#she may not look like much but she is Capable of Great Violence

[inbarfink]

Any analysis of how Undertale deals with Pacifism and how it tries to guide the Player towards it has to take a deep look at Papyrus. Because Papyrus is the one character in the game who will never kill, the one actual ‘True Pacifist’ in the game’s main cast. 

I mean, the Player can be an even bigger Pacifist. Papyrus does still FIGHT, and the Player can get through an entire run without draining a single sliver of HP. But… they can also be the world’s biggest murderbastard and literally stab reality to death. 

Toriel would very much like to not kill, but she is also fully capable of doing so.

Same with Asgore, but he has a lot more actual blood on his hands. Undyne and Mettaton are both fully 100% willing to kill to accomplish their goals. Sans is non-violent in most runs because he’s too lazy and depressed to do anything, and when he is motivated into actions - it is in the form of a FIGHT to the death. Alphys… the timeline is a bit fuzzy cause both she and Mettaton love lying so much, but it seems like she did sincerely add deadly weapons to Mettaton cause killing humans would make him more 'useful' and then had second thoughts once she developed a parasocial relationship with the Human Child and THEN she and Mettaton started hatching their little play-acting plan. I think??

With Papyrus there is NONE of this ambiguity, we know for sure - no matter what timeline or what may come - The Great Papyrus will always choose MERCY.

And the interesting thing about that is on a Meta-Sense, Papyrus is a very rare example of the game giving MERCY towards the Player. 

Because the game starts out being really obtuse with the Sparing mechanic and how it works. If you want to be a Pacifist in Undertale from the get-go, you’re gonna have to work for it. You're gonna have to figure it out on your own and commit to it and believe that it's possible. It's basically a test of your own belief in non-violence and your moral integrity. Then, the RUINS end with the Toriel boss battle - in a way, that’s probably the hardest Sparing puzzle in the whole game. And it’s very very easy to accidentally kill her. (I’d almost say that’s the intention of the battle, to try to goad the Player into Resetting so they can see how the game remembers across RESETs)

And then we have Papyrus, and it’s not just that his ‘Sparing Puzzle’ is something as simple as outlasting him and letting him run out of dialogue - and it’s not just that he’s the only boss that will just give up and let you continue if you lose to him enough times. it’s also that, just as Papyrus is the only boss incapable of accidentally killing the Player - he’s also the only boss that the player is incapable of accidentally killing.

(Okay, fine, to be pedantic, there’s also Asgore)

I mean, the Player can certainly kill him if they want to - but draining Papyrus’s HP just makes him skip through his battle dialogue right to the end of it. It’s designed in such a way that, no matter what Route you're on and no matter what approach you take with Papyrus - you will always end up on this screen.

Unlike basically any other Monster in this game, including the major boss battle just before him - you can’t kill Papyrus accidently. You can't kill him without also having Sparing him as an option. The game kinda treats killing Papyrus as one of the Worst Things You Can Do because killing Papyrus will always be a deliberate, considered action done to a person who will not kill you and who has stopped wanting to FIGHT and has extended a hand of Mercy. With the game clearly communicating what you need to do to Spare him at that moment.

And that means that - even if you killed before, even if you don’t have the patience of a True Pacifist, even if you spent all this time in the game without even trying to engage with the Sparing mechanic… as long as you don’t want to be a Huge Rat Bastard, the game is basically gifting you with the very very easy option to not be. Being a Pacifist in Undertale is usually a challenge - a puzzle to be solved, a test to pass. But as long as you aren’t intentionally trying to be the Worst Person - the game is basically giving you Papyrus. 

If you accept his Mercy, you are accepting the game’s Mercy. That sort of benefit-of-the-doubt assumption that maybe all of the LOVE you might have accumulated so far was all due to honest mistakes or panic or an attempt in self-defense. That you still deserve this one chance to prove that you are not intentionally, maliciously cruel - or at least not like the Worst Person in the World. Even if you did kill before, you still deserve at least one friend.

And Sparing Papyrus leads you to his wonderful Hangout/Dating Sequence and to his Phone Calls and they all add so much wholesome charm to the Undertale experience and no matter what happens Papyrus will always think the best of the Player and he will always trust them and it also makes Sans also kinda your buddy by default. And more than just adding a little bit of wholesome charm into even the more LOVE-filled Playthroughs, I think this is meant to try and incentivize these players into trying out the Mercy mechanic a bit more.

Whatever it’s, like, for future playthroughs or Resetting the game right there to try a True Pacifist Run right there and then or just trying to be a little kinder for the rest of this current playthrough - especially since there’s an emphasis about the close friendship Papyrus has with the upcoming boss Undyne, and to a lesser extent with his idol and next-next boss battle Mettaton. It’s like “well, if you didn’t figure out how to spare before, this is how you do it? And isn’t it nice to have a friend? Isn’t it nice to not have to kill this lovable skeleton man? You should do this more often wink wink nudge nudge!”

And it’s like… all of Papyrus’ loved ones care about him so much but they also look down on his pacifism. They see his inability to kill and desire to make friends as simple naivete and that’s why all tend to hide the truth from him all the time. About what will happen to the Human he will capture, about what his new Human friend might’ve done, about the fact that they view him as so naïve. 

They admire it on some level, that’s why they want to protect it, but they also see it as a weakness which is why they want to protect it by lying to him all the time. But, you know, Undyne says that if Papyrus goes into battle he’ll be ‘ripped into little smiling shreds’ and that is certainly what happens every time a Player chooses to refuse Papyrus’ Mercy and the game’s Mercy and press that FIGHT button…

But have you thought about all the times that doesn’t happen? All the careless or violent players who were offered that skeletal hand of friendship, accepted it and then carried that offered kindness forward for the rest of the game? All the players motivated to do good for the sake of their buddy Papyrus? All the Murder Routes stopped because the player just didn’t have it in them to kill someone who believes in them so earnestly?

Like, no, it’s not a surefire thing - especially since Papyrus has so much less narrative power than the Actual Unkillable Time God that is the Player. But it happened, and it happened many many times to many players. Papyrus offered Mercy, the game offered Mercy. And much like Frisk’s Pacifism, it comes from a place of seeing the honest goodness in your ‘enemy’ and can inspire them to become a better person - this little sparkle of goodness being passed forwards. 

And I think that’s beautiful, even if it didn’t happen in every timeline. Any potential future where Papyrus’ kindness can have such an effect on the Player and thus the entire trajectory of the Underground validates his kindness and pacifism on some level - even if there are also always the potential worlds that it backfires completely. 

And there’s also one other way in which the Great Papyrus Proves Pacifism Pays. One that is a bit more practical, perhaps. And one that Papyrus himself is not even aware of. 

Papyrus’ boss battle can be a surprisingly challenging one specifically because he is the only one who doesn’t kill the Player.

Like there is a reason why Papyrus will just offer you to skip his Fight after you lose to him three times, because if he didn’t do that - there’s an honest risk that the Player can get stuck in a much stuckier way than anywhere else in the game. 

Because, like, for basically any other character in the game, being killed is the Worst Thing that could ever happen to them. For everyone except the actual Player Character because we are an Actual Unkillable Time God and dying is nothing more than a minor annoyance that sets you back to your last SAVE Point. So, leaving aside Papyrus’ admirably kind intentions - there is not much material difference from the Player’s perspective between getting Captured and getting a more traditional GAME OVER. Except…

Except getting Captured does not undo everything that happened in your inventory during the battle. In every other Undertale battle, if you use all of your items but still lose - the GAME OVER at least means you get your stuff back. But because Papyrus doesn’t kill you, any healing item you’ve used during the battle is still used. I have watched so many Undertale Let’s Players waste all of their valuable items on their first Papyrus battle and then have to face him again without them and thus do even worse in their second go… and then their third go... and thankfully then Papyrus offers them to skip the fight.

And while that technically can be circumvented by just manually closing the game and opening it back again on their pre-battle SAVE Point, a lot of players are gonna reflexively Save over it if they pop over to the Shop or the Snowed Inn before their second attempt at the battle. If Papyrus didn’t offer that chance to skip his battle, it could’ve easily become a softlock situation for a huge chunk of players - because he doesn’t kill the Player.

Most of Undertale deals with the value of non-violence from a standpoint of morality and kindness and personal connections. Since most people do die when they get killed. But when dealing with an Unkillable Time God like the Player, Papyrus proves that not-killing might actually be the most practical solution.

Of course, it doesn’t seem like Papyrus is aware of any of this. From his perspective, he is just offering genuine mercy to a being just as ephemeral as he is. But it accidentally turned into one of the most effective methods of blocking the Player’s way… at least he didn’t offer us an opt out so soon after that. 

And it’s interesting when comparing him to how his brother Sans - one of the few people actually aware of the existence of SAVEs and RESETs - deals with the Player. Because the Sans boss battle at the end of the Murder Route is entirely based on the concept that death is nothing but an annoyance to the Player. Sans is less trying to kill the Player (the way Undyne the Undying did), he is simply trying to annoy the Player into a ragequit. But he is still killing the Player.

Now imagine a Sans battle where he has all of his usual annoying tricks, but also instead of killing you - he captures you just like his brother would’ve in a happier timeline. And while it’s not a fool-proof plan to stop the Player in their tracks - he could very easily stick them in that sort of softlock situation where they have to battle him again and again without any Healing Items. Forcing them to either abandon the game or RESET the whole world back the way it was - just like Sans wants them too. 

But instead, by killing the Player, he is just allowing that perfect second-third-fourth-fifth-sixth-try where they get all of their Stuff back. And he does actually knows that. And why doesn’t he do that? (Speaking here from an in-universe character study perspective. Obviously the Doylist answer is that the game doesn’t want to Softlock you even in the most deliberately-frustrating part of the game).

Maybe, even though he intellectually knows that killing the Player will be of no help - he still does it because he wants to. Because he just wants to get back at the evil murderous monster that took his brother from him and destroyed his entire world even if he knows it’s actually ineffective. And this thirst for bloodshed is, ironically, blinding him from a new exciting way to actually practically stop that murderous bastard who is themself motivated entirely by bloodshed. 

Maybe he just can’t do something like that. Reducing an enemy to exactly one HP and then stopping is not a feat anyone else in the game is capable of pulling off - even the ones who would obviously use such a thing (like Toriel or a Player with a Pacifist intentions). Maybe it’s something that requires a lot of hard practice and discipline and carefulness, that Sans never thought to put in because he didn’t see it as a useful skill the way Papyrus did. 

Maybe that wouldn’t have worked anyways. After all, and that’s something I kinda touched on in a previous Overly Long Rambly Hot Take - Sans’ War of Attrition against the Player is greatly helped by the fact he can’t remember every single previous try and so he can’t get exhausted the way the Player can get. Obviously, without a GAME OVER induced RESET that will not apply. Which is especially notable because… Sans’ laziness is literally what brings him down at the end of that Boss Battle. 

So maybe, while Papyrus, as long as you decline his offer to skip the battle, is capable of offering just the same Battle as before over and over and over again.... It’s possible that Sans just won’t be able to pull off two or three or more battles of the same intensity and difficulty in a row without a RESET to undo his own exhaustion. 

But I think it’s at least worth considering the option, y’know? That after all this time of viewing Papyrus’ kindness as sweet-and-yet-kinda-foolish-naïveté - that exact viewpoint made Sans overlook the perfect solution to dealing with his little Murderous Time God problem. Cause he just never considered that while killing might be fully morally justifiable in this situation and very very satisfying, that does not necessarily mean it is actually the most practical solution. And that maybe, in a weirdly twisted way, Pacifism WAS the answer.  

#undertale #ut #utdr #under tale #papyrus #the great papyrus #papyrus undertale #papyrus ut #sans #sans undertale #sans ut #sans the skeleton #papyrus the skeleton #undertale analysis #undertale meta #genocide route #genocide run

[lucid-loves]

Sweet Tooth ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley One-Shot

As requested by @hellhavevibes ! Thank you so much for the fun request and for being patient while I write it. Happy Valentine's~

Sweet Tooth (One-Shot)

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, soft!reader, callsign “Glacé”)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, scars, blood, wounds, killing, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, fingering, hickeys, couch sex, passionate sex, gentleness, compliments, praise, raw sex, unprotected sex (seriously though people, use birth control!)

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You are the newest member of the 141 under the name “Glacé” which the team is skeptical about. While your file says that you are a fantastic marksman and deadly interrogator, they find it hard to believe with how absolutely sweet you are. Ghost especially finds you sweet enough to eat right up but is unsure of how you may perform out in the field. That is until you demonstrate that you are truly a force to be reckoned with during a mission. When that happens, Ghost can’t help but cave into his craving for you.

The men looked at you, confused expressions on their face as they looked at your smile that radiated nothing but pure joy. They looked at Kate who stood beside you like it was a joke. Normally, they wouldn’t judge a book by its cover. However, you were the furthest thing they imagined when Kate said that their new member was incredibly skilled, a deadly addition to the team. On the outside, you seemed like the sweetest thing to ever walk the earth. Feminine, optimistic, cute. 

You noticed the odd looks that they gave you, yet you still persisted with your grin. When you spoke, your voice came out light like a songbird. “I look forward to working with you gentlemen! I hope that we become great teammates~!

“Kate, could me and Ghost speak to you for a moment.” Price spoke up with a strained smile. Laswell gave a nod and ushered for them to step outside the meeting room for a moment to speak in private. You were left with Gaz and Soap who just awkwardly tried to make small talk with you. 

You weren’t surprised by this turn of events. This was actually expected. You weren’t ignorant about how you appeared to everyone else. It took a long time to prove that you were more than a cute face when you first joined the military. Even longer when you began to climb the ladder to be an exceptional soldier outside of deskwork. You had more than your fair share of discrimination and being underestimated. Now that you were a member of the 141 task force, you were even more determined to prove that you could hold your own.

That didn’t mean that you had to sacrifice your personality though! 

As Ghost and Price talked to Laswell about you, you began to socialize with Gaz and Soap. It began awkwardly with them asking basic things. Where you were from, why you joined the military, all that jazz. However, the longer they talked to you, the more comfortable they got. There was still some doubt about you being cut out for this kind of work, but at least you were very nice. Eventually, you surprised them with a question. “You guys wanna hear some jokes? I got quite a few great ones if I do say so myself!”

Meanwhile, Ghost and Price expressed their concerns, Price being the most vocal about this while Ghost was his right-hand man. “Are you sure about this, Kate? I mean, she doesn’t exactly look like a killer.”

“Glacé has an impressive file that proves that she should be part of a capable team. I know she doesn’t look it, but give her a chance. If she really can’t take the heat, we can reassign her. However, she’s been working really hard to be an important asset. I doubt that she will fail based on her track record. See for yourself.” Kate vouched, handing the captain a manilla folder filled with all of your personal information. 

As Price scanned through it, Ghost looked over his shoulder. His brow rose under his skull mask, almost disbelieving what he read. An impressively high accuracy score in firearms, high test scores in academics, letters of recommendations from many notable soldiers, and a special report on your interrogation capabilities. All of this was in your file along with a picture of you, bright, beaming, and brimming with happiness. 

“You sure you didn’t get a file mixed up with the picture?” Ghost half-joked, holding the picture of you closer to his eyes to examine. You had the warmest gaze he’s ever seen from the photo alone. 

Kate rolled her eyes and faked a laugh as she took back the file. “Very funny. Just get to know her first, okay?” 

Just like that, you were a part of their team. Price and Ghost returned to the meeting room after Kate left, surprised to see Gaz and Soap wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. You just told them a joke that they really weren’t expecting. Price and Ghost cocked a brow, looking between you who giggled along with them, and the two grown men who took to you like a new candy. 

“Oh! You got to hear this one, Lt. You will absolutely love this. Go ahead, Glacé! Tell ‘em!” Soap encouraged, still trying to get his laughter under control. Gaz took a tissue from the box in the middle of the meeting table, wiping his tears through fits of giggles.

With optimism, you turned and looked up at your new captain and lieutenant. “Did you know that protons have mass?”

Price thought about it for a moment before answering. This didn’t really seem like a good setup to a joke. “Yes, I did.”

“That’s a pretty basic fact.” Ghost pointed out, wondering where you were going with this. He didn’t think much of the setup either.

You tilted your head and shrugged, trying to prevent a grin from spreading across your face. It didn’t work as you revealed the punchline. “Oh! I didn’t even know they were Catholic!” 

Price cracked a smile before caving, chuckles erupting from him slowly. It was hard to keep his cool with how silly your joke was and with how his sergeants were cracking up once again. Even Ghost was smirking under that intimidating mask of his, a deep chuckle escaping from him. It was a corny, stupid joke. Yet, it was clever. Dorky. Cute.

This was unexpected of you. Ghost realized that he couldn’t wait for what else you had in store.

~

You spent a lot of time with the boys learning about their personalities and abilities. Soap could be a bit of a goofball, but seriously loyal. Gaz was their youngest member besides you. Though, he wasn’t immature. He was optimistic like you, yet he was able to keep cooler to come off as a capable soldier. Price was hardworking and considerate, always checking in on how well you were adjusting to the team. He genuinely tried to get to know you like you were more than just a sergeant he could order around. He wanted to know you as a potential friend.

Ghost was the toughest nut to crack, but eventually, he seemed to take to you too at the present moment. He just couldn’t resist how sweet you were, always asking if he needed help, always bringing refreshments to the team during deskwork days, always walking around like the world was your oyster. The other men in the 141 saw you as their softest, sweetest teammate as well. Before he knew it, he was always watching you whenever you were in the room or even across base. 

You were talking to some of the new recruits on base who had questions about your progress. While you gave them some advice on how to outlast the worst of being a newbie, you spotted Ghost from a distance. With no shyness, you raised your hand up high and waved. “Hi, Ghost!”

Saying a goodbye to the newbies, you sprinted over to where he was, finding yourself to be quite attracted to him naturally. You were curious about him. The mask made him mysterious, his uniform made him intimidating. Yet, he shared some of his own jokes with you, revealed his favorite drink, and helped you around base with things you were a little too short or small for. Ghost had rough edges, but you somehow knew that he was secretly a big softie.

Besides that, opposites did seem to attract. Standing next to him, you looked like the sweetest thing alive while he seemed like the deadliest thing alive. It was an odd pairing from the outside. You paid it no mind, though. All you cared about was earning his approval.

“How are you doing, Glacé? Making new friends?” He inquired as you got closer, looking at the group that you were just talking to from afar. There were a couple of guys in the group whose eyes still lingered on you despite walking away. It stirred something in him, yet he didn’t know what.

“I think so? I mean, they just kinda came up to me and asked about my accomplishments and advice. I guess they saw a few records around base with my name. I like talking to new people though, so I didn’t mind! It made me feel a bit like a celebrity which is fun!” You chipperly answered, your expression bright like the sun. 

Ghost looked down at you, his heart not being able to soften up at your softness. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun. I was on my way to the mess hall for some tea.”

“Can I come with? I’ve been craving a mug of hot cocoa lately. Something sweet, you know?” You asked with a grin that he couldn’t possibly say no to. 

“Fine, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You walked by Ghost’s side to the mess hall, the space relatively clear since it was later in the afternoon. Like an energetic shooting star, you rushed to the open kitchenette where soldiers could help themselves to making coffee, tea, and other simple drinks. Opening the cabinet, you spotted your favorite mug on the top shelf. A pink one with cute little strawberries on it. Someone had moved it to the top shelf to make room for other mugs on the lower shelf. 

Just as you were about to jump up and get it, you felt Ghost start to press into you from behind. His firm, broad torso radiated heat against you, causing you to form a wicked blush. Carefully, he brought your mug down and held it in front of you to take. 

Looking down at your blushing cheeks, he realized what he had done to you. For the first time, you seemed bashful and his heart melted. Yours did too from the gesture, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes met his blue ones. Nonetheless, you stayed openly polite. “Thank you! It isn’t easy being shorter than most around here. When I put it away, I’ll make sure to put it on the bottom shelf so I can reach it next time. I’ll make your tea for you as a token of my gratitude~”

“You don’t have to do that, Glacé. It was nothing really.” He brushed off, feeling just a tad bit shy himself as his heart quickened for you.

You waved him off. “Nonsense! Here, I’ll make your tea exactly how you like it! Which one is your mug?”

Ghost moved to open the small cabinet that was over the fridge, taking out a simple, black mug with a skull on it. Of course. What else did you expect? 

Taking his mug with a little laugh at your internal thoughts, you began to fix him his tea, his eyes watching you work. You filled an electric kettle with water and set it to boil before going to the pantry to get tea and cocoa. From the bottom cupboard, you took out a small pot followed by taking out some milk from the fridge. The kitchenette had a small hotplate to which you used to start heating up your milk. 

Ghost raised a brow at the amount of effort you were putting in. Most people sucked it up and used hot water for their instant hot chocolate. 

When the kettle boiled until the button clicked, signaling that it was done, you prepared the mugs. Using Ghost’s favorite black tea, you poured the water into his mug, the color quickly turning into a dark brown. When the milk came to a simmer, you cut the heat and poured it into your own mug, the color turning into a much softer shade of brown. With the leftover milk, you lightened Ghost’s tea to the perfect shade that he liked. A small pinch of sugar later and his tea was made to perfection. 

You handed him the mug, the liquid still swirling in a whirlpool from you recently stirring it. He couldn’t deny it, the look of it was exactly how he liked it. Lifting his mask halfway up his face to drink, it tasted like it too. How did you know he liked his tea like this?

He stood for a moment, watching you put the finishing touches on the drink. You pulled some whipped cream from the fridge, topping your cocoa with a beautiful, white swirl of sweetness. While you put the box of tea and cocoa back into the cupboard, you got yourself a jumbo marshmallow and gingerly set it on top of the cream. 

With an excited little giggle, you turned around and headed to a small table to rest, Ghost following right behind you. As soon as you sat down, sitting across from each other, Ghost had to pull his mask back down to hide his smile. Looking at your pink strawberry mug, the marshmallow and whipped cream topping your cocoa, and you right behind it with a satisfied expression made you look absolutely adorable. How could such a sweet thing like you be a killer?

You took a sip of your hot chocolate, whipped cream getting on your cute nose and the corners of your small mouth. Without thinking, Ghost took his thumb and gently wiped your face, getting the whipped cream off for you. You blinked at him in surprise as he licked it off his thumb, the light sweetness melting on his taste buds. 

Now, your cheeks were turning bright red like the painted strawberries on your mug, stomach filling with millions of butterflies that danced to the beat of your rapid heart. Did Ghost really just do that? Were you hallucinating? No, he definitely just did that. The scene kept replaying over and over in your head. He one hundred percent just did that. 

Frozen in your blush, Ghost looked at you, blinking himself as he processed what he just did so naturally. Behind the mask, his own face felt warm. He cleared his throat, lifted his mask to reveal his mouth, and hid it behind his mug of tea. “You had a little something on your face.”

“Ah, aha. . . I see. Thanks.” You awkwardly laughed, your heart still going a million miles per hour. Lifting your mug to your own lips, you looked at Ghost just above the mountain of sugar. For a moment, you wished that he kissed the cream directly off your face.

His military beige shirt clung tightly to his muscles, revealing years of training to be strong. Battle scars ran along his arms, some camouflage by his black and white forearm tattoo sleeve. He was built strong, tall, powerful. Delicious in his own way. You couldn’t help but stare at such a handsome, capable man. Even with the skull balaclava. 

When his eyes met yours again, you averted your gaze, thoughts running rampant. Oh boy, you think you were starting to fall for your lieutenant. 

Silently, you enjoyed your drinks, stealing glances at each other every now and then. When your mug was completely empty, you motioned to go clean it up. However, Ghost put his hand on top of the brim, making it stay on the table. “It’s okay. I will clean it up. Least I can do for making our drinks.”

A warm smile graced your features. “Thanks, Ghost. I appreciate it.”

Taking a glance at your watch, you gasped. “Ah, I’m late to my workout! I gotta get going before I lose my reserved room! I’ll see you later! Thanks for cleaning up!”

He waved as you hurried out of the hall to head to your workout. A soldier needed to stay in tip-top shape at all times, so he wasn’t particularly sour at your departure. Though, your sudden absence did make him feel a bit lonely. 

However, that feeling quickly disappeared when his eyes wandered around the mess only to see his teammates across the room. They were in the middle of playing cards with their own drinks, their attention completely on everything that went down between the two of you. Even the part where he ate the leftover whipped cream from your face. Their expressions were mixed between shock and amusement. 

Ghost shook his head, a signal for them to not say a fucking word about it to him or you. Downing the last of his tea, he grabbed the mugs to wash. After washing them, he paused for a moment, looking at your cute cup. Then, he put it back on the top shelf of the cupboard before closing the doors. 

~

For the first time, the 141 was assigned their first mission that included you. During the briefing, you listened carefully, taking in every single detail like it was life or death. The men listened carefully as well, yet their minds did wander towards how you would perform in the field. They’ve never seen anything but pure sweetness from you. Price had deep conversations with you like you were a close friend. Soap finally had someone that would participate in car karaoke with all his favorite songs with him. Gaz enjoyed watching shows with you that no one else seemed interested in. 

It was Ghost that was having the toughest time compared to everyone else concerning you. You two had been sharing drinks in the mess hall a few times a week to spend time together. Talking, playing cards, even just reading. You always had your hot cocoa, he always had his tea. You always used your pink strawberry mug, he always used his black skull mug. You always had your mug on the top shelf, he always got it for you while pretending that he had no idea who kept moving your mug back up there. 

Could you really take a life?

The answer was yes, you could. And you planned to when you were given your target, a dangerous terrorist that had plans to attack a small city in South America with the intent to take over. A man that was desperate to be a dictator to the point where he was killing innocent people. A man that wouldn’t stop at just taking over his city. Until he took over the whole country and more, he would never stop. 

Someone like that had to be taken down. You were happy to be part of the team to do it.

Just before you board the plane to take the team to their destination, Ghost pulled you to the side for a moment for a pep-talk. “Glacé, this is your first mission with us. Are you nervous at all?”

You shook your head, standing at full attention. “Not at all, lieutenant! This is what I trained for. You can count on me to do what needs to be done.”

He stared at you skeptically, worry still invading him through knots in his stomach. “If anything happens, let us know immediately. We’ll help you out as much as we can. We’ll protect you.”

“I appreciate it, Ghost. I’ll protect all of you as well.” You promised before you finally got on the plane. Following close behind you, Ghost boarded as well. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared for you. He considered you a close friend at this point. Maybe even more. You were just so soft, so sweet that he couldn’t imagine you being anything other than a beautiful soul that he had to protect. He didn’t want to lose you. Not so soon.

Little did he know that you were more than ready for this. Excited even! This was your chance to really prove yourself. To show everyone in your team that you could step up to the plate. You loved spending time with everyone, especially with Ghost as your feelings for him grew. However, they all still looked at you like you were just a sweet girl. You needed them to start looking at you like a capable member of their team. Like a deadly weapon when it came down to it. 

~

You were dropped down into a jungle, the weather hot, sticky, and humid. Sweat was already clinging to your skins, the cover of your armor not helping beat the heat. Quietly, the team traversed the jungle, trying to find the compound belonging to the terrorist organization. They weren’t given pictures or precise coordinates, just general coordinates since the compound was well hidden among the jungle. 

In the cover of night, the 141 crept along, guns ready to be fired at any threat. You carried your own weight well, being able to handle your armor and gear easily on your body, despite how you look without it. It didn’t slow you down one bit. In fact, you felt light as a feather with confidence. 

From a distance, you noticed a light. A dim one, but a consistent one. Unmoving. You spoke into your headset. “Light ahead at our ten o’clock. Could that be the compound?”

“Could be. Nice catch, Glacé. Approach carefully.” Price praised, leading the way to the light. 

Brushing past massive leaves as well as weaving through giant trees, the light revealed a collection of more lights, all coming from abandoned village buildings that were now a terrorist compound. The team crouched down into the lush jungle foliage, watching men move about the compound with guns in their hands. Crates of dangerous items were being moved across the clearing, something that would have to be confiscated as part of the mission. 

Overall, the compound was huge. Much bigger than expected. There were enough buildings to host many terrorists, weapons, food, and even prisoners. Satellite photos were none the wiser as most of it was under thick canopy or painted green to match the jungle green.

Most importantly, the 141 was trying to spot the main target, the leader of this whole operation. When the man was spotted moving from one building to the other. Instantly, Price formed a plan in his head. “Gaz, Soap, head west to take out some men. If things go south, we want to make sure we won’t have to fight our way out of too many enemies. Ghost, Glacé, head east and do the same. See about finding their bombs too. The ones that they planned to use on the city. I’m going to find their prison, help out anyone that may be held captive. Securing all those things before going after the leader is essential.”

“Yes, Captain.” Everyone agreed, splitting up into their respective directions. Sticking to the foliage, you and Ghost slithered around the east of the compound. Watching the guards to observe their moves, you both began to infiltrate further into enemy territory without being spotted. Up ahead, a guard stood with his back turned. You swapped your gun for a knife, the silent weapon being the best bet in a situation like this. 

Before Ghost could do or say anything, you silently stalked the man until he was close enough to grab. Bringing him down and slapping your hand over his mouth to stifle any sound, you quickly swiped your knife across his neck. The sound of gurgled struggle lasted for only a second. Once he was limp, you dragged him back to hide the body in the shadows.

The whole ordeal didn’t last more than a minute. It happened so fast that Ghost thought it didn’t even happen at all for a moment. You didn’t give it a second thought as you clung to the wall of a small building, eyeing a small open window that you could hop through. 

Peeking up, you spotted three men with rifles who were checking an assortment of more guns on the table. Hand signals from you silently gestured to Ghost that there were three enemies inside. Using more hand signals, it was agreed that he would take the two on the left and you would take the one on the right. With a nod, you jumped through the window and rushed your enemy, the knife slicing into his neck like butter.

Ghost shot the first target with a pistol with a silencer attachment followed by running his own knife through the other man’s jugular. All before they could even comprehend what was happening. 

Your ears picked up a subtle sound of footsteps against dirt just outside. Right behind Ghost. In a quick draw, you raised your pistol towards the door and shot an enemy as soon as he opened the door. Ghost caught the body, carefully laying him on the floor to avoid sounds that would give you away. 

As you began to search the place for any important information, Ghost looked at you almost incredulously. You worked like a well-oiled killing machine. Precise, silent, swift. Your sharp ears saved him. Your file wasn’t lying. You were clearly made for this line of work.

That fascinated him in an attractive way. It lit a fire in him. He couldn’t wait to see more. 

With a profound courage from pride to work by your side, Ghost began to search the place with you. Ultimately, you found nothing. That meant that it was time to move on to the next building. 

You felt good showing off, taking out one enemy after the other with minimal sound. Ghost had more confidence in giving you instructions, ordering you to take down more enemies while he handled his own. When you came across a building with a ladder, a guard standing on top of the building, you took it upon yourself to take care of it. From a mini-alley made by two houses, Ghost snuck forward to take down two guards. Just as he killed one of them off, you jumped down from the rooftop only to land on his second enemy and plunge your knife into him. 

Your kill count was becoming higher than his. However, he didn’t mind whatsoever. Every now and then, you looked back at him with the sweetest smile that hoped for a little praise. Without fail each time, he gave it to you. It was a treat watching you light up when he did, only to take his praise as motivation to keep taking out enemies. 

In a strange way, he was having fun. You were too. There was nothing like ridding the world from evil with the men you trusted.

The only problem was that each building was bare of what you were looking for. None of the buildings you cleared had the explosives you needed. Not even the larger buildings. When you had practically cleaned up the whole east side of the compound without finding them, Ghost radioed the captain. “East side cleared. No sight of explosives. Waiting for further instructions.”

“Copy. Gaz, Soap, any sight of the bombs?” Price responded.

“Negative, Captain. Only more terrorists.” Gaz responded promptly.

“Keep searching. We have to secure them. I’m exiting the prison now to help the search.” Price ordered, his tone frustrated from the lack of progress on that front. 

While everyone said their “Copy that,” you began to think. At this point, you should have come across something. If Gaz and Soap had swept through their side already, the explosives should have been found. There was no way any of you could miss those bombs. There was supposed to be enough to cause a huge part of the city to crumble. 

That meant that there were only two options of where the explosives were. They were either in the leader’s building, or worse, they were already planted.

Fearing the worst, you spoke through your radio. “Captain, I may know where the explosives are. They are either hiding in the building where the terrorist leader is or they are already planted in the town, waiting to be detonated.”

Ghost looked at you wide-eyed, admiring your deduction skills, yet also fearing your words. If the latter was true, then they were running out of time.”

“New plan. Everyone head to the leader’s building. Find the explosives. If they aren’t there, then we have no choice but to take that terrorist back for interrogation.” Price decided, trusting your intuition. 

As fast and quietly as you could, you ran through the compound, taking out any enemies that stood in your way like it was nothing. At this point, you didn’t even bother sneaking around. Instead, you were moving so quick and light that you were rushing guards before they could draw their weapons. You were ruthless in getting to your objective. You left almost no one for Ghost to take care of.

Down a little ways was Soap and Gaz, trying to book it as fast to the building that you were already entering. Using your pistol, you took out the guards with deadly accuracy. As the boys caught up behind you, they saw the destruction you left in your path. Bodies dead from your single headshot littered the floors, all done with barely a sound thanks to your silencer. Soap cursed in shock as he stepped over bodies in the hall. “Holy shit. Who knew that the lass could do something like this?”

“Just be glad she’s on our side.” Gaz responded, equally impressed by your kills. 

Ghost gave a dry chuckle, pride swelling within him. “Should’ve seen her in action. Glacé is like a machine.”

A minute later and all the men found you in a room, an unconscious target taped to a chair with two dead guards bleeding on the floor. Price was deeply impressed, but his words of praise would have to wait. Right now, they needed to know where the explosives were. “Any bombs?”

“Negative, Captain. Text messages from the leader’s phone reveal that the bombs are set in place in town, though.” You answered, passing him the phone you swiped after  you roundhouse kicked the target.

While Price read through the messages, the target groaned, coming back too. His eyes fluttered open, anger spreading throughout his face as he saw the 141 look down on him. Price cut to the chase, his tone threatening with each word. “Give us every single location of the bombs you planted. Now!”

“Fuck you!” The leader simply responded, spitting blood onto the floor. A bruise already began to form on the side of his face where you kicked him. As his rageful eyes looked between the men, he smirked. He didn’t plan on cracking. 

Ghost waltzed up and punched him, a crack resounding in the room from a broken tooth. In response, it was simply spit out followed by a wicked smile. He chuckled. “You really think that’s gonna make me talk? Breaking my jaw? You’re gonna have to try something else.”

“I can break him!” You spoke up, your features soft as if you weren’t watching a bloody interrogation. Price and Ghost’s gaze snapped to you, a little shocked that you were volunteering so cheerfully. They remembered that your file mentioned that you were great in interrogations. How could a sweet thing like you get someone so evil to talk?

Well, they didn’t have many other options. Price nodded. “Soap and Gaz, keep watch at the door. Take care of anyone that may cause a problem.”

“Aye, Captain.” They simultaneously confirmed before camping at the doorway. Then, Price and Ghost took a step back, allowing you all the space you could possibly need. This oughta be good.

You grabbed a spare chair, dragging it across the floor to set right in front of the terrorist. Taking a seat, you smiled at the man. A sickly sweet smile that unsettled him for some reason. However, he played it off with vile insults. “This is your secret weapon? A fucking chick? What is she gonna do? A little whore like her won’t make me talk unless she sucks my dick.”

Fury rose in Ghost’s soul as he talked to you like that. His jaw clenched and his muscles tenses, aching to beat the shit out of the target. He stepped forward, almost caving into his rage before Price put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. The captain wanted to punch the man senseless, too, but they had to trust that you were able to do this. 

You merely laughed off the insults, finding his attempts to intimidate you pathetic. “Oh, come on now. That’s not very nice. Did someone forget who roundhouse kicked you unconscious? Give me a little more credit. Anyway, the bombs. Give us every location, please~!”

His eyes widened at your rather playful attitude, the unsettling feeling growing past his stomach and into his heart. Still, he kept his mouth shut, his voice turning into a low growl. “Even if you ask me nicely, I won’t tell. That town deserves to burn to the ground. A new world will be built upon its ashes.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Oh well. I tried to play nice. I guess we will have to do this the hard way. Don’t blame me for what happens next~”

Without explaining any further, you unsheathed your knife. The chair was dragged behind the target after you got up, allowing you a new place to sit that revealed exactly what you wanted. Sitting behind him, you began to cut his shirt away to reveal spine. “Ghost? You mind bending his body forward for me? Keep the legs of the chair on the ground, though. Just stretch him.”

Quirking his brow out of curiosity, Ghost walked forwards and followed your instructions. He had no idea where you were going with this. Once the target was in position, the bones of his neck and spine stuck out against his skin nicely. You counted the bones, starting from the bottom using the tip of your blade. 

As soon as you had your count, you glided your knife against his T12. “Feel that? That’s your T12. This little vertebrae helps you use your legs. A fracture here doesn’t completely paralyze you, but it will be quite uncomfortable. You may feel a little numb in one leg along with back pain. Now, tell us where the bombs are planted, please~”

A shaky laugh was given, trying to call your bluff. As you worked, shivers ran across the 141’s own spines. This was your method? Spinal cord knowledge? You were both a genius and the scariest person in the room right now. Ghost, who had a front row seat, saw how you positioned your knife handle with careful accuracy.

“You think I’m afraid of a little pain and numbness?” The target mocked, his anxiety growing in secret.

Without warning, you hit his T11 with the handle of your knife. A crack resonated throughout the room along with screams of pain. Searing pain went through his body, tears threatening to escape his eyes. Parts of his body began to go numb. “AHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“That was actually your T11. A fracture here is much more painful. Recovery isn’t out of the realm of possibility yet, though. Where are the bombs?” You casually explained, your tone still light as if you were drinking hot cocoa with Ghost in the mess hall back on base. 

The target choked on his breath, the pain feeding the growing anxiety that traveled through all the nerves he could still feel. Still, he refused to confess with a shaky breath. Ignorance was bliss for him. He had no idea how much worse it could get. “Th-This is nothing! Fuck you, whore!”

Another blood curdling scream filled the room as you fractured another part of his spine with ease. Severe kidney pain with his back flared up like fire inside him. You might as well just have stabbed him directly in the kidney. “That was your T9, a vertebrae connected to your adrenal glands. Fascinating that the spine is connected to more than just simple nerves, huh? Controls more than just movement. The spinal cord is actually incredibly important to the function of the whole human body”

“YOU BITCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!” He screamed, tears now uncontrollable from the pain. It wasn’t just the immediate pain that haunted him, though. It was the fact that if you kept going, if he didn’t seek treatment soon, he could suffer from paralysis for the rest of his life.

“The bombs. Where are they? If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to hit your C5 next. This one won’t hurt, but the long-term side effects won’t be pretty.” You pressured once again, your knife handle slowly traveling further up his spine.

Stubborn as a mule, he steeled himself and shook his head, refusing to speak. You clicked your tongue like a disappointed school teacher. “By the way, my name is Glacé. They call me that because I tend to sugarcoat things.”

The scream that followed as soon as you shattered his C5 was unforgettable. It was bound to keep even some of the members of the 141 up for a couple nights. Your psychological game combined with your physical one was outstanding. Apparently, someone as sweet as you could really bring a man to incoherent screams and tears.

“Please, no more. I-I can’t feel my legs. . .” The target cried, his pants becoming darker in color as he soiled himself. Such was one of the side effects of injuring the C5. Loss of bowel and bladder control was quite common. Paralysis of the trunk and legs as well. 

You didn’t pull away yet, your knife raising further up to his C3 which controlled his breathing along with more motion function. However, you didn’t tell him that. You didn’t need to. “Every single bomb. If you neglect to mention one, then I will have no problem coming back to fracture more of your spine. Not that you would be able to escape very far with your legs now~”

With a solemn nod and sob of defeat, he revealed each and every location of his planted bombs throughout the nearby city. Along with the detail that the explosives were actually already set on a timer. They were all set to detonate by noon the next day on the dot. After the locations were taken down, you patted the target’s shoulder. “Thank you for the information. However, keeping you alive would be an act of disservice to the world~”

A hard force to his C3 had him spasm, drowning out all sounds with his cries until he lost the last of his breath. Struggling to breath, the man began to slump, losing control of his diaphragm from the injury. It wouldn’t take him long to die out due to this. Not before experiencing some time of pure suffering, though. 

The compound itself held no more enemies, the last of them being killed by Soap and Gaz when they came to check on their boss. When no enemies were in sight once the team stepped outside, Price radioed Kate with the new information. While you walked back through the jungle to reach the rendezvous point where a helicopter would pick you up, Ghost kept stealing glances at you. 

All he could think about was how beautifully you performed. Terrifying, yet your tone was still sweet until the end. The way you did your job so accurately, so ambitiously, it was like watching art. 

If he wasn’t in love with you before, he was definitely in love with you now. 

~

Police ran everywhere around the city, helping find the bombs that were ticking down. One by one, they were diffused. Each one was reported after the job was done, Kate keeping a list which was checked off with each find and diffusing. The team was split up, each one of you assigned to diffuse bombs yourself with your own squad of local authorities. 

At first, the authorities didn’t know how to react when they realized that you were in command of them. However, there wasn’t time to debate. They followed your instructions to a tee, finding the explosives diligently. It was pretty clear why you were in charge after the first few bombs were diffused. 

“South side cleared. Good work, Soap.” Kate praised through the radio, allowing everyone to know that the south side of the heart of the city was safe. Soon after, Gaz’s north side was cleared followed by Price’s west and Ghost’s east. You were still working on the central center, the bombs hidden more carefully.

“Glacé, how are we doing? I still have two bombs left unchecked on my end.” Kate radioed you, concern starting to show through her voice. It wasn’t noon yet. There were still a few hours before then. However, anything could go wrong. It was better to find all of them as quickly as possible to avoid any accidents.

“Still searching for the last two. They’re better hidden than the others.” You confessed, your short-term squad searching the entire building for them behind you. You were searching under cubicles, under chairs, in vents, on ceiling fans, everywhere that you could possibly think off. 

“Everyone, head over to where Glacé is to help her. Bring your squads too. The more eyes, the better.” Kate instructed. Everyone agreed, the men making their way across the city to you in armored cars.

You raked your eyes over the floor you were on. Nothing but cubicles as far as the eye could see. Papers scattered everywhere from the search. Authorities scrambled to find the last bombs. Taking a deep breath, you continued your search, hoping to find the explosives before the rest of the team gets to you.

“Sergeant Glacé! There’s a closet hidden back here behind the filing cabinets!” One of your squad members called out. The men pushed the cabinets back to access the closet. When one of the men began to open the door, you saw a brief shine. A glimmer so quick that you could’ve missed it if you blinked. A trip wire.

“STO-”

Everything flashed white followed by a wave of heat. The shockwave sent you to the floor, disorientating you to the point of nauseousness. The sound of concrete and pipes breaking were deafening. Another explosion sounded off from the floor above, the first bomb triggering the second. The whole building shook like an earthquake hit it. The floor above began to crumble away over you. Pieces of it already began to rain down upon you. With the little strength you had left, you crawled under a cubicle, the desk protecting you as the falling building caved you in. 

Then, you blacked out. 

On the outside, the team saw the shattering glass, the burst of fire and smoke, and parts of the building already beginning to crumble. Ghost’s blood ran cold, his heart stopping in its tracks. Being the man behind the wheel of the armored vehicle, he floored it suddenly. The only thing on his mind was getting to you.

The 141 frantically radioed you, panic in their voices as they tried to make sure that you’re okay. When they heard no answer, fear began to take hold. This was your first mission with them, but they weren’t ready to lose you. Not with how much you meant to all of them. Especially Ghost. 

The car screeched to a halt in front of the tall building. Without even taking the keys out of the ignition, the men exited the vehicle and ran into the building. Thankfully, the foundation kept it standing. 

“Laswell! What were the locations of the last missing bombs?!” Price contacted Kate, trying to help the team save time from searching every floor for you. There was no time to waste if you were dying. 

“Fourteenth floor and sixteenth floor! I’m sending medics your way now! Be careful of debris.” Kate relayed, already working on getting medics and a helicopter to you. Sprinting up the stairwell, the men reached your floor. When they opened the door, they began to cough from all the smoke and debris left behind in the explosives’ destruction. Treading carefully, they began to search the rubble. 

Your squad members were scattered, many of them pinned, many of them dead. Gaz, Soap, and Price began to drag them out, praying that the medical team would arrive soon. Ghost focused on looking for you. That’s all he really cared about.

“Glacé! Glacé! Y/n!” He called, eventually using your real name that he remembers from your file. Piles upon piles of concrete made his anxiety get worse and worse. The longer he searched, the longer he couldn’t hear you respond, the more panicked he got. 

Eventually, you began to stir awake, a brain-splitting headache taking hold. You coughed dust out of your lungs, your throat drier than a desert. Your skin felt dirty, caked with dust. Your ears were still ringing, but you could hear Ghost calling out for you. He used your real name. Slowly, you raised your aching arm to your radio. “Simon?”

When Ghost heard you call out his real name from his radio, he almost collapsed with relief. You were alive. His voice shook when he replied back to you.“Y/n! Where are you?”

“Under a cubicle. I’m caved in by debris. I don’t think I can push the concrete by myself right now. I’m okay, though.” You sugarcoated. One of your ribs definitely felt broken. The pain was sharp and it was a bit hard to breathe. 

“Hang on, we’re gonna get you.” Ghost promised, already pulling away collapsed concrete with his hands. Price and Soap joined him, taking crowbars to pull away at the rubble around the cubicles. Gaz focused on saving more men from your squad on Captain’s orders. 

Finally, you could see glimpses of light from your team moving what was caving you in. The sudden bright light when the large piece of rubble made you wince, no windows to prevent the sun from hurting your eyes. When your vision came back, the first thing you saw was Ghost’s skull mask. He looked like he was close to tears when he saw you.

You gave him a weak smile as he helped you out from under the desk. Instead of helping you stand though, he pulled you in for a hug, cradling you in his arms. He thought he almost lost you. 

When he squeezed just a little too tightly, you hissed. That broken rib of yours was starting to really hurt now. He looked down at you, examining how you automatically held your ribcage. “Your ribs are broken. You’re not okay.”

His scolding tone was light, but you still felt bad. “Yeah. . . I’m sorry. . .”

“We’ll discuss this later. Right now, you need medical attention. A helicopter should be here any moment.” He sighed, feeling guilty at how sorry you looked. Ghost didn’t mean to make you feel so bad. However, he didn’t like how you sugarcoated the truth to him. Even if it was to prevent him from panicking too much.

Right on cue, the sound of the helicopter began to fill the air. Dust kicked up as the blades whirled closer to the side of the building, right near the broken windows. Nikolai expertly handled the flying machine, getting as close as he could so you could board. Kate held out her hand for you to take once your team got you back on your feet. 

As soon as you were aboard, the helicopter began to head to the safehouse so you could receive your medical attention in peace. The local hospital was sure to be full of men that your team just helped save. 

Ghost watched the helicopter disappear into the distance, nerves still feeling unsteady as if this was the last time he would see you. A hand landed on his shoulder, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. Soap gave a supportive grin. “She’ll be okay. She’s sweet, but also tough as nails.”

~

It’s been eight weeks since Ghost last saw you. All that time was spent recovering in your apartment off base. While he wanted to visit you, he didn’t want to intrude. Your text messages were the only thing that let the team know that you were safe as well as taking it easy. Doctor’s orders.

You were missing your team as well. Especially Ghost. Every day you missed him more and more. Making him tea, the teakwood smell of his cologne, his baritone voice. You often thought about the way he hugged you last time you saw him. How close he held you. 

There were little things that would make you think about him in your apartment as well. Whenever you had to open your kitchen cupboard, you thought about how he would always get your mug for you, often standing behind you with his chest close to your back. You knew that he was putting your mug on the top shelf on purpose. It was obvious since he always cleaned up your mug after you left. You always gave him a chance to confess, but he always played innocent. 

As you stood in front of your cupboard now, trying to pick out a cute mug, you giggled from the memories. By now, you were fully healed, but the doctor recommended giving it another couple of days with light exercise to help adjust back into work before actually being on base again.

Being a perfect patient, you followed every order. Now though, you were bored. Normally you could keep yourself occupied for a while all by yourself. And you did for as long as you could. Now, you wanted at least some good company.

An idea dawned upon you, causing you to pull out your phone and send a text to Ghost. You invited him to your apartment for drinks, the usual tea and cocoa to create more normalcy in your life. It didn’t take long for him to reply, saying that he was on his way.

In a little less than half an hour, there was a knock at your door. You got up and opened it, greeting him warmly with a bright smile and a tight hug. “I missed you~”

Simon lost his breath when he saw you for the first time in eight weeks. You were dressed in civilian clothes, something he’s never really seen before. The sky blue skinny jeans you wore paired with your white blouse made you look like the perfect little housewife. A special treat he could just eat right up.   

God, he missed you. He’s been dying to see you again to not only work with a beauty like you, but to also finally confess his feelings to you. “I missed you too, y/n. Let’s head inside, yeah? I got something important to tell you.”

You gave him a quick, tight squeeze before letting go, ushering him into your cute apartment. Everything in your space matched your soft personality. Cute colors on the walls, healthy plants near windows, white furniture with flowers painted on. He would’ve never guessed that you were a beast on the battlefield based on your apartment alone. Knowing that you were felt like a special secret that only he knew.

“Thanks for coming over by the way! It’s been a little lonely being here by myself. I kinda did all the things that usually entertain me already when I was first ordered to recover at home. Anyway, I got your favorite tea! Just give me a moment to make it for you.” You rambled, missing being able to talk to the person you cared about.

A hand on your shoulder stopped you from waltzing into your kitchen. “Oh no you don’t. While I’m here, you’re taking it easy. I’ll make the drinks. You sit on the couch and wait. Put on some of your favorite music at the most.”

His stern tone sent a little shiver through you, cheeks growing red as he stirred something inside you. “O-Oh! Okay! If you need any help, let me know!”

With a pep in your step you headed to your soft couch. Settling in with a fluffy blanket, you grabbed the TV remote and turned on some light music. Not too loud so you would be able to have a conversation with Ghost.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Simon was doing his best in making your drink just how you liked it. While he’s seen you do it many times, he was still nervous about screwing it up somehow. He picked out two different strawberry mugs for the both of you, filling each one with hot cocoa mix. Just like you did, he waited for the milk to simmer, poured them into the mugs, and gave them a gentle stir. He found whipped cream in your fridge which he used on both of the mugs. When he put the whipped cream back, he noticed a leftover bar of chocolate in your fridge. It didn’t look bitten into. Rather, a corner of it seemed shaved off.

Grabbing it and finding mini marshmallows in your pantry, he finished off the mugs with chocolate shavings and marshmallows on top of the whipped cream. The cream didn’t look as pretty like when you did it, but the chocolate shavings helped make it look not so bad.

Taking the mugs, he carried them to your living room only to see you waiting patiently for him, a big smile on your face that was contagious. Simon handed you your mug before settling into the couch beside you. 

You eyed his mug, surprised that he didn’t opt for his usual tea this time. The strawberry-shaped cup in his large hands didn’t quite match his military image. He was still in camo pants and the classic military beige shirt like he just came from base. “I thought you didn’t have much of a sweet tooth for things like this.”

“I didn’t until I met you.” He admitted, leaving you unsure if that was meant to be flirty or not. Either way, it sent the butterflies in your tummy into a frenzy. 

You took a sip of cocoa, the chocolate-covered whipped cream melting on your tongue. Simon observed you, watching your expression to morph into satisfaction or disgust. A weight was lifted off his shoulders as you beamed at him, making his own heart skip a beat. “It’s delicious! Thank you~”

He nodded silently, debating his next move. Ultimately, he decided that he was ready to give you everything he had to offer. Removing his mask off completely, you saw his face for the first time. You almost choked on your marshmallow as you took in how handsome he was. 

Chiseled features, beautiful blue eyes flattered by blonde lashes, facial scars here and there that only made him look more ruggedly handsome. You could feel your face heat up as you stared, unable to take your eyes off him.

“Something on my face?” He smirked while raising his cocoa to his lips, eating up your reaction. He was hoping that you would react this way. He wanted to have your heart pounding for him. 

Realizing that you were being teased, you giggled. The blush on your face was getting redder by the second. Waiting until he was done with his sip, you responded by wiping the whipped cream off his face with your thumb. You kissed it off your thumb when you pulled back, still somehow being able to be relatively smooth while also being a gooey mess inside. “Just a little whipped cream~”

Simon’s ears turned red from your actions. His heart almost burst out of his chest. Not being able to hold it in anymore, he set both of your mugs down on the coffee table. Once those were placed down, he cupped your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss.

Your eyes went wide for a moment. You didn’t expect him to suddenly kiss you like this. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. Fireworks erupted through you. Before you knew it, you were leaning back into the kiss, tasting the sweet chocolate and cream off his lips.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him while your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. You wanted to touch him like this for so long. Ever since you first shared drinks together you wanted to touch him. As soon as he licked your leftover whipped cream off his thumb you wanted to wrap your arms around him for a kiss. 

The kiss became deeper as it went on, small moans escaping from you that was real music to Simon’s ears. You tasted so sweet to him. So soft to the touch under his hands. More than anything, he wanted to taste you further. Cave into his craving for you. 

When you pulled apart to catch your breaths, Simon saw how brightly your eyes shined. How cutely you smiled at him. He wanted to make you his so badly. “Y/n, I want you to be mine. I want you to belong only to me. Will you be my love?”

You blinked, hardly believing that those words came out of his mouth. It was impossible to fight back the smile that formed on your face. You wanted to dance with joy. For now, you sprung up and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. Your pretty scent, your lovely laughter, and your velvety softness blessed his senses as he held you close right back.

“Absolutely, Simon! I would love to be yours~!” You accepted, hardly being able to contain yourself as your lips crashed against his right after.

You could feel him smile against you, equally as happy that you accepted. You resumed making out, each kiss full of love as feelings were mutual. Large hands felt up your curves, causing you to moan into the passionate kisses. Not being able to help himself, he swiped his tongue against your lips, urging you to open your mouth for him. As soon as you did, his tongue slipped through to overtake you. His warm, soft tongue wrestled against yours, aiming to taste just how sugary sweet you were. 

As he deepened the kiss, your fingers ran through his blond locks, the silky strands feeling nice against your touch. A low, guttural moan came from Simon as your own touch caused him to tremble. The effect you had on him was out of this world.

Slowly, he lifted you up to have you sit in his lap. He began to lose control as your soft chest pressed against his. You could feel his firm chest as he breathed heavily, getting lost in the kisses you shared. Your own breath was getting hot and heavy. Underneath you, you could start to feel a subtle rise of his pants as an erection began to grow. 

When you shifted in his lap, your hips grinding into his by accident, he gave a sharp groan. His hands landed firmly on your hips to stop moving, a fluttering feeling inside you coming to life as he handled you. 

Simon pulled away from the kiss, feeling like he was embarrassing himself by getting so sexual with you. You had just agreed to become his girlfriend! Did he really have no self control when it came to you? “We should stop. I don’t want to rush things if you aren’t ready.”

“Who says I’m not ready?” You genuinely asked, a curious tilt of your head making you look absolutely adorable in his eyes. His erection twitched, only growing bigger the longer you sat in his lap with that kissable face of yours. 

“Seriously, sweetheart, I’m trying to be a pretty decent boyfriend right now.” Simon warned, his playfully narrowing eyes sending your heart into overdrive. The new nickname had you grinning as well.

“What if I told you that I didn’t mind taking things further? It’s been lonely recovering here all by myself. My usual efforts to ease the tension haven’t been working so great.” You explained delicately. While you were open to talking about how you felt, you were still a little shy hearing the words out loud. 

Simon took your words seriously. It was hard to say no to you. He wanted to give you the world. Such a sweet thing like you deserved all of the love in the world if you wanted it. 

Not being able to refuse your advance, he began to gently kiss your neck. The sensation of his soft lips on your sensitive skin already had you trembling. Sweet kisses trailed down to your exposed collarbone, Simon excited to go further down on you. “At any point where you want to stop, tell me. We’ll stop immediately.”

“Don’t stop, Simon.” You sighed as his kisses became firmer. Parted lips suckled on your skin, leaving marks on your skin. He wanted to cover you with them to let everyone know that you were his. 

The tent in his pants got larger and firmer, throbbing every so often against your crotch as you grinded into him. You could feel your panties become damp with your arousal, the feeling of his erection pressing against your needy folds making you excited. Wanting things to progress further, you pulled off your blouse to reveal your lacy bra.

Simon wasn’t much into lingerie. He always had the mindset that lingerie would end up on the floor anyways, so what did it matter. However, seeing your daily, cute lace bra on you like a delicate candy wrapper hiding a sweet treat had him reeling. Christ, he wanted to completely unwrap you and indulge. 

The way your new boyfriend looked at you in just your lacy bra alone filled you with fuzz. The way his eyes ran all over you, taking in your figure that was so close to his, made you shiver. You wanted to be eaten by him just as much as he did. If not even more. 

Passionate kisses resumed, tongues tangling together as hands roamed each other’s bodies. Slipping your hands under his shirt, you felt how hot he was running. Muscles flexed under your touch. Moans entered your mouth. Simon’s skin felt like heaven, even with the scars from hell that he had all over him. 

“Mmn, you taste so sweet, sweetheart.” He praised you, his cock now fully erect within his pants. Wanting more, you helped take off this shirt. You almost began to drool as soon as you got to see his bare chest. Broad and strong. 

You reached behind you and unclipped your bra, your breasts free to rub against the chest that you were aching for as soon as you were ready. For a moment, you got up too and removed your pants along with your panties. Simon’s brain short circuited for a second as you stood in front of him almost unapologetically nude. 

There was a bit of blush still on your cheeks as you hoped that Simon liked what he saw. Even the parts that you felt self-conscious about and the new scars that you got from the last mission. However, to Simon, you were the most beautiful woman in the entire world. The best thing he has ever seen.

He was eager to touch your soft skin, run his hands over your silky folds, and rake his fingers through your luscious hair. More than anything, he wanted to make you feel good. Especially if you have been sexually frustrated during your recovery. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. May I touch you?” Simon complimented, pulling you back onto his lap, making sure that you were situated comfortably. 

You knew what he meant when he asked. Your senses tingled and pussy clenched when he asked so nicely. As much as you wanted him to touch you, another part was a bit bashful. You were already so wet for him that you didn’t want to scare him off. Nonetheless, you couldn’t resist the offer. 

After you nodded, Simon turned you around in his lap, your back against his solid chest like you always belonged there. Large, firm hands began to massage your breasts, body already shuttering from the touch. You sighed in pleasure as he handled your tits with just the right amount of grip, squeezing in all the right places. Each touch was deliberate. Simon wanted to know every sweet spot you had. Every place that made you tremble and moan. When he began pinching your precious nipples, you flinched suddenly.

Simon gave a soft chuckle, kissing the side of your head. “Sensitive here, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yeah. . .” You blushed, figuring that being honest for him was going to be the best for the both of you at the moment. 

“Good girl.” He praised, his accented, husky voice going straight into your ear. With one hand, he felt up your stomach and down your hips. He kept going until he was feeling up the inside of your thighs. Some pressure on your skin motioned for you to spread your legs farther for him. 

Like his good, sweet girl, you obeyed. The open air hitting your slick slit made you whimper. Simon’s fingers traced up the skin of your thigh until he was just grazing your weeping cunt. Fluid coated his fingers like a smooth sugar glaze. “Look at you, so wet for me.”

Your breath became heavier and heavier as your heart raced faster. He was teasing you, gently spreading your mess all over your fluttering folds. When he did apply more pressure, thick fingers exploring your external crevices, you let out a cute moan. One that Simon wanted on a record. 

In circular, powerful strokes, Simon rubbed your swollen clit. While it soothed the ache for his physical touch, it began to drive you wild for more. Earthquakes of pleasure shook you to your core. You may have bucked out of Simon’s lap if it wasn’t for his other arm and hand holding you down across your torso. 

Pinching your clit softly between his fingers, he did the same with your nipple. You cried out deliciously, Simon smiling at every reaction that you gave him. His own arousal throbbed and ached, hitting the back of you with mutual need for more. Yet, he could hold it back if it meant getting you off first.

However, you knew that he was holding back for you. Not only did you feel it in his cock, but in his heart as his chest thumped against your back with each beat. It made you want him even more. More than just his kisses and fingers.

“I-Inside. . .” You begged, the words falling off your tongue as you became breathless. It wasn’t enough for him to play with just your clit anymore. You needed something inside. Something that will hit you deep in all the right places. 

His fingers began to toy with your entrance, more of your honey leaking out. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not yet. I need to loosen you up first before I can give you more. Be a good girl for me and stay patient, yeah?”

Before you could respond, his fingers plunged into you with ease. You gasped and moaned, tightening around him as he began to slowly rub your insides as deep as he could go. Kisses landed on your cheek and neck, praises for your patience spilling out as he continued to pump his fingers. Your head began to feel fuzzy along with every single blood cell that flowed through your body. 

You were making a complete mess out of his hand, your slippery slick traveling up into his palm as it pressed against your still throbbing clit. The other hand still played with your tits, rubbing your nipples in time with how his palm rubbed up your clit. 

Your toes curled as his fingers did, hitting that delicate spot inside you that made you see stars. Moans turned into cries as you felt yourself getting closer to climax. Simon’s cock began to leak pre-cum as he felt you squirm and squeeze around his fingers. You looked so perfect like this. Close to orgasm, mouth opening to release each moan. 

As you clenched down, Simon quickly turned your face towards him, lips pressing against yours to eat up your orgasmic cries. Suddenly, his tongue slipped into your mouth just as he pumped faster into you. With the firmer, quicker movements, he was rubbing against your clit at an overwhelming rate. Pinching your nipple for the final time sealed the deal as he plunged you into your climax.

He held you down tight against his warm body, eating up moan after moan as you shuttered hard. You doused his fingers and tightened up so much that you were sucking him in. Even as you came all over his hand, Simon still rubbed your walls, not wanting you to completely recover from your orgasm. 

When he broke the kiss, you gasped for air. Your hands that gripped the couch cushion below you felt numb. Still, you raised them, grasping Simon’s arms to get him to give you a second. 

And just like that, he stopped. He didn’t want to push you too far after all. If you needed a moment to catch your breath, he would gladly give it to you.

“S-Simon. . .” You weakly called out, going limp against his chest. As wiped as you were, you didn’t want to just end it there. There was still a strong desire to feel his cock inside you. It was something you didn’t mind pushing for now if you needed to.

However, that dazed, yet needy look of yours said everything to Simon. Carefully, he laid you down onto the couch. As you settled in comfortably, he removed the rest of his clothes. His cock sprang to life, still leaking pre-cum. He didn’t have any condoms on him and he doubted you did too, but he trusted himself not to go too far.

You trusted him too, arms raising up towards him, inviting him into your embrace. Finally, he was going to make love to you. 

Positioning himself first, his erection pressed against your entrance, giving him chills from how hot you were already. Once he was in position, he slowly lowered himself over you, arms on each side of your head. 

Holding onto him tight, you braced yourself for his intrusion, your pussy stretching to accommodate his large size. Your nails dug into his back, your breath hitching as he took his time pushing himself deeper into you. Just him going in made all your nerves go haywire. When he was finally all in, he sighed in relief. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, trying to hold back whimpers. “I’m okay. You just. . . It feels good. . .”

Love flashed in Simon’s blue eyes, ecstatic that he wasn’t causing you pain. Not wanting to jinx it, he moved at a tender pace. Passionate kisses were peppered over your soft lips as he began to thrust, causing you to moan. The way his cock massaged the deepest parts of you had your body feel like it was on fire. 

“Fuck! Don’t clench down like that all of a sudden. You’re already tight, y/n.” Simon hissed, his expression wincing from the pleasure of your cunt tightening around him more than before. 

Just him saying your name had to tighten up again, making Simon give a low groan. Afterwards, he smirked, sending your heart aflame. “You like it when I use your real name, y/n?”

Again, you clenched without meaning to, your nectar dripping out and down your filled cunt. “Y-Yeah. . .”

“Good girl. You know, I like it when you use my name too.” He hinted, his pace picked up so he could hear his name come out of you.

“S-Simon!” You gasped at his new speed, feeling every single inch of him reach deep inside until he bottomed out before thrusting outwards. Simon couldn’t believe how wet, hot, and tight you were. It was like a dream come true seeing you shake with ecstasy, cry out his name, and hold him for more. The way you dug your pretty little fingernails into his muscular back made him shiver. 

He buried his face into your neck and kissed your skin, making sure that you would get all the pleasure you deserved. Your moans got louder as his movements became more passionate. Feverish. You made a mess on your couch, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how good it felt for Simon to make love to you. How good it felt to feel all of him inside you. As tight as you were around him, it felt like you were made for each other.

Screaming his name, your hand went up to his hair, gripping onto blonde locks as you got close to an orgasm again. Simon could feel it too with the way you sucked him in. His cock throbbed at the prospect of you cumming all over him. He wanted to be able to cum with you so bad, but he wouldn’t do that to you. Not without your consent or being ready for that next step. For now, he was just loving how perfect your pussy was for him. 

Sweet words of praise and encouragement flooded your ears, pushing you closer to cumming. Simon thrusted harder and deeper, yet still kept his flawless pace to not completely break your flow. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me.”

When you felt his tongue glide against your neck, you nearly cried out his name for the final time. Your legs around Simon kept him close, allowing him to feel just how much you could clench around him. Douse him in your sweet honey. He didn’t mind how hard your nails were digging into his back or how firm your grip on his hair was. Actually, it felt heavenly as he continued to thrust into you for his own pleasure. 

Your quivers became more violent as Simon kept pumping through your orgasm, more and more of your nectar making a mess on both of you. You bit your lip as you tried to regain control, but it didn’t matter. Whimpers, whines, and moans just wouldn’t stop flowing out of you. Each cry was sending Simon to his own climax. Wanting to hear even more, he gave in to going faster.

Without knowing it, Simon made you cum once again. Since he didn’t stop while you were orgasming the first time, your senses were overloaded with indulgence. Your brain went and vision turned into fuzz again as you came harder the second time. 

Simon growled as you soaked him once more, feeling your pussy try to milk him for everything he’s got. His own vision was seeing stars as the pressure began to build for him. With one last shred of reasoning left, he pulled out of you and stroked out the rest of his orgasm with his hand. His body strained to keep him upright as he jerked off over you. Hot, white ropes of cum showered your belly as Simon worked himself. 

Finally, he slowed to a stop, breath heavy and brain catching up to reality. When he saw the mess he left on you, he captured the moment in his mind like a picture. When you came as well, you looked up at him with the most adoring look in your eyes. 

Taking a tissue from the box on your coffee table, he wiped you clean. Then, he took one of the blankets you draped over the top of the couch onto the both of you, Simon spooning you close as the both of you regained some energy back. 

You nuzzled his hand that was draped over you. “Stay over tonight?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you wish.” He promised, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. 

#simon ghost riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #cod fanfic #ghost x f!reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader

[itjazzbicch]

The Animal I Become

Pairing: Damian Priest x Fem Reader

Summary: Being the eldest daughter of Rey Mysterio, it surprises most that she’s nothing like her family. After her father and family ban her from wrestling due to her violence, she is officially the black sheep, but breaks that rule, coming back to help during an attack from the Judgement Day, only to be scolded by her father for the madness she started, then running into someone who knows her like no one else…

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY!)

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @demonqueen29 @peachy-satan00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @thatpanpal @damnnhausen @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose @cuzimacomedian @april-jeanette-wagner @starwithaheart @seeingstarks @rubyred1980

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF:

Sometimes it seemed like everyone forgot that I exited and sometimes, that wasn’t a bad thing.

Being born when my dad was young, I was the oldest child of Rey Mysterio, wanted to be a wrestler just like my dad, but when I learned how to wrestle, even made it to the performance center, my style of wrestling was much different.

Being told I was too violent, overpowering, ‘couldn’t see what wrestling really was’, my dad made me stop wrestling and allowed Dominik to be the one who wrestled.

It caused great issues in our family, made me the black sheep on top of the drastic differences that I already had compared to them, but there was still love in my heart for them.

I always paid close attention to the shows, especially after Judgement Day crashed my dads anniversary party that I didn’t even get to come to, or it would’ve been a different story.

Rhea not only put her hands on Dominik, but Aaliyah, all of them constantly attacking my dad and it made my blood boil.

Judgement Day may have won the match tonight, distracting my dad by Rhea taking Dominik’s beat up out to the stage, not even able to imagine what she did to him, but after Finn’s victory?

My dad told me to stay away from wrestling and not to do anything crazy, but there was no way that I could stay at home and watch this every week and he surely knew that I was crazy.

The crowd was roaring, Finn and Damian coming up the rampway, freezing at the sight of me standing behind Rhea who was still standing over my younger brother.

Rhea could read everyone’s reactions, looking at what Finn and Damian were staring at, turning slowly to find me.

“Y/N Mysterio! Isn’t this lovely?” Rhea was always laughing at someone clearly underestimating me, both of us looking to Damian who yelled out:

“Y/N?!”

It was good to know someone knew that something bad was about to happen, considering both my dad and Dominik were completely out of it.

When I began wrestling at the performance center to try and join NXT, Damian helped train me. He knew me well, we had a past, and he knew much like my family, the madness that I was capable of producing.

He wasn’t stopping me, having Rhea face me again when I smiled:

“You all must’ve forgotten that I exist. I’m here to do what they won’t do, and that’s beat your ass!”

My fists started flying and Rhea was strong, but so was I. Punches and kicks being thrown, leading up the stage, till I took her by the hair, shutting her down and swinging her into the megatron frame.

Starting to ground and pound, gouging at her eyes, I could feel the pent up emotion of a lot of things coming out, going numb and my instincts were ultra high, back elbowing Finn in the face as he was the first to try and break up the fight.

That gave Rhea a slight advantage considering I had to stand up, but I didn’t forget about her, still swinging and we both had handfuls of hair.

“Alright, that’s enough!”

There was Damian again, growing more frustrated when I heard my dads voice too:

“Y/N, stop this right now!”

Security flooded the stage, my dad and a stirring Dominik trying to pull me back and Damian and Finn were pulling Rhea away.

I missed the feeling of adrenaline rushing this quickly, increasing at the sight of blood on Rhea’s lip thanks to me, screaming at her:

“I’m not finished with you, bitch! You just wait!”

Before Rhea could speak, Damian and Finn were taking her away and they both had their eyes set on me which made me wonder.

Though, I didn’t have the time to wonder much, my dad yanking me to face him:

“You know what I told you-“

“Yeah and it’s bullshit!” I snapped at him, not dealing with this and my rage gladly controlling my yelling, “How long now have they’ve been beating up you and Dom, huh?!”

“Y/N, sis-“ Dom was still beat up, but tried to deescalate, “You didn’t have to do this. We got-“

“Who are you to talk, huh?!” I was in a rampage, shoving Dominik down and putting him in his place, “You’ve been getting your ass kicked by a girl for weeks now like some little bitch! If you two won’t end this judgement day shit, I will! Trying to be superheroes isn’t cutting it!”

I was ready to walk away, but of course my dad had to start yelling and nagging in Spanish, dragging both me and Dominik to the locker room, just to lecture me.

Arms crossed, leg shaking like hell in my chair, staring at nothing, my dad went on for what felt like forever about how ‘dangerous’ and ‘immature’ I was being for breaking his rule about me not wrestling, that I could have gotten in serious trouble.

My facial expressions obviously showed how little I cared, I know I may have went a little overboard with the yelling at them and shoving Dominik, but it was the only way they would listen ever listen to me in some form.

The fate of being the black sheep always followed me, having enough when my dad said:

“And of course, the second you get your hands on somebody, there’s blood and everything! I get it, you want to protect us, we’re familia, but-“

“But nothing!” I screamed, standing up and point at him, “We are familia and we should always protect each other! No matter what it takes! You think what I did was so bad?! I could have done SO MUCH WORSE!”

This time, he had nothing to say, especially when I had tears in my eyes, finally saying something I always wanted to say:

“You just don’t want me to wrestle because I’m better thank Dominik and he’s the son. He can ‘carry down the bloodline’, you want to give him your mask. Let’s just face it. You never said it, but I know that no matter what I do, I’m different than all of you, and I’ll just never be good enough for any of you.”

They both tried to come and hug me but I wasn’t having it, brushing both of them with my shoulders, heading out the door and slamming it so hard it echoed for seconds.

I should’ve known it would’ve ended up like this and after fighting Rhea like how I did, there was no way I could just disappear again.

Having one side of me say I needed to be there for my family and the other having all of this anger towards them was tearing me apart.

Not knowing what to do, I told myself I’d put it off for another day, checking my pockets to make sure I didn’t lose anything, heading towards the back exit till I heard:

“¿Te vas tan pronto, mamí?” [Leaving so soon, mamí?]

“Don’t you dare call me that anymore,” I growled, looking to see Damian leaned against the pillar next to the door, a smile on his face.

“Why? It used to put such a pretty smile on your face,” Damian stood up straight, trying to work his charm that did take me at one point in time, “Especially when I talk to you in spanish.”

“Look, if you’re here to try and distract me so Rhea can come get her revenge, just do it already because I would love to bust her face again,” I was staring a whole through him, but he just shook his head, saying under his breath:

“Ay,, Todavía estás tan loca.”

[Ay, you’re still so crazy.]

“Muy loca loca,” I owned that proudly and stayed on guard. [Very crazy, crazy.]

Something was different here. Damian was being himself rather than his demeanor while he was with Finn and Rhea, standing up to come to me with a smile:

“Y eso está bien. Me gusta la locura.” [And that’s okay. I like crazy.]

“You better tell me what you want, Damian,” I was fed up and I didn’t want to threaten him, it hurt that he was one of the people attacking my family after everything we been through, but I still threatened, “Or you can experience the craziness that Rhea just went through.”

“Oh no, mamí,” His smile grew so devilish, leaning down to look into my eyes, “I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” I had to laugh at that, breathing in, “It’s far too late for that! Wait no, let me think again, you want me to join Judgement Day?”

“What can I say? You’re perfect for us,” It was nice that he got straight to the point, but I wasn’t convinced in the slightest, growing more of an attitude:

“You better realize that I’m not like the rest of my family-“

Before I could continue, he laughed at me, throwing his hands with a smile:

“And that is exactly why, Y/N.”

I was so used to hearing lectures about how I needed to be more like my family and his words made me pausing, Damian taking that time to continue:

“You have always been different than them and instead of embracing that, you let them shut you down. I bet all of the money in my wallet that you just slammed that door and stomped off because your dad yelled at you for showing up and starting another fight just now.”

Clicking my tongue, I looked away and he chuckled, knowing he was right:

“Exactly what I thought. Now tell me, what kind of family yells at you for trying to protect them and won’t even let you accomplish your dreams?“

Glaring back at him, there were tears in my eyes. His truth harsh and thinking back to the day I thought I was getting a contract and the complete opposite happened? It was like I was stabbed in the heart.

“Hell, if you started wrestling with me like we planned on it way back in NXT? You would’ve won multiple championships by now. You’d be a fucking star!”

Damian had to keep adding to it, making me snap at him before I began to cry:

“Even if that’s true, it’s too late to fantasize about what may have happened! This is now! So, tell me, indulge me, how would joining Judgement Day benefit me, Hm?”

“That’s so simple,” He smiled, wiping away the tear that I didn’t notice running down my cheek, “You get to accomplish your dreams. You get to be a wrestler. You get to be at the peak of it! You know that we’re no push overs and it’s time that you get your ass in that ring and this time? No one will ever push you back ever again.”

My dream of being a wrestler always put happiness in my heart that no one or nothing could compare to. That fight was the first time I ever even heard a crowd and they were cheering for me.

That crowd loved the wild fire that I brought out there and thinking about it, how I wanted it again made me feel like I was hooked on a drug already.

“You think that’s a good idea? Really?” I wasn’t letting him persuade me this easily, pointing out one big issue, “Because I already know that Rhea is not gonna like that.”

“Rhea will understand once she’s cooled off,” He assured, “She’s an older sibling herself so, I’m sure she understands where you were coming from.”

“Yeah right,” My eyes rolled, falling back on Damian as his voice got even deeper than it already was, a blank expression and fed up like me:

“When are you finally going to do what’s best for you? Do you want to be a wrestler and make a name for yourself or forever be the black listed Mysterio?”

That hit me so hard that I could hear my heart beat echoing in my head, tears coming back and making me hate how easily my emotions took over me.

It was hard because he was right. I wanted to be a wrestler, wanted to live my life my way and not in my family’s shadow.

“You’re positive there won’t be any issues between me and Rhea?”

His eyes lit up like never before when he heard my question, creating a laugh for the both of us:

“I think so, but if she tries anything, you can just kick her ass again.”

I shook my head and laughed, silencing and feeling a sly smile come back to my face when he put his arm around my shoulder, rolling off his tongue:

“Y podemos divertirnos como antes.” [And we can have fun like we used to.]

I knew exactly what he meant by that, knowing how his Spanish made me feeling some kind of way, but mine did the same to him:

“¿Divertido? ¿Quieres recordarlo?” [Fun? Care to recall?]

“Rey no es tu único Papí, ¿recuerdas?” [Rey isn’t your only papí. Remember?]

My body always acted before I could think thoroughly, yanking him by his necklace and growling softly:

“Watch that tongue before I remind you who your mamí is.”

“Aww, Papí’s still good at turning you on,” He chuckled slightly, arm falling around my hip, pulling my body into his, lips just inches away when he whispered, “You still like pulling me by my necklace.”

Some habits never really change, there was no dodging that one, there was no going back right now, and so, I looked deeply into those brown eyes, whispering back:

“I’m still pretty pissed off about everything tonight. So if you keep that up? I’m just gonna take it out on you.”

“That’s what you always think, but you always end up a mess and screaming my name,” Laughing one last time, he licked his lower lip, hand sliding down to squeeze my ass, kissing, “But don’t worry. I’ll get rid of that anger quickly.”

One touch of his lips let off some steam, increasing with more, how he used a his tongue a little, hand squeezing and rubbing my ass, but there was still a whole lot of steam inside of me.

It had me shaking slightly when I parted my lips for a moment, looking around to make sure no one else was in the small hall that we were in.

“I think it’s going to take more than a kiss to calm me down. If we get out of here,” I slowly wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers tapping up his shoulder and the soft spot on his neck that I remembered, the tone of my voice being that magic trick, “You just might even hear me screaming Papí, again.”

“Might?” He was biting his lip, throwing me up to hold me, also checking our surroundings before heading off into the darkness, “You will be.”

Taking risks was always a thrill for me, in some random locker room with dim lights, devilish giggles in my kiss, body being taken over by adrenaline again while stripping, Damian barley out of his pants when I jumped into his arm, kissing with a bite:

“Déjame ver tu lado loco, papí.” [Let me see your crazy side, papí.]

“Oh, lo verás.”

[Oh, you’ll see it.]

There was a certain tone he would have in his voice whenever I was really in for it, being tossed around and chest first into the wall next to us.

Remembering old previous times, my body naturally shifted into place, perking my ass up at him, looking back to smile:

“You better remember-“

“What? How you like it rough?” Spanking my ass so hard I squeal, hand pulling my head back by the hair so his cock would slam right into me? It all showed that he never forgot.

“Encanta así, papí!” [Love it like that, papi.]

I forgot how he made it hard for me to breathe so easily, another thrust having me stick to the wall, slow and timed at first, but his hips smacked against my ass hard, having to adjust to his girth and length again.

All of the moisture didn’t pose an issue after those slow thrusts, feeling his fingertips at my scalp, finding its position with his speed increasing, moans meeting the wall with my mouth opening and growing louder.

“And you still moan it just as beautiful,” That evil laugh of his only turned me on more, tilting my head back a little to him, panting but still getting out:

“And your dick is still so good, Damian.”

“You know that no one will ever beat this ass like I do,” He always liked watching how I reacted to his spanks, another loud crack making my knees almost give way, a slight drool at the side of my mouth when I squealed again.

“Never!” Despite the handful he had of my hair, I was strong enough to push my face into the wall, about biting my lip off and whining at the strong pressure coming so quickly along my walls and into my stomach.

“What’s a matter, mamí?” He knew I was close, beating my strength and pulling my head back to him, except this time he let go, arm wrapping around my neck, finger swirling at my clit and his thrusts not daring to change, “I know it’s been a while, you burnt out already?”

“No juegues conmigo, Damian.” [Don’t play with me, Damian.]

I always grew so serious when so close to an orgasm like this, not having something like this in ages and was desperate for it.

The shift of his body let me know that I was about to get what I was longing for. Feeling his bicep choking me some, proving his strength and holding me up off the ground, fingers right back on my cut and rubbing rapidly, having me bouncing on his cock to meet the wicked thrusts he was throwing up at me:

“What? Want me to play with this instead?”

I don’t know how, but it felt like he was rubbing my clit even faster, crying at how my nerves were shocking me, legs shaking up in the air, a sting in my eyes when I closed them tight, begging out:

“Please, papí! Please!”

I wasn’t sure if it was tears or sweat running down my face, but the shocking burn my nerves were going through made me clench so tight, aching from how I was taking him, but never feeling so good when my vision went white, no air in my lungs and even hearing the slick that drowned his cock.

“Fuck is it good to feel that again,” Whispering a kiss into my ear made him think that I’d shoot my own remark, but I was literally so out of it.

Easing me back to the wall, he kept me in a hug this time, rubbing my stomach and sides:

“You good there, mamí?”

“You always rocked my world,” I giggled softly, my head limp and resting against the wall as I breathed in, “Rocked my everything.”

“Aww, come on,” He laughed, keeping me in that hug and kissing, “Mean to tell me you fight like an animal but can’t handle some rough strokes?”

“That wasn’t some, that was a lot,” I made him laugh this time, on purpose, loving how he grew silent, the smirk on his face when I flashed my own evil smile at him, “And wait till you see the animal I become when I officially join.”

#wrestling imagine #wrestling fic #wrestling smut #wrestling oneshot #wwe #wwe imagine #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe oneshot #Damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian priest imagine #damian priest fic #damian priest smut #damian priest oneshot #read and enjoy

[wastelandmoony]

Déjà Vécu: Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three : Fear and Trembling

Summary: Christmas at the Potters'.

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI; language, violence, gore, abuse.

Déjà Vécu Masterlist

Companion Playlist

Read on AO3

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December 21st, 1975

Sirius’ trunk thumped down the tower steps, echoing loudly against the stone walls. He’d be scowling for what seemed like the entire week, ever since the owl arrived during breakfast one morning with a letter demanding his presence home for Christmas. He had immediately incinerated it at the table, icy glare locked onto Regulus across the Great Hall. The Potter’s had invited everyone to stay for the entire break, and the plan had been for the five of them to have two weeks of carefree living, playing quidditch in the garden and eating their weight in Euphemia Potter’s cooking.

“C’mon mate,” James tried to placate his best friend as Sirius dropped the trunk with a loud thud onto the common room floor, the rest of them waiting around with their own belongings for the journey home. “You won’t be missing much, it’ll be the same as last year: mum will cook Christmas dinner, we’ll all sit around and open gifts, and then—“

“—you’ll all laugh, and play games, and not be forced into some stuffy outfit to be paraded around to your extended family?” Sirius groaned, “Ugh, I’m going to be bored out of my mind!” 

She knew he wasn’t just worried about the boredom. Though his family had seemed to write him off for the past few years, something still didn’t sit right with her. 

Sirius continued his moping through the entirety of the train ride back to London, never breaking the grimace plastered on his face even after the numerous attempts by all of them to cheer him up. As they filed onto the King’s Cross platform, she discreetly took his hand and squeezed it. He looked back at her, expression never faltering as he pulled away and began to head towards his mother and younger brother.

“See you in two weeks,” he didn’t look back.

She wasn’t going to let Sirius’ bad attitude ruin their break, and it seems like the boys shared a similar sentiment. The moment they arrived at Potter Manor, James brought them upstairs to their rooms, chatting excitedly with Remus about a new prank idea he wanted to test out in the garden later.

After briefly unpacking, she wandered down the hall to James’ bedroom, finding him lounging against the headboard reading a quidditch magazine. She flopped down beside him and sighed.

“Alright?” He asked, tossing the magazine onto the quilt.

“I’m worried about Sirius,” she muttered, “Do you think he’s okay?”

James didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the entire situation. “Yeah, he’s just being a moody git. You’ve seen how his family’s been the past few years, they just ignore him. I think they’ve given up.”

“Then why force him to come home now? Why not just let him do whatever he wants?” She couldn’t explain it, but something deep in her gut didn’t feel right.

James shrugged, “Who knows, maybe they just missed him?” 

She snorted, “I’m not sure Walburga is capable of that emotion.”

James laughed as he got up, “He’ll be fine. The only thing we have to worry about is the ranting we’ll have to endure when we all get back to school. I bet he doesn’t stop talking about how much he hates them until May.”

With an audible crack, the Potter’s house elf apparated into the room with a little curtsy. 

“Your mother wished me to tell you that dinner is ready,” they said. 

“Thank Merlin, I’m starved,” James exhaled, walking down the hall to grab the other two boys from Remus’ room. 

———

December 25th, 1975

They were swimming in gift wrap and glitter. The Potter’s sitting room was littered with torn paper, boxes and ribbon strew about, while plates and plates of baked goods covered the coffee table. Euphemia and Fleamont sat by the fireplace watching them open gifts, her parents having sent some as well. Remus leaned over to hand her a cup of tea as James stood up from the couch.

“I have one last present for you,” he said as he jogged out into the hall.

A few seconds later, his voice carried from the next room, “Close your eyes!”

Bewildered, and slightly afraid, she reluctantly shut both eyes. She could hear him reenter the room, followed by the crunch of gift wrap underfoot as he made his way to where she was seated. 

“Hold out your hands,” the excitement in his voice was barely contained.

Palms up, she waited, finally feeling smooth, polished wood against her skin. Her eyes shot open as she took in the broom on her lap, James standing above her with the biggest smile on his face. 

“I didn’t wrap it, because I’m shit at it, sorry about that—“ he started.

She was speechless. Though she was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, she always just borrowed one of the school brooms, never wanting to bother her parents with the added expense of buying an entirely new one. So far, it had served her just fine. 

“Jamie…this is…this is too much,” she shook her head, “you shouldn’t have spent so much money on this, I don’t need—”

“Yes you do. I can’t keep watching you fly on one of those shit school ones, you’ll have much better control on this. And it wasn’t just me, we all contributed to this.” 

She looked around the room, Remus and Peter smiled, the former giving a confirming nod as tears began to blur their faces. 

“Thank you, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just promise me you won’t tell anyone who gave it to you. If Marlene or the rest of the them find out I helped another team, they’ll kill me,” James said, face completely serious. 

She choked a laugh, wiping away a stray tear, “Deal.”

“So…drills then?” He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled, “…Go on.” 

Euphemia called after the four of them as they ran out back to the garden, “Don’t forget dinner is at 6!”

———

Christmas afternoon was spent outside in the crisp December air, trying to get used to how a capable broom handled. James was right, she was so much quicker and more agile with this one. Maybe this year, Hufflepuff would at least be a contender for the cup. 

Fleamont came outside as the sun was setting and ushered them all in for dinner, no one bothering to change out of their muddied clothes, not that the Potter’s minded.

After dessert, they all retired to the sitting room again, James and Peter breaking out the deck of Exploding Snap, while Euphemia tidied up the kitchen, and Remus and Fleamont read quietly.

“I’m going to change and then I’ll join you,” she said, excusing herself up to the bedroom, dying to be free of her grass-stained jeans. 

Pulling on the new sweater Mrs. Potter had given her that morning, and a pair of Remus’ old pajama pants she had stolen last year, she rifled through her trunk for the book she had brought. As she reached into the furthest corner, a crack echoed from downstairs, followed by screams.

“Help! Get Mum!” James’ voice filled her ears as she careened down the stairs towards the sitting room. 

Leaping from the bottom of the staircase, she rounded the corner and saw Euphemia and Fleamont bent over next to the fireplace, the three boys hovering around them. James was beside himself, paler than she’s ever seen him and pulling at the roots of his hair.

She saw the blood near Mrs. Potter’s knelt legs before she saw the body. 

Euphemia looked up at her husband, voice calm but filled with urgency, “He’s lost a lot of blood, Monty…”

Mr. Potter nodded, “I’m going to notify St. Mungo’s and send an owl to Dumbledore.” He swiftly left the room as she passed through the doorway.

“Is he going to be okay, Mum?” James was crying. 

Remus heard her footsteps and met her eyes. There was fear there. Pure, unfiltered fear. She’d never seen that in his face, even after his worst transformations.

“James, darling, help me move him upstairs to the extra bedroom,” Euphemia motioned for her son and Remus to help lift the body from the floor.

As Mrs. Potter rose to her feet, she saw Sirius lying on the wooden floor unconscious, bleeding profusely from his head.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #marauders era fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black fic #marauders x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x you #james potter fluff #Sirius Black slow burn

[kysukioshi]

Concordia

Neteyam x fem!Na’vi OC

summary: a tale of love, redemption and betrayal; Neteyam and Tsuk'ami, two Na'vi from rival clans share a past forged in the innocence of a childhood friendship. Tensions between their clans rise as they strive to rewrite a destiny that fate has woven for them.

warnings: this story may contain violence, smut and swearing, so if you're not comfortable with those topics, please don't interact.

Story Masterlist

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Part Three - Veiled Portents

Tsuk’ami was always told she was a dreamer. She always focused on the irrational, the fairy tales and the myths, and how easily it could be her weakness. She was told she should wake up, and focus on the realities everyone had to face in order to survive—especially since she was the future of Soluna; the next generation.

At some point in her teenage-hood, she put her reading and writing hobbies aside. The judgement from her clan’s elders was too much for her to swallow. But as she got older, she embraced it.. kind off.

She hid her writing cloths and papers, but she no longer felt embarrassed to admit it to herself. She crafted vivid narratives, intricate stories of the resilience of the Na’vi people, the wars and the ages of peace, as well as some romance. One thing in particular she was proud of, was her character Txi.

She liked to think of Txi as her alter ego. Txi was brave, and she was a strong leader that led her people to freedom and peace from the external threats.

Txi was the embodiment of Tsuk’ami’s aspirations. Those desires were not only about her fantasies of fighting in a war, they were also about her mother. She wanted her mother to know Tsuk’ami’s limits— to see how much Tsuk’ami was actually capable of.

Now that Tsuk’ami met Neteyam, her deepest desire reignited itself again, making her curious to all the secrets and stories other clans had to share.

Her clan had its traditions, which consisted of the people knowing only about their clan. The knowledge wasn’t limited only to the leaders, and she knew she couldn’t wait that long to find out. She also knew where such informations could be kept.

…

In the middle of the night, Tsuk’ami slipped out of her family’s hut, trying to go unnoticed as she walked to her mothers study chambers— guided by the curiosity of her mother’s extensive collection of historical tomes and scrolls.

She moved the linen door flap, walking in and carefully, as if not to leave evidence, looking around the room. She crouched near a section of a shelf, which had ‘confidential’ written on stone above it. She cautiously looked through the neatly arranged scrolls and papers, her fingers tracing over each title as she worded it quietly.

Her hand brushed over a certain scroll, the wood handle old and dusty, with an engraved ‘narratives of the neighbours’.

Tsuk’ami became frustrated as she began to read. The first few segments of the long texts spoke only of customs and bygone eras she had already heard of. But as she dove deeper into the lengths of the scroll, she delved into accounts that spoke of conflict and alliances.

“The Tipani tribe, always stood protectors to the borders of many clans they bordered. Their domain veiled in the mist of the treetops. Their resilient tales bore stories of great craftsmanship, which had helped these people fight like true warriors, and succeeded in many wars. The alliance between the Tipani and Soluna were always helpful both ways. Soluna had provided them with passage, as well as supply pathways for their own, personal use.”

She ran her fingers over the additional, unimportant parts of the text

“Unfortunately, due to disputes and let downs, both sides decided to end their long term partnership, and Soluna declined any further supply chain support.”

“But what then?” Tsuk’ami whispered angrily. Those were no answers to her. What could have prompted them to cut their connections?

She scrolled through other texts, all until she found one titled ‘the lost tribe’

“The Omatikaya tribe had once had all eyes on it. Their borders held beautiful nature within them, which is why they were called what they were called; Omatikaya— blessed by Eywa. They had always been spiritual leaders, powerful and smart healers. Many of their leaders even rode the great Toruk. They had amazing supplies of food, as their grounds were rich with minerals and other supplements that produced good quality foods.

The Omatikaya, however, chose a wrong path. Their opportunities to prosper washed away as they let a demon enter their lands, mate their royalty and lead them. Although Tsyeyk te Suli lead wars and even rode the great Toruk, he still should have not been elected for Olo’eyktan.”

Tsuk’ami’s eyes were wide. That was it? Even after such information she was left in a cusp of revelation. Jake Sully, she thought. Neteyam’s father. She still answers, closure. She threw the scroll down as frustration welled within her.

How was Jake Sully allowed to the Omatikaya? What had changed their minds?

...

Neytiri’s footsteps were quiet in the echoing halls of the hallow hometree. She walked to the communal hut, moving with pride, as she always did. Her shoulders were pushed back, tail high, and braids neatly placed behind her ears.

She walked through the beaded doors, the elders standing to greet her, their gazes respectively turned towards the floor.

She walked around the round table, stopping at her eldest son’s side.

Neteyam’s gaze followed his mother, watching her sit right beside him. They shared a meaningful look, knowing both of them hated being there. Jake had left that hate club a couple years back, as he had gotten used to spending hours on end in that room, on that wooden chair, with those same babbling elders.

“Neteyam” he heard his mother’s soft voice, whisper quietly under the loud chatted “I know it is draining, but we must focus”

“Sorry” Neteyam murmured before he sat back, his ears perked at the never ending conversations that just didn’t concern him for some reason. He would care, if they were speaking about security problems, or patrol arrangements, but the words shared between the elders were everything but that.

“How affective do you believe our systems are?” And elder, Lefpa asked, turning towards Jake. “I understand we were offered new arrangements, by Anurai.”

Neteyam became interested

Jake sighed, “I believe their terms were far too vague, odd.” He began “I do not trust such ill-defined requests. I have seen where such agreements led, with the Soluna.” Neteyam’s ears twitched

“I agree. Such things require careful consideration” Futep spoke, his boney and skinny fingers tapping on the wooden table they sat at.

Neteyam had a list of the elders he hated. It was a special little place he kept somewhere in his heart, and that way always remembered. Futep was on the top of that list. He was always the most persistent when it came to Neteyam’s training and evolving into a grown, capable man. But never in a parenting, caring way. Neteyam had realised Futep was always furious with the fact that a ‘demon’ sat at the head of the council meeting table. He did everything he could to make Neteyam suffer through his training, so he can prove to everyone how a child through whose veins flows blood of a demon, is harder to train and excel.

Neteyam, of course, proved him wrong, so Futep searched for more ways to discreetly make him and his father and siblings suffer. His excuse was “your father signed up for this life, he, and you, must face our traditions and customs”

Everything he did, everything he said, annoyed Neteyam like nothing on Pandora. His constant finger tapping, throat clearing. The way his whole face sagged. The way he spoke slowly, with his chin facing the ceiling.

“What about the sightings. On the Soluna borders. Does it not concern us?” Lai spoke “they must be plotting something new.”

Jake looked to Neteyam “I had sent Neteyam to investigate the matter. Apparently it was a bug in the system” Jake didn’t pay much mind to it, but Neteyam’s head became loud.

“Were the sightings substantiated?” Futep turned to Neteyam, his fingers interlocking as he gazed at the boy. All the elders gazes were now on him.

Neteyam’s ears began to ring.

…

“Tsuk’ami must you interrupt me now?” Deyla looked up from her reading, her head still facing down. “I hope it’s important.” She finally put her scroll aside, now fully looking up at her daughter.

“Has father returned?” Tsuk’ami’s voice was questioning, as she spotted her father’s gear neatly placed on the against a wall. Her question was answered, as she caught a glimpse of movement at the entrance of her parents’ alcove.

She saw her father, a genuine smile breaking across his weathered face. “Paskalin” he exclaimed warmly, opening his arms to welcome her with an embrace that enveloped her in warmth and familiarity.

Her face lit up. Her father’s returns always brought much ease—understanding, to her.

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, before her father, Kxeku, pulled back gently, a twinkle in his eyes at the sight of his daughter. “What are you up to?”

Tsuk’ami’s gaze returned to her mother. “I was hoping to visit Vitraya Ramunong today.” She explained. “Ah, the call of the forest” her father teased, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“A ritual is being performed at the tree of souls today.” Deyla informed her “I am afraid you will have to pick another day.” Her mother smiled softly returning the scrolls to her lap.

“What about the other one?” Tsuk’ami’s ears fell back, understanding of the consequences that might occur from that question.

Deyla’s brow furrowed slightly, “Which one?”. Her father’s gaze fell on her “the one at the borders?” His tone was questioning, and at it, her mother’s eyes widened “far too close!” She exclaimed

“I know” Tsuk’ami nodded, respectfully, understanding her mother’s concern “but I know you of anyone would understand. The great mother intends to show me something. I must hear.. I must see.”. At her comments, Kxeku had a considerate look on his face, as if seeking permission from his wife.

Deyla’s protective instincts clashed with Tsuk’ami’s eagerness “Your father may be more lenient,” she conceded “but that is dangerous. Those parts of the forest.. they are unforgiving.” She acknowledged.

After moments of silence, and her mother’s quiet concentrations, she looked up at her daughter again “with caution.”

Filled with a mix of gratitude for her mother’s guidance and bubbling excitement for her impending adventure, Tsuk’ami respectfully thanked her mother before swiftly departing toward the forest’s edge. Her heart danced in anticipation as she ran trough familiar paths that led to the lush forest

The animals she crossed paths with, sights and smells she encountered on her way to the tree, all fit her spirit. It was as if she always left a trace of herself wherever she went. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting her face with soft, warm hues.

As the sight of the tree of souls, she halted.

The colossal tree stood, surrounded by vibrant life of beautiful flowers and plants, hit by the colours of the sunset sky, making it even more eternal.

The expansive branches reached skyward, its bioluminescent roots hanging from its tops. It carried a tranquil energy, a silence and a peace.

It had her heart racing, and her neural queue already awakening its soft glow. She walked quickly with excitement.

…

Neteyam soared through the skies astride his ikran, the bonded flight carrying them over the vast expanse of the forests he now regularly kept watch on.

It had been peaceful for quite some time.. days, perhaps. At least for what he remembered. Days meant nothing to him. Time as well. It was all the same.

But ever since that interaction with Tsuk’ami everything was pretty boring at the borders. Not that he missed having problems, or her at that, he just appreciated the fact that she listened to his advice to not come so close to the borders, not just for her safety, but for the sake of the clans relations.

But of course, as it was in Neteyam’s life, everything he was thankful for or everything he grew comfortable with knew to quickly wash away.

As he was enjoying the wind clashing in his face and throwing his braided hair back as he rode the waves of the sky, he had to look down, and he had to catch the sight of a lone figure, standing, not so close, but not so far from the borders.

More precisely, it stood at the Tree of Souls. And even more importantly, that Tree of Souls wasn’t just like every other one. It was the one that Soluna and Omatikaya didn’t quite yet decide who it belonged to.

Sure, it was on the land of the Soluna people, but it was also gifted to Omatikaya, many years before their rivalry began.

That way, Neteyam didn’t really have to go down there and talk that na’vi away, because they were on their land, but he also had to because it wasn’t their property.

He circled above, watching with slight annoyance. The responsibility of the inter-clan dynamics often weighted on him. Yet as much as he wanted to stay open minded to the fact that those na’vi are maybe good people, they were killing him with their curiosity.

Irritation started prickling at him. They were ignorant, dismissive. But those were his personal sentiments speaking. His eyebrows furrowed as he gripped onto the handle on his ikran. He had to face the potential challanges that laid ahead.

With a sharp inhale and an even sharper exhale, he guided Wamey to a steady descent. They landed on a tree top, far enough for the person to not notice him, but close enough for him to get down and even closer.

He manoeuvred with ease—as if he was born doing it. But as he did, his moved became slow and sloppy as he found out who he was dealing with. It was a shift, a realisation, but it was also anger.

He was furious with her. She was most definitely the only one making problems in that damn clan. It was her third time messing up, and his third time cleaning it up.

He wrestled with conflicting emotions. One part of him wanted to walk on over there, and say all of it to her face. Scare her away, make her never come back, because quite frankly he didn’t want the sight of her anymore.

But did he? Because in the midst of his approach, he stopped, stuck behind tree, observing her unusually slow and careful moves. She was headed to one of the glowing roots of the tree, her tswin in her hand.

It was a sight for sore eyes. She looked peaceful. The light from the tree cast an otherworldly illumination of the lights on her features… perfectly. She was focused, didn’t even notice his presence.

He also had to admit. She looked beautiful. But that didn’t mean anything to him, right? He thought many girls from his clan were beautiful. Although not beautiful inside out, because he hadn’t found that girl just yet. But he was still allowed to think that.

He thought that about his mother, his sisters. About the girls that giggled and watched him leave everyday for work. The girls that talked to him during the big feasts, the girls that he thought were his true love when he was younger. Even the girls he kissed when he got drunk, and those he brought to his secret spot, using them for his release of stress—for his pleasure and need.

And just because he was a tad bit curious about her, didn’t mean he would let her do what she wanted. Right?

But as Tsuk’ami connected, and looked to be deeply focused, he couldn’t stop her. Not that he didn’t want to, but it was forbidden.

In her mind, images that ran painted beautiful scenes, usual things the great mother showed her. They were always vivid tales and songs of her people, living happily, in harmony surrounded by laughter, light.

But this time, there was an eerie sound ringing somewhere in the back of her mind. It reminded her of the dream. Scars inflicted upon the land appeared before her, disturbing scenes of death and distraction—disharmony that extended beyond. The web of life in the forest was interwoven, distorted.

She saw her clan, burning in flames. Trees ripped apart by strong winds. She heard screams. Cries. A cry—Heartbreaking cry.

“embrace the truth, for within it lies your path. you will carry the bridge. navigate it. see it” an unnatural uncanny voice spoke “the answers are close. look back.”

Tsuk’ami fought to regain control. She managed to reach for her queue, without really seeing it, and rip the bond apart. The weight of the visions clung to her, as she stumbled back a few steps, her back colliding with the solid frame that stood behind her.

The unexpected impact made her jolt and turn, Neteyam reaching to steady her, quickly removing his hands as he did. “What the fuck happened?” His eyebrows furrowed

She looked back, regaining her composure, recollecting her memories. Turning her gaze back at him, she narrowed her eyes “what are you doing here?”

“You knew I would come.” His voice was low and harsh “you keep doing this to make me come back.”

“What are you talking about? This is our land!” Suki stood her ground, meeting his skepticism resolute stare

“The tree belongs to us.” His arms folded defensively

“Spirit trees do not belong to any clan.” His remark sparked anger within her, her eyes flashed with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing his temples “I understand what you mean, but it is how both yours and my clan decided to divide things.” He spoke softly, trying to make her understand “if that wasn’t the case, imagine how many fights would occur if na’vi from both clans visited same trees at the same time.”

Suki lowered her gaze as she processed the information he gave her, but she quickly shot back “why should I believe that this tree belongs to Omatikaya?” Her brows scrunched together “your clan always manipulates for their own agenda.” Suki’s hands fell on her hips as she had a bitter look on her face. “Besides, my mother let me come here. She would never let me even near something that belongs to you.”

Neteyam scoffed “because your people always let their pride blind them. They use every opportunity to gain an upper hand and pretend things never happened” his temper rose the more he spoke

Their voices clashed like opposing currents. It echoed in the clearing around the glowing tree, where usually silence absorbed all life. Yet now, it was only dicord that unfolded.

Tsuk’ami didn’t have an answer to his words. She read about the Omatikaya, yet nothing was said. She was never thought of such things, and she understood that maybe, Neteyam was right. Her people probably hated their history, so they hid it, changed it.

After a moment of silence, Neteyam’s stern voice shifted the atmosphere “what did you come here for?” He wasn’t curious, he didn’t seek her answers so he could comfort her, he wanted them so he can scold her and go home for the day. She was always on the move, always looking to avoid home, or perhaps those were more of her tricks. She just wanted to mess with him.

“None of your business.” Tsuk’ami’s tail swayed as she tried to act brave.

He could see cracks in her coldness—the usual insecurity she carried. Of course, he didn’t acknowledge it, he just wanted to get to the root of the issue as fast as possible. “That so?” His head rolled back “It very well is my business when I’m the one who has to deal with you avoiding the consequences. There are rules you have to follow.”

“I am under no obligation to share with you why I come to the Great Mother.”

And she was right, he knew that. He considered her response, his head tilting to the side. He stood there for a moment, looking at the tree behind her “what happened there…?” His voice was softer

Tsuk’ami looked back, her ears lowering at the sight. “I don’t know.” she said, her voice barely above a whisper “I heard something… a voice. Something about bridge.. my path.”

Her answer was unclear, but it was one he could work with. He understood she had probably seen something horrible, the way she stumbled in shock and shook as she looked back.

He knew those kinds of visions all too well—but not from personal experience.

His younger sister, Kiri had always had them. Ever since she was born. Even stronger than Tsuk’ami. She would face nightmares, flashes of visions during the day, weird experiences when connected with the Tree of Voices, and even many health scares, when she would pass out out of nowhere, or have awful seizures.

So he knew how to deal with those things—he grew up doing it.

“Okay come here” he walked to the tree, but after a couple steps he realised she wasn’t following

“I’m not going there”

He rolled his eyes “don’t be a baby.”

She thought about it for a second, before she crossed her arms and walked up to him. They sat next to the tree.

“Whatever you saw there, it was probably important,” He began “a message, from the Great Mother.”

“I know.” Tsuk’ami, though still tense, responded, acknowledging the branches of the tree.

“You clearly didn’t understand it well enough and you must try again.” He explained, his gaze a mixture of determination reluctant camaraderie.

“No.” Tsuk’ami stood, waving her hands around. “I’m not doing that for some time”

“One day, you’ll do it anyway. So why not now, when it’s still fresh.” He stood up with her, trying to set his tone reasonable.

She hesitated, weighing the offer. It lasted a few silent moments, where she battled it.

“I’ll do it with you.” Neteyam’s voice suddenly broke her bubble, and she turned her gaze to him, questioning what he was offering. “I will connect at the same time.” He said

A tense pause hung in the air as Tsuk’ami grappled with the proposition. She was taken aback. Summoning her resolve, she looked up at him again, with a slight nod. “Okay..” if we must, she was going to add.

Despite the lingering tension, he grabbed onto a couple of the branches, holding onto his tswin in his other hand, the pink tendrils already dancing with anticipation.

Tsuk’ami followed his lead, holding her own queue close to the branches as if she waited for him to it first. And he did. But before she could follow, she took a moment to admire his face. His pupils dilated, and his mouth fell agape, before he pulled himself together, waiting for her. She shook out of her state, closing the distance of her whip and the tree.

She was immediately sent back, not conscious like Neteyam was, and it freaked her out. She was, now without warning, surrounded by fire and destruction. This time, she was sure it was her clan, but it was destroyed beyond recognition. People ran, but they were like shadows, and she couldn’t make their faces out. She began to panic— frowning and mumbling something as she shook, but she heard a faint voice “stay in it” ranting those words over and over again. She realised it was Neteyam.

She kept walking, stumbling over debris and dead bodies, and it made her shiver. At that, she almost gave up, but she kept going. “What do you want from me.” She looked up to the red sky, begging for answers “I don’t understand”

As she said it, everything became louder. The cries, the ringing, and it stood like that for a moment. When it stopped, Tsuk’ami was surrounded by darkness, and everything fell to a single cry. It was soft and high pitched, but heartbreaking. She looked around, but saw nothing. “Tell me about my path. How must I help?” she spoke into the void, but as she heard something, like a word almost spoken, she was shoved right out of that state.

She stood disoriented, her eyes widening as she noticed the branches shining like flickering lights. The usual steady glow seemed to falter.

“Neteyam” she turned to him, hoping he had answers to give her, “what’s happening with it?” She was eager to know. Did she cause it? Is it dying?

Neteyam was already staring up at it. He didn’t answer, but a hint of concern coloured his features. He knew he only had seen that scenery once— when his sister failed to connect to a Spirit tree of the Metkayina people. But this was no where near the same situation as that.

The silence suddenly broke “I’m done” Tsuk’ami stumbled back a few steps “I never asked for this. I’m not involving myself in these- these visions! And stupid riddles!” She yelled, throwing her arms around hysterically “if the Great Mother wants to tell me something, she can speak clearly.” And with that she stormed off.

That definitely wasn’t Txi speaking. Because in reality, all Tsuk’ami wanted to do was somehow save the world that was dying before her eyes. It’s what Txi inspired her to be. But this was just her fear—fear that she was doing something wrong. Fear that she wasn’t cut for that job, even though she fantasised about it.

Neteyam just watched, a silent witness to the turmoil that was within her. The forest went still, silent, the lights stopped, all as she walked away. And Neteyam saw it, he noticed. He recognised it.

_______________

Sooo Neteyam is learning something new about Tsuk’ami, and it concerns him more than he would like to admit!!

Btw sorry it takes me so much time to complete a chapter, I try to make everything fit perfectly for what I have planned in the future. (Things change quickly) loll

#neteyam atwow #neteyam #neteyam x oc #avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam art #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 9: Heal the Injury

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: angst, violence, blood, gore, injury, some scenes may be triggering for those who are sensitive to sexual assault/abuse, so tread carefully! ❧ Word Count: 6.9k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: In Alexandria, the man who calls himself Jesus offers his help in an effort to defeat Negan and the Saviors. Meanwhile, at the Sanctuary, you appease Negan's desires in the hopes of killing him when he is most vulnerable, but when an attempt backfires, you learn the true meaning of despair.

❧ A/N: Another rough chapter. Well, the bad stuff is bookended by some good stuff. But yeah, definitely pay attention to the warnings again for this chapter. Sorry, but I have to make Negan terrible ok? And again, Negan is ramped up to be worse than he is in the show (but tbh he is still ruthless in the show so he is really not even that much worse). I don't want to spoil it tho, so I will just stop talking. Enjoy!

In the once pristine great hall, where now the floor was littered with the bodies of dead walkers that had yet to be cleared, King Ezekiel sat upon his throne, his leg anxiously shaking as he and what was left of his court awaited for the guards to bring in the guest.

Jesus, he called himself. The irony was not lost on Daryl, who began to wonder if perhaps this man who called himself Jesus was the real messiah, whose arrival on Earth was foretold in the Book of Revelation. At this point, such an arrival would be welcomed with open arms. If Jesus had truly come back, bringing with him Heaven’s army to fight the forces of evil that plagued this land, including the man who took his princess from him, then Daryl would not send him away. 

But, alas, there was no sound of trumpets, no seven seals, no parting of the clouds to allow His descension upon the Earth. This Jesus had to have been a mortal man, and if there was anything Daryl knew of mortal men, it was that they were not to be trusted. Especially not at a time like this.

When the man was brought in, hands tied behind his back as he was led forth through the great hall by two armed guards on either side of him, it was not immediately obvious that the man wasn’t the son of God. 

After all, he looked the part: long hair of umber hue that touched a little past his shoulders, and a stately beard to match. Standing not far from the king’s throne, Daryl took note that the man was well kept, with vestments made from the finest imported threads, colored with rich dyes. He was half-armored, wearing a fitted gambeson with plate pauldrons strapped to his shoulders, under which was draped a long cloak of vibrant tyrian purple. 

What was most striking about him, though, were his eyes―deep-set, intense pools of azure that seemed to oscillate between stern and friendly, though always calm, cool, and collected. In fact, he did not seem rattled by the guards’ rough handling at all, nor by the way one of the guards forced him to kneel before the king. The man simply held the king’s gaze, his lips curling ever so slightly into an earnest smile.

He began to speak, his voice not fearful nor threatening. “Your majesty, it’s an honor to―”

“You will speak only when you are spoken to,” replied the king, his voice much harsher than Daryl had heard it before, except when he spoke to Negan. “State your business, Jesus.”

The man straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Well, seeing as your situation is dire, I will cut to the chase. I’ve brought my people here because you are in need of our help.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “And what help do you have to offer?”

“Fighters, for a start,” replied the man. “Capable fighters. Over a hundred of them. Combined with your forces, enough to stand a chance against a common enemy―the Saviors.”

This intrigued the court, Sir Daryl notwithstanding.

He exchanged a curious look with Richard, who seemed skeptical, but equally interested in whatever else the man called Jesus had to say.

“Go on,” said the king.

Jesus’ smile upturned just a little more, as though he was hoping the king would say those exact two words. 

“I am the ruler of a small principality called the Hilltop. It is likely that you have never heard of it, as we are located far from your kingdom. We, too, were ravaged by Negan and the Saviors. They took everything from us, including countless lives. That was over a year ago now, and we’ve grown since, building up our arsenal and training our people for battle. The Saviors neglected to kill all of us, and we’ve been hiding in the shadows ever since, living as nomads, and waiting for the opportunity to attack.”

A chattering emerged in the hall, members of court whispering amongst themselves before the king stomped his foot with several thuds that echoed through the high ceilings. “Silence!” he ordered. Turning back to Jesus, he spoke again, still suspicious of the man’s intentions “And why have you decided to come to our aid now, the precise point at which my kingdom is severely weakened?”

Jesus’ gaze dropped for a moment, as melancholy overtook his once confident features. “I am truly sorry, your majesty, but we set out a fortnight ago, traveling in caravans once we had heard word that the Saviors were beginning their assault on your kingdom. It was only when we arrived this morning that we realized that we were too late… But we are here now, ready to fight for you, for all those whose lives have been torn apart by Negan and his cronies.” 

It all seemed too good to be true. Could this be a trap, some cruel joke of Negan’s own sick and twisted fabrication? Then again, why would he bother with such a chore, when he had already gotten what he wanted? And Jesus seemed earnest, albeit a little naive with his unyielding sense of hope. Perhaps taking a chance on him, though, was the only option. At least, it was the only immediate hope Daryl had of getting you back. 

But he knew the king might not be swayed as easily. 

“Even if, by some miracle, we had a chance of defeating Negan’s army, we do not even know where the Sanctuary is.”

And then, a full smile split Jesus’ face. “Well, your majesty, I happen to know precisely where the Sanctuary is.” The court broke out into hushed murmurs again, while the king leaned forward in his seat, intrigued. 

“How?”

“When the Saviors came, I was taken prisoner, held in the dungeon and tortured for hours on end until I pledged allegiance to Negan. I never gave in—I escaped. I know that castle inside out.”

Without the composure to keep himself silent, Sir Daryl stepped forward, making himself known to the foreign prince who knelt before the king. From the corner of Ezekiel’s eye, he watched the knight stand tall, beginning to speak directly to Jesus. Despite his confusion, Ezekiel did not silence him. 

“The princess was taken by Negan last night,” said the knight. “She is imprisoned somewhere in the Sanctuary against her will. If we make an assault on the Sanctuary, with your people, would you help us find her?”

Jesus looked wide-eyed between the knight and the king. “Of course,” he said. “I can lead you through the Sanctuary to find her.”

The king, however, was a little more skeptical. Perhaps Daryl’s desperation to get you back was clouding his judgment, but he was about ready to get on his horse and go with this strange man and his people to find you right now. Ezekiel was a little more experienced in dealing with foreign dignitaries and their negotiations. 

“And why should I trust you?” he said. “There must be something you want in return from Alexandria.”

“Well, in return for our services, the Hilltop simply asks for future alliances with Alexandria. And, if you’re amenable to it, we’d be willing to offer our help with repairing your kingdom in exchange for citizenship. The Hilltop has an abundance of grain, livestock, steel, all of which we would bring to Alexandria… And, to be frank, your kingdom has no other choice but to trust us. Your chances of getting your daughter back are low, unless you accept our help.”

He was right, the king knew that. 

As he stood from his throne, he gestured to the man who knelt before him. “Arise, Prince Jesus of the Hilltop,” he commanded, his voice strong and echoing through the great hall. 

Jesus stood to his feet, meeting the king’s eyes as he walked towards him, dignified and head held high. When Ezekiel placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder, the court knew that the king had accepted the Hilltop’s aid.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Sir Daryl stepped forward again, his impatience growing with every second that you were gone. Perhaps he was lacking chivalry, or even making it too evidently clear that he loved you, but in his desperation, he did not care one bit.

“What the hell are we waitin’ for?” he said. “Let’s do this.”

You’d been counting down the days like a prisoner—the world’s most pampered prisoner. Seven days, when the clock struck midnight. Seven days trapped in the Sanctuary. 

Negan hadn’t come to see you in that time, with only servants bringing you meticulously arranged dishes on silver platters, with the finest cutlery money could buy. Somewhat infuriatingly, you had recognized the steak knife you’d been given, that intricate detailing on the handle that had been carved by hand with the crest of Alexandria. 

You’d wondered if it had been a coincidence, but you knew better: it was a subtle way of taunting you, reminding you that your kingdom had been ravaged by the Saviors, just as you would soon be ravaged by Negan.

That is, whenever he would be reminded of your existence.

Tonight, it seemed he finally considered you worthy of his presence again, after you’d struck him in self-defense the night you arrived. Either he had brushed off the incident, or his lust overshadowed his bitterness. In any case, you’d been summoned to his chambers, but not before lifting your feather pillow to reveal that steak knife, the one you’d been so bold to keep to yourself before the last servant could take your platter away. 

It was freshly sharpened, too. Last night, you’d tested its ability to cut through meat, and sure enough, it cut like butter. Negan’s flesh couldn’t be much different.

But you’d have to get close to him, to obey him, to submit to him. It would be difficult, trying to act as though you’d come around to the idea of being Negan’s wife. Even the thought of it threatened to cause a bout of nausea, but it couldn’t be much worse than having to live the rest of your life in devotion to him. An hour or two of flattering him, entertaining him, perhaps even accepting his advances… God, it sickened you, but it would be the simplest way to catch him off guard just long enough to strike. 

Daryl had helped you practice against walkers at times, but never living men, never men who could just as easily hurt you back if you made the wrong move at the wrong time. You could always run away from walkers, not men. 

Still, your hatred for Negan fueled you. With every step you took towards his quarters, guards on either side of you escorting you the way there, you thought of every horrible thing he had done, and all the horrible things you hadn’t known he had done. Killing was never something you had thought you would ever do. You’d been taught that no mortal could ever take the life of another man—that such a thing was God’s decision and God’s alone. 

If you knew God, though, if you knew what God stood for, you knew that God would not punish you for ridding the world of a man like Negan. If He did, then perhaps God was not as just as you’d been told to believe. 

The fact that a man like this was still breathing, while Daryl was not, was proof enough that there was no divine justice in this world, and that sometimes, a mortal would have to take matters into their own hands.

When the guards led you into Negan’s chamber, you were greeted by the man, whose back was turned towards you as he poured himself a goblet of wine. The door was hurriedly shut behind you, with the low-pitched click of the turn of a lock quickly following. 

The man’s eyes gazed over his shoulder, taking stock of your appearance—as it was the middle of the night, and you’d been practically woken from sleep, you were clad in only a semi-translucent white chemise that reached your ankles, over which you’d draped a scarlet colored housecoat to protect your modesty, and to conceal the knife you’d hidden in its inner pocket.

“Did my summons disturb your sleep, princess?” He turned, revealing not one, but two goblets of wine, one in each hand as he sauntered forward, towards you. 

“No.” In fact, it didn’t. You hadn’t been able to get to sleep before midnight since you’d been captured. 

“Good.” With an outstretched hand, he offered you a goblet. “Wine?”

Wine disgusted you… You took it. “Thank you.” 

With only a moment’s hesitation, you raised the goblet to your lips and took a small sip, then a much bigger one as you tilted the goblet upwards and gulped down the rest of the red liquid. You would need it, though you swallowed it with a grimace.

“You just keep surprising me, princess.”

“I was… quite thirsty.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from, if you’d like.”

Your head was already beginning to swim. “No, no… Thank you. May I sit?”

The man raised an eyebrow, then turned to gesture towards the bed—canopied and shrouded in dozens of ornately decorated pillows. 

“Be my guest.”

He seemed both surprised and amused by your ease, watching you with a widening grin as you crossed over to the edge of the bed to sit. As he took another sip of his wine, he sat himself beside you, sending a shiver down your spine that you hoped would be concealed by your attempt at calmness. 

As he sat, you took note of his appearance. He wore no armor, of course. In fact, he seemed to be only clothed in a robe not unlike yours. It would be easy to penetrate his skin, when the opportunity would present itself.

The more he leaned closer, his eyes unabashedly trailing over your chest, which began to heave noticeably underneath your chemise, you felt fear rise up within you. How could you not be afraid? He looked at you as though you were prey.

“Milady,” he began, the word from him like millions of little daggers penetrating your eardrums. Only one man deserved to call you that, to refer to you as his. “I want to apologize for my crass behavior. You see, it’s just… You’re so beautiful, and to think of anyone having you before me…”

Despite your disgust, you played into it, attempting to be the submissive maiden he wanted you to be. 

“No one has had me, sir.” To say that caused you immense heartache, knowing that you had denied the love you shared with Daryl, but in order to gain Negan’s trust, just for the moment, you’d do anything. Almost anything. “I should be the one apologizing for my lack of decorum… I—I just…”

Negan swallowed the rest of his wine, letting the empty goblet dangle in his hands and fall to the floor with a quiet thud. As he leaned closer, you watched his hand settle on your thigh, long fingers curling into your flesh. The heavy pet of his touch all but silenced you. When he leaned so close that you could feel the sting of his heavy, wine-scented breath on your cheek. 

“You don’t have to explain.” He squeezed your thigh, as his other hand touched your lower back, moving in circles just above your bottom. It was a filthy, lecherous touch, one that made you nauseous and dizzy with disgust. “Do you like when I touch you like this?”

His lips were so close now, the wiry hairs of his freshly trimmed beard scratching the soft flesh of your cheek. Leaning ever closer, he did not kiss you, but dragged his wanton lips over your skin, as if to taunt you. 

“Yes.” You weren’t sure how many more lies you could tell without being deemed a sinner. 

While his hand inched up your thigh, his lips pursed to kiss the side of your face, the feeling of which made you shut your eyes tight, until a few tears began to fall. 

You felt vile, impure, desecrated. Though you were no longer a virgin in the carnal sense, you had not felt this growing defilement rising in you, polluting your mind, body, and soul. Not when Daryl looked at you. Not when he touched you. Not when he made love to you. 

With him, it felt like a fresh spring daisy blossoming for the first time. Now, it felt like you were wilted, decaying, rotten. It only fueled your anger, your back straightening and your lips tightening as you tried to ignore his touches, his mouth contaminating your once pure skin as he licked your neck, his hand squeezing desperately at your mound from over top of your nightgown. 

“Please,” you whispered, somewhere between a plea and an aggravated groan. 

“My princess.” You squeezed another few tears as you winced at the phrase, which had so potently reminded you of your true love, whose princess you truly were. Not Negan’s. “I knew you wanted me. I could see it, the way you look at me, all innocent and scared, like a little wide-eyed fawn… Even now you tremble.”

Indeed, your tenseness had given way to jitters, your heart shivering as if it was encased in a thick block of ice. That’s what he felt like to you, too—his touch icy and bitter, with his bony chest digging into your shoulder and his slimy fingers violating you with more and more desperation as he fondled you. He was more like a skeleton than a man of flesh and blood, and you were in his grasp. Not for long, you assured yourself. A moment would present itself, and you would end him. For your kingdom. For Daryl. For you. 

He grasped at your chin, forcing you to face him as he smiled at you, his eyes focused on your agape lips that trembled with each nervous breath.

“You’re mine,” he said. “Say you’re mine.”

Never!

But you could not say that, not now. Not when you were so close to getting his guard down just enough to turn on him. With the words struggling to form, their weight being tugged out of you like tattered rags tied together and shoved down your throat, you appeased him. 

“I am yours.”

Your tear-soaked voice faltered as you spoke, but the man did not seem to notice, drunk with his own arrogance at the sound of those words on your lips. A part of you wondered if he even cared whether or not you told the truth—you wondered if he just wanted the illusion of being wanted. 

Apart from his panting breaths, a silence hung between you for a moment, with an air of anticipation drawing out those several seconds into what felt like a century. You knew what he was about to do, and though you could not stop crying, much to his lack of care, you prepared yourself, straightening your back to face the assault of his lips.

They were cold, just like everything else about him, but your lips warmed them, much to his satisfaction, and to your sorrow. They fit uncomfortably, but perhaps that was because you knew your lips weren’t meant for him. In fact, you were certain no human lips were meant to suit a mouth like his. He was so vile to you that you were sure he did not deserve the pleasure of love. But there was no love in his kiss to begin with, only lust. A dark, demanding lust. 

His hand clenched around a chunk of your hair, nails scratching your scalp as you whimpered into his mouth, your lips being manipulated by his as he mangled you with his kiss. But you did not fight back, not yet. You only let him control you, his body leaning into yours to get you laying flat on the bed behind you. Underneath you, you could feel the handle of your knife digging into your side. It made your eyes shoot open, though he did not see. He was occupied with your mouth, violating its sanctity with his wiggling tongue.

If he were any heavier, you might not have been able to loosen your arm out from under him, but you managed to free yourself, only to place your hands on his back, with the hopes of encouraging him despite your stiffness. 

But the longer he kissed you, fondled you, licked you, you began to slowly remove one hand, using it to dig into the pocket of your robe, where the sharp blade of the knife had nearly torn a hole.

As you clenched your fingers around the handle of the knife, the man on top of you mumbled that same sickening phrase against your open mouth. “You’re mine.”

When he said it, it was more possessive, almost victorious, as if he’d won you. It was not a matter of being yours because you wanted to be his, but because he had decided you were. Being under him now, physically oppressed by the weight of his body, represented how powerless you had been made to feel most of your life. Only in recent times had you felt free, and that was because of Daryl. He made you feel free, not only because he freed you, but because he loved you. His love had freed you.

And now, he was dead because of the devil that had you in his snare, his filthy mouth soaking yours with his rancid spit. You hated him, and as you raised the knife higher, you did not fear the consequences of your actions. You did not even fear death. Death would only bring you closer to your love, whose desperate cries of pain echoed in your weary mind. Tears flooded over your cheeks now, whimpers lost in the cavernous void that was his mouth. 

Daryl… His name repeated in your head, your internal voice crying out, pleading. You felt sick to your stomach, nausea threatening to overtake you. Though he was dead, and what you did now was only to get Negan as close to you as possible, distracted just long enough to make your strike, you felt you had betrayed him, he whose loyalty was stronger than you believed you could ever be. 

All you wanted was for it all to end, and you could end it now. Squeezing that knife, you thought only of him, of your sorry excuse for a knight. How you cried, your sobs mistaken by Negan to be moans of pleasure from his kiss, but the truth remained—your heart was broken. I am so sorry, my love. 

“Say it,” he said between his vulgar kisses. “Say you’re mine. Say you belong to me.”

His now serpentine voice stung your ears, reawakening you to the moment at hand, to the knife your fingers clinged to as you raised it higher, Negan unaware.

You aimed the blade downwards, its sharp, shining point just several inches from his back, just about where you knew his heart would be, if he had one in that bony body of his. 

“I—I belong…”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you held the blade with a shaky hand as you thought of him again, those sparkling blue eyes. That sinuous, often messy hair of caramel brown. That voice, raspy yet soft, tickling your ears in the most pleasant way. Those hands, big and strong and always so very warm. And that smile… That was your favorite part of him. It was rare to see it in all its glory, but you counted yourself lucky to have beheld its presence, to have felt it against your cheek as he kissed you. 

And oh, you hadn’t been able to kiss him enough. How you wished for more time, for more long nights wrapped up in the embrace of his muscle-bound arms as you shared in whispers until your voices faded into each other. You could never forget him, not ever. Above all else, you could never forget who you really belonged to, and how you belonged to him because you wanted to be his. 

“I belong to…”

Finally freeing your mouth, Negan trailed his lips to your collarbone, beginning to suck on your skin in an attempt to mark you there, though you did not feel it, instead focusing on the image of your knight, with that crooked boyish smile.

Still, holding the knife, you opened your mouth to speak, with one name on your breathy voice: “Daryl.”

With a jolt, Negan pulled away, furrowing his brows as he looked down at you, with only the dim candlelit glow to illuminate his confusion. “What?”

Your eyes wide, you panicked, bringing down the knife in a frantic motion, but Negan was faster, lifting himself up and grasping hard at your wrist, where your trembling hand held the knife. 

You could see its silvery glimmer reflecting in Negan’s wide eyes, his breath quickening and his chest heaving as the veins in his forehead and neck swelled. He tugged the knife from your hand, while you only could lay there frozen, still in disbelief of what had happened. You had gotten so close to freedom, to vengeance, and now, you were sure you’d be killed before you could ever get another chance at killing him. 

“Princess,” he said, his voice somewhere between sick amusement and utter, total rage. “Either you’re a lot kinkier than you look, or you just tried to fuckin’ kill me.”

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, followed by a silence, during which you sat up, breathing heavy, teary breaths. “I—I’m—”

The back of his hand cut you off, the weight of his smack sending you stumbling off the bed and onto all fours. You had half a mind to crawl towards the fallen knife in front of you, but he kicked it across the room just as you began to reach for it. 

“You really are a dirty little bitch.”

In your shame, you could only hang your head, weeping. Never in your life had you felt so humiliated, so devoid of whatever poise and honor and dignity you’d ever had. As if to hide your sobbing face, you curled your head into your hands, but Negan would not let you have even that last shred of self-respect you had left. You felt his foot underneath your stomach, kicking upwards to forcibly flip you over onto your back, your spine hitting the hard timber with a painful thud. 

Two long, spidery legs stretched out on either side of you as he towered directly over you, looking down at you now almost with pity, but mostly with a snarling fury. 

As you choked back on the lump in your throat, you lifted your chin in one last attempt to appear like the dignified princess you were supposed to be, but the words you spoke through forcibly tight lips betrayed you: “Just kill me.”

In his cruelty, he only laughed, that arrogant chuckle that usually made your skin crawl, but now you couldn’t feel anything, not even the pain from his strike, which would surely manifest itself in a bruise.

“Killing you, princess, would be a waste. Besides, I don’t kill beautiful women.”

I am so flattered.

But you only repeated those words, this time throwing your head back as you screamed, your voice breaking into a pleading cry. “Just kill me!”

With a tilt of his head, he studied your face—your swelling, reddened eyes and your lashes decorated with little globules of tears, like the dewdrops on gossamer in a cool spring morning. He was right—you were pretty when you cried. It was a sight too beautiful to rid the world of. Well, to rid himself of. Everything he did, he did for himself, after all. 

“No… I’ve got a better idea. Guards!” The door burst open to startle you just before two Saviors marched in, their eyes not on you, but Negan, who stepped over you as he spoke. “Since my bride is so very ungrateful of the luxuries and splendors I have granted her here, I believe the only solution is to show her just how much more… inhospitable we can be.” 

You watched him gesture to the guards, not even caring enough to look your way. He was angry, but too angry to yell. It was that eerie, quiet anger. The kind that was so much worse than the belligerent type. 

All you could feel as your body went numb from the sheer overstimulation of emotion was the grip of the two guards, one on either side of you, pulling you up by your arms, though you did not protest much—you did not have the strength within you. You were broken, defeated. The conflagration of rage had washed away with the deluge of your tears, leaving behind only a sea of sorrow and despair. 

“Take her to the dungeon,” he said. “If she cannot learn to show gratitude, and to love and please her husband, we shall teach her.”

Now feeling barren, with no tears left to cry, you were all but dragged through the corridors, barely able to carry yourself on your weakened legs. They took you further down, until you reached the dungeon, the cold, damp stone under your bare feet causing you to cringe in disgust. 

Through a corridor shrouded in the darkness of night, lit only by the flames of the torches upon the stone walls, you were taken to a row of cells, all of which were unoccupied, except for half-decayed remains scattered around, some hanging in iron cages, others strewn about indiscriminately. 

You had your eyes stuck on one particularly fresh looking corpse as you walked, its flesh almost resembling candle wax that was melting off the bone. Flies swarmed the place, and you grimaced at the maggots that gushed out from the corpse’s eye socket as they toppled over each other in a small avalanche. 

In your distraction, you did not see the severed foot that you tripped over, eliciting a chuckle from the Saviors who led you down the dank, gory chamber. 

The horrible creak of the rusty old bars opening had stirred you from your thoughts, along with the sudden thrust as the other guard pushed you forward, your knees hitting the cold hard ground with a searing pain. 

If you had any strength in you left, you might’ve risen to your feet, lunging yourself towards the bars of the cell as the guards locked the padlock around the chain to beg them to let you go, but even if you could leave, where would you go?

Your home was destroyed, and even if you could get back there, you had no idea how to find your way back. Your father could be miles away by now, and the only other hope you had once had was in Daryl. 

Daryl, who was gone. 

You had nothing, nowhere, no one. 

Yet, in the cold, dark, dank dungeon you found yourself in, surrounded by the mutilated, decaying corpses of those who had been tortured by the Saviors, there was one living truth you could cling to: you were safe from Negan, for now.

From this distance, it was difficult to make out the exact layout of the castle, but Jesus seemed sure—this was the Sanctuary, and tomorrow, Alexandria and the Hilltop would lay waste to Negan and his Saviors. Well, that was the hope, anyway. 

It was several acres away, far enough for the guards in the battlements not to see the camp that had been set up for the night, but close enough for the knight to study the shape of the castle, its towers with tall, conical roofs and flags bearing Negan’s crest billowing in the cool night air. A full moon lit up the otherwise dreary tableau, along with the few flickers of firelight between the crenelations in the castle’s curtain. 

Though the night was quiet, with only a cool, gentle breeze softly whistling through the trees, Daryl’s mind was full of disquiet, as it had been since you were taken a week ago. The army of three hundred or so soldiers from Alexandria and the Hilltop had been traveling for three days, the other four days spent preparing for battle. Still, he could not wait, not even allowing himself sleep but only for a few hours each night. 

Even when he did sleep, it was uneasy, with the lingering dread of what evils you might be exposed to keeping him on edge. It was as though his mind was punishing his body, depriving it of sleep as discipline for losing you. At every waking moment, he was thinking of ways he could’ve kept you from being taken, of things he could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. He knew, though, that ultimately, there was no stopping Negan, and that, sooner or later, he would’ve found you. 

But the only hope he had was in knowing that you were alive, that Negan could not kill you. After all, you were his prize, his symbol of victory over Alexandria. Though he shuddered to think of all the ways he could hurt you, at least that one hope was still keeping him going. 

Now, the knight stood alone, far away from the glow of the campfires the other soldiers had built. Though the others seemed content to chat amongst themselves quietly, some even sharing in a few laughs, all Daryl could do was think of you. 

I will find you, my love. his own voice echoed in his head. I will bring you home. I promise. 

But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a voice he recognized, though he could not believe was speaking to him. 

“Tis dangerous to be so far from the camp, good sir.”

There were few moments he had shared alone with the king, and though Ezekiel was a genial, kindhearted king, there was an air of prestige about him that made the knight nervous. Perhaps it was the very fact that he was royalty, or, more likely, the constant worry that he might suspect Daryl’s true feelings for the man’s daughter. For all he knew, the king could have known of your trysts all along. 

“But it is nice, the quiet,” added the king, followed by a deep breath as he took in the fresh, clean air of the woods. “Savor it, for tomorrow, there will be no quiet.”

Daryl turned to the side to meet the king’s noble gaze. He looked weary, but hopeful, with that spark of faith in his eye. 

“No Savior left alive,” said Daryl, repeating the phrase the king had spoken earlier during the arrangement of the plan. “If what Jesus said is true, though, there are women and children there. Elderly, too.”

“Then they are to be spared.”

“Only men big enough to carry a sword,” agreed the knight. “That’s always been the rule in battle.”

“And Negan. We must kill Negan.”

Indeed, Daryl had been meaning to ask: who would get the pleasure of sending the bastard to Hell?

“How do you want to do it?” asked the knight. “We could capture him, take him back to Alexandria for a public execution, or we could kill him on sight. What say you?”

The king only held Daryl’s gaze. “I want it over with tomorrow,” he said. “I do not care who gets the kill, and I do not care how. I do not care if he suffers or if it is a quick death, I just want to see that vermin’s head on a spike, on display before the ruins of the Sanctuary. I want him to pay for his transgressions with his life, and I want Satan to torture him in Hell. More than that, I just want my child back.”

“That is my top priority, I assure you. I will—” He stopped himself, realizing that he was speaking too much from his own perspective, but in his mind, you were solely his responsibility, and his alone. He was quick to catch himself. “We will find her.”

But Ezekiel seemed to catch on, at least a little.

The king had known more than you or Daryl thought he’d known, but it was only as far as the friendship that had blossomed between you. As for the excursions, and your true feelings, he knew none of that, as it had been so carefully concealed from his knowledge. Still, he knew that Daryl cared for you, and it was not becoming increasingly obvious the more he devoted himself to getting you back. 

“You care a great deal for her, yes?”

I love her. 

“Yes, your majesty.”

Ezekiel smiled, and in his smile was that same warmth and kindness that graced your face. “She cares for you, too. In fact, at the tournament, she was worried sick about you. She begged me to all but stop the joust, lest you get hurt.”

Daryl’s cheeks heated against the cool of the late night breeze as he lowered his head, hoping to hide the obvious blush. Despite being so flattered by the idea, he cleared his throat in an attempt to seem nonchalant. Inside, though, he was so very giddy at the thought of his sweet princess, whom he had tried so hard to impress that day. But that happy memory gave way to seriousness again.

“She is… good-hearted.”

“Indeed, and she cares for her people. All of them—the young and the old, the prosperous and the destitute, the healthy and the ailing. The strong and the weak. She has always been selfless. I know one day, she will be a great queen.”

The knight could only nod in agreement, while his heart ached for you, to know you were all right. The more your father praised you, the more he became desperate to get you back home, and the more he felt as though it was his responsibility, and his alone. 

“She will.”

Ezekiel’s hand weighed heavily on Daryl’s shoulder now, as he stepped aside to face him more directly. Though his lips were pulled into a kind smile, his eyes portrayed an earnestness that caught the knight’s attention.

“I must ask something of you, Sir Daryl.”

As if by instinct, Daryl straightened his back in an attempt to be the picture of knighthood he knew he should always display. “Anything, your majesty.”

“When we get to the Sanctuary tomorrow, I want you to be in charge of finding the princess.”

It was both a shock and a relief. Though he was already planning on separating from the battle to find you as soon as he could, to know the king had made an explicit request was a reassurance and an honor. Besides, he certainly was not going to let Jesus, the only person who knew how to navigate the inside of the keep, go looking for you alone. Though he was almost certain that the prince was sincere in his loyalty, he could not risk a blindspot. 

“I know you care for her more than anyone else here besides me,” the king continued, “and you’re her bodyguard. It only makes sense for you to be in charge of her safety… And I trust you more than Jesus.”

That went without saying.

“My king,” began the knight, keeping his gaze level with that of Ezekiel’s, “I will gladly find your daughter.”

“Good man,” replied the king with a pat on the knight’s shoulder. He began to make his way back towards the camp as he spoke again: “It would do you good to retire soon. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Indeed, Daryl knew of the challenges laid out before him, of the blood that would be shed tomorrow, of both Saviors and his own. He knew battle well, though he had not seen one against fellow living men in quite some time. It never got any easier, but this battle was different. He could feel it.

To take someone’s life indiscriminately, without consideration for the pain and suffering that one would inflict, was always difficult to grasp. Now, though, Daryl was not simply fighting a king’s war. He was not fighting for the supremacy of a religion or for claim over territory. This was personal.

Tomorrow, he would have no remorse, no compassion, no sorrow. He would not mourn the deaths of countless Saviors who were just as evil as Negan. Oh, and Negan… 

That man would not escape Daryl’s wrath this time. In fact, he’d face the worst of it. It was not just the fact that he had taken you from him, but that he had taken your home, pillaged it until the place was left to ruin. Beyond all else, he had frightened you, hurt you.

A knight’s most chivalrous duty was to protect the honor of his lady, no matter how gruesome the act of doing so may be. He had an obligation to kill that man, to make him pay for the suffering he had caused you, his lady to whom he devoted his mind, body, and soul.

Though the king did not care who got the final death blow, Daryl knew one thing above all else to be true: he was going to kill that man. After all, he had told the man to his face that he would be the one to kill him, and a knight never breaks a promise.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus x female reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x you #norman reedus x y/n #norman reedus x reader insert #merciless beauty series #theteasetwrites fanfiction

[goodnightmemes]

THE TUDORS SEASON THREE SENTENCE STARTERS (PART TWO)

s03e05 - s03e08

❛ We must set to work finding a new bride for the King. ❜

❛ It's true, he has an heir, at last, but one is scarcely sufficient. To be safe, he must produce another. ❜

❛ Poor lamb. Never to know his own mother. ❜

❛ Perhaps, someday soon, you yourself will have a child. ❜

❛ You're sheltering a traitor! I want to know where he is. ❜

❛ You are going to tell me, or God help me, I'll kill you, and I have the immunity to do it. ❜

❛ I've grown afraid of my own shadow. ❜

❛ Sometimes I think I do not want this child in my belly. ❜

❛ Like the ruins of ancient Rome, the Colossus of Rhodes, all things tend towards their ruin. Even great houses and the fools who build them. ❜

❛ It's illegal to carry arms in court while the King is in residence. The penalties are severe. ❜

❛ I trust you will now apprehend the villain and prevent any further violence. Otherwise, you will pay the price for your failures. ❜

❛ Everything he might touch is to be washed, and everything he might eat, tasted for poison. ❜

❛ What the King wills, the King must have. It's not to be argued with or crossed. ❜

❛ In the absence of the King there has been much malevolence and violence at court. ❜

❛ There are some who desire disorder with all their hearts, thinking of using it, at the end, to their own advantage. ❜

❛ You presume too far above your very base and low degree! ❜

❛ The King listens to him. That makes him dangerous to everyone. ❜

❛ Perhaps it is my fate never to marry. ❜

❛ I would think less of him if he were to accept such gifts in order to love me. ❜

❛ Though I cannot touch him, I swear I will make him eat his heart. ❜

❛ Death is not ready for you, yet. God has something else in mind. ❜

❛ I know what it is that we have both lost. We have lost our youth. There is nothing in the world, that can ever return it to us. ❜

❛ I will marry who I like! ❜

❛ I want to see my son. What have you done with my son? ❜

❛ Your son is unharmed. He will remain unharmed until we are sure that you are not all traitors. ❜

❛ I ask you, whether such dishonest and treacherous sons could ever have had an honest mother! ❜

❛ With your permission, Madam, may I ask if you would consider marrying the King? ❜

❛ Is it not strange that the King's Majesty was in so little space, rid of his three Queens? ❜

❛ Frankly, Sir, if I had two heads, then one would be at His Majesty's service. Alas, I only have this one. ❜

❛ How can you suppose that at my age, I am capable of plotting anything against anyone? I wish only to live a quiet life, away from this world. ❜

❛ You may well beg mercy, but whom shall say if it be granted or not. ❜

❛ Everyone has an agenda! And what I want doesn't matter! ❜

❛ My father told me that if you leave even a sapling in the ground, one day it will grow into a tree! And that little boy will have 40,000 troops flocking to his banner, and you will be the sucker! ❜

❛ I need pictures! Do you understand? I need to see them. I need to see the woman who's going to be my companion for life. ❜

❛ I'm afraid I was not born for happiness. ❜

❛ I swear he has poisoned the King's mind! And if I could, I would strip him from the King's side, and burn him. ❜

❛ You have ten seconds to get out of my court, or I will beat you like the dog that you are! ❜

❛ I see now what it takes for a man to make his way in this world. He must make a practice of hypocrisy. ❜

❛ I say to you, again, while you still have a free choice, will you live or die? ❜

❛ There's no doubt, now, he must be overthrown by force. ❜

❛ My conscience will not permit me to consummate this marriage because I feel there is some impediment to it. ❜

❛ I tell you, God will not grant me any more children if I continue in this marriage. ❜

❛ Not telling a woman what she must expect on her wedding night is like sending a sailor to sea with no biscuit. ❜

❛ He is charming and very good looking. I think you might like him a little. ❜

❛ I resent the King nothing, but others seek to undermine me, since I was born so low and they so high. ❜

❛ I hope you can forgive my impetuosity. I know we should have been formally introduced, but I couldn't wait. ❜

❛ May I kiss your hand? ❜

❛ I have found someone to amuse the King. ❜

❛ We ran a little wild. There was some fun in it. ❜

❛ I was told before that she was charming, intelligent, well-read, gracious. A true Princess. But nothing prepared me for her beauty. But a beauty that comes from inside. To me, she is the most beautiful creature on God's earth. ❜

❛ The King has noticed you. He may ask to see you. ❜

❛ You didn't step on my foot. How could you? Your feet don't even touch the ground. I wanted a moment alone with you. ❜

❛ Would you like me to kiss you again? ❜

❛ Do not sit there. That is no place for you. Traitors do not sit among gentlemen. ❜

❛ I left her as good a maid as I found her! ❜

❛ My pride has brought its punishment. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #inbox meme #rp prompt #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #sentence meme #royalty meme #royalty prompt #period drama meme #*tv #*tudors #i had to skip ep 7 cause i couldnt find a transcript for it for some reason

[gaslysgirl]

(tw! brief mention of SA) corruption kink w mafia!charles…

reader, upon meeting him, appears disarmingly sweet and innocent. he thinks that it must be a ruse, as she was raised in the same world as him. but he discovers that it’s how she genuinely is, and how her family went great lengths to keep her sheltered from the cold and unforgiving nature of their world. she’s basically the princess of the family. and despite their differences, reader and charles eventually develop feelings for each other, but never voice it.

one day, they attend a ball together (not as each other’s acquaintances), and he sees her follow her date into a more secluded place. his jealousy overtakes him, and he discreetly follows them. they’re in a locked room, but he recognizes her voice. she’s pleading for help, and he swiftly picks the lock to her room to see her date trying to force himself onto her. charles is blinded by fury, and warns her to leave immediately.

she does. on her way home, however, she hears grunts and screams of pain coming from an alleyway and, concerned, checks to see what was happening. she sees her date, almost unrecognizable due to all the blood and bruises littering his face, and charles, who is very apparently the perpetrator, with blood that is not his own smeared on his shirt and knuckles. her date doesn’t seem to be breathing. he stills upon registering the presence of reader, and is overwhelmed with fear that she may forever reject him after witnessing the atrocities he’s capable of. but instead, to his very pleasant surprise, she merely smiles, and it turns into a wide grin — almost maniacal. she looks at him with a glint in her eyes that promise danger and violence — a look that he had never seen on her. and boy, is he turned on.

she steps closer to him, brushing a stray tendril of hair from his face, and whispers, “you shouldn’t of had so much fun without me, charles.”

he caresses her cheek, with the blood of another on his hands, and yet his touch was so, so gentle. “are you not afraid?”

and she smiles again, pure, like there wasn’t blood on her heel and like she wasn’t in the arms of a murderer. “you killing for me — i don’t believe there is a more beautiful sight.”

he finds himself smiling, too. how she can make him feel such sweet emotions while saying the most morally reprehensible things, he will never know. but he did know that no other will ever make him feel this way, and this woman was officially the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

i may have gotten carried away with this one fufu 🤭

Bestieeee he'd be so curious to find out what you're all about after, like, he wants to know all things kinky in the bedroom. Charles would probably go crazy if you smile at him while he's choking you or if you like it when he spanks you lmao

#cl #mafia!charles

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 14

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: violence, fire, gore

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Deathless

After everything he'd heard of Zhara's brother, after witnessing every act of cruelty Illarion was capable of, Paul was expecting a villain, someone who exuded power and wickedness. What he saw instead was a boy, looking no older than sixteen, of the same tall, slender build as Zhara, with the same red hair, though it was a shade darker, almost auburn, and the same freckles. There was even something of Zhara's impishness in the turn of his mouth as well. Only the eyes were different. When Paul looked into those eyes, his heart sank, and all his doubt about the boy's true nature vanished. They were the same glittering green as the medallions, hard and cold. Zhara's eyes were always human even when she was transformed into a bird. This boy's eyes didn't even seem alive; the only hint of life in them was a glare of hate.

But Paul didn't spend too long contemplating those lifeless eyes. His attention was riveted on a large mesh cage at the window. Zhara was fluttering in it, while the setting sun cast its light on her plumage, turning her into a fireball, just like the first time Paul had seen her in the forest of Tsarskoye Selo.

Underneath the cage, laid out on the table, were an array of strange items and instruments—a gold chest, a hare, a duck, and an egg. The animals each had an angry red slash on its chest. It seemed Illarion had everything he needed for the Deathless ritual, except for the most important one—the needle containing his death. This the boy was twirling between his thin fingers while he leaned casually against the throne, watching Paul with a curious, almost fascinated expression. Under the disconcerting gaze of those flat green eyes, Paul became too aware that he was no knight in shining armor, with his torn and bloody shirt and mismatched weapons. He could only hope that appearances may be misleading.

"For a mere mortal from Rus', he did quite well, did he not, Zharissa?" Illarion said conversationally. "Much better than those bumbling bogatyrs of yours. I wonder what other surprise he may have in store."

To Paul's shock, Zhara spoke. "Paul," she said. "You shouldn't be here. Go! Save yourself!" He stared at the bird. It was Zhara's voice, desperate and full of tears, coming out of her beak. What trick was this?

"Oh, now she talks," Illarion said, sounding annoyed. "I gave you the power of speech so we could have a chat and make the waiting a little less tedious, and you refused to talk to me, but the moment he showed up, you started chattering away?"

"If you don't want to wait until I'm human again to perform the ritual," Zhara said, "why not undo the curse and just kill me now?"

"I would if I could!" Illarion shouted. "Do you think I want to wait? But they are very imprecise, curses. I never meant to curse you, you know. This avian form greatly diminishes your power. If you would only agree to wear that medallion—"

Why, he doesn't know how to undo the curse, Paul realized. He's nothing but a boy, in over his head. He wondered if Zhara had realized this as well and was stalling for time.

"You didn't have to control me," Zhara said to Illarion, spreading her wings in an imploring gesture. "I would've gladly let you rule—"

"What, so you could go behind my back and gather the support of the boyars?" Illarion hissed, baring his teeth in anger. "So you could play the victim and undermine my rule? I know you too well, sister."

They sounded like siblings bickering over a game rather than discussing matters of life and death. Paul took a tentative step forward, reaching for the skull in his knapsack, the only weapon that might stand a chance against Illarion's magic. "Let her go," he said. At least his voice was steady.

"Or what?" Illarion snickered. "Are you going to throw that skull at me?"

In reply, Paul raised the skull. Fire shot out of its eye socket. He meant to aim it at Illarion, but the flame hit a corner of the velvet curtain instead, setting it ablaze. Illarion shrugged, looking almost bored. "I never like those curtains anyway," he said. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"How's this for better?" Paul aimed the skull at Illarion's robe. There was a flash, and the robe caught fire. Illarion didn't even flinch. He beat out the fire with his bare hand, as casually as blowing out a candle. Refusing to be intimidated, Paul advanced upon the boy, the skull held in front of him like a musket. He shot another bolt of fire; Illarion dodged it, and the flame hit the corner of the throne in a shower of sparks.

"Enough of this," Illarion growled. He pinned the needle to the shoulder of his robe before slipping something out of his belt and throwing it at Paul.

Belatedly, Paul saw that it was a medallion.

He threw up his arms, but the medallion hit his chest, burned through his shirt like a cattle brand, and adhered itself to his skin.

The pain was unbearable. He'd thought being pinned under an iron-and-copper dragon was bad, but it was nothing compared to this, this red-hot agony, this hellfire that seared his very bone, that reached all the way to his heart, that spread through his blood. Was this how it had been for Afron when he foolishly cast in his lot with Illarion? Was this how it had been for poor Alyosha Popovich?

Paul collapsed, clutching at his chest. The last thing he heard was Zhara's panicked voice, calling out his name, as the white-and-gold room around him faded to black.

***

When the darkness cleared from his eyes, Paul found himself on a bed, a large bed, with the silk cover of a pillow under his cheek. There were blue velvet drapes with gold fringes around the bed. The room around him was blue and gold as well, and strangely familiar. It took him a moment to realize this was his bed. His room, the one at the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg. An untrimmed candle still flickered on the bedside table, but the morning sun was pouring in through the curtains being swept back by a servant. The door opened, and his mother walked in.

"What, still abed at this hour?" she said, though she didn't sound quite as harsh as usual. "And on such a big day?"

Paul sat up, blinking stupidly. His hand flew up to his chest. The pain was gone. Had there been a pain there at all, or had he dreamed it?

"A big day?" he repeated.

"Your coronation, of course!" his mother said, laughing and clapping her hands together.

Paul stared at her, too stunned to speak. His mother seemed almost giddy, quite unlike herself. "Are you—are you abdicating?" finally he asked.

"That was always the plan, wasn't it?" She briskly walked over to an array of frock coats and robes being laid out by the servants, pointing to several. "That one, that one... no, that one. Yes." Turning back to Paul, she said, "It was agreed that I would only rule until you reached your majority. Now that you have, it is time for me to step down."

Something was not right, but Paul couldn't quite put his finger on it. He felt dazed, half-asleep, as though he'd just come out of a nightmare and was not quite awake. Yet he vaguely remembered that it was true, the council had finally convinced his mother to pass the throne to him. He let himself be dragged out of bed, washed and dressed in full ceremonial regalia, and before he knew it, he was standing in the cathedral in front of a crowd, while priests chanted over him and the crown, the crown he'd seen on his mother's head hundreds of times and coveted each time he saw it, glittered on a velvet cushion before him.

Could it be? Could it be that he had finally achieved what he desired the most?

He looked at the crowd, at their adoring faces all turned toward him. Yes, this was what he wanted, to be seen and respected and appreciated. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else he wanted, something missing. He noticed a young lady standing by his mother, doll-like with her porcelain face and tiny rosebud mouth, eyes cast down demurely. Paul didn't remember having seen her before.

"Panin," he said to his old governor, who was standing by his side, "who is that young woman?"

"Why, that is your betrothed, Your Excellency."

Startled, Paul wracked his brain. Again, he had some vague recollection of having chosen one of the princesses from all the miniatures given to him, but try as he might, he couldn't remember her name. Why couldn't he remember her name? It would be terribly embarrassing to ask Panin her name, wouldn't it?

The young lady lifted her eyes to look at him, and Paul suddenly found himself expecting her eyes to be a warm, golden color, honey held up to sunlight. How strange. Her eyes were blue, perfectly pretty, but for some reason, he kept thinking of those amber eyes. Where had he seen such eyes?

And then, to his shock, the young lady's face began to change. Her eyes turned golden just as he'd imagined; her powdered wigs became a long, red braid, and freckles splattered across her skin. If he looked closely, he could see seven freckles curve around the corner of her mouth... he remembered kissing them... he remembered running his hand over that hair, having those eyes look into his in the moonlight...

"Your Excellency," Panin said in his ears, but it wasn't Panin's voice, it was a strange voice, oily and cold, a voice he'd heard once before in a dark forest. "This is what you want, isn't it?" the voice continued. "You can have all that, and more. As long as you obey me."

Paul turned to his old governor in horror. Panin was looking at him with eyes the color of malachite.

"If you want her," Panin said, still in that spine-chilling voice, "well, I cannot give you the real thing, you understand, but I can give you something very similar." And he nodded at the young lady who looked like someone Paul both did and didn't know.

There was a weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe.

The young lady opened her mouth. She was standing not five feet from him, yet her voice seemed to be coming to him from far, far away. "Fight it, Paul!" she was screaming. He knew that voice. He knew her.

The crowd around him faded, leaving only her eyes and her voice. Holding on to them as an anchor, he clasped a hand to the base of his throat. His fingers closed around a hard disc, something like a pendant or a medallion that was stuck to his skin. It burned. He pulled it out, screaming as it took some of his skin and flesh along with it, and flung it as far away as he could.

The cathedral vanished. Paul found himself on the floor of the throne room, the marble cool under his cheek. The burning sensation on his chest had gone, but the pain lingered, weakening his limbs. Lifting his head with difficulty, he saw that Illarion stood over him, nostrils flared in fury, while the cage stood empty, with a gaping hole in its side—fragments of the medallion scattered nearby told Paul that he must have hit the cage with the medallion by accident and broken it open. Where was Zhara?

The thought of Zhara finally cleared the cloud in his head. She had saved him. She had pulled him out of that—that vision or hallucination or whatever it was that Illarion had used to tempt him, and brought him back to reality.

This, this was real. Not his mother's palace, not his coronation, not his nameless betrothed. This was real. Zhara was real. And he must save her.

And there she was, a spot of red circling close to the ceiling, out of Illarion's reach. Illarion was flinging his hand at her with his fingers outstretched, launching all sorts of things at her—lightning bolts, stones, even sharp icicles—anything he could conjure out of thin air, it seemed. Strike after magical strike hit the ceiling and the walls, and bits of marble rained down. Zhara flew on agile wings, narrowly avoiding the missiles and the debris that flew off the ceiling and the walls. But she could not hold out for long, not when the sun was getting lower and lower by the minute. Why wasn't she fighting back? Her power may be weaker, but she could still throw a few fireballs, surely? Or did she hesitate because she still thought of this crazed boy as her little brother? Well, if she refused to fight him, then Paul would.

As Illarion twisted and turned like he was battling a particularly pesky fly, Paul struggled to his feet and pulled out his broken sword, holding it ready. At one point, Illarion turned fully toward Paul, arms wide open as he tried to hit Zhara with a whirlwind. This was Paul's chance. He ran at the boy at full tilt and stabbed the sword through Illarion's chest.

Staggering back, Illarion stared at the sword's handle sticking out of his chest in astonishment.

Then he started to laugh.

"You fool!" he said, still laughing. He pulled the sword out and threw it to the floor. There wasn't even any blood on it. If it wasn't for the torn patch on his robe, nobody would know he'd been stabbed.

He truly was Deathless.

With a flick of his hand, Illarion threw an invisible force at Paul, sending him sprawling.

Paul's eyes caught a glint on Illarion's robe. It was the needle, reflecting the red rays of the sun.

The needle! Of course! To defeat Koschei, one had to destroy the needle. Paul picked himself up on trembling limbs and aimed the skull at it. If he could at least damage it somehow, that would distract Illarion long enough to give them a chance...

Illarion spun around. Another unseen hand slammed into Paul. This time the force knocked the air out of his lungs and hurled him across the room. The back of his head hit the wall. Stars burst in front of his eyes. Golden ropes sprung out of the floor like tree roots, binding his wrists and ankles. He strained against them, but they only tightened, threatening to slice off his hands and foot. The skull clattered away, rolling to the foot of the throne. Illarion's boot came down, smashing it into bits.

Paul was still staring at the smashed skull, his last hope, when Illarion came to stand in front of him.

"Stupid mortal!" he spat at Paul. "How dare you defy me! Now you shall pay!"

He pointed his hand at Paul and curled his fingers into a fist. Paul gasped. It felt as though there was a claw inside him, squeezing his heart, cutting off the flow of blood in his veins. Incredible, indescribable pain radiated from his heart to his ribs, his neck, his arms and shoulders, and the rest of his body, choking him, paralyzing him. He could feel his life force draining away, but he was helpless to stop it.

From the ceiling, Zhara came barreling down like a golden arrow. She dashed past Illarion, who made a grab for her but missed her by just a hair's breadth. The pressure around Paul's heart loosened, and he collapsed to the floor, coughing. Zhara shot back to the ceiling, and Illarion clasped a hand to his shoulder, the first hint of fear creeping to his face—the needle was gone.

"Please, Lariosha, stop this," Zhara said, the needle tightly grasped between her talons.

"Do not call me that!"

"The magic is killing you! If you go through with the ritual, you'll be dead! Baba Yaga told me—the same thing happened to Koschei—"

So Baba Yaga had told Zhara the truth after all. Was that why she wasn't fighting Illarion? Was she still trying to save him?

"See, that's where you're wrong, sister," Illarion said, though he indeed did not look well. The boy's face was pale, as pale as the marble walls around them, his hands shook, and he was breathing hard, spittle spraying from his lips. Only his green eyes burned feverishly. "Koschei was an old fool. He put his death into an ordinary needle. But I am cleverer than that. This needle will be indestructible once I temper it in your fire. Don't try anything stupid. Whatever you do to it will only make it stronger."

"I'm sorry," Zhara said. "I can't let you go through with this." Turning to Paul, she said, "Hold on to Baba Yaga's handkerchief. It will protect you."

"Protect me—from what?" Paul gasped. He still hadn't quite regained his breath after Illarion's attack.

"From me."

With that, she pointed the needle at herself and plunged it into her chest.

"No!" Paul and Illarion both screamed.

Blood spurted from Zhara's breast, dying her red feathers a darker shade. Blood dripped to the floor below her, and wherever the blood fell, fire sprang up and spread around the room as though the floor was made of the oldest, driest wood and not cold, hard marble. Flames surrounded Zhara, turning her whole body into a fireball, burning the needle white-hot. Flames swallowed up the table with its instruments of magic. Flames licked around Paul, but he strained his bound hand to find Baba Yaga's handkerchief in his knapsack, and the fire never touched him, though he felt its heat on his skin.

"You think you can stop me by killing yourself?!" Illarion hissed. "No, no, dear sister, you will live—at least long enough to serve me!"

He raised his hand. Zhara was pulled toward him on an invisible string, her wings flailing uselessly against his force.

"I have taken Koschei's powers," Illarion said, "and now I'm going to take yours!"

Just as he had done to Paul, Illarion curled his fingers into a fist. Paul knew now that the gesture meant Illarion was draining his victim's life force. And there was Zhara's life force—flames rolled along the string of air between them, flowing from sister into brother, until they were connected by a rope of fire. Paul could only watch, powerless, while Zhara's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she made a strangled sound. Her plumage started losing its color and luster. The paler she got, the stronger Illarion seemed to be—his face was no longer deathly white, his hair became redder than the fire itself, and his eyes burned more brightly.

The fire was almost gone from around Zhara's body now, her feathers a dim, dark shade of purplish brown, like old blood. She was limp, only held up in midair by the force of Illarion's magic. The needle was lifted from her chest by that same force and flew into Illarion's hand. He caught it, laughing, paying no heed to the incandescent metal.

"Yes, yes!" he shouted. "Why didn't I think to do this sooner? This is so much better! Now I can temper the needle with my own fire! I shall be truly invinci—"

He didn't finish the sentence. The smug smile vanished from his face. The fire continued to blaze around his body as it blazed around the room, sucking out all the air, turning the whole place into an inferno. Despite the protection of Baba Yaga's handkerchief, Paul could still feel the heat blasting him in the face and scorching his lungs.

"No, this is enough—" Illarion was saying. "The tempering is done—I want it to stop—Zhara! How do I get the fire to stop? Help! Help me, please! "

Zhara, who was suspended lifeless in the air with her head lolling back and her wings drooping, gave no answer.

"It burns—oh gods, it burns!" Illarion moaned. He tried to throw the needle away, but it had melted into a puddle of liquid metal in his palm. Still the fire raged on. "You witch!" Illarion screamed at Zhara, his face twisted with rage. "You've tricked me! But you won't get away with it! If I die, you shall die too!"

He clenched his fist again, and some of the fire flowed back to Zhara, searing her feathers. She remained unconscious. Soon, the fire would consume both brother and sister...

Paul took his hand out of the knapsack and dropped the handkerchief to the floor. The moment it left his fingers, flames roared up around him. He angled his body toward it, letting the fire burn the ropes around his wrists and ankles to ashes, biting back a scream as it scorched his skin. As soon as he was free of the ropes, he got to his feet.

Illarion saw the handkerchief, and his eyes went wide. They both dove for it. Paul—perhaps by sheer luck—was a fraction of a second quicker. He scooped the handkerchief up, jumped at Zhara, and snatched her out of the air, wrapping her in the square of fabric.

"No!!!" Illarion, now nothing more than a pillar of fire with a vaguely human shape in its middle, charged at Paul. Paul leaped aside, and Illarion crashed through the window, plummeting down the sheer cliff, burning like a falling star.

A long while later, a blast from the sea below told Paul that the boy had met his end.

The flames rose all the way to the ceiling in one last furious eruption, and then, with a rushing sound of air being sucked inward, they vanished, leaving behind only a few scorched patches and an acrid smell.

Paul looked down, not quite believing what he was seeing. Zhara was lying there, in his arms—Zhara, as he'd seen her that first night in the woods of Lukomorye, freckles standing out on her skin, her hair covering her body like a cape, her eyes closed, the wound on her chest still bleeding. Outside the broken window, the sun was taking its plunge into the sea, turning the water into molten gold for a moment before winking out, and darkness descended on everything.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

[warrioreowynofrohan]

In anticipation of Secret Project 3 - here is my single least favourite person in the Cosmere. It isn’t Gavilar. It isn’t Sadeas. It isn’t Amaram. It isn’t someone who’s killed thousands - or killed anyone - or committed a single act of physical violence.

It’s effing Liyun.

“How did I do today, Liyun?” Yumi finally asked.

“You did your duty,” Liyun replied, voice soft, yet rasping. Like ripping paper.

“I…have never heard of a yoki-hijo summoning thirty-seven spirits in one day before,” Yumi said, hopeful. It wasn’t her warden’s job to compliment her. But…it would feel good…to hear the words nonetheless.

“Yes,” Liyun said. “It will make people question. Were you always capable of this? Were you holding back in other cities, refusing to bless them as you did this one?”

“I…”

“I’m certain it is wisdom in you, Chosen,” Liyun said. “To do as you did. I am certain it is not you working too hard, so that the next town in line gets a much smaller blessing, and therefore thinks themselves less worthy also.”

Yumi felt sick at the very thought. Her arms dangled at her sides, because moving them was painful. “I will work hard tomorrow.”

“I am sure you will.” Liyun paused. “I would hate to think that I trained a yoki-hijo who did not know how to properly pace herself. I would also hate to think that I was such a poor teacher that my student thought it wise to pretend to be unable of reaching her full potential, in order to have an easier time of her job.”

Yumi shrank down further, wincing at the throbs of pain from muscles in her arms and back. It seemed that even in great success, she did not do enough.

“Neither is true, fortunately.”

“I will tell Gongsha Town,” Liyun said. “They can look forward to a visit from a strong yoki-hijo tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“May I offer a reminder, Chosen?”

Yumi glanced up, and kneeling where she was, the perspective made Liyun seemed to be ten feet tall. A silhouette against the night, like a cutout with blank space in the middle.

“Yes,” Yumi said, “please.”

“You must remember,” Liyun said, “that you are a resource to the land. Like the water of the steamwell. Like the plants, the sunlight, and the spirits themselves. If you do not take care of yourself, you will squander the great position and opportunity you have been given.”

“Thank you,” Yumi whispered.

“Sleep now, if it pleases you. Chosen.”

It takes real talent to use an honorific as an insult. I’ll give Liyun that much; it’s professional courtesy, from one hideous bastard to another.

The worst freaking person in the Cosmere.

#yumi and the nightmare painter #sanderson secret project 3 #sanderson secret project 3 spoilers #brandon sanderson #cosmere #ssp3 #ssp3 spoilers

[atopvisenyashill]

“the white hart scene was showing us rhaenyra is divinely chosen to sit on the iron throne for a shitty girlboss moment”

idk how people come to this conclusion beyond the fact that a lot of people wanted the show to flesh out and empathize with the characters the way f&b doesn’t, but are mad the show decided to flesh out rhaenyra even though she’s one of the main characters, bc they’re too dedicated to her as The Born Evil Queen bc that’s how she’s been treated by fandom since the princess and the queen came out.

it’s not just “she sees the white hart and it means she’s divinely chosen” that’s such a basic, surface level reading. for her part, the point is not just that she sees the white hart, but that she recognizes it’s personhood, it’s beauty, and it’s uniqueness, and spares it’s life in empathy. the point is that she slaughters the boar in self defense and brings it home to her people but is scorned for the messy way she did it. it’s not just that she’s “divinely chosen” it is that she can recognize the fear and humanity (so to speak) in another being and can empathize with it enough to let it live even though killing it may make her look really good in front of the lords. she does the moral thing because she is capable of empathy despite what the lords may say, a clear hint to the last episode where she attempts to do the right thing by avoiding war despite pushback from the black council.

on the other hand, she kills the boar - she is just as capable as any man of great violence when she feels threatened, and equally capable of a vindictive sort of violence that all the men of her house (and many of the other houses) are capable of. she brings them an animal she killed by her own hand and they are disgusted; the greens will strike first at every opportunity never realizing that she is capable of much greater violence bc a woman being capable of being violent is not something that would ever occur to them. they gladly named her princess of dragonstone to stop daemon from being heir but they are disgusted by her independent mind despite it being the exact reason they named her heir.

but just as important is viserys’ killing of the red hart. the white hart ran from his woods while the red hart is held down by his advisors for him to kill without viserys doing any of the work; still, he has to try twice to kill it, and only with the hand rotting from contact with the throne is he capable of taking its life. like robb’s messy execution of lord karstark being the definitive sign that he’s utterly lost control of the war, viserys having to be coached step by step and handed this “win” on a silver platter only to bungle it anyway is a definitive sign that he’s lost control of his court and of the politics in westeros. and as robb’s dark, shadowy parallel, viserys too will not live to see the bloody climax of a war he helped kick off.

#rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys the peaceful #‘it’s such basic girlboss symbolism’ or maybe you are not engaging with the plot bc you refuse to entertain the idea #that rhaenyra is a complex character capable of both great kindness and great violence. #me shit talking people in the tags #getting on my soap box #house of the dragon #like can we use our brains. ‘you don’t want the hightowers fleshed out bc you hate them’ yeah and we can say the same for people mad that #rhaenyra has been ‘softened.’ both sides are responsible for escalating the conflict. this is NOT just on rhaenyra #the same way the wo5k is not *just* on cersei’s affair or cat taking tyrion or jaime attacking ned. it is all these actions at once!!!!

[raayllum]

Hey, Rayllum. As always, you are awesome. One of the biggest things I'm looking forward to is in S6, Callum possibly freeing Aaravos accidently considering how he literally said that " I would do anything for you" to Rayla in order to free Rayla's parents and Runaan from the coins. My question would be, who would end up killing Aaravos, either Callum since he perhaps is all for it, or Rayla, since she suggested on how to kill a Startouch Elf? Or maybe both.

Imagine if it could be Rayla. Because I feel that low-key, Rayla took what he said very personally, and if that ends up being the case, she would literally and maybe figuratively enjoy making him eat those very words. Just my speculation. Either way, I'm excited about Aaravos's backstory in S6. As well as more potential, Rayla and Aaravos parallels, maybe.

Keep up the great work 👍 👏

This is tricky, cause I think any of the trio could be viable contenders! For Ezran, I very much do see him as the opponent - unknowingly - that Aaravos is directly playing against (Orphan Queen lineage notwithstanding) in addition to the emphasis put on Ezran's crown being made from a sword and the potential necessity of him wielding violence again on a bigger scale.

Then you have Rayla, who still has not permanently or directly killed someone (seeing as tackling Viren is equal parts a sacrifice of herself, although you could argue Rayla killing anyone would be as well). Her killing Aaravos + her experience with swords and the irony of "A moonshadow elf assassin who, is this right? isn't capable of killing" would be delicious. I don't know if she'd enjoy killing Aaravos, but I could see her gaining satisfaction from it if not just see it as her Duty because she has the opportunity and why shouldn't she take it?

But she's probably the one in the trio I lean towards having this role the least; I think her ultimate triumph over Aaravos on that level will be a shared one with Callum / breaking Callum out of the brainwashing

(Although I do hope she kills someone in S6 pre-brainwashing plot line so that her not killing Callum is like, wholly a choice she makes rather than feeling potentially just incapable - but there are other ways to show that as well)

Then you have Callum who probably has the most to 'gain' in killing Aaravos, the biggest incentive, and the one who's most in the Nova Blade's corner per "stab stab, bye bye bad guy :D". And of course the fallout of the final confrontation (whatever that is / looks like) will ultimately be Callum taking Narrative Control from Aaravos. There may be something to Callum not taking Aaravos down violently, though, given that Aaravos will likely force him to commit violence in S6 - so rejecting violence = rejecting Aaravos, but we'll have to see.

So I'd say amongst the trio, it goes Callum and then Ezran for someone killing Aaravos; I'd argue Rayla is a non-factor.

However, the endgame confrontation I imagine is Claudia, Viren, and Callum all working together to defeat/bring down Aaravos (not with dark magic??) while Rayla and her fam take down Kim'Dael and Ezran does king battle leadership stuff. But who knows?

I'm not sure if killing Aaravos himself will be the answer, even if we assume the Nova Blade is a literal sword and not something abstract/poetic

#1lovepeace #& thank you for your kind words <3 #s7 #s7 speculation #brotp: we're in this together #cause i do wonder what ezran would do in a 3 v. 1 fight unless there's animals around y'know? #although seeing ezran engage in some form of literal combat would be very very cool #i do hc soren is a much better swordfighting teacher to him than he was to callum #thanks for asking #anonymous

[docholligay]

Ep 6: Shauna

Hello! This is about up to Episode 6 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 6 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the sixth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

Let’s hear it for Jeff. I love that we are intentionally complicating the situation, this episode may as well be called, “Intentionally complicating the situation” because at the beginning we are sold this disaffected husband who might be cheating on her (I know I already said I’m not sure I think he is, and I know am hard into the idea that he is not.) and poor Shauna is seeking something in not at all suspicious Adam. 

But now. 

Jeff is a decent guy, who loves his wife, and who stands up for her when she isn’t even capable of standing up for herself because she feels so guilty about the fact that she lived and Jackie did not that she is willing to let herself be flogged every single year on Jackie’s birthday to prove that Shauna did everything she could for Jackie. But Jeff stands up. Now Shauna doesn’t get to be the poor, understandable victim, now she is a woman who is failing as a wife to someone who is trying, and who cares about her, and who already has failed as a mother, raising a daughter who, I don’tr even give a shit about liking her, doesn’t even respect her. 

The show looks at Shauna, looks at us, and goes, “Wow, isn’t this just a little pathetic?” I am AFLAME. 

Speaking of things I have rapidly reversed course on, last episode when she said that it was Jackie’s uniform, given by her parents, I said, “Oh that is very sad and sweet and totally misguided and so unintentionally cruel” and I loved it then, but I sport of love it more now as an almost, maybe not quite, intentional act of violence. Holy shit, her parents are so angry that Shauna lived, and they are going to make her pay for it, every single year, and remind Shauna of how the one who didn’t deserve to live, did, I don’t even know that I think they KNOW that’s what they are doing, and I am SUCKING IT DOWN LIKE A HUMMINGBIRD AT THE FEEDER. 

It’s not even as if I don’t understand how this can happen. I’ve written before about how often, those who die young are canonized, and everything they would have done would have been perfect, and they were so wonderful, and they would have been like this, or remembered that. It is so easy to be wonderful when you’re dead. So much more when it was your child. But there has to come a point where you search inside yourself, and look hard, and see what you’re doing. You don’t even have to be NICE to Shauna, just say you can’t see her anymore, and that is INFINITELY kinder. 

The reason all of this works is that Shauna hates and blames herself, too. I love the scene with Jackie, and ‘Jackie’s ghost’ but Jackie’s ghost is just Shauna. The call is coming from inside the house. Which I love so much about all of this, is so much of it can be taken as, “is this happening? Yes, and also no.” (Though I do think the show is going to making a strong pitch to “actually supernatural” which manages to both delight and frustrate me at the same time. Shauna does not believe that it’s not her fault, and that is why Jackie calls her on it, and tells her she thinks it’s her fault. I like the “Why are you here?” response from Jackie. Does Shauna know? Does she know how much she hates herself, and Jackie, and how she, too, cannot let Jackie go? 

In turn, Shauna is going to take it out on Callie, by refusing her the college fund. I would, again, say that Shauna doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. Would I let someone fucking insult me like this, repeatedly, so Midge could have a free college education? I like to think so, but I don’t actually know the answer to that. I have trouble shutting up. But Shauna--It’s important to point that right before she turns down the college fund, she says, “I don’t even like my daughter” because that’s the key, and she’s talking to herself. Why is she putting up with it for someone that she doesn’t like, who treats her like shit? 

We are getting to indulge in Shauna’s selfishness here, of all the ways that she feels guilty for surviving, but instead of living a life Jackie could be proud of, she is instead submitting herself to life as the sacrificial lamb, and has herself convinced of her own martyrdom and victimhood, I think, and wow do I love it.

#Doc watches yellowjackets #Yellowjackets S1 E6

[artisanoftheredscience]

A PAGE FROM SLOWCAKES

[Editor's Note: Credit to Brightgoat and their maker, "Bright's Piccrew Hell" for the art. Image ID in alt text.]

NOTICE: Please read Editor's notes next to section headings, as they contain information about content that may be triggering for some.

Name: Liz(ard) O'Connor [Editor's Note: The last name may or may not be a real family name.]

DOB: November 15th, 1870.

Age: 24-31 years old. [Editor's Note: 24 is the first notable instance of Liz appearing in well-known circles. 31 is her age in the current year.].

KNOWN ALIASES: The Reckless Monster-Hunter, The Relentless Vake-Hunter [Editor's Note: No one is actually certain if this claim is true- those who do know for sure do not like to speak of it.], Thirteen.

[Editor's Note: Keen eyes will notice that 'Thirteen' is shared by numerous people within these pages. It is believed this is more of a title than an alias- though speculation in that regard veers into illegal territory.]

Pronouns: He/She/They

Profession: Monster-Hunter, Undisclosed Affiliation with the Bazaar. Advisor on the Great Hell-Bound Railway Board (GHRB).

BACKSTORY [Editor's Note; Discretion is advised- content ahead contains mentions of starvation, child suffering, poverty, violence, and unsafe living conditions.]

Liz is a Londoner, born and raised. He grew up on the streets well after the Fall, his parents unknown. Whether they died out at zee, got killed by some horror on land, or simply abandoned him, Liz couldn't say. They have no memories of them, and they don't really care to think about them.

Their conditions living on the street were not great. There was very rarely enough to eat, and they were often cold and miserable, exposed to the harsh elements of the Neath. They spent many a night hold up in filth-ridden, spider-infested buildings, hiding in the many winding streets of London. They were frequently cold or sick, but they survived, always on the move. Their greatest fear was not starving to death in the street or being killed by some horror, but the workhouses. The harsh and horrible conditions of poverty and homelessness paled in comparison to the suffering within those houses, and Liz did all they could to stay out of them.

Despite the misery of their life, there were some highlights. Liz was an adventurous child, always looking for some thrill to pass the time. They dreamed of becoming a Monster-Hunter like those who roamed the docks or Watchmaker's Hill, and they delighted in the sport of it. Their most common method of earning coin, even from a young age, was rat-catching, ferreting out the crafty bastards like a hound. They loved finding new ways to test their skills, taking death-defying leaps, charging headfirst into any sort of danger. Perhaps they were simply extraordinarily lucky that they never got seriously injured, but the thought hardly occurred to them. They simply had too much fun.

Liz did not have many close acquaintances growing up, but she did have one. Spring Lovelace, their charming and sociable best friend, who was their closest confidante in all things. Their adventures together, their games and their schemes and their wild plots, was the highlight of their every year. From May to August, Spring stayed in the Neath, and Liz was always at her happiest with her dearest friend by her side. The two of them promised to make names for themselves, together, and it was that promise that drove Liz to work hard and never lose hope. When her visits came to a sudden end when Liz was fourteen, the loss was devastating, but he never gave up hope. He loved his friend after all, and she was never one to go back on her word.

Liz grew from a scrawny, scrappy urchin to an adult, still struggling to scrape by, but as he got older he got stronger and more capable. He began to be able to take jobs that actually paid and soon he was even able to afford a real place to live, albeit one filled with beetles and rats and falling apart at the seams. Still, it was his, and he was content. Until, of course, that next great adventure, a brand new danger, crossed their path.

They were going to kill the Vake, and prove once and for all that they were the best hunter in all of the Neath.

NOTABLE ASSOCIATES

Detective Peculiar: A good friend of theirs. They work well together. Liz helps her with her work and in exchange she gives him tips for hunts. They have a shared history that makes them work well as friends.

Doctor Stone: Buddies in crime. They have an almost familial relationship. Liz considers Stone a very good friend and they commit so much crime together.

Lady Spring Lovelace: Their best friend. The light of their life. Liz and Spring are inseparable no matter what forms they take or how much they change. They love one another deeply. They are unstoppable when they work together and can be genuine menaces as a team.

Samuel (Sam) Wells (Wellison): A hunting partner and their best-worst friend. They're not romantic or platonic but a secret third thing. They fight all the time but its in a way that is out of care rather than malice.

Woeful: Liz's ex. They have the world's worst relationship. Their break-up was bad on historic levels and the two actively made one another worse when they were together. Liz was glad when they vanished altogether.

AMBITION NOTES [Editor's Notes: Major Spoilers for Ambition: Bag A Legend. Content warnings include violence, substance abuse and addiction, loss of identity, and extreme body modification. ] For an in-depth look, please see the Directory.

Liz chose the Intriguer Ending of Bag A Legend.

Their time with the Scarred Naturalist really soured their opinion on authority figures, even moreso than before. It also worried their inferiority complex.

Their experiences with Black Wing Absinthe caused them to develop a problem with alcohol that they never quite manage to kick. They usually manage to stay away from the absinthe, but upon relapsing they can go to incredibly dark places very quickly. The violent episodes the Absinthe causes seem uncontrollable- but in reality, Liz knows what they are doing. That is what should scare them. It doesn't but Liz knows it should.

They got their teeth replaced with Vake teeth, and they justified it at the time as a necessary sacrifice, but the relief they felt with the full set in was far more than that.

Their time at the abbey taught them control, but often they crave the freedom of those dreams to the point of debilitating pain. The bond they form with the Vake, as strange and unhealthy as it is, consumes them entirely.

Even after slaying most of it, they don't really "win". They keep the Intriguer alive, pretending as if it is for some sort of ego boost, but in reality they have blurred the boundaries between it and them so significantly that killing the Vake completely genuinely terrifies them.

They often answer to names that are not theirs, and the more they hunt the less themself they are. They take on elements of everything they consume and the Vake was no exception.

Wines was SO pissed at them for going back on their promise and of it weren't for the fact that it was too much of a hassle it definitely would have killed them.

April was also pissed. They were almost friendly beforehand but this betrayal completely sets them back.

Liz keeps the mandrake post ambition. 'Manzy' is never far from her and is genuinely a huge source of comfort.

EXTRA INFORMATION [Spoilers for late-game content]

Liz is kind of Pro-Liberation? He hates authority but is also not afraid to BE authority. Major hypocrite energy. He would so kill a Judgement if he had the chance though. He's like, a temporary ally one has to keep an eye on.

Liz has published exactly one academic paper and it was entitled "Correcting Misconceptions About the Vake and Its Anatomy". He was promptly asked to leave his temporary position at the university of Summerset.

Liz loves antagonizing people for no reason. He lives for drama!

Liz sometimes misses his days at the Abbey and occasionally recreates some of the routine in London to soothe the itch.

While his rivalry with the Vake is all fun and good, when he's under-stimulated he loves to torment the other Masters. This is something they are all aware of and are (ill) prepared to handle.

Despite being a technical member of the 13th month club, most of the Calendar Council really dislike her. The exception is August, because of course it is.

April and Liz have a very complicated relationship, but if you ask Liz, that's her friend!

Liz has a detailed ranking of which monsters taste the best and will offer it when asked.

#fallen london #fallen london oc #ambition: bag a legend spoilers #fallen london spoilers #a page from slowcakes #child harm #substance use tw #substance abuse #addiction #identity loss #ocposting

[fabdante]

What do you think about reboot Vergil's relationship with Eva? Especially during Vergil's Downfall? Do you think Vergil would bring it up to Dante afterwards, if he returns post-Downfall?

I think both Vergil's have very complicated relationships with their mother.

Reboot especially I think. I have a related series of posts I still need to finish about Eva and Sparda and the twins (part one and part two!) that I'm definitely going to rehash a bit here!

This is going to perhaps be a bit speculative and headcanony like the two posts linked above. It's also going to like depend on the notion that we really don't like...know what Eva is in Vergil's Downfall. Like if it really is her, if it's a version of her Vergil's made up, if it's her ghost, if it's some impression of her made on the world, etc. I've mentioned in other posts at more length that I prefer the idea of Vergil's Downfall being entirely an internal journey, and while this isn't largely contradicted by the game I do know it is meant to be like...external (that said neither really clarifies what Eva is in Downfall)

Carrying on now! Longish post about Vergil and Eva's relationship as I tend to headcanon/interpret it under the cut!

I know that they're not supposed to play favorites, in Downfall whatever Eva is claims she didn't, and all but in my headcanons and interpretations of the reboot, I tend to poise Vergil and Sparda's favorite and Dante as Eva's. And this is largely due to which parent they each seem to mirror more. I mean, in game we are constantly told Dante is very similar to Sparda by people who knew Sparda very well. People like Phineas and even Mundus, probably the character closest to him we meet in the game outside of Eva.

We have, however, one instance were someone compares Dante to Eva. This was pointed out to me by @kobochajunkbox in part two of the Eva and Sparda post (my friend I hope you do not mind me tagging you asdfghjk, credit where credit is due). In it Phineas says he see's Eva in Dante. And then promptly suggests that Dante should kill Lilith and her unborn (side note does the baby count as unborn after that boss fight I have no idea) child.

And this is maybe reading a lot into the order of lines here but it almost gives off this vibe that Phineas is mentioning this plan because Dante reminds him of Eva. Because this is a line of thinking the Eva he knew would have. Because Phineas sees Eva in Dante, because he knew Eva on some level, because Eva is in this series the sort of person who would be ok with the plan of killing a woman and her child if it meant the possibility of a greater good, then Phineas now thinks Dante can stomach doing the same.

Which, again, may be reading too much into things but I find this take on Eva just really interesting. I find this version of her, being ruthless and scary and a sort of willing to do what she has to for her plans and ideas sort of person, interesting. Particularly coming from a character like her, an angel in the reboot. I mention it semi often but I personally like the idea of scary angel reboot Eva. I like the idea of her being just as dangerous and deadly as Sparda. I find it interesting, even if there might be little to go off there. I find it even more interesting if she was all of that and was trying to change, was trying to become a different person, even while she is aware she is a person capable of great violence and great harm who has historically caused great violence and great harm (I mean, just look at what the angels and demons both did to the Nephilim to begin with)

Which brings me back to my point.

If we read Eva in this way, this person who is willing to do what she must for a plan, no matter the costs...well...she sounds a little similar. She sounds like Vergil.

And I think this might just be why she favored Dante, particularly when we consider Eva after her fall from grace. I suggest in my Eva and Sparda posts my idea of Eva in the reboot, and that is this character who longs for a bit of this fire she sees humanity have because she herself feels cold and detached. She herself is used to seeing herself as a sort of cog in a machine, this ruthless and terribly scary thing. I think she maybe wanted to change that, and I think maybe when she saw Dante, this kid so full of life and energy, that she thought maybe she could tap into that life.

With Vergil, though, I wonder if he sort of...worried her. Because he reminded her too much of herself. Willing to do anything for his ideals, no matter who it hurt, no matter what damage it caused. Reboot Vergil in particular seems like the sort of guy chasing a destiny he has given himself (as implied by some of his lines but also my favorite bit of deleted dialogue also in the dubious canon of the Vergil Chronicles, I have not forgotten Kat calling him destiny boy and so on and so forth).

I think to further this like Eva and Vergil parallel that I find interesting is just how often Vergil is poised with more angelic imagery in the game. Like how when we meet him he's bathed in light or how he's you know, the blue twin. There's also something to be said about the games visuals that ties into this meta I wrote about Vergil and my belothed, Bernini. Something something, marble statue boy, something something, beauty is goodness is godliness in classical art something something angels. Anywho!

It's perhaps a lot to use all of this to suggest that Eva may have liked one of her kids more, but she also doesn't really talk about Vergil that time her ghost or whatever figment of her visits Dante in the game. She doesn't even mention him. Which to be fair like sure she's talking to Dante but she, again, doesn't say anything like 'I failed to protect you and your brother' or 'We didn't give you and your brother choices' like anything she brings up that also involves Vergil she just...leaves out Vergil. She just doesn't mention him. Which feels a bit odd?

And I do want to be clear I don't think Eva like...hates Vergil like she can favor Dante and still love both of her sons like she clearly cares about both of her children. They just have such a fascinating relationship if we look at it from this angle. I mean, there had to be some reason why reboot Vergil feels like his mother favored his brother. Like there has to be some reason why he's come to that conclusion, and it's clearly something that's bothered him for some time given the entirety of Downfall. Even if Eva didn't mean to, she left that impression on her son.

So, I think the relationship between Eva and Vergil is definitely like...really complicated. Far more complicated then their preboot counter parts, even though I mean they are still complicated (perhaps because we have less concrete answers with the reboot).

I would like to think if Vergil came back for good, not just back to be a menace, that he'd be able to talk to Dante about this sometime. Even just to see Eva outside of his own perspective of her. Like, I think it'd be good for the twins to be able to talk about Vergils inadequacies about himself which are not Dante's fault but he needs to talk it out with someone asdfghjkl

#fab talks #fabtalks #fab talks headcanons #ask #i need to finish the other part of the eva and sparda posts series it's about like possible motivations to have the twins and the twins as #weapons and what happens when your weapon turns out to be like a living breathing person and how that kinda messes with your plans and #feelings and what not asdfghj #dmc reboot

[sirjuggles]

Worm Reading - Part 5, Arc 5 Hive

Back at it! Taking notes as I go this time, so expect more short reactions to individuals moments/sentences.

Ahhh a good ol’ Bad Guy Council Meeting! We get our first looks at a whole bunch of the other villains in this town. Interesting to see where the Undersiders fall on the power scale: clearly above lowlifes like Skidmark, but otherwise pretty low on the hierarchy. I’d assume our team could mayyyybe go toe-to-toe with Faultline’s crew but it depends on who gets the drop. Would definitely lose to Kaiser’s crew. Coil is very interesting, but I’d assume his hi-tech goons could overpower the Undersiders. Trickster and his team are interesting out-of-towners, but I’d assume if they’re surviving on the road they’re capable of taking care of themselves.

I do feel like I’ve seen the name Faultline crop up in Worm Fandom posts in the past, so I feel like this character may end up being important? I don’t remember in what capacity though. Curious to see what her powers are.

Ok, once again we see Brian being abusive towards Rachel. And I get that he thinks it’s justified. But just from the language he uses you can tell this is something he gets from his dad. I don’t like it. If the only way you can control someone is with violence, does that make it ok?

Hero names “Assault” and “Battery” ugh it’s such a terrible pun. I hate it and it’s perfect.

We haven’t seen Shadow Stalker in action yet but as Grue’s nemesis I am covertly half-rooting for her. I hope she’s cool, I hope she kicks ass.

Lol hell yeah punch Emma in the face! Nothing good will probably come of this but frankly it’s been a long time coming.

Aww good job Danny, your girl needed a hug. I think that’s about as well as he could have handled that.

Oooh ok we’re going into a parent meeting at school about the bullying issue. Predictions: Danny is going to try and stand up for Taylor. He might blow up in a full rage outburst, he’s been holding that in for a long time. I don’t think they’ll actually have any success within the system though, Emma and her dad and their posse are too secure to face consequences here. However, if this goes really bad, I can see Taylor tip past the point of using her powers, which would be a disaster but would be a huge leap forward for the story, forcing her powers into the open and causing all sorts of interesting consequences.

Wow ok that went almost exactly how I expected. I had some hope at the beginning that all the documentation and obvious severity of abuse would tip the scales, but of course not. So we have yet again postponed Taylor going supernova on her bullies with her powers. I am becoming more and more convinced that’s the only way this is going to end.

Ok, we’re in the middle of the team-up raid on the ABB warehouse. Oni Lee is absolutely terrifying, honestly I’m not sure how you pin down someone with that sort of powerset. Hopefully he tires out at some point, but even then I assume he would just escape. The ability to bring items/weapons with him as he teleports and duplicates is super powerful as well. EDIT OH THAT WORKS ON THE BUGS TOO.

Ok Warehouse Raid is still ongoing, but Taylor has just demonstrated to Coil, Faultline, and Trickster’s teams that she can step up and take leadership to salvage a bad situation. I think that will not go unnoticed.

The eyeballs thing is BRUTAL and we are hardcore supporting my previous point!

Great job in the fight, great job on the outcome, top marks all around!

Awww Rachel is making a friend and doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Ok yeah vindication #CutRachelSomeSlack

Interlude 5: Gregor the Snail - Ok, some interesting worldbuilding. I like basically everyone on Faultline’s crew, especially... no yeah pretty much all of them. This definitely seems like the kind of group who can both notice and appreciate how Taylor handled the Warehouse situation.

Most interesting development here is the introduction of a potential person/group creating new parahumans. I had a suspicion this topic would crop up. It is, frankly, very well-tread ground for modern superhero media. I suspect in this case the answer will be not nearly as simple as it first seems. There is almost guaranteed to be some sort of consequence or side effect for handing out powers.

#parahumans #Worm #Wormblr #Wildbow #Worm Readalong #Mine