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cinewhore · 10 months

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The Wrath of a Mother

Pairing: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby x fem!reader word count: 3k warnings: violence, heavy angst, kidnappings, blood, gore, guns, fighting. summary: Thomas Shelby discovers his wife's past. A/N: more peaky blinders brain rot for you all. not much else to say. no beta cause I say so! Enjoy. Credits to the gif artist.

The chaotic melody of jazz was cut off by the sound of screams.

Tommy didn’t like jazz which is why you waited for him to leave before putting the record on. It had been a tiresome day, dealing with the children, being the lady of the house. You sent the majority of the staff away, with the exception of a few maids to help with your children. The girls were young and foolish, always giggling behind their hands.

You pay the shouts no mind, until they grow louder, the high pitched squeals of the girls being intertwined with the yelling of men.

Suddenly, a shot rings out. You instantly cut the record, dashing into the children’s room. Oliver wakes up with ease while Alice fusses. You hated disrupting them but had no choice, telling them they were going to have a special sleepover in the guest room.

“Now, mommy is going to go and grab some snacks. I’m going to lock the door, to keep the pesky monsters away! Mommy or daddy will come back to get you, ok?”

Your oldest nods, the best big brother to his sister. You press a quick kiss to both their heads, not daring to look back at them before shutting the door.

The world seemed to slow down after that. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed, couldn’t ignore the ringing in your ears, the exhilaration of shock and adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream.

It was enough to blind a man.

Someone was hollering your name but you couldn’t make out whose voice it belonged to.

Hands abruptly clasp your shoulders and you shriek, twisting your body in a way to fend off whoever dared to attack you next. You try to ram the knife into the arm of your assailant but another pair of hands snatch your weapon away, leaving you defenseless.

Tommy crawls on his knees in front of you, grasping the side of your face tightly. You squirm and squirm but stop as he shakes you.

“It’s alright! It’s me! It’s just me!” He could tell that you were trying to comprehend what was happening and that your body was moving on its own accord, still engaged in fight or flight mode.

“Arthur, let her go.”

The oldest brother shoots Tommy a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Arthur drops his hold on you and you sag forward, arms wobbling against the wooden floors, hands drenched with blood.

“It’s alright, love. You’re ok, it's finished now.”

It was over. You had won, however, the thin veil between this life and the old one had been hastily torn down.

“Where are the children, hm?”

You shake your head, his words unclear to you.

“Our children, where are they?! Alice and Oliver, where are they?”

You raise a weakened arm and point towards the end of the corridor. “Guest room closet…I locked it-”

“Michael, go check!” Thomas shouts. His cousin takes off without another word.

It was all too much. The noise, the lights, the commotion. Pushing yourself up on your knees, you combat Tommy and the grip he held on you, dead set on getting into a place where you could shut it all out.

You stumble down the hallway and the flight of stairs, only tripping a few times before making it out the front door. You make it just past the hedges and collapse, stomach churning while you vomit.

Arthur was close by, tentative of his approach. He didn’t want to scare you off further. He advances steadily, arms outstretched to show that he meant no harm.

“It's ok, love. It’s just, Arthur. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod, wiping at your mouth. “There were so many-"

“Yeah. Yeah, there were. You fought them all.”

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to kill anyone-”

You let Arthur close enough so that he could hold your hands, uncaring of the blood smeared across yours.

“Listen to me, eh? You’re gonna have the shakes. Your hands are gonna feel like they’re made of fucking lead. S’all normal. I just need you to breathe cause it looks like you’re gonna faint.”

You mimic Arthur as he breathes in and out, slowing down your beating heart. You surge forward and hug your brother in law, catching him by surprise. He panics for a moment before hugging you back, rocking the two of you.

“You did good, sister. You did good.”

You didn’t speak about it for two weeks.

You knew that he wanted an explanation, you felt it every time the two of you were in the same room. There was a lingering stare he would give you that he gave to each of his enemies. It was menacing, calculating and ominous. You knew the longer it took for you to offer up clarification for your actions, the more he began to suspect that you were placed in his house, in his bed, based off of an ulterior motive. If that were the case, you would’ve killed him by now but Tommy was no fool nor was he new to this type of life. He knew when people played with their food before eating and he refused to be swallowed by you.

His lovely, little wife.

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. You figured after breakfast you’d take the children into the gardens, perhaps have them splash around in the pond to tire them out before lunch. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty and cold by the time you woke up, which didn’t surprise you.

The lack of boisterous noise coming from the children is what tipped you off.

You remain calm as your lady’s maid helps you dress for the day, swapping out your gowns for a nice riding outfit.

“Lily, where are the children?” you query the young girl.

“Mr. Shelby arranged for them to spend the day with Ada, madam. She collected them this morning.”

You rock your jaw, vexation settling into your features. He secluded you, tapered off the one distraction you wouldn’t be able to use against him.

“Thank you, Lily. Where is Mr. Shelby?”

“He’s awaiting you in the dining hall for breakfast.”

Nodding, you finish your last little bit of preparations before seeking out your husband.

Thomas was a sight to behold. He sat in the chair facing away from the window, the morning glow casting a hazy aura around him. He held the newspaper in front of him with rigidness, eyes covered with his spectacles, long eyelashes gracing his cheeks whenever he looked down or blinked.

You don’t bother clearing your throat, knowing your husband was programmed with an innate capability of being able to detect when he was no longer alone. He huffs out an exhale, flipping the pages of the paper.

Frances pulls your seat out for you and you thank her, watching as she pours you a cup of coffee.

“Shall I crack your egg for you?”

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I actually find that I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Shall I ask the cook to prepare something different for you? Perhaps you’d like some fresh fruit? We just received some apples.” Frances tries again.

You give a sympathetic smile to the older woman, always grateful for her thoughtfulness and warmth. “I’ll just have some water.”

Frances pours you a hefty glass, bowing slightly as she exits the room.

You take a quaint sip from the glass as Tommy folds the paper, tucking it underneath his plate.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? The toast was quite delicious.”

“You sent the children away without telling me.” You place the glass carefully on the table, using the condensation to wet your neck.

“I am their father, I can make decisions about where they go.” Tommy hums, rolling his neck to finally get a look at you. Even on low hours of sleep and no makeup, you were a natural beauty. You fixed your hair up in a way that he especially liked, the pins keeping it held firmly in an ornate fashion.

“You don’t send my children anywhere without me knowing about it.” You bite back coolly.

“Well,” He claps his hands together. “I figured we could use a day to ourselves. Frances has made us a nice picnic near the edge of the garden, our horses have been saddled and for the ultimate surprise, we’ll be shooting pheasants for dinner.”

You force out a grin, swallowing down the lump that was squirming its way up your throat. “What a perfect day.”

The picnic was gorgeous and you hated the way you tore into your food after skipping breakfast. Tommy made little conversation and you obliged him for the time being, willing yourself not to disassociate.

He was setting you up. While you remained neutral about the usage of guns and their place in the house, you always refused to shoot one if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Tommy had given you one for protection and you kept it locked in a box, stored in the back of your wardrobe. The last thing you wanted was for the kids to find it.

Maurice, a stablehand, was already stationed near the edge of the forestline, a trap full of pheasants at his disposal. Tommy hands you a shotgun and the both of you prepare them for the task. He’s the first one to shoot and achieves a few hits, your duo of foxhounds sprinting to capture them.

You check over your gun once more, ensuring that it wouldn’t backfire and injure your shoulder.

“I’ll take four.” You tell Maruice and he gawks at you before straightening his posture.

“Are you sure, ma’am?”

Raising a single eyebrow was enough to get the young man to hush, nodding his head that he understood. “Be quick when handing me the other gun.”

“On your signal.”

You raise your weapon upwards, relaxing in your stance and emitting a low release of breath.

“Pull.”

The flapping of wings alerts your senses. Watching them disperse into the sky, you aim your gun a few paces ahead, striking two birds instantly. Rapidly swapping out guns, you anchor yourself a bit before plucking off the remaining two. The dogs are happy as they trot to gather the rest of the birds.

Maurice seeks to hide his amusement but fails. “Great fucking shot, Mrs. Shelby!”

“Thank you, Maurice. Hang two of them for dinner, please.”

You don’t say another word as you set off for the stream nearby, Tommy close behind.

You strip off your shoes and socks, placing your slightly blistered feet into the running waters. Tommy takes a seat beside you, lighting a cigarette.

“Are we going to talk or keep playing the silent game?”

“You’re the one who makes speeches.”

Tommy chuckles. “You’re a great shot.”

“I know.”

“I just want to understand how a woman such as yourself swore of guns but managed to take on six armed men with the precision and execution of someone who enlisted.”

You snap your head over. “What, so you think I’m a spy now, huh? Is that it? A Soviet spy sent to crush Thomas Shelby and his empire from within? Give me a fucking break.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you-”

“But you are! That’s what this is, isn’t it? A fight that has gone on for far too long.”

Tommy goes silent, like he always does. At this point the both of you realize that you were no longer referring to the conversation at hand but what was left unsaid in between the lines. You let yourself wallow in the anger for just a few more moments before exhaling deeply.

Absent-mindedly, you pick at the tiny blades of grass, ripping and ripping until they scatter out of your hands like confetti.

“I was framed,” you start. Tommy perks up at the sound, lighting a cigarette. He attempts to pass it to you but you refuse it. “I was young, barely a teen. An orphan.”

“The New Prospects Orphanage in the Netherlands.” Tommy comments and you nod your head.

“On Wednesdays, we would take walks around the city so we could be shown what proper ladies were like. There was a girl, Claire, who would sometimes sneak in our group and walk with us. We were friends. The older girls were vile and teased her. Pushed her down a flight of stairs. She cracked her skull.”

You stop at the mention of your old friend, rushed memories of that fateful day speeding through your mind at the speed of light. You remember the blood slowly leaking out from behind her head, staining the white hair bow she wore.

“I reached out to try and grab her, if anything we would’ve fallen together but she slipped right through my grasp. I was blamed and whilst they were discussing what to do with the police, I took off.”

You look at Tommy, who was already eyeing you with precision. “I apparently made some very bad fucking enemies that day.”

He began putting pieces together mentally, filling in the gaps of his research. From what he had gathered, you were at an orphanage until you were twelve, moved to the States until you were eighteen before making your way back to London. You remained lowkey, worked jobs mostly as a secretary and lived a bland existence until he met you a few years after being back from France.

You steal his cigarette, sucking on the stick like it was the last one on earth.

“Claire came from a notable family within the Netherlands. Her brother wouldn’t stop until he saw my head on a stick. They sent people after me.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out to wet his lips briefly. “Eli Delbeke.”

“Eli Delbeke.” you repeat.

He was one of the six bodies Tommy discovered after the carnage. He knew who you were, the woman you tried to hide behind. He hunted you until he cornered you in your own house, threatened to feed your children to his dogs. Eli had sent nearly every thug, gangsta, and man for hire after you. You managed to defeat them all.

You didn't like how easy it was for you to snap someones neck, hated the way blood circled the drain during a shower.

“He knew you were going to be alone.” Tommy concludes. “He knew about the rally.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there shouldn’t be any more of them alive. I survived the onslaught. And you want to know what lesson he could’ve learned?”

You put out the cigarette beside you, coughing. “Grief isn’t good for business.”

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to blink. The foundation was in full swing at its grand opening, members of high society swarming all around you. You wouldn’t lie and say you were thrilled to be there but this was Tommy’s moment and as his wife, you had to play your part.

Photographs were taken and you smiled politely, Alice in your arms and Oliver hiding behind your leg. The boy was utterly shy and you hated placing him in situations like this. Balancing Alice on your hip, you shoot an apologetic look at Tommy and the others, awaiting a photo op.

You brush back Oliver’s hair, trying to coax him forward. “Come on, Oli. It’s ok! We’ll smile very quickly for a photo and then we can go wait outside for daddy.”

Tommy grows impatient and grabs Oliver, taking him by surprise. He begins to sob and thrashes around in Tommy’s hold.

“Shelby family, look this way!” The photographer instructs and you all oblige. The flash goes off and the crowd around begins to disperse. A woman in a maid outfit reaches for Oliver and Tommy hands him off willingly, eager to get away from the clamoring of chatty women. You were busy adjusting Alice’s dress, setting her back down on the ground.

You look around for Oliver, noticing you couldn’t hear his cries anymore.

“Oliver?” you call out to no avail. “Oli?”

Clutching Alice’s hand, you ask around the room if anyone has seen a little boy. All people shake their heads, your panic grows more by the minute.

Polly senses your agitation. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“It’s Oliver. We just took a photo, I sat Alice down but when I looked up, he was gone.”

Polly gives you a look you know too well and your face drops. “Oh, Poll-”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Polly alerts other members of the family, sending them in different directions. She then escorts you out into a more secluded area of the building.

Ada and John join you, all with forlorn expressions.

“Nobody has seen ‘em.” John reports, Ada backing his claim. She places a protective hand on your back, guiding you to sit on a bench.

“Let me hold her.” she says calmly and you reluctantly let go of Alice.

Arthur and Tommy march up to the family, fists balled and faces set like stones.

“He was seen being taken in a car by some woman.” Arthur shares, eyes downcast. You stand up abruptly, stepping a few paces away from everyone else. Breathing becomes a difficult task and you clutch at your chest.

The familiar sensation of rage and anguish sneaks upon you, digging its sharp claws deep into the fiber of your being.

Tommy folds himself over you in an endeavor to console you. “This is all my fault. I will fix it. Don’t you fucking worry, I will fix this. Those fucking Italian bastards will not get away with this. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

You cock your head to look at your husband, the only thing visible from beneath your hat was your red brimmed eyes. A lone tear escapes and you refuse to let any others do the same.

It was if you were possessed by the devil himself.

You straighten yourself up, sniffling quietly. “Ada, give me my child.”

Ada does as she is told and if you were being more observant, you might say that Ada feared you in that moment.

You were going to see to it that whoever took your child would die by your hands.

They weren’t going to fear you as Tommy’s wife nor as a Shelby but as a fucking mother.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #Thomas shelby x fem!reader #Thomas Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x fem!reader #fic: The Wrath of a Mother

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lesbian-in-leather · 4 months

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Let's Talk About Alastor

Hazbin Hotel is rotting my brain so it's time for me to ramble about it to no one in particular!! Obviously this post will contain a whole multitude of spoilers, so please don't look under the cut unless you're fine with that/have seen the full season

As I mentioned in the tags of this post, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about our beloved Radio Demon, especially in regards to the finale and how I think his plot could go next series, so buckle up folks, this'll be a long one

First off, let's talk about the way he fights. When he's fighting anyone, Alastor is big, and showy, and fucking deadly. We see it time and time again—he has fun when he fights, he enjoys the carnage and, most importantly, the terror he elicits from his foes. And that's why he was tasked with dealing with Adam—he's insanely powerful, and if anyone can take down the head of the exorcists, it would have to be Alastor (because obviously they didn't know Lucifer would show up to help, and Charlie hasn't fully come into her power yet, but that's another post). And he knows it! He knows he's powerful, he knows he's deadly, he knows everyone is shit-scared of him, and that's what he relies on.

And then the finale happens. He's in that final battle, and he's actually put to the test. And in terms of sheer power, for once in his afterlife he isn't the strongest in the room. He's actually outmatched, or at least on an even footing. And if he'd fought like everyone else, then maybe he would have succeeded—if he'd taken Carmilla's advice, I have no doubt that he would have won, or at least held Adam off for long enough that the others could have come and helped him. But he never stood a chance. Because he fights like an angel, and that's why he loses to one. Look at Carmilla's conversation with Vaggie:

"You leave yourself open with every swing; you fight like someone unafraid of harm" "Angels wield no shield, little armour, and fight with reckless abandon"

Remind you of anyone? Rewatch Alastor's fight with Adam—he's fighting just like he always does. He has multiple opportunities to take him out, but, like always, he chooses to play with his food. He's enjoying himself, he's riling Adam up, dancing around him, taunting him. Because at no point does he consider that he could lose this fight—he has no armour, no shield, he didn't even bring an angelic weapon! He just has his trusty radio mic (the source of his power? Perhaps... but that's a discussion for another post) that Adam breaks. And the genuine fear in his eyes, in his voice when that happens? He has no idea what to do. He never even considered this could happen. Everyone else is fighting for their lives, but he was treating this war like simple sport... until suddenly he couldn't.

And speaking of motivation, once again we can look to Carmilla's song to see why he loses when the other, objectively less powerful souls (Husk, Angel, Cherri, hell, even Nifty) succeeded. Yes, they weren't against Adam, but they were still fighting exorcists—you know, the same angels that have been decimating hell's population unchallenged for literal centuries. But they didn't die. Because they were fighting for what they truly believed in, because they had a real reason to not only fight, but to live. I saw it mentioned in this post earlier, and they make such a good point! Charlie's fighting for her dream and for her people; Vaggie's fighting for Charlie; Lucifer for his daughter; Angel, Husk, Pentious and Cherri are all fighting for their friends (something Charlie gave them, btw, but again, that's a different post). But what's Alastor fighting for? Power? Fun? To prove a goddamn point? I think he loses because even he doesn't really know why he's fighting. I mean, listen to Out For Love and tell me it doesn't apply to Alastor just as much as Vaggie:

"I see you're driven by your detestation Your every step is stoked with animus You need a different type of motivation Or there's no way that you can handle this I know you're thirstin' for vengeance, Vaggie You're out for blood But you'll only stand a chance if you're out for love"

Which would bring me onto where I think his plot will go in future seasons (should we get them), but first we need to clear a couple of things up and try to understand his character as best we can. Now here's the thing, I know a lot of people are divided on the topic of Alastor's feelings. Some people say he genuinely cares about the others, while some say he's just putting up a façade and playing the game, and that all of the supposed evidence of his feelings are actually manufactured manipulations. But I think both readings are true, and also, neither of them are.

Because I think Alastor does care about the others, to an extent. But I also think he refuses to acknowledge it, to recognise that part of himself, that he's buried those feelings so deep he doesn't even know that they can exist within him anymore. I think whoever holds his leash (Lilith? The seven year gap is a little too convenient to ignore, but at the same time, now that we know where she is, what's her motivation? Anyway, another post) pushed him towards the hotel for their own purposes, but I also don't think they're particularly checking up on him. I think his mission is to do with Charlie, but I also think he's grown genuinely attached to her over the months they've known each other. Why do I think this? I'm glad you asked!

First off, let's examine his reactions in various key moments throughout the series so far:

This first shot is the most annoyed we see him for the entirety of the song Should Have Stayed Gone, despite singing with one of his (many?) self-proclaimed rivals, Vox. Now yes, he does look moderately peeved, but I would argue that it's much less to do with Vox, and much more to do with the focus on television and his constant fear of irrelevancy (more on that later in this post). Then look at his expressions later—

Now he's enjoying himself, he has that ever-present shit-eating grin we all know and love. And, most crucially, no one else can see his expressions during this song. No one's looking at him in the first pic, and for the rest of the song he's in his radio booth, so it's safe to assume that his expressions are far less guarded than when he knows he's being observed. Why is that important? Well, let's take a look at another Alastor-heavy episode, shall we? That's right, no Alastor analysis would be complete without a delve into Dead Beat Dad, so here we go!

Right off the bat, we're shown his dislike of Lucifer. I know some people say it was all for show, but I disagree. Hear me out—Alastor's smart, no one's arguing otherwise, so why make an enemy of the literal devil just for sport? Now, let me be clear—I don't think he actually sees Charlie as a daughter-figure (at least, not consciously, and certainly not as strongly as he was making out). The thing is, he is good at reading people, and all it took was one look at Lucifer can't-wait-to-break-the-door-down Morningstar for him to realise that Charlie's affection was what mattered the most to him. However, his hatred of Lucifer was not all for show. So why did he hate him? The fact that he hadn't heard of him certainly won't have helped (again, Alastor definitely has a whole complex, we'll get to that), but his loathing started before Lucifer had even spoken to him. How do I know? Take a look at the moment when Lucifer has literally just opened the door

Look at that eye twitch. No one's looking at him. No one can see it. But the sheer, unbridled rage is so evident that he can't quite keep it from his face. And all Lucifer has done is hug his daughter. Now, assuming the two have never interacted before (Lucifer certainly doesn't seem to remember him, and Alastor doesn't act as though they've met) what reason does Alastor have to hate him? If Lilith is his master, perhaps it's on her behalf? But he doesn't seem particularly loyal to whoever holds his leash, far from it, so that leaves us with the two most logical options: either Lucifer is the one holding his leash (not impossible, but I wouldn't say it has much evidence thus far), or Alastor is genuinely opposed to him because of how he's treated Charlie. Because he does care about her, however little he'll admit it to himself.

Just to really hammer this point home, I'd like to show just some of the many other instances of Alastor being genuinely furious with Lucifer over the course of this episode—in fact, seeing as we've already talked about Should Have Stayed Gone, let's constrain ourselves to Hell's Greatest Dad for now, shall we?

All Lucifer has to do is laugh at the start of this song, and just look at Alastor's face! That's anger, or at the very least intense annoyance—with ever-smiling-Alastor, the proof is always in the eyebrows. Then we get this wonderful sequence of expressions while Lucifer begins insulting him:

Oh, and just in case you need a comparison, here's a shot of Lucifer insulting Alastor side-by-side with two different instance of Vox insulting Alastor. And some people still think Vox is his rival and he was just messing with Lucifer?

Now you may say, "Ah, but that's not a fair comparison! Alastor was clearly winning his argument with Vox, whereas he and Lucifer were on a much more even footing!" to which I would reply yes! Exactly! That's why Vox isn't anywhere close to being Alastor's rival, and also at least part of the reason Alastor cared so much when fighting with Lucifer. If winning against Lucifer was as easy as Vox, of course he'd pick that fight. But it wasn't. At the start of Hell's Greatest Dad, he's getting straight up humiliated (as those four waiter-esque pics demonstrate). And yet, he keeps fighting. Partially for pride, I'm sure, but some part of him absolutely cares about the argument he's making.

How do I know that? Well, you see, first of all we take a look at how Alastor acts when he first starts singing. As we all know, Alastor's power lies in his voice—his face was made for radio—and he's (almost) always so much more in control when he's talking, and always in control if his radio filter is in place. In fact, the stronger it is, the more he appears to be taking charge. So, when he first begins to fight back against Lucifer, he immediately puts that Cheshire-Cat-esque façade back into place, quite literally dancing around Lucifer as he does so:

And yet, his energy is so much higher than normal. He's leaping around, his usually calculated movements suddenly far more erratic and energetic than we've seen him. For example, in his first verse alone, he goes though all of this:

Not only is he using far more power, he's become so showy, his expressions are so much more unhinged than even he usually is, his pupils are near-constantly slitted, and, most importantly, take a look at his colour palette. Right at the very start it's still his classic red and black, but then—without Lucifer even interrupting—he gets so invested in convincing Charlie (and, by extension, proving himself better than Lucifer) that he switches to what I have dubbed his Powerful Palette. It only ever happens when he's demonstrating his full abilities; when he's angry at Husk, when he's fighting Adam, when he makes a new deal, and... now. Arguing with Lucifer over who's a better father to Charlie. And while usually it's in brief flashes before he returns to normal, here he stays consistently in his greens and pinks, for a good majority of the song. You don't think that means he really cares, even just a little bit?

And when Lucifer has the gall to interrupt him with his golden fiddle, and just look at Alastor then;

Look at his face, look at his posture. Alastor, notorious for waving his arms around in grand, swooping gestures, is standing there, gritting his fucking teeth, fists clenched, arms folded at what must be an uncomfortable angle. The only time he moves is to concede a tiny step so he can drop a fucking piano on the literal devil.

Now this bit is so interesting, because he, very briefly, seems to believe that he's won, or is at least winning. And even then, he doesn't relax, he doesn't return to his normal colour palette or even his normal expression. He's still furious, you can see it—with Vox, it was a game. This is personal, and then when Lucifer is actually not only fine but still fighting, now playing a new instrument, (literally playing the devil's chord) to deliberately ruin Alastor's melody? Oh that's pure rage.

This first expression is his immediate reaction to it and, perhaps even better, the other two are him trying to contain it. Because he knows he can be seen, but he physically can't look any more collected than that; he can't control his expressions during this song. If he could, he would, because it would irritate Lucifer all the more, and he's more than smart enough to realise that. But neither of them can control themselves here, because both of them really, genuinely, care.

Then he physically places himself in between Charlie and her father, not only pushing him out of the way, but then going so far as to physically drop him out of frame with a gesture reminiscent of a Roman Emperor as he reinstates his claim over Charlie—again, feeding into his need to be relevant and powerful (we're getting to that part, I promise). But isn't it interesting that this time, he didn't even use his power? He pushed Lucifer with his bare hands, not bothering with the intimidating shadows or powerplays, because for once it wasn't about that. For once he wasn't focusing on the person he was fighting, but on the person he was fighting for.

Now this exchange is so interesting. Because Alastor misses a really good opportunity to get Charlie on his side, and I think he misses it purely because he (almost certainly without realising it) gets actually, genuinely offended on behalf of his friends. Because when Lucifer calls the others losers, he's insulting Charlie's family. Knowingly and callously! Right in front of them! And if Alastor was in his right mind, he would have absolutely pointed it out with a fake gasp and a shit-eating grin. But look at the way he reacts to Lucifer's interruption—the narrowed eyes, the tensing of his shoulders, the flexed wrists and clenched hands. That's genuine anger; it's too immediate and out of character to be anything else. Because he didn't intentionally goad Lucifer into saying that. And instead of taking advantage of the opportunity, he responds by, very childishly, asking Lucifer to "butt out" of his song. Because they were Charlie's family first, and he may feign indifference, but he included himself among them for a goddamn reason, and how dare Lucifer insult them like that?

And again, compare how he's moving and standing to how he was in Should Have Stayed Gone. In this gif (and Hell's Greatest Dad as a whole, but let's focus on this bit right now) he's glaring, his shoulders are hunched—he tries for his usual nonchalance by pushing Lucifer out of frame with a swing of his hips, but then is immediately betrayed by his expression, and his reaction the second Lucifer comes back at him. Meanwhile, in Should Have Stayed Gone, this is how he acts while taunting Vox:

He's so much more relaxed, he's visibly having fun, and Vox is the one bending himself out of shape to try and get Alastor's attention win the argument. Another interesting parallel between him and Vox in these numbers is when Vox is clearly losing towards the end of his part in Should Have Stayed Gone, compared to Alastor's first verse in Hell's Greatest Dad.

I mean, these frames are just a little too similar, don't you think? Both of them desperately trying to grab the attention of the subject of the song, duplicating themselves and leaning over the borders to try and be noticed... oh Alastor.

And now, finally, we get onto the bit that I've been promising for this entire post: Alastor's inferiority complex. The thing is, I think I've worked him out (at least, to an extent). We've seen time and again that he hates the idea of being irrelevant—the fact he doesn't like any technology beyond radio (leading to the real reason for his annoyance in that very first picture I used, when he sees everyone gathered around Vox's screens); his reaction when Carmine said she had not in fact, been wondering where he was; his reaction when Lucifer says he's never heard of him; the way he rushes to "remind people why he's here" at the end of Dead Beat Dad, and the fact that when he first arrived he took out all of the overlords who dared to dismiss his power, just to name a few. His fatal flaw is clearly pride—he wants people to know him, he needs to be relevant or he doesn't know who he is.

And I think that's the real reason he hates Lucifer. Because, father-figure or not, the two of them do represent the same position in Charlie's life. But why would she need help from a human soul (albeit an insanely powerful one) when she has a literal angel around to do whatever she wants? Yes, Alastor is powerful, but if Lucifer is back in the picture... well, we all saw it in the finale. Alastor was quite literally fighting for his life, and barely escaped with it, while Lucifer was dancing circles around Adam, shapeshifting, taunting, joking, and all the while he was periodically rescuing Charlie too. His attention wasn't even entirely focused on the battle, and he wasn't even really trying to hurt Adam until the end when shit got personal.

And I also think that's why Alastor got so scared. Because he almost died. As I said right at the start, he fought like an angel. He didn't even consider getting hurt as an option. And now he's having a crisi of mortality, and being powerful and scared is a dangerous combination. So where will his story go from here?

Well, from the fact that he's still at the hotel, I think that's evidence enough that he's being forced to stay with Charlie—despite all the very real evidence we have that he does genuinely care about her (I mean, they way he talks about shaping her to Rosie? The gentle looks, the fact he loaned her his mic? Don't forget how he looked when that got broken, it's clearly so important to him, and he gave it to her twice. Not to mention the whole 'wanting to be relevant in her life' thing that I've been going on about for like, half of this post. Remember what Rosie said about words being easy, but actions are hard? Yeah, he says he doesn't care, but... anyway). So, he's being forced to stay while he looks for an out in his contract with someone. But where does that leave him in the wider story? Well, I do think he'll eventually turn on Charlie and the rest of the gang, but I also think that it'll be temporary. Assuming the crew gets as many seasons as they want to tell the full story (never a guarantee, but here's to hoping) then I think he'll probably stay for a while next season but work against them behind the scenes, then make an open move against them, then be gone for a while, then start his long and arduous journey back into everyone's good graces.

Obviously his deal with Charlie will come into play, and I think he'll probably use it as leverage to get out of his deal. "I'll make Charlie do what you want—without hurting her, or making her hurt anyone else—and I get to be free from this bullshit" kinda thing. I also think it'll be very interesting when that happens, because I have a theory on what he meant by the deal having "clipped his wings"—I don't think he can take anyone's soul anymore. Think about it; we've only seen him even attempt two deals this season, and not even once has he attempted to add a soul to his supposedly ever-growing collection. It would certainly clip an overlord's wings to not be able to amass any more underlings—especially since it seems that the more souls someone owns, the more powerful they are, not just in terms of owning other people, but in actual, tangible power. So I think he'll eventually get out of his deal, and then he'll be free and he'll go utterly off the rails... for a while. But it won't be as fun anymore. Husk and Nifty will have been forced to turn against their friends, and Alastor won't care what they think, because why would he?

Except suddenly he does. Husk's silences suddenly feel a lot more pointed, and Nifty refuses to even look at him, and suddenly he feels something he hasn't felt in a very long time, or perhaps he's never felt it at all. He feels guilt. Regret. He wants friends again, because they were loud and annoying and they didn't respect him but... he'll realise that his affection for them wasn't all for show, not even by half. Because he almost died for them. And even when he's talking about it, scoffing at his own perceived weakness... he calls them his friends.

And that's when the real fun will begin, because the Radio Demon On A Mission will be a force to behold, and god help anyone who gets in his way, because once he figures out the love he's fighting for... oh, he'll be unstoppable.

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forestshadow-wolf · 8 months

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Thinking about your post about soapghost settling their arguments by fighting it out: one day they have an argument about something serious, some sort of major life decision (retirement, marriage, kids, something like that and really the only reason its an argument is because one of them is scared shitless by the idea) and it ends up on the mats with them yelling arguments about why it is/isn't a good idea until one of them just stares at their partner who is yelling passionately about the life they could have together and just... let's himself get pinned.

👀 did I do good?

thankyou for this ask !!!! this actually rots my frickin' brain and I needed an excuse to write more for this using this ask to force the arguments post into my girl-dad au, but doesn't have to be read that way.

P.s. this is a long one. Imma put ot under the cut

I imagine, way way before they retired, they had married and long-since agreed to retire together.

they'd fought about retiring. Ghost didn't mind the idea of it, was waiting for it to happen actually. but soap, he had quite a few hang-ups about it. see, he'd joined the army at an early age, as soon as he was legal, which means he doesn't really have any civilian life experience. what if he's not ready, what is it doesn't work for him, what if he can't do it, what if, what if, what if...

they argued, it was one of the first BIG arguments they'd ever had. but it's fine, they had a system. they get one day to resolve it with words, if they can't solve it, they take it to the mats. the logic is if you really believe in your argument, then you'll fight defend it adequately.

it was evident when they ended up on the mats on the second day that they hadn't resolved it. There was a mutual apoken agreement that they don'ttake the argumentoff the mats once it entered. they traded blows just as frequently as they traded arguments.

hours later they were panting and exhausted, and still hadn't come to an agreement, and nor had either of them won. so for the first time ever, they had to put the argument on pause. the put it aside for the night, cleaned up, had dinner, and fell asleep in each other's arms. the next morning they were back on the mats.

there was some point, when they were locked shoulder to shoulder, sweat making their skin stick together, and they were too out of breath to hiss arguments at each other. there was a moment where soap could hear Ghost's breath come out shaky with exertion, but still he pushed harder. soap realized that this, Simon retiring with his Johnny, was really truly important to Ghost.

it's not like he didn't know that, but still, the revelation almost makes him falter. suddenly it's like every argument he made against it, became irrelevant. he breaks away from Ghost's hold, panting. in a brash decision he dives for Ghost's legs, he knows what follows will be a grab around his waist just before his back slams into the mat. the sound that reverberates through the heated, sweaty air is, however, surprisingly loud. he lays there, gasping for the breath that got knocked out of him, and lets Ghost pin him down.

After soap finally agreed to retire with Ghost one day, he starts thinking about it. Really thinking. About how he grew up in a large family, and even in the military his life has been revolving around moving parts and people. He thinks maybe he might want a kid or two, not as many as his parents, but one or two.

Ghost says no immediately after soap brings it up.

He's afraid he'll do a bad job, that he'll mess it up. Or even worse; become his father. I mean, how is he supposed to be a good dad of he doesn't even know what that means! Christ! He's just gonna mess them up! He's not cut out to be a father. All he's know is death and hurt. How is that supposed to translate into something good.

This one. This argument lasted even longer than the one about them retiring. This one lasted almost an entire week.

And again like last time they got one day, before they hit the mats. That one day, was the single most tense day on base. Neither soap nor ghost could speak to eachother without circling back to the argument at hand. And of course nobody was willing to break up the fight, lest they get pulled into it.

For the six days after that, they shed their responsibilities, and hit the mats. And it was viscous. Neither held back. They were evenly matched. One fueled by fear, and the other; hope or love, choose your pick.

Even still there was an understanding that once the argument entered the mats, it stayed there when they left, to be picked back up when they came back.

They were sent on one mission during that time, on the sixth day after they hit the mats. It was supposed to last to be easy, would take them less than a day. Of course something went wrong, because something always goes wrong. They both almost died, but through some ruck of luck they got out barely scathed.

The put their gear away, ate, and hit the mats again; despite how tired they were. And Ghost, the moment that ge stepped back onto the mat again, he knew. He knew that he'd do anything for soap. They'd almost died today. But they didn't. Infact, they barely even had any scratches on them.

But still he couldn't fight that instinct to fight, to push back. And still soap was smiling that damned smile. He was so sure of himself, so sure of that he could get ghost to say yes.

And rightfully so. Because one moment he was lifting soap to throw him over his shoulder, and the next he was the one on the ground, soap having used his own momentum to pull his legs out from under him.

And he could have fought it, his mind screamed at him to. But soap was still grinning, and he knew that there was no way he'd be winning.

Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps he could learn to be not like his father. Perhaps he could learn to be a dad. Perhaps there was a chance, with soap by his side, showing him how, that he would ruin the child or children that they got. Perhaps soap could show him how to not be like his father.

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raffe156 · 1 year

Text

Chain Mail and Silk

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summary - Little fluff drabble for the Knights AU

A/N - The brain rot I have for this AU is crazy haha I wrote this today while nursing a hangover from being out very late last night so please enjoy!

I really appreciate all the recent feedback and asks! Please keep em coming! Especially to the anon that started this DLC 🤣

Warnings - slight angst, forbidden love? Language, fluff, Age gap Relationship, Price (40) Tank, (25) she defo should be married off by that age haha

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank & Luke

Tags: @shuttlelauncher81 @fanficandartgal @deadbranch @soapyghost @mostannoyingbillioner @chb-7

“My lady, please let me finish it off for you, your fingers look sore…” Cece pleaded with you.

“No…it’s quite alright…ow…I want to do it myself”

A few more stitches an you were finished, your initials just legible in gold thread, it wasn’t perfect but it would do. You looked at Cece triumphantly.

“Very nice mlady”

“Let’s just hope he actually does ask for my favour after all that”

********

Price watched as you took your seat in the royal box, your father being an advisor to the king allowed for that privilege. He had donned his best armour and rode out onto the field, his heart pounding with anticipation. The slight scandal of him asking for your favour was not lost on him. He was the knight commander his mind was meant to be focused on battle plans and strategies, not wooing a lady of the court 15 years younger than him.

Your eyes fixed on him as he rode towards you. You had convinced yourself he wasn’t going to ask you and ask one of the other women instead, but there he was just below you with that eye crinkling smile that made your heart flutter.

“My lady, may I ask for your favour? Such a token would be an honour to an old knight commander such as myself” there were a few mumbles as you leant forward.

“Of course Sir Price” you handed him your handkerchief his hand holding on to yours for a few seconds longer than needed. As you slowly withdrew your hand Price looked down at the silk handkerchief, your initials embroidered in gold thread on the corner, just under the last stitch a tiny dark spot, you must of pricked your finger.

“Thank you my lady, I shall keep it next to my heart for it shall protect me better than any chain mail” he bowed his head as he folded it up tucking it under his breast plate. You bowed your head in return his kind words making your cheeks flush. The mumbling started up again, but you didn’t care, The knight commander had asked for your favour.

*******

The day was long and grueling, but Price fought with all his strength and skill. And in the end, he emerged victorious, having unhorsed all his opponents and won the tournament. Even at his age his level an skill never let him down even against men half his age.

As he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow, he felt a surge of pride and joy at the sight of you stood applauding his final victory your eyes wide with excitement. He hoped Garrick had got the message to Cece that he wanted to meet with you later that night in the eastern tower.

*******

As the whole castle slept you creeped through the dark corridors all the way to the eastern tower a tall candle lighting your way. You climbed the steep stone steps to the top opening the door to the small room, you thought maybe Price had changed his mind as it was empty but then from the shadows he appeared his dark blue eyes as if light from behind greeted you from the dark.

“I thought you’d changed your mind” you placed your candle on a near by dresser.

“Never…” he closed the distance between you in one stride, his arms wrapping around you pulling you back tight to his chest his face buried in your hair.

“You did well today, I heard the king singing your praises and you made a lot of men very rich by the way” you rested your hand on the back of his head.

“I don’t care about making other men rich and I’d take you singing my praises over the king any day” he mumbled the words into your hair.

“Don’t let the king hear you say that…or my father for that matter…he still wants me married off to sir Luke the one with the highland cows” Your words made Price step back he hated when you spoke of your fathers numerous attempts at marrying you to the highest bidder, it caused his heart to ache and blood to boil.

“Sir Luke can gladly fuck off…” Price scowled at even the repetition of the name.

“Never mind all that…..what was it you wanted to show me?” There was that child like excitement in your eyes again, your hands clasped together tight.

“Sit down” he guided you to sit in the small seat by the candle light, the glow illuminated your face and it almost caused his heart to cease, you were the most beautiful creature he had ever had the grace to lay eyes upon and here you were entertaining an old fool of a man.

Price handed you a small velvet box. Inside was his gold signet ring, his family crest engraved on the front.

“I know this is not nearly as beautiful as your handkerchief," he said, "But I hope you'll wear it in some form as a symbol of my love for you” as he spoke you took the ring from the box and slipped it on to your ring finger holding your hand up to admire how it looked in the candle light, you smiled at him, your best smile only reserved for him, it made his heart pang back to life in his chest.

“It looks rather nice on that finger doesn’t it?” Your smile turned to a grin. Price gave you a small smile, he would love nothing more than to slip a wedding band onto your finger, fully an finally claiming you as his an him yours, for the whole kingdom to see, but that was a new kind of war he hadn’t yet planned a strategy for, but for now he simply agreed with you.

“It does my love…it truly does” he held your hand up kissing it just below where the ring sat.

******

You had both been talking for hours entangled on the old ornate lounger as the tall candle was now just a wick fighting to stay alight.

“You better get back to your chambers mlady…I’m sure Cece will be thinking I’ve had my wicked way with you…” Price nuzzled his face into your neck his beard tickling you.

“I’m sure she will be climbing the walls, that or hunting poor Garrick down!” You laughed at the thought as you made you way to the door Garrick was a highly decorated knight and had fought in many battles but he was terrified of little Cece.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You looked back at him.

“I’ll make sure to find you, maybe I’ll escort you on you afternoon ride? Cece permitting” He bowed his head taking your hand in his again to kiss it. You longed for his kisses on other parts of your body. Parts that made your skin run hot an heart to beat loud like a drum.

“I’d very much like that…” you made your way down the steep steps the cold wall guiding you down.

“Good night mlady” he bowed his head once more. This parting ways was always bittersweet as now you had to return to your respective roles only offering small glances an secret smiles across crowded rooms. Price watched as you made your way back to your chambers the glow from the moon lighting your way. Though it pained him, he knew you would hold his token of love close to your heart an he yours.

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thithesandofferings · 4 months

Text

Title: The Be-comings of Ardor

Summary: You win the Demon Kure Raian as a prize. Now its up to you to get you to acknowledge him.

Pairing: Raian x Reader

AN: To be very honest, I just wanted something to write. Based of the excerpt from here . I wanted to write a slow burn Raian x Reader but...i didnt know the plot so uhm...you get him as a demon... Also this fandom isnt as big so really 8 people could read it and id be fine.

Tags: Descriptions of violence. Slow...slow burn. Eventual smut. Multi-chaptered. Nothing too crazy. I havent decided if I wanted to get any crazier lol. Honestly this is just an excuse to learn how to write descriptively so please bare with me.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

You are drenched when you are told about your prize . You don't have time to dwell on past lives sticking and caving into your skin. Becoming an uninvited home in your nails. Teeth aching from the minute grinding of bone. Gums stained sticky with blood that isn't yours. Acrid air pours through your lashes as you try to blink through the chaos staining the marrow of your skull. There is an in-depth ignorance when you stand on your enemies. Your hunger docile only by the swaths of meat you have taken. Pealing and rotting underneath your tongue. You can taste their rage and despair. It feels like condemnation.

The Kure family is filled with demons. Gifting you a malevolent spirit for your victorious slaughter is an inconsequential choice. An ancestor long since passed. Has been alive since the world had begun to form. You do not dwell much on it. Empty... Distant and unsure of who you are at the present. Wondering if the sands at your feet have packed your soul away too.

They tell you with unsteady hands and sympathetic looks that "no one has ever been able to handle him properly." Glee tugs at simpered lips when they whisper that you will surely die if you cannot handle it.

It. Primordial. Eldritch almost in nature. The demon has ruthlessly taken countless. Sharpening its tongue with hollowed bones for the sake of good weather. They produce photos of him. The clans black eyes shimmer with thoughts of humiliation and desire to ruin when they show you their past relative. He's a God in their roving eyes. To finally ascend is a gift to them. You are driven by an instinctual tug to move when you do see the creature. He was a beast even in his former life. Hulking mass with a propensity to maim and kill.

Contempt licks up the path of your skin at the thought of fearing him. You are greeted immediately with an unbecoming emotion that impales you. Greed. A snarling voice unlike your own, claws through your numbing brain. He is yours. Your honor cannot be tampered when you think about the battles you fought and won to earn him. A cruel heat scatters your skin and you think briefly that it may be possession. You shrug it off as an afterthought.

You have always known that gluttony and greed ring soundly in your blood. Now is not the time to dwell on ideas and dreams.

The grim faces of men circle you in the centerfold to perform the ritual, bringing the archaic demon. You have killed enough men to honor its terms. The air is stale with apprehension and slighted fear. You have to prove that you're worthy, even after all the lives strayed across the sand. If you are not, then your life- and the men around you, will end.

You've never been much afraid of death.

The whispers bring forth laden wind. Wet and dense, petrichor aching to dig its teeth into your skin. There is an unnatural silence once the mutters of ancient tongue cease. Crickets noises snuffed out with the unease of the earth as it waits.

Your body knows the moment he is there. The heat almost searing at the back of your neck when he stands behind you. His massive frame slicing through the permeable silence as you hear the shuffling of the men almost forgotten. Your eyes are closed and yet you can still almost taste the ephemeral life that is behind you. The age weighs heavy on your bones. Ancient. Like they said. Inhuman in a way that makes you think that your future is just to be leftovers for him. His frame claws at you. Shadows peeling across your skin, scalding and feverish, beckoning you to turn around.

You are not one to back down from a challenge.

He takes the form of a human. Flinty, barely holding his power into the meat suit he prostrates himself in. He's the biggest thing you have ever seen in your life. Muscles fight for space, veins bulge and quake proudly. His strength carries him as he strides towards you in slow, decadents steps. Hulking in mass. He is a monster. Teeth sharpened with sharpened glee. Lips spread too wide for it to be comfortable. Skin peeling on the corners, blood tunneling to the front. There is madness in the poisoned whites of his eyes. Black ink devouring you, crumbling your resolve when you look at him. They're like nothing you've ever seen before. Archaic, unnatural- predatory when he accesses you. An ancestral look you know all too well, the look of suddenly finding prey. Gravity finds a way into the black holes that suffocates his gaze. It makes your knees tremble. You are not ready to discuss why it is not fear that echoes and tracks the shivers in your hands.

He is so close that you smell him. Ashen and bloodied earth clog your senses and you have to quickly blink away the tears from the strength of it. It mellows your brain, cleaning the abject cobwebs littered across.

You're distracted enough that you cant run from the grip he has on your wrist. Pinching and crunching the already bruised flesh, you know he is assessing you. His stare burning and muted, you feel like an insect.

His manic gaze suddenly cools, air becoming increasingly stale and scarce. He lets go off your wrist, throws it more like, and begins to walk toward the people you had briefly forgotten existed.

"Raian, we are so glad that-" There is a choked and horrid crack as you hear the mans body falls listlessly to the ground.

"Shut up and find me something to eat before I decide its going to be you." There is a stalled millisecond of silence before the group shuffles away with their ancestor in front.

The one who never looks back at you again.

Your so called prize no longer even acknowledges you.

The ache of death and fear permeates your bones. Muted until now, it is time for you to go home. A small smile cracking the edge of your lips.

#raian x reader #kengan ashura #kengan omega #kure raian #raian kure #thithesandofferings

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trickster-jpeg · 8 days

Text

I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die.

Summary: A Finnick Odair character study type piece. Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak.

Warnings: Typical canon typical Finnick backstory is implied (underage forced prostitution/abuse, etc).

Word Count: 1307 It's on AO3 -> Here

It had been weeks since the arena. Since it all went to shit. It had been weeks since Mags had been murdered by the Capitol in that glorified snow globe shaped rat trap, the woman that was a second mother to him from the moment he entered the games at fourteen as her mentee. It had been weeks since they’d captured Johanna from the arena. Weeks since they’d hijacked Peeta as well. It had been weeks since that autarch of a president had released the order to abduct Annie from their shared house by the coast. It had been weeks, and he was still sat in the medbay in District 13 tying knots with a length of rope that was shorter than his forearm because the nurses were worried he’d jump at the chance to hang himself should it be any longer. He’d nearly tried when he’d been told about Annie’s abduction. And for the first time in his life he wished for nothing more than for her to be dead.

Finnick had hoped and prayed to any God that was listening that his dear, beloved Annie was as dead as Mags, because death was far kinder, far more merciful, than the things that Snow would do to her. The Hunger Games had already consumed her. Borderline destroyed her. She had fought every single day to get her feet back on solid ground since then, and Finnick was in awe of her because of it. But being held captive by them? He didn’t know how long she would be able to last. He refused to give up on her, if there was even a chance that she was alive he would be on the frontlines to get her out. If she wasn’t, all he could do was hope that it was a quick and painless death.

Finnick wished he could be selfish enough to go through with killing himself. That he could do what so many other people did once they’d hit what looked like rock bottom. To take just one more step off of the cliffs and tumble into the crashing waves below, like a stone thrown into a lake just to disturb the water. But Finnick? When he first hit rock bottom, he’d just been handed a pickaxe and told to dig by the man that made sure he’d be permanently chipped and chiselled away at into a perfectly sculpted statue for every Capitol tourist to touch and marvel over. Just another attraction to satiate their constant addiction for more. To quell the consuming itch by grasping at whatever they could get their perfectly manicured hands on.

Artwork was all he’d ever been to them since he’d won his games. They saw him as a priceless artefact but he could feel like nothing but a poorly constructed hand puppet. A caricature. The people painted his portrait full of lust and desire; the masterpiece of a boy that was barely fifteen, destined to be sought after and craved like some forbidden fruit that was just barely ripe for the picking.

And when they declared him ripe enough, they tried to swallow him whole.

As soon as his ornate frame had been taken down from behind the red velvet barrier, he’d been auctioned up to the highest bidder for their own private displays. To brag their winnings at the claimed Victor and display him in their homes to those who knew how to handle the canvas without causing permanent damage to the paint. They could place him anywhere in the house and he’d be the central talking point. The feature that brought the room together and grabbed the attention of everyone that laid their greedy eyes on him. A carefully constructed centre piece at the heart of the banquet.

Finnick’s purpose was to be their starter, main course, and dessert. They pulled him into pieces starting with the entrées and worked their way through the menu so long as it meant they could taste him on their tongues for a split-second more. Carved up and torn apart. Meat falling straight off the bone with a single bite. He melted in their mouth like the most sought after cuts of steak. They bit into his skin and lavished in the blood that seeped from his veins, so perfect it refused to stain their too-white teeth a darkened crimson because he couldn’t mark them the way that they marked him.

Such a pedigree lapdog passed from one owner to another, well behaved enough to thank every single one of them for fixing their own jewelled collar around his neck. Only the best for their rented pet. To flaunt their wealth and say the words to have him lapping at their feet and performing tricks for a 'treat'. Tugging at his collar if his step faltered from their side, even just for a moment.

Finnick always felt his collar being tugged and tightened. The material always wrapped firmly around his throat. There was barely ever enough room for it to expand and give way with each inhale. The chafing grip rubbing at his skin fixed as a reminder that the hands of Snow would forever be frozen and wrapped around it. That all it took was one wrong move for the man to crush his windpipe like a crumpled piece of paper, useless after the pencil marked scribbles could no longer be erased. There was no fixing that. No fixing him.

He didn’t want to be fixed if it meant he could keep her safe though. The whole world could take his body, mind, and soul if it meant that Annie could be free from their grasp. They could string him up by his hands and feet, skin him alive, pull his nails and teeth. They could throw him back into that arena day in and day out if it meant that Annie could continue to recover soundly in District 4 for the remainder of her days.

When he’d been picked up from the arena he thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been given the chance to turn himself into someone he could live with. Someone he could look at in the mirror and identify with. Or just recognise. That he could be the person he saw in the salty reflection of rockpools crouched beside Annie. That he could live as the man he was, not the spectacle the people saw him as.

But as soon as Finnick had stepped foot into the stale charnel house of District 13, as soon as he’d been forced into the presence of Alma Coin, he knew that this life would be no different for him.

Just another four letters. Just another last name with four letters that would continue to hold him and the collar he wore. He saw the hunger in her eyes the way he saw it in the Capitol’s people. The drive, the cruelty, the itch that had to be scratched. He saw the secrets she was hiding beneath her pearled white smile, and he saw the same ice that would bite behind it. He watched the cogs turn in her head as she catalogued each of the Victors that stepped off of the aircraft. Ways she could keep them in line. Methods that allowed her to maintain absolute control. The endless possibilities that could arise by using Annie and Johanna against him, should they ever be reunited in this life again.

Coin was going to sink her teeth into him and bleed him dry under the label of martyrdom, just as she would do to Katniss as soon as she could. The woman would stand by and use the seventeen year old for the people, just as Snow had done with Finnick, and he’d be damned if he just stood there to watch it happen.

#the hunger games #the mockingjay #finnick odair #hurt finnick odair #character study #introspection #my fic #whump #writing

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commanderfoxdeservesbetter · 2 years

Note

For the fic title ask:

Life Beneath Eternity Dwelling in the Apocalypse Curse of Honor

This is going to be in three parts so here’s the first one

Life Beneath Eternity

I would write this with Dogma dying on Umbara and becoming a ghost. He can’t move on; something is stopping him so he just follows Tup around.

Tup who is his last batchmate and who can’t fathom Dogma being gone.

Even despite Fives trying to help him move on, Tup has become more distant. Angrier. Different than the person he used to be.

Dogma can’t do much but watch. He meets Cutup, Hevy and Droidbait who has been following Fives around. When he asks for Echo, Hevy squeezes his shoulder and says, “he’s not dead yet.”

They show him where Echo is at and Dogma knows in his heart Fives wouldn’t stand to allow that unless he didn’t know.

Dogma is angry. Scared. Lonely. But he made the right choice once on Umbara before he died and he’ll do it again.

So he decides to find a way to communicate with the living world.

Droidbait says it won’t work. They tried. But they don’t know Dogma. Dogma can’t leave Tup alone, watch him become something he’s not. He needs to help. He needs to do something.

He’s unsuccessful at first, barely passing off as a cold spot or a flickering light.

But he improves. To the point where the Domino batch tries to follow his lead.

Soon, more Vod who have passed start to join Dogma, showing up when they see this young Vod who shouldn’t have sent off to war so young do the impossible.

He gets a message sent out. Tup doesn’t notice it.

Tup doesn’t notice any of his messages. But Fives does.

Fives looks into the Citadel. Fives looks into the small information about the Separatists.

Fives goes to Rex who trusts him and takes his word. The war turns into their favor.

Tup becomes crueler, ruthless. He’s quickly becoming one of the most efficient soldiers in the 501st but he’s losing his humanity.

Fives tries to talk to him but when he finds Echo, it becomes harder.

Echo survives. He gets better. He still wants to go with the Bad Batch and so Fives makes a decision and leaves with him.

Tup is alone. He has Kix and Jesse but it’s not the same.

He won’t acknowledge the messages Dogma sends.

So Dogma is forced to communicate to other Vod.

He talks to Rex and Cody, to some of the Jedi. He got freaked out when Yoda was able to see him but to have an actual conversation eased his fears.

He learned about the Coruscant Guard and helped facilitate a check in for Fox. Secrets were learned.

The blackout missions.

The leaked information.

The chips.

It all leads to a head. Dogma tries to find the Sith.

The Sith who somehow found out about the meddling little ghost. He trapped Dogma who shouted to the Vod’e that the Sith is a traitor. The Sith is an enemy. The Sith is the Chancellor.

No one could hear him.

Tup’s chip still broke.

Fives wasn’t there to tackle him, to knock some sense back into him. Dogma wasn’t there, stuck as he was in the Sith trap.

Tup was deemed a traitor. His ruthlessness didn’t help his case, nor did the campaign on Umbara where his batchmate was known to kill a Jedi. He was sentenced to death.

Dogma tries to escape, tries to do anything to warn the Vod’e. Luckily for him, many Vod were searching for him to tell him about Tup.

Dogma was the one to start the communications but it was the Domino squad who truly helped save the Republic. They find Dogma and before they could be trapped as well, Hevy distracted the Sith so Droidbait and Cutup could tell the Jedi.

The Jedi listened. The Jedi learned. The Jedi fought.

It was brutal to watch. Almost hopeless as many Jedi were unprepared for Sidious’ attacks. But they won eventually.

Anakin siding with Mace who helped him keep his focus on what’s important.

The war trickled to an end.

Tup still laid in prison, forgotten about due to the fight. He’s delirious and sick, the chip rotting in his brain.

Fives and Echo rush back home after the news went out of Tup’s action and Rex tried to find which cell he was in. Not even Commander Fox knew where the trooper was.

Dogma laid by his batchmate’s side, listening to his vod’s uneven breathing, as his hand passes through his hair, trying and failing to bring comfort.

The war is over but there is always a cost.

Dogma rests his head next to Tup and waits.

#star wars #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper tup #commander fox #commander cody #captain rex #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #this somehow went sad #I’m sorry #angst #ghosts

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just-a-random-raccoon · 7 months

Text

Day 19: The promise

Ok, it won that I do a fanfic for everyday so I guess you will get that-

Dw love writing, actually I consider myself slightly better at writing than drawing idk-

The fanfic is under the cut! Enjoy!

Jack Kennedy expected a lot of things when he took the job since he saw a purple man and magenta man could be possible, at this point he even expected the virgin working in the price corner to just kill him, but he of all things never expected to be in the Saferoom floor, in a springlocks suit, dying or nearly doing so, with a missing sister and with his boss lefting him here.

He saw Henry's smile, he asked for help and didn't got it. That sadistic fucker got away with his plan only because Jack didn't take good care of his sister.

He tried

He really did.

But things aren't how they're supposed to be it seems.

"Hey" someone say, it's he becoming crazy? Did dead finally take over him? Or it's his brain making tricks on him for giving him a little bit of hope someone will save him?

" I know you're stuck here, and I can help you get out but you need to return the favor if I do that " the voice say again, okay... This is an illusion for sure, but he has nothing to loose anymore so he will just roll with it. He didn't say a thing and keep hearing.

" I can give you life, but you will not have a soul anymore, you will have to keep moving from restaurant to restaurant, put pounds of make up in the morning, change your name plenty of times. But you have to promise to give them their happiest day, those kids who disappeared are still here, you need to promise me you will do it." He chuckle, he was becoming slowly crazy wasn't he? Sure, he will accept for "his soul", he will take the opportunity and for sure will fix the mistake.

Oh, but he needed to talk.

It cost a little but he could mutter without hesitation the words "I promise".

Next thing Jack knows is that there's a bear in front of him, he is not in the Saferoom anymore and the world is spinning around him.

Then, he blacked out.

...

The Real Fredbear really tried, he tried to save the children, but all he had done was ruined because he had put his trust I'm the wrong person.

" I SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU TO ROT IN THAT SAFEROOM" The bear said pretty angrily the man once known as Jack fought with him, that sickening plastic smile plastered on his face.

The bastard just laughed.

It was just a chuckle first, later a normal laugh, and later a twisted laugh.

"Accept it Fredbear" he said in a voice that it wasn't recognized who it belonged to. "You couldn't save them" He smiled more, knowing he already won the battle. After all, he is god. Right?

The next thing the best remembers is a blur and laughter besides of a scared voice asking "Can I walk behind you Sportsy?" In a New York accent.

#tw for mention of dead #tw also for slightly mention of blood #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #jack kennedy #jack dsaf #jack kennedy dsaf #the real fredbear #the real fredbear dsaf #dsaftober #dsaftober2023

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fingerboardrhapsodist · 1 year

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Things I have fought since the Deerclops:

1. mushroom crab 2. more corrupted things that looked like worms but may have been sentient internal organs? 3. another corrupted thing, this time a rotting brain 4. a massive skeleton that was kind of sealed inside an old guy who, when I told him I was willing to break the curse on him, caused him to like.....explode 5. one of the townsfolk who challenged me in an attempt to gauge my strength, whom I won against easily 6. one of the creepy ass dolls of the guide fell into the lava, which apparently summoned a literal WALL made of flesh, complete with many eyeballs and mouths, and also mouths on little tethers.

Also countless tiny things that were all trying to either chew on my ankles, stab me, or otherwise maim me in some way or another.

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fliphimthebird · 2 years

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History Is A Misery || Starter

“The soldiers fought in 1861... did some shit, won in... 1864? no.. 65′.” Eddie mumbles to himself while he tries to get the history course work done. But, admittedly he was growing bored. Uncle Wayne said he’d be home to help, but once again he was working another late shift at the power plant. Setting his pen down in the spine of his notebook with a sigh. “I feel like my brain is rotting out of my skull. Snack break.”

Pulling himself off the couch in the living room and making his way through the trailer to the kitchen. Upon opening the fridge, he quickly closed it at the odor of some very expired meatloaf. Swallowing the desire to vomit that bubbled up in his throat. “Nope! Not my problem. I didn’t make it. Not my problem.” Shaking his head while he opens up the cabinets above the stove. “Pancakes? Maybe.. ooh soup!” Picking up the one of several cream of tomato cans, looking at it. “Hello Mister creamy tomato, I bet if I add some spices to you, you won’t taste like pennies.”

Gathering himself a pot, he gave up on rummaging around for a can opener, using one of his pocket knives to get it open. Just as he was filling the pot up with the puree and some water, the landline rang. Reaching behind himself to grab it. “Hello, Uncle Wayne isn’t here-- Oh hey, buddy, what’s up?”

#M: HellFireClub #Stranger Things Rp #Stranger Things Open Starter

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smallestapplin · 2 years

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That shiny request reminds me of an old brain rot I had: How about a friends to lovers fic between Emmet and a shiny hunter/breeder reader? They met in the daycare and become pals despite their different breeding niches. Emmet breeds pokemon for competitive play while the reader can't tell the difference between EVs, IVs, and Eevees. One day, the reader asks Emmet to help them become a better trainer since owning shinys makes you a target for pokemon thieves. How does a romance bloom from there?

I’ve never understood those either, but I’ve always made sure my babies trained 😤 also to make my writing easier I did give reader a team.

Asks are open

You two were childhood friends. Your family ran the Pokémon day care and we’re a family of breeders, just about everyone in Anville town got their partner Pokémon from your family.

Your family was already excited at how well you had taken to the family job.

You didn’t stop until you accidentally hatched an egg that had a shiny, you were so excited to show it off to your family as a kid. Who were shocked to see a dark orange rufflet.

When you were told how rare that was you squealed in excitement and quickly bonded to the small bird, the Rufflet was attached to your hip and would scare off anyone else.

And that’s how you meant Emmet. You recognized him and his twin who’s parents stopped by to get the pleading boys a partner Pokémon.

And when he saw you had a Pokémon he wanted to battle.

“But I don’t want Pumpkin to get hurt.”

“Battle me! Your weird Rufflet against my joltik!”

“But-“

You had no choice that day as Pumpkin instantly jumped off your shoulder and stood bravely.

You won barely but that was enough for Emmet to view you as a rival.

You taught Emmet about breeding Pokémon for specific traits and he took all your information to heart.

Even as years passed he still came to you for questions until he became confident in his abilities.

He fought and caught all his teams but has a love for his yellow spider babies and soon had so many, though he bred his for more fighting based states.

You only bred for shinies. Granted you worked for your parents so any Pokémon was usually given to professors or trainers.

This is how you got your team, whom you mainly only had for companions, pumpkin evolved and you, Emmet, and Ingo screamed at how pretty the blue was.

Your team was a pretty blue Braviary, a pink Mienshao, a blue ringed Whirlipede, a dark teal duosion, and a yellow Larvesta.

Each battle you had, Emmet won.

You didn’t think much of it until you were visiting the twins in Nimbasa city, where they had to try and work as subway bosses.

You were at their house alone, unaware that someone took interest in the yellow Larvesta that you carry around like a baby.

You didn’t know they followed you to the twins home.

Not until the broke in and your screams echoed in the house, pumpkin came out of his pokeball and the large aggressive bird scared the would be thief off.

You called Emmet and explained everything.

“Hey can you teach me how to battle properly? So my Pokémon can protect themselves from something like this?”

Emmet’s heart broke at your scared tone.

“Of course! We are friends, I was going to force you to anyways, Pumpkin maybe big and intimidating but he is not very strong, we will get to work!”

Soon Emmet was teaching you how to battle, type match ups, combos, what is super effective and not effective against what.

“It’s best to give a Pokémon a variety of moves, sure Braviary is a flying type but he can learn more moves aside from flying, which can help if your opponent isn’t weak against flying type attacks.”

He gave you so much information that you’re grateful Ingo gave you several of their old books on the topics.

Emmet watched you study and practice, helping and guiding you along the way. He was there to squeal and cry with you through every evolution and seeing the off colored Pokémon.

He thinks the power blue on Reuniclus is pretty and the more tealish blue on Scolipede’s rings are to die for.

He watched you grow as a trainer and the longer he did the more he started he realized he had fallen for you.

“Emmet! Can we battle? I wanna show you how far I’ve gotten!”

He laughs at your excitement.

“Of course, but I won’t go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

And with that the battle was intense. Ingo was the mediator, who watched in awe at the explosive and flashy battle between you and his twin.

Pokémon dropping.

It was Emmet’s Archeops vs your Mienshao.

And a well timed bounce held your victory.

“I…I beat you? OH MY ARCEUS I BEAT YOU!” You cheered, quick to hug and cheer with your Mienshao who was purring happily.

Emmet was beyond happy, his joy was bright and obvious.

As if on autopilot he walked towards you.

Your smile melts his heart and he can’t help himself but to hug you. Picking you up and spinning you around.

But he started smothering your face with kisses is what caught you off guard.

“I’m so verrrry proud of you! You’ve come so far!….o-oh! Oh my-I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me!” Emmets puts you down and instantly starts apologizing.

You’re so dazed that your childhood friend turned crush was just smooching your face.

“Yeah no it’s cool-“

“I’ve just liked you for so long and it wasn’t even thinking oh Arceus I’m so sorry!”

“Emmet it’s okay, I like you too.”

“I can’t believe I-…wait what.”

He heard you was the funny part, if the look of realization over took his face before he squeals and sprints to Ingo to tell him the news.

As if Ingo hasn’t been standing there from the begging.

#you beat his ass in battle #with pretty shiny Pokémon #man is instantly in love #pokemon #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #pokemon fanfic #pokémon #pokemon fluff #pokemon emmet #pokemon emmet x reader

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sips---tea · 3 years

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Thraundil x reader // Home again

Thranduil's beloved partner had been missing since a battle at Angmar, pulling Thranduil into great grief. What happens when it is discovered you are not dead and return to your husband.

1617 words

You had been in this dark place for longer than you could record. You remember the battle at Angmar, fighting beside your husband the neverending barrage of orcs and then being distanced from him by seeing your son Legolas in danger. You thought it was won and for a second put your guard down which allowed your leg to be caught by an orc sword and for you to fall and soon lose consciousness. The last thing you saw was your husband, fighting orcs, he had not noticed, too busy fighting to save himself and Legolas from the newest wave of orcs.

You woke in this dark pit, you tried to fight the orcs who would visit you and torture you for their sick, twisted fun. You gained very little food, the orcs only keeping you alive for their humour. Soon however even the orcs stopped coming, leaving you in the dark pit to rot. You were thankful that you had little food and water which you tried to ration to the best of your ability. The thought of home kept you going, of Thranduil, your son and of the beauty of Greenwood, one day you would return.

Once again you tried the door in case somehow it was unlocked. You slump back down, it is still bolted shut. There was little you could do in this place, only think of home, scratch the walls, check your food supply. This was no life for an eleven noble, an eleven (king/Queen), one who had seen the fall of Melkor and fought in many, many wars, this capture was humiliating. You closed your eyes and sighed, you regretted everything and just wished to return, praying to the Valar to save you from the torture you were facing. They seemed to have never answered, you were still here, on a dirty floor in an unknown place.

You heard something. You closed your eyes and sighed, a bird probably, false hope. You shivered and heard the noise again. It sounded like voices? This might be your brain, going mad from isolation, however, your heart skipped a beat and you stood, bashing the door. Muffled voices, you could hardly believe your eyes, as you saw light at the cracks of the door. You stumbled back, terrified that it might be a foe and with nothing to protect yourself with, the only thing you could do was hope and pray the Valar brought you saviours. The door swung open and Gandalf stood in the entrance, his staff held high, illuminating the dark pit you had spent your days in for the first time. Your heart rose and you stood, blinded by the light of the staff. Gandalf's eyes were wide in shock.

"My dear (y/n)" he said. "I thought you were lost"

"I did also" you said, your voice hoarse. You blinked and almost collapsed, Gandalf quickly supporting you. "Where am I?" you asked.

"Amon Lac" Gandalf said, slowly leading you out.

"I do not understand" you said quietly.

"And nor do I" he said quietly. Gandalf led you across a bridge and toward Radagast who stared, confused at the dirty, pale, zombie looking elf Gandalf was supporting.

"Who is this?" Radagast asked in confusion.

"I am returning to the fortress" Gandalf said. "But I must ask that you take (y/n) to the woodland kingdom"

"(y/n) of the woodland realm?" Radagast asked, confused, but realisation dawned on his face. "Oh yes, of course" Radegast busied himself to make sure there's space as you sat heavily on it, exhausted but finally free.

"Will you be okay? Will they be?" Radagast asked.

"If you return them to the woodland realm then they will" Gandalf said, turning to go back into the fortress.

"But what about you?" Radagast called. "What if it is a trap?"

"It is undoubtedly a trap" Gandalf replied, walking back toward Dol Guldur, even more questions now clouding his mind.

Radagast stared for a few moments before looking down at the elf who laid on his sled. In a few moments of muttering, Radagast had started the sled, he was very paranoid you would fall off and was also unsure of what it would be like for you to return. He had seen Thranduil's decline of happiness and his grief from his place in the forest, would you help his grief or would he not believe you were alive.

"Radagast?" you calling his name jumped him out of his trance. "Are my husband and son alive? " you asked.

"Yes they are" Radagast Answered. You smiled, closing your eyes and laying back slightly. You were glad that you could finally see them again, that you could finally go home.

Radagast stopped the sled close to the main gates and looked down at you, worried. "Can you walk the way?" he asked, wishing to as soon as possible send the message to Lothlorien and Rivendell.

You nodded slightly, shakily getting up and smiling, feeling the grass under your feet. "Thank you Radagast," you said. He nodded and left, leaving you alone in the forest you knew so well. Slowly you started to walk toward the doors of the halls of Thranduil, it was a walk you had taken many times alone and with Thranduil beside you. Nothing had seemed to have changed, the grass bouncy and the trees blowing gently in the wind. You breathed heavily, thanking that no longer you breathed in the musty and stale air of Amon Lac.

Slowly you crossed the bridge and were faced by guards on both sides who quickly arrested you for trespassing on the King's land. You didn't fight or struggle, too tired to do so, letting the guards guide you into the halls. It was as you remembered it, nothing had changed apart from new statues, was that you? You didn't have much time to linger, looking at your face, moulded in stone as the guard made sure to keep a fast pace. You recognised the route, you were going to Thranduil.

The guards stopped and dropped you. At this point, you were completely exhausted, without the energy to even try to get up. "Stand" the sound of Thranduil's voice was like music to your ears, his voice was firm and without emotion. You slowly stood, shaking slightly as you slowly looked up at your husband who sat on his throne. He hadn't changed, apart from his eyes. As soon as they met yours they widened in shock.

"Impossible" he whispered, he almost tripped as he rushed down the stairs and pulled you into a hug. "It cannot be you" he whispered as you leaned into him, allowing Thranduil to completely smother you in his chest. You could tell Thranduil was struggling, almost unable to keep the tears back. Quickly he dismissed the guards and guided you down to the floor, still holding you in his arms. He cupped your cheek and stared into your eyes. "Where have you been (y/n)?" he asked in disbelief.

"Gandalf found me" you said quietly. "In Dol Guldur"

Thraundil's face was full of mixed emotions, from disbelief, sadness and confusion. He could not understand, Thraundil had searched for you, day and night through the dead bodies of orcs and elves to find you, to hold your body one last time. He had a funeral for you, he had grieved, he had closed his heart to any further help toward the men of the wood against orcs.

"You have been gone for 150 years" Thraundil said. Your heart stopped at these words.

"No. I" you couldn't believe it. You rested your head against his chest and fainted into it, completely exhausted. Thraundil held you close, not wishing to let you go. He had missed you terribly, losing the fire which kept his heart warm so it froze over and he vowed never again to fight for the needs of men. If he didn't then you would have never gone and would have been with him.

Slowly Thranduil got up and picked you up into his arms. He grimaced at how dirty and matted your hair was. He carried you to the healers who washed you and checked your wounds. Thraundil watching over, cringing at the marks which now littered your body. He found it hard to keep his anger in check, he wanted to hunt down and kill every orc he could get his hands on. He wished he had kept you safe, denied you from fighting in Angmar, he criticised his past self for this as he watched you now, laying on his bed, tucked up in the warm sheets and furs. For the first thirty years, Thraundil did not sleep in his royal chambers, the memories of you and him together being too much to bair, being unable to sleep without you in his arms. Thirty years it took for him to have the courage to enter and sleep in your and his room again, the large bed feeling strangely empty without another presence.

Slowly he sat on the bed, feeling your hair between his fingers. Your hair was now smooth and clean, just as he remembered. He got into bed next to you, listening to your gentle breathing. Valar how he missed this, he missed you. He wrapped his long arms around you immediately moulding into your side. You smelt perfect, just as he remembered, he kissed your cheek and rested his nose against it, glad you were home with him. Thranduil smiled slightly, he should plan a large feast to celebrate you being home, his lover finally back with him. Thranduil closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep, finally happy again.

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil x oc #thranduil x you #middle earth #lord of the rings #the hobbit #gandalf #elves #kidnap tw #tw kidnap mention #mirkwood #radagast

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