ve defined as “perfect”, thus betraying themselves by being fake, i.e., a non-human with no flaws and no feelings. You don’t want negative feelings, then you don’t get positive ones either, that’s how emotional life works. You don’t want flaws, then you must hide from yourself to avoid seeing them, that’s how self-awareness bleeds away until you have no clue about your own motivations. Human motivation is rooted in emotional life, therefore, having a dysfunctional emotional life is going to be a direct hindrance to your ability to stay motivated when working towards your goals. One other common side-effect of dysfunctional emotional life is lack of passion. Without passion and the optimism it encourages, how can you stay motivated?

Se grip is often about fear: you fear the world, you fear change, you fear reality, you fear seeing what you actually are, you fear that what you believe is wrong, you fear that what you are is wrong, you fear that you will fail, you fear that you aren’t good enough, etc etc. One symptom of Se grip that people often overlook is irrationally extreme thinking patterns that manifest from repressed fear. You’re not going to achieve anything positive through extremes, such as thinking that you must only do one thing and nothing else, or that everything must be perfect or throw it all away, or that a personal flaw/mistake makes you irredeemable/unlovable. These extreme “rules” that you construct only lead to disappointment because real life is never perfect, but you keep trying to impose the rules anyway because they give you a false sense of control. When you inevitably fail to reach perfect, you then resort to Ti loop and try to talk yourself out of the problem, but it never works, because you can’t hide from the reality of what you are. If fear and anxiety are so extreme that you can’t function well, I recommend working through it with a therapist. Until you’re able to acknowledge and accept your negative feelings and emotions rather than always trying to push them away, you are firmly under their control, because you’re not listening to them and making the proper adjustments to your life.

No matter the period of life or how busy it is, you always need to balance work life with personal rest time, otherwise, you’re not going to make it because you’ll be pushing too hard, uphill, punishing yourself with imaginary rules and hurdles. You also need Fe to function well, so cutting yourself off from everything except work or ignoring everything via Se grip is counter-productive. You can’t achieve long term goals without maintaining good physical and psychological health, which requires that you live a normal life that makes space for proper SELF-CARE (rather than whatever “perfect” life you imagine is possible but really isn’t). When you are capable of self-care, then you would never abandon yourself and your well-being to Se grip hedonism, and you will have intrinsic motivation to do your work, because you’re doing it for the sake of your own good, for the sake of your future self -> this is the natural self-responsibility that comes with healthy Ni. Do you know what “normal” (rather than extreme) looks like? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you feel happy, sometimes you feel sad… in other words, adapt to the ebbs and flows of real life with acceptance instead of trying to force everything into whatever ideal you’ve convinced yourself you must achieve. Your stress is self-imposed, which means it’s up to you to challenge and change what you believe. You can’t have healthy Ni when you’re not willing to let go of your misapprehensions (and all of your energy is misspent on grappling with the inevitable frustration of failing to achieve unrealistic ideals).

#infj #se grip #ti loop #perfectionism #procrastination #fear #learning #study #emotional intelligence #intrinsic motivation #ask

[archer3-13]

FEH Villains Ranked

from best to worst, excluding book 4 cause its still ongoing

lif: genuinely surprised me by being an alfonse with pathos. well he started book 3 as a kinda generic number 2 type, the revelation of his identity as alfonse (though rather obvious at that point) as well as his goal of essentially destroying other worlds as a penance to restore his own is both suitably threatening and tragic. Creating that sense of pathos i mentioned that works so well for him, especially when hes shown to still be a kind person at heart thats been pushed into such horrific actions because of the devastation he had to endure. Especially when you consider that hes carrying the weapon that could kill hel with him which, although kinda lazy that he just has it, is a) a hel of a lot less contrived then anything book 2 pulled off and b) further deepens that sense of pathos when we consider that not only is it a memento of ‘player san’ and presumably everyone else hes lost but that it can also represent, in a way, a symbol of his own failure of will and bowing the knee to hel. Him prioritizing his own happiness and fulfillment in the form of hel resurrecting his world over the good of the ‘fe multiverse’. Point being, its a complexity of character that I honestly wish we got to see more of, and one I really wasn’t expecting from fe heroes given its track record. you’ll see what i mean down the road.

hel: well not terribly complex in motivation, she basically just wants to kill everything to increase her own power, she gets points for a strong presentation and utilization within the story book 3 creates. The limitations on her insta death power being kinda silly aside, though gustavs gambit to circumvent that i honestly really like more so then alfonses rules lawyering, the overhanging presence she has in the lives of book 3′s characters works really well and the pressure to defeat her because of her effectively endless legions works better as an overhanging threat anyways. When I say presentation though I mean more so in how her words, actions, and motivation intersect because well her words on the face of it have the usual villain posturing, her motivation and actions (such as her relation to eir and her generals, and the world she rules over and created) creates an interesting intersection where one can argue that her posturing words are empty of any true feeling. Shes cold and lifeless like the dead she rules and the world she creates, those around her are simply tools to an end but hardly in a cackling manner and more so in the unthinking manner one treats a toothpick. she gets angry or shocked but even then its in a muted manner, almost performing the emotions rather then truly feeling them. Hel lives in an unchanging world, a stillness brought on by the finality of death, and in a way one can argue that its her unspoken desire to spread that stillness, that perfect unchanging world she controls, to every world. Like lif, its a degree of complexity that I wish we got to see more of, especially in her case, and its something i honestly wasnt expecting from heroes.

helbindi: solely because the man goes through a lot of shit, and is an effective portrayal of a sympathetic villain. Hes effectively a camus if a camus was foul mouthed and more thuggish and that works for him, and is rather endearing in its own way when he acts concerned for his little sister and does the ‘im a thug who hugs kittens when no ones looking’ routine which i like when its done well. point being, he could have been a generic thug but hes a lot more interesting for not being one. However, his general pointlessness to the story, aside from giving us an indication that shock of shocks surtrs a shitty king and an excuse to escort ylgir around places who also does jack shit in the story... heroes is always going to suffer from having to compress its story telling but that fact they waste so much time with helbindi and ylgir and hrud when so much of what they do is either unnecessary to the story or themes present in book 2 or could have been given to other characters and make those characters better for it... helbindi gets to be up here for sympathy points and favoritism, but i am stretching here for ya mate.

thrasir: stronger character wise then helbindi, an interesting relation to lif of enemies turned into close friends over a shared trauma and servitude, plays into some of the same strengths of hel and lif that make them so engaging, yadda, yadda, yadda. So why is she below helbindi? because she doesnt get to do anything, and only starts to get interesting right before her death. If she had been given a bigger role comparable to lif, or just more time to stew in her own motivations she’d easily surpass helbindi. its also not helped that thrasirs own desire to resurrect her brother is similar to veronicas pre established selfishness, which isnt as strong a contrast as lifs selfishness and guilt against alfonses character. Her relation to lif does hint at a stronger sense of kidness and morality instilled within her because of that relation, which is interesting and would make a strong contrast against veronica, but again we get like five seconds of it before shes killed off and then a little more of it again at the end. Deserved more time on screen then she got, and would have probably been number 2 here if she had gotten it. 

veronica: bratty child becomes evil sorcerer emperor, more at 11. I like the concept of veronica, its something fes never really touched on much aside from maybe a little bit with julius with his more childish antics. Veronica however cranks that up a lot more, shes impatient and gets bored easily, she wants more friends but in a selfish ‘friend is someone who does everything I want right?’ way, shes emblas ruler and she has the emotional maturity of an evil 10 year old and i just kinda like it. Especially since she tempers it with an air of sophistication and intelligence, much like the classic evil sorcerers fe loves to utilize in villain roles, and it helps balance out the bratty child from being too annoying in the villain role. It helps lend a sense of her trying to present herself as a grown up for the respect and authority that brings, well simultaneously maintain all the perks of being a kid who gets everything she wants. It’s a shame then that the narrative keeps sidelining her, either by focusing on other villains, her god damn brother getting in the fucking way, or with the overhanging implications of magic dragon possession being the root cause of her behavior. I can forgive the magic dragon possession though since that is an fe staple and could works towards more interesting character aspects rather then undercutting her. Regardless, she sure is great when things are actually about her, and i really wish things would get back to being about her.

Laegjarn: solely here because she loves her sister, shes rather flat as a character otherwise. It would have been one thing if she displayed a sense of brutality instilled in her by a childhood being raised by surtr, only dropping the shell when it came to her sister and reigning herself in for the sake of that one familial bond she treasures... instead shes just kinda nice and loves her sister, and yet still works for surtr for some fucking reason. @agoddamn and @ezralahm mention an aspect of learned helplessness to xanders character in fates that people tend to gloss over (heaven knows why, cause its fairly in your face even in the english translation), and that should be something that comes across in laegjarn, but its doesnt really. not as much as it should anyways. Another victim of book 2′s pointless writing.

loki: evil sexy lady with big boobies and a one leg cutout tights pants thing. heres someone who can transform into anyone, and yet she never really does anything with it. oh she does ‘things’, just not things that have much point to them, or really feel like they fit into some larger scheme. she’d be right at home as a recurring villain in an episodic story, coming up with some inane scheme for todays episode that gets foiled and she gets sent ‘blasting off again’. I dont necessarily hate the sexy seductress character, the noire bombshells and the like, they can be fun when done well. loki just doesnt do it well, coming off as more grating and annoying then tempting honestly, and as a villain she lacks anykind of actual menace. My feelings on her are similar to my feelings on aversa honestly, heres someone who should be so cool and threatening, a real menace to the heroes using their skills and abilities behind the scenes to move threats against the heroes, never taking to the field unless they can benefit from it and have an assured chance of victory or safety... but then they never actually do anything, as any of the actions possibly attributable to them either happen offscreen or probably would have happened without them doing anything. Loki and aversa could have stayed home twiddling their thumbs and nothing would change, and thats the real shame about them. Doesn’t help they aren’t particularly fun or entertaining as villains either due to lackluster writing.

surtr: garon 2.0, but with even less complexity. Well garon may have been a blatantly evil prick, he at least had backstory that provoked some degree of complexity and even sympathy, both to him and those hurt by his evil dragon possession personality change. Surtr lacks even that, acting more like a petty thug given way to much power then an imposing ruler. He garon without the backstory complexity, and in a way hes walhart without the air of regality and charisma that helped elevate walhart from being god awful in his own right. And well it could have been interesting if the story made any attempts to comment on that or work it into a central story theme or flow of some sort, it doesnt really do that and instead treats him as if he has and indeed deserves the same credibility and impression walhart or garon or any of the other fire emblem emperor kings have left. But the game doesnt ever actually work for that with him. Hes the emeperor, so he automatically deserves respect as a villain. and thats... so typical of book 2′s writing.

laevatein: shes boring as sin, even with her relation to her sister and the tragedy of losing her. Like her sister, she would have benefited from an impression of learned helplessness but the game never really bothers with it. moving on because i can barely give a shit about her.

bruno: this mother fucker... an annoying detraction that overtakes veronicas spotlight and screentime, an excuse for alfonse wangst that never really lands, pointless and useless... the benefit of book 2 and 3 so far has been his reduced importance, but i fully expect him to come roaring back to steal veronicas position once the story shifts back to an area she should be the focus of. the only thing he has going for him is the sense of a camus struggling with dragon possession but thats more so used for alfonse wangst then it is for anything constructive. What do i mean by alfonse wangst? I mean angst that really serves no narrative purpose then for the sake of unnecessary melodrama, as opposed to informing us anything about the characters or themes of the story. he makes veronica look worse, his drama with alfonse is a waste of time, and he really provides nothing else then a recurring boss fight and get out of jail free card for the story. I’m putting him below laevatein because well i dont give much of a shit about her, she atleast doesnt actively annoy me and still had the potential for something. Bruno however? the story would be better off without him. So fuck him.

#fire emblem #fire emblem heroes

[askiisoft]

FAN ART FRIDAY: ALL THE WARRIORS, Part 3

Welcome back to Part 3 of “All the Warriors”, a month-long celebration of the Katana ZERO community’s fan characters that populate the war-torn cityscape and seedy underworld of New Mecca. 

For those just joining us, be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 first.

Remember, Friday, August 16th is the last day to submit your OC for next week’s feature!

This week is full of tragedy, loss, and pyromania, so have a handkerchief (and maybe a fire extinguisher) on hand as we dive into this feel-bad parade of forgotten soldiers. Let’s have a look!

[WARNING: The work herein is based on fan creations, and should not be considered canon.]

Alpha 3, by @nizioroMOMO

There was once a cheerful young girl who loved nothing more than all that glittered and shined, from the brightest jewels to the starry skies. Unfortunately, on the battlefield most things that glitter also explode, which robbed poor Alpha 3 of her sight and thus her most beloved pursuit in life.

It’s terrible to be wounded in combat, but losing your passion is something much worse. Imagine if Zero went deaf, forced to massacre mafioso without synthwave blasting from his headphones. Would life still be worth living?

Her character design clearly communicates the eager naïveté of the young Three compared to her stately, serene self now. Whatever happened, it seems she’s made peace with her past, which is more than can be said for most NULL.

By @nizioroMOMO

—

Subject X2 by @teknopathetico​

“Chronos wasn’t the only drug the government developed for the war.”

We may never know what chemical cocktail the Psychiatrist injected to transform into a writhing mountain of flesh, but whatever it was, Subject X2 has had years to perfect its use. Rather than an amalgam of body horror, X2 seems able to tap into each enemy’s individual phobias to instill doubt and gain the upper hand.

“I know what you’re afraid of.” By @teknopathetico​

Since the drug’s effects were stated to be purely psychological, fear-inducing pheromones are the only feasible explanation for X2′s feats of transformation that defy all physical laws and vary wildly between witness testimonies. 

By @teknopathetico​

—

Beta 7, “Bullet” by @stanio_kz

As far as dying wishes go, simply “live” is no tall order. But that one word carries a lifetime of survivor’s guilt for Bullet. Was it his fault the Cromags managed to get past their lines that day? Should they have made a retreat, despite their orders? Could he have done something for Shadow in the last few moments together in those muddy jungle trenches?

Some days, simply slogging through a guard detail and enjoying a hot meal is enough to convince Bullet he’s living up to his friend’s memory. But each time he visits the grave, he wonders if Shadow wouldn’t wanted something more—revenge on his killer, perhaps, or for Bullet to lay down his old knife and stop fighting for good. 

“I don’t know what’s right anymore. Shadow..what do I do?” By @stanio_kz

—

Beta 9, “Shadow” by @stanio_kz

—

Gamma 68, “Cheshire” by @lesbianakechi

There is, however, a darker side to losing a dearest comrade—namely, the urge to inflict that same loss on others. To be hunted by a Gamma NULL is truly terrifying; to the hapless police investigators, there is no modus operandi linking the “Chesire” murders, beyond targeting assorted outcasts and junkies. But to those who knew Sasha as a model commander and caring mentor, seeing how far he’s fallen is as disturbing as his sickly rictus grin. 

There are whispers that the New Meccan government has stymied several investigations against him—one by one, he is cleaning up vestiges of their war crimes more effectively than their own agents ever could.

—

Beta 70, “Cherry” by @zenixdd

For all his rage against his former masters, Gamma Fifteen was positively blessed compared to the miserable fates of his comrades like Cherry, who lacked any hope of leading a normal life.

Maimed and orphaned before she even joined the NULL project, Cherry received prototype prosthetics that elevated her far above a line trooper. However, she was treated as a weapon by her commanders, and her joy at her newfound mobility turned to horror and, eventually, resignation. 

Once the nigh-invincible Gamma subjects were introduced, her prosthetics program was deemed redundant, and she was reduced to becoming a guinea pig for their horrific experiments. 

By @zenixdd

With the shuttering of the NULL program, Cherry’s fate was left a mystery. Most assumed her death as a matter of course, executed and ‘disposed’ of like so many other expendable test subjects. But there were a few rumors of her miraculous escape—either as a sole survivor, freed at last, or a fearsome revenant, bent on exacting revenge on the Gamma NULL she blames for condemning her to suffer in the labs...

“I’ll kill them all...especially those f*cking NULLs!” By @zenixdd

—

Gamma 17, “Robin Hood” by @RollingRubic

To erase the the NULL program from history, the head researchers resorted to extreme measures. All across the country, records were burned, training centers demolished, and subjects ‘disposed of’—all except one. Cleanup crews reported a ransacked facility, its research staff dead and riddled with arrows, its holding cells empty, and its Chronos stockpile gone. 

In a time when it’s every NULL for themselves among an ever-dwindling supply of Chronos, it’s heartening to see at least one person showing charity and concern for the helpless. But in his heart, Robin knows his ‘family’ can’t subsist on stolen Chronos forever—as long as they live, they will be hunted. 

His ultimate goal has become procuring the formula for Chronos to start synthesizing a fresh supply, something the New Meccan authorities fear above all else. In his eyes, the lives of dozens of orphaned children far outweighs the risks, even if it forces him to work with some less than savory characters...

"We’re family.” By @RollingRubic

—

Alpha 20, “Twenty” by @erinwenke​

For a time, the deployment of NULL was considered a state secret, the disappearance of entire villages attributed to natural disasters or sudden epidemics. This was all thanks to ‘cleaners’ like Alpha 20, who were tasked with razing any ‘assets’ the Cromags could use, including the local population.

In the wake of how often NULL were deployed against civilian targets, the then-cumbersome weight of his fuel tank was nothing compared to the crushing burden of guilt he carries now.

—

Gamma 216, “Candy” by @Mochisticker274

During pangs of Chronos withdrawal, it was common for NULL to develop lesser addictions to cope with their major one. For some, it was cigarettes, caffeine, or alcohol. Candy instead found relief in vast quantities of sugar, though any colorful and bite-sized would suffice. Following multiple reprimands for rifling through pockets of fallen Cromags in search of treats, her superiors quickly relented after witnessing her fierce temper from being denied “snacky-time” one time too many.

Considering the loss of her left eye, hair, and part of her sanity, Candy’s attitude is admirable: rather than sulk over her former girlish charms, she took the opportunity to further indulge her sweet tooth. At least that’s an addiction that’s easily satisfied.

—

Gamma 95 by @Tomacocandy

I’m surprised it took this long to encounter an OC with heterochromia (differently-colored eyes). 

On account of her nascent amblyopia, Gamma 95′s miserable marksmanship earned her ridicule at the shooting range and scoldings from her drill sergeant. When she disappeared on the eve of inspections, some speculated that she had deserted in shame or been ‘retired’ to become the labs’ latest test subject.

But when 95 emerged from the jungle depths days later, clothes torn and smelling of ash, she had found her calling. Soon, she realized she didn’t need perfect eyesight to sweep a ten-foot-long gout of liquid flame across a battlefield...and thus, a legend was born.

Most pyrotechnicians were relegated to ‘cleanup’ duty away from the frontlines; only Mondsa possessed the Gamma reflexes necessary to employ a flamethrower in live combat, a tradition that Subject Zero would proudly continue.

—

Gamma 18 by @ruko_ruho

Short of getting banned from every casino in Chinatown, fortune-telling is a decent way to make a living off of one’s precognitive ability, so long as you’re only curious about events sixty seconds into the future. 

For Gamma 18, risking his life as a test subject and frontline trooper was preferable to scrounging for scraps in the streets of New Mecca. However, his street-smarts proved just as valuable in the field as his drug-induced powers, using improvised traps, terrain, and trickery to his advantage almost as well as the Cromags he hunted. When that failed, his skills with knives more than compensated.

Once locals noticed the absence of his folding card table along the main Chinatown plaza, rumors abounded of government bogeymen abducting him in the dead of night. But those who fought alongside Eighteen know that he’s far too clever to let anyone get the best of him.

By @ruko_ruho

—

Beta 8 by @2M_i_W_5

Hopelessly addicted to gambling despite your rotten luck? Still single at the depressing and decrepit age of 25? What’s the point in going on, Beta 8 asks?

Suicide is a very serious topic, let’s be clear. But like how the captive Prometheus cursed his godhood as eagles ate his liver in Greek mythology, the age-old irony of an immortal being powerless to end their own life has always been a rich vein for drama...and it seems drama is what this woman hungers for.

By @wqwrppwu

Unlike so many veterans who fit the trope for ‘wounded warriors', Neith radiates the energy of ‘recently divorced working mother’: she may be pounding back martinis and sobbing like the world’s ended right now, but after a heart-to-heart with her old comrade Beta 11 and a cuddle session with her newly-adopted cat, perhaps she’ll conclude there’s still some things worth living for. 

By @2M_i_W_5

—

Gamma 6, “Firecracker” by @whycantIrungood

Just like a wildfire, Suzy the “Firecracker” was both notoriously destructive and difficult to control. She scoffed at the slow, surgical tactics of executioner-class NULL in favor of the loudest and most direct path to her objective, be it through enemy lines or solid structures; neither withstood the roar of her twin rotary guns for long.

Since the end of the war, Suzy’s learned that she is both immensely talented at arson and intensely bored by it. What’s the point of torching a crime scene when the killing’s already done? Despite the suspicious deaths of so many other ex-NULL who remained in the government’s service, Suzy knows her skills are far too valuable and dangerous for the higher-ups to make an enemy of her.

—

Beta 18, “Cerberus” by @zhraekk

The ghettoes of Chinatown have become a welcome refuge for NULL seeking protection from government spooks and bounty hunters. But for Cerberus, joining the underworld was never his choice to make. 

Whether due to Chronos dependency, blackmail, or his ‘Aunt Meta’ simply needing a new enforcer, it seems his post-war life involves feigning respect for his doting boss while pining for his NULL days. Violent though they were, they’re also his last precious memories of his missing brother.

As the ranks of New Mecca’s crime syndicates swell with former NULL acting as guards and assassins, he’s come to understand the city’s underworld politics are every bit as fraught as the trap-laden Cromag jungles.

By @zhraekk

—

Beta 5, “Boots” by @sekaaliart

With their finger on a trigger, a child is as dangerous as any adult. Beta 5 earned her nickname “Boots” after her child feet barely filled even the smallest combat boots the barracks could find, a light-hearted anecdote that belies just how early she was indoctrinated into a life of conflict. As her kill count skyrocketed, the ‘shorty’ and ‘kid’ jokes among her squad quickly ceased. 

For Boots, the end of the war was simply a move from jungle to urban warfare, a sniper’s paradise. She gives no warning, and leaves no calling card. With NULL powers now fully developed, not even her former comrades are safe from her crosshairs.

—

Beta 13 by @818CoffeeCat

When public expectations for a speedy invasion were dashed against the realities of waging war in thick Cromag jungles, the top New Mecca brass commissioned a solution for rapid defoliation. Through testing countless chemical weapons, their top prospect was (somehow) Project “Flame Force”, a platoon of prototype terror troopers trained to raze entire forests in minutes.

The project was not a success.

Now armed with a high-tech chemical flamethrower, his fireproof avian partner Ernesto, and a crazed look in his eye, the sole survivor of that ill-fated project marches on the oh-so-flammable city. Beware.

—

I made quite a few errors with last week’s post, so if you notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know via Twitter. Remember to send any last-minute OC submissions by Friday, August 16th. 

Otherwise, click here to read Part 4, the jumbo-sized final entry of “All the Warriors”, and stay safe out there. 

Thanks to @818CoffeeCat for letting me use that “Beware” sticker all over the place!

By @55_yamisan

#katana zero #katanazero #askiisoft #devolver digital #fan art #fan art friday #original character #do #not #steal

[ladypeck]

Not By Blood

Ship: Spock/Michael

Rating: E

Labels: Explicit sex. Spock/Michael romance. Why? Because I ship the fuck out of it. May have typos.

No one would understand his desires. His parents wouldn’t. His fellow officers. Being honest with himself Spock didn’t understand it. He simply accepted it. The girl he’d once thought of as a sister had broken his heart, and for awhile even his mind. He had pretended to be unaffected by her apology when she came to explain why she’d rejected him, called him names, and then walked out that night.

At some point he’d stopped pretending he understood and treated her with cool indifference. It wasn’t until he was nineteen years old and hit puberty, grossly early for a Vulcan, that his feelings regarding his foster sister shifted from indifference to naked hostility, because it wasn’t until he hit puberty that he began to realize Michael Burnham was female, and just how powerful sexual attraction could be.

She had breasts. She had developed a curve to her hips, and other places, that her own turn with puberty had developed in her. She even smelled different at different times of the Earth Standard Month by which she and his mother measured their lives and their menstrual cycle. That scent deeply affected him.

For Spock the change in her scent began about a week before she bled. It was at that time he reacted in ways that shamed him. The smell incited a visceral response that made him wonder, every time it happened, if he was going through the pon farr. He’d awaken with a racing pulse, sweating, and those damned erections that plagued him.

It wasn’t just her reproductive cycle that affected Spock. Her body did. Michael would exercise in tight shorts. He’d look at the shape of her body, the roundness of her ass, the way her thigh muscles flexed, and, of course, what was between her legs, and he’d harden with startling speed and intensity, and every time he hated himself for the reaction. Every time he loathed her, blamed her, for something he couldn’t control, much less she. That created a sense of guilt, which made him angry, and during that viscous cycle of lust and self-loathing, he was fully aware that Michael wasn't at fault. Neither of them were, yet he was powerless to not feel the way he did. It was all so damned illogical.

Their years coexisting as teens in the same house did more damage than anything else that happened between them. He hated his changing body. He hated the lust he felt for her, and his struggle to hide it.

“She is your sister,” Sarek had reminded him once.

“Not by blood.”

The night she came home from graduation, tipsy from drink she’d indulged alone on a bluff overlooking Forge Valley, because she hadn’t been invited to celebrate with her classmates, he’d watched her try to sneak into the house. She leaned on him as he’d helped her to her room, and before he could leave she’d asked for help getting ready for bed. He’d obliged, only to find himself with his face inches from her exposed thighs. He had a clear view of her white panties, and he could smell her.

It was madness to reach for her, to rub a thumb clumsily over her, hoping his vague knowledge of the human female anatomy served him well enough to touch her clit, arouse her. She’d gasped, blinked at him with glassy eyes, thinking perhaps it had been a mistake, an accident, but the second stroke couldn't be dismissed as anything innocent.

He’d pushed her back, onto her bed, his big hands clumsy as he pulled at her panties, smelling her arousal getting stronger, and his erection throbbing between his thighs, as he continued stroking her.

“You’re my brother.”

“No, I am not. Tell me you want it. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I…I…want it. Don’t stop.”

He’d tasted her then. Licked at her pussy without any experience or finesse. He poured longing, lust, and years of hurt into eating her and was rewarded with stifled moans she released into her pillow. He prayed the privacy dampeners covered the sounds of his wet fingers sliding into her. Or his own moans escaping as her juices dribbled down his chin and he jerked himself off to the taste of her heated flesh against his tongue.

When it was over Spock stood, tucked himself away, and left her with her panties around her ankle, her thighs spread wide, her face covered by her pillow, body shaking with sobs of guilt and shame. He felt the same, but he shoved those feelings down. Buried them, and fell asleep without difficulty.

They pretended nothing had happened for months after. Then he came home to find their parents gone to some diplomatic function at the Tellarite embassy. As soon as he’d looked into her eyes that night came back. Only this time there was no shame. This time there was only lust. He gave in to the primal urges within and threw Michael over his shoulder, ran up to his room with her, and without care or an attempt at pleasing her, ripped her dress away and thrust into her. She’d cried out in pain, making him impossibly hard. He felt her get wetter with each thrust until she was dripping over his balls and down his thighs.

“Spock! Spock please!”

She cried his name with every thrust, begging him for mercy, gentleness, that he denied, but she never asked him to stop. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders as she held on, sobbing from pleasure and pain, her own hips rolling against him, grinding hard. He was brutal, holding her in the air, her body helpless in his arms like a rag doll. She kissed him, bit his lower lip and drew blood, which aroused him even more. Lust was a monster in their bellies, and they fed it by dropping to his bed, thrusting, scratching, screaming. She rode him, and he watched her in the mirrored glass of his bedroom wall as she came explosively, watched her pussy gush with every thrust, felt the wet heat of her soak both him and his sheets, putting a scent in them he'd never forget.

Spock wanted her to stay, wanted her to share his bed, but didn't have the words or the bravery to ask. Michael left his bedroom on unsteady legs, naked, her ruined dress and underwear his to do with as he pleased. She never returned. She studied half way around the planet. Joined Starfleet, then took the assignment on the Shenzhou, never reaching out to him, nor he to her. He hated her once again for leaving him. Abandoning him. Rejecting him.

Now, on Discovery, they’ve found peace. Their encounters from years past are an unspoken thing that he doesn’t expect her to bring up, so Spock is surprised when Michael shows up at his door in the dead of night. She has shared quarters with Tilly but he sleeps alone. She stands at his window, watching space streak by at warp, silent.

“Something troubles you?” he prompts.

She turns to him, a slight smile on her lips, before reaching up and pulling his coat open, and then down his arms, until it falls to the floor, and he knows she's not there to talk. At least not with words. Her hand on the center of his chest is much gentler than any hand he’s ever touched her with. She pushes him to the chair beside the port. He removes his shirt without word. There’s no need to question it. To fight it by calling her sister, or him brother. They haven’t been siblings in years, if ever. He’s hard for her before she can undo his trousers and pull him free.

“I should’ve been gentle the last time. Treated you with respect,” he says.

“You hated me, Spock.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hated you too, as much as I wanted you. We’ve put that behind us. Let’s have this while we can. Let’s be…human. Let me see a side of you I never have.”

When Michael takes him into her mouth she does so with considerably more expertise than he possessed all those years ago with her. When he reciprocates he does so with skill that makes her cry out with pleasure untainted by pain, or shame. There’s no resentment in the roll of her hips, or anger when he thrusts into her. Neither hide the sounds of their pleasure. Their hands are gentle, their kisses deep and slow. There's love and respect in the act, as much as there's lust. Spock let’s Michael feel his desire, hear his pleasure, see the love he feels for her in his eyes. After, when he carries her to his bed, their bodies sweaty and sated, they lay there in contentment. Peace.

“Is that another smile?”

Spock strokes her arm with gentle fingers. “Indeed it is.”

She falls asleep first. He remains awake to enjoy the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her in his mouth, and without any hurry to hide the smile that lingers upon his lips.

#star trek discovery #spock/michael #fic #ethan peck #sonequa martin green #spock/michael romance

[tarithenurse]

All is fair in Love & War - 6

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Some angsting and maybe some pining? Could it be? A few hints at something sexual, but nothing explicit. Plot-thickening. A/N: I’d love to link to past chapters or my masterlist, but yeah... This is a semi-AU in the sense that it is in a sort of medieval/fairy-tale setting, but Loki and MCU’s version of Nordic mythology still applies. I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who’ve reposted, but if you do want a tag pls let me know.

6. Purpose

Loki and you are walking through the halls of the keep. He is constantly talking about the history of the country and its people, drawing surprising parallels to your homeland. It is true, that he could most likely tell you anything and you would not know any better because the few details you know of the past have been passed along by the fireside in the winters when the elder were telling stories from their youth or their grandparents’ times. Now you find yourself hanging to his every word.

“The Jötun are not traditionally a united people as you know from the Asgardians or the Alfheimars,” the god is explaining, “and this has made them wary of everyone outside their own clans, their kin.” Loki continues to explain their old laws of blood guilt, where the first one to draw the blood of another for any other reason than self-preservation is at fault.

Pondering this, you walk in silence next to the tall man before finally saying out loud what you have concluded. “Sire, does that mean that the mistrust together with the…ongoing conflict…” You do not want to actually label it as an invasion. You cannot do that. Yet. “That’s the reason for leaving me to die? It’s the closest to vengeance without straight out killing me themselves. Passiveness means they haven’t drawn blood, so to speak?”

The tall man walking beside you, studying you carefully, stays silent. Together you enter the great hall, and whatever was on your mind is gone. Logically, you are well aware that this keep is far from the grandeur of palace in Sjöblik with its polished, coloured marble and creamy sandstones, and the golden decorations which add an aethereal atmosphere to the place. This hall oozes raw power. Dark, roughhewn slabs of granite glittering in the torchlight while massive wooden beams bring an addition to the warm glow with their amber hues. Still, the long benches and tables, a multitude of different furs, and a firepit as long as five men lying head to toe creating the centerpiece are not enough to draw the attention from the throne in the far end of the hall.

“Is that…glass, your highness?” The heat of the fire is behind you already as the two of you step closer to the crystalline structure.

A soft chuckle erupts from deep in Loki’s chest. “No, little mortal, it is not glass.”

You let him pull you up the few steps of the dais to see the god take his seat leaning on the armrest with the legs casually splayed. A slight motion brings your gaze to his pelvis before you can stop yourself, and you feel the shame heat your cheeks.

“Feel for yourself.” His smirk is audible, creating a suspicion that he is not only referring to the throne.

Choosing to ignore his lewdness, which you are beginning to suspect is the best course of action in these cases, you trace the armrest with the fingertips finding the surface to be cold as…

“Ice?” Palming the surface, you feel a wetness form where your hand touches the seat of the king.

“Yes. That is our true element, we thrive in the cold of winter.” Quick as a snake, he has wrapped you in his arms, locking you in place on his lap. “Besides, in the winter there is time for other activities that bring heat.”

Squirming to get free quickly proves to be a bad move on your behalf as you can feel Loki’s excitement through the layers of clothing you both wear. Mortified, you stop moving, unless considering the rapidly beating heart. Even your breath is shallow, timid in fear of what something as natural as a moving chest might cause.

The chuckle bubbling from within the god’s chest floats into the cool air surrounding the throne. “Ever the shy little flower, but I know what you desire, mortal.” A hand works its way under the dress and shift to find your thigh prickling with goosebumps. “There is no need to play coy.”

“Play?” In your outrage, you manage to push yourself partially onto your feet before he drags you back down. “Sire, I’m not pretending anything! It was a moment of weakness and I won’t give in again!”

His face is hidden behind you, and still you know that he is no longer amused. A drop in temperature is the first warning, the painfully tightening grip is the second. But the chill in Loki’s voice is what truly gives it away.

“Be careful what you say next, little mortal.” Thin lips brush lightly against the shell of your ear in sharp contrast to the rough way the god is handling you. “What do you want?”

“I wanna know what’s really going on!” you nearly yell in exasperation before clasping your hand to your mouth, afraid of what he might do to punish your insolence.

The dangerously familiar cold hand circles your wrist and tugs at it, gently but insistent, to free your self-imposed muzzle. Then Loki flips you around on his lap easily, so you straddle him chest to chest, locking your arms behind your back which makes it impossible for you to turn away. For a second you are lost in the cold beauty of his face with the sharp bone structure and the eyes full of a smoldering darkness capable of making you forget time and place. Get a grip! Blinking furiously, you begin to trace the intricate pattern carved into the ice of the back of the throne. Don’t let him enchant me.

“You will explain what that is supposed to mean, pet,” Loki purrs, but the cold is not gone from his voice, “and you will look me in the eyes as you do so.” Spine like a worm, you scold yourself when your eyes meet the green emeralds he has been bestowed. “Now talk.” A silent battle rages, but you lose it the moment he speaks your name.

“Your highness…” Your voice falters slightly, but you carry on. “I thought I knew what was going on…why we were fighting against the Jötuns and why the obvious enemy was you.” Needing to swallow, you grab the chance to consider the next words carefully. “My people are starving, suffering from disease and the great sacrifices made for the cause. We’ve all lost people dear to us…some more than others…”

You had thought the first death would be the only one. In your sorrow, you had returned to your childhood home and retaken your place among parents and brothers. You had been wrong.

“Who did you lose, my dear?”

Startled by the gentleness in Loki’s voice, you answer without thinking. “Everyone. My husband, parents, brothers…” Biting your lips, you focus on breathing deeply.

“That is why you joined the army.” Something strange flickers in his eyes. “The women of Midgard are not required to serve, they have to volunteer.”

It is true. Where men of all ages have to comply to their king’s call, the women are not bound so because they are considered less resilient. Perhaps the difference is greater among the nobles. Whichever the reason, you had quickly succeeded in the training and were send to the front.

“You know what I and anyone else were told,” you shift the subject from the more personal aspects, “ ’the Blue Monster of Jotunheim is attempting to destroy all of Midgard and it’s only through sacrifice that we can succeed’…or so they said.” Closing your eyes, you can still see the king on his balcony, addressing the new troops. “It never occurred to any of us that our king might be lying, our commanders living a different life than that of the rest of us…” a sigh escapes you, “and part of me can’t accept it because trusting you goes against…everything I learned until the day I tracked you down.”

His hands have already loosened the grasp, now they rush to cup your face tenderly, making your eyes meet once more.

“You did seek me out of your own volition that night,” Loki murmurs, “hoping to kill me or be killed.”

There is no reason to deny it, so you just shrug. Tears are stinging your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refuse to show any weakness. And really, you have lived to get a glimpse of the truth. At least a possible alternative to the truth. It means you will have to either trust Loki blindly or that you observe and listen, considering every new bit of information until you have found the truth on your own…whatever that may be.

“You’ve done as you promised, sire.” You force a crooked smile. “You’ve broken down my world, but I won’t give in to see any enchanted creation you please in its stead! I’m gonna figure out what’s real and where my place in that world is. Even if the Midgardian king has been plotting and scheming…well it doesn’t mean that you’re any better.”

“Yet I can give you the skills and tools you need.” The calculative stare is unwavering, and you know he has a very valid point. “And I will not let you go freely.”

Of course not, still, the admission is frightening. “Why not? What risk do I pose? I have no home, no loyalty.”

“Easy for you to say when you possess valuable information about my forces and abilities.” Loki’s smile is unnaturally broad. “No, you will not leave Utgard yet…but I will teach you everything you need to become a spy infiltrating your homeland.”

Oddly, that does not mean he releases you from his grasp, and as the seconds and then minutes drag by in silence, you feel a toe-curling awkwardness steal over you. Loki, however, is unfazed. Long fingers rearranged the yellow fabric of the dress before moving on to the armrest. You try to not watch. You most definitely try not to think of what those fingers are capable of. Thankfully, your captor is too occupied with what he is doing to notice the heat in your cheeks.

What is he doing?

Nimble digits move over the glistening surface, revealing a miniature scenery of mountains and forests stretching into the air. It can only be magic. No sculptor would be able to create such detailed figures without the most delicate tools. The ice forest contains a range of different trees, though most are pines like in the woods at home…squinting, you lean closer to study the landscape. Jagged mountain-arms stretch around the little village at the side of the glacier stream, and you know before laying eyes upon it, that you will find a quarry.

#all is fair in love and war #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki marvel #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #fanfiction #fanfic #MCU #mcu fanfiction #loki angst #loki enemies to lovers #from enemies to lovers #loki pining #medieval setting #fairy tale #loki #jotunheim #midgard #asgard #writing #loki series #loki x reader series #loki captor/captive #espionage fanfic

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Heart of Steel - XIII

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N? 

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,426

Series Masterlist

Steve rubbed his face in exhaustion. He’d been in council after council, making sure all of their plans were invulnerable.

He hadn’t seen Y/N in almost a week. After their quarrel, Steve thought it was best to keep his distance. But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t difficult. Since he’d met Y/N, Steve felt a draw to the princess.

But she was so hard to read. Sometimes Steve swore she felt something for him, like he did for her. But other times, he wouldn’t be surprised if she declared that she hated him.

Now Steve walked the halls of the castle that was not his own and he didn’t even realize what direction he was going until he arrived at Y/N’s bedchambers.

Steve hesitated. Should he even bother her? Clearly she despised him.

Before he could decide whether to knock or walk away, the door swung open.

Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise and she quickly bowed. “King Steven, I did not expect to find you here.”

“I came to see Y/N.” He said, as if it were obvious.

Wanda’s face fell a little. “Oh, she is not here, Your Majesty.”

Steve glared, “Well, where is she?” He panicked, thinking she snuck out of the castle and put herself in danger.

Wanda looked torn on if she should remain loyal to her best friend and princess, or give up her location to the king.

“Wanda, please.” Steve begged in a whisper.

“She is at the training grounds.” Wanda finally mumbled, eyes glued to the floor in shame.

“Thank you,” he sighed and gripped her shoulder before hurrying away.

Steve expected to find Y/N accompanied Bucky or a few other knights. But she was alone. The training grounds looked even larger when they were just occupied by the feminine, but lonesome, princess.

Before she could feel his approach, Steve watched her for a moment.

With a bow in her hand and a quiver strapped to her back, Y/N let arrow after arrow loose. She had multiple targets yards and yards away. Every arrow landed dead center for each different target. The speed of which she let them loose left Steve amazed and impressed.

Then he realized this must have been how she killed Brock.

Once she had finished all of arrows in her quiver and her body relaxed, Steve started clapping.

Y/N whipped around in a fright. As soon as she realized it was him, she closed her eyes and shakily held her hand over her heart. “Please… do not sneak up on me like that.”

It was then that Steve saw the shadows under her eyes. He had heard she wasn’t getting much sleep since the kidnapping. The shadows were just further proof.

“I apologize. I should have known better than to sneak up on you.” Steve admitted with utter guilt. It was stupid of him to sneak up on her like that.

He quickly tried to change the subject. “I did not know you had such skill with the bow.”

Y/N started fetching her arrows, ripping them harshly from the targets where they were embedded. “My mother says it is untoward for a princess to be able to wield any weapon. If she knew I was practicing so openly, she would scold me for weeks.”

Steve nodded with a shy smirk. Her rebelliousness and independence was intoxicating to him. “One day you will be free of her wrath…” He sighed dramatically and then chuckled.

Y/N eyed him in irritation. “Yes, then I will just have a husband to disapprove of me in her place.”

“Well… I hope you marry a man who does not prohibit your independence.” Steve smiled sadly.

The princess blinked, “That is the first time you have spoken to me about marriage and not used yourself as my hypothetical husband.”

“I suppose it is,” the king sighed.

Y/N felt a twist of guilt in her gut. She truly had hurt Steve after their last conversation.

“Do you possess any other skills in weaponry that I should know about?” Steve asked playfully.

Y/N’s face dropped and she shrugged. “I always begged Sir James to teach me how to wield a sword. He refused and refused… until recently. But he only humored me with one lesson.”

Steve studied her obvious disappointment.

“Perhaps, I can teach you,” he offered sheepishly.

“What?” Y/N asked, almost rudely.

“I can teach you,” he repeated as he looked at the ground.

“Really?” She asked in awe.

Steve looked up, confused as to why she was so taken aback by his offer.

“If it would make you happy, of course.”

“Now?” Y/N breathed.

“Yes,” Steve answered in a laugh. 

Without waiting, he looked around and spotted a cluster of training swords left in the mud. He picked one up and tossed it in the air toward her. Y/N quickly caught it in a fluster. It was then that she knew Steve was not going to train and teach her the same way Bucky had. Her knight was overly cautious, almost too careful not to strain her too much or risk hurting her.

Steve was different. He pushed Y/N, encouraging her to find her limitations and then find the strength to overcome them.

At one point, he flung the sword out of her grasp and into the air, catching it gracefully. But in the process, he had forced Y/N’s wrist into a weird angle and she hissed from the pain of it.

“Okay?” Steve asked lightly. He wasn’t babying her.

Y/N just nodded.

Steve threw the sword back at her, “Good. If it were a real battle, you would have to fight through the pain. The enemy will not stop. It is kill or be killed.”

Y/N glared at him, but went back into fighting stance.

She remembered all the tips he gave her, but now she was determined. Y/N knew her only chance was wit and speed. She wasn’t stronger than Steve. That was obvious.

“Everyone has weaknesses. The worst knights are the ones who deny or hide from them. A good warrior faces them head on and figures out how to use them as their advantage.” Steve had advised at the beginning of their lesson.

Now Y/N was slashing back and forth, as fast as she could. The energy forced Steve to take steps backward with each hit, but he held his own. Y/N knew he was distracted with her speed and quick hits. So when he caught her sword in a cross with her own, the last thing he expected was for Y/N to use her feet to kick out his legs from underneath him.

Steve landed roughly on his back, right into the mud.

He chuckled and beamed up at her with pride.

“Very clever,” the king laughed.

“Thank you,” Y/N smirked.

“But the fight is never over,” Steve warned darkly before taking out her own legs and then rolling on top of her.

Y/N yelped at the action.

But then the handle of Steve’s knife, strapped at his waist, was in her line of sight. Without thinking, she quickly unsheathed it and pressed the blade lightly to Steve’s throat.

Steve froze at the sharpness against his skin. But his lips were curled into a side smirk. Yet his eyes were filled with something Y/N had never seen: desire.

Y/N was suddenly aware of Steve straddling her hips and their close proximity... and how fast it was making her heart beat.

He was staring at her lips. This was her cue to push him off before anything could happen. But she didn’t. Y/N was frozen.

Ever so slowly, Steve leaned down. Y/N swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest as she waited for the touch of his lips. They were soft. He didn’t force his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was polite and sweet… and, dare she say, filled with love?

Steve pulled away too soon. His blue eyes were filled with concern, as if he expected her to slap him or yell in disgust.

But Y/N surprised them both when she tossed the knife aside and pulled his head back down, adding even more passion to the second kiss. It quickly lost its innocence when Y/N took over. She playfully bit his bottom lip, earning her a slight moan from Steve. She smirked into the kiss from the sound.

Steve started feeling like they were getting carried away. He forced himself to pull away, even though his body was begging him to go further.

“We must stop…” Steve gasped.

Y/N looked embarrassed, the consequences of her actions catching up to her.

“I am sorry, I should not have…” She began mumbling, pushing him gently away from her.

But Steve grabbed her hands and cut her off, “No, no, no. Please… do not apologize.” He hurried off of Y/N, but pulled her up off the ground along with him.

Y/N wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Y/N,” Steve whispered so gently that she had no choice but to look at him. “We did nothing wrong.”

“Thank you for teaching me, Steve.” Y/N muttered meekly as she started backing away.  

“Y/N, wait!” Steve called out.

But she was already bolting.

——————

Y/N was about to have another panic attack. With all of her might, she tried to calm her breathing like Bucky had taught her.

Bucky.

She wanted Bucky.

But she just kissed Steve.

What the hell was she doing?

She needed to get out of the castle. It felt like the cold, stone walls were closing in on her. Without thinking, she started heading for the stables.

For some reason, there were a few kingsguards standing outside of it. When they caught sight of her, their faces hardened and their posture straightened. Then they moved to block her from entering the stables.

“Get out of my way,” she hissed.

“You are not to leave the castle grounds, Your Highness,” one of them stated.

“I said get out of my way,” Y/N was seething now. It was better than having another panic attack.

“We have been given permission to take necessary measures if you try and defy us,” he added. Though he did look embarrassed and apologetic for being forced to share the threat.

“On who’s orders?” Y/N challenged.

“King Henry…and King Steven,” he stuttered out.

Y/N held her head head high and stood her ground. “I am Princess of Zamora. You will do as I say and I say move aside.”

“You cannot go, Y/N,” a voice said behind her.

She turned around to see her brother giving her a sad look. He’d never done that before. Tony prided himself on making sure Y/N never felt sorry for herself. He’d tease her before he ever allowed her to linger on tragedy.

So to find him looking at her like that now… it was unsettling.

“I only wish to go riding,” Y/N whispered to her brother. But suddenly tears had filled her eyes. “Please, Anthony, just take me riding.”

Tony rushed forward, wrapping his arms around his little sister.

“Come on. Come on.” He whispered into her ear as he slowly led her away.

Y/N wasn’t even paying attention to where he was taking her. She just blindly let him lead her around the castle. It wasn’t until she felt the rough breeze that she realized he had taken her the the tower connected to his side of the castle.

“Just breathe for a second, okay?” Tony begged her softly.

Then he didn’t say anything more. He just held her in his arms and let her catch her breath and take in the fresh air.

Once she calmed down, he turned to take in the view.

“You know… when I was just a child, I stormed into father’s bedroom and claimed I would never marry. I said I did not need a wife or a queen…I would rule Zamora all on my own.”

Y/N squinted at him.

“Father said I overestimated the strength of a king and underestimated the power of a queen. He said I would be selfish and naive to believe I could rule a kingdom with no one at my side.” Tony sighed. “It took me awhile to finally understand father’s lesson. Unfortunately, I slept with every bar maiden before that happened.” He chuckled darkly, taking a moment to remember his days as a promiscuous prince.

“I never wished to be married, to live a life with a woman only for political reasons,” Tony admitted. “I wanted independence and indiscrimination and freedom.”

“But you love Pepper!” Y/N interrupted.

“Yes, I love her more than anything. And will never truly be worthy of her.” Tony agreed. “But that took time. I was horrible to her when we first met. I wanted nothing to do with her, treated her as if she was a burden and a curse.”

“Why are you telling me this, Tony?” Y/N asked with shaky words.

Tony turned and stared at her for a moment.

“Because you cannot be with him.”

Y/N swore he heart stopped at the words.

“King Steven?” She somehow managed to whisper.

But Tony shook his head. “Sir James,” he clarified.

Y/N tried to control her emotions, to remain unfazed by his statement.

“You do not have to argue against my accusations or admit to them.” Tony added hurriedly. “I am not here to expose you or tell you who you can and cannot love.”

“Love…” Y/N whispered so quietly that Tony didn’t even catch it. She suddenly felt sick and tightened her grip on the stone banister of the tower.

“People think royalty is a blessing. But they do not know of the curse it can also bring.” Tony told her quietly. “We do not get the privilege to love whomever we wish. Our marriages are more than just two people… it is two kingdoms, two families, two royal bloodlines.”

“I know,” Y/N suddenly hissed.

“Do you?” Tony challenged.

“You think I do not know that my heart can never be my path!? My duty to my kingdom, to our family, has always been my precedence. How dare you think I would do something so foolish, so selfish! Do you truly think so low of me?”

Tony’s eyes flared in anger. “You avoid Steve, addressing him as if he were no better than Prince Brock! He is a good man, Y/N. There are not many I call true friends, yet he is one of them. He would look after you…love and care for you. And you smite him every chance you get!”

“Why should you care? You get everything! You get Zamora! You get to marry the woman you love! You always have and you always will have your way! So why do you care what I do with my life?!” Y/N screamed.

“Because I do not want you to get your heart broken!” Tony finally matched her yelling, making her jump in surprise and take a step back.

They both took a moment to regain their heavy breathing.

“How did you know?” Y/N whispered, not having the courage to raise her gaze from the ground as she asked.

“What?”

“How did you know about - about… him?”

Tony rubbed his face. “I just recently suspected it. The way he has always watched over you. I never worried for your safety, not when he was with you. The man never showed any evidence of his affections for you. But then I started looking harder: he shifts his weight everytime you laugh around him… his eyes spark when you give someone a brash retort.” Then Tony took in a deep breath. “And when they… took you… I swore he would die trying to bring you back and he would kill anyone standing between him and you.”

A tear slid down Y/N’s cheek as she listened.

“He is a good man, Y/N. I know this. But the more you cross that line, the harder it will hurt when you are stripped of him.”

Y/N just nodded her head and wiped her tears away harshly. There was nothing more to say. Y/N already knew everything Tony spoke of. It was exactly why she had repressed her feelings toward Bucky for so long.

But to hear the harsh truth from someone else, someone other than in her conscience, made it hurt so much more.

Y/N shoved past Tony and hurried to her room.

When she got there, she practically begged Wanda to find Bucky for her. But her friend came back after almost an hour and claimed he was nowhere to be found.

Y/N stared out her window, deep in thought. She knew what she had to do. It was just finding the courage to do it that she was having trouble with.

Y/N lost track of time, but the moon was high in the sky by the time she escaped her reverie and actually moved.

Next thing she knew, she was standing in front of the guest room where Steve had been staying while the kingdoms prepared for war.

Y/N knocked on the door.

Steve opened the door and immediately gave her a look of concern.

But Y/N was too busy taking him in to notice. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so his muscular build was fully on display. His cloth trousers were low on his hips. His hair was adorably messy, proving that she had woken him up.

“What has happened? Are you alright?” He hurriedly asked in a raspy and tired voice.

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” It was almost pathetic how she asked him.

Steve let out a sigh, glad there was no imminent danger.

“Yes,” he answered in a breath.

“How are you so sure?” She challenged.

His eyes turned sad as he watched her for a moment. “Please, come in.” He urged her. How could they possibly have this conversation while she stood in the hallway?

And awkward silence fell upon them as soon as Steve closed the door behind her.

“I must apologize for the way I behaved earlier today.” Y/N eventually whispered.

“Please, you have nothing to apologize for.” Steve rushed forward, wanting to touch her to further assure her. But knowing better than to do that.

“You have been so forthcoming with your intentions and affections. But I… I fear my own and I know it is growing more and more unfair to you.”

“I fear I have not been completely honest with you…” Steve sighed. “I knew much about you before I even met you. Tony and your father spoke of you more often that I originally admitted.” Steve smiled, “Tony told me of how troublesome you were as a kid. But also how your heart was more pure than anyone he knew. Your father spoke of your strength, how you would sit on his lap as a child during war council meetings and listen with such seriousness.”

Steve sighed, “When I saw you at the ball, I did not know who you were. It felt like a dream when I realized you were the woman I had grown so fond of hearing about.”

Y/N seemed to shrink at such a confession. She continued to accuse him of being a stranger. But all this time, he was just trying to get close to her after falling in love with the woman her brother and father had painted.

“It is not the idea of you that I will love, but you, Y/N.” Steve added forcefully, as if he could read her mind.

Without thinking, Y/N rushed forward and kissed him. Steve seemed more prepared than he had been back at the training grounds. He quickly pulled her closer to him and took control of the kiss. She felt him grip her waist and then his hands slip up her sides so they were clutching each side of his face.

Y/N pulled away before Steve wished, but he kept his forehead pressed to hers in defiance. His thumbs tracked the edges of her jaw.

“I will marry you.” Y/N whispered.

All his movements halted at her declaration.

“Truly?” He almost whimpered.

She nodded and barely had enough time to register what she had said before Steve’s lips crashed against her’s once again.

---------------

Part XIV

I know. I know. I’m evil for ending this chapter on that. But I’m evil...so whatever. 

#knight!bucky #heart of steel #heart of steel series #knight!bucky x princess!reader #knight bucky #king!steve rogers #king!steven rogers x princess!reader #medieval!bucky #medieval!avengers #medieval marvel au #medieval!bucky x princess!reader #marvel au

[utapriyanderes]

Their Yandere Type (STARISH Edition!)

Otoya Ittoki: 

Otoya would be an Obsessive type.

You would constantly be on his mind as soon as he heard your first composition. He’d be like a puppy who would never leave his master’s side. He would care for you deeply. Always making sure you are happy and in good hands. He would make sure no harm or distress ever comes over you, by shining like the sun you always see him as.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up locking you away somewhere if it means that his most precious sunflower never dies and leaves him.

I mean… He already lost so much hasn’t he? He can’t lose you as well…

Natsuki Shinomiya:

Natsuki would be a Delusional and Clingy type.

Natsuki would be in a constant state of belief that you love him. I mean, you probably did at first. Though once this new side of him came out, your feelings quickly changed. You tried to get away from him, but it was too hard. Always carrying you around like his most prized stuff animal.

Never being able to leaving his side. Him always smiling and spitting out “I love you”s and compliments every chance he gets. Time you thought you had to yourself quickly became time with just him and his insane illusions of the relationship he believed the two of you to have.

His work of art once got stolen a long time ago… So now he’ll make sure this one never does…

Masato Hijirikawa:

Masato is a Possessive type.

An innocent relationship can turn dark, fast. Time spent around the other members soon turned shorter and shorter. It wasn’t long until all you had left was Masato and just four walls. The only time you were able to see beyond those four walls was when it was mandatory for you to come out. Though that didn’t mean he liked it.

No, instead he wanted you trapped in the pure white room forever. Wanting to conceal you and have you all to himself. He wanted to keep you pure, and in his eyes the world would only make you dirty. Every problem you had, he only wanted you to come to him only, so why go talk to the other members, to his senpai? He’s doing this for your own good, yet for you it’s getting harder and harder to talk to him. In fact he, terrifies you.

When Masato was a young boy it was hard for him to talk or even eat around his father, you knew this though… Hey, how about you ask Masato about his day?

Tokiya Ichinose:

Tokiya is a Manipulative type.

Of course it was easy for Tokiya to put you under his grasp. He is an outstanding actor. It was hard for him at first too you know? To trick you into loving him and staying with him. He felt guilty inside, but he just had to have you.

A relationship built on guilt and trickery could only go so far. So as soon as you put the thought into your mind to leave him, he quickly pulled out his acting skills once again. Guilting you as well into staying with him. Though the main way of doing things is by dedicating songs to you and singing to you in public on stage. Having all of his fans cheer the two of you on.

It would be embarrassing and shameful to break up with him after that. Also to really hit and guilt you into staying with him he would also put on a little show to his fans. Crying on stage about how he would hate the thought of you leaving him, how he would quit being an idol and putting out music with his main inspiration gone. Every fan of his would cry at the thought too, and he made sure everyone knew who you looked liked. So, how were you able to leave him if it meant a life full of rejection from everyone else, by destroying the person they love?

His parents left him as soon as he decided to become an idol. Though you will never leave him like they did will you? I mean, how could you? You supported and encouraged him since day one…

Syo Kurusu:

Syo is a Protective and Possessive type.

Syo was always one to show off his manly side to you and you always made sure he felt manly too. Always complimenting him and telling him how much of a man he was. Not only that but he always made sure he was the first one to come to your rescue. Who would’ve thought that coming to your rescue meant even helping you carry a single sheet of paper. These “rescue” missions became more and more often.

Soon enough you wouldn’t be able to do anything by yourself without him feeling like you would end up injured in some way, shape, or form. Of course by him protecting you all the time this also means protecting you from villians out to destroy you. If he felt anyone was a threat to you then he would instantly make sure that they were out of your life forever. Controlling your contacts and what you were able to do or not all lead to a lot of things. You ended up trapped, alone with just him.

With him carrying and doing everything for you it lead to weakened muscles making it now hard to lift even the tiniest thing which should’ve been the most easiest thing in the world. Though of course, just ask him to do it for you, he would love that! I mean what else can you do beside just lay in bed all day and be beside him? You can’t move any of your muscles anymore anyway.

Syo was born with a heart condition and was going to die from it. Yet he changed his fate and yours as well. Now you’re the fragile and weak one and he’s not. Don’t worry though, he will always be the strength you need to live.

Ren Jinguji:

Ren is a Possessive and Manipulative type.

He was always a charmer. That was how he got you. Someone who was desperate for love and craved it. Ren was actually quite surprised with how easy it was to win you over. Instantly falling under his spell and doing whatever he said, until you fell out of that spell.

Waking up as soon as your prince charming turned into a horrifying beast. As soon as you awoken you tried to run into someone else’s arms, to try and save yourself. Yet he was always one step further, eventually locking you in his castle for only him to see. Oh, and it didn’t help one bit that he would continue to seduce you, continue to do everything you loved and wanted from a relationship. He always made sure that you would melt into his arms over and over again.

Being the youngest out of three siblings lead to a life of always being in third place. Yet with you, you always looked at him as though he was number one, the number one person in your life.

Cecil Aijima:

Cecil is a Obsessive, Clingy, and Possessive type.

He fell in love with your singing voice. Being a peasant was never an option for a beautiful princess as yourself. At first you refused his words and gifts of love. Though he was so sweet you couldn’t resist for long. All was innocent and cute until he started getting a bit too clingy.

Until he would start talking on and on about how beautiful you were when you slept and all of the little habits you do around him. Even his own father started to worry about the future ruler of the kingdom. Short dates would turn into long touches and hugs until he was forced to let go of you. Of course in the end he made sure you two would stay together for all eternity. He can’t turn back into a cat again!

So golden lovers handcuffs around each of your wrists was enough for you to be his, and him yours, bounded together forever. Say goodbye to any freedom and privacy you once had. Oh, and make sure to sing to your beloved once every night!

Once rejected by someone he loved dearly placed a curse upon him. He wandered around for the longest time until he was able to find you, the person who burns his heart with love, making him human once again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Here is STARISH's types! Up next, QUARTET NIGHT!

#utapri #yandere types #yandere #yandere males #yandere male #utanoprincesama #starish #au? #headcanons #yandere headcanons #yandere au #au #anime #otoya ittoki #masato hijirikawa #natsuki shinomiya #tokiya ichinose #ren jinguji #syo kurusu #cecil aijima #ittoki otoya #hijirikawa masato #shinomiya natsuki #ichinose tokiya #jinguji ren #kurusu syo #aijima cecil #uta no prince sama

[reel-drone]

An Elephant Sitting Still, 2018 - ★★★★½

If I were to pin down all the films I've watched that clock in over 3 1/2 hours long, I might break it down to a list of about 40 films or less. That list becomes even shorter when I list all those lengthy films that I've watched in one sitting. And An Elephant Sitting Still now have become the one and only film of that length which I've seen on the big screen. From start to almost finished, An Elephant Sitting Still is an incredibly depressing film. Even in it's near four hour length virtually none of the characters crack a smile, other than one small, desperate moment of laughing at the state they're in. For me, it's still all around engrossing. Each character has their own progression of their own idea of escaping after the disastrous choices they've made. Yet the film is telling on their own guilt and shame, and if truly they are to blame for the several deaths that take place. Or were a set of impulses and emotions, some based on lies of others, the real culprit? Overtime, things are revealed that their desperate attempt to escape is chosen based on their unhappiness rather than their predicament. It's hard not to watch the film without taken into consideration the suicide of the director. There's a darkness carried out through the film that never settles. Hu Bo possesses an immense talent, able to string this characters along yet never drags their story. The long takes create a realism of the their interactions, their pauses between conversations strongly display their frustration and observations. Hu Bo once studied under Bela Tarr (I think) which is no surprise as the film's story bares much influence from his masterpiece Werckmeister Harmonies. The film's visuals of a bleak and pale city life also elevate the director's vision and skill. Overall it's a devastating film, yet a small glimpse of something positive in the final shot. Still, the fate of the director only makes it more devastating. It's possible Hu Bo could have made works that only build on his skill of film making. Yet An Elephant Sitting Still is a monumental work that ranks among 2018's best.

from Letterboxd - Joshua R. https://ift.tt/2Fesdh1 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Letterboxd - Joshua R.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

down for the count 

[steve harrington x reader]

author’s note: i always enjoy writing fics like this one, w/ a more fun, sort of sarcastic tone but i find it kinda difficult. i can’t force it; just gotta let it happen. listened to this on repeat which def helped get me in the right mood. hope y’all enjoy fanboy steve lol

word count: 2,103

Steve has kind of… sort of… always been a fan. But then again, who wasn’t? The Hawkins High School girls volleyball team is one of the strongest, if not the strongest, in the league, and has gone undefeated this season. There had been some close calls, neck-and-neck games with a rival team who was also vying for the number one spot. One doesn’t have to ask who ended up winning the whole shebang this year, because there’s a shiny new trophy sitting in the glass case in the hallway, behind which rests a picture of this year’s team. You’re in the front, balancing yourself on one bent knee and atop the other you keep the volleyball, holding it in place with your hand.

The team owes a lot of its success to you, as captain, and in more ways than one. Perhaps the most obvious reason is the skill you exhibit. You play club, meaning you live and breathe the sport. Everyone’s pretty sure that’s your full-ride ticket into college. But you neither confirm nor deny that, not wanting to show off (admittedly all the attention does make you a tad uncomfortable). The second reason you seem to be the source of the team’s undefeated season is that you’re the glue that holds everyone together. During the more intense games, the stress on your teammates’ faces isn’t difficult to miss, and you’re there in an instant, just as high-strung, but pushing them on, pushing you all on. You believe in every single one of them, in their ability to do so much more, and maybe it’s a bit melodramatic to say these things in the context of high school volleyball, but it goes beyond that. Your encouragement follows them off the court, and they know they will always find a friend in you.

All these things taken into consideration, perhaps it’s not so hard to tell why Steve is as big a fan as he is. And if someone asked him to admit it, what he thought of you, he might not do so out loud, but whenever you walk past him and he catches a whiff of your lavender shampoo and his eyes follow you, unabashedly staring as you continue down the hall, and his friend has to tap on his shoulder to let him know he’s bordering on the creepy side, well, that’s how he confesses the way he feels. He thinks you’re perfect. Too perfect for him, in fact.

Which seems ass-backwards, as he has been told multiple times by close friends when they catch him giving you heart-eyes, thank you very much. He’s Steve fucking Harrington—he could have any girl he wanted! (Their words, not his.) But it’s only met with a roll of his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t detach from the sockets. And he scoffs and tells them you’re [Name] fucking [Last Name], star athlete (this is accompanied by a sarcastic sweeping motion of his hand) and there’s no way you’d be interested in the likes of him, Harrington charm (“—and hair!” he adds quickly, because he can see one of them is about to say it) or no.

He’d like to consider himself your number one cheerleader, showing up to all the home games, cheering whenever Hawkins gets a point and cheering just a little louder when it’s you who’s made the shot. You glance over at the bleachers during those moments, smiling at what he would like to think is him, but it’s most likely aimed at your friends sitting a few rows behind him. Sometimes he wonders if you remember his name. Being in the same PE class and all, it’s a name you’ll have heard daily during roll call. Then the next thing to cross his mind is if you could pair the name to his face. Hearing it is one thing, but matching it to him is a whole different matter. He doubts you’ve so much as glanced his way, the longest you ever have being during dodgeball and with your sights trained on him, you’d chucked the ball in your lithe hands straight at him so hard he could swear it whistled through the air. (It nailed him in the stomach and he clutched at his torso the whole shameful walk over to the bench.)

When the teacher announces that today you’ll all be playing volleyball, Steve automatically glances over at you on the other side of the bleachers, where all of you sit for roll call. You don’t look overly excited or anything, just a small smile on your face, but that smile always seems to be there. He can hear some people around him muttering they hope they’re on your team. But this is followed by groans when the teacher draws an imaginary line down the center of the class with an outstretched hand, splitting the teams that way. That puts Steve on the opposite side of you, and while he doesn’t voice it, he can’t help but silently agree with the others on his team that they’ll most definitely be losing by a landslide.

“Maybe she’ll go easy,” someone says.

It’s met with a laugh. “I bet you we’ll still lose.”

You definitely don’t play with the same force as you do during games, but even your casual pace is hard to keep up with. There’s a gap between your scores (your team in the lead) but nothing huge. It’s a realistic gap they can close. The current point has you and Steve in the center spot of the front row. You both stand with feet apart and all Steve can think is how pretty you are. You’re smiling at him, for it’s easy to spot his staring when he’s right across from you, and you don’t break eye contact. Your team has the serve, and when you hear your teammate bouncing the ball in preparation, you bend your knees slightly, keeping your back straight—textbook ready position. And because Steve has been watching you all the while, he mirrors it subconsciously, but he’s sure his form doesn’t look nearly as good (and he does not—does not—mean that in a perverted way. No siree).

The subsequent rally is probably the longest one yet. For most of the game thus far you’ve tried to open up opportunities for others on your team to hit the ball, setting up shots for them, and that’s no different for this point. But when someone sets the ball up high, it lines up right in front of you, which pretty much means it’s your shot. The whole time you’ve avoided spiking (at least not hard), but when the ball is falling back down in a perfectly straight line, instinct kicks in, and you meet it with a jump, wrist snapping down to drive the ball into the glossy gym floor. Except it doesn’t hit the glossy gym floor. It hits Steve in the face.

All he can think when it makes impact and he’s falling to the ground in a crumpled heap is that this is most definitely his fault. He’d been too distracted watching you that he hadn’t even processed the ball was coming straight for him, and he’d failed to even put up his arms to block it. The ball rolls away but no one is paying it any mind as they all look at him worriedly—you most of all. You cover your mouth with your hands, eyes wide in concern and guilt quickly festering. You duck beneath the net and approach him, sitting on your knees next to him where he lays on the ground.

“Oh my gosh, Steve, are you okay?” you ask. His nose has started bleeding and you feel even worse. He’s looking up at you with squinted eyes, clearly dazed.

The light shining in from the windows behind you makes you look like an angel and Steve wonders if he’s died because that’s the only way he thinks he’d be graced with such a sight. He’s owing his use of overly poetic (and cheesy as hell) language typically absent from his vocabulary to his maybe-concussion. And immediately after considering he might actually be concussed, he realizes you said his name. You remember it. You know who he is. He’d be more excited if the blood from his nose hadn’t just reached his lips and if his head weren’t pounding like a motherfucker.

Upon the teacher’s instruction, a fellow classmate leads Steve to the restroom. You watch them walk off with a small frown on your face, and when the game continues, you avoid anymore spikes. Truthfully, you’re not paying much attention anymore. All you’re thinking about is Steve and how you really hope it’s not anything too bad. You’ll need to find him later to apologize. Profusely.

Luckily it’s not a concussion. Just a killer headache. Steve emerges from the nurse’s office and sighs heavily, pausing a moment in front of the door to set a hand on his temple, waiting for the throbbing to ease up so he can walk without feeling like he’s about to tip over. That’s where you find him, and you rush up to him, cringing slightly as you watch him rub his forehead.

“Hey, not too bad I hope?” you inquire softly so as not to startle him.

Steve opens his eyes to find you standing before him in normal clothes once again, your brows furrowed. Your cheeks are flustered as well, an obvious sign you’d just been in PE. He smiles and nods, appreciative of your concern. “No concussion.”

“That’s good.” You smile back, more at ease now but not any less guilty. “I’m really, really sorry about that. I wasn’t aiming for your face, I promise.”

At this, Steve can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“Still… I shouldn’t have gotten carried away like that.” You sigh.

“You know, this might just be the almost-concussion talking, but I feel sort of honored that you spiked me in the face.”

This elicits a laugh from you, and Steve likes the way it sounds. A lot. A part of him can’t really believe he’s having a conversation with you, even if it is due to you having injured him, and it’s one that’s a lot easier to carry than he thought it would be. You’re just so friendly. It makes him wonder why he was so scared in the first place. And when he tells himself this, he can’t help the way he continues speaking, and before he realizes just what he’s saying, the words are already out in the open, as if he’d momentarily been possessed by someone else. It’s like even otherworldly forces are rooting for him and when he didn’t have the balls to do it himself, they ran out of patience and did it for him.

“But if you really wanted to make it up to me, maybe you could let me take you to the café downtown?”

You almost don’t think you heard Steve right, but he’s smiling nervously and there’s hope flittering in his eyes and you know you’d heard him perfectly fine. At least you can owe the flush of your cheeks to the fact you’d just been in the gym for PE. But it’s difficult to excuse your goofy smile, which you try to keep down by biting your lip. (You’re failing.)

“Sure.” You nod. “What time did you have in mind?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away, mostly because he’s transfixed on your cute grin. He wants to tell you he likes when you smile and he doesn’t want you to hide it, but he figures he can always bring that up later. “Is after school today all right with you?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Great.”

“Great.” You purse your lips and your smile is the tiniest bit shyer, if Steve isn’t imagining anything. He’s fairly certain he’s not, but at the same time he can’t be too sure since that ball to the face is still making him a little woozy. “I’ll see you later then.”

“You will.” Steve smiles and watches as you proceed to walk down the hall, and at one point you glance over your shoulder at him, pink lips curled up slightly in a smile almost feline and pink cheeks making you glow. The end of the school day can’t come fast enough, and all he’s seeing in his mind’s eye as he goes from class to class is your dimpled beam, bright and beautiful as the sun.  

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #queue #bubble-tea-bunny