#I have an idea for a sequel if anyone is interested
Note
Hey
: )
Do the most angty angst you can muster
Oh Kings
is this a threat or a challenge to make you cry?
Well, ask and you shall receive.
(WARNINGS: Severe injury, coma, medical inaccuracies, amnesia, graphic death/murder, disassociation, breakdowns, mental health struggles)
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
"Price! Come on, stay with me!" Kyle yelled as his eyes rolled back, his grip going lax.
"We need medivac, now!"
They had to wait almost thirty minutes for the evac, and both Kyle and Soap were covered in blood. The medics struggled to get Price stable while they flew back to base. It felt a lot longer. It was all just a blur now.
Soap was changing out of the blood soaked clothes, but Kyle was sitting in the hospital room with Price, hoping he would wake up from surgery. He was shot in the lung, lower abdomen, and shoulder.
The doctors said that it didn't look good.
He just felt... numb right now. Completely numb. Alex was on his way from a mission with Graves, who was probably freaking out right now.
He waited there for three hours, and Ghost, Soap, Laswell, Alex, Farah, and Graves all got there.
Graves was laying next to Price, curling up and holding onto him as if John would hold him back.
Laswell was on the other side of the bed, holding his hand while sobbing quietly.
Ghost was standing behind soap, who was just looking at him blankly.
Farah was sitting next to Alex, whispering something in Arabic while crying.
Alex was holding onto Kyle, tearing up while Kyle just leaned on him, still covered in blood, blankly staring into the distance.
No one spoke. They were just waiting for him to wake up...
Which he did.
"Johnny?!" Graves yelled when he felt him shift, sitting up, "Bear?!"
John held onto his arm, looking around the room, smiling at all of them, and Laswell let Kyle go in front of her to speak to him while Graves cuddled into John, resting his head on his chest.
"Dad...?" Kyle asked quietly, holding his arm.
John smiled up at him, but he shakily pointed to his clothes on the floor, to his jacket.
Kyle picked it up, "What is it?" He asked, looking back at John.
He tried to reach out to him, but...
His hand dropped, eyes rolled back, and the heartbeat monitor flatlined.
Phil, who was still laying on John's chest, head against his heart, screamed, and Ghost quickly pulled him away from John's body, and they all left the room as the nurses ran in.
Alex pulled Kyle to the waiting area, sitting him down while he clutched the jacket in his arms, face blank, while they heard Phil screaming and crying about how he needed to be with John, how he needed to go back, telling Ghost to let go of him.
They just sat there, and Kyle eventually started going through the jacket pockets, finding envelopes, all with names: Simon, Johnny, Kate, Philip, Alex, Farah, and Kyle.
He put the others down, and he opened his, seeing in big letters, "Do not open unless Johnathon Price is missing, dead, or dying."
He shakily opened it, still just feeling numb about it.
"Kyle Garrick,
I am so proud of you. More than you know. Ever since Piccadilly, I knew you were special. But that you needed someone to help you. And I hope that I've done that.
The day you called me 'dad' was one of the best days of my life. And I guarantee that Pops is the same, and the same for Mum. But I love you like my son. You will always be my son.
You brought so much light into my life. A bubbly, bright light of joy was brought into my life.
I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry that this happened. I know that it will not be easy. But know that I will always be here. Even if I'm dead, I will always be here for you.
You're the captain now. I know you are so young, but I trust you to keep the team going, and make it work.
Just stop Makarov for me. Stop him and Sheperd for me. And make sure that they will never come back.
I love you.
-Dad"
He felt a tear roll down his face, onto the letter, and Alex held his hand while he put his own letter away.
"You should know that he threatened me if I didn't take care of you." Alex said, which made him chuckle slightly, but he just looked at the ground, and he picked up the jacket again, feeling his dog tags in his pocket.
He heard someone walk up to them, and then the others, along with Phil's sobbing, and his arms around him.
"What's going on?" Farah asked.
"We stabilized him. however, we had to place him in a coma. We don't know when he'll wake up."
He couldn't hear it anymore. he tuned everything out, and the next thing he knew, he was back in front of John, Phil back cuddling with him...
He was going to get his revenge. He would make Price proud. He would do it. He may not be a proper captain, but he was now.
He looked at the dog tags in his hand, and he slipped the Tags off the chain, and took his own chain to slip them on, along with several other tags of dead friends.
He was getting revenge. Dad wanted him to get revenge.
He would do it by himself.
That night, he went out to the helipads, with only a suppressed shotgun, pistol, and knifes. The chopper had even more. It was Nikolai's, after all.
He was dressed in full black. Jeans, shirt, hat, gloves, mask and tac gear. He wouldn't likely be easy to see.
He got in the chopper, and sat in the pilots seat, sighing slightly. It was Nikolai's stealth bird. He knew how to fly it, but he was worried that he'd be caught.
But he doubted it.
He quickly got set up and got off the ground, flying to where the Konni base was. Where his Dad was shot.
It took a few hours, but he saw it. He saw very few lights on.
He didn't know how long it would take. But everyone there would die. And he would find Makarov.
He landed on a helipad by the water, and he walked the rest of the way to the base, where he could get in through the secret bunker door and kill off most of the people in it.
He snuck in, immediately seeing two guards at the door and shooting them both in the chest, where Dad was shot.
He stood as they fell, trying to reach for their radios as their lungs filled with blood quickly.
"Fuck off." He said quietly, finishing them off by slitting their throats.
He slowly moved out of the room, moving down the hall, going through another door to a security room. Perfect.
He pulled out the shotgun, closing the door before shooting all three people, making sure all of them were dead with a shot to the head.
He checked the cameras, seeing at least twenty in the halls and another security room across this level of the base.
"Alright, then." He said, picking up one of the rifles from a dead guard, and putting a suppressor on it.
He quickly turned off all the camera's before leaving the room, setting it on fire before closing the door.
He found someone alone in the hall, and he stabbed him in the back, where Price was shot from the front, then slitting his throat.
"Fuck you." He whispered as he moved on, going to a bigger area, where there were five. It hurt, but he had to make this one quick.
He took out the rifle, and quickly shot them all in the head, moving on and stepping over the bodies.
There were three more people in the next room, and he slit one's throat, and shot the other two in the head.
"Lights out."
He got to the security room, seeing for more people, and shot them all in the head before going to check the cameras. More on the other side of the hall.
He turned the camera's off, and he went over to shoot them all in the head.
"Never fuck with me." He said, going to the next level of the base.
There were three people in that room, and he shot all three in the neck with his pistol before stabbing them all in the chest.
"Sleep."
He moved to the next room, seeing another five people. He took his rifle, shooting all of them before they noticed him. He shot them all in the head again to make sure.
"Fuck. You."
There were ten in the briefing room. And he took a stun grenade from a dead body to toss it in the room to clear it out without anyone shooting back.
"Go to hell." He took all the intel in that room. "All of you."
He went to what looked like a common room, and he killed all ten in the room while they weren't even armed. They didn't have time to scream. He shot all of them in the head before leaving.
"Don't wake up."
He found the security room, and killed the one person in there before checking the cameras. One more. One more floor that was the least protected.
"Perfect."
He went to the upper level, and he killed the four that were in the first room. In the stomach, then the lungs, then the head.
"None of you deserve to live."
He moved on, seeing empty halls as he dragged blood through them. He felt most of the drops on his face drying, his mask and gloves soaking through to his skin.
There were three more in the briefing room there, and he took his shotgun to kill them all. Gone in seconds.
"Almost."
He went to the last security room, and killed two and kept the last alive. He tied him up, shooting him in the knee.
"Where's Makarov?" He asked calmly.
"Ah, back for revenge, eh? What happened to your little capt-"
He shot him again, hearing him scream. His face was blank.
"Where. Is. Makarov?"
"Why should I-"
Another shot to the other leg.
"Where. Is. Makarov?"
"You-"
Another shot.
"Tell. Me. Where. Makarov. Is."
"It- He's in his base in Moscow."
"Thank you." He took out a piece of paper and a pen, "Location. Now."
He wrote down the coordinates, which Kyle took and looked over before putting it in his pocket.
He slit his throat before walking out.
It was the dead of night when he got there...
It was sunset now.
it felt like no time had passed. But he had been there to kill everyone for at least thirteen hours.
But there were more.
And he was done.
He just went through the catwalks and balconies, and he just killed all of them. Blood. Nothing but blood and bodies were around.
He had stabbed so many of them, he didn't know if some was his blood or not.
He saw a Chopper in the distance.
But he stayed on the mission. He killed the rest, and he heard yelling in the distance.
Everyone looked the same. Faceless.
And he found another.
"Kyle, Stop!"
He barely turned at the voice, and he felt someone taking his guns from him, and he wrestled with them for it back.
"You all can just GO TO HELL-!"
"Kyle, it's me!"
He opened his eyes, and he saw the face of a terrified Alex taking his gun and holding his face.
He felt him wipe the blood away, holding him against his chest, rocking him gently.
"Kyle, its me... it's Alex, okay? I'm here, honey... I'm here."
He felt the numbness slightly melt into confusion, fully feeling the blood caked on his face and clothes.
"How did you find me?" He asked quietly, now registering another emotion for the first time in almost 48 hours. Sadness. Up until then, all he had been feeling was panic, anger, confusion, and complete numbess.
"You have a tracker in your radio." Laswell said as she walked up, "we pinpointed it."
He was still pressed against Alex's chest, eyes filling with tears.
"You scared us all, brother." Farah said as she walked up, "why did you do this?"
"Dad wanted me to stop Makarov."
"Kyle-"
"I have his location. I'll put together a briefing and we'll all go this time but I am killing Makarov alone."
"You can't make that call." Laswell said.
"I am the captain now. Dad made me the captain. I am in charge. Whether you like it or not. I am making sure we stop them..."
He didn't know how he kept his voice from wavering, still being rocked back and forth by Alex.
Laswell sighed, looking away and shaking her head, "Fine." She said, "Get back to the heli, Nik is taking the other one back."
Alex held onto him as they walked to the chopper, seeing that he was fully numb, eyes glazed over, and face blank.
He gently rocked Kyle as they flew back to base, hoping to keep him calm, to get him out of his daze.
Once they got back, Phil jumped towards Kyle holding him tight.
"You scared me to death! Kyle, why would you do this?!"
"Dad wanted me to get revenge..."
"You should've gotten someone to go with you, you could've died! I can't lose you and John, Kyle...! I can't..."
he didn't respond. The next thing he knew, he was back in his and Alex's room, and Alex was getting the blood off of him.
He didn't know what to do now. It finally clicked that he was probably going to lose his dad. He might lose his Pops with it, and his mother...
It was Makarov's fault.
It was his fault...
It wasn't him, he didn't pull the trigger...
But what if he got there faster? What if he took the bullet instead?
Maybe that would've been a better outcome...
"It's been a long time, Kyle." Alex said, kneeling in front of him, unlacing his boots and gently pulling them off, "have you eaten? Or slept?"
He shook his head.
Alex nodded, getting him changed into something more comfortable, and kissing his forehead, "I'm going to go to the mess, get you something to eat. Then your going to get some sleep, okay?"
He nodded.
"Okay." Alex kissed him again, walking out to quickly go to the mess hall.
He wanted Dad.
He finally felt tears welling up, along with sobs, and he just broke down.
Everything had been boiling up for the past 30-something hours, and it all just came out at once...
He wailed. He wailed so hard and couldn't stop, holding his face in his hands.
Alex ran back in shortly after, and held his head against his shoulder, rocking him gently while he waited for Kyle to calm down.
"Let it all out. It's okay, darling." Alex whispered, also tearing up.
"Why?! This isn't fucking fair! It shouldn't have been him!" He wailed, clawing at Alex's back.
He calmed down after fifteen minutes, now just sobbing in Alex's shirt.
"He's strong, baby." Alex said, tears in his eyes, "He'll pull through."
He nodded, pulling back slightly and looking down while Alex grabbed the food and laid them down. The tears never stopped, but he calmed down a little, Alex gently bringing the food to his mouth, letting him eat at his own pace.
"Alright, sit up for a minute." Alex said, and Kyle nodded, sitting up as Alex grabbed the tea, giving it to him and letting him drink it slowly.
Kyle gave the empty mug back, and Alex set it on the side table before laying them down.
"Sleep, darling." Alex whispered, "We'll figure out what to do later."
One week later...
They had tracked down Makarov. Got to the safehouse. He wasn't alone this time.
It was a blur. He didn't remember much of this night. He would probably never remember it.
But he would remember seeing Makarov on the glass roof. He, Ghost, and Alex were up there, about to kill him and make it hurt.
And then there was... something. An explosion, probably.
He was knocked to the ground, looking around and trying to find the others.
He heard footsteps, and he looked up to see an injured Makarov, holding his side and holding out a pistol.
It only registered what was happening two seconds later, hearing him say something.
"Goodbye, Sergeant Garrick."
He heard Alex scream.
"NO!!"
He heard the gun go off, and Ghost trying to wrestle the gun out of Makarov's hands.
No.
This was his time. His turn.
He was killing him.
he quickly stood, punching Makarov and tackling him to the ground.
He grabbed... something. He didn't know what it really was at first, but his mind was on auto-pilot. It was cable.
He wrapped it around Makarov's neck, seeing him struggle but not able to fight too hard.
"Kyle, what are you doing?!" He heard Ghost yell.
He slammed Makarov against the glass. It cracked.
He did it again. It cracked more.
He did it again. It shattered.
They both fell through the roof, Kyle falling on a catwalk, groaning as he sat up.
He watched as Makarov swung from the cable, trying to reach his neck and untie himself.
He stopped moving.
He heard Alex over comms, yelling about how they were coming down.
He just...
He wasn't satisfied. Makarov didn't actually die by his hands. He died because of a cable.
It wasn't enough.
He stood, shooting the cable until it snapped, seeing him fall to the ground, and he went down to him, drawing his knife.
He just started gutting Makarov. He gutted him like a dead fucking fish, stabbed him in the throat, stabbed him in the head, gouged his eyes out, nearly snapped his spine, nearly snapped his leg off, and an arm.
He was breathing heavily. He looked at what he had done...
And he smiled.
He fucking smiled.
"This is what you deserve." He whispered, kneeling back down over his body.
He looked back over his work, and he took the dog tags that hung around his neck.
"This is my reward for my suffering. The end for you."
He stood, seeing a jug of gasoline, and he took it, dumping all of it on Makarov.
"Gori v adu, kusok der'ma." He said before throwing his lighter on Makarov's dead body.
He watched as it went up in flames, smiling softly.
"Kyle!"
He turned at Alex's voice, seeing them run up.
And then he felt all the emotions come back. Panic, sadness, fear...
Alex wrapped him up in his arms, quickly walking away and whispering to him, hearing Ghost say something into his radio, Laswell on the other side.
Next thing he knew, he was on a chopper, still holding the dog tags.
He must've passed out, because then he was in his and Alex's room, Alex taking his blood-soaked gear off, and taking the dog tags.
"Let's get you cleaned up." Alex said softly, pulling him off the bed.
He pulled him into a warm bath, and he saw blood immediately fill the water, Alex gently washing his hair off, saying something to him, though he didn't hear it.
"Kyle?"
He blinked, glancing over at Alex, who was washing his arm off.
"What happened?"
He looked down, eyes filling with tears, finally, as he spoke.
"I... I didn't like how he died..." He said, "I decided he needed to suffer more. I gutted him. Took the tags..."
Alex nodded, gently washing his face off, "he was already dead though, right?"
He nodded.
"Did you set him on fire?"
He nodded again.
"Was there anyone else there that you killed?"
He shook his head.
"Just Makarov?"
He nodded.
"Why did you take the Dog Tags?"
He looked down, feeling Alex start to dry him off.
"My trophy."
Alex nodded, draining the water and pulling him out to dry him off easier, "Then hang it. I'll get a frame."
He smiled softly, taking the robe Alex offered him, "I was just going to hang it with a knife."
"That works." Alex said, smiling softly and pulling him up, "Let's get you dressed and in bed."
"Can we see Dad first?"
Alex sighed quietly, but nodded, "Alright." He said, pulling Kyle with him gently to get him dressed.
They went to Price's hospital room, seeing Phil still asleep on the bed, clutching John's left hand, his engagement ring.
John had proposed a few months ago. They were happily planning their wedding, Phil had wanted it in July, by a beach...
Now this.
"Pops?"
He turned to look, and he smiled softly, gesturing for Kyle to come closer, and he did, Phil sitting up to hold him.
"Kyle... Bud, your strong, you know that, right?"
He nodded.
"You'll get through this." Phil said, "He'll wake up. Don't worry."
But he would. And He could hear the barely hidden fear in his voice.
"What about you, Alex?" Phil asked, looking up at him, "How are you holding up?"
"About as well as everyone else." He replied, sitting on the bed, holding Kyle's hand, seeing his own engagement ring. They wanted to get married on Christmas. John was supposed to walk Kyle down the aisle...
"I think it will work out." Phil said, "He'll wake up soon. We can get Shepherd. And it'll all be okay."
Kyle hoped so.
Three months later...
They had tracked down Shepherd. They could kill him easily.
John was still asleep. He had been transferred to a nearby care center, giving him better around-the-clock care, but they could still easily see him. Which Phil and Laswell did every day.
But none of them were doing much better. In fact, most of them had gotten worse.
Kyle lost that bubbly, bright light. Now, it was a dull shine at most, wearing darker clothes, following Ghost's method of not wanting to be seen, and wearing masks to cover the lower half of his face. They had barely seen his face since Price was placed in a coma. Alex and Phil saw it the most.
Kyle had officially been promoted to Lieutenant, allowing him to officially make decisions for the 141.
He had been allowed to use Price's office, which he didn't change at all, other than adding a heater and Makarov's dog tags.
Alex had been promoted with him, Soap and Ghost declined the promotions, because Ghost didn't want to risk Kyle being knocked back behind him.
And now they could get Shepherd. Graves sent in a few Shadows to get Shepherd in a transport, would knock him out, and then bring him to the base.
They were already on the way back with him after slipping his drink.
Phil was going to help him interrogate and kill him.
Kyle smiled as he saw the chopper land, the Shadows dragging Shepherd out to an interrogation.
"You ready?" Phil asked.
"Of course." He responded, going up next to Shepherd.
He woke him up, slamming his head on the table.
It was a blur from there, but, apparently, Phil got everything they needed out of Shepherd. Where he was, safehouse locations, intel...
Now they could kill him. And he wasn't making the mistake he did with Makarov.
"Step out, Commander." He said. He didn't want Shepherd to make Phil feel even more vulnerable by calling him "pops"
"Lieutenant, no-"
"You don't want to see what I am about to do."
Phil sighed, nodding and walking out. But he decided to watch through the window.
He took out his knife, stabbing Shepherd in the ribs, hearing a scream that turned to a wheeze when he stabbed higher, his lungs filling with his own blood.
He then stabbed his stomach, watching the blood pool on the floor. he stabbed him in the neck.
He watched as he writhed in pain. He watched as the blood stopped flowing out.
He was dead.
Kyle wiped the blood off his knife, walked out and saw Phil and a Shadow.
"Burn the body."
"Yes, sir." The Shadow replied, walking in the room to drag the body away in a bag.
He walked out, going to his room to wash all the blood off of himself. Alex was helping Laswell finalize mission reports, but, he knew that, if he was there, he'd be helping and telling him that he did the right thing.
He was either always crying or showing no emotion. Alex was begging him to talk to a therapist, or at least him. At this point, he was considering it.
He just... didn't know what to do. His dad was dying. He felt lost...
He sighed as he got out of the shower, dried off and got dressed. He texted Alex before leaving.
"I'm going to see Dad. Can you come once your done with Mum?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
He walked to the care center, went to Price's room, sat next to him, and took off his mask.
"Shepherd's gone, Dad." He said, "You can wake up now. Makarov and Shepherd are gone. I'm Lieutenant now... Please? Wake up?... Pops is still wearing his ring. I still want you to walk me down the aisle... Please?"
He just sat there.
Phil walked in after a while. He immediately laid on John's chest, snuggling close to him, wrapping his arm around himself.
Alex walked in after that, holding onto Kyle as he sat down, "Any progress?" He asked, and Phil shook his head.
"Shepherd's dead." Kyle mumbled.
"Good." Alex replied, nodding, "Now what?"
"We wait for what's next." Phil said.
One year later...
Things had been... okay... kind of.
Most of them had started therapy, Kyle and Phil were on Anti-depressants, heavier then Soap and Alex were taking.
Laswell had been on leave for a while.
Kyle and Alex were close to being promoted to Captians. It was surreal to them.
John was still asleep.
Phil was lost, he was still wearing his ring and he was still slowly planning the wedding for the day John woke up.
Kyle had asked Alex to postpone the wedding, which he agreed to. They still wanted John to walk him down the aisle. They would want for the day.
Soap was still struggling with himself, he watched as John was downed and could do nothing, he watched as he passed out and was with Ghost as he dragged Phil out of that hospital room, he had to help hold him down as he screamed at them To let him go back to John.
Ghost was... he would never admit it, but he was struggling so much. He would sometimes lay on John and sob. He would be in his office, crying while he held Soap. He was suffering just as much...
Missions had been slow. They hadn't had much trouble with Makarov anymore. Now that he was killed- and so brutally, for that matter- they were not hearing a single thing anymore.
Kyle had been in charge of whatever they were doing. He has only done something like this a few times before, and not as long. But Phil said he was doing amazing.
He was hoping John would wake up soon, though.
He had gotten him a Christmas gift last year. He left it in his room at the center to unwrap when he woke up. But he didn't.
He left a birthday present for him. He took the time to date it that time, and dated the Christmas present.
He left a Father's Day gift. He dated that one too.
It was already Christmas again.
At the end of the day, They all went to his room with gifts, spending a good few hours with him, all of them leaving the gifts, though Phil spent the night, smiling at John's heartbeat.
"The kids miss you, bear..." he whispered, "You need to wake up... Kyle really needs you... But he is doing great. But I don't think he wants to be a Captain yet..."
He curled up under the blankets, feeling John's warmth on his body.
"I love you, bear. I can't wait to get married to you."
Six months later...
They had found Valeria.
Kyle had been promoted to captain, and Alex was with him throughout it all. Was promoted with him.
and now, they were keeping Valeria in a cell before putting her in jail for her charges.
"Well, I guess a few years changes a lot of things, eh?" She asked once she heard Kyle's new rank.
"It's not relevant." He replied as he sat down.
"I've already given you my intel, pleaded guilty, and signed away all my rights." She said, leaning forward, "It's not like your here for any more intel. I gave you everything I have. So why not chat about it?"
"You first. Why did you plead guilty and sign everything away?"
She shrugged, leaning back, "I have nothing to lose. No family left. I have no one to love. So, why should I fight? You have my cartel in your hands, Alejandro and Rodolfo are probably making arrests as we speak. I have nothing."
He nodded, pretty shocked at the reasoning.
"So why are you captain now?"
He went numb. It was the first time he was numb in quite some time. He started to get better... but now he was talking about it.
"Captain Price is in a coma. He has been for nearly two years. I was promoted to his rank." Was all he said.
"Oh... That... holy shit..."
"You can stew over that in prison." He said, standing, "You're leaving tomorrow. You know your sentence."
He left, seeing her fidget with her handcuffs and looking down.
He wondered if she really cared. About anything.
He wondered if she noticed how his voice was deeper. How he dressed. She couldn't have missed the mask...
But he didn't care much about her, so why the fuck should he care?
He just went back to his room to sleep.
He woke up screaming from another nightmare, Alex holding onto him and whispering to him that it was okay.
It was not. It never would be.
He had therapy that day. It helped a little. His meds helped a little more. Family helped a little more.
Good. he didn't feel numb.
Alex decided they should go out that night for dinner. A fancy restaurant, one of Kyle's favorite.
It made him feel happy for the first time in a while.
Six months later...
It had been two years since John went into a coma.
Every time that any specific date that involved John came around, the base was quiet. Somber.
All of them had barely been on leave. Both Kyle and Phil had spent a week each in a mental hospital. Kyle had a breakdown after a particularly hard day, and a visiting Major yelling at him for some stupid mistake. He said that it was his fault that John was in a coma.
Phil was with John, laying on him as he flatlined again. He ended up having a breakdown of his own from that.
Kyle screamed and cried in his room, throwing things around and breaking a few picture frames. He gave Alex a few bruises and cuts in the blind rage. Medics came to sedate Kyle and treat Alex's wounds. After an emergency therapy appointment and a Psych eval, Kyle was placed on psychiatric leave for a week in a mental hospital, barely managing to pass the follow-up and allowed back in the field.
Phil was fighting with a few nurses, then with Ghost to stop him from going back in the room.
John was revived. Still asleep.
Phil was crying and yelling, and he passed out. He was moved to the med bay on base before the mental hospital.
He spent the week there and was put on desk duty, not allowed to see John for two weeks. It helped and hurt. Because he was very dependent on seeing John to function.
Kyle was picked up by Alex, and he was crying nonstop, trying to apologize but the words were hard to form. Alex still had plasters and stitches. He just held onto Kyle while he sobbed, still saying "I'm sorry" over and over.
Alex was, admittedly, a little angry when it happened. more at the circumstances than Kyle, but, it was the reaction more than anything. He was scared. He had cleaned the room and replaced the picture frames, making sure Kyle came home to a clean room. He just sobbed more at that. It really made him realize what he did. But they talked about it, very calmly, and Alex promised that he'd help him find better ways to cope.
Ghost picked Phil up from the hospital, not really reacting when he apologized at least twenty times. He had already written an apology to the care center, which is when he found out we wouldn't be able to see John for a while. But Ghost just dropped him off at the base before driving off. He texted him so many times, begging for a response. Ghost only responded with a few things, but he did say that he didn't blame him. He was stuck doing a bunch of paperwork, though Kyle, Alex, and Laswell came to see him came to see him the most. Soap and Ghost came by some.
They both were doing a little better now. Kyle had been finding ways to calm down. Phil had been trying to not be as reliant on seeing John.
Kyle went to a rage room every once in a while. Alex often went with him, and every time, they'd actually start giggling together and make a game out of hitting targets.
But John was still asleep. And nothing was okay yet. Not truly okay, anyway.
But at least it was better.
Even just a little.
One year later...
Phil sighed as he laid on John's chest, stroking his cheek softly.
It had officially been three years since John fell into a coma. None of them truly felt okay.
Kyle had been taking so many pictures of missions, the team, and everything that had been going on... for when he woke up.
He and Alex were still Captain's and working on mission briefings. They were helping Ale and Rodolfo with dealing with the leftovers of Las Almas Cartels.
Ghost and Soap were there, about to come back.
Laswell had been helping Kyle and Alex through all the planning.
"Bear... Could you wake up? Please?" He whispered, shifting to lay on him more how he used to, and putting John's hand on his head...
He felt his hand grip his hair.
His eyes shot open, "John?!" He yelled, shifting to sit up and gently touching John's face.
His eyes fluttered open with a groan, and he said in a raspy voice, "Cr-Cricket?"
"Bear... Bear, it's me... Don't worry about talking right now... I'm getting the nurse." He jumped up, running out to the hall.
He texted Kyle, Laswell, and Ghost as he ran back in the room.
...
Kyle sighed as he finished up the stack of paperwork. Alex gently touched his shoulder as he stacked them back up, "Well, we got it done. What now?"
"I don't know..." Kyle said, hearing his phone go off, and he picked it up-
"He's awake."
Was the text from Phil.
"Kyle?" Alex asked, looking at the text and also freezing.
They both sat there for at least three minutes before Kyle stood, getting his stack of photos, and Alex went with him out of the room.
They ran to the care center, and Kyle sighed as he got to the door to the room.
"You go ahead, Kyle." Alex said, smiling, "I'll come in after you."
Kyle nodded, taking his mask off and knocking on the door.
"Come in." Phil said, and he slowly opened the door.
"Hey..." He said softly, smiling when he saw his dad sitting up in bed for the first time in three years, nurses around the bed while Phil laid on him.
John looked a little confused, choking out, "Who are you?"
No.
No.
This wasn't happening.
This was a joke.
"It... It's me, Dad..." He said, "It's Kyle..."
"I never had kids."
Phil looked up at him, seeing the look in his eyes.
He watched as two years of progress in therapy was undone in seconds.
Kyle looked down, "I apologize, sir." He said quietly, gently placing the stack of pictures on the bed.
He looked back up at him, straightening up, glancing at Phil, who looked so worried.
"Goodbye."
A simple word he said a lot.
But it would be the last time he said it to him.
He walked out, softly closing the door, seeing Alex looking confused.
"Dad doesn't remember me."
Alex was shocked, but nodded softly, taking his hand, "Let's go." He said, "Let's talk about what to do."
They silently walked back to the base, and Alex sat Kyle down, getting him tea and snacks, holding him gently.
"So. What do we do?" Kyle asked.
Alex sighed, kneeling in front of him to hold his hands.
"As much as this hurts to say... It's the best idea, for your sake... to leave."
It didn't shock him. He knew as soon as he heard his Dad ask who he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to stay. This was the end.
The end of Captain Gaz Garrick of the 141. The end of Captain Alex Keller of the 141.
They had to leave.
He called his Pops from his room, Alex holding onto him.
"Kyle, are you okay?" He asked, clearly very worried.
"I'm fine... Alex and I are packing, we're going to transfer."
There was a long pause...
"Okay. But, please... Don't let us lose you completely."
"You won't. I'll still be in touch."
"Good... I'll help with the paperwork, we promote Ghost and let you go."
"Thank you."
They got their room packed in two days. The paperwork was done for Ghost to be in charge. He was now Captain Reily, and Soap was Lieutenant Mactavish.
They were at the helipad, Kyle wearing his mask as they said their goodbyes. Phil was sobbing in Ghost's arms as they left. He hoped he'd see his boy again soon...
Once they got to their new base, they were allowed to make their own new team. Thankfully, an old friend of Kyle's was also there, and they got her on their Task Force... Unofficially, for now, until they could actually make the Task Force.
They had to fill out paperwork for new dog tags and officially transferred to a new team. Names and callsigns.
Alexander "Alex" Keller.
Kyle "Specter" Garrick.
He couldn't be... "Gaz" anymore. He lost that long ago. Now, it would just remind him of what he couldn't have.
They decided to stop postponing the wedding. Kyle decided, really, and Alex agreed.
"It's not like Dad could walk me down the aisle now anyway. Pops can if he wants to. I just want us to get married now..."
Phil was happy to do it.
They finally were able to get married on Christmas that year. The 141 came... Price wasn't there. Kyle almost didn't care.
They were so happy... Kyle was genuinely smiling for the first time in a while. It was so perfect. Beautiful.
Kyle had to sign new paperwork now that his last name changed...
Kyle "Specter" Keller.
It felt much better. It further detached him from Price.
He would always call him Dad, he would always love him. But he would never want to see him again. Not willingly.
He felt like he lost three years of his life. He did everything for him... It wasn't John's fault. He knew it wasn't. But it still hurt. So much.
But this was life now. It wasn't what they wanted, but it was what they got stuck with.
The years went by rather quickly. The more Kyle blocked out the feelings about Price, the more he seemingly got better. But he wasn't. Therapy was fine, sometimes it helped.
He wanted to detach himself from him. But he wanted him in his life. He put up all the pictures he had of them together in his and Alex's house. He put a few in his office...
Alex was trying to help, but he was struggling just as much. he didn't want to leave the 141, but he knew it was the only thing they could do at that point.
Farah would still come to visit from Urzikstan. She'd try and help them, get them in town, out on a walk, or to a restaurant... Anything to get their minds off of work and Price... He remembered her. Not everything about her, but he remembered her.
They didn't hear much after they left. Not that they wanted to know, Price probably wasn't making great progress. Phil said that he was getting a few memories back. Not about them.
And by that time, it had been two years.
It had been five years since he lost his Dad.
And he doubted that he was going to get him back.
Ever.
#call of duty#cod mwii#call of duty modern warfare#kyle gaz garrick#alex keller#john price#phillip graves#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kate laswell#farah karim#vladimir makarov#general shepherd#valeria garza#shadow company#gazalex#alexgaz#price x graves#ghoap#I have an idea for a sequel if anyone is interested
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Hi! Saw you talking about Wriowinne/Sigewrio in a previous post, and I would love to hear your headcanons or thoughts on them, if you have any! I have also gone through the same experience of labelling them as father and daughter at first but the archon quest changed my mind since it made them look more like partners in crime to me hahaha
Hi there! I see the archon quest has made several people rethink their vision of Sigewinne, honestly I'm really happy with what Mihoyo has done with her. It's nicely obvious that she's as mature as Wriothesley is, even Paimon says she feels like an older sister - she may look like a kid, but nobody treats her like one because she clearly isn't one.
As for wriowinne, as you said, they really feel like partners in crime! I wound up shipping them because they're clearly close, and because I am not immune to this kind of dynamic - scary-looking guy who's actually pretty sweet, and innocent-looking girl who's actually pretty off-putting. Sigewinne seems to have been Meropide's nurse for a long time, she knows exactly what kind of environment and what kinds of people she's working with. So I imagine the archon quest wasn't a one-off kind of event and Wriothesley involves her in his decisions and actions more often than not! She's someone he can trust with a lot. And he's someone who knows what she's like, so she can study human behavior all she likes around him.
(Though it's been a running joke with a of my few friends that Wriothesley is a bit of a weirdo and is very into what makes Mélusines seem off-putting to other people, so I'm sure a few of her results are skewed with him.)
Someone else I'll happily direct you to if you're interested in several walls of text's worth of headcanons is my own partner in crime @feroluce, who's been slowly losing their mind over these two and who I'm pretty sure only needs a single ask to unleash the flood of ideas they have for them!
#as rinn would wisely say#his grace belongs to the mélusines#anon#ask#answer#how nice i really didn't expect anyone else to be interested in them#you made my evening anon!#i hope those few crumbs please you#and know that what i have to say really pales in comparison to how much fero has to say#wriowinne has them in the vicest of grips#they have told me about a few ideas and let me tell you anon they are GOOD#sigewrio#wriowinne#still no official ship name? we stick to these for now#genshin#i used to be very fond of the father/daughter idea with the fun hc of wriothesley being her actual biological father#(his grace belongs to the mélusines - the sequel)#but sigewinne appears to be a full mélusine and more importantly the archon quest completely changed my perspective#they're on a completely equal footing#even if i take my shipping goggles off that's not a parent and his child that's a couple of besties#i'm very happy about sigewinne i can't wait to pull her#she won my heart in a way i never expected her to
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Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons
I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.
Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere
You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”
Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”
He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.
The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."
Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.
"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."
As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.
"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"
He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.
The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.
He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.
"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."
He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.
He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.
Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.
The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.
He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.
After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.
His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#yandere werewolf#werewolf x reader#monster x reader#monster x human#monster romance#yandere headcanons#male yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere smut#monster smut#monster boyfriend
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thinking about how people who watch the emperor's new groove and somehow come out of it shipping pacha and kuzco, or thinking yzma only became evil when kuzco fired her and that she would've been a better ruler than him, are both so wrong in so many different ways and are also missing one of the things that i absolutely love about the movie. which is that, the way i see it, pacha and yzma are counterparts. as parental figures to kuzco.
like, just to get this out of the way first, yzma was a dismissive asshole to a peasant whose family was starving. and yeah, if kuzco had been in her place he definitely would've also done that, which... is why she would not be a better ruler than him. she'd just be the same because they're both horrible people in the exact same ways. her reaction to being fired is to plot murder, and as soon as his funeral is over she sets everyone to work on replacing paintings of kuzco with paintings of herself and covering the palace with imagery that makes it clear that it's all about her now. i'm not even sure why this is a discussion tbh.
and also, kuzco is literally a teenager. he's barely 18 years old. source: in the movie, yzma says at his funeral that kuzco was "taken from us so tragically on the very eve of his eighteenth birthday." she also claims in the movie to have "practically raised" him, to which kronk replies "yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better". and sure, she could be exaggerating, but what evidence do we have that she is? we learn absolutely nothing of his parents, who are never mentioned even once in the movie, or of anyone else who could've raised him, and she's his advisor who for some reason sees no problem with attending to royal duties in his place. most likely because she's his regent. also, i'm not exactly a fan of the sequel tv series "the emperor's new school" but it does have something that backs up my point: kuzco is revealed to be an orphan and just before his father went and got lost at sea, he asked yzma (who was also his advisor) to take care of kuzco if anything happened to him. so, yeah, the writers who worked on the series clearly thought that yzma genuinely did raise kuzco, and nothing in the movie contradicts this.
and i find the idea of her being his only parental figure for pretty much his whole childhood incredibly interesting because, and this also goes back into why she wouldn't be a better ruler than him--she mirrors him as a reflection of what would've become of him if he'd never met pacha. they're both incredibly arrogant, power-hungry, selfish, and cruel, with a tendency to blame their problems on everyone but themselves. yzma was even originally going to have her own reprise of kuzco's theme song "perfect world", which i really wish had been kept:
[ID: Lyrics that read:
I'Il be the sovereign queen of the nation
And the chicest chick in creation
I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh-la-la
This deadly concentration
Will put an end to my frustration
Now this perfect world begins and ends with moi
What's my name?
Yzma, Yzma, Yzma
Yzma (what's my name?)
Yzma, Yzma (What'd you say?)
Yzma (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) Yzma.
End ID]
(this song can be fully heard in "the sweatbox", the documentary about the making of the movie, and is also on youtube btw)
anyway, i'm sure yzma would not exactly have been the most nurturing or hands-on guardian, especially given that she and kuzco don't exactly treat each other like family. but it makes a lot of sense to think that her behavior influened kuzco's throughout the years. and for the entire movie, she remains determined to kill him. when he tries to reason with her and admits that he should've been nicer, she says the same thing to him that he originally said when he fired her. she never grows or changes and in the end, she hurts the one person who was willing to stand by her (and even then, kronk had never fully been on board with her plan) and he ends up trying to crush her with a chandelier. kuzco on the other hand is able to realize the error of his ways, come to regret who he was in the past, and start taking steps toward being a better person. his theme song gets a reprise where it's changed from a song about one person being the center of the world to a Power Of Friendship song. why? because, as i've already mentioned, he has pacha.
pacha, who similarly to both yzma and kuzco is in a position of authority as the leader of the village but unlike either of them is gentle and humble. who isn't afraid to stand up to kuzco and be honest with him even though he's the emperor, who agrees to take him back to the palace but has no obligation to be so helpful, kind, and caring toward him--and just about every reason not to be--and still chooses to be anyway. pacha who is 45 years old (also stated in the sweatbox documentary) and can see that kuzco is practically still a kid, not a single day over 18, who has time to grow and change. pacha, who already has a wife and two kids with another on the way, but practically treats kuzco like one of his own. who acknowledges that if kuzco dies all his problems will be gone and then still worries about him and goes out of his way to rescue him after he wanders into the jungle. who sees kuzco shivering at night and covers him with his poncho, who carries him when he's genuinely too weak to keep walking, who refuses to give up on him even after repeatedly being betrayed by him because he believes there's good in everyone.
also, while yzma ends up repeating kuzco's harsh words of dismissal as she tells him of her plans to kill him, kuzco had previously repeated pacha's words that "nobody's that heartless" after he saved pacha's life. and as the movie progresses kuzco and pacha's relationship becomes more and more equal and is constantly contrasted by moments of yzma being cruel and unappreciative of kronk's kindness. a good example of this is how kronk is constantly being forced to carry yzma everywhere on his back while yzma literally walks all over him and steps on his hands when she gets down, whereas when pacha briefly carries kuzco after the latter collapses he tells him he'll have to walk the rest of the way later and kuzco doesn't even protest.
idk if i'm even explaining well what i'm trying to say here. but basically, if yzma actually raised kuzco and contributed to his current behavior, then she and pacha both are figures who guided him and helped him grow. only yzma helped him become the tyrant that he was at the start of the movie, who was selfish and callous and saw everyone else as beneath him. whereas pacha helped him see the value in being selfless and considerate of others. and in the end, yzma is stuck as a cat and nobody is concerned about her. kronk has found a new job that makes him genuinely happy, while kuzco has decided to build a hut on the hill next to pacha's and effectively joined his family. in the sweatbox documentary it's even mentioned that chicha and the kids were at risk of being removed from the film, but it was decided that they needed to be there because having just pacha as a single guy who lived alone wasn't interesting enough--kuzco needed to go from having basically an empty world where he had nobody to being able to come together with pacha's whole family. and i just think that's incredibly satisfying and beautiful. it also leads up to one of the few things i really do enjoy about the emperor's new school, which is the fact that during the show kuzco moves in with pacha and chicha and pretty explicitly thinks of them as basically his parents while he's like a son to them.
idk. i feel like my mind went in a million different directions while i was writing all this. but i guess i just think that for all of the praise the emperor's new groove gets for its comedy and for how hilarious yzma and kronk in particular are as a duo, the movie also has a lot of genuine heart that gets overlooked. kuzco's character growth and his unique dynamic with pacha is, for me, really what elevates the movie from just a funny movie that i like to one of my favorite disney movies. and i wish more people appreciated that aspect of it and saw it as a found family story in the same way that treasure planet, brother bear, and lilo and stitch are all found family stories.
#disney#the emperor's new groove#help i wrote a whole essay about this movie#and i didn't even mention how much i love the way kuzco's home life is contrasted with pacha's#ugh. they have one of the most interesting and unique dynamics ever in a disney movie. i love them#love how kuzco gets away from yzma's toxic influence by way of accidentally being adopted#by the guy whose village he almost destroyed for a theme park#they're ENEMIES to FOUND FAMILY.... sobs#kuzco#pacha#yzma#kronk
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Helloooo love! I'm a fan lurking in the dark with a request idea for Aemond x Reader. Would love to see your take on Aemond trying to win Reader back (his wife) after she found out about Alys. Maybe this happens after the "Dance" , Aemond survives and they have to deal with the aftermath of Alys. Reader loved him with everything she had so she feels betrayed and turns cold to him and maybe because of Alys, something also happened to her (idk lost pregnancy perhaps but PLEASE exclude this if you don't feel comfortable writing it). Basically take everything you find interesting from this request and work your magic - I trust you like no other!!! Thank you I send you all the love there is - you are very very talented and please know there are many like me that think you are truly brilliant, I know it!!! :*:*
Authors Note: Oh my god thank you this is so freakin sweet! 🥺 I’m happy to take the request and spin my take on this, hope you enjoy it! :)
Also, some of the stuff Is made up like the time between Daemons death and end of the war. I don’t know it so I made it up. If you don’t like it take it up with my dms
Word count: 2.6K
Warnings: Cheating, miscarriage though it’s not explicit, she’s kinda depressed? Not sure how to describe it,
Taglist: @blue-serendipity
The Sequels: The Depressive one, The happy One
—————
If Aemond ever regretting not killing anyone throughout the war he technically started, most would’ve immediately assumed that he wished he never killed his nephew. Though they were wrong. Yes, Lucerys’ death became one of the many causes of the war and in turn deaths of so many people, but his death didn’t result in the loss of you and your child.
Alys’ death could’ve though.
When he first met Alys, he had been nearly immediately enraptured and enamoured by had. She was quite different to you. While you had always been headstrong and never afraid to tell Aemond what he needed to do or to be, Alys had been more docile and had no issue in telling Aemond all the things he wanted to hear.
He regretted the first time he laid with Alys in his bed. Though that regret went away the more time he spent with her and the more times he laid with her. He begun to think of possibly taking after Aegon the conqueror, thinking he’d have both you and Alys by his side when Aegon most likely drank himself to death.
That fantasy was soon ruined when he got that letter.
Dear Aemond,
Do you think of me as a fool? I know about that fucking woman Aemond. I know about Alys. I don’t know why you have decided to betray our marriage and honestly, I don’t think care I can bring myself to think about it nor care anymore. This letter was originally going to be happy. A letter letting you know what we prayed near everyday from the seven had finally come true and been answered. I was with child. Our child made purely of what I had thought was love. Though that changed when I was informed of what you had done. I mourned for what we could’ve had. I cried and refused to believe it at first, though soon I came to my senses. Yet it was too late. Our child is dead Aemond. I woke up a few days ago to heavy blood staining our bedsheets. The child was barely two months according to the maester. I wish for you to know it is your fault Aemond. I do not wish to ever see you again. I wish to never hear from you so if you attempt to reconcile or send a letter I will pay for our child’s blood with your own. You have dug your grave Aemond. Don’t try and dig it deeper. If you are to die in battle, I hope it is painful. I hope you suffer like I have.
From, your wife
From your former wife
Aemond had felt his heart plummet to the floor when he read that letter. He could not stop the tears that fell to the floor and stained the letter he still was holding. The ink blotting and staining the page so much the words were becoming near illegible.
He attempted to head into battle with the faint hope that you’d forgive him if he killed his uncle. Though even he knew deep down that no amount of deaths could fix anything. Yet even still he tried. He defeated Daemon, with blood of which Targaryen man he did not know staining and pooling on his ripped armour.
Aemond came home where he was met with his mother and brother, who both congratulated him on his victory. Though even with their congrats he could see the disgust that lingered in his mothers gaze as she looked at him. It made his shame all that more prominent.
He would’ve gone to see you, but Aegon stopped him before he could, claiming he was holding a feast in his name for the defeat of Daemon. He tried to look for you in the amount of people that came, yet he couldn’t. And he didn’t dare ask his mother if you would be coming in fear of her glare and disappointment.
That night he wonders something. Maybe it would’ve been better if he did die by the hand of his uncle? Then it would’ve saved him from all this torture. Though he can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Aemond can only wallow in his drinks that he keeps being given and his own sorrow.
Aemond was back home. The words the maids said echoed in your head. He’s here, and no doubt going to attempt to reconcile. If there was one thing you ever learnt about your husband, was that he never quit at anything he started.
You already made bets with yourself on how he’d attempt to do it.
Maybe he’ll try flowers? No that’s too much of a common move for Aemond to pull… Maybe he’ll bring you some jewellery? No that’d make him feel like he was buying for your forgiveness. Like he was buying something for a mistress. Well… he’s been there and done that…
There is always the chance Aemond will not even attempt to reconcile. Hopefully becoming too overcome by the grief and pain of the loss of his and your child that he’d respect your wishes after reading your own pain on paper. The maids still look at you worriedly, especially when they find you sitting near the window. You know why they worry, you mourned Helaena and Jahaerys and you know you will not become like her.
Aegon was also the one who told you about Alys, and when you lost your child and screamed for the whole of the castle to hear, it was Aegon who ran to you to mourn with you and hold you while you cried for a life you may have been able to have. He held you in the way a brother would hold a sister. He even cried with you and helped clean you of the blood. Oh the blood…
———
It’s been a few long months, but the war between the greens and the blacks is finally over. Aegon is celebrating by holding a massive banquet and all the lord and ladies who supported him are invited. Even though Aemond knows it will not happen, he secretly hopes you will come to celebrate.
Though as he keeps sneaking glances at the door all night he eventually comes to term with the fact you’re not coming. He can only swallow more bitter wine and ignore the fact he’s drinking it like a fish in water now.
He’s attempted to reconcile from a distance ever since the incident but everything he has sent to your chambers has come back in shreds. The flowers from the garden you loved to look after, heads torn from their stems and cut into a thousand pieces. The books he sent on your favourite topic, you had more restraint on them and simply chucked them from your window onto unsuspecting bystanders bellow.
Aegon told him delightfully how after he delivered the books to you, they were seen immediately thrown from the window and one had supposedly managed to hit one knight straight on the head, effectively knocking him out cold.
Though if anything those small acts of defiance made Aemond wish to reunite and return to you even more. It reminded him just why he fell in love with you in the first place. Your wit and your wisdom made him fall head over heals for you, literally.
He had tripped in front of you and some other ladies of the court due to the load of books he was carrying. He had not yet gotten used to the visual impairments the loss of his eye provided and did not see the thrown goblet in his path. Aemond had effectively turned scarlet when the ladies began to mockingly giggle at him, it nearly made his heart beat straight from his chest when he saw you come to his help. “You need to get some help with those. It’s not that bad to ask for help you know? Means you aren’t a stubborn twat.” You grin.
He wished he could go back to those days. They were simpler. They held no knowledge of the war they would face. It held no knowledge of the bastard from Harrenhal.
Aemond had not tried to reunite with you in person. He knew you’d most definitely follow through with your threat and spill his blood. It’s why he attempted to send you items instead through the maids. Though it’s very obvious those weren’t working either. That’s when he got the idea to write you letters. There was easily a chance that you would burn them or tear them the moment you saw the writing. Yet even then Aemond knew he had to try…
———
“Princess. I have another item sent from the prince for you.” One of the maids said as she carefully approached your bed. The sun had already hit its peak that day, though you could not bring yourself to get out of bed. The only time you could bring yourself too was either with the help of your maids, or when Aemond sent a supposed gift to you which you’d immediately destroy.
“What is it this time?” You sigh. “Is it something that I am supposed to eat? Because if it is i’d like it if you took to the servants quarters and give it to them and not-“
“It’s not food related my princess. It’s a letter.” When you look towards the maid you can see the sad expression clear on her face. This maid has brought you many of Aemonds attempts at reconciliation.
“What is your name?” It does not give you any sort of pleasure when the maid looks shocked at the fact a princess is asking for the name of a maid. “Its not a trick question I want to know your name.”
“Klarisa my princess. My name is Klarissa.”
“Klarisa do you think I should read the letter my bastard of a husband as written to me?” You look carefully at Klarisas face, the decision of your lifetime hanging in a mere maids hands.
“To be honest with you my lady…” Klarisa takes a deep breath and puts on a sympathetic face. You appreciate that she wishes to give you honesty, though that sympathetic face makes you want to punch her. “What the prince did was inexcusable after the way the two of you acted before… her. You got to have a husband who loves you and cared for you, that itself is much more than most of the women who are forced into a marriage can hope for. The prince is trying to make up for it and is also respective your boundaries. Not many could say that they got to have a husband who did even one of those things. So yes my princess, I believe you should read the letter.” You take a deep breathe and loosen your hands, which seemed to have clenched so tightly your nails all but pierce into your palms.
“Give me the letter then leave. If you see the prince, do not tell him that you for once got me to think about even looking at his weak apologies. Just put your head down, and walk away. Do you understand Klarisa?”
“Yes my princess.” Klarisa moves swiftly to the doors to your chambers, opening it and moving forward, only to stop for a moment and turn on her heels towards to. “I hope you get what it is you seek my princess. For your own sake.” She turns back to the door and closes it behind her, leaving you alone with the letter in your hand which already feels like it’s burning you. Yet you prevail, and slowly open the letter to read it.
Dear ñuha jorrāelagon,
I will not waste my breath in attempting to gain your forgiveness. I know better than anyone that when you stick your mind to something you keep it that way. Though what I will say is the truth, which I know will hurt you and anger you more than anything but i know it’s what you wish to hear.
Alys was a woman I believed to be falling in love with. She was something what I believed I needed in my life. A woman to be docile and to whisper all the things I needed to hear in my ear. Though after your letter, it became my wake up. I cut off all contact with Alys after realising how much I hurt you. I regret that woman everyday I have not been with you. You are the only woman I need to be with. I love that you are not docile and will not take any man’s shit (as you so clearly and often tended to put it). I love that you challenge me and encourage the debates we so often hold. I love you Rhaella, more than any woman before in my life. I’m sorry it took another woman and the life of our child for me to realise it. I understand wholeheartedly if you wish to never speak to me again. But I hope with this letter, if you ever do decide to read this, which after all my other attempts seem unlikely, you at least know that there will not be a single day that I do not wish that I did not kill that woman when I killed all the other strongs. You are my life. My world. And I hope you know that.
From, Aemond Targaryen
You’ve never felt like you wanted to cry this much since you lost your sweet baby. You can feel the tears leaking down your face the entire time you read Aemonds words. Some of your tears drip onto the page, leaving some of the words to blur together into illegible blobs of black ink.
You feel the urge to destroy the letter. The same urge and desire you felt when you got into contact with all of Aemonds other gifts. Though you resist this time, and instead of destroying the letter, you smooth it out and place it delicately under the mass amounts of pillows that seem to always near take over your bed. That night, for the first night of the many you’d stayed in your room during your isolation period, you slept the whole night in your bed with no nightmares to wake you screaming.
———
When Aemond was standing in the corridor in the shadows and hadn’t picked up on any whispers from the maids passing him of any destruction or damage coming from your chambers, he assumed you must have kept the letter.
He does not hold though any hope that you read it. For all he knows you’ve simply just ignored it or ripped it and used it to keep your fire alight.
When he is waiting for the maid to come out of your room though, he could not help but feel hopeful when the maid takes longer than usual to come out of your room. “Well?” He asks as he steps from the shadows when the maid eventually comes out and nearly passes him. He does not dare to actually ask whether or not you took it. Even though he so selfishly wish to help hold her down and demand for
It surprises him and angers him when the maid looks at him and yet does not acknowledge him. What did you tell her? What does she know?
Aemond grabs the arm of the maid as she attempts to pass him without any real acknowledgment. “Your prince asked you a question.” He growls. He nearly felt sympathy for the woman when she looked at him with fear in her eyes. But he is not Aegon. He can control his desires towards the maids.
“The princess asked that I not speak to you. Please let go of my arm, my prince…” The maid half begs. Aemond lets go of her arm reluctantly after a moment of thinking. Why would you tell the maid to not talk to him? Maybe you really read the letter and do not wish to appear weak to him? Though only if you knew that you could never be weak in his eyes, his strong independent wife.
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond fic#prince aemond#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen/reader#aemond x you#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen imagine#aegon targaryen#the death of a life au
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The Scariest Movie I Ever Saw in a Theater: The Ring
I'll tell you up front that the story I'm going to tell you is about "The Ring (2002)," in the sense that it is about The Ring in the year 2002.
See, I don't know what The Scariest Movie Ever is. A quick google says that the consensus is The Exorcist (I haven't seen it, because I never felt like scheduling a day to freak myself the entire fuck out). But horror is specific, and not just to a person, but to a time and place, even. When I saw The Shining as a teenager in a well-lit living room with other people, I didn't even really flinch, but I bet it would play very differently to me now. I don’t think The Ring is at the top of anyone’s list, but twenty years ago, I had a personal interest in it—at the time, I was running a dinky little Geocities site devoted to movie news. Links curated and compiled from all the other, bigger sites I followed—basically, it was the linkspam format I have used on multiple platforms, including here on Sundays. And so, as someone who followed theatrical releases pretty closely for two or three years, I saw the trailer for The Ring, and I immediately knew it was going to be huge.
To locate you in time, this was just after three self-satirizing Scream movies and the Overcomplicated Serial Killer films of the '90s. The Ring was something completely different: chill aqua-blue color grading a good 5-6 years before Twilight; a mournful Hans Zimmer score; no jokes, no quips; and a slow, inexorable sense of doom. Grief, even, given that the movie begins with the death of the main character's niece. What immediately struck me about the first trailer was 1) the melancholy of it, and 2) how much it doesn't explain. Onscreen, you get the title cards,
THERE IS A VIDEOTAPE
IF YOU WATCH IT
SEVEN DAYS LATER
YOU DIE
youtube
Concise! Understandable! A woman (Naomi Watts) is freaking out upon discovering that her young son has just watched it! Admirable job setting up the premise and the stakes of this entire movie in thirty seconds flat, without even any dialogue. That's all you need to know, and thus, the remaining minute of the trailer can do whatever it wants, and what it wants to do is be fucking weird. Echoing voices, TV static, a closeup of a horse's eye, ladders, a girl with dark hair, people reacting to things we don't see, drippy doorknobs, rain. Characters don't give us the whole plot in convenient soundbites of dialogue (like they do in a later trailer); we just hear lines, overlapping, murmured out of context—
did you see it in your head? she talks to you... leading you somewhere... showing you the horses... you saw it. did you see it in your head? she shows me things. Everyone suffers.
That you saw it has lived in my head ever since, and not once have I charged it rent. But the "best" part is Naomi Watts screaming at the end, because you don't hear her voice; you only hear this heartless telephonic beeeeeeep. It's 2002 and I'm watching this trailer, thinking, I have no idea what the fuck I just saw. This is going to be huge.
And it was, to the tune of $249 million on a $48M budget.
At risk of recapping what you might already know, Ringu, aka Ring, is a media franchise that spiraled out from a trio of Koji Suzuki novels into Hideo Nakata's film Ringu (1998), a landmark of Japanese horror, plus several other movies, some TV series, many comics, and even a couple of video games. The overarching story is about a murdered girl/vengeful ghost named Sadako Yamamura whose rage and pain have created a cursed video tape, you watch it and you die unless you pass the tape around like a virus, seven daaaaays, etc.
The "ring" in question is the rim of a well. Keep that well in mind.
The movie I saw is the U.S. remake, which itself had two sequels. (The iconic Sadako is now named Samara Morgan. Keep her in mind, too.) Director Gore Verbinski moved from The Ring to Pirates of the the Caribbean (!), and so Hideo Nakata himself would direct The Ring Two. I... honestly have only seen the first one. And I was right, it was huge, and it kicked off the American J-Horror Remake genre, for better or worse. But what gets forgotten about The Ring is its marketing campaign, which I followed pretty closely for my doofy little news site.
It was inspired.
The story of The Ring is partly the story of the sea change in the media landscape—how we watch movies. And the story of its marketing is a picture of the very last years before social media changed the wilderness of the internet into something that feels so big, like a billion people could see anything we say, and yet so small—only a tame handful of places to say it, owned by three or four companies, and corraled by algorithms.
Back around 1997-1998 or so, I worked at a video store (Movie Gallery, where the hits were there then, guaranteed) for about a year and a half. By the time I left, we had started adding DVDs to the VHS tapes on the shelves, but we hadn't replaced the entire stock. Video stores might have transitioned fully to DVD by 2002, I'm not sure, but people still commonly had both VCRs and DVD players in their homes. And I remember that The Ring was sold in both formats when it eventually hit home video. Which is to say—you know the analog horror genre today? Marble Hornets, Local 58, The Mandela Catalogue?
Analog horror is commonly characterized by low-fidelity graphics, cryptic messages, and visual styles reminiscent of late 20th-century television and analog recordings. This is done to match the setting, as analog horror works are typically set between the 1960s and 1990s. The name "analog horror" comes from the genre's aesthetic incorporation of elements related to analog electronics, such as analog television and VHS, the latter being an analog method of recording video.
Okay, but this is just what home media was like, and 2002 was at the very tail end of that—boxy black VHS tapes that degraded with time and reuse were just how we lived. At the same time, I'd been using CDs for music since about 1991, and all our software installs came on CD-ROM discs; a "mixtape" by that time had shifted to mean a rewriteable CD rather than a cassette tape. In college, I—well, I'll plead the Fifth as to whether I downloaded mp3s via Napster, but I was also taping Mystery Science Theater 3000 on VHS over the weekends. It was Every Format Everywhere, All At Once, and we kept half a dozen kinds of players around for them. Here in 2023, we stream and download everything invisibly, unless we choose to engage in format nostalgia. (I've already run into the problem of Apple Music deleting songs I really liked, due to this or that licensing issue, because I was really only renting them.) The year The Ring hit theaters was the edge of a last shimmering gasp of physical media where iTunes had only come into being the year before, and iridescent discs were still mostly what we used, but cassettes, both video and audio, were still viable. And so, people did not think it was terribly weird when they started finding unlabeled VHS tapes on their windshields.
Movieweb, quoting TikTok user astro_nina:
"Their marketing strategy was essentially 'let's get this tape viewed by as many people as possible without these people being aware of what this is, sort of raising intrigue," she says.
One way they achieved this was by airing the tape, which allegedly marks its viewers for death within seven days, as a commercial with no context. The video would air between late-night programming "with no words, no mention of a movie, for like a month...so people would run into it and it would just go on to the next thing, and people would be like, 'what the f--k is this?'"
I remember seeing the Cursed Video as an unexplained ad at least twice, by the way. That TikTok also indicates that DreamWorks straight-up sent copies of the tape to Hot Topic stores, as well as planting them under actual movie theater seats. While running my movie site, I heard at least one story of someone finding a tape on the sink counter of a restroom at a club. Did the marketing department actually plant tapes in bathrooms—or did a freaked-out recipient leave it there, hoping to dodge the "curse"?
(I haven't embedded the Cursed Video here, by the way—but I could have. If you'd like to see the American take on it, you can watch both the full version and the shorter variant that appeared in the movie itself. A text description of what the fuck you're even looking at is here [content note for both: blood, insects, animal death, body horror, and suicide by falling]. The original version from the Japanese film is shorter, and it's eerie rather than gruesome.)
BUT WAIT, THERE WAS MORE: DreamWorks had something of an alternate-reality campaign going with a handful of in-character websites. This was only a year after Warner Bros. ran the groundbreaking "The Beast" ARG for A.I.: Artificial Intelligence: "Ultimately, fifty websites with a total of about one thousand pages were created for the [A.I.] game." (I lurked in the Cloudmakers Yahoo group.) Marketing for The Ring did not go anywhere that in depth, nor did it need to; it was both a smaller film and a smaller story. I saw at least two “personal” websites (seemingly amateur and a little tacky, like my own), but the one I particularly remember was about someone who owned/trained horses? I'm not sure if it was meant to be the actual Anna Morgan character—Samara's mother—or maybe someone who had noticed that the Morgans' horses were disturbed? I'm not even sure anyone even remembers this but me. Reddit users dug up a few other archived websites, but they're about Sadako, the curse and/or videotape; they aren't as subtle or character-oriented as the site I remember. (Honestly, I wonder if weird shit like "What Scares Me" or "SEVEN DAYS TO LIVE" were made by fans rather than a marketing department, but who knows.)
[The “About” page from Seven Days to Live on the Internet Archive.]
[The entirety of An Open Letter on the Internet Archive. “UPDATE” is a now-blank pop-up. I would bet $5 that it was originally a pop-up of the cursed video.]
I need to point out here that Facebook did not exist in 2002. It would not exist for another two years, and Twitter wouldn't exist until 2006. Even MySpace was not a thing until the next year. I didn't start my Livejournal until October of 2003. What we had, for the most part, were independent forums and blogs. We also had Creepy Internet Fiction like "The Dionaea House" and "Ted the Caver"; their use of the blog format, of people out there seemingly living their lives until something fucked up went down, gave the stories the shape of reality. And it helped that these blogs had comment sections, sure—sometimes more story unfolded there—but for the most part, an author could "abandon" a blog, and you'd just find the story there via word of mouth. Like the Ring blogs I remember, it wouldn't seem strange if no one replied to you, whereas today, you'd have to hire a writer to sit on Twitter, or Reddit, or even Tumblr, and interact with people in character. Could you do something like The Ring's mysterious, weird-ass blogs today? Would anyone even notice?
So: It's 2002, my head is full of Alternate Reality and eerie images and you saw it, and I'm hype as hell to go out and see The Ring. I'm perfectly happy to go see movies by myself, so I went in the early afternoon (best time to get a good seat). The movie ended up being a sleeper hit, and the first weekend, the public was still sleeping on it, so there were only 7-8 other people in that theater, grouped in maybe two clusters. I was off in my own little pool of darkness in the upper right quadrant. Functionally, once the lights went down, I was alone.
Despite some middling reviews at the time, The Ring is something of a horror classic nowadays. If you want a scary movie this Spooky Season, check out The Ring. Or don't, because it nearly killed me.
We're at the last, I don't know, third of the movie? And Our Heroine has tracked down the origin of the Cursed Videotape to some creepy mountain motel or whatever. SPOILER, it turns out that it was built over the Cursed Well (everything in this movie is cursed) that Our Villain was thrown into—that's why Sadako/Samara is a vengeful wet murder ghost crawling out of TVs now. While investigating this decrepit hotel room, intrepid journalist Rachel and her, who is it, her ex-husband? her kid's dad, idk, discover the well under the creaky old floorboards. And then, wouldn't you know it,
NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE WELL
NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE FUCKING WELL
THAT'S WHERE SAMARA'S BODY IS
youtube
[The rather slapstick moment when Rachel falls into the well. Does not include what actually happens next.]
I go absolutely rigid in my seat. Naomi Watts is splashing around this dark-ass death swamp of a well and I know, with as much certainty as I have ever known anything in my life, that Samara is about to pop up in all her pasty, waterlogged glory. All the sad creepy dread, all the desperation to figure out what the fuck all that shit on the tape was and stop Samara from killing Rachel's son, all the horrible contorted victim faces, all the alternate reality I’ve been soaking in, it has all come to this. I have to leave the theater. I cannot be having with this. I have to be gone from this place. My legs do not work. I cannot feel them. I am frozen. I want nothing more in this life or any other to get up and leave this cavernous pitch-black room, and I cannot. I start praying for death. I want you to understand that I am not trying to be flippant or humorous. This is genuinely what went through my head. I was too scared to even think, "You know, you could just pray to pass out or for motion to return to your limbs or something." No, I sat there in The Ring thinking, Please for the love of all mercy just let me cease being.
You know that scene in Mulholland Drive (also starring Naomi Watts)? Winkie's diner and the EXCRUCIATING tension? It was a little like that, except I wasn't watching it, I was experiencing it, and Samara was my dirt monster out behind the diner.
Except that the jump scare didn't actually happen. I mean, yes, Rachel finds Samara's body down there, but—I don't remember exactly, please don't make me go watch it again to tell you what actually happens. It's played more sympathetically on Rachel's part, as I recall, and she and her ex get Samara's body out so that she (Samara) can have a proper burial.
And then it turns out that this is not the end of the movie. It turns out that Rachel has Fucked Up.
I think I was relatively okay through the rest of it, although the climax is Samara emerging from a TV in her full glitching swampy glory to scare [SPOILER] to death. I don't recall praying for death twice. There's a point when you're so exhausted from fear chemicals that you're like, yeah, this might as well happen. Bring it, Soggy. I did have a hard time prying myself out of that seat afterwards, though, and my mom says that when I got home, I had the classic thousand-yard stare. How was the movie?
"It was great," I said, and I meant it.
I've seen things that were objectively scarier (I watched much of The Haunting of Hill House from behind a pillow, to be honest), and it's not like I've never experienced fear in real life. But I respect when a movie that can make me feel so intensely, and there's something weirdly precious about the way horror is a safe roller coaster, as it's often been said. So I love telling the story about The Time The Ring Nearly Killed Me—a movie that actually made my body stop working—and I love thinking of how embedded in a specific time and place that movie was for me. The last gasp of VHS when the Cursed Videotape still seemed plausible; the way the internet was still wild and weird and free; where I was in my life, keeping up so avidly with all the movie news, and finding myself in such a little pool of darkness early one afternoon. It's the scariest movie I saw in a theater; that's the alchemy of circumstance.
#the ring#ringu#horror#first look on patreon#movies#long post#spooky season#halloween everyday#long post is long#gifs
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I probably still wouldn’t have been a big fan of the game, but I don’t think I would have been NEARLY as upset about TotK if BotW didn’t seem like it was so obviously setting up plot points for a sequel. Like, you’re very clearly MEANT to wonder what malice is, and how Ganon became the Calamity instead of just the Demon King. Fi is awake again, where are they going either that? What’s the deal with the Triforce-shaped symbol on Zelda’s hand? There were a LOT of other things like that, and many of them had to do with overarching lore for the series.
I get it if they want to reboot the series, but “BotW 2” was the single worst game you could have done that with. It could have been an amazing conclusion to the original continuity.
EXACTLY, you, you get it
botw felt like the introduction to a vast world with secrets and hints to things that were planned to become a bigger thing- a big giant game as a big giant set up, and then ... like totk likes to do alot, it lacks a pay off, and that is something it even does within itself, cosntantly, set up and no pay off, or set up and the most boring and uninspired pay off you can really not even call that, from the bigger things like the whole dragon thing being hammered into your head as irreversible and then it IS reversible.. out of nowhere without you having to do fuck all, the whole thing with the ancient hero beign a big mystery with lots of interesting ideas attached and then its some weird ass dog creature that doesnt resemble any other race with, of course, sonau armor, bc there nothing that isnt sonau in that game, even finding the old treasure maps you can find that then lead to amiibo stuff from botw id call that
botw wasnt that great with rewards either but exploring the world and wondering about those, surely intentionally, placed mysterious and intriguing designs and places did alot for making it so interesting to think about, totk fumbles it all and even the new stuff doesnt even come close to that environmental storytelling botw was so great at, sonau ruins? ha they look entirely different than in botw actually, bc those were built by hylians you see, the actual sonau stuff is in prime condition considering the time thats passed and its all the same blank blocky blocks that serve no purpose but to be a place for you to find a thing or exchange some currency- the most you can think about it is ... that the sonau hollowed out the entire underground of hyrule, every inch of the map, ... which is WEIRD and doesnt exactly make them look that good but ... thats all there is
at least with the shiekah it made somewaht more sense and it felt much less .. invasive? and you didnt have anyone from that time to talk to, other than dead monks whos only purpose is to give you their last piece of their own spirit, but in totk ... raurus ghost and mineru too are both just there to talk to but DONT tell you shit but vague hints that were already clear, the sky islands used to be on the ground? oh you dont say, you see them there in the stupid memories! and dont get to know how they got up there and theres nothing that can clue you in to that, its just sonau magic yet again i guess
dont even get me started on the whole malice/miasma thing, it made so much SENSE that there was a source of it, someone that has keep kept in a horrible place just between life and death for thousands of years trying to break free by their hate and anger manifesting to such a degree its literally spilling out and building creppy eyeballs, mouths and ribcage like structures like they are trying to rebuild themsleves outside of their awful prison no one knows about is so damn compelling, but no, actually, the guy trapped there was the msot evilest evar, was sealed bc him evil and no other motive, and the previously mentioned stuff is pretty much utterly unceonnected, and his magic beign miasma with red instead of pink and no creepy body parts was the true version of it, that pink one was its own thing heehooo SHUT UP argh
it doesnt help that really, i dont feel like the sonau were set up either, they were a tiny part in botw, really only serving to make the world seem more ancient and more full of history, having ruins from a past civilization there you know nothing about and cant find out more is so good, its compelling and sad and makes the world feel more real, just shoving them into everything, being the center of attention all of thes udden and not even the architecure fitting feels so ... forced, i really truly believe the og sonau werent meant to be more than that, but in their fear of the game being too similarly looking like botw they took the sonau to replace the shiekah with them-
imo the shiekah were the ones set up to be deeper explored in botw, with their whole misstreatment by the royal family in the past, monk miz kyoshia reacting the same way a yiga commander would was deliberate and brings up even more interesting ideas, the comments about where the mysterious energy the ancient shiekah used to power everything being concentrated in certain regions?? thats a big ass set up, the fact that the center of what is signaling everything to reactivate being below hyrule castle? the fact the whole arena thing was BUILT INTO THE CASTLE or it on top of it is so??? cool??? and sso damn intriguing, we are scratching the surface of their history- but then no, actually, the sonau are the cool new shit those other ones just uh ... disappear, also the sonau did everythign the shiekah did but even better wayy before them haha
its like they didnt want to tackle the more complicated stuff with the shiekah, their relationship to the royal family and how the yiga ... have a point and a good reason- so they replaced them with entirely new purely goodest good guys that did the same stuff before them with none of the history attached :))
this is why im so insistent on it not really being a sequel, thers no follow up on anything that was set up, NOTHING, and no, a couple having a kid now or whatever isnt a follow up on an interesting set up, how hard is it to understand that-
.... listen to me rambling, you probably know all that already nhjdfkbnkd
(i know i always bring up the shiekah but ... they were so central in botw, while also not taking up every single corner- unlike some other ones >_____>, with so much interesting stuff to connect and think about, i cared about them so much i felt kicked down the stairs by their treatment in totk)
#ganondoodles answers#ganondoodles rants#zelda#totk#totk critical#maybe its jsut me that feels so strongly about the unanswered stuff around the shiekah#but im#biting wood and clawing up the walls in my head
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I am dead serious when I say that you guys need to start giving writers feedback more often. I have a fic here that has a total of 4015 notes and only 218 aren't likes. So, let me break this down for you a bit.
Of 4015 notes, 186 are reblogs and 32 are comments. Two reblogs, as well as comments, are mine so I'll subtract them from the equation making the total number of notes 4011 (184 rbs, 30 comments, 3,797 likes).
Of the 184 reblogs, 16 are private, meaning they're absolutely useless in spreading and sharing the piece. The remaining 168 consists of 136 reblogs falling under "other reblogs" while only 32 fall under "comments and tags." And of the 32 under "comments and tags," only 9 have something besides a copy of the tags that I included in my initial post.
The 184 reblogs make up 4.6% of the total notes, the reblogs under "comments and tags" make up 0.8% of the total notes, and the reblogs under "comments and tags" with anything besides tags copied from the initial post make up 0.2% of the total notes.
At one point, I reblogged the post, asking if anyone wanted a part two. That's when I got my first comments. The first 6 comments were in response to that, and of the 30 total comments (excluding my own), only two were unrelated to a part two. Which means I can guarantee that I wouldn't have had that many comments had I not posed the question of a sequel fic.
And if I add those 2 comments to the 9 reblogs, I get 0.3% of the total notes on my post that make up the portion of notes that aren't likes, empty reblogs, or comments about a part two. And that's me being generous because two of the reblogs actually do mention a part two.
I also posted a poll asking what people wanted in part two, and that poll got 238 votes. That is 54 people more who voted for what they wanted in a part two that didn't reblog or help push part one.
Don't get me wrong, I love seeing people in my notifs liking my posts, but sometimes it's just not enough. It is utterly exhausting waking up to multiple hundreds of notifications and not seeing a single person compliment your work. You guys will like stuff, follow, and then head straight to the inbox asking for more. I know it's been said a hundred times before, but we are not machines; we do this for free in our spare time.
The post in question was written when I was tired out of my mind, and I ended up not liking it, so I let it sit in my drafts. I briefly mentioned it on my blog and was met with one of my followers showing interest in the idea, which prompted me to revise, edit, and post it. It was a gift, as are all fics and pieces of art by writers and artists on this site, and yet it was treated like a commodity.
When people say it's unmotivating they're not kidding. When I had 100+ asks in my inbox, all of them being requests, I felt like I had the worst case of writers block known to man. I would open my inbox and immediately close it because the idea of posting anything knowing the only response would be more requests, was awful.
When people leave little messages in the tags, full-blown commentary, or kind messages in my inbox referencing posts, I feel more motivated than ever. Those responses are what drives me to write more. But when I, and other writers, are being treated like we're here to cook up whatever fantasisies you have in mind, I can't help but side-eye a little.
We wouldn't write if we didn't enjoy it, but the moment it feels like a job, it becomes that much less enjoyable, and then everybody loses. Just send a kind message to your favorite writers every once in a while. I promise it'll make their day.
I would also like to say that as I've written this, I've seen more people like that post. So, there's that.
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𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓜𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪𝓷 𝓞𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓒𝓮𝓸
TW: Yandere behavior, obsessed!yandere
Format: Headcanons
A/N: This the first part to this drabble.
I plan to quickly release a sequel where I'll detail their first date. I have a lot of ideas for this yandere, I just need to choose between headcanon and fic.
Yandere, an influential and wealthy CEO, is on his way to an important business meeting. His black limousine drives through the neon-lit downtown when his gaze accidentally meets yours as you cross a bustling street.
A shiver runs down his spine, his heart beating faster. It’s love at first sight. Your image is etched into his mind, every detail of your face and posture becoming an immediate obsession.
Back in his luxurious penthouse, Yandere immediately mobilizes his resources. He calls on his hackers to find any possible information about you. Within hours, he has a complete file containing your social media, interests, frequent places, and even close friends.
His private security team is put on high alert, ready to act at any moment. Yandere also starts acquiring everything you might like, filling an entire room of his penthouse with items and clothes you would enjoy.
Yandere monitors your daily habits through surveillance cameras he has discreetly installed around your home and favorite places. He learns your routine, anticipating your movements and desires.
For the first meeting, he decides to create an event that will catch your attention. He organizes a charity event at a luxury hotel, an exclusive and publicized affair, and sends you an invitation, making it appear as a work-related invitation, knowing it will pique your curiosity.
At the event, he arranges for you to be seated at his table. Using his charm and presence, he initiates a conversation, presenting himself as an admirer of your interests or work.
He treats you with exaggerated deference, his eyes fixed on you with almost palpable intensity. Every word you say is a revelation to him, and he eagerly offers you all the attention possible.
After this first meeting, he intensifies his efforts to enter your life more personally and intimately. He proposes dates and starts sending you lavish gifts. As your relationship progresses, he accompanies his gifts with affectionate notes signed "My King/Queen" or "Treasure."
Gradually, he subtly arranges to eliminate anyone who might pull you away from him, ensuring that he remains your top choice. He uses his influence to offer you opportunities that draw you closer to his world, creating an inevitable dependence.
_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_
Does any one have an idea for the name of this adorable ceo ? :D
#yandere men#yandere ceo x reader#yandere#rich yandere#soft yandere x reader#yandere ceo#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere obsession#obsessive love#obsessive yandere#yandere x darling
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(A much requested sequel to Couple-Stuff! Thank you for all your enthusiasm😁)
1370 words
Part One: Couple Stuff
Remus has come to realize his relationship with Sirius isn't as platonic as he thought, and now he needs to know where Sirius stands on the matter.
Label-Stuff
Sirius is busying himself in the kitchen, chatting about some curry recipe Effie taught him and how he's going to perfect it this time. Remus is sitting on the couch, watching him and biting his lip. He can't really focus on what Sirius is saying, with the questions swirling through his head after his conversation with the girls.
What is his relationship with Sirius like?
He must admit to himself that he quite likes the idea of it not being as platonic as he previously thought, and quite dislikes the idea of Sirius being with someone else, to put it mildly.
Has Sirius been with someone else?
He knows that Sirius isn't looking for a relationship, too attached to his freedom, but he could be casually dating, or even having casual sex. With someone who isn't Remus, that is. They have never defined their relationship, so his thing with Remus doesn't have to stop him.
“Sirius,” Remus asks, and he might have interrupted Sirius in the middle of a sentence, but he barely notices. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Sirius puts down the zucchini he was about to cut and turns around, glancing around the room. “You mean… right now?”
Remus shakes his head. “No, not right now. Like, in general.”
Sirius frowns. “Like… a therapist?”
“No,” Remus says. “I mean dating. Like romantically. Or sexually.”
Sirius barks a laugh. “Right, sure Remus. After having breakfast with you, going to the Farmer's Market with you, spending the afternoon walking the dog with you, going out to eat or cooking together, and sitting on the couch watching a movie together, I've somehow been going on dates and sleeping with other men.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around, picking up the zucchini.
Remus frowns. “Is that why you haven't been dating? Because I haven't been giving you space to do so?”
Sirius puts the zucchini back down and gives Remus a stern look with his hands placed on his hips. “I haven't been dating because I haven't been giving myself space to do so. As in, a conscious choice that I made, because I wanted to.” He suddenly looks alarmed. “Wait. Do you want space to date? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”
“No, Sirius, that's not it…”
Sirius walks away from the kitchen counter and sits down on the coffee table across from Remus, the zucchini spared for now. “Then what is it?” He asks, reaching out to take Remus’ hand.
Remus stares at their joint hands, trying to figure out how to go about it. “I'm just trying to make sure we both know where the other stands, relationship-wise.”
Sirius frowns. “Where's that suddenly coming from? Did you– Did you meet someone?”
The look on Sirius’ face makes Remus immediately want to deny everything. ‘No, of course not, there's no one, don't worry!’ Only to make Sirius not look like that anymore. But he needs clarity. If he pushes just a bit more, maybe Sirius’ reaction will give him a better indication of the chances Sirius sees him as something more than a friend. So he does push. “I could meet someone. Someone who would be interested in being my boyfriend. How would that make you feel?”
“How would that make me-” Sirius lets out a disbelieving laugh. “How do you bloody think that would make me feel? Like crap, obviously. We do everything together, that will all change. No boyfriend is going to be okay with that, and I don't fancy being second choice either.”
“But then what, Sirius?” Remus asks, almost desperately. “What if I'm out in the pub and some handsome man who's exactly my type walks up to me, winks at me, and says ‘hi, are you single?’ What do you want me to say, Sirius?”
In an instant, Sirius pulls his hand away, jumps up from the coffee table and takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest, as if he suddenly has to guard himself against Remus. “You did meet someone!”
“Sirius, I-”
“Fuck you, Remus Lupin!”
Remus blinks. Sirius has never, ever, spoken to him like that. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck you, Remus,” Sirius repeats with a scowl. “This is how you tell me? By making me feel guilty about claiming you? By talking to me like I'm stupid and I need to have it explained to me that we aren't in a real relationship? Like I haven't been playing this stupid game for you! This stupid ‘yes, we act like a couple and do everything a couple does, but we don't call us a couple’-game!” He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down a little. “I feel like I've been walking this line, Remus. Being with you in all the ways I want to be with you, but not pushing it too far, not scaring you off, because I know how afraid of commitment you. And I've been telling myself that it's fine. ‘Just be happy with whatever he's willing to give you, Sirius, and be thankful that he's willing to give you so much. What does it matter that you're not putting a label on it?’” He shakes his head. “But it was never that you didn't want to commit, was it, Remus? You just didn't want to commit to me.”
Remus can't get any words out. He can barely process what he just heard, let alone form a response. So Sirius was never under the impression that his feelings were platonic? Gods, Remus really is a pillock, isn't he?
“Because you meet some stranger in a pub,” Sirius continues upon Remus’ prolonged silence. “And suddenly you're talking about dating, and relationships, and boyfriends! Words that you always carefully avoided with me!” He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “God, I'm such an idiot. I kept hoping you would eventually get there. I just didn't expect it would be five minutes after meeting a random stranger, rather than after years of carefully building what we have.” His voice breaks slightly, and so does Remus’ heart. “Or what I thought we had.” Sirius looks away. “I'm sorry, I can't… I need… Just give me a moment.”
Remus remains frozen in place as Sirius walks away and disappears into his bedroom. He loves that boy, and he has hurt that boy, and he needs to set it right. He finally snaps out of it, and jumps to his feet.
“Sirius!” He pulls open the door to Sirius’ bedroom, and comes to a halt upon seeing Sirius sitting on the bedroom floor against the wall, his knees tucked up to his chest. “Sirius,” he says, softer this time, sliding down on the floor next to Sirius, placing a hand on his knee.
Sirius lifts his head, tear streaks on his face.
Remus needs to get the biggest misunderstanding out of the way first. “There's no one else, Sirius. I promise.” He sighs. “Marlene asked me about dating other people, and the thought of you with someone else made me feel… Well, I guess a lot like you're feeling right now. Only less angry and more confused, because unlike you, I'm a berk who hadn't realized before that his feelings for you are more than platonic. I was trying to figure out where you stand on this, so I wanted to see how you would react to the idea of me with someone else.”
“Oh,” Sirius says flatly. He looks down at himself sitting crouched down on the floor of his bedroom. “Well. Not so good, I suppose.”
Remus chuckles. “No, not so good. Though I guess I could've gone about the conversation better as well.”
Sirius also chuckles. “Bloody hell, Rem. Don't start talking about meeting handsome men in the pub!”
“That's fair, that's fair!” Remus laughs, then he studies Sirius for a moment. “So… we can conclude that we both see more than friendship with the other.”
Sirius averts his eyes and looks down at his feet. “Remus, I can't casually date you. If we do this, we need to do this for real. After holding back for so long, if you give me this, I'm going to want it all. I'm going to start picturing forever with you, I'm going to start planning a future with you. If that scares you, then I can't… I can't.”
The feeling that spreads through Remus’ chest upon hearing those words is definitely not fear. “As long as you don't propose to me tomorrow, I think I can get there,” Remus says jokingly, but then he adds in a more serious tone “To be honest, Sirius, I've never been able to consider my future without you in it.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb across Sirius’ cheek, brushing away one of the tears. “I want you, Sirius, and any label you come with. Boyfriend, partner, significant other.”
“Fiancé, husband,” Sirius adds teasingly, but Remus can tell that he's carefully gauging Remus’ reaction, looking for some sign of panic.
Remus surprises himself by not feeling any panic, not at all. This is where it was always going, wasn't it? He smiles. “Yes, in time, those as well.”
#my tumblr writing#oblivious remus lupin#and they were roommates#defining the relationship#wolfstar#wolfstar fanfiction#wolfstar fic#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius
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Black butler Ciel with a older sister who rather spend more time reading, writing, spend time in her imagination, or her own self interests than run the company. She has her own business of running a successful book series.
Pairing: Ciel Phantomhive x older sister!reader
Warnings: mentions of past trauma (not descriptive)
A/N: Thank you very much for the ask and, as usual, I'm so sorry for the delay. If you don't mind, I decided to write this as headcanons. Also, the relationship between Ciel and the reader is strictly platonic. I have decided that I will not write romantic Ciel works anymore, because he's a child. And while I did have a crush on him when we were the same age, I have moved on and it would be highly inappropriate, I believe.
I think it's safe to say that you are very important to Ciel. You are his last living relative after all.
It doesn't matter if you're close or not. I don't think Ciel would appear to want to be close to anyone, even a relative. But that isn't really the case.
Now, he's definitely not clingy. He's self-sufficient, maybe a little too much. He definitelly doesn't need to rely on you.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't like to spend time with you. On the contrary. And since you are the quiet type, it makes spending time together much more comfortable for him.
He would be the type of person to do his own thing and let you do your own, just...in the same space. He could be sorting paperwork in his office, but you would be there as well, just a few meters away from him, scribbling down in a notebook on drawing in your sketchbook.
It's comfortable, it's quiet, and it means the world to him. If he looks past the age difference (and that little voice that tells him that maybe your roles should be exchanged), he almost feels normal. And that type of peace is very rare in his life, so he takes any and every chance to spend time with you like this.
It was very strange to him though, mostly at first, when he returned to the mansion. The way you are so different. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you have no interest in the family company, or that you rather spend time in your own head than in th real world.
He does get the appeal of that, it's just that he thinks it's...foolish. He is a logical person, who always thinks ahead, to rule out any possibility of others taking advantage of him again. If he submitted to the luxury of running away from the past that still haunts him, he would achieve nothing.
But the more time he spends with you and the more he integrates himself back into the regular world (as regular as it can be for him at least), he sees that you're many things, but not foolish. Yes, you're a dreamer, perhaps a bit naive, but not stupid.
In the end, he prouds himself to be your brother. You have a great imagination and sometimes you help him more than you could imagine. If he has a case to solve, you help give him an outside look into things from a perspective he could never even imagine.
He appreciates your art as well. It would depend on your style and whether or not you were spared the torture he went through to determine how much, but he definitely appreciates it and thinks it's beautiful. If your style is a form of self presentation, translation of your shared traumas and deepest feelings, he might like it just a smidge more.
When you present the idea of publishing your own book, he is definitely on board. He likes to read your stories anyway, he can't see why others wouldn't enjoy it. He would definitely help you find the best publisher and arrange the best deal for you (with a little help from Sebastian, if needed).
When your book becomes a hit in London and the readers as well as critics start asking for a sequel, he feels proud. Proud of himself, for helping you make your dream come true, but mostly proud of you. For not conforming to expectations of others, who would assume you'd take over the Phantomhive company, but instead following your dreams and working hard to make them come true. It is that kind of strength he really admires. But of course, he knows how the world works and so he thinks his help was neccesary (and would continue to be in the future).
In the end, you have sort of a symbiotic relationship. Whenever you need anything for your work, Ciel gets it for you. Art supplies, sketchbooks, he can get you anything and you best believe it'll be in the best quality as well. He also helps you make deals with potential publishers or anyone who is interested in your work, making sure no one tries to scam you and that you get the most benefits from your labour.
In return, he asks for nothing. You already give him everything he needs from you. Your company. He gladly takes on the task of managing the family business, if it means that you can still sit by him in his study, scribbling away, as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.
#black butler#kuroshitsuji#black butler headcanons#headcanons#ciel phantomhive#ciel phantomhive headcanons#ciel phantomhive x y/n#ciel phantomhive x reader#black butler ciel#sister reader#older sister reader#fluff#black butler fluff
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peaches 'n cream
pope heyward x lamb!reader
sequel to durazno
4k words
Pope didn't think you were serious when you said you wanted the peach but here you were, in his room, studying the peach with those curious eyes. Not even an hour ago, the two of you disgraced a church- not any church, your fathers church. Now you were leaning over his nightstand, eyes fixated on the peach. You were studying it. It sat on his nightstand, dripping with his cum. He could only be thankful that his mom hadn't decided today would be one of the days she cleaned his room while he was out. He could feel his ears and face burning as you analyzed the evidence of his depravity. You were enjoying this. He could tell by the way you glanced at him, laughter dying in your throat as you watched his expression turn more horrifically embarrassed by the second.
Pope had a lot of questions. He was curious by nature, but his world was basically flipped on its axis with one trip to your fathers church. He couldn't form a question that expressed his confusion so he watched you with morbid curiosity.
You were feeling a mixture of emotions. You were flattered, of course, but your religious guilt crept into the forefront of your mind. You never even thought about dating a boy and not one hour ago you were sucking Pope’s dick in the confessional. In your fathers church. Pope could see the gears turning in your mind and he only wished he could hear your thoughts.
Your guilt turned to a sense of comfort as you wrapped your mind around the idea of Pope being as depraved and deviant as you. You were not innocent by any means, but you never acted on your impulses- not with anyone else. You took your sexual frustrations out on pillows, the edges of tables, the edge of the dryer, the heel of your foot, and one specific teddy bear named Penny. Pope fucked a peach and came inside of it, imagining it was you. He felt the same way you did- craved the same things you did. He wasn't like the other guys who feigned interest in you to steal your virginity away like some trophy. Pope actively tried to keep himself away from you. He knew what would happen if he gave in, even a little bit. You wondered what it would be like if he lost all control.
The thought made your already wet, sticky pussy pulse with excitement.
“It's gross, I know-” Pope started and immediately cut himself off when you took the fruit in your hand. His cum dripped onto your hands and you played with it in one hand while the other brought the fruit to your lips. “Don't-”
It was too late, you sunk your teeth into the flesh of the peach. His cum was almost tasteless and was surprisingly pleasant as it mixed with the juices of the peach. You licked your lips and looked into his eyes, taking another bite. And another. And another.
Pope watched in admiration and concern as you finished the peach. You relished every bite, moaning in delight at the taste. There was a look in your eye when you glanced at him through your eyelashes between each bite. It told him, “You're mine. Body, heart, and soul. All of it's mine. I want to consume all of you and I want you to consume all of me.” It was the strangest display of devotion he had ever seen and he was enamored.
When there was no more fruit, you licked your hands clean, paying no mind to the fact that you must have resembled some sort of animal licking themselves clean.
“Can I use your bathroom?” You asked, displaying your sticky hands. Pope blinked at you and nodded, opening his bedroom door and leading you to the bathroom.
The only thing that worried Pope was your silence. You weren't saying anything. Usually you were pretty social and friendly with the members of the church but here you were skittish. He raised his arm to lean against the doorway and you practically flinched. He almost didn't want to move at all for fear of scaring you off.
That's how the two of you end up sitting on the edge of his bed in silence.
“You want to be a coroner.” You said.
“Huh?” Your sudden statement startled Pope. “Oh, yeah. I do. How do you know?”
You pointed at the books on his desk, books regarding forensic pathology. “I read this one.” You picked up Deadhouse: Life in a Coroner's Office.
“For class?” He asked and watched you shake your head.
“When I was a kid I thought Genesis 3:19- for dust you are and to dust you shall return- was like an incantation to disintegrate dead bodies at funerals. I asked my dad but he got mad at me. Death fascinates me.” You're looking at your hands, afraid that Pope thinks you're weird like everyone else does. When you look at him, he's smiling at you.
“When I was a kid, it took me like a week to grasp the concept of depth. My dad made me kill a fish because I kept asking questions.” Pope could vividly remember Heyward explaining how once you're dead, you have no more thoughts. There is no more you. 8 year old Pope threw up at the thought of there not being any him, but mostly at the feeling of the fish going limp in his little hands.
“Are you-?”
“Do you want to-”
The two of you said at the same time. “Go ahead.” Pope nodded, encouragingly.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” You turned your body towards him.
“With your family?”
You shook your head. “It’s my parent's anniversary. They just left for the weekend. Took the jet.”
The fact that your parents could fly somewhere privately while his neighbors weren't making enough to eat bothered Pope but he swallowed his pride. You weren't like that. At least he hoped you weren't like that. To be honest, he didn't know what to think but nevertheless he nodded his head. “Yeah. I’ll come- go! I’ll go over for dinner.”
“Promise?” You stuck your pinky out and he didn't skip a beat interlocking his with yours.
“I promise.”
“Great.” You stood up. “I should go. See you tonight. 7 o'clock.” And you left without another word, leaving Pope sitting on the edge of his bed.
“So are you gonna fuck her?”
“Dude, not cool.” Kie jabbed JJ’s ribs with a pointy elbow. Against Pope’s better judgment, he was driving the HMS to the boat wreck.
“Sorry, are you gonna have premarital sex and condemn her soul to hell?” JJ earned himself another elbow, this time from John B.
“She's not that kinda girl.” Pope murmured, not wanting to engage in another normal conversation turned vulgar. He wasn't even sure why he brought it up to JJ of all people.
“I bet she could be.” JJ seemed to be concocting mental images of you, probably inspired by his memory of your skirt blowing upwards. “If I had a golden opportunity like you Pope, I would.”
“She would never let you touch her.” Kie rolled her eyes.
“You ever hear of God’s Loophole?”
“Don't talk about her like that.” Pope shook his head as he steered the HMS Pogue through the marsh. “I actually like her so we need to be done with this before 7.”
“Who would have thought? The boy’s got feelings.” John B slid his arm over Pope's shoulder. “Park her riiiight here bubba. Kie, you got the scuba?”
“This is empty. You took empty tanks?” Kie looked at John B, exasperated. “This one's a quarter full.”
Pope was late.
You were, understandably, upset. When 7:01 came, you gave him some grace. Everyone's a little late now and then, even you had made your family late for church so if he was 10 minutes late it wasn't a big deal.
You watched the clock tick past 7:30 and then it was 8 and your feelings were hurt. You put in all the effort of making dinner, you even made peach cobbler and bought ice cream. You couldn't understand what could possibly be keeping him away after he promised he would come.
It was 8:30 when you heard the rapid sound of shoes slapping the cement of your driveway. Pope paused to catch his breath before pushing the door bell.
Ding-
You swung the door open before the bell could finish. All your sadness had turned to anger. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry-”
“For standing me up? For making a promise you couldn't keep?” You cut him off, furrowing your brow angrily.
“Can I explain?” You rose your brows, signaling him to continue talking. “First of all, I’m really sorry. I didn't mean to be this late but me and my friends had a… mission to complete. It got dangerous and that's what held me up. I promise I wouldn't stand you up.”
“A mission? What kind of mission?”
“It's better that you don't know.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” You ask, scoffing.
“No- No, of course not.”
“I know everyone thinks I’m just this naive little girl but I’m not.”
“I know you're not-” Pope genuinely tried to respond. His perception of you changes with every conversation you have.
“Really? Because you're treating me like I don't know who you hang out with. Like I don't know the kind of stuff JJ and John B get into. Do you just not trust me?”
Pope took a deep breath and looked to the sky before looking back into your eyes. “Me and my friends found a boat wreck yesterday. Scooter Grubbs boat wreck. John B got scuba gear to check the thing out. We almost got caught by the cops because the marsh is supposed to be closed but we were fine. Everything was fine until these two dudes chase us through the marsh. They're shooting at us- the only reason we get away is because of Kie. Anyways, John B found a duffel bag and we thought it was drugs but it was his fathers compass- you know Big John. But we're trying to figure out what the he- what the heck his fathers compass was doing on that boat. I didn't want to come over to your house in clothes I was almost shot in so I showered and then ran here but-” He smells himself. “I kinda stink now. Yeah. I think that’s it.”
You're staring at him with those big, curious eyes and not saying anything so he drops to his knees and takes your hands. He was pretty frantic during his explanation and it was showing with every deep breath he took. “Pope?”
“Please give me another chance.” He squeezes your hands. “Please.”
You felt both pity and attraction to his desperate begging. “You don't need to beg, I forgive you.” You pull him up. “Come in.”
Pope closed the door behind himself as he followed you inside. Your home was very simply elegant. The furniture looked like it was straight out of a catalog and there was even a chandelier in the middle of the living room. In the kitchen there were stained glass windows that looked expensive. Not to mention how massive the house was, two stories and you didn't have any siblings. He couldn't help but wonder, how could a doctor and a preacher pull this off?
“Are you hungry?” You asked. “I made pozole- a soup.”
“Yeah, please.”
“Are you hurt?” You asked, looking at him with a clean bowl in your hand.
“What? No. No, I’m fine.” Pope took a seat at the end of the table.
“Are you okay?” Pope paused and thought about it for a second before nodding. “Okay.” You nodded back and served him a bowl. You set it in front of him and he dug in, savoring the taste. “This is really good.” He spoke in between spoonfuls. You sat on his right side.
“It's a traditional dish from Mexico. The Aztecs would make the soup with human flesh and participate in ritualistic cannibalism.” You said in your soft voice as if you were talking about the weather. “I used pork. I made the red version but you can also make it green. It's really good.”
Pope nodded, taking in all the information you just gave him. “Some cannibals say that human flesh tastes really similar to pork, so good choice?”
A smile broke across your face and you laughed. “I made peach cobbler too.”
“You didn't have to do all this.” Pope started.
“I wanted to. I like you, Pope.” You leaned your cheek on your hand and gazed into his eyes. Pope felt like you were trying to see into his soul. “I thought I made it obvious.”
“You did- I like you too.” Pope wiped his hands on his pants nervously. “I just-”
“I know. I came on really strong. You're probably confused.”
“Yes. No. Well, yes.” Pope argued with himself and you found it endearing. “I just have a lot of questions.”
“I’ll try to answer them.” You responded, reaching across the table to grab his hand.
Pope licked his lips and nodded, all the things he was thinking of asking you suddenly disappearing from his mind. “I’ll make a list.”
You nod. “Okay. Are you done?” He nods and you take his bowl, washing it in the sink.
Having been shot at like 3 hours ago, he surprisingly felt relaxed. It wasn't your house, he felt ill at ease in houses that didn't look like anyone lived there. It was you.
“Can I show you my room?”
He followed you up the stairs.
You walked down a hallway, dragging your fingertips along the wall until you stopped in front of a door. You opened the door and glanced at him over your shoulder with a playful look. “Come in.”
He stepped inside and it was like another world. Your room had its own atmosphere. Your fluffy white sheets were adorned with colorful, embroidered flowers, you had a collection of stuffed animals, and there was a cross right above your bed with a rosary hanging off of it. Your vanity was made of wood and intricately carved with delicate floral designs, bottles of perfume, skincare, and other things sat neatly organized atop. On your bedside table there was a statue of the virgin Mary, a pair of reading glasses, a lamp, and 2 books. This was your little world, a sanctuary.
“Solito?” Pope read the title of one of the books.
“It's a memoir. The author immigrated from El Salvador when he was 9 all by himself. It’s about his journey across 2 borders to be reunited with his family. It's a really good read.” You sat on the edge of your bed, looking up at him.
“It sounds good. Have you finished it?”
“Almost.” You shook your head. “I’m at the part where he gets caught coming into the US. It reminded me of the bible, when they came to arrest Jesus.”
Pope had never seen you so passionate while speaking, he was ashamed at how much it turned him on listening to you compare the memoir to the bible.
You, on the other hand, were feeling nervous at the way Pope was looking at you. He nodded his head and leaned in while you spoke, licking his lips. It made you squeeze your thighs together. “Pope?”
He blinked and sort of snapped out of the trance you had him in. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?” You asked, voice dropping to a whisper. He nodded and you scooted closer, until
your thighs were touching his. Angling your body towards his, you lean in. One of Pope’s hands reached out to cradle the side and back of your neck while the other held your face. You closed your eyes, pliant in his hands, letting him capture your lips in a kiss.
You practiced kissing a lot. The back of your hand, stuffies, and round, smooth surfaces taught you how to move your lips in an amorous manner. It was nothing like how you thought it would be. He was gentle, but commanding. His thumb gently rubbed your cheek as he led the kiss. He wasn't too harsh or too gentle, he matched your pace and guided you in a way that made you want him more.
You felt his hands on you and you wanted more. Bravely, you put your hands on his shoulders and swung a knee over his lap, effectively straddling his lap. “Hey…” Pope murmured against your lips but you silenced him with a kiss. You dropped your hips, resting your weight on his thighs.
You pulled back just enough to whisper. “Hi.” With just the right movement, Pope’s boner was pressing right against your clit through his pants and your panties. You let out a whimper when one of his hands dropped to your waist, squeezing the flesh gently, and the other kept a firm grip on the back of your neck. Your mind went to all the places Pope could take you if he just gave in and it motivated your movement.
Within 15 minutes of being alone in your room with Pope, you were dry humping him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your wetness pooled in your panties and Pope could feel it through his pants. “Wait-” Pope murmured against your lips but it was no use. You were bucking your hips against his with vigor, occasionally using his shoulder as stability to grind down harder on him. You needed him over, under, and inside of you.
Pope was unsure of how he managed to last as long as he did with the pressure of your body weight pressing against him deliciously. Whenever he managed to open his eyes, you were staring at the wall where he knew your cross was. It unsettled him a little, your tendency to come onto him in religious settings, but he chose not to think about that and focus on the noises you were making.
The noises you were making sounded like music and Pope knew he was close. He began bucking his hips up against you and you let out a strangled moan, dropping your head against his shoulder. Your lips grazed against his neck and you were whining his name like it was a prayer.
And then you stopped.
You gasped and pushed yourself off of him, standing in front of him while he was still lying back, breathing heavily. You were breathing heavily too, but you had a crazed look in your eye.
“What's wrong?” Pope propped himself up on his elbows, a concerned look on his face. “Was it me?”
“No! No, no. It wasn't you.” You pulled your skirt down back to its place, just above your knees. “It felt really good. I just- I always… Whenever I get to… that point I usually just stop.”
Pope blinked. “Why?”
You let out a sigh and sit back next to him. “I’m scared of what will happen. Orgasm in French is “the little death” and it's just this underlying fear I have that one day I’m going to have an orgasm and God's going to kill me for being sexually immoral and then I think about my mom or dad finding me dead with a pillow between my legs anmph-”
Pope cut you off with a kiss and you let him, grabbing onto his bicep. You let him lie you down on your bed and trail his hand down your body. “You trust me right?” You nodded and spread your legs to let his hand in. He used his free hand to push your skirt up and with his other he pulled your panties to the side. Your pussy looks divine, puffy and swollen, glistening and leaking for him.
The scientist in Pope wanted to pull your lips open and inspect every inch of you, but he resisted. He could always do it another time. “I want you to let go okay?”
“Pope?” You ask softly, hair fanned out under your head like a halo. He nods. “What if I pee?”
“It's okay. We’ll change your sheets.” Pope smiled and pressed a kiss to your lips at the same time as his middle finger sank into your core.
“Ahh…” You moaned into his mouth and spread your legs wider. His fingers were longer and thicker than yours and you only ever managed to get your own index finger in. He was touching spots you didn't know were inside you and once he added a second finger, you were moving your hips in time with his hand. You closed your eyes and laid your head against the mattress, dizzy from pleasure.
Pope felt you gushing all over his fingers and added a third, moving his other hand down to your clit.
Someone was talking. No- someone was begging. It took you a second to realize that it was you. Your core was on fire and you were holding on for dear life until he started rubbing your clit with his fingers still inside you. Now you were thrashing and bucking under him, letting a string of pleas fall from your lips.
“Please, God… Oh… Pope, Please! Oh, God! Pope!” Your moans only encouraged him, along with the obscene sound of his fingers fucking your messy little pussy open.
“Just let go, I got you.” Pope pressed hot, open mouthed kisses against your neck, curling his fingers inside you. He felt your body still underneath him and then your pussy started pulsing around his fingers. “That's it. Let it all out.”
Your hips trembled as he was still massaging you on the inside. You felt tears roll down your cheeks as you looked up at the cross on your wall. You felt like the holy spirit was inside of you, commanding you through your orgasm.
Pope removed his fingers with a reluctant whine from you. He trailed them up to your clit and rubbed it in circles, spreading your cum and wetness all over. “Do you want more?” He asked, still rubbing your clit while you were lying back with your eyes closed, chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. He spoke your name and you shrugged your dress straps off, revealing your breasts. Your fingers gently grazed your peaked nipples and you gave him those eyes.
He nodded and pushed your legs to your chest, lowering himself and attaching his mouth to your pussy. You squealed, giggling and jerking around a bit at the foreign sensation of his tongue exploring your sensitive clit.
Your giggles turned into high pitched moans as you held your knees to you, holding them open as wide as you could. He sloppily made out with your clit while you humped his face, letting out sobs when his teeth grazed you. “Oh, God… So good… So wet…” You whimpered when he spat on your clit.
You don't know how long he had you like that, tongue working your swollen clit while your pussy drooled against his chin. You reach orgasm again and let your knees go, trying to push Pope’s head away but he hooks his arms around your ass and pulls you closer. He's eating you like a man starved and its not long until you are crying out his name again and jerking wildly in his grasp.
He pulls away and rubs your tummy with one hand and your clit with the other through the aftershocks of your orgasm. “How do you feel?”
You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to look at your cross. Your eyes fell on him and you smiled. “Not afraid to die anymore.” You murmured and leaned back against your bed in bliss, curling into Pope’s side. “Do you want me to make you cum?” You ask, looking up at him.
“I already did.” Your eyes fell to the wet spot on his jeans, a mix of you and him. You erupted in giggles and Pope pinched your nipple, making you moan. “Meanie.”
edged u guys for long enough. moony babe, this one's for u @starfxkr
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I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk about this Utada Hikaru quote in regards to both Hikari and Passion before:
In an interview, Utada said, "It's like... as if 'Hikari' was the dawn, and 'Passion' has a concluding or 'dusk' feeling to it. The lyrics of 'Passion' show how phases of the past, present and future of the character in my song relate to each other."
This came from the KH Fandom Wiki, which I'll link below in the comments. I've seen the Nomura quote mentioned all the time about how Passion is about Sora and Riku's reunion, but I think a part of Nomura's quote that often gets overlooked is when he states:
I wrote stuff like "An image of a reunion, a happy moment in a way" and "Like a Hikari 2" in there.
Italicized part by me for emphasis and the main thing I want to talk about here. The quote from Nomura can be found over at Kingdom Hearts Insider (which I will also link below in the comments).
We have Utada mentioning how Hikari is like the dawn and Passion is like the concluding dusk, thus connecting the two songs to each other in a sequel like way, just like Nomura mentions in his interview when he states that Passion is "Like a Hikari 2." So, in my mind, since Nomura states that "Passion is about Sora and Riku's reunion" and Utada uses the phrasing of dawn, as well as how the song highlights how past, present, and future relate to each other for the character in the song...I think it's pretty safe to say that Hikari is about Sora and Riku as well.
That seems to be what both Nomura and Utada are implying with their answers here. Now, I know that some people really like to say that Simple & Clean and Sanctuary are their own songs, which they are. The lyrics are different. But the thematic elements are still the same and there are still similar through lines (like the backward lyrics being the same in both Passion and Sanctuary for instance).
The lyrics of Hikari really fit Riku's views on Sora and the bond they have/had - the desire for it to remain unchanged. The person they are singing about being their light (Sora being Riku's light, something we know Riku views Sora as via things like the DDD Novel Side Riku). Simple & Clean's lyrics definitely fit Sora as a character and his voice more.
With Passion and Sanctuary it almost seems like this is reversed though. The English version, Sanctuary, has more lyrics that fit Riku and his perspective on Sora and their reunion. Meanwhile, Passion's lyrics fit Sora a lot more. The line: "I heard my old crush is having a baby in the wintertime" is quite interesting in various ways. The whole last set of lyrics in Passion aren't really directly related to KH, but more to general ideas of things that denote changes and passages of time (people having children, getting New Years cards, etc.).
It's also so interesting that Hikari is mentioned as being the Dawn (the time of day associated with Riku) and Passion the Dusk (the time of day that is often associated with Kairi). In KH2 is when we start to see a shift in Sora's feelings and interactions with Kairi (distance, drifting apart, change) and a reconnection happen with Sora and Riku (reunion, airing out feelings, better communication, reinforcing their friendship and bonds to each other, etc.).
We get games that focus more on Sora and Riku's bonds (Re-coded, BBB when they are little kids, and DDD) and Kairi is sadly neglected by the narrative and both Sora and Riku in a way. Something that we see her taking note of in KH3, more obviously through the novelization.
I don't know. To me these quotes just make me think it is very obvious that both Hikari/Simple & Clean and Passion/Sanctuary are all songs about Sora and Riku and their bond with each other. Of course, since KH3 is meant to be a conclusion to the Dark Seeker Saga, of which KH1 and KH2 are both a part of, it would make sense that Oath and Don't Think Twice are about them too.
Sadly, we don't really have anything remotely official to really solidify that interpretation though, not that official recognition of things like this are necessary - they aren't - but they do add more validity to interpretations and theories. Maybe some day we'll get a comment about Oath / Don't Think Twice from either Nomura or Utada. But until then...I'm still going to think that those songs are about Sora and Riku.
Anyway, these are just rambling thoughts on a topic I've talked about before (the KH themes like Oath / Don't Think Twice and their connection to Sora and Riku). But I was thinking about this all again with the new Hikari re-recording by Utada that came out recently. It's a beautiful re-recording that I definitely suggest every KH fan check out. I'll link that in the comments as well, lol. Also, feel free to add this via reblogs or in the comments! I might not respond right away, but I'll read everything that gets commented, added, etc.
#Soriku#KH#Kingdom Hearts#Sora x Riku#Nomura#Utada Hikaru#Hikari#Simple and Clean#Passion#Sanctuary#Don't Think Twice#Oath#long post#thought post
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For I'll Keep Every Promise
Synopsis: He wakes up.
Word Count: 2.4k
tags. fluff, angst, happy ending
Sequel to 'A Thousand Wishes Unheard'
note: I was going to post this later but I think you guys need it. Ao3 Link
Darkness. That was all he could see. He felt nothing– as if he was floating in a neverending void.
He was dead.
He had to be. He remembers the bitter taste of blood coating his mouth– the way he struggled and choked on the very thing that ran through his skin. He recalls the loud ringing in his ear, growing ever louder as his vision faded out.
Well, he supposed he tried his best. Really. He gave it his all.
It just wasn’t enough.
What remained of his heart ached. He supposed he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to you. He hopes you won’t blame him…he had held on till the very end.
Death wasn’t so bad. Before he went he was able to see his students, laughing and smiling, he even got to hold you close before he had left. Not to mention he even saw his friends again, and he had gotten to say goodbye.
He had no regrets.
Well…he supposes there is still one that lodges itself in the back of his mind.
It was you.
He had never gotten the chance to…
“Satoru,”
He turned his head to look at you, who was savoring your lollipop as you leaned back on the balcony.
Lemon flavored. The very sour kind.
He had a snide suspicion that it was to keep him away from stealing it…
“Satoruu~” you repeated, drawing his attention again.
“Hm?”
You flash him a smile, the kind of smile that lets him know that you are about to either stir up trouble or say something random.
It was the latter.
“What do you want to do when you're older?”
He snorts, “What kind of question is that? Of course– a sorcerer.” He wanted to add ‘what else?’ but decided it was obvious enough. Adding the last part would also ruin his good mood. His path has already been pre-designed and pre-routed for him. He has no other choice.
“No, what I mean is if all this didn’t exist.”
“Aw~ are you saying you would rather not have met me?” He sings out in a fake-pained voice, knowing that it was not what you meant.
You roll your eyes, having been used to his antics for a few years now, “Perhaps,” you say with a playful smile, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be better off.”
“Nah, I doubt it.”
You sigh before turning to face him. You widen your eyes when you notice he is already looking at you, but quickly move on, but Satoru doesn’t let the red creeping up on the tip of your ears go unnoticed. “I’m saying if you didn’t have cursed energy and stuff…like normal people, you know?”
He wanted to laugh and point out that it sounded like you were indicating that people like you and him were the odd ones, but he decided to let it slide.
“I dunno, maybe I’ll start a singing career, something like that.”
“Pfft, so what? That you’ll get even more admirers and fans?”
“Exactly! What? Don’t you agree? My face is pleasant to look at.”
Scoffing, you say, “One of these days I’ll make sure to crush that ego of yours.”
He rolls his eyes before looking back out at the school grounds, watching the sun slowly set behind the forest of trees. Although he had said the first thing that came from the top of his mind, he supposed singing wouldn’t be that far reached.
After all, he excelled at everything.
"How about you?" he asks. "Do you have something in mind already?"
Observing the setting sun, you reply, "Mhm, yeah. Something like that."
"Really?" He sounds surprised, not realizing how seriously you were considering it. "What is it?"
Hesitating, you eventually respond, "It's... nothing."
His interest is immediately piqued.
"Come on! What's your idea? Share it with me!" He playfully pesters you with a grin.
"No!"
"You can't tease me like that! I told you mine, didn't I?" He whines a bit more before eventually coaxing it out of you.
It was when he saw you sigh, watching as the tension left your shoulders that he knew he won.
“Fine, I’ll tell you then. But you can’t tell anyone else– okay?”
He makes a gesture of zipping his mouth and throwing the zipper away, his curiosity increasing. It always does when it comes to you.
“I want to be…” you wait a bit, as if for dramatic effect, “...an author.”
You turn to look at him after a moment’s silence before breaking out in laughter.
“Haha- what’s up with your face? Surprised?”
Indeed he was a bit surprised. An author? He had no clue. When it comes to you it seemed as if he's only ever scratched the surface. It made him want to know more, want to ask more.
He never does.
"An author," he echoes thoughtfully.
"Yeah."
He wanted to ask why, but you had already started talking.
“An author. I guess it’s because I want to write stories, I grew up reading them you know? Made me feel safe.”
A hint of melancholy graces your smile as your thoughts drift elsewhere; it's a different kind of smile than the one before–a sadder smile.
"Who knows? I'm sure being a sorcerer has provided ample material for incredible stories. I'll be entirely unique. Maybe I'll even include tales about overcoming curses and how people like us save the day."
"Why not add in a ridiculously handsome guy who defeats all the curses with seamless ease too? Make sure 'remarkably attractive' is emphasized."
Laughing, you playfully smack his arm. "Okay, Satoru. I'll consider it."
He couldn’t help but break out into an amused smile. What an odd dream, he thought. Though he supposed he wasn’t against it.
Satoru Gojo excelled at everything, yet nothing he achieved seemed to measure up to you.
He felt his mind start to drift and fade away, threatening to join the other souls in their lost journey home. Wait…he called out. He didn’t want to go just yet. He wanted more time, more time to replay his memories, to live in them just for a second longer.
“Satoru,”
He could hear your voice, calling him in that familiar and recognizable way that was only special to you.
“Satoru.”
He wished he could’ve told you how much he loved hearing you say his name, it rolls off your tongue so nicely. He was never one to care about names, it never mattered to someone like him.
All he needed was Gojo – a name denoting his status, lineage, and power. His first name barely held any weight compared to his clan's. No one needed to know who Satoru was, no one ever did…so he couldn’t have cared less for his name- and yet you somehow made him love his name– only when you say it does it sound special– like it’s his name like he is someone.
Someone other than the honored one. Someone other than the strongest.
“Satoru!”
There were a lot of things he never got to tell you, another thing to add to his regrets. If only he had been brave enough…if only he had picked up his courage and told you everything.
“Satoru- please!”
He paused. Ah- what is that feeling? He could feel something wet fall onto his face. Was it raining? How could that be? How could he feel if he was dead?
And yet that warmth around his face only made him more confused. He could feel as if someone was holding them, cupping his face carefully as if he could break.
"Please wake up… Satoru, I beg you…"
His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sudden brightness.
The first thing he saw when his vision came back into focus was your face. Your crying face looking down at him with your hands cupping his face.
Then he looked around, realizing that the battlefield on which he had been sliced in half was gone. He was in a room, a hospital room.
He looked down and saw the rest of his body, no longer split into two. Had Shoko done this?
“Satoru!”
He returned his gaze to you. You were smiling, smiling, and crying.
Questions, so many questions flooded through him at that moment, but he decided that he could ask those later. Right now was more important, right now felt like it was all happening inside a dream.
“Hey…crybaby, seems like you you missed me?” He teased with a small grin.
You gave him a look through your tear-soaked face as if you couldn’t even believe what he was saying.
“Y-You! You bastard! You annoying– infuriating- stupid dumbass!”
“Aw, come on…” he drags, “You don’t mean those…do you hm?” Although the tone in his voice is light– playful even as if he hadn’t just returned from death, as if all he wanted right now was to live this moment to the fullest, he was dearly wishing this– whatever this was– to last a little longer.
He slowly brings his trembling arm to hold onto yours, he wanted to hold on to you tight, as if everything he was seeing was about to break, to fall apart for him to realize it was all a dream.
He waited for you to disappear, to return to the part of his imagination that was playing tricks on him.
Instead, you move sideways to hug him, crying onto his shoulders.
"No...no, I don't," you managed through choked sobs.
He hummed softly, "I guess I kept my promise after all, huh?"
You nod into his shoulder, still holding him tightly.
You and him fall into a comfortable silence, he lets you cry on his shoulders just as how you let him hold onto you.
Several minutes passed before you pulled away, sniffling and attempting to compose yourself while wiping away tears with your sleeve.
Satoru wanted to reach out and wipe them for you, but his newly healed injuries did not allow him to, moving his hand had already been hard.
It went on like that for a while; you sniffling and crying as Satoru stared at you quietly, taking everything about you in as if this was the last time he was going to see you, just the same way he did on that night underneath the torii gate, using his eyes to try to imprint every detail, everything, every aspect of you into his memory.
That night felt like a lifetime away.
He was the first to break the silence, “Where are the others?”
By now you had calmed down, and were able to answer in a coherent way, “Recovering…everyone is- they’re fine.”
Fine. Not good, but fine.
He’ll take it for now.
“We managed to win and…” you give him a look, “you know…the students declared their victory for you,” You say with a smile.
His students. They managed to do it, just as he thought they could. He sighed contently.
You then spend the next half hour going over exactly what had happened after he had passed out, how Kashimo had come out right after him, and how eventually the rest of the students joined in.
In the end, they had managed to pull through, but it wasn’t over. Sukuna had been dealt with, Megumi’s condition was unknown, and Kenjaku was nowhere to be found.
Shoko had indeed been the one to heal him. Immediately after the battle they were able to recover his body and managed to heal him back together just in time.
“We- we almost- I didn’t know if we made it in time or not…” You say, choking up again. He could see the tears you were desperately trying to hold back, to look brave in front of him, trying to break through.
“Hey, I’m right here, aren’t I?” He beckons you to come closer.
He eventually holds you in his arms, drawing slow circles on your back, as he knows it calms you, “Shhh, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere else.”
You mutter, “Better not,” which causes him to laugh.
He wanted to let this moment drag on forever, just you in his arms, just you and him.
“This…this is real– right?” He says quietly, and in such a small voice he doubted you had heard him.
You raise your head to look at him, the soft kind of smile he’s always known playing on your face, “Yes, Satoru. This is real, as real as it can be.”
He can feel himself start to tear up, because if he had to be honest- he was scared too, he was terrified, but he had no choice. He had to play his role, his role as the strongest.
But now he could just be Satoru, just him holding onto you, keeping you close.
“Then I’m glad.”
Bonus:
“Gojo Sensei!” Yuji, the always energetic kid exclaimed as he ran into the room, followed by You, Maki, Yuta, Nobara, Panda, Inanumaki, Shoko, and everyone else.
They all had recovered for the most part and seemed to be relatively okay. They all wore relieved expressions as they entered the room to see that their Sensei was alright.
Yuji was the first to arrive at his Sensei’s bedside.
“Hey, kid!” Gojo Sensei waved. He had recovered enough to prop himself up and do basic movements, which to Shoko had been a miracle itself.
Yuji then began launching himself into the things that had happened while Gojo had been recovering, and Gojo returned the energy. Everyone got their turn, talking until visiting times were over and they had to be ushered out.
You were the last to leave. Just before you turned the doorknob Satoru called after you, “Hey- wait.”
You turn around, waiting for what he wants to say.
“When- uh when this is all over and when you have some free time, let me take you out, yeah?”
You barely ever heard Satoru Gojo stumble over his words, and when he did you know it was because he was nervous, and everyone knows Satoru Gojo is never nervous, yet that always seemed to be the exception when it comes to you.
You found it cute, the way he would try to seem aloof as the back of his neck became a beautiful shade of bright red.
“Yeah, but let’s save that for when you recover.”
“Don’t worry! I’ll be up and ready by next week,” he says as if it were a fact, his blue eyes seemed to shine even brighter.
You sigh, even after coming back on the brink of death he still acts like a child, but you smile nonetheless, “Next week it is then.”
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#gojo angst#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#jjk spoilers#jujutsu kaisen#fluff
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Do you think the Mario movie sequel should show conflict in the bros' relationship? I know you've said before that you do not like the idea of them having a cliche argument that ends up in them splitting up in anger but their relationship isn't without problems.
See, Mario is someone who will jump headfirst into any situation with reckless abandon and that causes problems if he's picking fights with people who are much stronger than he is, and he was lucky enough to have access to power ups to increase his strength.
But what if he jumps headfirst into a situation he cannot easily get out of? Luigi seems to be more of the voice of reason and he probably doesn't speak up as much as he should so I could see a situation where he's getting increasingly frustrated with Mario's recklessness and that could definitely cause problems.
I definitely think conflict could be in the cards, but I'd be interested in seeing it play out in a way that doesn't involve a fight or a third act breakup.
Actually, this bit of concept art by Joe Pitt comes to mind:
The thing is Luigi does speak up! It's just that Mario doesn't really listen all that much– not because he doesn't value his brother's opinion, but because he gets too wrapped up in his own impulses to listen to anyone.
The way I see it playing out is that, while the first movie was about Mario learning what he was capable of and coming into his own, the second movie could be him figuring out how to temper his reckless, because he definitely didn't learn that in the first movie.
And I imagine, with victories under his belt and Luigi at his side, Mario feels more inclined to feed his impulses than ever before.
In the meantime, Luigi is trying desperately to keep up with his brother without getting overwhelmed. While he was able to put up with Mario's shenanigans with saintly patience when they were plumbers, the constant threat of death is too much.
It comes to a head in one of two ways:
1. Mario finally bites off more than he can chew and barely gets out alive. Luigi drags him to safety, and once they're in a place where they can talk Luigi lets loose his pent-up frustration, ranting to Mario about how he never listens and nearly got himself killed.
This time, however, Mario does listen. He apologizes to his brother, and continuing forward he does what he can to give Luigi agency over what they do and what battles they undertake.
2. Mario finally bites off more than he can chew, but Luigi pays the price for it, and that is enough of a lesson in and of itself for Mario to snap out of it and realize what he's been doing.
#askbox#pixiedustandfairypowers#Mario movie#mario movie 2#mario movie 2 speculation#super mario bros#super mario brothers
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Hi this request will probably be a bit different but I’m hoping you’re ok with it
I’m a trans guy and I was wondering if you could do a Elijah smut with a he/him pronoun y/n? If you don’t want to do mlm smut then maybe just change pronouns?
For the actual fic
You’re first time and Elijah is like really sweet with u but also dominant lots of good boy and praise n stuff
Tyyy
Perfect
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
After a date with Elijah, you want to take things to the next level and he makes you feel like the only boy in the world.
♡♡ Thanks for the request @elijahmikaelsonsboy ! this was a fun challenge and I hope it's what you wanted (I truly believe that Elijah is a pansexual king... he had chemistry with Damon~) ♡♡
2.8k words - Warnings: pure smut no plot, transmale!reader, virgin!reader, sprinkle of dom!elijah, blowjob, lots of praise...
You adjusted your shirt and tie in the mirror, smoothing out your hair for the fourth time. There was this piece that just wouldn't stay down no matter what you did. You wondered how Elijah managed to never have a hair out of place, you made a mental note to ask him.
It was finally here, the night you were going to tell him. The night you would confess that you loved him. The plan was to tell him after your date... Or maybe during. You weren't sure. He had said it was just a casual date, nothing fancy. But you wanted to impress him, so you made sure there wasn't a single wrinkle found on the dress shirt and pants you were wearing. Your tie was a perfect knot, the shoes you wore had not a scuff on them.
He arrived at your door looking amazing as always. His hair was perfectly styled, his suit a perfect fit, and the way his dark eyes pierced through yours... It made you weak in the knees. He smiled and offered you his arm, kissing your cheek. "You look very handsome tonight."
You smiled back, kissing him. "Thank you. You look very handsome yourself."
You spent most of the ride there making idle chit chat, just talking about each other's days and such. You were so happy to have him in your life, sometimes you couldn't believe how lucky you were.
When you met him you had made the assumption that he was only interested in women. You had no idea that he was pansexual until he kissed you. You were surprised, of course, but pleasantly so. After that, he had been taking you on dates every other week, and you fell more and more in love with him as time went on.
You were ready to take things to the next level, but you were nervous about it. You had never gone all the way with anyone before, and the last thing you wanted was for it to be disappointing for him.
It didn't help that he was so much more experienced than you. You had discussed it one night while cuddling, and he said it wasn't a big deal. You felt better after that, but you still worried.
Tonight he took you to go see a movie, it was one of those big blockbuster films that was a long awaited sequel. You had seen the trailer and were excited, and when you saw the posters and the crowd at the theater you got even more excited.
It was the perfect date. You couldn't focus on the movie, however, because your mind was racing with the possibility of having sex for the first time. You were nervous about a number of things, him seeing your body, what it would feel like and how you would react, not being any good at it. The list went on and on.
After the movie, you drove to his place and ordered some takeout. You tried to keep a conversation going, but you kept spacing out. He noticed your lack of interest in the conversation and placed a hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Are you okay?"
You smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. "I'm fine. Sorry I'm being quiet. Just thinking."
He leaned over and kissed your forehead. "That's alright. What is on your mind?"
You leaned in and kissed him, gently. He responded in kind, moving his lips against yours. He pulled away, brushing his fingers along your cheek.
"I've just been thinking a lot lately. About us." You whispered, looking into his eyes.
"Thinking about us, huh? Well, I'm all ears." He gave you another quick kiss, casually playing with your tie.
You swallowed hard, "you know how I've never..?"
He nodded. "I do."
"I want to."
He gave you a gentle smile, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
He kissed your neck. "Well, I am always up for the task." He chuckled
You nodded, blushing a bit as he stood and took your hand, leading you upstairs. He opened his bedroom door and pulled you inside, kissing you softly. He knew how nervous you were, and he didn't want to rush you.
He sat on the bed and pulled you onto his lap, his hands on your hips. You draped your arms over his shoulders and pressed your lips to his, closing your eyes.
Elijah began to undo your tie, then the top two buttons of your shirt. He trailed kisses from your mouth to your jaw and then down to your neck, pausing at the juncture of your shoulder. He gently scraped his teeth across your skin and you gasped, clutching his shoulders.
"You smell nice, is that my cologne?" he asked, pressing his lips to your throat.
"It is," you breathed, running a hand through his hair. "I may have borrowed some."
"Mmhm." He kissed you again, his tongue slipping past your lips.
You let him control the kiss, melting into him as his tongue explored your mouth. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance. He pulled back, panting.
He kissed your cheek, moving his hands up your sides and onto your chest. He slipped his hands inside your shirt, his thumbs grazing over your nipples.
"Is this okay?"
You nodded, biting your lip.
"Use your words, handsome,”
"Y-yes." You managed to get out.
He pinched one of your nipples and you gasped, gripping his shirt.
"That's my good boy." He purred.
He took your shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. He ran his fingers down your sides, tracing the outline of your ribs.
He pressed his mouth to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the hardening nub. You gripped his hair, arching your back.
"So sensitive," he murmured.
He moved to the other nipple, sucking on it until you were squirming in his lap. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, and you blushed.
He lifted his head and smirked. "Feels good, huh?"
"Yeah." You whispered, blushing more.
"You're so cute when you blush." He grinned, pressing his lips to yours again.
He undid your belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped your pants. Reaching inside, he touched you through your underwear.
"Oh, someone's already so wet." He chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the damp fabric.
You bit your lip, grinding into his hand. His hands felt so good on you, his thumb sliding across your clit with just the right amount of pressure.
He pulled your pants and underwear down for better access. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers stroking you, teasing your entrance.
"Look at you, all worked up and we've barely even started." He whispered.
He pulled his hand away, and you groaned in frustration. You tugged on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss. He chuckled and bit down gently on your lip.
"Patience, mister."
You ignored him and began to unbutton his shirt, running your fingers over his bare chest. Your fingers moving through his soft chest hair.
"Can I touch you a little bit?" You asked shyly, running your fingers down his abs.
"Of course."
You unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down, freeing his erection. It was big, and the thought of it filling you up was exciting and scary at the same time. You stroked him, wrapping your fingers around the shaft and pumping slowly.
"Mmm." He groaned, leaning his head back.
You continued stroking him, rubbing your thumb across the tip. He moaned, thrusting his hips up.
You moved off his lap and onto your knees in front of him, you never had done this before, but you wanted to make him feel good. You looked up at him, and he smiled down at you.
"You don't have to." He whispered, running a hand through your hair, messing it up a bit.
You smiled, kissing the head of his cock. You took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.
"Show me how?" You asked, blushing a bit.
He guided you, placing his hand on the back of your head. "Suck on the tip. Lick the underside. Use your tongue. You can use your hands, too."
You did as he instructed, taking him in as far as you could without gagging. Your cheeks felt hot, and you could feel yourself getting wetter.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good." He whispered.
You closed your eyes and bobbed your head, taking him deeper with every movement. He groaned, tugging on your hair.
The sounds he was making were turning you on, and you felt yourself clench.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to cum."
You pulled back, releasing his cock with a pop. "Will you to cum in my mouth?"
A flash of something dark and dangerous crossed his face, he gave you a crooked smile and his voice dropped lower, "aren't you a dirty boy,"
You blushed, looking down at his cock. It was shiny with your saliva, and was leaking precum. You leaned forward and licked it, lapping up his release.
He groaned, and pulled you back onto his lap, kissing you hungrily. His hands tore away your pants and underwear, leaving you naked and vulnerable. He gripped your hips and licked along your chest, biting on your nipples and then soothing the sting with his tongue.
You began to tremble a bit, knowing what the next step was. Elijah noticed and stopped, stroking your cheek.
"You okay?" He asked.
You nodded.
"Just nervous, that's all."
"I'll be gentle, I promise."
You kissed him again, grinding your hips down into his. He reached down and rubbed your clit in slow circles, making you moan.
"You don't have to be that gentle," you breathed, feeling lusty and wild.
He let out a soft hum, slipping a finger into you, watching your eyebrows arch up. He chuckled, the sound reverberating deep within his chest.
"You're so sensitive," he mused.
He began to pump his finger in and out, watching as your mouth fell open and your eyes closed.
"I bet I could make you cum like this, just with my fingers," he mused, slipping another finger inside.
"Mmm." You moaned, rolling your hips.
"Or maybe with my tongue," he murmured, leaning in to press his lips to your neck.
"Elijah," you breathed, "stop teasing me."
He chuckled. "But it's so much fun," he said, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust of his fingers.
You groaned, bucking your hips. He smirked, pressing his lips to yours. He suddenly flipped you over, pinning you down with his body, and then his hand was between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out of you, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your sensitive nub.
He let out a low growl, leaning in to nip at your ear. "Naughty boy, making a mess, all flushed and sweaty." He whispered.
He pulled his fingers out and positioned himself at your entrance. You tensed, looking up at him.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, stroking your cheek.
You shook your head. "No."
He kissed you, pushing inside of you. You gasped, biting down on his lip. You felt so full, so stretched, it was a little painful and yet... It felt so right with him.
He stilled, giving you time to adjust. You took a few deep breaths, trying to relax.
"Eyes on me," he whispered, cupping your cheek.
You looked up at him, and the love and lust shining in his eyes took your breath away.
He began to move, slowly, rolling his hips against yours. You moaned, arching your back, trying to match his rhythm.
He nipped at your neck then moved down to your chest, biting at your nipples, before sucking on them, making you whimper and squirm.
"Do you like that? When I suck on your cute, little nipples?" He whispered.
"Y-yes."
He hummed, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh. Your hands tugged on his hair, urging him on.
He chuckled, sucking on the bud. He released it with a wet pop, moving to the other one. You moaned, your hips bucking.
He groaned, picking up the pace. He took your hands and pinned them to the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours. He watched your expressions, your eyes shut tight, your mouth slightly parted, a flush on your cheeks.
He was honored that you trusted him enough to be your first. You were a beautiful soul, and he was grateful for the privilege.
"You are such a good boy, all nice and wet for me. So good, my beautiful, precious boy," he murmured.
"Elijah," you gasped.
He grunted, kissing your lips. He rolled his hips, thrusting deep and hard. He felt you tighten around him at his praise, and he smiled, he enjoyed learning what turns you on..
He nuzzled your neck, sucking on the skin, leaving little bites and hickeys. You arched your back, wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts.
"You like when I bite you, baby?"
"Yes." You whimpered.
He nibbled on your earlobe, his warm breath fanning over your skin.
"What about when I do this?" His thrusts became harder, slamming you with such a force you moved a bit on the bed.
You nodded, too blissed out for words.
"Or when I do this?" He let go of one of your hands and trailed his fingers down your chest and stomach, pressing down on your lower abdomen.
Your eyes widened and you moaned loudly, the sudden pressure almost too much.
He smirked, nuzzling your neck, licking and biting, his tongue and teeth tracing along the tendons of your neck.
His grip was strong, his fingers digging into your flesh. His thrusts became faster, deeper, and harder, pounding you into the mattress.
"Do you want to cum, mister y/n?"
"Y-yes."
He kissed your lips. "Beg me," he growled.
You were surprised, but the roughness was thrilling. "Please, please let me cum."
"Mmm, not yet," he purred.
You groaned, your legs beginning to shake.
"Elijah," you pleaded, your voice cracking.
He chuckled, "such a good boy, begging so well."
You clenched around him, panting and whimpering. You could feel Elijah losing control, his pace becoming erratic. His breath was coming in harsh gasps.
He kissed you, his tongue delving deep into your mouth. His thrusts were wild and desperate, the sound of flesh slapping together loud in the quiet room.
"Cum for me, my boy," he commanded, his voice a deep growl.
You obeyed, clenching around him. You cried out, your eyes rolling back in your head, stars exploding behind your eyelids.
"So perfect," he murmured, pressing his lips to your throat.
You collapsed, panting, sweat trickling down your back. He released your hand, his fingers ghosting along your skin.
"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone tender.
"Yeah." You whispered, looking up at him.
He kissed your forehead. "It wasn't too much?" He asked, cupping your cheek.
"No." You said breathlessly, your mind still spinning from the intensity of it all.
"Good." He pulled out of you, and you grimaced. He noticed, and his eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Just a bit sore, but I'll be fine." You assured him, reaching up and brushing your thumb across his cheek.
He pressed a kiss to your palm, then got out of the bed, scooping you up.
"I know just the thing," he said, carrying you to the bathroom.
He set you down on the edge of the tub, and started the bath. Once the water was warm, he helped you in, and then climbed in behind you.
"Lean back," he said softly.
You did, resting against his chest. He gently washed your body, being careful to avoid the more sensitive areas.
"Thank you 'lijah," you whispered.
"Of course," he said, his voice quiet and soft.
He kissed your neck, wrapping his arms around you. You closed your eyes, feeling warm and safe.
He ran his fingers through your hair, making it stick up in weird places. He chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back.
"I learned so much about you today," he said, a teasing lilt to his tone.
"Did you now?" You asked, your cheeks heating.
"Indeed, I did." He chuckled.
"Like what?"
He leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear. "Like how sensitive you are," he whispered. "How much you like being praised." He nuzzled the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
"Mmm." You sighed, relaxing.
"And," he added, "how good you are at begging."
You giggled, covering your face.
"But I didn't get to explore all the ways to make you beg," he teased.
"We have time," you said, smiling.
He hummed, kissing the side of your head. "I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too," you said, turning to look up at him.
You would never forget this night and how special Elijah had made it. How he made you feel. How loved you were.
It was perfect and you couldn't wait for more.
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