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dragon-of-dreams · 3 years

Text

Puzzling

My Masterlist

Part 5 to Cracking a Code

1; 2; 3; 4

Pairing: dark!Steve Rogers x Reader (fem)

Warnings: Swearing, gaslighting, stalking, aftermath of noncon, noncon touching, caregiving, but like by Steve, so not really, self-harm references (previous chapter, not premeditated), discussion of eating

Summary: Steve takes you home to “take care” of you.

A/n: I’m not super happy with this chapter… and maybe I’ll redo it sometime in the future, but I just wanted to give you an update. Sorry, that everything takes so long!

Word count: 2,300

The rest of the drive passed in a blur. Steve’s hand hardly left your thigh and you let him. You were so exhausted, you didn’t have the energy to fight him off anymore. You felt yourself retreating into your body, away from the reality of being groped in the fancy sports car of America’s bravest hero.

Steve helped you up the steps to your apartment. You’re entire body was shaking, leaving you on unsteady feet. If you didn’t know better you’d say you were coming down with a fever. But the reason for the shivers coursing through you was so much larger. Not something a few pills could fix. Steve gently led you into your home, almost as if he owned the place, deposited you on the couch, and covered you in a blanket. As he tucked you in, his hands respectful and his touch kind you surfaced for a brief second out of the hole of despair his comment in the car had put you in.

“There you are, angel.” Steve smiled as he noticed how your eyes started to focus a bit. “I’ll make you something to eat. I’ll be right back.” With that, he leaned in and placed the gentlest kiss on your forehead, before retreating to your kitchen. You watched him rummage around in the tiny space adjoining your living room. He looked at ease, at home, and oh so loving. Did yesterday really happen? you wondered. There they were again. Those thoughts you had to brandish all day yesterday as well. You started to stare off into the middle distance; once more slipping away from reality and the physical pain left in your body. You heard Steve tut slightly, the fridge door opening and closing, then the same sound from a bunch of your cabinet doors. Just as you wanted to call out to him, to ask if he needed help, a robotic response drilled into you by your mother, Steve appeared before you almost as if out of thin air. His gait as silent as any other predator’s.

“Darling,” he sounded concerned, “did you eat yet?”

You looked up at him, doe-eyed. “I.. uh… I must have. I have some overnight oats in the fridge, so if there are only three glasses in there, then yeah.” To be honest you couldn’t remember, nothing made sense.

“There’s four, darling… You really gotta eat breakfast! It’s important to keep your strength up, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah… I usually do. I promise” Why do I not wanna make him sad? Why do I want him to be proud of me? You thought bewildered, as you looked into Steve’s worried eyes before all semblance of structured thought left you again to the tide of confusion washing over you and pulling you under.

“Ok, babe, I trust you. I’ll make some now, okay? You just sit tight.” All you could do was nod. It was like it was all happening to someone else. You weren’t really here. You were so far away and so present at the same time that it hurt.

As Steve left you your mind went to war with itself.

Steve wasn’t a good guy. He wasn’t the hero on those posters, was he? But he was making you breakfast, he tucked you in. He sent Bucky to check on you. No… No, he sent Bucky to make sure you didn’t go to the police. Right? Right.

You could feel your mind shut off, drawing you down with it. All that happened, Steve’s non-linear behavior pushing you over the edge. Nothing made sense.

You barely noticed as Steve fed you breakfast, bite by bite, all that registered somewhere deep within you was his calm, deep guiding voice: “One more bite, there you go, good girl” all his encouragement mushing together in your brain, a soothing sensation flowing through your pain-addled brain.

After breakfast, you could feel Steve manipulate your body, as he wrapped himself around you and put on your favorite movie. As you lay there engulfed in the arms of this giant man, accompanied by the sounds of the movie you had watched a million times, you slowly started to become aware of yourself again. The body heat was so soothing and Steve’s deep humming voice pushed the fear that had kept you paralyzed further and further away. Making way for a seething rage, fickle but growing. As you tensed and readjusted your limbs Steve leaned forwards and kissed your temple. “I knew you were still in there, angel. I made some tea. It should still be hot. I put it in a thermos. Let’s talk okay?” Steve carefully helped you sit, every touch his, stoking the anger burning through you. Then, oblivious to the shift in your mood, he got up to grab the tea and cups as you looked around as if you were seeing your place for the first time. It no longer held the feeling of safety that comes with any good home. All you could see was Steve controlling you, in the TV that was slightly turned, the smell of his cologne on your couch, the dirty pans in the sink.

When Steve came back, your head was much clearer and you carefully reached for your cup and made sure to keep your distance from Steve as subtly as you could. Whatever was to come, was going to be important.

“You know darling, you will have to be nicer to Bucky. He’s only trying to help when I can’t be there. New York is dangerous, always has been. No one knows that better than me and Buck. He texted me, saying you were really rude on the train this morning, and quite frankly, darling, I’m disappointed that I even have to say this, but you have to appreciate what we do for you, okay?” Steve’s voice is calm, collected, and rational. There is nothing but honest concern in it for a moment it disrupts the anger building within you. “It’s time to play nice with Bucky now, okay? Be nice to him, maybe even as nice as you have been for me, understand?”

It’s the last sentence that sets you off, Steve’s expectant gaze, belittling you, that makes you blow your lid.

“What? What are you talking about? Play nice? I wasn’t being nice to you! I don’t want your protection or your attention, or Bucky’s for that matter!” Your voice is rising, as you grip your cup of tea so tight its heat sears your palms. “Get out of my life!” you yell. Then like a bucket of cold water realization sets in. Every muscle in Steve’s body tightens, you see his body expand with the change, looming over you, blacking out the window. You expect Steve to yell, beat you up, but when you dare to look up at his face, it is almost passive, but there is danger burning beneath his façade.

“I understand this is difficult for you.” Steve’s voice turns harder with every word. You notice the missing pet name like a slap to your face. “But I am getting pretty tired of this conversation. You need to rain in that attitude of yours, okay? Because I won’t tolerate you being a spoiled brat who doesn’t see what’s best for them. I’m looking out for you here, taking care of you, something you apparently struggle with,” with that Steve gestures at the remnants of your breakfast, the one he had to make for you, “and all I expect in return is some gratitude, towards me and towards Bucky. This is not up for discussion. And if you can’t behave, you’ll have to deal with the consequences, young lady. Is that understood?” By the end of his speech, Steve has risen to his feet, towering over you, his voice booming to fill your apartment, while you cower into the sofa. Your breathing is shallow and you are petrified. It feels too much like last night. When you didn’t have a choice either. And everything he was saying was making sense. New York was dangerous. And you really were terrible at feeding yourself correctly… Those oat thingies were just the newest thing you were trying in your never-ending quest to live more healthily… Usually, your job took preference over clean living. And Bucky hadn’t done anything to you either. He’d just been there to watch out for you… Steve, well… Steve really had done that, but he also held you today, when your brain shut down and made you food. He could have just left you at work, where you surely would’ve gotten nothing done or even caused trouble if you fucked up your work…

Shakily you nod and watch some of the tension leave Steve’s body and he crouches down in front of you. “Good, I knew you were smart like that. Now we can either go have a bath and soothe your body or you can freak out again and then I swear I’ll make you bear the consequences of your behavior for real this time. So what’s it gonna be, princess?”

You stare at him for a second. How is he so rational? Why does this all make sense? Authority has always been your weakness, and so you just nod because what the Captain says goes, and you learned that the hard way, and let Steve lead you to the bathroom. Maybe you will get to lay in his arms again and hear him praise you. It felt so good when he held you on the couch. You were safe in his arms. All you want is to be back in his embrace. Where the harsh reality can’t hurt you. So you allow Steve to strip you down, as hot water pours into your tub.

Suddenly Steve’s grip on your hip tightens painfully, as yanks your jeans off of you. You look down, scared, and find him staring at the bruises you must have caused yourself in the shower this morning when you were trying to wash the night away. “What is this? Explain, now!” he seethes and turns his scorching gaze towards you.

“I, when I showered, I, I just wanted to get clean…” you stammer.

“Clean? Clean! You hurt yourself! Jeez! How dare you do something like that to yourself? I really can’t let you out of my sight for one second, can I? Gotta watch you like a little kid!”

You feel a pang in your heart. You weren’t trying to be bad! You want to tell Steve, but he just turns off the water, grabs your upper arm, and drags you from the bathroom into your bedroom. As you stumble after him, you try to figure out what is happening.

“Steve?” you plead as he sits down on the bed and puts you over his lap.

“No, darling, not anymore. I have been way too kind to you so far, but apparently, the nice approach doesn’t work with you. So discipline is what you get.” He thunders, and then his hand is hitting your bum with enough force to make you scream. It happened so fast that your head is spinning.

As you lie across his lap everything felt like it’s wrapped in cotton. So much skin-to-skin contact fries your over-worked and touch-starved brain into submission as Steve’s hand is raining down on your ass, painting it crimson. You burst into tears without any control over yourself. “Steve,” you sob, “Steve please, I didn’t mean to, I swear, Steve!” and just as those words leave your mouth, he stops, picks you up, and hugs you close. Your nerve endings sing at the close contact and you sag into him, all tension leaving your body. His hands draw soothing circles on your back as he holds you tight.

“I got you baby.” Steve whispers as he settles you on the bed, “I know that hurt, but I needed you to see, you know?”

You cry and nod, burrowing into his hulking form hovering over you.

“I’ll make it better baby, I’ll make it all good, now,” Steve murmurs, as he leans in to kiss your forehead, while his right hand comes down and starts to play with your clit. “Oh darling, look at you! You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Only then do you register the slick coating your thighs, embarrassed you want to turn from him, but Steve cages you in. “It’s okay babe, no reason to be shy about it. There is nothing wrong with wanting your man. Really, it just shows that you understand my discipline with you. I’m real proud of you, angel, real proud.” He mutters as he spreads your lips and slips two fingers in. You can’t help but moan and arch into him.

Steve is nothing but kind and soft with you as he readjusts both of your bodies until he sinks into your heat, and you both moan in unison. “There we go, darling. See how good I can be for you? There we go.” As he starts moving, slow and deep within you peace settles over you. “I’ll make you forget all that pain, babe, it’ll all be gone in just a minute now.” His fingers are rubbing circles around your clit while he keeps murmuring sweet encouragements into your ears as you climb and climb towards an orgasm that is so deep that it leaves you boneless in Steve’s arms until he finishes with a broken grunt deep inside of you. As Steve settles you in his arms after you can’t remember the last time you felt this sated, as you drift into a deep sleep with Steve’s spend slowly trickling out of you. For a split second, before you fall asleep the horror of what is happening to you is clear in your mind, but then, thankfully, once more your exhaustion pulls you under.

#marvel #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #fan fic #captain america #modern!au #Steve Rogers #dark!Steve Rogers #dark Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #dark Steve Rogers x reader

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kyoupann · 4 years

Note

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like:

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels.

A chunk of his handwriting:

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your 4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine, defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life.

One of his letters would look like this:

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.- Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy - Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write. He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

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katsidhe · 3 years

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Hello as a long time silent lurker with post notifications on, and someone who has been very into the minecraft roleplay for about 9 months, I am oh so incredibly intrigued on your thoughts! I hope you don't mind if I ramble a little. Sam (both minecraft and spn, but in this context the minecraft one) is one of my favourite characters because he's so incredibly complex. The prison story has sparked so much discussion and conflict in this fandom, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you want to share!

oh noooooooooooo don’t enable me. (Jk <3)

I’m putting this under a read more for those of you who don’t want to be inflicted with my minecraft roleplay brain worms. I would apologize but I think we’re well past that.

So, like, full disclosure that I am pretty new to dsmp and am surely missing out on big ol swathes of Essential Character Content, etc etc. But I do know the basics, and I’ve (naturally) watched all the Torture Box Content, because I mean come on, that’s my brand.

k so First of all, THE most essential part of any media: x-coded y girl. Dream is a textbook Cas-coded Sam girl. Sam (Minecraft) is a Cas-coded Dean girl. Quackity is a Dean-coded Sam girl. I’d say Tommy is Dean-Dean. Techno is, hmm, Cas-Cas. Okay, important part done.

Minecraft Sam is very fun! I find it absolutely delightful that he clings to moral high ground while torturing and starving a prisoner. And at least from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of room for interpretation as to the level of guilt and involvement he actually feels about what’s being done to Dream. He goes back and forth between justifying the treatment as something Dream categorically deserves, and justifying it as a means to an end. Whether that end is the book itself, or whether it’s Quackity’s cooperation/satisfaction, or whether it’s some twisted and bloody sense of justice and duty, seems to vary wildly. On top of that, of course, is the irony that Dream was the one to give him this commission and this job in the first place: in every respect, it’s a duty to Dream (to punish him; to secure him; to uphold his rules) that Sam’s fulfilling. Dream isn’t the only one to suffer from Sam’s inflexibility surrounding the entire concept of Dream: Tommy and Ponk do too.

And yet it’s not the inflexibility that ends up hurting Dream the worst: it’s the gaps in that rigidity. If Sam had kept the prison operating as apparently originally commissioned, it would be inhumane but just about bearable: hardly the level of absurd, over-the-top war crime that it’s reached by now. His choice to begin starving Dream in earnest seems to have been mostly an emotional reaction, after Tommy’s death. (Ironic, too, that Tommy also suffered the result of this choice.) And this is fine, because it’s not active: it’s passive, something that’s happening by inaction. Same with giving Quackity specially made weapons and total carte blanche.

The level of trust that Dream has in Sam’s sense of duty is also fascinating. Even as late as the most recent stream, after the guy’s been permitting him to be tortured for months, Dream appeals to Sam’s need to keep Dream static, in one place as his prisoner, in order to save his life. Incidentally, I do think that convincing Sam to keep Quackity from straight-up murdering him is the only concession Dream was actually hoping to win with that conversation. because like, food and a courtyard visit? after a jail break? Like hell is Sam going to grant that, even before the stunt he and Techno pulled, and Dream knows it. I think that the rest of that conversation was just to deflect, and keep Sam from questioning Dream more sharply about whatever he and Techno have planned. Bringing up Tommy and letting Sam go off on his predictable diatribe about morality and just desserts seemed similarly strategic: Dream knows what Sam thinks about what kind of treatment he deserves. He’s had months to figure it out, and it wasn’t exactly rocket science to begin with.

Anyway, that trust is the same reason Dream appealed (unsuccessfully) to Sam when Quackity first showed up: it devastated him to realize that he’d miscalculated the degree of Sam’s willingness to set aside his duty in this one particular way. Quackity in general represents a HUGE blind spot in Sam’s otherwise completely rigid inflexibility: so huge it’s almost baffling, given what Sam was ready to do to Tommy and Ponk and Ghostbur. But Quackity represents a loophole Sam badly wants. He badly, badly wants some good old-fashioned vengeance, without dressing it up with any pretensions of procedure or justice, but he can’t allow himself to actively act on those impulses—or else he would be Bad, and he can’t have that. He has to believe himself to be Good, and he wants to indulge himself with Dream’s suffering anyway. So he explains that, actually, Dream’s treatment is Dream’s own fault. It’s hilariously deluded.

Which brings me to Quackity, because what makes Quackity fun is that he’s actually NOT hilariously deluded—not about this, at least. Unlike Sam, he’s not laboring under the insane mental acrobatics necessary to convince himself that torture is Good Actually. He knows that what he’s doing is terrible, but he owns it: he’s fine admitting that he enjoys it, that he’s doing this for personal gain and personal vengeance and not for reasons of high-minded civic duty. He’s justifying the torture with brutal simplicity: Dream has hurt him and Dream has something he needs, done and done. He seems to be a firm believer in vengeful and disproportionate retribution, just as with his whole Butcher Army thing. To which I say, neat and fun! I also really really enjoy the power dynamic between him and Dream. Dream is someone who commands respect and fear and power, who could murder Quackity with one hand tied behind his back if they were on equal footing, and who probably barely spared him a thought as a threat. Quackity lives in terror of the thought of Dream escaping and wreaking his vengeance. And Quackity is trying his very best to wrestle that power away from him.

He seems to be pretty unpracticed and ineffective at torture, too—like, yeah, I get this is Minecraft and props are limited, but torturing someone long-term with an ax and a sword is going to be more than a bit unwieldy. and did he even bring in health potions his first day? It’s pretty telling and hilarious that Sam is the one who offers the shears, a far more practical choice of tool. Not to mention that the entire premise of his interrogation gives Dream massive, massive incentive to never give Quackity anything. Quackity straight up admits to Dream that the information he wants is the only reason he’s letting Dream live, which is utterly counterproductive if he wants the book sometime this year. Functionally, he needs to torture Dream not merely into admission, but into suicide. And as the days and weeks and months pass, he’s still got nothing to show for it but growing vindictiveness, paranoia, and frustration. By the time of the latest stream, he’s completely lost the plot—his threats don’t even make sense, his violence is ineffective and unhinged and indiscriminate. He’s lost all leverage and he’s needlessly (re)made a powerful enemy in Technoblade.

So, like, characters like Lucifer are fun because they’re good at torture. Characters like Quackity are fun because they’re bad at torture. But that doesn’t much matter. He doesn’t need to be particularly talented, or strong, or skilled to make Dream’s existence hell: the bare facts of the situation are more than enough for that. What does he learn, over the course of these visits—what skills does he hone, what kinds of violence does he discover that he can stomach? What depths of ruthlessness and creativity and hatred does he discover within himself? What threats does he make that he finds himself following through on before he’s even thought through the implications? It’s a learning curve, for him and Dream both. They’re learning each other, they’re learning the corners of this little hell together. Dream wasn’t expecting him to be capable of this degree of hostility or violence. Quackity is sick of being underestimated.

Which brings me finally to Dream. My general and hastily-gleaned impression of the fandom gives me the distinct impression that there is somehow a school of thought convinced Dream’s earned this treatment? Which baffles me. not only in how its absurd extremity (daily torture in a tiny box for literal months, jesus fucking christ) isn’t something even the most terrible villain could earn, but also in how Dream himself strikes me more as a morally gray fallen/falling antihero type than anything else. I was honestly completely prepared to find him to be a straightforward Bad Guy pre-prison, but that’s not at all my impression. He’s clearly got people and things he cares about and wants to protect, and big picture goals he’ll ruthlessly sacrifice anything to advance (ahem Cas-coded Sam girl). Really, it’s more that roleplays don’t tend to lend themselves easily to those types of narrative classification: nearly every character is a POV character; consuming the content from every perspective is nearly impossible. There aren’t super neat ways to sort antagonists and protagonists in essential terms, only in their relationships to one another. In terms of manipulation, war crimes, power-grabbing, and general destruction, practically everyone on the server is guilty to some degree or another. Dream’s treated Tommy pretty damn terribly, but that hardly makes him unique. What does make Dream unique is that he’s been singled out for near-universally-agreed-upon confinement (which oh so conveniently aligns with him being held as a tool, for information). And that’s neat!

…Look, tldr I just like it when people are in torture boxes. more media should have torture boxes, they are good and fun.

#not spn #anyway nonny I would LOVE to chat more about this tbh #suicide mention #torture #dsmp for ts

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ravenbloodau · 4 years

Text

The Voyages Of Ker'Tak and Skye Episode 2: Departure

Now, Ker'Tak and Skye had gotten along for quite awhile. Not six months ago had Ker'Tak's ship arrived on Earth, and not six months ago had the Human Skye befriended Ker'Tak in a rather peculiar way.

On instinct, they got along. In logic, that wasn't always the case.

"Ker'Tak, I honestly don't get it! Why can't they talk to one another and get it over with?" Human Skye asked during her training with her new phaser.

"Stay focused!" Ker'Tak called, "If you do not pass this exam, they will not allow you on the Starship."

"I am focused!" Skye called back as she shot down the rest of the targets. Her accuracy was lethal, "I just want to understand what makes this conflict tick."

"Very good," Ker'Tak complimented Skye, who was more impatient than ever, "This conflict is especially important because of the prey-predator relationship between the two species. One greatly fears the other, while the other wishes strict dominance and is bargaining for a one-sided agreement."

"So prey can't stand up to predator, predator wants to take advantage of that fear?" Skye asked as she holstered her phaser.

"Precisely," Ker'Tak nodded as she approached them.

"Ah, you see that makes more sense," Skye nodded as she registered her weapon and her personelle code into the computer.

Ker'Tak nodded as they made their way to the medbay, where each Skye was being taught medicine under Ker'Tak.

They had watched her take to the practice quiet easily, memorizing and practicing diagnoses, learning symptoms, performing low-risk surgeries, learning anatomy and biological factors.

Ker'Tak was rather proud of bringing this youngling into the feild of medical sciences.

Skye was quietly taking on one of the greatest mysterious illnesses of the Universe, one that plagued the Si'Nain's.

"Ker'Tak," A week seemed to fly by, "Ker'Tak come look at this," Skye was inviting them over to look into a petri dish she had grown for the week.

"Is this what you've been working on?" Ker'Tak peered over their student's shoulder.

"Yep, it looks more like a bacterial infection rather than a virus as you suspected. The rate of reproduction and the number of colonies suggests it's airborne. It's possible to take care of it with a few antibiotics, but which kind would be most effective?" Skye started theorizing.

"Erm, Human Skye?" Ker'Tak got her attention just as she got up to pace, "If we've been treating this as a viral infection, it's possible humans may be at risk to catch this. We've been administering a vaccine for it."

Skye looked over and shrugged.

"Actually, I had the shot, turns out that it's one of our kinds stomach flora, very rarely can it hurt us, so we'll feel little affect, and as soon as I can draw up an antibacterial that won't hurt Si'Nains, I daresay it'll hardly be a problem anymore," Skye chuckled as she continued to pace, "In fact, with your antivirals, and our antibacterials, we may have found the solution to 85% of illnesses within the Universe, at least for the time being."

Ker'Tak nodded, "You never seem to focus on the details, everything is in a bigger picture. You humans perplex me.."

Skye looked up.

"Well, yea. If I were constantly focused on the details, I might miss what the bigger picture might have to show me, or what I could learn from other peices of the picture," Skye explained, "It's better to have a balance. To see the bigger picture and to focus on the details, but never selecting one in complete priority over the other."

Ker'Tak nodded, understandably a bit baffled by Skye's untimely wisdom. After all, she was 17 Earth years. Yet still oddly wise for her age, even in comparison to Ker'Tak. Although approximately 457 Earth Years old, Ker'Tak was the equivalent of a teenager in Si'Nain society.

The two left the lab, talking rather excitedly too, about possible cures, human medicine, Si'Nain cures, life cycles, wise "crack" wisdom.

They passed by other human volunteers, and in an instant Skye would say Hello, then return to her present conversation with Ker'Tak.

Ker'Tak happily listened to her ramble about the endless possibilities of the medical feild, now armed with knowledge that was far beyond her species' own.

"I mean, we could cure cancer! Stop HIV, end most chronic illnesses! Cure allergies!" Skye laughed heartily, "It's an open ocean of possibility Ker'Tak!"

Skye's laughter pinged in Ker'Tak's mind as a happy thing, loud and full.

"So, Human Skye, we disembark from Earth in approximately two Earth days, have you packed all your things?" Ker'Tak changed topics as this moving away from home was weighing on Skye's mind.

"Yep! Everything's already in my new quarters! The Captain said it was surprising how fast I was ready to move out. Honestly I need a change in scenery anyways!" Skye chirped rather cheerful.

Ker'Tak nodded mindfully waiting as Skye jumped ahead. A unique trait in humans was the oddly boundless impatience. Ker'Tak would have to add that to the manual.

She was relentlessly helpful, and open with the crew. Some found her honesty quite alarming, but Skye's endless innocent gaze got them to follow suit.

The departure from Earth was bittersweet for Skye.

"This opens up a new chapter in my life, Ker'Tak. Ooooh! I can't wait to see the stars up close!" Skye's excitement reflected in her squeal-speak.

Ker'Tak chuckled at the enthusiasm. Skye had spirit they had never seen before, they could admit that.

It took 3 months to sort 95% of human issues in space out, and outside of the rough introduction to life star-side, Skye was getting the hang of things.

She soon surpassed Ker'Tak in knowledge and ability, but refused a rank higher than theirs at every offer.

"I may be smart, but I still have plenty to learn from Ker'Tak! Plus, they're a great teacher, and much wiser than I am!" Skye would use the same excuses, even if most of them were no longer true.

So why does she stay? Ker'Tak found themselves pondering, She can't be that naive, can she? I told her everything about the High Council, and she's in her prime to rise to the top of the Council.

"Ker'Tak?" Skye's voice came over the comm. She sounded scared, almost in some kind of pain, "Could you come to my quarters please?"

"On my way," Ker'Tak responded strictly, walking down the halls of the ship post-haste.

They arrived to an open door, and a pained groaning coming from within. The lights above flickered, and torn fabric was strewn about.

"Human Skye?" Ker'Tak called upon entry into the dark room.

"Ker'Tak?" Skye's voice weakly drifted from her bed chamber, "Help.."

Ker'Tak hurried into the room, seeing Skye holding her arm, and tears running down her cheeks as another man stood in front of her.

Ker'Tak called for security.

"YOU BITCH! YOU SAID HE WOULDN'T CALL!" The man hit Skye with a blade, angry and hateful thoughts filled his mind.

This wild rage towards the wounded Skye insulted Ker'Tak. They watched as the man knocked Skye out, and as this stranger turned towards Ker'Tak.

"YOU BASTARD!" The man was clearly drunken, but Ker'Tak paid no mind to this fact. In fact, they felt an inexplicable need to protect young Skye. Ker'Tak felt...Close to her, in some way, as a friend. They had felt this pack bond to her grow stronger over the past nine months, as they had to come to know her on a personal level one would save for family, lovers, even, in Si'Nain society.

Skye was like Ker'Tak's little sister at this point.

Ker'Tak drew up his personal defensive weapon (PDW), and readied themselves for the man's attack.

The man swung low, striking Ker'Tak along his abdomen with the blade. Ker'Tak opened fire and stunned the man.

The thud of the man's body called attention to the room.

Ker'Tak carefully took up the unconscious Skye in their arms, muttering to themselves on how naive Skye had been to trust an inebriated man like that.

She shuddered in their arms as security came and took the man to a holding cell for the evening.

"Skye, you've got to stop being so-" Ker'Tak stopped talking. Something heavy was on Skye's mind, they could feel it in their sudden change in pitch.

"Please, just..Take me to the medbay," She whimpered. Ker'Tak felt their face go hot, enraged now.

The human concept of revenge is far from what Ker'Tak would call their next set of actions.

The Captain stared down the Doctor.

"You could have slaughtered that man," The Captian started harshly, "Doctor Ker'Tak, tell me what provoked such violent transgression against Human Gabriel."

Ker'Tak stood at attention. They weren't sure how to word this. So they reported the incident before the further harm of Gabriel.

The Captain perked up in interest upon learning of Gabriel's transgressions against Skye and Ker'Tak. The Captain sighed and nodded.

"I understand. Ker'Tak, you cannot take justice like that into your own hands. You are a Doctor, and although you have every right to defend yourself and your student, next time leave the reprimands and punishments of such crimes to me. Revenge is reckless," The Captain let Ker'Tak off with a warning, "This will not be going on your record, but please, refrain from such actions in the future."

Ker'Tak nodded, and thanked the Captain before being dismissed from the room.

Ker'Tak returned to the Medbay, the dull throbbing in their abdomen warning them that they would need another regenerate soon.

They pushed it out of their mind as they saw a frazzled human Skye trying to keep up with everything headed her way.

Ker'Tak took her by the shoulders and carefully leaned down. She froze, suddenly terrified.

"It's just me, Human Skye," Ker'Tak noticed her breathing get noticeably easier.

"Ah, thank god. Another regenerate right?" Skye asked them.

"Yes," Ker'Tak nodded and Skye handed them the injector.

She walked away, trying to keep herself busy. Being hurt the way she had just been wasn't something so easily brushed aside.

"Skye, take your break," Ker'Tak offered. She shook her head.

"No, I have to do better. I need to keep it together and to keep going. This is just a bad day. I can get over it," Skye sounded like she was lying to herself.

Ker'Tak shook their head, looking down at the bandages wrapped around her arms, and the bruises showing up on her face.

Ker'Tak walked over, picked Skye up from where she was standing, laid her down on a cot, and sat beside her.

"Rest. You're badly hurt. And dehydrated from all the crying," Ker'Tak scolded Skye half heartedly.

Skye sat there a moment, then reluctantly rolled onto her side. Quickly, she found herself dozing into a restless sleep, terrified and on edge..

Until the warmth of a friendly hug from behind calmed her down.

The first true lesson Ker'Tak kept in mind from that evening?

Not even humans can always trust those of their own kind, and all will resort to violence to either protect themselves or get what they want. Si'Nians were lucky they found a teenager to make first contact with.

Fear, hatred and ignorance are the enemy.

-High Council of Planets Rule Of Conduct #10

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undeadwicchan · 5 years

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I would say it's less EF's mourning a character that never existed and more like Adam just wasn't... A character. He just was. He existed for no other reason than to be a tool for development. The White Fang plot was entirely shelved and given to Ghira, Kali and Ilia to resolve it off-screen in the V5 finale. You have to at least agree there is a discrepancy with how Adam was written in V2 and how he ended up being like.1/2

And also I don’t see people shitting on Ilia for ALSO being an adult of age during the Adam Trailer. I see people calling Adam a pedophile grooming a young and impressionable Blake, which he may have been doing, but we don’t know because again he just… Is. He has no backstory, no true motivation, no… Essence. Ilia is better but let’s not excuse her just because she’s a girl and female characters seem to get preferential treatment in the FNDM. She, too, was doing the same to young Blake. (2/2)

(Okay, so it took awhile to answer this ask because not only this anon wrote me two paragraphs for this one so I wanted my response to be longer than usual. But, I accidentally refreshed the page while answering this ask, so I lost a bit of motivation, and now I’m writing all of my responses to any asks on Google Docs from this point on.)

I will agree that there is a bit of discrepancy in his writing. Let me start with Volume 3’s Adam.

Volume 3 Adam was a mostly calm and collected high ranking member of the White Fang with the Vale branch under his leadership. He didn’t want any part in human affairs at all, especially if it’s going to concern the wellbeing of his fellow faunus brethren. While on the other hand, he was violent and hostile towards humans, showing a complete lack of compassion towards them. He didn’t seemingly show any care regarding Blake leaving either until he rencounters her while he’s at Beacon and harming other innocent people.

Now I’m clearly not defending Adam’s actions here as I most definitely have been calling him out on his abusive shit. However, I would like to analyze his little “I will destroy everything you love” promise towards Blake is not just out of him being petty, but going by how the White Fang runs things when there’s a traitor or someone that tries to leave the White Fang. A example on one of them being Tukson. Tukson was a former member of the White Fang and tried to go into hiding after leaving, but then ends up getting hunted down and killed for doing so. Sienna threatens Adam with execution for bringing in a human in their base of operations and considers it a act of betrayal towards the White Fang. It’s terrifyingly considered the NORM around their organization to do something like that. However, Adam went even further with Blake’s punishment for leaving the White Fang. Instead of outright killing her as per apparent code of conduct within the White Fang, he promises to kill everything she loves. So she can know how it feels to be truly alone and perhaps beg for death or/and forgiveness from him. It’s a incredibly cruel and abusive promise towards Blake and just shows how merciless, cold, and sadistic Adam can be towards even someone who he used to consider ‘dear’ to him. He wanted to see Blake suffer for her betrayal plain and simple. What a “lovely” guy he is.

Now THIS is where they messed up. Adam’s combat prowess and how powerful he is. He easily tosses aside Blake like her combat prowess was nothing compare to his own which makes sense considering he was her mentor, but the power gap between them was insanely huge to the point it felt like he was more of a near-end game boss. And, then came the part where he easily slices Yang’s arm off. He even casually cuts down a Grimm that went towards him. And the fact that CINDER didn’t even want to use force with Adam until she got at least half of the Fall Maiden’s powers says a lot about how strong he really is. Adam is a incredibly competent fighter this is supported furthermore during his own character short on just how easily Adam tosses aside his enemies like they’re nothing compared to him. In Volume 4, it was reported that any huntsmen or police force that tried to apprehend him has been met with brutal force by his hand meaning he’s clearly stronger than the average huntsmen. With this imagery and knowledge they added for him, CRWBY had to keep him an incredible threat towards our heroes right? Well…. Then comes Volume 5’s Adam.

There were indeed some considerable changes to Adam (and not just his clothes), as a character and as a fighter. First off without hardly any proper context on explaining his new behavior that came about. Adam went from what I described him as in Volume 3 to a incredibly hot-headed, conceited, with a lack of compassion for anyone but himself, and was willing to harm other faunus for his own selfish goals. Like Sienna Khan for example, whom he was willing to kill off with no remorse merely in order to have Salem no longer worry about Sienna’s compliance and Adam would become the new High Leader of the White Fang. Another thing is that Adam is way more mentally unhinged and incredibly willing to go to war with humanity alongside Salem if it’ll mean that humanity will serve the faunus as the end results. And the reasons why? There’s nothing to explain this change because all we can do is assume on what changed him, like I’m assuming that Salem and Adam actually had a talk at one point in Volume 4 that was never shown. Not only that, but he’s incredibly obsessed with Blake like as many said he’s acting like the “crazy and obsessive ex-boyfriend’. Had Adam not tried to send assassins at Ghira and Kali, I doubt Blake’s plan would work and Adam would have been able to destroy Haven as he had planned with Salem and the other members in her circle. Hell, in his own words to Blake back in Volume 3.

“I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love.”It was HIS OWN personal mission yet, he didn’t bother to travel down to Menagerie to do the job himself once he learns of Blake’s location? Volume 5 did have some questionable writing every now and then but, this. Yeah…I don’t even know…

Now this is the part where I’ve heard fans say “Adam was nerfed!” and I agree very much at this portion of Volume 5 (I’d argue while in Volume 6 that Adam wasn’t nerfed and was just blinded by so much rage, he became reckless). While I do so much love how Blake told off Adam, her abuser, and it was a strong point for Blake’s character in the series. This also hurts how much of a threat Adam is, especially considering from what we were told and and seen about how powerful he is as a fighter in Volumes 3 and 4. Volume 5’s ending was rushed quite a lot with so much getting resolved fairly quickly, I was honestly expecting Adam’s time as the High Leader of the White Fang to go on for so much more longer. I would like to point out is that, wouldn’t have Adam noticed something is wrong by now when Corsac or Fennec didn’t attempt to contact him for a whole month? But, that’s just me. The whole White Fang plot line was done after five volumes and it honestly didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would have and feel it should have at least concluded during the Atlas arc considering that’s where the most discrimination against the faunus is at.

Now onto Ilia. I don’t think she did any part in grooming Blake at all compared to Adam who was heavily implied for it considering she might have been roughly the same age as Blake, and even then she never really had any intentions to do so. Let me explain about their ages, using Adam. In the first scene of his character short. Look at Adam’s coat, you don’t see ANY patterns on it, not even his own emblem was on there! Let’s go to the next scene which is where it appears the other White Fang members are already wearing masks that were probably Adam’s little heist buddies back in Mantle. Not only does Adam have his markings on his mask, but his emblem and that dash of white are on his coat. Ghira was still the High Leader here, and then when we move onwards to the scene with Adam and Blake. Where there still aren’t any new additions to Adam’s coat, meaning their conversation in Forever Fall took place a long time ago because this was way before Adam was promoted to lead the Vale branch. Yet, if we look at Blake she doesn’t look younger at all. I personally, wouldn’t determine their age based on their character model when Adam hasn’t really shown to not age a day, and we can only tell just by how many patterns to his coat he added. It would really help if we knew the exact age for both Adam and Ilia.

“But, Barbara and Arryn said–” Look, I take VA comments on characters with a grain of salt to be honest. I’d feel more comfortable if I heard it from Miles or Kerry on how old Adam actually is. Especially considering the RWBY Wiki actually removed Adam’s age because of this.

Honestly, I don’t understand why there’s been hate or backlash on Ilia for supposedly ‘stealing’ Adam’s role? Am I the only Adam fan here that likes Ilia? Adam wasn’t going to be redeemable or have a redemption arc, he may have had a extremely traumatic and abusive past, but again that doesn’t excuse his actions towards others.

While it would be nice to learn more about Adam’s backstory and motivation, this is Ruby’s, Weiss’s, Blake’s, and Yang’s story where they are the main characters after all.

#RWBY #Adam Taurus #Asks #Anon #rwby spoilers

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lonely-little-lovely · 7 years

Text

The Stars We Sew pt. 4

Chapter 1: https://morrigansss.tumblr.com/post/158572155526/the-stars-we-sew-pt-1

Chapter 2: https://morrigansss.tumblr.com/post/160844066961/the-stars-we-sew-pt-2

Chapter 3: https://morrigansss.tumblr.com/post/161335282431/the-stars-we-sew-pt-3

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of non consensual sex

"From Lorcan's expression, I take it you didn't find Athril's ring," Fenrys said as he slid into the blood sworn's typical booth at The Fire Drake, one of their favorite pubs. Lorcan snarled at him, but Fenrys only spared him a passing glance before turning to Kosmina. There was a tankard of ale in front of her, but she was nursing her flask instead. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her without it somewhere on her person. Her hair was in the typical wily braids she used for battle, this time with two smaller braids by each ear, the rest plaited back from her face, which was wearing a mask of cruel amusement.

He considered Mina a friend in the same sense that Lorcan and Rowan were friends: through alcohol and bedding women (and men, in Mina's case) and bloody victories. He'd never seen her without it, though; that mask of cruel indifference. Only Gavriel and Vaughan and occasionally Lorcan saw her without that mask. He knew it was a mask, though, knew her better than she'd probably be comfortable with.

"Oh yes," she drawled. "We're all quite put out by it." She took a long draw from the flask. "There was nothing note worthy in Rune at all, unless you call skinwalkers note worthy."

"Hardly," he said as he grabbed her untouched ale.

She glanced at him. "I'm not done with that."

He grinned, but slid it back to her. "Do you even drink regular ale, Mina?"

"I do when I've been in the thrilling company of Lorcan for too long," she said, but he knew she did not mean it. If there were a person the bastard Commander could call a real friend, it was Kosmina Moreno. Ignoring Lorcan's crude gesture in her direction, she asked, "Vaughan left, correct?"

Whitethorn had once told him that Mina and Vaughan had been as thick as thieves for as long as he could remember, though Fenrys didn't know why Mina was so apt to befriend moody bastards who hated almost everyone. Vaughan was more morose in the sense that Lorcan was standoffish, but did it really matter? They were both still assholes. "Did you really think he'd be waiting around for you to come back, or is that REALLY all that he does?"

"Careful," she purred.

"No, please, go on," said Lorcan. "Antagonize her. Maybe she'll do us all a favor and FINALLY mist your tongue and lips."

Fenrys grinned at him. "Mina likes to look at me too much to mar my handsome face."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I'll still have Connall's pretty face to gaze upon in my most dire hours."

Lorcan's smile turned nasty. "I wonder who Maeve would have to warm her bed if you were... permanently damaged." A low blow. They both knew Maeve would simply use Connall.

Fenrys went lower. "Well, we certainly know it won't be you." It was a known fact among the blood sworn and some outside of their inner circle that Lorcan was in love with Maeve. Fenrys had no rutting clue why, but he DID know that Lorcan had once offered to bed their Queen, and she had laughed in his face. He'd learned that little tidbit from a drunk Vaughan decades ago, who had undoubtedly learned from Kosmina. And, since Mina's alcohol tolerance was somehow higher than all of theirs and none of them had actually witnessed her drunk, she could not blame alcohol for spilling Lorcan's secret.

She remained quiet during this exchange and as Lorcan's eyes darkened, and Fenrys knew she would not interject until the subject had changed. She never partook in mocking him about his duties in Maeve's bedroom, just as he never mocked her for her duties to whoever Maeve told her to bed. That was their silent understanding, their code; because they were the same. Maeve's whores. Lorcan's lips pulled back from his teeth, and he was obviously about to retort something scathing when Whitethorn stalked through the crowd, grabbed a chair someone had been about to sit in, and joined their table.

"Group therapy?" He asked, and Lorcan rolled his eyes.

"You've saved me," said Mina. "Lorcan was about to leap over the table to strangle Fenrys. They would have spilled my ale." As if to make a point, she finally took a gulp of it, chasing it with her flask.

Lorcan jerked his chin at his General. "When do you depart for Varese?"

"Not for two days," Rowan said. Then to Mina, "I need you to winnow me there." Winnowing- it was an incredible luxury, and the favorite of Mina's powers among them all, though misting was quite nifty, too.

She did that casual one shoulder shrug again. "I am needed in Varese anyways." Translation: Maeve was forcing her to fuck Galan one more time before the Prince went blockade running. A pause, and then, "Do try not to kill that princess."

"Good riddance," sneered Lorcan. "Shameful, abandoning her country to become an assassin."

"Yes," said Mina thoughtfully. "Almost as shameful as us not aiding Terrassen." Lorcan's head whipped to her, and Fenrys didn't bother to hide his snicker. The Commander often forgot that though she did not publicly protest, Kosmina was no fan of their Queen.

"Careful," said Lorcan, repeating her earlier word. She only smiled softly and took a slug of her flask.

Come to my bed. The words snaked through Fenrys’ brain, and he stiffened. Rowan and Lorcan were busy bantering back and forth, and even if they had noticed, they wouldn't have cared. But Mina... their gazes met, and though the rest of her face was impassive, there was understanding in her violet eyes.

"I'm needed," he said tightly, and she nodded. She did not ask if he wanted to be winnowed back, knew he would want to walk so he could delay Maeve as much as possible. He tossed a copper on the table for his drinks, nodded to the three remaining at the table, and wove through the crowd, a sour taste already in his mouth.

She is sixteen.

She's also pretty sure Lorcan is TRYING to make her hate him with the brutal morning sessions before she's off to learn battle plans and Wendlyn culture and what not, whatever the tutors decide she is most inept at for the day. What Lorcan does not understand is Mina can't possibly hate him. He's prickly, but he saved her life. Gavriel once told her that it had actually been him who had seen her fall from the sky, and if he hadn't, then Gavriel wouldn't have even found her and healed her. She'd be dead.

So no, she cannot hate Lorcan.

He walks next to her, scowl on his face, but she knows him well enough to know that it will dissipate into something an inkling softer as soon as they enter Maeve's court room. Mina can understand why. Who could ever hate Maeve? Mina still wakes up screaming for her brothers or her mother or even her father. She still feels phantom pains every once in a while, in her back where two mighty wings should be. She still cannot look at the sky the same. Maybe she never will. But at least she has a place here, in this strange world.

Maeve is on her throne, pale legs crossed, the picture of elegance in her long black gown. Kosmina smiles just to see her before her eyes slide to Gavriel. He looks in pain. Has something happened?

The Queen first addresses Lorcan. "How is she fairing in training?"

"Her form is poor, Majesty," answers Lorcan, but before she can bristle because she STILL doesn't see how Fae fighting stances are so superior to Illyrian ones (even if she barely remembers the stances Cas taught her), he adds, "But she is improving greatly." He's never complimented her before.

Maeve seems to realize this as well, because her lips curl. "Come here, dear." Mina does so eagerly, curtsying at the foot of the throne. She's still surprised when Maeve brushes her hair from her face. She's sweaty and grimy and there's a little blood on her left temple, yet the Queen doesn't seem to mind. "And how do you think it is going, my Mina?"

My Mina. Such a motherly thing to say to the girl without a mother. Mina beams. "I think it is fairing well, Your Majesty. Lorcan is a great teacher." He rolls his eyes at her at that, but not maliciously.

"That's good to hear," Maeve says. "I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that your afternoon lessons have been cancelled."

HELL. YES. Still, she tries to school her reaction. "Thank you, my Queen. May I ask why?" She glances at Gavriel, who is averting his gaze. "Has something happened?"

"You need not worry. I've only a mission for you, since you've been so eager to repay me for my gratitude."

Mina immediately perks up. "Anything."

That pleases Maeve greatly. "I am having a guest from our neighboring kingdom. Prince Kristoff. He arrives tomorrow." A pause. "Prince Kristoff has been very naughty. He took an amulet of great importance to me. I need you to get it back."

Behind her, Lorcan stiffens, as if to protest that she is not ready, but Mina speaks before he can, anger already burning in her gut at this Prince. "Of course, Your Majesty. What do you need me to do?" Behead him? Challenge him to a duel for the amulet? Sneak into his room to assassinate him?

No such thing leaves Maeve's mouth. "Prince Kristoff has a penchant for young Fae females. I need you to use that to get the amulet back."

Her words sink in. "You... you want me to bed him?" Maeve nods. "But... but I've never..."

The Queen cocks her head. "Did you not just tell me you'd do anything, my Mina? Is this not anything?"

"No, of course I-"

"You do not want to misplace my generosity, do you?" Another lengthy pause. "You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

And that-that is what does it. Because she is young, and so naive, and disappointing Maeve in her mind is perhaps the worst thing she can do. "Never, Majesty," she says fiercely. "C-consider it done."

Kosmina shook off the memory, adding more spice to the stew she was making. It was some time in the early morning, and the cooks were long asleep- not that they would stop her even if they'd been in the kitchen. She'd been cooking for centuries and was more skilled than all of them. And this was for Fenrys, who would be done servicing the Queen hopefully soon.

Her mind bounced to another memory, of Kristoff, of his hands around her throat as he-

No. No. She shook it off, forcefully added more liquor to the meat she was sauteing in a pan.

She had been so young, back when she still loved Maeve. And she had thought... she had thought that it would be a one time thing. But since she had had so little control over her ability to change emotions at the time, she'd accidentally made Kristoff fall in love with her. No, he had not loved her. He did not know how to love. What she had twisted inside him had been a sick obsession. Maeve had used it to her advantage, sent Mina back again and again and again until she finally gave the order for her to take a sword and cut off his head. At the time, it had been empowering. Now, though, it was just a reminder of what she'd been forced to do.

Because the Queen had not stopped there. After Kristoff, it was another male, and another, and another, and then a female. At that point, Maeve used the same line that she had first used-"You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you, Mina?"- to get her to swear the blood oath. She'd promised that if there ever was a way for Mina to get back to her universe, she'd free her of the oath. Kosmina was no longer blind. She no longer thought her Queen a Saint. Maeve would never let her go.

Her fate had been sealed the moment she'd walked into the throne room with that amulet.

There was a shift behind her, and she glanced to the door, where Fenrys had appeared. His clothes were ruffled, a hatred in his eyes so deep it surpassed even hers, but it diminished as his nostrils flared at the smell of food. He grinned tiredly. "Mina stew." 'Mina stew' was a favorite dish of hers among the Cadre- in fact, she was surprised Lorcan and Rowan and whoever else wasn't off on missions weren't already up here for their fill of it.

"I thought you could use it," she told him. His nod was almost imperceptible as he took a seat at the table. "It will be ready in about five minutes." She finished up quickly, sprinkling some salt into it and basil on top as a final touch before pouring two bowl's worth and moving to the table to sit across from him.

She didn't know what she had with Fenrys. They weren't exactly friends- not in the way she was with Vaughan or Gavriel or Lorcan. But they had an understanding. "Where's Connall?" she asked him.

His mouth tightened. "On a mission." Which meant he was stuck here for now. They were never allowed to leave together.

"When does he return?"

He sneered. "When does Vaughan?" When she raised an eyebrow, he immediately snapped out of whatever state he was in and grimaced. "I apologize."

"That's alright," she said, because it was. She understood more than anyone. Thus their understanding.

They didn't speak for a while, but despite him snapping at her, it was not an uncomfortable silence. And when the feelings of agony and hatred and something else, something deeper, finally stopped crashing off of him into her in waves, she might have slumped just a little in relief.

#crossover fic #oc #acomaf crossover #tog crossover #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #throne of glass #crown of midnight #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rhysand's inner circle #acomaf fanfiction #tog fanfiction

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find-your-rp-partner · 7 years

Text

Looking for a OnexOne Longterm Roleplay Partner

Hello All!

I’m Courtney, I’m 24 years old living in the Eastern Time Zone of the US of A. I’ll get down to the nitty gritty of what I’m looking for in a Roleplay partner. I’m not at all interested in Fandoms. I only am interested in roleplaying with original characters and ultimately in collaborating with someone on a story. I’ve got a plot (sort of, wanting to develop it more with a potential partner) and I’m going to actually post a little taste of what I’ve written so far to see if that would give potential partners an idea of where I’m coming from. But I'm completely open to coming up with something new as well.

First lets get a few details out of the way. Please be 18+ as smut and violence are inevitable in my stories. Also, be comfortable roleplaying multiple characters, I have a Female and Male character for this story and I expect that you would be willing to develop at least two or more characters for this as well. I only roleplay smut with heterosexual pairings however as that is what I’m most comfortable with.

Second, be open with ideas. I feel like collaboration is an open sharing process and I never want any of my partners to feel too afraid to pitch an idea or contribution to the plot.

Third, I only roleplay over Skype or kik as it’s the quickest when it comes to responses though since I work full time those responses typically are maybe 2-3 times a day. But also it allows us to talk more freely. If what you read below interests you feel free to hit me up at: Bakesalehottie2 on Skype or bakesalehottie2 on kik.

So here it is, I hope to hear from some of you!:

I have always wondered that maybe one day my dreams could become reality and that maybe one day, this world would change if not for the better. My kind does not usually dream so big, my kind does not usually hope for a better tomorrow. We are different in ways normal people cannot even imagine for we are destined to become better than the average man. If there is a God, then why has he tainted us with this stain of superiority? The truth is, if there were a God, he’d never let something as terrible as this fall upon one of his children. We, the few who know of the cruelties of this world, thus far, deny his existence. The few who have experienced the life with different attributes. Some of us, if in the wrong hands, can be used as weapons. Some of us can be used for good. Though not many of us even realize we have a meaning. After all, it seems like just yesterday that we were all normal in one way or another.

I always have five minutes time in order to prepare. It just seems to hit me, sort of like a shot of whiskey because it’s always a rushing pain up my nostrils which then in turn shocks my brain telling it to wake the fuck up. But this happens every minute, sometimes every two or three seconds. Over the years I’ve managed to pass it off as just a simple headache, but in reality it’s equal to having a migraine all the fuckin’ time. I used to not be able to think clearly with it or even talk normally. But with time comes experience and in any case headaches aren’t near as horrible as having your head split in two twenty-four seven. Still, it’s no joy, receiving this jolt of electricity, because it’s code for a name. This name is always random, never of the same race four times in a row, I can usually tell by the origins. Yet nonetheless, it is a person, and it is a person whose life will end in five minutes.

Five minutes is hardly enough to time to make a decision for oneself let alone decide if you should save this life or not. I have learned that not all the names I constantly receive are people I’m able to save. But on occasion I will at random decide if this person sounds worthy enough of being saved. This night I was feeling particularly generous, for a name had been transcribed into my thoughts that would not leave for the life of me: Jacqueline Frey. Seemed normal enough to me, but as I said, we were all once normal just yesterday. Had I not been living in New York City at the time I wouldn’t have been able to sense this name so strongly. It meant that she was nearby, so close that I could almost feel her pulse vibrating through my veins like the violent rampage of a chattering squirrels teeth on its lower incisors.

Her heart rate was flying through the roof; whatever she was doing she was doing it with a lot of exertion of energy. I grit my teeth, stepping out from the comfort of the alleyway to scan the street. It was sunset, something I hadn’t noticed since I’d slept most of the day. After all, I’d been up all night drinking; it wasn’t abnormal to have wasted away the daylight hours. There were a few cars, but not much activity as far as life goes. Yet I could feel the movement of others. The stench of metal and shit was thick in the air, yet I wasn’t even close to a garbage dump nor was I close to any sort of factory. Wrinkling my nose, I scuffed the ground beneath me and proceeded to head down the sidewalk. Shoving my hands into my pockets I managed to let out a sigh of boredom, before something flickered across my eyes that was unexpected. The pain was unimaginable, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Daggers were piercing my skull, thrusting deeper through the light membrane that coated its hollow shell and plunging into the most important organ in my body.

Needles seemed to follow, forcing my eyes shut and my knees buckling. Biting down hard out of instinct on my lower lip I found my hands had crawled their way up into my tresses. Vexatious amounts of blood were coursing through my cerebrum, my heartbeat was louder than ever in my ears and my veins felt about on the verge of explosion. Only one thing was running through my thoughts, screaming to be heard. A name. Simon Blackwell. After a moment I realized that whatever had been triggering this dolorific event had subsided and I no longer felt so distressed. Yet nothing else but that name was transcribed into my memory. Something was wrong. This had never happened before, what did this mean? Why was it so sudden? And why did I feel as if this man was as close as Jacqueline had been? Ignoring the blood that had collected on the inside of my lips I managed to push myself up off the pavement, stumbling towards the end of the street. Something new was coursing through my veins, a new pulse that was causing my head to spin wildly and my senses to be thwarted. This man was scared; his erratic heart was thudding inside my own body so wildly that even I could feel that fear, that desperate hope. He was wild, maybe mad and for some reason, but either way his death was coming.

I needed an answer; I needed to appease my mind. Otherwise this happening would haunt me for the rest of my times. Trivial as it may be I was sure I could solve this matter. Sweat was dripping from my face in what felt like gallons and my eyes were struggling to stay open, yet I pushed forward with all the energy I could muster. Reaching for the edge of the building to my right was like reaching for the side of a cliff until a force struck me hard in the gut, taking the wind out of my lungs for a split second. It felt as if my innards were being corn-holed as I was set back a moment in order to catch my breath. Coughing up what felt like phlegm into my hands I gasped for air. Letting out an exasperated breath I clenched my stomach, tearing at the cloth around my stalky build, wishing that this would just go away, that this sudden moment of pure agony would leave me. But it wasn’t allowing me freedom; it wasn’t making the next step forward any easier, only delaying me further. Determined to conquer this I gripped the wall hard. Swallowing back the pain my eyes snapped to attention and I leapt forward, turning on a swift heel and breaking an invisible barrier between me and the scene before my eyes.

The answers to my questions were disturbing in the least. I’d heard stories of others like me, with abilities that had set them above the curve of society, but I’d never actually seen one of my kind for myself. I’d only stumbled along the trail in search of more but always coming up short. The picture painted before me now, though, was terrifying. I’d never imagined that the first person I’d meet like myself would be a murderer, let alone a woman. Jacqueline Frey was standing on the opposite side of the street, her delicate arm outstretched and facing me, her fingers coiled into a tightly wound fist. Something about her stature was eerie, and I couldn’t stop myself from taking a long sideways glance her way. Hazel eyes seemed set in stone beyond her long brunette locks, which appeared to be whipping about her angular face in a terrifying fashion. Yet her appearance was nothing compared to the man quite close to me who was embedded in the brick of the building. Simon Blackwell. Yet not really much of a man anymore, his eyes were popping from his skull, hanging through his sockets by the veins. His jawbone had been disfigured, set aside to the left of his cranium. Blood coated the wall beneath his cerebrum and outlined the rest of his form with spurts outward as if he was the center of the universe. His gut had been pummeled through, blood was still pouring out of his body though I couldn’t see why since most of his digestive tracts had been forced from him and his organs were spilling out onto the pavement. Though the man was dead his picture was imprinted onto my lenses forever more. For his fingers twitched and his muscles spasmed as his dark red blood stained the sidewalk and my coat as it continued to splatter the area about him. I had to divert my eyes because soon the nausea I felt gurgling in my skull would purge my stomach if I didn’t look away.

Sure, I’d seen death, even like this. But I never said that I’d been able to keep my lunch down while witnessing it. I’d never had a stomach for battle, never had the eyes of a warrior, though I’d lived long enough to see some of the most barbaric wars I was still a coward when it came to the taking of lives. All my life I’d avoided getting drafted because of my appearance, yet I’d still seen the horrors of mankind. Still, it was hard to grasp the idea that this young woman was capable of harming another being. For her frail body was muscular in a lean sort of way, her legs thick with visible tendons beneath layers of flesh as they were exposed underneath a pair of ragged jean shorts. Now that I looked more closely at her figure I noticed the shadows cast upon the length of her outstretched limb and the indents it created in her skin where muscles were contracting beneath the surface. Her jaw was set in a hard line as if she meant never to speak again as her hazel eyes were gleaming in the sunlight causing sparks of gold to crackle through her irises. The invisible forces of air that was causing her locks to wave around her face died as she pulled back her arm in an even and silent movement that read across her countenance. Only once did her gaze flicker over me and in that instant I saw the same killing instinct that had driven her to squash this Simon Blackwell like a tomato. I knew this woman, but I couldn’t believe she was the same woman I’d met years and years ago. That woman was dead, not by my hands, but by someone else’s, and this could not have been her.

“Bloody English.”

*P.S. I roleplay in both first and third person, this little tidbit was just better in first person.*

#rp partner search #rp partner ad #rp ad #rp search #original #skype #kik #submission

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