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hoseokshobagi · 3 months

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† Reborn in Sin ⸸ | Sneak peak | PJM

† Reborn in Sin ⸸ sneak peak

✞PAIRING: demon!jimin x fem!reader

✞ 【SUMMARY】: for years jimin was your constant and loyal companion in the church, a shining example of humility and compassion. but when he was tragically taken from the world before he could experience life, his heart was filled with anger and resentment. and so, in a moment of weakness, he struck a deal with the devil, trading his soul for a second chance at life. but when he returned, he was no longer your kind and devoted boy you once knew.

✞ 『GENRE』: dark ✟ supernatural ✟ fantasy ✟ angst ✟ smut

✞ RATING: 18+ / minors do not interact

✞ WORD COUNT: loading...

✞ [WARNINGS/TAGS] : dead dove, dark, death, manipulation, corruption (kink?), church & religion, blasphemy & desecration, [oral(m) - not with reader, headpusher jimin, face fucking, spit play], dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, dubcon, public fingering, exhibitionism, sexual "nightmares" & hallucinations, mind games, jimin is the worst & the BIGGEST warning!!!!, oral(f), cunt drunk jimin, unprotected sex, rough sex, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, unrealistic amount of cum lmao, cum play, betrayal, mind break

✞ NOTE: hi beautiful people!!! this story was written for the @btsfests writing fest. actually this is the first time i publish my writing and omg ahcbdjs i'm so nervous while writing this note. i always wrote for myself and my closest friends but thanks to bts fests and their never ending encouraging words i decided to show off my writing. this little part is the reason why i started writing this whole story and i hope you'll like it just as much as i enjoyed writing every word. :] this demon jimin is the most cunty & selfish character i've written so far so yall better prepare yourselves ajfnsjxnsjs

english is not my native language, but despite that i'll write and communicate in english. please if you see an error in my writing or grammar lmk!! <3

my dearest beta read: @liveyun 🐢♡

COMING SOON

❗this is the darkest fic i've ever written so please read all the warnings before reading❗

The delicate chimes of the church bell echoed softly through the cavernous rafters, casting an unsettling shadow over Jimin’s mind. Like ghostly whispers emanating from the very walls and pillars of the church, the sounds seemed to taunt him. Whispering to him that he no longer belonged in this sacred space.

He couldn’t believe how he used to devour Father Seokjin’s every word, eagerly drinking up his sermons like it was the finest wine he ever tasted. In this very church, where he had spent countless hours sitting in the pews, Jimin felt like a stranger in the world he once called home.

He looked to his left and gazed upon the sweet, delicate flower — the very reason why he was there. Innocence shining in your eyes, your eyelashes fluttered like the softest butterfly wings. Sitting next to him with hands clasped tightly together in your lap, you looked as pure as new snow, listening to the mass.

Oh, how much he forced himself to resist the urge to reach out and ruin you right then and there. To feel the delicate petals of your innocence as they crumpled beneath his fingers. But he was going to do so slowly, savoring every moment of your fall from grace.

So, he grit his teeth and forced himself to endure the priest’s words and the choir’s music, at least, for a while.

Despite his best efforts, this place was as dull and lifeless as the stones that made up its walls. He spent half of his life trapped within these confines, he knew every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of light, every word and phrase of the Bible that was engraved in his mind, the product of countless wasted years.

Jimin raised a hand to his face, tracing each perfect curve of his newly manicured nails, scrutinizing them from every angle. He raised an eyebrow in anticipation, marveling at Hoseok’s handiwork.

He couldn’t wait to make another deal with the bastard later.

You noticed his attention was drifting and Jimin’s reverie was broken by a gentle tap on his shoulder, causing his thoughts to come crashing down around him like a house of cards. He turned to see your confused eyes peering up at him, your delicate lips murmuring a soft “pray”.

He couldn’t help but mentally roll his eyes. Oh, you were so annoying. He was going to make you pay for all the stress and frustration that he had to go through and endure because of you.

Jimin lowered his head and with a deep breath, closed his eyes, pretending as if he was lost in prayer, his mind far from it. Wandering anywhere but there.

As you finally turned back to offer your own prayers, he couldn’t resist and raised his eyes, glancing back at you.

And he was so fucked.

You were a sight to behold, more divine than the sacred paintings that adorned the walls of this church.

As your eyes drifted shut, your lashes like feathers of a sleeping bird, delicately brushed the curves of your eyes. The soft radiance of the lights danced upon your face, creating a tender veil of shadows that caressed your skin.

Your lips moved in silent devotion as you murmured in such sincerity, clutching the Holy Book tightly in your hands. And he swears, he could feel his dick twitch just at the sight.

You were so breakable, so vulnerable and so fucking beautiful.

Yeah, he was so fucked. So lost in you.

Park’s burning desires had been building to a crescendo in the last few days, a boiling point that seemed to threaten to engulf him whole. He felt like his longing for you was an aching fire that was on the verge of exploding. The mere sight of you at the church was a powerful trigger to him, fanning the flames for this fire.

And he thought it was ridiculous.

He couldn’t believe how he couldn’t control himself, his body yearning for yours, needing to stain the purity of your grace, to spread his sin all around your soul. To corrupt the sacredness of who you were with the foulness of who he had become.

He glanced around and took in the sights and sounds of the church, noticing that everyone was enraptured by the mass. Their focus was solely on the priest at the cathedral, their attention directed nowhere else.

With a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he slipped closer to you and your sweet scent filled his nostrils; making him feel intoxicated. He knew exactly what he had to do; a little play won’t hurt anyone.

Jimin’s touch was like a gentle caress of a summer breeze, soft and tender, caressing your skin like the lightest of kisses. Your eyes flicked open, searching for the source of such unexpected warmth.

And there he was, with his legs crossed, - his gaze fixed on you with such intensity that always made your cheeks warm for some reason – one arm resting comfortably on his elbow on the church pew, the other continuing to idly play with the soft fabric of your long skirt.

You never wore anything revealing; preferring modesty over anything else, however this time, you felt utterly exposed as his eyes roamed over your form like that. Jimin always enjoyed this, stripping away your layers one by one, revealing the true you that lay beneath.

Slowly he drew near, his aura spreading like a thick mist, wrapping around you. The scent of his cologne swirled around as his body pressed against yours, his knee gently nudging yours. His warm breath brushed against your cheeks, like the caress of a dead night.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Keep praying." You looked at his hand, still playing with your skirt, unsure of what to say. Jimin’s voice was calm and soft, yet, there was something about his dark eyes that made you feel uneasy. Like he was biding his time, planning his next move.

It clearly made you uncomfortable, but you were too naive to say anything, too afraid to speak your mind, not to mention that you were sure Jimin would never do anything wrong, so you turned back again and closed your eyes to pray.

But what you didn’t know was that you were already entangled by the snake’s coils; Jimin waited for the moment when you would break. He was so curious, so eager to see just how far you would go, how much you would endure before you finally stepped up and told him to stop.

Would you wrench his hand away? Would you yell at him? Would you make a scene in the middle of the church? He knew you wouldn’t, knew you were just too gentle and too timid to disrespect your favorite little church.

And so, he kept pushing, pushing your boundaries and invading your personal space, inch by inch, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in the wake of his touch.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying desperately to break free from his touch, but he only tightened his grip, making your heart race with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

"Jimin, can you please stop?" Oh, that was it. Your question was hardly above a whisper, as though afraid of you would be heard by those around you. The snake’s grip finally ensnared his delicate, little flower and he had no intention of stopping.

„Keep it down. You wouldn’t wanna disturb the praying souls now, would you?”

A devilish smirk played on his lips, eyes like black holes bearing down at you. His voice was like honey dripping from his lips; so soft and alluring. A stark contrast to the real meaning behind his words and actions. He continued to run his hand up your thigh, pushing your long skirt higher and higher until it was bunched around your waist.

"Jimin, st—" His other hand slithered around from the back of your neck, forcefully covering your mouth, silencing any words that wanted to escape your lips. Whatever you tried to say it came out muffled by his hand, leaving you feeling panicked and completely helpless.

You grasped at the material like a lifeline, desperate to pull it back down, but Jimin’s arm was like a steel barricade, preventing you from covering yourself. You felt trapped, your body burning with the shame of exposure.

"I said keep your mouth shut. We don’t want others to see you like this, do we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to escape as the fear of being discovered and shamed in front of everyone took over. All you could do was fix your gaze on Jimin’s intense, brooding eyes, silently pleading for mercy with your own desperate ones. Ah, so pretty for him.

As you gazed into the depths of his dark eyes, the windows to his no longer existing a soul, you revealed a darkness that engulfed you, and you knew there was no escape.

You were at his mercy, and he had none.

Jimin’s pupils dilated at the sight, your skin was soft and flawless, causing a shiver to run down his spine as he gently touched you. The delicate fabric of your white panties teased him, giving him just a glimpse of what was hidden underneath.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, he lazily played with the tiny, little, pink bow adorning the center of your panties. His actions were a clear taunt, a display of the control he had over you and your vulnerabilities.

It was clear you wanted to push him away, to scold him, yell at him, but he knew the fear of causing a scene in church held you back. You tried to glance around nervously, hoping no one would notice what was happening.

The world seemed to come to a standstill, the only thing that existed was the fast, thumping beat of your heart as Jimin’s hand slithered closer and closer to the place where it had no business being. You felt trapped, your body frozen, unable to break free as if you were held captive by a coiled serpent; its grip tightening with each struggle. The sound of your unsteady breaths filled the air, the only thing grounding you in reality, that, and the heat from his touch, because this serpent was crafted from the finest satin.

„Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, keep praying so God won’t mind, yeah?”

His words made you paralyzed, like a spell, breaking you down. Words like those should never have left the lips of the kind and caring Jimin that you thought you knew. Your mind was reeling with shock and pain, struggling to make sense of how someone you had trusted completely could suddenly become a stranger. Jimin’s actions were like a knife to your heart, a stab that pierced through the trust you had placed in him.

With the grace of a feather dancing on skin, Jimin traced his fingers over your clothed clit, making you tremble beneath his touch. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your eyes widening as you felt the weight of the moment sinking in.

And he chuckled softly, a low rumble that only you could hear, taking your response as a cue, he increased the pressure. His skilled fingers now applied a firm yet tender touch, coaxing your body to new heights of pleasure, and your body tingled in response, betraying you by a throbbing ache that grew stronger with every touch.

As the ripples of pleasure swirled within you, you tried to pull back, to resist the sin that was happening in the very place where you sought solace and salvation. The guilt gnawed at your soul, the snake’s venom that seeped into every crevice, tainting the flower’s beauty.

And yet, Jimin reveled in your pain, basking in the darkness of your suffering as he watched the guilt consume you whole. The venom of your remorse was a feast for his senses; the holy wine, the sweetest elixir to be savored with every devious sip.

"Look, what do we have in here." He pressed his thumb against the dark spot on your panties, causing you to shiver. For him, the sensations of your wetness seeping through the fabric was like an euphoric rush, the sweet nectar of his delicate flower, intoxicating and irresistible.

Heat spread across your cheeks, horror and shame washing over you at his words, you shook your head, tried to move, tried to tell him to stop, but you found yourself lost in his eyes, searching for any sign of the person you once knew. But all you saw was darkness, a void that seemed to swallow you whole.

"Deny it if you want, baby, but aren’t you a nasty girl? You’re fucking soaking."

And it was true. Your body felt like it was betraying you, and you were mortified. He ignited a fire within you that you couldn’t deny. A soft cry slipped from your lips, but you couldn’t bear to face him, knowing that you were powerless in his grasp.

You were unable to believe what was happening. As someone who had always followed the Catholic faith and held its teachings in high regard, there you were, in this sacred place, allowing something so forbidden to take place.

But as his fingers slipped under the fabric of your panties, your mind went blank. The back of Jimin’s hand clung to your sticky panties as his fingers found their way down to your folds, the feeling making him shiver.

„Fuck— you’re so wet, can’t wait to feel you around me.”

You squeezed your lips together under Jimin’s hand to keep from making any noise, your eyes squeezed shut, tears threatened to spill down your cheeks as his wet fingers continued to rub and spread your folds apart, smearing your sticky arousal all over your cunt.

„Shh, this won’t make you a sinner baby, it’s okay. You won’t mind just one finger inside, yeah?” His middle finger probed at your entrance, teasing it, making it wetter still, as he slowly pushed in.

„Y-yeah baby— just one finger?” He teased and removed his finger, making you clench around thin air, and Jimin swears, the feeling made him twitch inside his pants. Teasing you – or himself, it didn’t matter anymore – he plunged back in, tauntingly slow.

Jimin’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, his hard dick pressing firmly against his pants, yearning for release. To him this is how true Paradise felt like, the feeling of your silk walls wrapped around his digit.

He was about to lose it.

He bottomed his finger out inside you, knuckle deep, until his small 13 tattoo on his wrist met with your lower abdomen.

But he craved more. Fuck, how much he wanted to slam you against the pew and spread your thighs wide open, stretching your pretty little pussy right out with his dick. And who could blame him with the way your cunt gripped on his one single digit like that, dripping wet and sinfully warm.

But he couldn’t— not now. And it made him crazy.

You sank into the pew, your body trembling as he started to move his finger, his other hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet. Every part of you was on fire, your mind and body in a constant battle between desire and shame. You were supposed to stop him, to push him away, but all you could manage was tremble and it made your eyes water.

It was a mixture of remorse and the burning desire pounding between your thighs; something you had never experienced before and something you knew you shouldn’t have felt at all in this holy place. And more likely you should’ve never clenched harder around Jimin’s finger when you heard the small shudder in each breath he took.

"Ahh baby—" The faint, breathy little whimper shattered his voice. "fuck.. you’re so perfect… so f-fucking perfect."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath shallow and ragged, mirroring the rhythm of his finger. With his warm breath tickling your ear, his whispered words were barely audible, but they still managed to send shivers down your spine.

"Ooh, h-how I wish to see this perfect fucking pussy."

Jimin couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he watched your face intently, committing every single feature and expression to his memory. The way your brows were furrowed in pleasure, the way you fought to keep your eyes open due to the sensitivity.

He couldn’t help but admire the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the way you tried to stifle your moans under his hand, and the way your juices flowed from your aching cunt.

You were a captivating sight, sinful and alluring, flesh heated and glistening with arousal, and he knew you couldn’t deny it even though you tried. Your trembling body and the slickness on his fingers were evidence of the truth.

He slowly added a second finger, stretching you open further and moving faster, his fingers stroking your sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure through you. With every stroke, you felt your body weakening, and your thoughts began to succumb to the corrupting pleasure.

Despite your protests, your body responded eagerly, arching towards him in a desperate plea for more; seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he was giving you.

You never felt so conflicted in your entire life, your mind was a battlefield; torn between your beliefs and the undeniable pleasure that was now coursing through your veins. Every creak of the old wooden pews felt like a judgment, a cruel reminder that you were committing a sin that would send you to the depths of damnation.

But when Jimin serendipitously grazed your swollen clit with his thumb, your mind went blank. You’d lost it.

Your hips involuntarily jerked against his hand, unable to contain the overwhelming pleasure. You gritted your teeth, determined to keep your cries of ecstasy at bay, but it was a dead effort as you squirmed and moaned, muffled by his hand covering your mouth.

"Fuck— Don’t moan like that, you’re getting too loud, keep quiet."

But you couldn’t. It was as if your head was spinning, unable to focus on anything except the pleasure. The way he slid his fingers in and out of you, his thumb perfectly stimulating your clit, it was too much.

Despite your efforts, you couldn’t contain the small moans that escaped your lips. The church was now just a blur in the background, the stained glass windows casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the floor.

"Shit, baby, keep fucking quiet or do you want me to slip those fucking panties off and stuff them in your mouth, hm?" Jimin’s whispered words sent shivers down your spine, making you clasp around his fingers right back in.

"Y-yeah, you want that baby? My nasty girl, s-so good... so fucking perfect." He moved his fingers faster, his thumb circling deliciously on your clit, building up the pace for your climax, your body crying out for release. And oh, how he reveled in it, savoring every moment, every sensation as his little flower finally opened its petals to him.

"You’re so close, baby, f-fuck— just let go, let me take you there."

As Jimin’s fingers brought you closer and closer to the brink, you couldn’t help but give in, feeling all the guilt and shame wash away in the face of the intense pleasure you were feeling.

„Ooh, fuck— Y-yeah, baby, go on. Come all over my fucking fingers.”

Just as you were about to reach the peak, a sudden thud broke through the lustful haze. Your tear-filled eyes fluttered open and you glanced up to the top of the church’s gallery, where you saw the organ player, Mr. Min sprawled on the ground at the bottom of the stairs, amidst a sea of fallen notes.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as your eyes met his, and you saw the shock and disbelief on his once serene face.

Your heart plummeted like a falling star, sinking into the depths of your stomach as you realized what you must look like to Mr. Min. Your cheeks burned with the heat of a thousand suns as you met his gaze, his face a canvas of flushed embarrassment, crushing you with shame and guilt.

For in the eyes of Mr. Min, you were no other, but a sinner caught in the act of sin in the house of the divine. And as the notes of the holy music lay scattered at his feet, you couldn’t help but wonder if they were a reflection of your shattered innocence.

Mr. Min quickly ascended the stairs to the organ, his emotions were in disarray, a tumultuous blend of arousal and embarrassment. With each step, he tried to push away the image of what he had just seen, but it lingered like a haunting melody in his mind.

His cheeks burned with shame, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance at you before he reached the top of the stairs, his feline eyes burning you whole.

Exposed and vulnerable, you were unable to look at the organ player in the eyes anymore. You closed your eyes tight in an attempt to block out the intensity of his gaze. But even with your eyes shut, you could feel his feline eyes looking down at you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the image, Jimin’s skillful fingers never faltered to move inside you, your body feeling like it was exploding. A soft whimper escaped your lips, which got silenced by his firm grasp.

With each second you felt yourself surrendering to the overwhelming ecstasy.

As you teetered on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure, you were suddenly jolted back to reality, finding yourself next to Jimin who was kneeling humbly on the wooden pew of the church, praying.

With eyes wide open, heated cheeks and heavy breathing you gazed at your own clasped hands on the pew.

Was this all in your head? How could you have let your mind wander to sinful desires in the sacred walls of the church?

Jimin’s innocent devotion to his God only amplified your own guilt, making you feel like a fallen angel in the presence of his pure soul.

Jimin couldn’t help but smirk, he bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn’t help hiding it. He moved his clasped hands toward his mouth to hide the devilish smirk that appeared on his lips.

For he knew the power he held over you, the power to seduce and corrupt your very being. And with each passing day he was one step closer to claiming your body and soul for his own.

And as you sat there, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, Jimin continued to pray, his facade of innocence masking the devilish intentions that lurked within.

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cuubism · 1 year

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thinking about that meta about the endless not really transforming into different forms but rather being all forms simultaneously and just being perceived differently from different points of view. and yeah

"So, Death was telling me something interesting about you yesterday," Hob says, sipping on his coffee.

Dream pouts, though he would probably deny that that's what it is. "You are gossiping with my sister behind my back?"

"You know we talk."

"Gossip," Dream mutters again, steps taking on a pace adjacent to an irritable trudge. "What unseemly things does she say about me?"

"Why do you think she says mean things about you?"

"Every time we speak, she calls me an idiot," Dream says, and Hob lets out a startled laugh.

"That's what siblings do," Hob reminds him. "You know she loves you."

"Hmm." Dream plucks Hob's coffee from his hand, taking a ponderous sip. "What praises does she heap upon me, then?"

Hob shakes his head in fond exasperation. "She says that you -- Endless, that is -- can like... change your appearance for different people? Or creatures? Like. If you met a cat you would appear as a cat to them?"

"You do not quite have the right of it," Dream says. He hasn't returned Hob's coffee, despite having insisted that he 'did not require mortal sustenance' when Hob had offered to get him his own.

"What's the right of it, then?"

"It is not for human minds to comprehend."

Hob groans. "At least humor me and try to explain? Do you turn into a cat or not?"

"I do not turn into anything," Dream says, offended. "How base and common."

"Shapeshifting is base and common, I'll make sure to tell all the shapeshifters I know," Hob tells him seriously.

Dream lets out a sigh that Hob recognizes as meaning fine, I will answer your inane questioning about the nature of my existence. The funny thing is, now that they've gotten over the six hundred year barrier of what's your name and what do you do for work, Dream delights in talking about his creations. He will speak at length about his work given half a chance.

It's the personal -- whether that's something as mundane as how he takes his tea or as fundamental as what an Endless even is, exactly -- that's been hard to get at.

"I am a cat," Dream explains.

Hob stares at him, looking up and down at the very man-shaped figure walking beside him as if he needs to double-check. "You're definitely not a cat."

"Yes, I am," Dream says. He does not appear to be joking.

And apparently Hob is still thirteen years old all these centuries later, because he says, "Prove it."

"You cannot see it because you are not a cat," Dream sighs, as if this is truly a tragic occurrence.

"Maybe I am a cat," Hob suggests, tucking his hands in his pockets, all casual. "How would you know?"

Dream gives him a sidelong look. "You are not a cat. Though perhaps you would be more peaceful as one."

"Doubt it. But wait, so, if I was a cat I would be able to see your cat form?"

"In essence, yes. But. You speak as if I would be donning a coat. These are not forms. Merely fragments. Simultaneous angles on a whole."

"Fragments," Hob repeats. He works it through like a particularly hard math problem. "Hang on. So. You're also a cat now. If we met a cat they would see a cat."

Fuck, this is getting weird.

Dream looks proud of Hob for getting it. "Yes."

"Could have attempted to explain that instead of just saying I am a cat," Hob tells him. "I also still maintain that you are not actually a cat."

"I am as much a cat as I am a human," Dream says.

"So, not," Hob says.

"No," Dream agrees. "Because I am Dream."

"You're a nightmare, is what you are," Hob mutters, and Dream smirks.

"That, too."

They've been walking in silence for another few minutes when Hob asks, "What's your real form?"

Dream frowns. "All of my forms are real, Hob."

"Sure, you look like this or that to different people. What do you look like to yourself?"

"All of my forms are real," Dream insists.

"So what I'm seeing now isn't some kind of default? Are you just always different? Is this like that we don't know how other people see colors 'cuz everyone's eyes could be different thing? Or is there any internal consistency to you?"

"I don't know what thing you're referring to."

"What I'm trying to find out is did I invent this version of you in my head?" Hob asks, getting stressed about it now. Did his subconscious somehow decide this was what Dream should look like? Presumably Dream knows what he looks like to Hob. What if he doesn't like it? "Did I just decide yep that's what dreams should look like in 1389 and you've been stuck wearing black ever since?"

Dream chuckles. Probably amused Hob would ever think he had that much power. "No. There is what you call internal consistency in my appearance. Different creatures, cultures, and so on will see different aspects of me, but there is not a different aspect for each person. It is not infinite."

Oh, thank god. "So, you want to look this way."

"I suppose."

Never a straight answer with him.

"Well, just for the record," Hob says, "I fell in love with the entity but I happen to quite like the shape as well."

"The shape," Dream repeats, with a smile.

"Here's where you're going to tell me you're also a triangle or something."

Dream is silent.

Fucking hell.

"I'm not even going to ask," Hob decides, forcibly moving on. "I have another question."

"You have many," Dream observes.

"That's what you love about me," Hob says, and Dream tilts his head as if conceding the point.

"If there was a human culture that thought of dreams as represented by cats," Hob starts, "they might see you as a cat?"

Dream sips at Hob's coffee, considering. "I suppose."

"And was there ever one?"

"No."

Hob lets out a long breath. Dream is frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes, but Hob can't say he doesn't enjoy it anyway, doesn't enjoy the puzzle. "Was there ever any culture like that, though? That saw their dream representation as something other than a person?"

"There was one that thought dreams lived in bubbles, therefore I was the reflection of light along a bubble's curve," Dream says, expressionlessly. As if that isn't wild and fascinating. "However, that civilization has since disbanded and morphed into different forms."

"Which civilization was that?"

"You would not know it," Dream says.

Hob tips his head back and groans. "God, you're like an edgy teenager who knew that indie band before they were cool. Oh, which band? No, you wouldn't know them, they're too niche, too underground."

"Underwater," says Dream. "It was a civilization of dolphins."

Hob trips over a crack in the road and just manages to catch himself. Dream stops by his side, watching him with some concern, like he worries Hob might break himself in his clumsiness.

"The way the world looks to you must be insane," Hob says, staring at Dream.

Dream's lips tip up in the faintest smile. "Human perspective is narrow."

"Clearly. I wish I could see all your other forms. Must be amazing."

"You wish to see them?" Dream sounds surprised.

Hob scoffs. "Of course. But it's not sounding very possible."

Dream inclines his head in agreement.

Then a thought occurs. "Wait." And god, Hob has said a lot of stupid-sounding things in his life but this is about to be one of the worst. "If I pretend to be a cat, can I see your cat form?"

Dream can never answer a simple question directly, but apparently this absurd query is fine. "I suppose it is possible in theory for you to see it. But pretending is not enough. You would have to wholly assume the perspective of a cat. I do not know if it would be possible in practice."

Hob's never needed much more encouragement than that to try something. "Alright. Hold my coffee."

"I am already holding it," Dream points out.

"Hush. I'm being a cat."

How he's supposed to do that, Hob doesn't know. He paces back and forth before Dream, squinting in the sunlight. He looks at him from every angle. He tries to imagine what cats might dream of. Mice? Freedom? Sleeping in warm places? Their dreams must be feeling and instinct-driven, not intellectual.

Hob crouches down, looking up at Dream from as close to a cat's height as he can manage. Dream merely raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to meow at me?" he asks mildly.

"Meow," Hob says, and Dream's mouth pops open in a round o of surprise that is one hundred percent worth the indignity of kneeling on a public street and meowing. "What do cats dream about, anyway?"

"World domination," Dream says solemnly.

"Haha," Hob says, but Dream doesn't take it back.

"Alright, I'm channeling megalomania," Hob tells him, shutting his eyes. "I'm channeling my inner despot."

"And an imposing one at that," Dream observes, looking down at him.

"Quiet, subject, can't you see I'm in the middle of ruling with an iron fist? Or paw?"

"I am quaking in my boots," Dream says. "Please, show mercy."

Hob squints back up at him. God, he's really trying, but it's hard. Cats live close to humans, but they are still so alien. Off in their own worlds, their own battles and hierarchies.

"Will it work if I lick you?" he asks. "Like how cats groom each other."

Dream blinks at him, once, twice, slowly, catlike, which he must be doing intentionally, because he's a bastard like that. "This is, as I believe you would say, getting odd."

Yeah, it is getting fucking odd.

"Perhaps you should try imagining my female form," Dream suggests, and if Hob weren't already on all fours on the sidewalk he'd have fallen over. "It is human, and may be easier."

"You have that?" Hob squeaks, scrambling back to his feet. "But I thought it was like, a species perspective thing? Do women just see you as a woman, then?" Then he shakes his head. "No, that's way too simplistic."

"Women can see me like this as well," Dream says. "Or however their culture dictates."

"So why would someone see you as one gender or another, then? Just a culture thing? Preference?"

"Why do some people see God as a woman?" Dream asks the air.

Hob groans. "You are impossible."

Dream smirks.

"Or maybe you just like being unknowable," Hob guesses.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps. Yeah, perhaps. I'm sure." Hob cracks his knuckles. "Alright, my unknowable cosmic entity of a significant other, let's see if I can turn you into a woman."

Dream stares at him flatly, but Hob can see the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Hob still doesn't know what exact perspective he needs to see Dream as a woman. Maybe if he just believes really really hard he can make it happen. Force of will. It's how he'd always planned to make himself immortal, anyway, absent a fortunate encounter with one prickly dream entity.

He stops looking at Dream, and tries to look through Dream. Tries to imagine how it feels to see the true depths of his eyes, how the cosmos in them go straight to infinity. He tries to see around the way the light reflects off of and shapes Dream's form to the shape within, like a sculptor seeing the body in the marble before it's carved. Hob is no artist, but he tries.

And he knows Dream. He may not know all these angles on his form, but he knows Dream, the entity, the person. They have had a long friendship, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

And just like that, the perspective shifts. For a split second, Hob sees an infinity before him, the eternity of all existence condensed in all its brilliant, glowing facets--then his brain skids around it to avoid going mad, latches onto an angle, and slams back to earth.

Hob sways, rubs at his eyes, and then laughs hysterically. "Fuck!"

"Hob?" Dream sounds uncertain now. "Are you well?"

"I think I just glimpsed cosmic knowledge never meant for my mortal eyes, or whatever," Hob tells him, somewhat maniacally. His ears are kind of ringing, eyes swimming in the afterimages of a very bright light. "You're incredible, do you know that?"

"As you judge," Dream says.

Hob finally drops his hands from his eyes.

And immediately slaps them over his mouth, letting out a sound so high-pitched and manic he hadn't thought his vocal cords could manage it. "Holy shit."

Dream frowns. "Are you well?" he asks again. "Perhaps I should not have allowed--"

"I fucking did it," Hob whispers, mostly to himself. "Oh my God. You're a woman. I think? You look like one. I guess?"

Dream looks down at himself. Hob wonders what he sees--does he see what Hob sees? Or does he see the incomprehensible mass of everything that he truly is under the human trappings?

"Ah," he says, and presses a single fingertip to one of the breasts that he now has, prodding it curiously. "It appears that I am."

Okay, so he can see what Hob sees. Good to know.

"Yup," Hob says. He can't seem to steady himself whatsoever. "Yup, yup. You are."

"Impressive, Hob," Dream remarks, looking up at him again with a smirk. His jaw is narrower now, his lips plusher, but God, it's that same fucking smirk that drives Hob insane.

Hob wonders if Dream's female form is also bound by some limitations on appearance the way his usual form is. He hopes so, because it if turns out he managed to manifest Dream's tits to fit his own subconscious desires, he might just have to choose Death at last.

Hob still has his hands over his mouth. He makes himself drop them.

Dream frowns at his silence. "Are you not pleased?"

"I'm very shellshocked and reorienting my view of the universe," Hob tells him. "Also, you're very beautiful and it's just a lot all around."

That smirk again. Whatever minor amount of immunity Hob has developed over the centuries is obliterated by the new shape of him. "Ah."

"Ah," Hob echoes. "Can I kiss you?"

"You may."

Hob does so with his usual enthusiasm, perhaps more, as he does so love novelty. Dream tastes much the same, feels much the same to his hands, and yet not, like Hob's different perspective on him has altered the angle of his touch. Hob runs his hands indulgently over the softer curves of him, settling them on Dream's waist.

"Dear heart," he murmurs into Dream's mouth. "Most beautiful thing."

Dream makes a soft sound and rests his face against Hob's.

They stay there for a long moment, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Then Dream asks, "Would you have still kissed me if I was a cat?"

"On your little furry head, yes," Hob says, and pecks his cheek. "I thought you were a cat."

"I am," Dream says.

Hob groans. "Enough, I'm getting confused again. Let's stop with the metaphysics and go home and do something less headache-inducing."

"Like playing with the new toy you've found yourself?" Dream asks, raising an eyebrow, but obligingly lets Hob wrap an arm around his waist and tug him along down the sidewalk.

"Pretty much!" Hob agrees. "If you're amenable."

"I suppose I can bear it," Dream says solemnly, as though being kissed and coddled and worshiped is the greatest hardship of his eons-long existence.

Then he says, quietly, "You are singular, to perceive me thus."

"As..." Hob looks at him as they walk, looks at the elegant cut of Dream's cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, the longer fall of his hair. "You mean, in more than one... facet?"

Dream nods. "You... see me. The truth of me. And still, you look upon me kindly."

"What other way is there to look at the one you've loved your whole life?" Hob asks, throat tight.

Dream leans into his side, and Hob presses a kiss to his temple, holding there for several steps. And he continues to hold him close as they go on, keeps his unfathomable boundless entity within the circle of his arms, where he can keep on fathoming him.

#really a toss up what's making hob lose his mind more. the eldritch vision of dreaming as a concept? or dream's tits?#listen he's a simple man #a simple and very bisexual man #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

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eoieopda · 8 months

Text

[svt as fuckboi archetypes]

disclaimer: don’t take it seriously. i was having a convo. with my sister about my truly tragic dating history, and now we’re all going to hold hands n process it together.

seungcheol: big “air mattress on the floor” energy. his gaming set-up is expensive and immaculate, but he’ll be goddamned if he spends a dime on — idk — a bed frame, for example. don’t sit on his chair, though, because it’s specifically angled for his lumbar-support needs.

jeonghan: the “i quit” dude at the show who still consistently asks to bum both a cigarette and a light. you’re not getting that lighter back, and he will not, in fact, “get you back” for the uber back to yours or the take-out he weasels out of you on the way. he’ll charm you out of caring about it, too :’(

joshua: it’s giving “anyway, here’s wonderwall”. why did he even bring his guitar to this party? you don’t know, and you’re not gonna ask because the answer will make you want to fuck him less, and you really, really want to fuck him.

junhui: the one that passes out immediately after sex, leaving you trapped in that “….should i…. leave? is staying…. fine?” liminal space. he wakes up in the middle of the night, wakes you up, and informs you that you chose wrong and “should probably head out” because he has to work in the morning.

wonwoo: the one that turns every conversation into a debate. you may have a literal degree in xyz, but he is serving fresh takes™️, so listen up, diva! the dick game is god-tier, though, so you’re just going to mentally replace the sound of his voice with a different muppet’s in every conversation and wait for him to shut up <3

soonyoung: the house guest!!! he’s going to miss every single hint you drop about wanting to sleep alone. he’s going to leave a sweatshirt in your drawer so he can be comfortable next time. he doesn’t do “one-night-stands”; he does residencies. hope you didn’t have other plans this weekend :/

woozi: he asks if he can say “i love you” during sex because it gets him hot, and then he later informs you that you can no longer hook up because things are “moving too fast”.

dokyeom: you’ve been hooking up for a few weeks, and now he’s babbling about wanting to go to xyz place with you at some point in the distant future. he says it like he’s deadass about it, then looks at you funny if you ask him to get drinks tomorrow night. good luck, charlie!

mingyu: the stage-five clinger. he’s never had a fuck buddy before, and it shows. he has no idea what this dynamic is supposed to be despite a) suggesting it in the first place, b) numerous conversations about it, and c) repeated affirmations that he isn’t looking for a relationship. but he’s PRETTY, okay??

minghao: halley’s comet has nothing on this mf. he dm’s you once a year, you have the best night of your life, then he is gone girl for the next 364. you and your friends have a bet going in the group chat to see how many consecutive months he’ll leave you on read.

seungkwan: the one that has never — not even once — asked you a personal question. that’s not to say he doesn’t talk; he never stops. you’ve learned everything about him (his home phone number from childhood, the names of all his coworkers + his thoughts about them), against your will. frankly, you’re not sure if he even remembers your name atp because he relies exclusively on a generic pet name.

vernon: he talks a big game about meeting up, missing you, etc., but when the plans are laid, he “fell asleep, i’m so sorry, i’m just now seeing this!! :(” you washed your hair for this? rip.

dino: the foster puppy!!! he’s an emotionally unavailable, certifiable mess when you get him. you clean him up, train him, and the second he gets his shit together, he’s off. he’s found his forever home, and he’s coincidentally getting married on your birthday. sorry, bestie!!

#svt #svt headcanons #ot13 #minors do not interact #jade speaks

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unmarlou · 2 months

Text

i know the end.

pairings. mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary. the end is here.

lacy says. if there’s one thing i love it’s the tragic wizarding war trope.

WARNING. !!!readers discretion is advised!!!

· · ౨ৎ · ·

today you would discover if there was a god in heaven. if he was merciful. and what he had in store for you.

each step you took rattled up the core of your bones. starting at your shins and ending at your ears.

time seemed so slow you wondered if you were already dead. kids ran past, disregarding you. these were faces you’d known well, you’d grown up with. they looked so determined, so sure of themselves and those around them, suddenly feeling like a spectator, you were almost proud - your friends, dare you say family, people you’d lived alongside for the last six years were rushing the front of the castle to fight.

reality didn’t let you feel for long. you knew your look didn’t resemble theirs.

the stairs stretched for forever. just stone after stone. the litters of people became scarce, just a few stranglers who couldn’t be bothered to look anywhere but ahead.

you took in the architecture. every few steps looking up to capture a new angle you’d never previously thought to admire. you wondered what it would look like tomorrow- what would remain and what would perish?

eventually you met your destination. the quad battlements greeted you with desertion, as you’d hoped. though your wand was in a tight grip, you didn’t wish to fight anybody. not if you didn’t have to.

the long wood platform stopped the ricocheting up your legs, replacing it with squeaking underneath your feet. the sweat on the back of your neck and the pit in the depth of your stomach was for some reason plaguing your mind, as if your brain was actively trying to distract you from the external world.

approaching one of many full length arches in the row, wood turned to stone. the lack of railing or glass had always spooked you, you thought back to your second year when you’d discovered this part of the castle - lorenzo had jokingly nudged you close enough for you to almost lose your balance. now, it was the least of your worries. maybe falling from this height would be a simpler fate.

looking above, the pit grew denser. violet light encompassed your being. you felt sick, and your body almost betrayed you. you watched as hundreds, maybe thousands, of shots were fired at the protective dome of the castle. time was no longer slow and you were very much alive - such a harsh truth.

spark after spark hit and you prayed it was a trick of the light but very clearly the forcefield began to falter. it almost looked like lightning bolts, you foolishly wished it was just a storm going to pass. soon those tiny, seemingly insignificant lights would become wounds to ground, wounds to your peers, and wounds to your home.

unable to look away despite the devastation building in your chest, your mind took over. thoughts of leaving - finding a new place to call home, far away from here, somewhere so different from this. your many discussions with mattheo about this very prospect played over and over in your mindseye. you saw his closed eyes, as if he needed to shut out the images what he was saying, you heard his whispering voice, and could almost feel his rough albeit lovely fingertips. no one wanted out more than him.

the creaking of wood behind you stopped your heart. you were quick to turn and raise your wand. inevitable. such a small word for such a big thing, you thought.

but once you set eyes on the reason for the sound, your wand was lowered just as fast. his hands were lazily up in surrender, as if he knew you were here, what your reaction would be, and how much he really didn’t need to be doing this.

“you wouldn’t crucio me, would you?” his voice was hoarse, unlike anything you’d ever heard from him which made you certain it was against his will he sounded this way.

without a second thought, you ran to him. wrapping your arms around his cortex and engulfing yourself in the only place that could possibly feel the slightest bit safe. his arms were immediately around you, like he’d waited his entire life for this moment. cradling your head close to his chest, he heaved a sigh that seemed to come from deep within himself.

his hand in your hair maneuvered to your cheek, bringing your face up to look at him. his darling eyes flicked back and forth between yours. unable to help yourself, you kissed him. it was filled with longing but still so innocent. his lips were soft just as you remembered and his hand held your face firmer than he had been, maybe to continue, maybe to keep you close.

you brought a hand to his. his knuckles were scabbed though you didn’t dwell on why. you’d learned not to. breaking away from him, his forehead rested against yours.

he began muttering, “i’m- i’m sorry, i would’ve come sooner but he made it damn near impossible to leave and-” you shook your head to cut him off. it was all unimportant now. he was here and that’s all you needed.

the loud distant explosion startled you. you’d forgotten that you and mattheo weren’t the only people in the world - a blissful moment gone. screams erupted from the same direction.

you stepped to the arch once again, though mattheo didn’t move. his arms dropped to his sides at the absence of your presence and you could feel him staring at you, even with your back turned.

your heart sunk. the barrier was disintegrating right in front of your eyes. without noticing, your breathing quickened. you watched the wooden bridge you’d walked across, lounged on, gazed out of for years, crumble. cloaked figures came in droves, shouting in the victory of passing the threshold, while simultaneously massacring those on the opposing side. your side.

your home was now haunted.

“mattheo,” you turned to look at him again. his face softened at your saying of his name, like it always did.

his voice was small and still strained, “we can’t stop it.” it was like he’d read your mind. he’d solved every other problem you’d ever had so why couldn’t he solve this one?

“if i could, i would.”

you cursed him for knowing you so well. and chided yourself for childish thoughts.

sounds of terror now came from everywhere. you couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve looked like, and you suddenly felt stupidly selfish for standing here instead of helping. but mattheo words reverberated in your mind, we can’t stop it.

you searched his face. his beautifully scarred face that owned all your love. you saw past lovers that came together over millenniums to make that face.

“did i ever tell you i love you?”

you cracked a smile as a single tear fell down your cheek, “you didn’t have to.”

he watched you intensely. somewhere in time there was a version of yourself that couldn’t stand to hold his gaze for very long, with how nervous it made you. but here you were, staring right back at him.

his hand crept to his pocket, his eyes never leaving you, waiting for your disapproval. he pulled his wand out and had such a grip his scabbed knuckles turned white.

the end is near.

all those stories he’d read to you flooded your mind; tragedies about lovers who were never meant for greatness.

“i’m not afraid.” were you trying to convince him or yourself?

he nodded slowly, as if regarding a temperamental child, “i know you’re not.”

your heart pounded in your chest. everything you’d ever experienced in knowing mattheo had led up to this. he was waiting for you. it was all on your count, because whatever you wanted he’d do. that word made home in your mind again, inevitable.

you took fast and shallow breaths, feeling your lip quiver but refusing to let any more tears slip as you raised your wand hand. the sight of it pointed at mattheo was so foreign you had to tunnel vision on him.

he was slow to raise his, once again waiting for any sign of objection. when his arm was level with yours, the corner of his eye twitched, and you knew he could no longer hide from those images he tried so hard to all those times ago.

suddenly the sound of the large entrance door of the quad battlements being unlatched echoed off the floors. banging footsteps of many emitted. your eyes immediately shot to it, though you couldn’t see anything behind the stone wall. voices of familiar foe made your stomach churn.

“look at me.” it wasn’t a command, it was a plea.

coming back to him, his eyes were brimming with tears. in distraction your arm lowered, but you quickly replaced it. searching him a final time, you wondered what beautiful faces the two of you could’ve contributed to in the millenniums to come.

you gave a single nod.

the end is here.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

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chiefdirector · 4 months

Text

Bargaining | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Sargent Grey watched Regina intently through the two-way mirror. She sat as poised and composed as she ever had, knowing that she was in a position of power over the LAPD. For a moment, the possibilities of her grasp and influence over the tragic chapter in Tim and (Y/N)’s life sent a chill down his spine. He had dealt with criminals like her before, who believed they were in control of the situation at every angle, but he also knew from Rosalind Dyer that their own perceived infallibleness could lead to their own downfall.

In many ways, Regina reminded Grey of Rosalind. The way the conducted themselves was an obvious similarity, but there was a glint that Regina held in her eye when speaking of her wrongdoings, especially the ones inflicted on his officers, that Rosalind held when they escorted her to the burial sites of her victims. She found this amusing; she enjoyed the toying and the torture of her actions but Grey was determind to break it out of her, he would break her down to dust if that’s what it took.

He had to take a step out of the interrogation room after Regina asked for her lawyer, she was trying to play him and he knew he was letting his rage guide him into her traps. So he watched from the viewing room, Nyla and Jackson beside him as Angela took over the questioning.

“Ms. Diaz,” Angela said as she walked into the room, she immediately sat down and kept her gaze on the drug lord, choosing to not acknowledge her legal counsel. “You said to Sargent Grey that you had information pertaining to our-”

Regina raised her hand slightly from where it was still cuffed to the table. “I implied.”

“Okay you implied that you had information pertaining to an ongoing case.” Angela opened a file before turning it to face the woman. “But you did say, and I quote ‘...their case worker didn’t know where they were all day?’ which was classified information. So would you like to elaborate how you know that before I charge you with stealing and weaponizing confidential police records?”

“Hey, hey now.” The lawyer, who now grabbed Angela’s attention, said. He did not look like the type of legal help someone of Regina’s notoriety or funds would hire. He sat in a too big blazer, held together by quick-fix hand stitches and mis-matching buttons. His greying hair matched the weary look he carried. “You don't need to answer it.”

“I know, but I want to,” She smirked, leaning forward in her chair slightly. “I want to make a deal. I know I'm going away for life, and then some, but I want privileges. You know, extra yard time, early access to the commissary. Quality of life, I’m sure you’re aware of what I mean, Detective Lopez?”

“Something can be arranged, if your information holds up that is. So if you will…”

“One more thing.”

Angela had to stop herself from getting irate, she didn't want to lose the semblance of control she currently had. “What?”

“I want to tell Officer Tim Bradford. I’d like to meet him properly. I’ve only seen him through images you see, and the time I shot his wife, of course. How is she by the way?”

Lopez didn’t respond, instead she gathered the files and turned to storm out of the room. She couldn’t handle anymore of her games, and she would be damned if she let Regina Diaz know that she got under her skin. She already had taken her best friend away from her for two years, Angela refused to give her any more satisfaction than that.

-----

“Absolutely not.” Grey slammed it fist down on the table in front of him. He had heard Regina’s request, but he never thought that any of his officers would want to humour the woman. “We are not giving her what she wants. If she wants her deal, she will do it on our terms.”

Nyla stepped forwards, hands raised slightly in surrendering to show she meant no animosity. “I don’t think we have a choice, we have all gone over her files and her records numerous times, does any part of it seem like she ever gives in. Or that she has anything to lose, like she said, she’s almost guaranteed life in prison, if not the death penalty. If we don’t play her game, we may never know what happened.”

Grey looked like he was going to reject Nyla’s statement, but Jackson stepped to speak before he could start. “Harper’s right. I spoke with Detective Bradford this morning, to get her statement. She knows as much as Williamson did. Their version of events line up, the only two people who know the rest is Diaz, and the case worker.”

“That's the thing though,” Angela flipped through the files she had brought to the interrogation, looking for something. “The case worker for this assignment has been redacted. I took the name that Jackson got from (Y/N) earlier and ran him through the system. He doesn’t exist.”

Grey pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “So we’re hunting a ghost, and the only way we even get a lead is to make a deal with the Devil.”

-----

Lopez moved through the familiar walls of the hospital as she made her way towards (Y/N)’s room. She had been here many times during her career within the police department so the lurch of uncertainness growing in the pit of her stomach unnerved her. She was normally so comfortable here, it was like being anywhere else, but this time was different, she was going to see her best friend properly for the first time in two years.

Despite (Y/N) being here for a few days now, Angela still hadn’t visited. At first she said it was because she was so busy getting all of the paperwork and the crime scene logged and cleared of all evidence, and then she was helping the others piece together Regina’s confessions. Grey could see through her excuses, he could tell that she was scared to find someone who looked like her best friend but had changed completely. The two of them had been rookies together, and even though (Y/N) got promoted to detective rather quickly and Angela to Training Officer their friendship never swayed or lessened. The reality that all of this years together could be gone scared Angela, but she had to face it head on; she knew that, and Grey knew that, so he bit the bullet and ordered her to go see (Y/N).

She stopped outside the door and took a breath. Angela didn’t bother knocking, she never had before and she didn't see the reason to start now. Instead, she creaked open the door and leaned against the frame. “Hey.”

“Ange. What are you doing here?” (Y/N) said, smiling up to her friend from where she sat with her legs crossed on the bed. She looked a lot better than Anegla had expected, the last time she had seen her was when she was holding pressure on her gunshot wound as (Y/N) started to bleed out in front of her. In all honesty, Angela didn’t know what to expect, but seeing (Y/N) as her usually chipper self isn't something she would have bet on. “Here, come sit. Tim will be back in a moment with coffee, if you text him I'm sure he will bring you one.”

“I came to see you… and I’m good… thank you though.”

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. At (Y/N)’s question, Angela pushed herself forward to envelope (Y/N) in her grasp, pulling back only slightly when she heard (Y/N)’s little gasp of pain. As she hugged her best friend, tears started to fall down Angela’s face and into (Y/N)’s shoulder. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I know.” (Y/N) pulled back to allow Angela to collect herself. Once the sobs died down into trickling tears, she continued. “I also didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone again.”

“What?” Angela sniffled, wiping away the tears with her sleeve.

“She, Regina, had photos. She threatened to hurt and kill you all if I didn’t disappear.”

“We thought the images were just of Tim.”

“No.” (Y/N) shook her head. “They had pictures of Tim, you, Grey as well as others in the station. There were hundreds. It wasn’t only my life at stake, all of you were. So I made the obvious call, me for all of you.”

“Don’t say that.” Said a voice from the doorway, Tim. He stood there, mouth almost open in shock at what he heard (Y/N) say. “There is not a situation where your life is worth trading, (Y/N). You’re too valuable to us, to me.”

(Y/N) looked down at her lap as Tim made his way fully into the room. He wasn’t surprised at Angela’s presence, he knew that she would have shown up sooner or later. He sat in the chair opposite the bed and looked up at the girls. “Has Regina said anything?”

“Not exactly…”

“What does that mean?”

“She said that she would talk, but only to you Tim.”

Part Eight | Part Ten

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #the rookie #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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dekusleftsock · 7 months

Note

People claim to be tired of the "Power of friendship" trope bc they more often than not severely underestimate how much a person's vulnerability and social upbringing can impact their points of view and actions, and specifically what happens when they are shown the opposite of them, or had to be put in a situation that would challenge it somehow.

Or how people will just not pay attention to a character's story or the theme of the narrative around them, so anything out of the "Basic" is put of no where 🙃

I will say, another reason people probably feel it’s “out of nowhere” is BECAUSE it’s queer.

Queerness doesn’t belong in shonen. It’s about cool hot dudes being the shit out of cool hot villains. Deku is a “baddass” now but was he when the first few episodes came out? The first season? The first book? No, of course he wasn’t. That was when Izuku was his most crybaby self, and most of all when he didn’t HAVE a pretty woman to kill the possibility of his queerness.

He was fatherless, he was androgynous, he had a suspicious relationship to his mean rival, why did he care so much about him?

And what’s especially interesting is to see the reactions to the subversions Horikoshi has been making for a very, very long time.

Bakugou is never beat, he’s befriended in a complex relationship between him and his childhood friend.

Izuku’s mentor allmight doesn’t die in some tragic way, he survives. I think people forget that allmight is a subversion of the dead mentor trope. But instead, allmight lives, weak as he is, after a fight that by every angle you look at he should have died.

Toga isn’t jealous of Ochako over Izuku, she’s in love with her. They denied that one along with her bisexuality for a while.

Izuku isn’t saved and brought back by his love interest, but rather his oldest friend at his lowest point.

Endeavor isn’t just “abusive dad” for the rest of the series that Shoto must overcome and “stick it to the man”, he actually has an atonement arc, one where he realizes his mistakes and his son is waiting to forgive him.

None of these subversions were out of nowhere. It was always clear that allmight would survive, bakugou would be befriended, toga was bisexual and in love with ochako, bakugou would save Izuku, and that endeavor wouldn’t stay the abusive figure he was forever.

So why is it that the queer subversions are “out of nowhere”?

Why are they suddenly “the power of friendship”?

#IM SO SORRY ANON I WAS JUST CHECKING MY DRAFTS AND I NEVER POSTED THIS IM SO SORRY #Literally I have no sense for when this ask was sent in but I assume during the togachako chapters HAIBDONSIDB #I think what’s funnier about this and more specifically about my adhd is that… this was fully written when I found it. I finished one-#sentence at the end. I could have posted this so long ago I just didn’t bc I’m an idiot.#bkdk #togachako #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #mha analysis

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2sw · 8 months

Text

🖤Understanding Season 4&5 Sam🖤

long post, 30 gifs

sorry I don't care if my english sucks or not anymore. I live with the urge to defend Sam 24/7, that's what it's about.

this post looks weird on pc… recommend you to read on the app

Supernatural S1E01 Pilot // S1E06 Skin S3E08 A Very Supernatural Christmas S4E19 Jump the Shark

Do you see the parallels here? This is why I think people who say season 4 Sam was annoying also hate every other character in this show, they just don't realize that. It was not a big deal when other characters treated Sam the way they did, but when Sam started to mirror them you suddenly find it annoying? That's absurd. I know almost every filmmaking choice of this show is unfair to Sam and I hate that too, but still we audiences can see things from various angles and think for ourselves. And sometimes you need to see the story as a story, not something to take sides.

Supernatural S3E16 No Rest for the Wicked Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Sam lost his entire family at the end of season 3. He was full of remorse, and to make up for that he was literally following his family's footsteps. Sam became obsessed with revenge like John did after Mary died. Season 4 was about that vicious cycle, the tragedy of it. Dean sold his soul for Sam just like John did for him. Sam tried to be more like his dad and big brother and did what they taught him. And Sam's relapse was a part of the addiction cycle. But Dean locking up Sam in the panic room changed nothing, the final seal was broken after all. So Lucifer gets out, and the oldest family drama is about to start all over again. It wasn't about who was right or wrong. It was about the circle, a never ending story. The next season was about restoring trust in each other and seeking redemption, and Sam eventually broke the chain by sacrificing himself. That's what makes Swan Song the tragic ending of all time. (though it all comes back as the show keeps going on... but what is spn without The Codependency™)

So, yeah, it's beyond me how some people can't see the reason behind Sam's choices in this season cause the context was SO clear. If you watch the show, you can see how much Sam and Dean affect each other and how much both are affected by John in different ways. And it's natural because they are family. We are who we are because of everyone and everything that has happened in our lives, and same goes for every fictional character, including Sam. It's just as simple as that. Sam was just trying to live by his brother's will while battling with grief and loss. He had to keep on fighting without Dean. And the reason why Dean wasn't with him was because Dean sold his soul to save Sam and went to hell for it. It not only made Sam the sole survivor of the family but also made the very being of him their entire legacy. Starting with Mary making a deal with Azazel, every choice ever made in this family is what brought him there. As I said earlier, it's the cycle. And a consequence. In short, if it is a sin, I think it’s everyone’s.

Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Sam and Dean's fate to be vessels? Their destiny? It doesn't matter in the end. This show was always about fate AND free will. Free will was always there. You always have choices. Sam was the one who believed that most desperately so he became the one who broke the cycle. Even though it was only the last page, he ripped out the written fate anyway and wrote the ending himself. YES HE IS THE MAIN CHARACTER. And after everything he did for the world, the story made him suffer eternal agony with the Devil because he is also a tragic hero figure. (SIGH literally the character of all time)

You can see this all only as an observer, as an audience. For Sam, the only thing he could do at the moment was just find the person to blame―in this case, it's a demon named Lilith― and get revenge. And he was lost somewhere along the road, he became an addict because he couldn't do anything about his loved ones dying, but when he drinks the demon blood it gives him power and a sense of control. (aaaaaand I still don't get why writers wrote this as some kind of diabolical desire in 4x18. I get it sammy what the fuck would chuck know about helplessness)

You can say you wouldn't suck up the demon blood, that's fine, but this story was written in this way, and if Sam didn't do that, the story couldn't go forward. Why? Because he is the main character. (It always had to be you, Sammy!) And reminds you that if you want to watch a show with multiple seasons, you have to remember what happened before to understand what’s going on now. So please don't make up things in your head, just go back to where it all started. There are contexts in everything. Everyone is a consequence of each other, but we don't have to be bound to that fact. We have choices: to change, to make things better. That's why we should be kind to each other, and for that, I love and respect Sam so much cause he didn't let his traumas define him and always tried to be a better person. ♡

I'm not done yet!!! see also this:

Supernatural S3E04 Sin City Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Dean worried when Sam killed a demon with the Colt to save him cause it also killed a person who was being possessed, and it was 'cold'. But then when he finds out about the demon blood, he is so mad that he doesn't even care about the fact Sam was saving possession victims and just screaming in Sam's face "Use the knife!". It's so??? What is the logic here? This just proves it's always been about his feelings, not really about saving people. Is that an evil thing? No, I don’t think so. Dean is just a human, he can’t control what he feels. But if you use this to beat up Sam, I'll go feral then. Cause Sam is a human too.

And look at Ruby's masterful manipulation skill. Makes Sam feel guilty about everything, and comes back with what he needs when no one's left around him. She really was the best of those sons of bitches.

Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Seriously, what was Sam supposed to do? Everyone on this show didn't even bother to understand Sam and just decided everything he ever did was fundamentally wrong. Sam was using his own body to change the things outside of him, cause there is nothing he can do about the fact of his body, the blood in it. In life, there are things we can change and we can't. We have to live with that non-negotiable fact for our whole life. Sam learned this most painful way... And one thing about Sam is that he never let the unchangeable things make him give up the things he can change. It's not always a good thing though, cause Sam in s4 was very self-destructive. He was obsessive, and that is one of his problems. Sam is so stubborn and doesn't give up on anything easily. Actually this problem could be solved after s7 cause he tried to move on, but s8 happened… so it got worse, kept getting worse, and look what happened in s10. The most heartbreaking domino effect, I'd say...

Supernatural S5E03 Free to Be You and Me Supernatural S5E06 I Believe the Children Are Our Future

Anyways, back to the point. Unfortunately, Sam started the apocalypse. And what did he do after that? When the whole world tried to hunt him down, the devil wanted to crawl inside him, and an angel called him an abomination? He didn't give up there to remain that abomination. He didn’t surrender. Instead, Sam begged for a second chance. He wanted to atone, wanted redemption. He still believed in others even though he lost trust in himself. He believed there was still something he could do about it. Even when he was possessed by Lucifer, he fought till the end to save his brother and the world. And he did it. He was a fucking hero at that moment, sadly a tragic one too. But the important thing is: Sam Winchester represents hope. (I think Swan Song was a perfect ending as a tragedy. This show got weaker and weaker after s5 which kinda ruined the perfection, but I'm also so glad the show continued cause this message fits more hopefully in Carry On. I needed to see Sam rewarded with something better than eternal agony after all those additional tortures of 10 more seasons.)

One last thing, you know what's funny about Metamorphosis? Dean had nothing to say about the fact Sam saved more people than when they were hunting together, so he just went "That what Ruby wants you to think?" Dude what was going on in your mind. like that was what Ruby intended, he was right about that only by chance, but I still find it funny that Dean said that at this exact moment. And he does this a lot, attacking the messenger when he can't refute the message. He didn't have any rational reasons like Sam, he just didn't like it and that's all(and honestly I think this can be an actual reason too cause there's a history behind it which I talked about it here. I wish Dean had just talked to Sam and had a real conversation. but he never talks about his feelings, that's what Dean Winchester does. so… yep not gonna happen. also, if the brothers have a healthy relationship, that is not supernatural lol), so he brought up Angels and evoked Sam's religious guilt. And the Angels in question also turned out to be manipulative assholes later. Everyone makes mistakes, but somehow Sam is always the one who gets most condemned and blamed. Dean, On the other hand, is justified by the narrative so many times even when it is actually his fault. As I said, unfair. This is not even a Dean crit post, I'm just mad at unreasonable people and the way this show works in general.

I swear I was normal before watching this season. Sam's demon blood arc was what made me insanely fall in love with him, so when I found out all those hate for Sam… that really could be my villain origin story but instead I chose to be on tumblr, so yeah I believe love wins<3 ha what a way to end a post. sorry guys

#sam winchester #dean winchester #spn 1x01 #spn 1x06 #spn 3x08 #spn 4x19 #spn 3x16 #spn 4x04 #spn 3x04 #spn 5x03 #spn 5x06 #s1 #s3 #s4 #s5 #gifs #i don’t agree with this show on so many things and some of the later seasons just piss me off except for occasional good episodes #but the first five seasons of spn are always worth talking about #spn meta

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dreamchasernina · 2 months

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So I’m rewatching the blue spirit because the live action made me. At this point, I swear I’m not here just to harp on the live action, I really don’t care. It just made me notice the things about the original I haven’t before, even after watching it like 500 times.

Look at the difference here. In the animated show, Aang is chained so he can’t move his arms at all, and the camera angle showing this huge room and Aang is just so tiny, showing he is just a little kid after all. It looks brutal, the way this child is chained. And that’s even before Zhao goes into the room to tell him he’s going to keep him “barely alive”.

In comparison, look here, in the live actions it doesn’t look half as brutal. Aang just sorta kinda stands there, and the camera angle isn’t showing us just how tragic this whole situation is, a grown man capturing a 12 year old boy and restraining him in a way that can’t not hurt. It just doesn’t hit the same.

IAgain, I swear I’m not looking for things to complain about the live action, it just makes me appreciate the thought behind every scene in the original. I notice things I’ve never noticed before, I guess that’s the only good thing to come out of the live action.

#atla #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #atla Netflix #Netflix atla #Aang #the blue spirit

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save-the-villainous-cat · 1 year

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Hey, big fan of your prompts especially the hero/villain ones! I was thinking if you could do one where the hero and villain are secretly in a relationship but then when hero's away for their duties for some time, villain who only does petty crimes is framed for a big heist and imprisoned and tortured severely by hero's team. Hero comes back and astonished at the conditions and goes to meet villain in prison. Can you please do a prompt with their interaction there, I think it would be very whumpy!

The hero remembered the cold.

It was a type of cold that would crawl into their boots and linger there, numbing their feet and turning their fingers blue. Not only was it painful, it was also a constant, a problem that needed to be fixed but wouldn’t change, no matter what they did. A cold that wouldn’t repent, a dark and very intimate thing.

Within the cell, the icy air was stinging in their lungs with each laboured breath and as they stared at the villain, they wished they were someone else. Someone who didn’t have to control their emotions, someone who could act without fearing the consequences.

In each corner a camera, observing the villain from every angle for 24 hours a day. No escape.

Not in this condition. Not when they were covered in their own blood, had a broken knee, a broken wrist, many cuts and more bruises than anyone could count.

“You deny the accusations made against you,” the hero stated. It broke their heart. It broke their fucking heart to proceed like this. Acting like a professional, not allowing themselves to look at their lover for too long, continuing the protocol — they cursed themselves for showing their obedience to their team. But what was their other option? Getting caught and tortured and with that, ending every little glimpse of hope?

“I do,” the villain rasped. “I deny it.”

They finally looked at the hero, exhausted and tragically struck down with pain.

“Is there any evidence to prove your innocence?” The hero’s voice was quiet as they stared at their lover who seemed in too much pain to move which in itself caused pain again.

I will kill them all, the hero promised in their mind. An imbalance possessed their actions and it was slowly — very tediously — getting difficult to gain control over their thoughts again. They felt themselves slipping on a moral ambiguity that began to glorify gruesome acts of violence.

They were afraid that if they fell, they’d never return to their old self.

“I was with my spouse that night,” the villain said. “Though I doubt they will make any kind of statement. I wouldn’t let them either.”

Christ, the hero was ready, was so ready. Guilt ate them alive, made a meal of them and had fun while devouring them. The guilt and the anger were a perfectly septic mixture to foretell their grand fall.

“Why is that?” The words were sour on their tongue as they felt their throat swell up. Images of their laughing spouse flooded their mind. But with one harsh push, the hero was pulled back into reality and other images replaced the old ones. A dead villain. Killed when they were stealing. Murdered in their own home. Assassinated on a walk with the hero.

“I’d do anything to protect them,” the villain said. “If I needed to die to keep them safe, I’d pull the trigger myself. To make sure it’s done properly.”

“Would they do the same for you?” the hero asked. Too aware of the haunting cameras, they concentrated on the villain, put their whole energy on them and tried to find stability. But it didn’t help — their voice was still shaking and they were still too close to crying.

“Without a doubt,” the villain said.

“Then why aren’t they here?” the hero asked, trying to stick to the old patterns of interrogation.

“Because they’re good. They’re not a villain.”

“They seem pathetic. They’re letting you rot here,” the hero said and hell, they meant every word. Why hadn’t they come home sooner?

“I’m protecting them.”

“You mean you’re getting yourself killed for someone who failed to act.” Their dark promise formed a plan.

“Careful,” the villain warned, despite being in no position to do so. “It’s not their fault. My blood isn’t on their hands.”

“No,” the hero said, “but someone else’s blood will be.”

#me and the devil #walking side by side #not hero about to murder their team #love it when heroes snap <3 #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #whump

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mixelation · 17 days

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thoughts on itadei, itakisa, and itasaku? and i guess any other popular itachi ships that are not currently coming to mind for me lol

ItaDei

Love it. Have written tens of thousands of words about it. It's sort of a frustrating ship to write because they're both assholes about their own feelings (and I don't think Itachi in canon... has a lot of thoughts on Deidara), but Deidara has an extremely canonical gay melt down over Itachi, so I feel like there's a lot of ridiculousness to explore. The fact that they're both criminal villain ninja means there's a lot of room for understanding that other ships might not have. Yes, Deidara blows buildings up with people inside, what of it? He's not like "ooh aah you monster!!" over the Uchiha Massacre. And I like that they both have wildly different, but demonstrably lethal/successful, attitudes towards problem solving. Like I think they cover a lot of each other's flaws while also making each other worse, you know?

Since it's "brutally honest" opinion time, I will add a complaint I haven't made in a while. I hate the way a good chunk of fandom writes Deidara in mlm ships. For some reason, people like to make him a naive uwu bean to play the "feminine" role. Stop that, it's boring and OOC.

ItaKisa

This is a ship I don't really mind but also don't find super compelling. I'm not a big Kisame fan-- like he's fine, I like writing and reading about him fine-- but he's not one of my favorite Akatsuki members. I don't filter on ItaKisa but the tag won't make me NOT click a fic. I could be compelled to write it if I had an idea for it. I do prefer exploring their relationship from a more platonic angle. Kisame is most interesting to me when he's the guy dealing with Itachi's bullshit 24/7 and somehow still thriving.

ItaSaku

My original OTP!!!!!! Okay so I think they're super compatible and HERE'S WHY--

Basically I think Itachi is someone who has idealized romance in a way where he has an extensive very bland fantasy about nice Konoha girls who let him have the most bland vanilla hetersosexual marriage of all time. He wants the culturally appropriate equivalent of a white picket fence. Would he actually be happy with this? No, obviously not, but Itachi also thinks he's a pacifist.

Meanwhile Sakura is a violent maniac who is trying her hardest to BE that nice Konoha girl. They indulge each other's insane fantasies about it. Itachi looks at Sakura and is like: "oh yes, the perfect Konoha kunoichi, the student of the Hokage and Hatake Kakashi, a healer with the face of an angel--" But if his ability for self-analysis were 2% better he would realize his favorite Sakura moments are all like "ripped a man in half" and "brought that same man back from the brink of death to interrogate him." He is ready to lay back and let Sakura live out her own fantasy of Fixing the tragic S-ranked missing-nin WITH HER LOVE because that is also what Itachi wants. Ignore that the village is on fire, please

Other Itachi Ships

Let's see.... every once in a while I get intrigued by the idea of Kakashi/Itachi, but I have never hit on anything there that I really like. I'm fine with Shisui/Itachi, but I don't think Shisui has enough of a canon presence for me to go really feral over it like I would ItaSaku or ItaDei. I'm intrigued by some other Itachi/Akatsuki ships although I don't think any of them are popular. For example, I think Itachi and Sasori would clash horribly in that they're both assholes in similar directions, and this would make SasoItaDei a beautiful trashfire for Deidara specifically.

I've written some Itachi-Karin interactions that I thought were fun so I think ItaKarin could be interesting. Ummm..... OH! I regularly forget Izumi even exists. Sorry, Izumi.

#ask meme answer

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calicoquiltedtranshag · 6 months

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I wanna spend a moment on Ivanovich, head of the crime family Goncharov, Katya, and Andrey are all a part of.

First off, Willem Dafoe. Brilliantly cast. There’s a light in Ivan’s eyes that I don’t think you could get from anyone else, and his delivery is always just...spot on.

But about the man now.

Ivan is a monarch without a kingdom. A patriarch evicted from his home. Throughout his screen time on film, he tries to portray it as otherwise, describing the family's move as a "tactical choice", a "financially driven decision" - it's all a front. He hasn't been able to go from being the USSR's biggest and meanest arms smuggler to a cafe owner humbly.

For some members of his group, this is a chance at a new life. Even has Ivan schemes and plans to angle himself to power in Venice, people like Katya, Goncharov, and Andrey are all living their own lives for a bit. Goncharov works the bar. Katya is a journalist. Andrey is picking up being a Gondolier. For Ivan, the idea that any of them have a genuine desire to leave this game of power never crosses his mind. He's always looking for the next job, the next domino to topple.

He treats Goncharov like a son, frequently outright stating so as well. This behavior, of course, only lasts as long as Goncharov obeys his orders and agrees to carry out his plans without question - and at the start of this extremely long film, that's what he does. Although Goncharov enjoys his life as a barista, he has no illusions about it being a way of life - there are jobs to be done. Pieces to take off the board - and Ivan knows the game.

At least, Ivan thinks he does.

After our introduction to our main tragic heroes, Gonch, Katya, Sofia and Andrey, we are led to Ivan's office. The level of faux power here is...palpable. A delicately carved wooden chair and desk set in a room with peeling wallpaper and cracked windows. A bookshelves filled with a handful of titles - all charred from the burning of the Family's manor. It's the same with everything else around the room. Paintings with blackened frames and shattered glass, ornate chests spattered with dried blood from the firefight as they left.

For all intents and purposes, their lives ended that day - but Ivan refuses to let go of the past.

His original speech is an impassioned rally to his most loyal inner circle - asking them to begin slipping into the local government and people. See what is needed, what is wanted, and who can supply -

And as he raises his arms, proclaiming the Family's rebirth from fire...

He's shot through the gut. More blood across the ashen chests and books.

He survives this unfortunately - but I think the fact that he still doesn't back down, even wounded, speaks volumes about the man. He's going into shock and he's still giving orders, telling Goncharov to tighten security, tasking Andrey with gathering info about possible enemies, and asking Katya to interrogate the family for moles.

That stubbornness, that need for control - it ends up being the death of him. When Gonch eventually defies him, leaving Icepick Joe alive, Ivan completely loses it. Sofia and Andrey both lose their lives by his hand - *and he frames Gonch before tossing him into the fucking ocean.* When both he and Katya come to confront him, leaving a trail of blood and bullets in their wake...we see what Ivan looks like without all of his bravado.

So much of Ivan's pomp and cruelty is driven by the idea that *he is on top*. Even someone as dangerous, as efficient, and unstoppable as GONCHAROV follows his every order - he MUST be powerful. Unconquerable.

And then....he isn't. When they find him, he is rummaging through his desk looking for a gun - we've seen it a couple times. Ivan's had a couple moments of "weakness" as he calls it. Where the memories of losing his wife, his home - his legacy - overwhelm him and he considers taking himself out - and it's another one of those moments.

He has no one in his corner to catch him. No one to keep him safe. No one who trusts him.

It was...cathartic, almost, watching him crawl on his hands and knees, begging his former bodyguards for mercy. Making empty promises, crying, wailing - Gonch has none of it.

Without a word, Goncharov picks him up. Grabs him by his wounded side and sits him on his makeshift throne. Tidies Ivan's suit with a gun to his head and puts his hat on - and then Gonch goes back to join Katya.

We don't know who eventually fires. There's not a word said for a whole five minutes. Our last moments with Ivan...we see the fires through his eyes. Reliving his worst moments, watching everything he cared about being ripped away from him, over and over again - mirroring what he's done to Katya and Gonch.

And then a gun is fired, and the story of Ivan ends.

The man, ultimately, is a monster who chose to inflict his suffering upon those around him. He HAD family still, people he trusted, people who cared about him - and though his words were always honeyed, he was never afraid to put those who loved him in his line of fire.

#Ivanovich #Goncharov #Goncharov x andrey #goncharov x katya #Katya x sofia #Unreality #tw unreality #cw unreality #martin scorsese #willem dafoe

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vesemirsexual · 7 months

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What is even more disappointing about how game!Ciri is written is that CDPR Can give us compelling and complex “ trauma and grief can cause you to repeat the cycle of violence” arcs for characters like Syanna and Lambert but apparently completely forgot what a huge part of Ciri’s character that is

the first time I played I thought she got amnesia as well because of how much of her fiery temper was toned down, and how her trauma is hardly mentioned ( and it's not like the characters in this game trauma are completely ignored it is talked about in some quests) I wanna see what she really would have done had she seen Emhyr again

I feel like game Ciri had two distinct groups they were aiming for: people who found Geralt even more appealing because of the fatherhood angle so they had to work his actual kid in AND hot girl fan service.

The thing is, if they gave her too much personality or depth, she wouldn’t have fit into these groups well and therefore people would’ve found her annoying and/or off-putting. People already do sometimes but not to the degree that they would’ve if they even BEGAN to touch on the absolute shitstorm that is Ciris psyche after everything.

Also realistically, they made the Witcher games centre about Geralt bc he appeals to their large majority male fan base: combatant, dark mysterious tragic past, ripped, attractive, fucks hot women, is a good guy while still also getting to do badass things and beat people up. If you look in depth at Witcher fans on different platforms when they talk about him, a lot of dudes are very much “oh my god he’s literally me”. Ciri could never be the focus because she wouldn’t appeal to that same group, and we know that every time a game is released people throw the weirdest bitch fits about female characters, especially main ones.

This is also why Ciri is made an attractive character, when realistically that tiny little facial scar they’ve given her is nothing, she’s spent her developmental years on the run/being attacked/under extreme stress so I honestly can’t imagine her being a tall skinny but also hourglass woman with one or two scars, and put her in a cropped shirt (such a bad choice it’s mildly hysterical).

I think Lambert and Syanna are also a really good example of how people handle angry traumatised characters too, because Lambert gets a lot more leeway than Syanna (and I say this as a big fan of both!) Like there are literally people out there and on this webbed site who say she is pure evil, one of the evilest people in the Witcher for being a fucked up mean trauma victim who hurt a Poor Little Meow Meow (Higher vampire with decades of life experience more than her, incredibly possessive, responded to emotional manipulation by violently attacking an entire city). Like Lambert literally brags about axii’ing a guy to shoot himself in the head with his own crossbow.

Ciri got done very dirty, but I see how and why it happened. Book Ciri deserves rights but unfortunately I think Games Ciri will always be how people perceive her, and therefore portray her in fic, art and other work predominantly (praying same doesn’t happen with TWN Ciri). We’ve been robbed of such a complex, angry young woman and I mourn it 🙏

Edit: I can’t even touch on the Emhyr thing because the fact she can reconcile with him is honestly mildly fucking horrific. Like even if they’ve removed the nasty ass incest factor, that man quite literally destroyed her entire world and was willing to do so further in order to get his way. The fact she can call him father in one ending is genuinely vomit inducing and so disrespectful to Ciri as a character (also the audacity to play down that Ciri literally sees Yen as her mama WHILE playing devils advocate for War McCrime is a whole choice).

#sorry I rambled!#but you’re right anon ur right #also this post has swinging at a hornets nest elements but I do not careeeeewwe #katie txt #asks

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ckret2 · 1 month

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also I’ve been reading Flatland: a Romance of Many Dimensions and it’s kinda [Bill voice] hilarious how fucked up that society is. there’s eugenics all over the place. women’s lives are insanely controlled. there’s a whole class of people who are used as classroom displays for children to learn to differentiate angles by touch. the mistreatment of these last two classes of people is broadly seen as okay because they’ve been determined to be too intellectually disabled to matter or care. there’s something new every time you turn the page

It's so messed up right?

I've got a passage coming up in some chapters when the humans get their hands on a copy of Flatland """"Flatworld"""" and I summarize it thus:

Flatworld was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

I deliberately left out some of the atrocities—the treatment of isosceles triangles, the classroom displays—on the grounds that I'm just trying to lightly summarize a story-within-a-story and details like that would introduce complexities and necessitate explanations that would detract more than they contribute to the "oh this place is fucked UP" message.

So like. The above is SIMPLIFIED. There's MORE THAN THAT. Wild.

(And then Mabel looks across the room and goes "how much of this is true???" and Bill goes "it depends, how much of it needs to be true for you to decide my tragic backstory completely justifies my evil ways?")

#(the only part of the above paragraph that's actually true of Bill's home dimension is 'Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes'.)#(Will he be admitting this? No. He's just won beaucoup pity points.)#crashorpie #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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blackleatherjacketz · 7 months

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Veritas

Loki x Female Reader

Summary: Loki's been watching you for some time now and he finally makes contact.

Warnings: Gay Bars, Kissing, Stalking, Face Holding, Alcohol, Trauma Bonding, Magic

Word Count: 1.3k+

Read the rest of the story HERE!

“You’ll break their hearts running off like that.” His chilly voice pierces the night like a dagger, forcing you to search every corner of the deserted patio as the door slams shut behind you.

“Excuse me?” Your shoulders jump up to your ears as you peer into the darkness, looking for anyone else he could be talking to as you squint in mild intoxication.

“They all want you in their own way, don’t they?” His pale cheekbones cut into the light as he steps out of the shadows, his slender frame draped in black. “Buying you drinks, paying you compliments in hopes to win your favor.” He takes his time walking around you, pointing in your direction with a glass half full of whiskey as if it were some kind of prop in his performance. “And you? Well, you’re beautiful, smart, charming, sure, but you’ve heard that all before, haven’t you?” He smiles as if he knows the secrets of every single person he’s ever met, including yours. “You’ve heard every line from every book they’ve used to try and chip away at that cold exterior of yours, but none of it really works, does it?”

“I, uhh,” you stare at him with your mouth wide open, wondering how someone so attractive could notice all these little things about you without you noticing them in return. This was the very first you've seen of this handsome stranger, at least that you can recall, anyways. Surely you'd remember someone so tragically beautiful that the angles of his face reminded you of a medieval painting you’d only be able to find in a museum.

He ignores your mindless stuttering and continues on with his lecture, circling in a little closer. “You let them believe they can have you for a moment, a day even, or maybe a little longer, knowing full well that you have no intention of giving them more than a glimpse of who you really are.”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You realize only now that you've been walking backwards the whole time he’s been waltzing around you, your naked shoulders abruptly meeting the cool brick wall of the building.

“Not yet,” he smirks with a tilt of his head, “but I know you.” He stops his orbit around you as your back hits the wall, advancing forward after he empties the liquor from his glass. “I’ve been watching you, noticing how much energy you take from each little moment, saving up for when you’re finally in bed at night wondering why you’re all alone.”

What the hell? Did he just say that he’s been watching you? Is he trying to psychoanalyze your whole personality from just a few interactions he witnessed you in at the bar? Should you be worried about what’s in your drink? You glance down and cover it with your palm.

“Well, that’s one hell of a guess, Mister…” You try to play it cool as he gets closer.

“Loki,” he introduces himself finally, “Just Loki.”

“Loki?” Wait a minute, where have you heard that name before? “Not the ‘God of Mischief’, Loki?”

“None other.” He sets his drink down on the table behind him, lifting both hands up toward his chest in prideful presentation.

“Right.” You nod and takes one last sip of your drink, figuring he must be one of the new drag performers you just haven't seen yet. That would explain his accent at least, and maybe even his name. “Well, ‘Just Loki’, are we talking about me here, or are we talking about you? Because that seems oddly specific.”

He looks stunned for a moment, as if he wasn’t fully expecting you to fire back so quickly, but immediately shakes it off. “Oh, I could talk about you all night,” he redirects.

“Really?” You follow suit and set your drink on the table to your right, making a mental note not to drink from it again. “And why is that? What does a god like you want with a simple someone like me?”

“You’ve piqued my interest.” He pauses as he gets close enough for you to notice his scent, faintly reminiscent of freshly cut evergreens in the middle of winter.

“How lucky for me.” Your skepticism is your only defense against the connection you feel linking the two of you together; an irrefutable invisible line that continues to become more visible as he closes the gap between you.

“You and I aren’t that different, you know.” He stares at you with icy blue eyes, a deep sorrow weighing them down as they study every inch of your face.

“Cast aside, overlooked, underestimated until we finally speak up, demanding to be seen for who we truly are only to be pushed back down behind everyone else. So you come here, of all places, searching for that validation, longing to be chosen over and over again just so you can reject them before they do it to you. You toss your pearls at swine because it’s your only sense of control, the only way you can build that armor up around you so you never have to feel that way again.”

Jesus Christ, he’s right.

“Even now your armor’s on, knives out, ready for battle, but it doesn’t have to be.” The knob to the patio door twists open, unlatching just long enough to let the chorus of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” leak out into the air before he slams it shut with a mere wave of his hand.

“Did you just..?” You glance over at the door as the other patrons attempt to exit the building, their pounding on the heavy metal eventually dying down as they decide to give up their pursuit. He couldn’t have shut that door without even touching it, right? No, that’s not possible, that would be crazy. That would be magic, which would mean…

“These people are beneath you, you’ve always known that.” He ignores your inquiry.

“Have I?” You laugh, attempting to cover up just how right he continues to be, those eyes of his suddenly seeming to look straight into your soul. Maybe he actually is the god of mischief after all.

“You and I both know that’s why you always feel so alone in a room surrounded by people.” He places his hand on your cheek, the sudden act of intimacy freezing you in place. “Why you continue to feel hopelessly empty no matter what you do or where you go. You wouldn’t dare let any of them get close to you, not again, anyways. Because the last time you did that, every time you let someone see you… the real, raw and gentle you,” he leans in as if to kiss you, stopping just short of your lips as his words fade into a whisper. “They used it to hurt you, didn’t they?”

“Maybe.” You hold your breath as he brushes his mouth against yours, the warmth from his lips flushing your cheeks and fluttering down into your chest. How is he doing this? How is he reading you to absolute filth in the back of this random bar on a Thursday night?

Maybe you can suspend your disbelief for the time being and start believing in gods just for the night.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it would feel like to meet someone without all that armor on? Someone who sees you for exactly who you are?” He tilts your chin up toward him as he finally parts your lips with his, the kiss softer than you imagined; his sharp words and features a mere façade for what truly lies beneath.

“Instead of what they want you to be?” You finish his thought for him as he breaks the kiss, his lips now venturing over your cheeks and forehead as they turn into a smile.

“There you are.”

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