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wri0thesley · 6 months

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protection - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (5.3k)

halloween has always been your favourite holiday. with your captor, though . . . perhaps not so much.

a/n: if i cannot be self-indulgent and write a fic about my cannibal murderer yandere oc for halloween when he is such a horror pastiche of a man, when can i? if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!

cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con.

Lucas has one of those perpetual calendars upon his mantelpiece.

You’ve never had much cause to look at it before. It’s another of those mix-and-match décor pieces that are so prevalent in the cabin; a boring block of wood and blocky white font that you suppose someone might describe as ‘minimalist’. It’s certainly not something you’d choose for yourself – and from what you’ve seen of Lucas’s own choices, his clothing, the items he gravitates towards in his little slice of home, it’s not something he’d have chosen either. Had it not, perhaps, been chosen by someone else.

You ignore the way your gorge rises when you consider that it’s one more piece of somebody who must be long dead by now. Lucas’s cabin is full of those reminders; embroidered tablecloths (your own hands are not so steady), handmade blankets (the wool used makes you itchy), clothes in the wardrobe three sizes too small and two sizes too big. A bookshelf of tattered paperbacks; crime novels and romance novels and horror novels, an eclectic mix you can’t imagine belonging to the same person.

That’s not important.

What is important is the morning after breakfast, when Lucas and you have gone out to collect eggs already and he’s held onto your waist while you carefully fried them along with the something-that-might-be-bacon that you’re growing more and more accustomed to cooking.

(It doesn’t even make you throw up any more).

He’s casual as he walks over to it; you’ve never really paid much attention to it before. It’s simply one of those rituals that he does; he likes the domesticity of a daily routine, and though you’ve always been rather more spontaneous . . . You’re hardly in a position to argue about it.

He moves the cube around and you glance vaguely towards it and you see the month and date, clear and bright as if illuminated by a shaft of sunlight.

The thirtieth of October.

You stop breathing, just for a moment. It’s been three months, then – time had lost meaning for you somewhat, after you’d realised you had no choice but to play along if you wanted to keep yourself away from the sharp end of an axe. But . . . three months. Three months of smiling nicely and forcing your mouth around the name ‘darling’ and letting his weapon-calloused hands curl about your waist, slide over bare skin. Three months of making yourself smile, of showering with a stranger in the bathroom (three months and he is still a stranger, though you suppose you know him intimately; three months, though, and you still do not know his surname), of sleeping beside him at night--

“I love Halloween.”

You don’t realise you’ve said it until it comes out of your mouth like the dry squeak of a frightened mouse.

Lucas looks up in surprise. You don’t often volunteer information readily; you answer his questions, but otherwise you’re a quiet obedient little home-maker for him, the way you think he likes you. That’s not to say you think he’d mind, but . . . you still keep some of yourself held close to your chest. You share hearth and home and body with Lucas; you think you’ve earnt the right to not have to share everything.

“S’that so?” He rumbles, after a moment. He doesn’t smile, the way he does when you tell him that you like the present he’s brought you back from town or when you let slip once that the western film he’d been watching on VHS reminded you of your childhood. “I’ve never been all too fond of it myself.”

His green gaze stays steady on you. He lets the moment stretch, waiting for your answer. You are walking a tightrope, as always; there is a right answer, you think, and a wrong answer. Which one are you supposed to pick? You’ve seen Lucas angry – that smouldering, teeth-grit explosion when he’d caught you, early on, trying to open a window.

(You’d sobbed and promised, sworn on everything you loved, that you just wanted some fresh air – that the August air was stuffy and pressing. Enough tears, and Lucas had repented, finally, drawn back his blistering anger. Calloused thumb wiping your tears away and a gruff apology, followed by; “Aww, darlin’, don’t cry like that. C’mon now.”

Followed by kissing your eyelids. Followed by the press of his body upon yours. Followed by hands on your hips, thumbs digging into your thighs to part them. Followed by him murmuring for you to cry for a different reason.

He likes the tears. It’s a good lesson to learn so early on in your life with him).

You shrug helplessly.

“I like the atmosphere?” You give him, your voice quavering at the end. “All of those kids in cute costumes, jack-o’-lanterns, cuddling up warm and cosy on the couch with a scary film on--”

His shoulders relax minutely, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says to you. “I s’pose those things ain’t so bad. I’m not a scary movie guy – there’re enough things to be frightened of out there in the real world, y’know?” He walks towards you, joins you on the couch. His arm wraps around your shoulder and you let yourself be drawn into his embrace, because you risk upsetting the balance again if you shy away. With a sigh of pleasure, he drops a kiss onto the top of your head. “Gets real busy up here around this time. Trespassers. I prob’ly won’t even be around mosta the night; gotta patrol the area. Think we can rustle you up a pumpkin and a coupla’ videos though, huh?”

You swallow. You know what he means by ‘patrol the area’ – you think of teenagers in local towns, daring each other to spend the night in the woods. You think about twenty-somethings with their tents and their camping and coolers full of beer, telling spooky stories about huge cannibals who live in the woods--

You think of Lucas’s weapons, the axe shining bright mounted on the wall, and the sound it had made as it had thwacked into the ground beside your head as Lucas had realised you were trembling and whimpering and sobbing and merely lost, not some ne’er-do-well out here for any other reason.

How much fuller will his freezer be, come the first of November?

He’s true to his word, as he so often is. Despite everything, he looks at you hopefully when he presents to you the things he brings back from his little foray into town; his head cocked, an echo of the earnest young man he might once have been beneath the scars and the greying.

He presents to you: one large pumpkin, three VHS tapes of movies you haven’t heard of that look like schlocky 90s B-movies, a multi-pack of sweet treats obviously intended to be poured into a bowl for trick or treaters, and a bean-filled plush of a fat black cat.

“I thought we could carve the pumpkin together,” he says, which you think is just an excuse not to leave you unsupervised with sharp implements. He trusts you to cook, now – but he still likes to be in the room, even if he’s not guiding your hand with his fingers entwined around your own over the knife.

“That would be nice,” you cautiously reply, and he smiles at you all soft and gooey-eyed. Your spine still feels like a rod has been shoved in it; being around Lucas can so often seem like a balancing act, and normally he does not come back from town in anything resembling a good mood. But giving you presents and the pleasure that had sparked in your eyes and the truth tinging your thanks have clearly set him well for the evening; he’s whistling as he rattles around in the kitchen to find the implements.

“C’mon here then, angel,” he calls, and you tuck the fat little black cat into the corner of the couch - it will be nice, you suppose, to have something to hold when you are alone later. You doubt the movies will provide much in the way of stone-cold terror, but the knowledge that Lucas is out there stalking the night and it would not take all that much for him to turn his rage on you certainly does.

It will be nice, too, to have something to hold that is yours and is not haunted by the echo of ghosts of Lucas’s past. Once, you had been uncomfortable in bed, rolling and writhing and whimpering through a nightmare – and Lucas had gently shaken you awake and placed a bear into your arms you had never seen before.

You might not have ever seen the bear before, but it had clearly once been loved; visible stitches re-attaching an ear, the velvet flocking rubbed off on its nose, the fur compacted from many nights of cuddling.

You try not to think about someone else, after you, having the little cat placed delicately in their arms.

When you enter the kitchen, you see that Lucas has spread newspaper out all over the floor, placing the pumpkin carefully in the middle with an array of carving implements and pens laid out for you. There’s a waiting candle and a box of matches on the table, waiting for the final touch.

The newspapers are all nearly twenty years old. The matches have packaging you’ve never seen before, the kind of retro artwork you’d see hipsters hang ironically on their apartment walls.

You crouch to get onto the paper he’s laid out, but Lucas clicks his tongue in annoyance at you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, and he pats his knee where he’s knelt with them spread apart. “Come sit between my legs and let’s do it together.”

It takes you a moment to gather the courage to do it – touching him voluntarily is always harder than when he makes the first move – but you see that shimmer of frustration in the air, the imperceptible twitch of his jaw, and you clumsily climb over to situate yourself between them. You feel him let out a satisfied exhale as one of his arms wraps around your waist possessively.

“There,” he murmurs, directly into your ear. “Ain’t that better? More . . . cosy?”

You can feel every hair on the back of your neck, the thrum of your heartbeat, as Lucas’s hand fastens over yours and works at removing the top of the pumpkin. His chest is solid behind you, a barrel of muscle and scar – and when he shifts, and his crotch in his fatigues snugly presses against the curve of your spine, it takes all of your grace not to whimper at the feel of him hot and wanting.

Domesticity always seems to stoke something in him – and you suppose this would, under other circumstances, be a perfectly lovely Halloween evening. If Lucas were somebody you loved, and not a madman who kidnapped you from the middle of the woods. If that were so, Lucas’s breath against your ear wouldn’t make your head pound – his calloused fingers over yours wouldn’t make you wonder how he got all of those scars. The sight of a sharp instrument in his hand wouldn’t make you wonder how many have met their maker at Lucas’s behest.

There is none of the joy you would normally find in this activity, doing it with Lucas’s arm around you and his body bearing down over yours. There’s instead, the knowledge that he could break your bones if he wanted to – and a desire beating at your ribcage to get this over with as quickly as possible without alerting him to how much you hate it. Lucas hums softly under his breath as he helps you scoop out the insides of the pumpkin--

You feel your gorge rise at the sight of his hands scooping out the insides alongside your own, at the sensation of the stringy sticky pulp and seeds as they coat your fingers. The viscera of the pumpkin, laid out on the newspaper, as if some grisly crime has occurred right here in Lucas’s cosy cabin kitchen.

(He doesn’t like a mess inside the house. You know about the storeroom that you’re not allowed in, having peeked in it once when he’d left the door ajar to go and pick some meat up for breakfast whilst you stood in the kitchen with the chickens pecking around your feet. When he’d come out and seen you there, you’d stammered something about Dolly the silkie having wandered off – and though there’d been mistrust in his gaze, you’d kept your eyes wide and hidden trembling hands behind your back and eventually he seemed to have believed you).

The flash of a sharp knife in his hand makes you start against your will, your back pressing against him, your rear pushing into him. He lets out a noise that’s half a strangled huff and half a breathy chuckle.

“What’re you scared of, angel?” He murmurs, and you are stiff and frozen as he gently, gently, presses the flat of the blade against the palm of your other hand. “I won’t ever hurt you. Not less you give me a reason to. And you aren’t gonna, are you?” You’re glad he can’t see the deer-in-headlights look on your face, even as you give him a jerky shake of your head, and to your immense relief returns the knife to carving. “Good. Hurts my feelings thinkin’ you’re afraid of me.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I—I’m not?” You guess, stammering it out, trying to weigh out all of the options in your mind. If he was threatening you – one of those late night murmurs of “I’d break you into pieces if you ever tried to leave me, darlin’,” - then perhaps you wouldn’t have said it. But right now, he is pretending the two of you are a perfectly ordinary couple doing a perfectly ordinary thing, and so--

He laughs again, good-naturedly pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The pumpkin has taken shape now; a classic jack-o’-lantern face, jagged triangular eyes and teeth.

“You’re so cute,” he says into your hair. “Here. Look at that. Ain’t that adorable?”

Shakily, you nod. It’s not your best work – in your own kitchen, at home, you’d mastered the art of silhouetting elaborate scenes in your pumpkins. You’d used your favourite horror stills as inspiration (you force yourself not to think of last year’s pumpkin, of spending so much time carefully carving that iconic scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre into the orange flesh, Leatherface holding his chainsaw aloft – it’s better not to dwell too much on fictional monsters when there’s a very real one sitting behind you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek and resting his chin on your shoulder as he admires your handiwork).

This pumpkin is a little lop-sided; one eye bigger than the other, the cuts jagged and messy. But Lucas is smiling at it, and you force yourself to smile too.

“Where shall we put it?” He asks you, as he pulls himself up and offers you a hand to help you too. He’s a little too rough with it; pulling you against him with a throaty chuckle as you stumble, off-balance. Little reminders of your own fragility, your clumsiness and all of the things you struggle with always seem to put him in a good mood. “Windowsill?”

You swallow.

“C-can we put it outside?” You whisper, softly. “I know we won’t get any trick-or-treaters, or anything, but . . .”

You trail off; he’s looking at you again, the green in his gaze impossible to understand. He might be thinking about exploding into anger, he might be thinking about kissing you – but as you feel your knees threaten to knock together, he smiles instead.

It’s another smile that, on someone else, you would read as utter infatuation. Love, in all of its gooey, saccharine sweetness. On Lucas, though--

“Of course, darlin’,” he says. “Come put it out with me.”

You reach for the box of matches, but Lucas’s palm comes down over your hand before you can get a hold on them.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he says, as he picks it up himself, and strikes a match against the striker strip. You flinch at the sudden light, and Lucas makes a soft noise of satisfaction. “You'daa just hurt yourself. Leave this kinda thing to me, sweetheart.”

He lights the candle and places it in the lantern himself, before he turns to you and gives you an indulgent smile again.

“D’you think you can carry it?” He asks you, voice soaked in honey. “Don’t drop it, now.”

You nod shyly as you take it, hating yourself for playing along with him. If he wants a sweet, naive little thing who can barely take care of themselves and needs the big strong hunter in the woods to do it for them . . . well, you suppose your dignity isn’t so bad a price to pay for staying alive.

You are allowed out of the cabin, supervised. You’d earnt that right by being sweet and soft and obedient, by doing what Lucas asks and doing it the way he likes. You go out to collect eggs in the morning and you’re allowed to help him in the garden, planting vegetables and tending to those he already has. But still, every time you open the front door it feels like a treat – a thrill running through you at the reminder that there is a world beyond the four walls of home that have become your prison.

Lucas takes in a hissing sigh through clenched teeth as he opens the door.

“It’s getting’ later than I thought,” he says, to himself more than you. “I’m gonna have to get goin’ soon, sweetheart.”

You nod, and carefully place the pumpkin by the front door, where the candle inside flickers and wavers in the light breeze. You find yourself wishing that it would somehow escape its own cell of pumpkin flesh and set the cabin afire – wondering if it would really be so bad, to perish like that.

(How many more Halloweens will you spend with Lucas? Is it worse if the number is small or large?)

“Do you have to go?” You ask him, voice tremulous.

You don’t know if you want him to go. You don’t want to be with him; he terrifies you, leaves you feeling rattled and confused and conquered all at once, his presence looming over everything you do. But at the same time – you can’t in good conscience want him to go out there, to cut down Halloween revellers who merely thought the woods would be a good place for a spooky experience. Are you far enough away from wherever he might go that you won’t hear the screams?

You wouldn’t be able to pretend even if you don’t hear them. You’ll meet them later on, at the end of your fork.

“Awww darlin’,” Lucas simpers at you, grasping your chin in a hold like iron. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, I told you. I ain’t gonna let a single thing near this cabin; you ain’t gonna be in a jot of danger. I promise.”

Your face must betray your anxiety, because Lucas tugs almost painfully on it.

“Don’t you trust me, angel?”

Sickly sweet and bladed like ice, you mutely twitch your head in a meek nod.

“Of course I do . . .” You whisper, and Lucas smiles in satisfaction.

“Stay here at the door for a bit while I get ready, okay? Fresh air’ll make you feel better.”

Unspoken goes the ‘don’t you dare try and run’. You can’t see yourself doing it tonight of all nights, either – though Lucas has been sweet throughout the pumpkin carving, you can already see that as he considers the blanket of night out beyond the cabin he is shifting into a predator. So you stand there, breathing in deep, slow, controlled breaths. Trying to think about how pretty the stars are and the candy that Lucas has brought you to eat in front of his crackling old television. Trying not to hear the thud of Lucas’s boots and the sound of him getting down the axe from the wall, the swish of the displacement of air as he gives it a few practise swings.

“There we go,” Lucas says, as he comes back. His axe is slung over one shoulder, and he’s smiling at you. He hasn’t made a single allowance for the cold; he wears the same shirt in a shade of forest green, straining tight over his shoulders and biceps. The silvery skin of his scars shine in the moonlight. “Don’t stay up for me, okay? Get yourself to bed. I’ll try not to wake you up.”

(Will you wake up, hearing him drag a corpse into the store-room? It doesn’t matter – you know you won’t get much sleep tonight).

He stands there in front of you for a long moment. Anxiety sends a bead of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck. He’s waiting for something – he wants something, and you don’t know what it is, and he’s going to be angry at you for being a bad beloved and he’s going to lodge that axe in your skull--

“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”

His tone is teasing, but laced with simmering anger. Grateful he has thrown you a lifeline, you practically trip over your tongue as you reply in the affirmative.

One slow, lingering kiss – possessive. You’re shivering as he pulls away, and he smiles as he wipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth with something that might be fondness and might be triumph, like a hunter who has his prey cornered.

“See you later,” he says. “Don’t scare yourself silly, now.”

You stand at the door-frame, waiting for Lucas’s hulking figure to disappear into the darkness of the trees. His axe is swung over his broad shoulders. The jack-o’-lantern beside you flickers and gutters in the breeze, your only companion out here. Lucas turns and waves one hand at you, and then makes a very firm ‘shoo’ gesture that you interpret to mean ‘that’s enough, now. Get back in the house before I make you’.

You close the door behind you and turn the key as he disappears fully from your view. You’ve always felt awkward being alone in the cabin – about three weeks after your arrival here, he had given you heavy warnings and set out to the nearest town for the kind of supplies he couldn’t make himself – but tonight, it feels all the worse.

You jump at shadows and feel like you hear screams with every footstep, your brain already playing out thoughts of Lucas in the woods surrounded by corpses, bloodied and grinning and feral-bright. You have to try twice to get the video into the player, and your hands are trembling as you attempt to open a packet of M&Ms and spill them all over the sofa. You pull the curtains closed for full immersion and almost give yourself a heart attack when you see light flickering outside, until you remember the jack-o’-lantern.

Eventually, though, you do relax into the movie.

It helps that it’s a movie about a werewolf stalking a suburban town; you don’t know if your nerves would hold out if Lucas had brought you some kind of killer in the woods movie. Even he, though, seems to have realised that – a quick glance at the other movies show you that one is about giant bugs attacking and the other is set in a hospital.

It’s not a good movie. In a different lifetime, you’d watch this with friends and laugh and joke over the cheesy special effects and the over-acting. On your own, though, you at least feel somewhat comforted by the familiarity of the horror recipe. The coquettish blonde in the hot pink outfit will die first; the outcast girl in her too-big denim jacket will survive to the denouement and will perhaps kill the werewolf herself.

There’s a sound from outside.

You’re half-asleep in front of the sagging middle act of the movie, but the crunch of leaves under feet has you bolt upright. Lucas can’t be home already, can he?

Time stands still. There’s a muffled giggle, and then a low voice murmuring something. You slowly, slowly, pull yourself up from the couch. You’re grateful to have pulled the curtains closed. At least they can’t tell you’re in here.

A hundred scenarios run through your head, none of them ending well. You think of every home invasion movie in a holiday home in the middle of nowhere you’ve ever seen. You could laugh at the absurdity of dying like that, when you’re literally the prisoner of some cannibal psychopath already . . . all of that, and some other horror trope catches up with you instead?

Three knocks on the door, and a voice jokingly calls;

“Trick or Treat!”

Oh, saying all of that stuff to Lucas about trick or treating was so stupid. Wanting a pumpkin out there so you could pretend to have one little bit of normalcy left in your life.

A rumble of conversation floats through the walls; something about a dead phone battery, needing to find somewhere with a landline, a map that didn’t seem to have any of the landmarks they’d seen marked on it.

(You can sympathise with that; the map you’d been using, once upon a time, hadn’t made a single lick of sense after you’d gotten into the heart of the woods, like some nature spirit was messing with you).

But that could just be a way to make your defenses fall, you think. You’ve seen that in movies time and time again – I need the bathroom, I need to use your phone, I’m sorry I fell over and I’m injured can I rest here--

One of them has the nerve to try the door; the key jingles traitorously in the lock.

You’re shaking as you approach. You can hear conversation now; a male voice and a female voice, arguing. They sound about your age.

“There’s a fucking jack-o’-lantern burning, and there’s a key in the front door, of course someone’s in--”

“Look, this is some horror movie bullshit, I don’t like it--”

“Do you think anyone keeping fuckin’ . . . those fluffy-ass chickens is gonna be a murderer? C’mon. It’s probably some old couple with their hearing going. I’m gonna knock again--”

Three raps on the door and you find yourself collapsed against the cabin wall, your knees trembling. You know you should answer the door and you should tell them what’s going on here. You should beg them to run and take you with them.

But now you’re faced with it, you don’t know what to do.

“Hello?” The girl’s voice is louder now. “Is anyone home?”

Oh, she shouldn’t be shouting. Lucas can hear when you drop a fork doing the washing up from halfway across the yard, and always comes hurrying to make sure you haven’t hurt yourself.

“Look,” the boy, “We just need to use your phone, we’re lost—”

Another voice cuts across the squabbling – one deeper and darker and grittier. A thick Southern accent.

“You sure as hell are,” it says, and there’s outright hate in it. “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ on my property?”

The girl screams. You can’t blame her; at six foot four and bound in scars and muscle, Lucas is a frightening prospect at the best of times. But when he’s appeared from nowhere, holding his axe, like a horror movie villain . . .

“Shit!” The boy is swearing. “Look, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

You do not see the axe come down – how could you, from the hallway, behind the door? But you hear two screams, this time – both his and hers – and you hear the wet sound of something sharp meeting something soft. Blade striking bone – the slick noise of an axe blade being pulled out of a body and then swung back in. The sound of someone choking on blood, of someone sobbing--

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Your knees give out long before the girl gives up on screaming, as you sink onto the floor and hug yourself tight and squeeze your eyes shut against the noises.

It could last forever. You try and think of something else; somewhere happier. What would you be doing right now, if you were at home? How different would your October have been?

But the slosh of blood and the hacking noise of blade and flesh worm into your consciousness, the very real massacre going on outside the front door seeping into every memory you try and recall. Your pumpkins smashed to pieces, accusing staring eyes of the corpses of your friends at last year’s Halloween party as a man with an axe mows them down in your living room--

The noises have stopped. There’s not even heavy breathing, now.

“Darlin’?” Lucas calls out, from behind the door. “C’mon. I know you’re there. You can open the door now. You’re safe.”

You can’t disobey him, you remember, as you shakily climb back to your feet, using the wall as leverage. If you don’t do as he says, then you will also meet the business end of his weapon – and he’s already said, in those jealousy-fuelled threats that he whispers into your hair at the most intimate of moments, that for your betrayal, he’d make it hurt.

You turn the key with a trembling hand, and have to force your fingers to close around the door handle. Slowly, slowly, you pull it open--

The front porch is a mess of blood and flesh and organs and other things you carefully do not look at. These people have been butchered for more than just meat – but you look up at Lucas’s eyes instead and ignore them. You can’t think too hard on it.

There are splashes of blood all over his face, flecks of red in his stubble. His clothes are ruined.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, and he steps forward and the tang of blood invades your mouth and your nostrils and gets on your clothes as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “Don’t worry. I told ya’, I won’t let nothin’ happen to you. Not tonight, not ever.”

He says it like this poor lost couple were a threat, and not just unfortunates who happened upon the wrong woods at the wrong time. The wrong house.

(If you hadn’t put that pumpkin out, they wouldn’t have thought that there was anyone here. It’s your fault.)

His grip around you is tight. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest for a moment, and try to pretend nothing has happened.

It can’t last. Lucas pulls back, takes hold of your shoulders.

“Well?” He says – and bile rises in your throat as you realise you have to say it. You have to do it. If you want to stay on his good side--

“Thank you,” you breathe out, hating yourself for every syllable. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

And as you stretch onto your tiptoes and Lucas bends down to meet your lips for a thank you kiss, you pretend that there aren’t two corpses outside of the front door.

You carved a pumpkin. You ate candy. You watched a shitty horror movie. It’s like every Halloween before it--

He pulls back; a hand ruffling through your hair, a smile on his face.

“Happy Halloween, darlin’. You get back inside while I clean this up, okay? Night ain’t over yet.”

#yandere oc #writing #ocs.txt #oc posting #yandere for ts #cannibalism for ts #dub con for ts

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vasito-de-leche · 14 days

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;R1999 6 - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about 6 in a romantic relationship.

I was struggling soooooo hard with another 6 request so I had to get this post out of my system fist before tackling that one

Okay, first of all! I don't see 6 as the type of person who would be that interested in having a relationship, at least not beyond what is expected of him as the leader of Apeiron. It's the least of his priorities as of now.

Part of it is largely due to his responsibilities--he knows that he cannot afford to show any sort of favoritism, and he is much too thoughtful to force someone he cares about under such pressure, simply because he harbors feelings for them. It's very ironic that the one thing that defines his entire life and existence is also what keeps him from seeking any deeper relationships. 6 knows more than anyone that the loneliness of his title would be extended to his partner, and so, he has no actual firsthand experience in romantic relationships other than what he might've studied while in reclusion.

Of course, this isn't to say that he's entirely inept when it comes to socializing or all sorts of relationships. He is the best at being 6 for a reason, as much as he dislikes it.

We know that he loves his people, if his devotion to his role of leader is anything to go by. And he clearly cares about his friendship with 210, 37 and Sophia, as strained or complex as these dynamics may be, as he makes sure to retrieve the crown that they made for him each and every day that it's stolen. He loved his aunt Alma too, she played a big role in his upbringing after all.

So 6 isn't a stranger to love, but he is very passive about it.

To describe 6 as "passive" could be seen as an insult, especially after what his character event showed us in relation to his struggle against fate, but I think there's a key difference to the passive nature that is presented between 6 prior to receiving the Revelation and after he settles in as the new leader. His initial lack of action was fueled by resignation, a fear for the inevitable fate his bloodline carries. But now, he knows that refusing to act is sometimes necessary to maintain the harmony within the island, this is why he's described as a mediator. Love can happen, but there's no reason to upset the precarious balance he maintains by indulging in romance.

On the subject of 6 developing a crush.

6 is an extremely introspective man with a very good grasp on his own feelings and thoughts--even more so now that he's obtained the Revelation! If he has a crush then trust me, he knows. He notices the fondness he has for you the moment those feelings start blooming in his chest.

And he's not going to do a single thing about it.

He's not going to act upon any of his feelings. He's not going to let anyone find out, for the sake of maintaining this perfect balance. His behaviour remains the same, no signs of being flustered whatsoever. There are no fleeting glances, no hands brushing on accident. He doesn't stare at you from afar, wondering if you could ever love him, pining and yearning for your attention.

That doesn't happen, not in public.

Just like every other detail about his life, his thoughts of you are kept private, for him to ponder on whenever he's alone in his room, meditating. The outside world has no business bearing witness to these feelings--you are special to him and so, he keeps the memory of you safe and sound. 6 is much too mature to actually pine and yearn, but he does like to wonder and explore other possibilities, another life in which he's not burdened by fate, in which he's given the choice to find his own soul number for as long as it takes. Another life in which he can openly confess without fearing for what might happen to you should you accept him.

I like to think that these little fantasies help him tolerate the stress of the daily routine, it's something nice that gives him solace. When he's alone, his existence isn't defined by a number nor the history of his family, he can just be at ease and dream of better things.

I want to stress the fact that he wouldn't confess, no matter how strong his feelings are. Even if you happened to reciprocate, 6 would always prioritize the stability of Apeiron and turn you down for your sake and everyone else's. 6 would actually prefer to be close friends with his crush.

On the subject of dating 6.

I like to think that for 6 to start considering the idea of courting you, you have to actually debate him.

Not a battle of attrition like the debates 210 insists on having, but a fair and honest discussion to give him proof and solid arguments that could help him ease into the idea of dating someone for love, rather than duty. Something like this would really ease 6's mind, being able to get to know you better through the way you defend yourself and the love you hold for him, as well as weighting the public's reaction. Two birds in one stone. If you manage to do that, then there's no reason for him to object.

I don't know what I like the most out of these options though, the idea of 6 choosing to give a proper confession in private to finally share everything he's kept to himself, so that you may accept all of him at his most honest and vulnerable. Or him not confessing, choosing to invite you to his study and enjoy a moment of respite in absolute silence, knowing that there's nothing keeping you two from being together. So whichever floats your boat!

When it comes to actually dating him, not much would change.

6 understands that there's been a considerable shift in his life, but his lack of experience and solitary lifestyle would lead him to continue with his routine--if you want to see him, then you'll have to seek him out like you've always done. He's more than content knowing you're aware of his feelings and wouldn't really seek to change anything else, so it's entirely up to you to communicate and discuss what you'd like out of this relationship. He'll be more than glad to listen and accomodate you as much as he can.

You taking the initiative in this might also fuel him to share the things he'd like to do! Again, this passive nature doesn't come from shyness, but duty. I can see him being open to anything and being very direct about his own needs, as long as he can continue to separate his personal life and time with you from his time outside and his responsibilities.

Overall, dating 6 is a very calm experience! He never got the chance to know himself without the pressure of the Revelation, but he enjoys getting to know you instead. While most of the time he simply asks you to sit with him and relax, he puts the effort into finding time to spend with you, even if it's just walking together from one place to another before both of you must tend to your respective duties.

On the subject of his partner not being from Apeiron.

The way I see it, 6 is a little more lenient with certain aspects--unlike 37, for example. I don't see her capable of being in a romantic relationship with an irrational number, and getting to trust someone from outside who isn't specifically aiming to adapt to the scriptures will take a long time, but 6 is a little more flexible under the proper circumstances.

I believe this is the case because of his Bond: Morning voice line!

...One should never parcel off the loaf, for it's a violation of the scripture. But we are not on the island. So, please enjoy the freedom.

So the moment this pressure of responsibility is lifted from his shoulders, I think he would be open to the possibility of his partner being literally anyone. Because of the Revelation, I don't think 6 is blinded by faith like other members of Apeiron are, if else he's burdened by the contradictions and paradoxes that are natural in the world.

Not sure how he would feel with a human partner though! Chapter 05 only says that humans and mankind as a whole are dismissed entirely as "imaginary numbers," forbidden on the island, and there's no specifics on how they feel about mixed arcanists.

Round of cute things.

Literally just a round of cute things that 6 would do or enjoy because I don't know how to incorporate them onto the post in a fancy way.

His crown was made to keep his hair out of his face, but we can see that it's not doing a very good job lol. I think 6 would really find it charming whenever his partner tucks his hair behind his ear so they can get a look at his face--he's much too used to hiding and keeping to himself, so wanting to be seen by you is a pretty new experience. It's also a very casual and innocent gesture, so whenever he feels like getting you to pay attention to him (more than often as a way to excuse himself out of some other conversation) he will allow his hair to drape over his face hoping you'll notice.

6 isn't big on public displays of affection. Just sitting next to you is more than enough for him--but if he happens to notice you get lonely or make cute eyes at him, he will scoot close until your shoulders bump into each other. If 6 is feeling particularly cuddly, he will hold your hand.

But behind closed doors, 6 is very partial to kissing the top of your head or your temple. It's a very gentle kiss, he doesn't even pucker up, just closes his eyes, gently rests his lips there and hums to himself. And he could stay there for a long time if you let him.

If 6 is feeling restless for whatever reason, I can see him asking you to read something for him, so he can concentrate on the sound of your voice and nothing else. It's very soothing to him. He prefers that you read something he can tune out, as opposed to telling him something he'd like to pay attention to--like your thoughts or how your day has been.

Oh! Also, I don't see him as the type to want matching accessories or material things like that, but if you were to give him a gift or something to match with you, he would specifically ask you to keep it simple--nothing gilded, nothing shiny, nothing that is easy for seagulls to steal. Something like a little string bracelet, if possible in your favorite colors rather than his--it might be just a small fragment in a world of matters, but it means so much to him.

Also also, 6 does notice a lot of your gestures or expressions, the little things about you that often go unnoticed. The way you might scrunch your nose, tilt your head, fiddle with your hands, tap your feet--anything.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 6 #reverse 1999 x reader #6

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dilfsonic · 8 months

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Okay so, unpopular take that applies specifically to my Service Animal AU: Shadow and Maria are not siblings/“sibling coded.”

If you’ve read the notes on the original lore post describing them, you probably already know what I mean. While they can and will have moments of inspired ‘sibling’ like love for each other, that’s simply too disingenuous a way to describe them. They’re so much more. They’re each other’s only friend, they’re charge and ward, they can mimic the attitudes of siblings but never fully understand them, they have no romantic interests (until sonic shows up) and so mimic certain attitudes in that way with each other as well. But all of these are mere approximations and mimicry without fully encompassing any of those relationships. Shadow’s “affections” can be easily misconstrued for holding more weight than they actually are intended, as gestures such as hand holding/cuddling/purring are all utilitarian expressions meant to ease Maria’s physical discomfort or anxiety in accordance to his job as her service animal. Nothing more, nothing less. Maria knows this, but others can and do easily make their own assumptions.

I’ve been a little nervous to express this interpretation as I feel it can be really easily misunderstood, and I don’t want to give people the idea that even the immensely “”romantic”” or affectionate gestures or affiliations applied to them are actually meant to be shippy. Their love is an all encompassing one, and to call it sibling-like or romantic are both incorrect, as they’re neither. Ultimately applying any real world label to this au will be incorrect and a little too extreme in either direction; the closest possible relationship that may most accurately describe them is that between a service dog and their owner, if such a service dog was as intellectually capable of their human.

They’re what you get when you’re the only two people in your whole world. They’re what you get when you pair together someone who’s indebted to the other for their existence, which goes both ways. And by normal relationship standards, I would disagree to consider it a ‘healthy’ dynamic, but it also cannot be judged by the milestones of what a normal and healthy dynamic even looks like.

Shadow is nothing without her (in his own mind), and this lends itself to an inability to conceptualize a ‘self’ to even express. Maria hates how Shadow views himself — a tool, a trained dog, a guard, a companion of necessity — but she also can’t avoid using him accordingly. That means having no choice but to treat him not as a person, but as her crutch. Shadow is little aware of her internal struggle with the dehumanization of him because they communicate this almost never. Nor does he mind being dehumanized, he has never been a ‘person’ since the day he was created anyway.

Maria would love nothing more than to call Shadow a little brother, her best friend, someone who she could’ve had take her to prom because nobody at her school wanted to indulge the sickly child, nor did anyone even know her well enough considering she spent most of her time out of school than in it. She’d love to call Shadow these normal things, but she can’t. Not yet at least. Sonic will slowly change them and the way they can view friendship and the world and what it means to belong to each other, but it’s hard work on Shadow and Maria’s part.

They are something that can’t be easily defined, because it’s complex, and messy, and while there are bright moments of wonder and joy, is also overwhelmingly dark in its implications, and they can feel utterly alone even when standing right next to each other. Shadow owes Maria everything, and Maria owes Shadow everything, but each underestimates the full gravity of how their own existence touches and expands the other. They consider themselves worthless compared to the other, and that’s what gets in the way of them truly being able to open their hearts to each other. The way Sonic later teaches them HOW to open their hearts.

So yeah. I hope this concept of blurring the lines doesn’t scare too many folks, but this is based on my personal interpretation of how I feel a continued existence between them in canon or a canon adjacent world might have been like. I know it’s easy and delightful to see em like wholesome siblings — which is also an interpretation I wholeheartedly endorse and adore, particularly the way my bud @ratrrriot draws them (please go follow them if you don’t already, their shadow and maria artwork is to die for!) — but this is just a slightly different and admittedly darker take on them that I hope won’t ruffle too many feathers. Sibling coded relationships between characters are so wonderful, but in this case doesn’t feel satisfying or like it can possibly cover the scope of them for this particular au. I dislike labeling them or comparing them to another dynamic, like Sonic and Tails who are very explicitly brotherly with one another.

I may make a separate post on Sonic’s impact in this world and how he touches the lives of Shadow and Maria, Helen (when she comes along), and this world’s version of Robotnik (Julian) if people are interested in that. I take a lot of inspiration from his characterization in the Adventure games and Sonic X for this AU, as he’s most closely canon-aligned compared to Shadow and Maria who are a little different; though I’m gonna try my best to fit their “canon” personalities into a completely different scenario. Such as, Shadow lacks the innate hatred he has for mankind as he never loses Maria, but he will retain the “my body is a tool” mentality and the general uncaring of others opinions of him, etc.

#I would love to hear thoughts so long as they’re civil #I have a playlist for them but I’ve been waffling on whether to share it or not #ultimately this is a Sonadow au as much as it’s an exploration of shadow and Maria’s peculiar relationship here #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #Maria Robotnik #service animal au #my post

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hyperfixat · 1 year

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~725 word interlude for the yandere lucifer thing i posted a bit ago!!

pt one

Why is he always last to the punch? All sound and sight blurs as his sight zeros in on the red, scabbing mark on the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck. He can’t tell what his brothers are saying, what you are saying it’s static.

Someone’s laid claim on you. Lucifer doesn’t know who, doesn’t care who, because he knows it was one of his brothers’ vile fangs staking you. It should be him, his mark, his teeth tasting you, not them.

Shouldn’t they have at least asked before marking you up. He’s the reason you can stay, he keeps you here, and they ignore his authority.

Breakfast tastes like soot, all he can see is your neck with bite marks that aren’t his. A feral desire stirs inside Lucifer, to claim you as his, to hold you above his siblings. He can share, he can, it’s just that he should be the first in line, your choice, if you had to choose.

Lucifer abruptly dismisses himself, leaving a half eaten plate in his seat, which will be snatched away the second his footsteps are out of earshot of Beelzebub. He mutters some excuse about Lord Diavolo, desperate to keep his cool in front of you. No, you can’t see this vile envy burning through his heart.

Paperwork serves as a lousy distraction. It is bland and repetitive and there is nothing to stop his mind from wandering.

He wonders if you’d let him stake a claim as bold as a bite on you? Would you allow him to draw blood? The thought alone makes his head spin. He can almost taste you already and then quill in his hand snaps.

MC <3

Lucifer: If you would come to my office after class, I have something to discuss with you.

MC: Sure!

MC: i’m not in trouble am i?

Lucifer: No. I simply wish to talk.

MC: (posing demoji, smiling with stars, cheekily posed.)

Good. Satisfaction swirls in Lucifer’s chest and he grabs a new pen and resumes his work.

Time cannot melt away fast enough, and no matter how hard he throws himself into the papers, you possess his mind. He’s nearly insane by the time you gently crack his door open, peeking a single eye into the room to spot him before coming in.

Your uniform is ruffled from a long day at school, and his hands itch to fix it for you, but more importantly. “Which one of my brothers bit you?”

You flush a beautiful pink and suddenly Lucifer finds himself a tiny bit less upset at the situation.

“Mammon.” You shift under his heavy gaze.

“Why did you let him?”

“He asked nicely.”

“I find myself wondering, if I asked nicely, would you let me take a claim on you?”

“Oh,” your heart thumps wonderfully beneath the skin of your neck, his fingers trace up to your face, your jaw. You’re so beautiful when he has you like this.

“Hmm? Will you indulge me, little one? Let me taste you, and mark up your pretty neck?”

Lucifer pecks little kisses along the column of your throat, basking in the stutter of your breath.

“Yes,” you manage.

Lucifer smiles and gives a small love bite to a vein in your neck.

“Thank you, little star.” He practically purrs the words.

“But!” You regain a bit of yourself, less lost to his charm. “You have to ask nicely.”

“Oh?” Lucifer laughs. The laugh when he knows he’s about to do something really cool and sexy. With that he kneels on the floor in front of you, unleashing his wings, horns, and other various demonic changes.

He reached for your hand and places a kiss on your wrist.

“Won’t you allow me the greatest pleasure of claiming you as my own? It would be my deepest honor, little one.” And if he doesn’t absolutely live for the blush that coats your cheeks at that. His long eyelashes shadow his undereye gorgeously.

“Yes,” you stare at him as he pulls himself to his feet. Lucifer makes a show of grinning with his fangs on display, giving you a preview of what he’s about to bite you with. It makes your knees weak. Such a powerful demon using one of his sharpest assets on you in a way you trust him to not bring you lasting harm.

#verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x you #lucifer obey me #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #yandere obey me #yandere obey me x reader

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subwaytostardew · 6 months

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how would the twins feel about the flower dance?

Ingo likes it! He's quite interested in the valley's customs. Emmet on the other hand...

Emmet hates it, but he finds fun elsewhere. It doesn't really matter if he likes anyone or not….. he's just nosey for the sake of it.

Joltik is having fun, too!

Their rejection dialogue was actually the first lines of dialogue we wrote for them... It took months to come back and finish writing dialogue for the festivals. We were originally thinking that they would be more reserved and reluctant to join, but they would have become more comfortable by then. The first Flower Dance they attend would take place after they've lived in the valley for almost a year, since the Railroad doesn't open until Summer 3. They both used to be tucked away in the corner... now they're spread out and Emmet is stalking people in plain sight like usual.

Rejection/marriage under the read-more.

- Rejection Lines - ▲ Ingo ▲

"I see… my apologies, but I will have to refuse. I simply do not know you well enough to embark on this cab with you at this event. Thank you, however, for considering myself as an option. Perhaps the other townsfolk may be more inclined?" ▽ Emmet ▽

"No. I am Emmet. And I am not going to dance with you. Talk to someone else."

- Alternate dialogue when married to Ingo -

▲ Ingo ▲

"You look as astonishing as ever, dear! If you would be so kind as to indulge me, I look forward to coupling with you upon the tracks of the Flower Dance."

"Embarrassing as it may be… ever since I had learned of this festival, I had fantasized endlessly about engaging in its customs with you."

"If you wish to head upon those tracks, it would be my pleasure to accept your request!"

▽ Emmet ▽

"Hey. You're here to dance with Ingo, right? He's been practicing. It was verrrry annoying when he first made me learn all the customs. It's funny now that I know how lovesick he is about you."

"I hope you're ready, too! I am on picture duty with Joltik. He wanted to preserve his memory with you forever. He's so cheesy like that. Smile!"

Joltik

"Emmet gave me a verrrry important task! I get to be on camera duty when you dance with Ingo!"

- Alternate dialogue when married to Emmet -

▽ Emmet ▽

"Darling! You’re going to participate in the Flower Dance, aren’t you? I will be your partner. Yup. Even though I don’t like the dance. It’s weird. My legs do not like bending that way. You know that. But I will still be your partner for it. Yup."

"You know my favorite part of the Flower Dance is watching the other townsfolk be nervous about rejection. I don't want us to be part of that."

"That doesn't mean I want you to try to get rejected by someone else. I can decline if you really, really want to do that part. We do everything together as a two-car train."

"I can't risk you coupling with someone else. Don't ask anyone to dance with you. I'm watching. Joltik is, too. They will be verrrry sad if you do. Don't try it. You don't need anyone else."

"If you don't want to dance here, we can dance at our terminal station. Later. Just the two of us. With more fun moves!"

"It would not be nice if you coupled with someone else… But I trust your judgment. I am here for you. We can dance, or we cannot. The choice is yours. I'm yours, too."

▲ Ingo ▲

"Though he may complain quite a bit, Emmet would indeed be pleased to oblige in your request to couple with him during the Flower Dance!"

"He has actually been quite nervous that you wouldn't enjoy his company as your Flower Dance partner… His train of thought is not headed in the right direction…"

"But I have confidence that you'll quell his unfounded worries once again!"

"Emmet will also not take kindly to your cab diverting tracks from him. He was never the fondest of sharing…"

"Please refrain from entertaining the idea of dancing with anyone else. If you do, I will not hear the end of it… There should be no need for me to console him afterwards."

Joltik

"Are you going to dance with Emmet? He put me on camera duty, just in case!"

"I want to use the camera! It's fun adding to Emmet's scrapbook! He feeds me batteries when we do!"

"It's okay if you don't dance! I'm taking pictures anyways! I'll get lots of batteries later!"

#mail car connecting line #subway to stardew #subway to stardew terminal station #submas #ingo #emmet #I'm sorry this took so long to answer!#EDIT I JUST RELIZED INGO'S PICTURES WERE OUT OF ORDER

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 8 months

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What are some characters you'll like to see interact more that hasn't done so much in the series?

Oooo ok this is tricky and the second I post this I'll probably think of more!

I listed a few duos I'd like to see explored more a while back! I'm a bit lazy to go back and link to it now but I remember wanting to see more Dazai and Kyouka, Fukuzawa with young Yosano after she'd just been brought to the Agency, Aya and Akutagawa, and my favourite joke duo, Odasaku and Adam. Here's a few others I thought of:

Gin and Ryuunosuke: Please let them interact in canon. Please. They are literally siblings.

Margaret and literally anyone: Please. She has such an interesting set up. Where are we going with her? Can we elaborate on her situation? Her story? I just want her to interact with characters beside Nathaniel. I'd love to see her encounter Akutagawa again actually... could be really interesting.

Wells and literally anyone: Bring her back... I miss her... :'(

Mushitarou and Ango: ...me and the three other mushiango shippers crying for more of them... (but really I just think they're an interesting duo. *slaps both of them* these two can fit so much grief and regret)

Aya and Jouno: I'd like them to meet up again. I just think they could have a neat dynamic, with Jouno having faith in her without needing to know of her capabilities, simply because he knows she (and any civilian) would be underestimated. Also, both with the whole "justice as a choice" thing. Idk. Something there.

Chuuya and Atsushi: PLEASE. I need to see it so bad. Why have they not directly interacted yet? It seems intentional to me.

Naomi and Dazai: We get hints that Dazai actually teaches Naomi tricks and strategy advice. I'd like to actually see it!

Mori and Fukuchi: They were both at Tokoyami Island during the war! They may have actually met before this!!! I hope we elaborate on this soon. ...also I want both Fukuzawa's exes to meet and for there to be drama because it's funny to me. Bonus points if Mori shows up while Fukuzawa is still bleeding out on the ground. Old man yaoi showdown... (I am kidding :P)

Teruko and Natsume: These two authors had a real connection! Teruko was a student of his. I'd love if they pulled that into the series somehow!

Natsume and Agatha: OKAY, so this is based off irl Natsume's real exchange to Britain he went on. He hated it there lol. That's why I'm hoping for interactions between these two… and I hope they cannot stand each other. Maybe something happened between Natsume and the Order of the Clock Tower and they parted on bad terms. They meet again and the two are just all smiles as Agatha pours tea and Natsume rests his hands on his cane and they think of how much they wish they could laser beam the other to death. Idk. I like the concept tbh.

And these are just silly and self-indulgent:

Sigma and Tsujimura: if Sigma turns out to actually be Ian Fleming, I demand they meet and have a Bond-esque secret agent adventure.

Katai, Kunikida, and Higuchi: my dream crack trio that definitely makes no sense but I can't get it out of my head. I can't explain it ok I just think it's funny if Katai, after the Gin debacle, ends up with two overworked blond friends who check in to make sure that he is still alive under his futon. I need to emphasize though that Higuchi is far from her usual polite or professional and is just so done with Katai all the time. Katai still can't manage to make proper eye contact with her or have a full conversation. Nobody understands how they are keeping in touch or why. Also important you know that Kunikida and Higuchi have this weird frenemies dynamic where they are rightfully suspicious of each other for being on opposite sides but then feel like. A sharp pang of sympathy in their chests every time they hear about the crap the other has to deal with. They both shit-talk Dazai and can rant for hours. Katai is left standing there like 😥. It's basically just the "two teenaged boys" post, where Kunikida is the (comparatively) gentle "oh did you just wake up", Higuchi is the "OPEN UP FUCKNUGGET" and Katai is the guy who answers the door past noon still in his blanket. I know it makes no sense. Let me have this.

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hauntedpearl · 11 months

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anyway fic concept I'm pulling and stretching like candy in my brain rn: what if amara pulled cas' grace out as a "gift" to dean instead of resurrecting mary and it was so awfulhorrendousbad for everyone involved.

like cas does not want to be human but there's nothing he can do and also he just has to live in this state knowing full well that it was something done to him (again) for the sake of someone else (again) and the person his body is supposed to serve is like. he's not even interested in it! he's not even caring and apologetic about it! because dean wouldn't be.

the problem with Dean is that he's extremely self-indulgent when he's experiencing pain which means that even when hes dying of guilt he'll turn it into a pity party and explode with anger and frustration instead of. like. putting the needs of the people he's feeling guilty about having hurt first. and he never expects absolution but he craves it deep within and he's also. like. so afraid of it. like he wants to be forgiven for things but he cannot handle the tenderness that comes with forgiveness i think so he must like. act unforgivable. or something. idk I'm just. thinking out loud.

anyway. yes. so when this happens dean's just so goddamn hurt that he can't do anything to help cas get his wings back + that cas is. like. in this state because Amara wanted to do something for him so this is simply the most blatant and warped manifestation of his desire to be. like. with cas. which. at that point i think he's still battling with that intensely and he doesn't like what he's seeing. i think he only becomes okay with it post widower arc in s13 because the vaccum cas left behind was like. too large. and if it was a choice between being okay with being gay for the angel and not having the angel at all, it's an easy choice. like that's my interpretation. but anyway. i digress.

so. dean's just incapable of even confronting cas head-on beyond, idk, just bringing him back to the bunker and making sure he's not dead (bmol plot is not happening in this fic bc i am. not someone with that much talent lmao). he avoids him and leaves sam to take care of cas and sam is like. bad at it. he is horrible at it. he also does not want to be involved in whatever is going on with Dean and cas and he craves a return to normalcy. so when cas decides to just bail on the brothers after he's had enough of this. frankly emotional torture, sam is like. more than happy to pack his bags for him and give him money and send him on his way. I think cas does confront dean before he goes and he openly states whatever dean is not ready to face. he's like you love me and that's why this happened to me and i love you and i forgive you but i cannot stand to be here anymore. and he just leaves and does not contact dean for a long time. like i think dean does. get better. because he has to. FOR ME. he has to do it because i want him to do it. and he like gets to a place where he can accept whatever is going on with him and also. like. accept cas' rejection were it to come his way. for rejecting him first. ykwim? and cas also has his own. journey where he has to come to terms with living as a human being even tho he isn't and he never truly will be but his grace is gone and the guy it's gone for is not in his life by his choice and everything SUCKS. but like. you keep living because you have to. eventually you'll find joy one way or another. you learn to be okay. i think cas learns to be okay. and he only reaches out to dean after he's. like. reached a point where he feels fulfilled and happy and just. wants to give dean another shot. feels confident enough that he'll choose himself it he has to. and then when they meet up it's electric it's fire and it's love and it's all things romance ™ (for meee!!! for me!!!) and then they kiss and then they sit down and talk and cry and dean reveals the extent to which he wants this whole thing to be entirely Cas' choice and he is just HERE. he is JUST HERE he doesn't care if he has to do uncomfortable things!! and cas is like well good because you have to do many uncomfortable things but it's like. it's good it's compromise and they take care of each other etc the end

ANYWAY. AMARA TAKING CAS' GRACE. YEAH

#fic idea #if anyone writes this before i do I'll just sadly slunk away but ive been thinking about it for too long and the words are jisg #not coming so.#be free my little headcanon #doe is talking again #spn headcanons #destiel

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hell-drabbles · 5 months

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Ahhh thank you for responding to my drabble very well! It's been on my draft for a long time now and so is this one. I'm a little embarrassed about this since I feel like I'm striving away from the original personality of the characters:///

Summary (?): you forcedly got dragged by the devils in hades to their place. Claiming that their lord wishes to have your presence present next to him, you happily oblige yet you never seem to spare the Envy any attention. After all, presence is all he ever ask right?

"Solomon"

"Yeah?"

You didn't bother to look away from your book even when you feel the heavy stares burning on your side and instead moving your body in another direction, complete hiding your face with your back facing the person.

This doesn't sit right in the said person. Leviathan, the king of hades and the embodiment of envy itself, cross his arms as he keeps staring at you, an attempt that if he continues to stare at you, you might have had enough and finally will look at him.

But that never happened.

You remain stubborn as your eyes are stuck and repeatedly move back and forth with every etters, words and paragraph you can catch on. Not even the slightest thing he does bother you. Almost like he's just a background, which currently is what it really looks like.

Leviathan's gaze grows hard and dark as he approaches you. Every tread makes you unconsciously count with the help of the voice in your head.

...6

He halted as his tall body loomed over yours, he took a quick glance at the book on your hand before looking at your head. his eyes crinkling in a weight of even more jealousy. How you're able to put your attention and even caress such a mudane object instead of using it to the the king himself. He feels so jealous and that's what's amused you more than anything.

He spoke in low and quiet tone "what even is in that thing that you cannot even look at me? I'm sure that I'm much more interesting to admire than some books in there." He asked as he obsessively search for anything, anything that can be reasoned for his envy. There's not a single shame in his voice. Almost like it's a total normal behavior to be furiously jealous over simple things. You never meet someone who can be petty as leviathan and if your being fair, leviathan is the only person you had in mind, first to Satan.

"Because..." You slowly close the book as you jump out of the seat and walking straight to the door.

"I like it" without anymore words, you close the door. Leaving the envy all by himself standing awkwardly like a stick.

And it doesn't force you to do anything.

Levi is officially my favorite toy now 👉👈🐮

Ohohohoho. The more I'm seeing of him through screenshots, the more I'm enjoying mentally making him suffer.

You like it. You like the aged pages of the book. You like the words carefully written upon them as they weaved the story. You like the cover that was handmade and lovingly bound to hold everything together. You like the light wear and tear of the edges, a clear mark of how many times it's been handled and used. You like...

You like this book that Leviathan was so horribly jealous of. Many things, too many things about this book simply didn't resemble him. What was so interesting about this book? Was it simply better to indulge in a fantasy when the reality that is Leviathan can serve so much better? He is not an imaginary image to be shaped by the words of someone else. By the author that penned this book that you held in your hand.

You would rather touch pages than tug at his clothes. You would rather breath in the air of aged books than take in his pristine scent. You would rather have your eyes ache after hours of reading than refresh your eyes with his image when he grants you the opportunity.

Should he? Should he burn that book? Should he go find the author that made it and pry open their head to rip their mind out? Should he destroy every library that ever exists so that you have no choice but to entertain him as you do yourself?

But that would change nothing. There would be no warmth in your eyes to return the ones boiling underneath his skin. That would bring him no closer to you reaching out to brush your fingers over his cheeks when they flush with unbridled lust.

If Leviathan gives in and rips everything you love apart, you would still not give him anything.

#admin #drabble #leviathan #whb #reader insert #writer: dyssey #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad

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jakegooglyeyes · 2 years

Text

Delicacy - vampire!Jake

Gif credit: me (@/jakegooglyeyes)

Pairing: vampire!Jake x f!reader

Summary: You are on your period and Jake is eager to have a taste.

Warnings: oral while on period (f receiving), no penetration, menstruation, blood. RPF. 18+ Minor DNI.

Word count: 1317

A/N: A little idea I had with @gyllenhaalstories. Thank you so much for your support and love. This is me celebrating the month of October. While I don’t plan to do a full Kinktober, I’m trying to get my motivation for writing back.

"Let me have a little taste."

When you hear Jake's request, you almost throw your pillow at his face for daring to make such an outrageous proposal. The painful cramps are aggravating enough. No way in hell you're going to let him make a huge mess just because of his sudden appetite.

Long story short, your boyfriend is a vampire a few centuries old. That's fine. Ever since he opened up to you about that, you've occasionally indulged his thirst for blood. That's also fine because he makes it feel very pleasurable for you. Now he's asking if he can taste your menstruation blood. That's NOT fine. You're NOT fine.

"I read this technique from one of my family's ancient tomes, and I'm sure I can make the cramping disappear. Y/N, please?"

Wow, can he think of a worse justification? You grit your teeth and insist that he cannot. Then, you curl yourself around the warm water bottle and decide to ignore the person sitting on the side of your bed, who is looking at you like a puppy waiting for treats.

"I promise, it's going to feel so good. C'mon, love, you know it will."

Jake still hasn't given up. He litters your sides and stomach with tiny kisses to ease you up. Your boyfriend has fantasized about this many times but never had the chance to bring it up to you. And this time, he is determined to get your permission. He has held himself back and come extremely close to losing it many times. But right now, you just simply smell so good. He is never going to let this one chance slip away. Jake is so close to your pussy that he can practically smell your warm and inviting lifeblood.

You hate to admit it, but you are somewhat curious, and if he really can make the pain go away, then you want it. Still, this is too outlandish. Everyone has some reservations about themselves.

"Ow, fuck." You curse softly, feeling another throbbing pain in your lower abdomen. This month's cramps are particularly nasty. Your mind wanders. If Jake is telling the truth, what do you have to lose? Worst case scenario, he makes a bloody mess on the bed sheet. But he would be dealing with the consequences because he was the one who asked for it. And despite the pain, auntie Flo also makes you kind of horny.

"Please... I swear you will not regret it." Jake continues to push his agenda. He's so hungry for you now someone would need to stab him with a wooden stake to make him stop.

"Alright, fine. But you clean the sheet." You nod, rethinking your life choices before laying on your back, still pressing the water bottle on your belly.

"Thank you, love. You just relax. Let me take care of everything." Jake mentally throws his hands in the air celebrating figuratively as he gets a clean towel and puts it beneath your butts. Next, he eagerly slips off your pajama's bottom. His face lits up as he gets a whiff of your divine scent. He slowly removes your panties and finds the string of your tampon. Jake pulls on it gently, testing your reaction. You grumble, wondering if you've made a mistake letting him have his way.

"Is it okay if I pull it out?" Jake looks up at you, awaiting your approval. You nod, and he grins from ear to ear. You inhale, feeling the piece of cotton slipping through your entrance. Jake fights back the urge to suck on the tampon like a popsicle before discarding the thing. Once he's done, he sits back and takes time to admire your pussy, savoring every second.

"There there. It's going to feel nice soon." Jake coos. His hand caresses the protruding hill below your belly button. He doesn't waste another second before diving between your legs and gives your soft lips a good lick, tasting the blood that lingers on them. You let out a small whimper. Your body is a lot more sensitive during this time of the month. Knowing this, Jake is much more gentle today, slowly enjoying the metallic taste.

His tongue works on your clit, circling and pressing down on it. The sensation makes your inner walls contract, pushing out a stream of red, which Jake happily laps right up. You can't tell if you're getting wet or if that's just your blood, perhaps a mixture of both. All you can feel is warm fluid trickling down your thighs.

"You taste so good, baby. Your blood is exquisite as it is, but this is a treat." Jake compliments as he fully immerses himself in the flavor.

You quiver as you feel his tongue making love to your inner thighs before returning to your aching clit. He carefully closes his lips around each of your lips and sucks on them. You sigh and relax a little more. His low body temperature has a pleasant cooling effect on your sensitive parts. He looks pretty pleased with himself whenever you moan and squeeze your legs around his head, showing him how much you enjoy this. You get to feel better during the worst time of the month, and he gets to have an all-you-can-eat buffet. What's there to complain about?

His hand rubbing your tummy starts moving in a circular motion, and to your surprise, the pain begins to lessen bit by bit. You release a joyful whimper. Then, without the pain ruining your attention, you close your eyes, relishing the mounting pleasure between your trembling legs.

"Don't hold back, baby. Let it all out." Jake praises softly before spreading your entrance with his thumb, allowing him easier access. His tongue makes its way into your dripping walls, drawing out more wetness while he makes mental notes, memorizing the heavenly scent and taste. The flavor is incredible beyond his imagination.

"I've been waiting for this for weeks. Feed me, love." He pleas before increasing the pressure on your mound. You can practically feel his fangs brushing over your clit and pussy lips. Jake momentarily breaks away from the main feast to munch on your thighs, drawing out delicious yelps from you. He quietly plans to take care of those delectable thighs some other days. Right now, though, he has a more important goal.

Your cheeks feel hot, and your eyes start to water as a delightful tingling sensation spreads throughout your body. Jake's light stubbles tickle your skin, and the tip of his nose pokes at your swollen bud, adding to the increasing pleasure. You arch your back, grinding yourself into Jake's mouth even more. Your eyes are closed, and you can't see, but you know his face is probably covered in your blood and juices.

With a white flash, your pussy throbs, and you scream as your orgasm hits. The contraction of your walls pushes out a rivulet of warm nectar. Jake carefully sips it up like the finest wine he has ever tasted.

"It truly is a delicacy from Eden. Only God could have created such a wonderful concoction." Jake laments to himself while cleaning up the last drops with his tongue. You roll your eyes at his corny language but are too sleepy to protest. He tenderly sucks and licks your flower for what feels like hours before tending to you with a towel soaked in warm water. After that, he helps you change into clean clothes and bring you a cup of hot chocolate, just as you like whenever you have to deal with your period.

You take a sip of the beverage, feeling the energy return to your limbs. The cramping has gone, and your body feels light and content. Jake lays down and pulls you into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder before kissing you on the forehead while humming a familiar tune.

#jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #fic: delicacy #fics #nat writes

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iliveiloveiwrite · 1 year

Note

hi! congrats on 7k!! i wanted to submit a request for a benedict bridgerton fic with the prompt: “you're pretty amazing. you know that, right?” from the sacred romantic moments list. maybe with him in a moment where he realizes he’s falling in love with reader? thank you!

Always You // Benedict Bridgerton

A/n: thank you for requesting, I’m so sorry it has taken so long for me to write it and I’m sorry it isn’t longer.

Warnings: fluff, feelings, cute, Benedict realises he is in love with the reader.

Word count: 100+

To say Benedict Bridgerton was surprised to find himself in love with you would be an understatement. Rather, he was inclined to agree with the greats - it hit him like a lightning bolt. The realisation taking over him sudddenly, leaving him close to breathless and dizzy.

All this time. All this time he had been searching for his love match, desperate to have even an inkling of what his elder brother shared with his wife. Attending luncheon after luncheon, ball after ball in the hopes he would clap eyes on the person to whom he would promise his forever.

Instead, his forever had been in front of him the whole time.

“You’re pretty amazing. You know that, right?” The words leave his lips before he can acknowledge them but before even an ounce of regret can settle upon his shoulders, Benedict is rewarded with your smile.

“And what if I was to tell you I didn’t know I was amazing. What would you do then?” You reply from your seat across the table from the Bridgerton. Your tea remains undisturbed as you meet Benedict’s gaze; the long-standing friendship between you always fraught with the urge to become something more.

Benedict only just realises the change in your voice - teasing with an undercurrent of flirtatiousness - as he replies. “Then I would have to list the ways in which you are.”

His offer hangs in the air; the words charged with knowledge that the both of you teeter on the edge of something else, something more. It’s been crafted in a way that leaves the decision up to you; it is your choice whether you take this one step further and hear the ways in which the blue eyed Bridgerton admires you. The temptation becomes too much to bare. A heavy sigh drops from your lips as you swoon dramatically. “Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to list them for I simply cannot tell you whether I am amazing or simply too much to put up with.”

Benedict laughs indulgently; the sound rich and luscious, brightening the room and the atmosphere. “Are you sitting comfortably?” At your nod, he continues, “Then we’ll begin.”

Benedict holds up his index finger. “Firstly, you are amazing in the way you see the best in people. Why, I’ve even seen you draw a genuine smile from Lady Featherington once or twice.”

A second finger joins the first. “Secondly, you are amazing in the way you handle each member of my family. From Colin’s spontaneity to Eloise’s need to further herself. You handle each with grace by being an ear for them for when they need it.”

Benedict rises from his seat, fixing the rumple in his jacket before lifting a third and final finger. “And last of all, you are truly amazing for loving me just as wholly as I love you,” Benedict finishes, hope burning bright in his blue eyes as he kneels before you. “Am I correct?” He teases, a boyish smile lighting up his face as his heart pounds a thousand miles a minute as he desperately wants to know whether you love him just the same.

“Yes,” You sigh, a loving and fond smile turning up your lips. “I happen to be that amazing.”

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton imagines #Benedict Bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton fluff #fluff

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aeoki · 1 year

Text

SHINSEKAI - Prologue

Location: Tohoku Qualifiers Stage Characters: Mika, Shuu, Sora, Natsume & Tsumugi Season: Winter Writer: Akira

TL Note:

For those who have difficulty understanding, this is an idiom that means when you’re in a difficult situation, you’ll accept any help, but once you’re out of that difficult situation, you’ll neglect that help until you need it again.

< Mid-November. The opening of the “SS” Qualifying Rounds in the Tohoku region and the final battle of the “Championship Match”. >

Shuu: It’s our victory, Boy.

Natsume: …………

Shuu: Well, it’s the only natural outcome. You and I stand on two very different places. The difference between our many years of training and our honed abilities is as large as the difference between the earth and the heavens.

While you have all been indulging yourself in this game of pretend war and politics, we “Valkyrie” have simply been in pursuit of our arts.

You were making small steps all this time while we were running to turn our ideals into a reality!

And this is the fruit of our labour!

“♪~♪~♪”

Behold! The apotheosis of “Valkyrie”! Kneel! Before the beautiful art we’ve woven!

You foolish idols who have neglected your hard work! Succumb to the blinding brilliance! Ka ka ka ka ka!

Tsumugi: Well, we weren’t exactly slacking, though.

If you said we were sidetracked, then I suppose we were.

Shuu: ? I don’t quite understand but don’t talk to me in such a friendly manner, Aoba. I have not forgiven your betrayal from years ago!

Tsumugi: Say what~? Everyone else prays no more once on shore[*] and whatnot and they’ve been trying not to touch upon that topic, though?

Shuu-kun, I see you and Natsume-kun still bear anger towards us “fine”.

Natsume: Hearing you say “us ‘fine’” irritates me, thouGH. I can’t speak for Shuu Nii-san but I’m not that angry anymoRE.

However, I can’t simply pretend the past “never happenED”.

From the immense amount of emotions that were born from that trageDY, Shuu Nii-san used it to channel his flames of anger into his art and I used it as the base of my magIC.

That’s all there is to iT. It’s not about who’s at the top or the bottom nor is it about who’s won or loST.

I’m also moving forward, like yOU, Shuu Nii-san.

If you didn’t notice thAT or pretended you didn’t see iT… No, if you think I’m still a helpless child who cannot do anything, thEN…

You may be proud of your victoriES, Shuu Nii-san, but you might end up in tears latER ♪

Shuu: Non! What a filthy choice of words! That sort of inferior phrase does not suit us at all!

Natsume: YeAH. You would refuse to understand if I chose to word it that wAY, Shuu Nii-san. In other words, you won’t be able to notice our real intentioNS. This too is that sort of magIC.

Mika: ? Do you understand what they’re sayin’, Sora-kun?

Sora: HaHa~♪ Sora has no issues understanding them! Sora knows the premise so Sora can understand by working out the meaning~

Mika: What~? Whenever “Valkyrie” and “Switch” got together for work, we made a promise we’d stay in a corner ‘cause we’re the “kids who don’t know what’s goin’ on”, right~?

Sora: Heheh ♪ Sora has grown up, Mika-chan-san!

Tsumugi: Fufu. Well, in any case, allow us to applaud you: Congratulations on making it past the “SS” Qualifying Round in the Tohoku region, Shuu-kun.

Shuu: Hmph. It seems you’re making me repeat myself, but it was only natural for things to turn out this way.

One month has slowly passed without holding the Qualifying Round and which unit would make it past the Qualifying Round…

Would be decided in the form of a live battle tournament very reminiscent of Yumenosaki.

It’s only because I also approved of that decision, so we decided to cooperate and stand on the stage for the “Championship Match” which you three are hosting.

Tsumugi: Ahaha. The public’s reaction is rather vague, though. It seems there are people who have booked hotels to watch the entirety of the Qualifying Rounds, as well.

It would be unfortunate for all of it to end in the blink of an eye.

I think local companies have also made preparations in accordance with the Qualifying Rounds, but we’re the ones who chose to ignore all of that.

Shuu: Hmph. I’m sure you lot in “Switch” will have prepared some sort of magic that would entertain those who still have regrets.

That sort of narrow-minded behaviour is your forte, isn’t it?

Natsume: …………

Shuu: In any case, we’ve proved that “Valkyrie” is far superior. We’ve done it in the simplest way that even philistines can understand.

We’re satisfied with that. At the “Antique Market”, we were criticised by “Double Face” who claimed we were weak in dreamfests, however, we’ve been able to prove that wrong, as well.

Behold! We’ve demonstrated our overwhelming abilities and have emerged victorious!

Tsumugi: Well, if you put that much time and money into preparing for such a performance, the other units – including us – wouldn’t be able to stand a chance.

It’s a very conventional “Valkyrie” tactic, though.

Sora: HiHi~ That’s why it’s easy to predict what you’ll do ♪

Mika: ………?

Natsume: WeLL, bathe as much as you like in your triumph right nOW.

I don’t intend on hurting my brothers in tHE “Five Oddballs” and this is also one of my desired outcomES.

But if you still see me as a helpless child who cannot do anythiNG, then all I can say is, you have my condolencES.

Shuu: ………?

Natsume: The curtain of the “SS” Qualifying Round in the Tohoku region has fallen with “Valkyrie’s” victoRY. But this is where the real story unfolDS.

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Next Chapter →

#shinsekai #enstars translation

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docholligay · 6 months

Note

Doc is it okay to like irredeemable trash media? Something that makes you smile but is the intellectual/moral equivalent of eating Skittles for breakfast?

I am not your priest nor your God, and you can't receive absolution from me. What I think is only worth the value you give it. I take no responsibility for how much you care about this, just want to come out of the gate with that.

Now, to the question at hand. I actually think "eating skittles for breakfast" is a GREAT comparison. People often get on my ass, affectionately, about how I can be in such good shape and eat a bunch of chicken wings and whiskey and taco bell, and here it is: I don't do that most of the time.

There's nothing wrong with watching really dumb TV, eating shit with maybe one (1) nutrient, reading only YA novels, or moving only from the couch to the computer daily, imbibing a bit in silly juice, what have you. But. If you make these indulgences a daily thing, it'll start to show on you. That's just the reality. Everything in life is a muscle. You can huff going up the stairs and you can struggle to assess complex situations. You can struggle to get through a college-level text and you can get malnutrition.

Of course there are outliers, but for the vast majority of us, these are the consequences of our consistent choices. I am good at running because I run. I was not good at running when i started to run, and I would not be good at running if I stopped running for a year. I am good at understand complex texts because i read them. I am not a good artist because I do not draw. I can't do pushups because I don't do them.

(If you are a person who is special and so none of this applies to you because there is no way you could ever make choices that would make you better at anything, that's great for you! I assume you are intelligent enough to know this, and so go, much in the way that I do when I look at discussions of "Who the hell doesn't like bacon?" will simply say, 'oh cool, this doesn't apply to me." Because who would need a stranger to reassure them of what they already know? That would be weird.)

So, I love some really stupid things. I cannot believe I am saying this in public, because I am genuinely ashamed in this moment, but I love to watch 90 day fiancee. It's genuine trash. It is not good and it's also bad. Even the Golden Girls, which I don't feel quite such horror about, isn't really working my brain cells, if we're all living in a space of honesty. I read Louis L'Amour, a man with MAYBE four plotlines over 100+ books. But I don't do that ALL the time. I make sure to keep myself mentally conditioned to be the sort of mentally agile person i want to be.

If that's not important to you, then that is actually okay. I don't by and large, unless we're very close, care about what people do to themselves mentally or physically. I figure it's your life. But I just want everyone to be honest about it, let's not kid ourselves here. I am actually not just as good at critiquing ballet as someone who follows and studies ballet, for example. And I am not gonna trust the media discernment of someone who only watches kids' shows anymore than I'm gonna trust the palate of someone who only eats kid food.

That's also fine! we gotta get over this idea that we have to be likeable to everyone AND A L S O that everyone is honor-bound to like you unless you're actively mean to them. If someone's really into watches football and hates physical activity, we are probably not going to be friends because I don't know much about football and often absent-mindedly walk several miles while chatting. That's not a moral judgment. If someone is like, 'I do not want to be your friend because I don't want to talk about the things you like" I think that is totally fair.

So, is it okay with me, that you like dumb shit? Sure, as long as you have a balanced diet of thoughtful shit! But if you're not looking to be someone I am impressed with, then you don't have to care.

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notknickers · 7 months

Text

tma fears and könig

(i have incorporated my headcanons and my interpretations of könig with this: it's not like we are given much canon material to work with, anyway. just warning about it, because if you see me belabour a point with iron confidence, but cannot place where that came from, the answer is simply "from my head".)

@eyerotyourbrain : the intersection between different types of brainrots that affect the tma girlies (gender neutral) and the cod girlies (also gender neutral) with specific regards to jared hopworth and könig may remain a mystery, but the intersection between könig and the fears isn't anymore. not to me, no sir, it never was!

it has been revealed by yours truly under the cut, if you're still interested.

(i sincerly hope you are, because this thing took me three days!!! 😂)

first, however, mandatory self-identification: i am wholly of the stranger, with just a bit of flesh. it would be nice to know who i am dealing with, in turn.

(please, don't be yet another eyevatar 😭)

the buried: könig is no stranger to poverty and crushing debt, or at least, his younger self was acutely aware of this. squalor, negation and absence were young könig's everyday reality for years. the way it has left a mark is how, once he managed to dig himself out of penury, the toll those years took on him still manifests in his preoccupation with keeping afloat, insisting on living way below his means even though he doesn't need to anymore.

the way this fear manifests in könig is twofold: on the one hand, as stressed by his choice for a job, he will do anything for that paychecque, to keep the money flowing; on the other, the spartan lifestyle free of self-indulgence and frivolity, contrasted by a tendency towards hoarding what few possessions he has, until, one day, perhaps his tower of junk will collapse and bury him whole.

if he were an avatar of the buried, his distinctive feature would be the dirt under his chipped, bloody nails that coats his fingers no matter how many times he washed his hands and a sense of unease and preoccupation he exudes, which turns to crushing despair everytime he stands too close to anyone.

the corruption: still due to the aforementioned poverty, filth was another thing that characterised könig's childhood: rotting food, crawlers and vermin attracted by it, dirty clothes, infrequent grooming and those fleeting moments of joy and distraction, playing with worms in the mud, picking snails after the rain or poking nests with a stick...

not an entirely negative thing, as living communally in barracks with many others, breathing the same air, sharing the same space and learning to be self-sufficient and resourceful while making do with what the military allowed is not for the weak of stomach.

the effects are still visible today, in the man könig has become: the loathing towards filth still manifests in a usually impeccable presentation of his person and his military quarters at the base, an exemplar of order, tidiness and cleanliness.

only for könig to fall into utter disrepair the moment in between deployments, when he is in his small, claustrophobic flat, full of hoarded possessions untidily piled in every corner, with countless roaches and other bugs raising generations of egg spawns, a mould-infested shower he rarely uses, as he barely keeps himself clean, and also infesting other fixtures in both loo and kitchen, such as sink and fridge. the squalor from which he fought so hard to escape always claims könig, drags him back in its unsanitary clutches the moment no one is looking.

however, the real mark the corruption left is könig's tendency towards obsession. if the somewhat unhealthy relationship he has with his job were not enough to show this, paying attention to the way he conducts his interpersonal relationships will.

even here, the ways he behaves are very disconnected, going from keeping to himself for fear of ceding to his instincts, to obsessing over a friendship or romantic relationship to the point of stalking - breaking and entering without a sign (unless he wants to leave one) is a joke for someone of his skills.

he is deathly afraid of abandonment, a thing that might come across as surprising, considering how independent and self-reliant könig is. but once he finds the unconditional care and the gentle love he craves, even the threat of that being taken from him affects him deeply and has him behaving irrationally. not overtly violently, as he worships his lovers with all of himself as the loyal puppy he is, but he will beg and cry not to be abandoned, clinging to that person both bodily and metaphorically for all his emotional needs. if that fails, that's when he will start imposing his presence where he is not wanted, until he finds a way to let go and disappear for another long bout of being on his own, lest his worst, most needy traits come out again.

love of any kind has been so scarce in his life, when it takes hold of him, it's like a parasite planting its roots in his flesh and sapping him of all sense as it grows and grows, leaving könig a pliant, clingy, but unpredictable husk.

if he were an avatar of the corruption, his eyes would always be bloodshot and his sclera an unhealthy, yellowish hue.

the dark: brackish water, when unpaid bills led to cut utilities but thirst hit all the same, is nothing könig did not already experience. and survived.

neither is the darkness of the wardrobe könig's parents confined him in as a child when they decided he was being too much, adding hours for every whimper and sob they heard coming from it, then, often, forgetting and just leaving him in there until little könig took it upon himself to risk further punishment by breaking out.

wardrobes, lockers, niches of every kind... places of fear and torture that, with time, turned to comfort and solace. somewhere könig could hide from shouting and bullying, find the peace and quiet he needed. the shroud of darkness as a mother's caress.

now, as a grown man, (besides the occasional pang of horror a flashback brings along, pulling him back in that wardrobe) fear of the dark is the furthest thing from his mind. dark is a friend, a cherished companion.

whoever tries to use it to their advantage against könig should be more afraid for their lives, than the other way around.

if könig were an avatar of the dark he would envelope his chosen victims in sightless, feelings-less darkness out of mercy, hoping for them to tap into their inner strengths and emerge more resilient.

in his spare time, he would totally hang out with the sandman and the beast that killed robert montauk.

the desolation: under the detached, composed, even careful exterior to the point of avoidance, something burns, powerful enough to scorch the earth all around and ensure nothing ever grows again.

for könig, this rage and resentment found the constricting touch of discipline in the army, at first, and in the years that bring calm in hindsight.

yet, subdued at great cost though it may be, that voracious flame still hungers and finds release on the battlefield, where, as far as könig is concerned, anything is allowed.

he knows the fire is as dangerous to his targets as it is to him and he is not afraid. one day, that terrible heat will turn inwards and engulf him whole in self-immolation and he won't return.

if könig were an avatar of the desolation, he would be driven less by spite, than need. but he would make for quite the herald of self/destruction for self/destruction's sake all the same.

the end: it's not that hard to believe that könig, still in his prime, is actually rather surprised to still be alive. between parental abuse and bullying that earned him the kinds of beltings and beatings he thought would kill him as he endured and all the hell he has been through as a soldier, not to mention the kind of health issues that come with his size), he hasn't known a moment in which he hasn't felt like he was on borrowed time.

like the clock meant to measure his life broke and when he didn't simply ceased, a rather different one with impossible hours took over and when its invisible hands join on the designated sign one last time, he will be no more.

if he were an avatar of the end, that pocket watch would be his artefact and he would use it to those who call to him, knowingly or not. in the meantime, he will have to settle with sending as many lives to crush through the end line with more mundane means, but with the same zeal as the most devoted acolyte.

may every life he takes fuel his own, instead of consuming him more.

the eye: quiet and unseen. that is what avoiding to make himself a target has always entailed. failure still marrs his face and body in hideous, disfiguring scars. making noise, being noticed at the wrong moment - which, it seems, for young könig the moment was never right - has never paid.

but to avoid something, one has to know it well and that is what könig perfected: knowing, learning, observing, hiding.

just because he doesn't always hold the gaze of his interlocutors, or his eyes wander while he speaks or listens, it does not mean he isn't paying attention to every word, every detail. and when you turn away, you will find his eyes boring holes through you, going through every piece and scrap of information he has at disposal to assemble and make sense.

and with his education being spotty, as his formative years were spent surviving, observing as learning has been an invaluable tool. a testament to it, his being a highly valued asset.

if he were an avatar of the eye, the fear that unkind eyes might once more lay on him would be driven to full-on paranoia of being watched and known and bared open and he would do anything to prevent that. he would probably be a very violent avatar who would soon leave the eye for something that better suits his need for protection, as his mind just couldn't take it.

the flesh: what hasn't this man's flesh known? perhaps gentleness, something he could use more of, something he certainly longs for.

it has known brutality, of which it still bears the marks.

it has known change, as the beastly god in man form könig is now was once rather different. a memory of a softer, scrawnier, gentler past self he keeps locked, clinging to it as he rejects and hides from it.

it has known the harrowing of being remade anew, whilst still being trapped in its confining form, the form of what he was and, in part, will always be.

if to tom haan meat is me, to könig, meat is weapon and barrier, honed and perfected to its use and through its use.

if könig were an avatar of the flesh, he would be too busy having nasty, disgusting, bloody sex with jared hopworth in my fics, for him to have time for anything else. sorry not sorry.

the hunt: for someone who spent years of his life being prey, only two choices were available: surrender to death, or upgrade to hunter. könig is still alive, so you know what choice he made.

studying his targets, learning their habits, navigating their environment, calculating escape routes to bar or exploit, forcing to a corner... that's a huge part of his job.

and the killing, of course.

the beast in him is there, pulling, tearing, stirring, wanting out. and it does come out. merciless, ravenous, bloodthirsty. once it smells blood, that part of hunting that is all about patience, strategy and calculation is eclipsed and the berserker beast takes over, dipping claws in eyesockets, tearing limbs from cores, digging in viscera and delighting in the screams.

feeding. filling. quenching.

until next time.

if könig were an avatar of the hunt... who's to say he isn't already? one thing is certain, however: he will never be prey again.

(although, care to sink your teeth in monster!könig? brave - or lustful - enough to let him do the same with you...?)

the lonely: isolation to the point of alienation.

from being denied counting on anyone but himself, to dedicating his existence towards never needing anyone and engaging fully with his killing business, the only place that exists for him in civil society is the one he carves with bloody claws... and, by now, the interest wanes more than it waxes.

he has been forsaken too many times. betrayed by those supposed to love him and barely given a chance to love the company of any, after that.

a little, unchoked spark for connection still exists there, but it's only a matter of time until it won't anymore. still, how nice it would be if it manifested... perhaps, in the solitude of his mind, he even dreams about it and the many forms it could take. perhaps he is not so far gone. yet.

would it even be possible, now, when avoidance and compartmentalising are all he has known?

if könig were an avatar of the lonely, i don' tknow that he would much care for peter lukas and his ilk...

the slaughter: how do you feel about those scenes of extreme, brutal, senseless violence set to brautiful, haunting and entirely out-of-place music? because i think that's what könig sees and hears when all that makes him human, all that makes him who he is has shrunk so far, deep inside that all is left is an amorphous amalgam of pure... what can you even call that?

the broken child is gone, so is the reserved, quiet man. no trace of the disciplined and strategically adept colonel.

yet, something that holds all three in spirit and shows all through könig's untamed and implacable, instinctual frenzy. second nature.

and it's music and movement and dancing to that gory tune that drowns out all but the screams and tender flesh turning to wet pulp, and he knows the everchanging steps by heart.

if könig were an avatar of the slaughter, he would long to hear the piper one last time, only to be denied.

the spiral: könig has stopped being afraid of losing his mind because he knows he went mad long ago. whatever emerged is what is left. what will always be.

one thing he does not fear and trusts unconditionally are his thoughts and his senses, however. himself. that self he has earned at such high cost. whatever his self might be. what is a self, after all, if not a reflection on the mirror of circumstances?

no matter. whoever he is, he knows he can confide in. at least, on the well-navigated path of war-making. as for less certain terrrains...

but that is enough.

if könig were of the spiral, i don't think he would be aware of his... d̸̡̯̼̗̦͓̹̝̖̫͛̍̽̀͌̇͘͘͝ì̶̛͖̞̯̠̟̥͉̺̈̑̾̒͂͝ͅs̵̨͓̲̮̳̖̣͈͑̾t̷͙͈͍͌̅̾͛̔̌̚̕͝͝ŏ̷̱͔̱̱̜̗͒ͅŕ̷̟̬͊̒͂̇͐͒́t̶̨͎͊͋̄͛̈̀̚͠͝i̷̛̠̗̯̾̽̅̾̽̕͘̚͝o̷͎̞͉̺̝̍͐̐̊͘n̷̢̩͉̥͕͓͈͈̳̽̀̐͜

the stranger: who's to say who lies under that mask? he must be human, of that you are sure. what else, otherwise? yet, how many have had the chance to make sure?

how many masks would they have to lift, before finding something at least resembling the expected? and would that be him? the real him? are you sure?

inhuman proportions. inhuman temperament. always hiding in plain sight.

at least from a distance, as, sometimes by choice, sometimes by necessity, unknown is all he really will ever be to most.

if something took his place, could you really tell? would you even care?

one thing is sure: he could teach you the insides, if you were willing to learn. but would you like that?

if könig were of the stranger, the entity known as Ⴆɾҽҽƙσɳ αɳԃ ԋσρҽ would instead be known as ɮʀɛɛӄօռ ǟռɖ ɦօքɛ ǟռɖ ӄöռɨɢ. nothing would be different, otherwise.

(would love to see the ragtag team of institute assistants and avatars of the slaughter try stopping another unknowing. we would all be nameless dolls. no doubt about that.)

the vast: if there is someone aware of his insignificance, that is könig. when you scream loud and often enough, but no one comes, it is easy to get the message and surrender to how obvious it is that you don't count. something he seems to have accepted. a pawn in a bigger game that he is willing to be part of, as long as he is rewarded for it.

if war doesn't kill him, the uncaring universe will and he has made peace with that fact a long time ago.

until then, he'd rather avoid open, unending spaces that leave him vulnerable in conflict. cramped, tight quarters are always preferable.

if he were an avatar of the vast, he wouldn't be able to stand simon and his carefree, playful attitude. give könig a couple of centuries and he might reconsider.

alternatively, he would be the titan in fallen titan.

the web: hm, the mother... könig sure loves whimpering for his mummy with tears streaming down his cheeks and desperation in his eyes, if you catch him at the right moment.

(at least, when i'm writing him, he does... >.>)

otherwise, growing up the way he did, könig probably developed a natural aversion towards scheming, even when lies to protect himself were his only, often unsuccsessful, option.

being averse to schemes is not the same as being incapable of recognising them. but, at some point, anything can look like one and isolation becomes the only defence.

unless the scheme is grand enough that playing his role in it will benefit him more than it doesn't. for the right pay and a chance to walk away when he wants, there isn't much the man won't do.

if könig were chosen by the web... he would finish what was started and bash annabelle's skull in once and for all.

the extinction: what horrific creatures humans could one day become has always been under the surface and könig knew it in the past, as much as he sees it now, in what he does, how he does it and how other mirror his actions without regrets.

technology only makes it easier, but it's a tool in greedy hands. whatever animates those hands has always been there.

and the military has taken ample advantage of it: advances in media technology, for better means of propaganda, advances in weaponry, from the atomic bomb to drones, to make killing many as easy as pressing a button: no boots on ground needed.

this man clad in kevlar like second skin knows it well: he is part of it and has no strong feelings either way and no intention of quitting.

distopia is now, luv, and it makes. him. hard!

factions rising, factions falling. faces changing, but their spirit always the same and könig will be alongside them, exacting his pound... or his euro, his dollar, his ruble, his yen, his bitcoin, his ethereum...

he is prepared. he will survive and he will thrive and then he'll cease and nothing will matter anymore.

fatten his bank account, pump him full of secret military drugs and point him in the right direction. that's all he knows. that's all he asks.

if könig were an agent of the extinction, he would enjoy bringing about annihilation quite a lot.

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