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sweetlywriting · 1 month

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Allegiance

Feyd Rautha x Reader

Part one Part two

Warnings-Dune II spoilers, minor violence, enemies to mutual respect to fiancés(?)

Synopsis- Your planet is rich in horticulture and resources but faces the growing fear of imperialism from other houses. A solution presents itself when you are offered to marry their heir to house Harkonnen, Feyd Rautha.

You entered into the colosseum-esque arena, fascinated with the way the sun cast a veil of black and white onto everything within its grasp. It was subduing and you felt as though you were in an old imperial painting, where all was colorless but the expressions of the people in them.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy this. Feyd Rautha wanted you to arrive today so you would be able to see the show” The Baron said in his mangled voice gesturing a pale hand towards you.

“I am honored to be in attendance Baron, especially on such an important day.” You said, musing on how it was rather generous for the Na-Baron to allot your visit on his birthday.

You were excited, no one had told you quite what the entertainment was but you could imagine great performances and exotic animals in the na-barons name. A lighter part of you also wished to see what he looked like, how he held himself, what is voice was like-though surely upon the prospect of marriage it was rational to take into consideration.

A crease began along your mouth as three staggering men in chains were pushed into the arena along with who you could only assume was the na-baron. Your temperament quickly changed realizing the entertainment was a fight to the death. The discontent grew seeing that two of the weren’t even truly conscious, stumbling and flailing. ‘A cowards move’ you thought pursing your lips.

You felt more foreign than ever, closely observing the calm and jovial nature of the Harkonnens around you, cheering at the calamity. It frustrated and confused you deeply, unable to stand the senseless violence. The intense smell of blood lust made your eyes water and their rims turn a bloodshot red. Why would your house choose you for him? Your home planet and house was far smaller than Geidi Prime but held traditions of peace and neutrality strong. Yet your family wanted you to marry this man? Live on this planet? With these people?

You turned to your attendant and motioned them to sit beside you.

“What were they thinking sending us here?” You whispered softly in your foreign tongue to them.

“The future of our planet my lady.” They whispered back, head down.

You felt uneasy, but understood that without some influence or power your house would soon slip into irrelevance or face threat from stronger houses. You wore the duty only for the love of your people.

You were snapped out of your reflection when the crowd started to roar again, the bodies of three atreides prisoners lay limp on the floor while the Na-Baron raised his bloodied weapon in victory. Bile rose to your throat. ‘How very difficult this will be’ you thought.

***

A banquet was held for the Na-Barons birthday and you were glad that there was no loss of life involved in simple meals and dance.

You roamed in a corner of the large room, dreading having to present yourself and your gift to the Harkonnens, wary of their violent nature, but it seemed the Na-Baron had beat you to it.

“Lady y/n” The Na-Baron said as he approached you. Up close you couldn’t deny that he was frustratingly handsome with sculpted features, tall gait, and skin like the white marble only seen in Kouros sculptures.

“Na-baron” You said, bowing lightly and offering your hand.

He took it, but rather than shake like on your home planet he kissed it. A polite gesture, but a bit rougher than you would have liked. His teeth grazed your hand and left marks. You tried to smile and brush the thought of getting some painful infection on foreign planet over something this irritatingly trivial.

“Call me Feyd. I heard you made it in time to see the Arena festivities” he said with a wolffish grin.

“Yes.” You said curtly, knowing if he asked how felt about them you would not be able to lie.

“Did you enjoy them?”

“I . . . thought it was rather brazen, an unecessary power play. All know your house is very strong and affluent, why spill more blood to reinforce something all know to be true.” You said this slowly, choosing your words carefully and hoping to sound more flattering than judgmental and unhappy with the injustice.

His smile dissipated and you could tell this was not the answer he wanted or expected, and a part of you feared the same fate of the Atreides prisoners would befall you. Luckily he seemed to find it humorous and laughed.

“No one has ever told me such an odd thing. Pity for prisoners! Very curious lady y/n, very curious.”

Perhaps he was interested, but you could still see venom where you hurt his pride and aroused his anger. You didn’t miss his arm clutching the sheath of his dagger as he laughed, and the way his smirk was more of a snarl now.

“I do not mean to disdain your traditions, I simply don’t quite understand them.” You said mildly when his laughter had faded.

“It’s alright. I like honesty and I like you too.” His eyes glimmered with malice and charm.

“It is true you have come as a prospective bride, yes?” He said.

“Yes. . . I have brought you a gift” You said, firmly thinking of the kind but worn face you your people as you rehearsed the proposal speech in your head. You motioned for one of your attendants to bring a sachetel with a cluster of flowers inside. You felt less reassured about your gift knowing Feyd’s character but presented it nonetheless.

“This is a heliolaris flower, it blooms yellow even in extreme conditions and without the light of the sun. It will hold its color even through the conditions of your planets black sun. Its species was created specifically for you and Giedi Prime. My planet is minor but we have plants that can create miracles and arable land beyond compare. If you went through with our alliance . . . All of that would be yours too”

He peered inquisitively at the plant. He seemed unsure by the gift and your proposal but it only took a minute before his snake-like manner returned.

“I will plant these flowers. If they bloom in color as you say before the fortnight I will marry you, if not you will surrender your life to the arena that you so seem to despise.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #part two if ppl like this I did it on a whim tbh #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #I gave reader stricter morals and values to contrast and create tension with feyds lack thereof

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mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around.

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations.

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile.

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general.

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation.

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?”

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful.

“I knew it.”

“Oh, you did?”

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.”

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.”

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.”

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found.

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection.

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.”

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.”

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?”

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.”

“Really? And who arranged that?”

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression.

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.”

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.”

“The Luofu needs me.”

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple.

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.”

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it.

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside.

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay. You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch.

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture-

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly.

“I was.”

“What did I say then?”

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you.

“How do you feel?”

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-”

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp.

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.”

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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lu-dao-writes · 3 months

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— 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝙃𝙪𝙖 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙜)

꒰ྀི 🥀ˎˊ˗ 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 He loves you not.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Spoilers, cheating, hurt no comfort, HC’s unapologetic devotion for XL in front of you, rough sex, HC is not so great in this one, jealousy, gn!reader, mention of using sex as a coping mechanism, minimum editing.

𝘼/𝙉 I’m getting back into my danmei lmaoo. It’s nice to also post short pieces since I’ve been burnt out with long projects. So also I’m aware of the whole statute scene, but I didn’t go into depth because I’m not that far🥲. But I also appreciate all the likes I’ve gotten on my TGCF stuff! Also uh… This definitely also gave me vibes. Idek if the song works completely but it’s 🥵MINORS/AGELESS DNI! ⋆💔˚｡⋆ ྀི꒱

Edited 01/24/24: I made a whoopsie on the timeline. I mistaken chapters and pages like a dummy 😅😅. Holy balls I’m sorry y’all🤣.

Never did you imagine catching the Huā Chéng’s attention nor having his good graces.

You are nothing but a simple god in the heavens. Nothing highly praised, but important enough to be recognized and worshiped.

Of course you kept your meetings a secret and you enjoyed every small moment you had with him, after all, he is a very busy man, one of the four calamities in the ghost realm. You understand the workload.

You love him though with all his perfect and imperfections.

But…

You noticed a change as of late, and it all started when crown prince Xiè Lián arrived in the heavens for the third time apparently.

You knew very little of him initially, but you gathered the opinions of others due to the nasty things that were spewed from one mouth to another.

Obviously this wouldn’t do, so you opted to help him with the case in Mount Yujun, and you weren’t alone. Two “junior” officials also join you as well, and though they’re incredibly amusing, they’re also a headache as usual.

Anyways. While on this mission Xiè Lián was anything but what was being said in the heavens by the other gods. He’s incredibly humble, kind, has strong morals, and is charitable. A perfect friend to have in your life.

You don’t pry into his history, and you can tell he’s appreciative of that.

Once the mission is over with you come to your own conclusion and don’t regret it. You planned to even come visit him and help him out at his shrine until that familiar presence has you frozen in place.

What is Huā Chéng doing here..?

You left before you could be detected, fleeing back to your little palace and drowning yourself in your duties while unwillingly being stuck in your thoughts as well.

As days go by you note that when your beloved finally comes to you, it’s after his highness returns from another mission…

Huā Chéng is overwhelmed with emotions, that much is obvious when he grabs you so tight, his body tense and shoulders trembling just faintly.

His turmoil distracts you from your unsteady heart and you offer to remedy his burdens by being the one to lovingly service him.

But he turns your offer down.

Instead he resorts to his usual, just putting you on your hands and knees and then making you ride him with your back facing him when he grows tired of doing the work.

You’ve… Never had too much of a problem with this, the positions always hitting you deeply in those special, toe curling spots, and honestly he fucks you dumb to the point you got no thoughts.

But this didn’t soothe your paranoia, and you weren’t sure how to bring it up to him.

So you resort to soothing yourself.

‘It’s just insecurity. I’m just blowing it out of proportion.. Huā Chéng loves me.’

It only works for so long.

After that night Huā Chéng became distant again and soon did the unthinkable.

He snatched Xiè Lián from his palace where he was made to be confined in, and made a nice little show about it in the communication array.

You were dazed and hurt, not sure what his plans were and why he’s so infatuated with Xiè Lián. You weren’t sure if he wanted to hurt him or…

Or…

Your chest is heavy, but you push through and go with Fēng Xìn and Mù Qíng to find the runaway duo.

In the end, you wished to have just stayed tucked away in your palace, distracting yourself with your work for a moment longer than seeing this .

There’s many.. Many statues of Xiè Lián, all depicting a specific moment in his and Huā Chéng’s lifetime, or just because Huā Chéng wants another beautiful image of the crown prince.

It’s sick and painful. Your body trembling and your mind sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss that’s your proven thoughts.

Some can say it’s romantic.. Other can say it’s creepy. Pick your poison. But you felt humiliated above all else. It makes you question whether your relationship was even real this entire time.

When Huā Chéng makes his sudden appearance, he doesn’t even look ashamed, his attention and concern solely on Xiè Lián.

When you finally managed to leave Ghost City, like usual, you locked yourself away and finally exploded, taking your anger out on some of your furniture before sobbing on the cold floor, nothing but the shadows on the wall to comfort you in your grief.

All along Huā Chéng has been devoted to and in love with Xiè Lián.

The times you’ve had sex you’re sure he’s imagined him in your place.

In the meantime you were just something to keep him occupied until he had his chance.

You felt used and foolish and you had a tidal wave of resentment for Huā Chéng at his callousness.

And unfortunately you couldn’t help but have a little resentment for Xiè Lián…

You only distanced yourself from him and his party of growing allies, ignoring the hurt in his eyes when you brush him off, and ignoring him when he came to your palace asking for you and checking on you.

Your bitterness was just too immense.

You assume that no one knows still about you and your one sided relationship with Huā Chéng, otherwise you’re sure your doors would’ve been blown open and you’d be dragged into court for an interrogation by now.

Huā Chéng has yet to face you, and it hurts, but you’re not surprised either. You’re sure you’re not going to get an apology either.

Love truly can be a curse…

But for now you’ll let yourself mourn and stew in your anger. You’ll throw a small pity party for yourself and be a little destructive.

“Hi…! I know it’s late and this is completely random, but is that offer still available…?”

“Of course, come right on in~.”

You only hope that Péi Míng doesn’t pry too much…

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danibee33 · 6 days

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The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 4: Enough

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

CW: dark themes - no graphic depictions* but non-con, sa, domestic violence, suicidal ideations *read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.5k

[<<< chapter 3]

“Hen..” Johnny turns to walk backwards, looking at you with a lopsided smile before you see his eyes cast up and to the right- lids narrowing for a split second, but the expression passes as he continues, “It’s swelterin’ out today, what’s with the fashion choice, eh?”

It had been a terribly, unseasonably, hot day- the sun was bright and oppressive as you walked through the hedges. You can feel the individual pearls of sweat beading off your skin under the high collar, your teeth clenching at the way they trickled down between your shoulder blades and collected in your cleavage-

And may all the gods damn this forsaken corset..

You don’t say that, though you sorely wish you could. No, instead, you fan yourself; fighting vainly to keep your breaths measured and at a normal pace.

But that’s incredibly hard to do when your lungs can only expand as far as the rigid boning that lines your torso would allow.

Your handmaid, Elia, had fallen ill late last night, and her temporary replacement seems to have a grudge against breathing, apparently..

“It is supposed to be autumn-”, you mutter back, gratefully taking his arm when he returns to your side, “not bloody summer.”

“My, my.. Do they teach ya how to speak like that at Queen school, Your Grace?”

He belts out that wonderful, smooth laugh at his own awful joke- nudging into you when you give more of a strained huff than the actual chuckle you’d been going for.

This would be his last day here. The week had gone by so quick, far too quick; the days had felt like the usual whirlwind and calamity that is your life, though you admit that as soon as the King left the castle walls, you were quick to reschedule nearly every event that you could manage. Not wanting to miss any more time with Johnny than you absolutely had to-

Then there’s Simon.. Wasn’t it also a week ago since the night in the hedges? Oh- right here, actually! How painfully convenient-

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the thought, recognizing the specific spot you had been with him- fight the urge to wonder desperately if he feels the same turmoil over what occurred.

Nothing had changed between you, well, nothing outwardly, anyway. Internally? You were confused, and ashamed, so fearful, and yet, every time you let your mind recount how sinfully good it felt- to have him so close, to have his lips caress your skin, and that deep, brassy voice reverberate through your ears- you feel that awful, terrible ache for him grow even more.

“Earth to Sunny…”

You look up too fast, or maybe it wasn’t even that fast; but the moment your head tilts toward his voice, and the sun bears down on your face, you see a flurry of black stars dance across your vision, thickening until there’s nothing at all. No more light, no heat, no heaviness, no restriction around your lungs- just pure, blissful nothing.

”Mm.. My Queen..”

Warm lips press a long kiss behind your ear, his voice silky and muffled as he speaks- calloused hands roam your body, they leave the most delectable chills in their wake. Your skin impossibly hot and cold at the same time-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon. Remember?”

He moves to hover over you, his mouth never leaving your skin as it traces every curve, and slope, and freckle with the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever felt. The sensation of them is more like a feather being dragged over your flesh, slow, every delightful stroke made with purpose, intention.

And when he chuckles, you can't help but to suck in a sharp gasp at how his breath tickles the skin of your tummy, how it seems to fan out, warming something much, much deeper inside you-

“Love.. You’ll always be my queen. Or, do you not remember the first time I kneeled before you? The oath I took- my fealty sworn to you, and you alone, for as long as I live.”

The image of Simon kneeling at your feet makes you squirm under him; recalling vividly how large and menacing he was even in such a vulnerable position, how he had looked up at you under his brow- molten amber irises practically dancing in the light, so full of guile and adoration, even then.

A shrill noise parts your lips when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, your heart racing, blood rushing to your cheeks and neck as you dare to look down at him-

And you know the minute you meet his eyes, see the intensity behind them, even with the rest of his face obscured as he nuzzles further against your cunt, that it would be your undoing.

How would anyone, or anything, ever compare?

Certainly not your King- no, not yours anymore. Wait.. is that right?

The thought disappears just as quickly as it had come, the pain of it replaced by the reverent worship of Simon’s tongue-

You’re slammed back into reality by a rush of cool water streaming over your face- it feels heavenly, since you now also feel that ungodly heat wrapping around you again, your senses slowly coming back into focus-

The earthy, sweet smell of the garden filling your nose, the feel of the water evaporating from your skin, the dry taste that coats your tongue, and urgent voices resounding in your ear.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus..”

“My Queen?”

You’re gently shaken, large hands holding your face- but it’s your name spoken in that voice you’ve dreamed about, so deep and laced with concern, with worry, that settles heavily in your heart, bringing you even further into the moment. And you so badly want to reach for it, for him-

But when you try to raise your hand, it feels like lifting iron chains, your energy thoroughly depleted; you move to sit up anyway, needing to fix this- whatever this was.

“W-what.. What is it?”

Gods, it even feels impossible to speak- but, finally, it seems your eyes have decided to work again, even if the view before you is blurred and hazy at first. You blink away the remaining starbursts, seeing two imposing silhouettes perched over you-

“Grianach..”

It’s when your gaze meets Johnny’s, your brain able to register the horror, the anguish- that you scramble to clutch at your throat.

Oh no.. no, no, no-

In their efforts to relieve you of your many insulating layers, it seems they cut the laces of your corset, and ripped the collar of your gown apart at the seams-

The high collar that you insisted on to cover the angry purplish bruises that currently wrap around your neck, the outline of a hand turning green and yellow with age. There were other bruises in much the same state on your arm and your thigh, and you thank the gods that those could not be so easily seen- because the murderous gleam in Simon and Johnny’s eyes is scary enough.

What would they do if they saw the rest…

You order them to help you up, dismissing their reservations as you simultaneously plead for them to call no one else-

“This is.. embarrassing enough. I do not wish for anyone else to see me, there are too many rumors and baseless speculation as it is-”

Simon is close again, right there supporting your weight, his body tense and ready for anything- but his eyes..

A shiver wracks through you as the image of those same eyes settling between your thighs flits through your mind; a motion they both mistake for the start of another fainting spell, judging by the way they grip you a little tighter- Johnny’s hand at your waist in an instant,

“Let me fetch the physician-”

“No.”

“Sunny..”

Looking between them, between cobalt blue and rich copper, between the man you’ve known your entire life, and the one that has somehow upended everything you thought you knew, your knees feel weak again.

“Please- Just.. Take me to my chambers.”

Simon moves immediately, leaving Johnny no choice but to follow as the towering man leads you through the hedge- but he doesn’t go towards the usual entrance you should be taking. You follow his long strides to a shadowed alcove, one you never would look twice at; but, to your surprise, when he pushes against an odd section of wall, it opens.

Johnny casts you a sidelong glance, and you wish you had an answer for him- hells, you wish you had an answer at all. It shouldn’t be surprising there are secret and hidden passageways within the castle, you suppose you’re just surprised you were never made aware of them. Especially since the corridor he chooses takes you directly to your rooms-

Your mouth opens the moment he closes the three of you in, a demand already on your tongue to know exactly how Simon knew about this, but all coherent thought turns to mush when he turns on you, pulling the black glove from his hand,

“Did he do this to you?”

The feel of his bare fingers on your skin sends your entire body reeling, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to pull away from his touch, even when you see Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in equal parts confusion and anger.

“Yes.”

“The King?” Johnny nearly choke on his own words, running a hand through his mess of hair as he watches Simon back away.

“It’s not-” You start, but you don’t have a justification, or an excuse, just the horrific memory of how angry your King had been, how he stormed into your room after the feast- his breath so laden with the smell of wine that it made your stomach queasy.

He took you that night before he left, by force. Pinned you down, and hissed the most obscene and vile things in your ear, his hands marking you for everyone to see; but you think it was mostly for his own depraved pleasure-

”Tell me about this Lord of yours- hm?” “Dancing with him like some common whore- you’re a fucking embarrassment to my crown-” “Well, since you want to act like one, I’ll show you exactly how I treat my harlots.”

As much as you tried to reassure him, he wouldn’t listen, didn’t want to hear what you had to say; and it was too easy for him to silence you with a strong grip around your neck-

You feel the hot tears threaten to spill at the memory, but you won’t, you refuse to let them fall- you refuse to shed one more single fucking tear for that monster, and certainly not right now.

So, you swallow the agonizing lump in your throat, pinning the men in front of you with a determined glare, “This shall not leave this room, am I clear?”

Johnny steps forward, “What?”

You raise your hand to stop him, holding your ground, “It isn’t a suggestion. It is a command-”, your feet move on autopilot, crossing the distance to the spacious washroom.

“But, Sunny.. You can’t let him get away with this! What else is there, huh? How else has he hurt-” Simon moves to cut him off, a strong arm reaching out to hold the Scot back, “Get your hands off me.”

They stand toe to toe, Simon’s eyes practically burning a hole through Johnny, the shorter man giving it back just as severely,

“Enough..” You sigh, moving quickly to push yourself between them, an open palm placed over their chests- Johnny’s, solid and warm, the muscle underneath heaving with every breath, and Simons.. The obsidian steel, cold and unforgiving, but it’s impossible to miss how his breathing is just as labored.

He’s just as livid-

“Please..”

At the same time, they relax under your touch, the sound of your plea softening both of their hearts for a moment- long enough to hear out, at least.

“Come back with me.” Johnny says, his voice so strong and steady that you swear you could feel the conviction behind the simple statement-

You shake your head, stepping from between them, “You know I can’t. That’s my home, our home, which you stand to inherit. The King would-“

Yes.. What would the great and benevolent ruler do? Would he make up a reason to attack your beloved homeland, to round up your family and have them executed? Would he make you watch Johnny’s head roll before casting your own off with it? He had already shown you a taste of how far his jealousy could go, how truly malicious and cruel he was willing to be when you angered him- and that only seemed to be happening more as of late.

“I will not go. I will not endanger your-” He tries to speak again, and you can see the flush of anger color his cheeks, his bright eyes so dark now, so full of turmoil, rage, “I WILL NOT.. endanger your life, or the lives of any of my people, Johnny..”

“Then I’ll take ya somehwere they won’t find us! Somewhere, where we’re nobodies, not a lord, or a queen- somewhere our names won’t matter. We’ll pick new ones, and it’ll be just us, just like it used to be, Grianach-”

A series of knocks at the doors throws the room into an eerie silence, agitation still hanging thick and heavy in the air around you as you look to Simon with a small nod; watching him cross the space and walk out of sight; your ears straining to hear who has come to seek you out, eyes staying glued to the wall, waiting to see him round it once again-

Johnny’s voice is sudden and low in your ear, so close it almost startles you as he speaks in your native tongue, or well, the bastardized slang you had always spoken to each other as children, ”Do you trust him?”

You turn to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed and your tone just as low, ”Yes, I do.”

There’s a moment when he seems to question your answer, question how little hesitation there was behind it- his eyes dancing over your face before darting up and back down to you just as quick,

”Bring him, then. Would that make you say ‘yes’?”

A familiar sequence of taps causes you to look back towards the entryway, where Simon stands as casual as ever, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looks between you and Johnny,

“Lord MacTavish’s horse has been prepared, along with his things, as previously requested-”

“Well, tell ‘em to take him back to stable, ‘m not leavin’.” Johnny spits back with a venom you’re not you’ve ever heard from the man.

But Simon, characteristically, is entirely unfazed by the outlash, looking back through his helmet, his expression almost comically bored.

“I answer to the Queen.” He hums out, eyes now on you in a way that feels far too personal, too intimate, as he moves forward with slow steps, “Not you.”

No.. No. I can’t do this- not here, not again. I don’t even know what this is, but it’s too much.

“All right, both of you- out.” You seethe, your hands clenching and unclenching as you all but shove Johnny back to the secret entrance- because the last thing you needed was for one the King’s many eyes in the castle to see him departing from your chambers.

He doesn’t try to stop you, but he does beg once again, softly, quietly- a plea for which you don’t have an answer to, not right now anyway. What he wants is impossible and improbable, it would never work. Right? Right.

There is no way out of this for you- there never really was.

“Later, Johnny. When we’ve calmed down and had time to think. I need to dress, now, go. I swear, I will find you.”

You watch him go, watch him spare one last glance before disappearing into the damp shadows of the tunnel, leaving you alone yet again with your Ghost. And that same, awful ache that never seems to leave you, makes itself apparent at the thought- your reeling mind certainly not helping to quell it by any means.

“You, too.” You say, squaring your shoulders and steeling yourself to face him, “I just need-”

When you do finally look up, your stride falters- seeing him already looking at you, his hand reaching for yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do- but, at the last second, he stops himself. His long fingers curling into a fist as they fall back in place at his side, and you don’t know why his restraint only serves to enthrall you more.

“I understand, My Queen..”

You want to scream and cry as you watch him slip his glove back on, covering the pale, scarred skin again-

“Si- Ser.. I’m sorry-”

“No.” He cuts you off gently, his voice warm and kind as he turns into you fully, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.. Not a single thing.”

Gods, why does he have to make it so difficult to be in his presence? Just standing here with him, his frame dwarfing your own, tall and broad, so immovable, so powerful; and yet, he somehow manages to make you feel like you’re the one looking down at him, like a deity gazing down on their devout disciple; like just allowing him the grace of your time and attention is what he lives for-

That is absurd.. And blasphemous. What is wrong with me.. It’s just a silly infatuation that I’ve aggrandized, that I’ve made more important than it is, obviously. I don’t know any better, anyway. This could be a ruse, and I wouldn’t know it, only ever having been with one boorish man; they could all be like that, Simon included-

“I’ll be at my post, Your Grace.” His voice is closer to normal now, not low and rich, spoken like it’s only meant for your ears-

All you can manage is a lame nod, turning away as he leaves because you know you couldn’t bear to see him go. Instead, you busy yourself finding another dress to cover your neck before calling in the handmaids for help.

Yes, busy, that usually tends to ward off the wayward and errant musings, the fantasies of what can never be- you’ll hone your focus on the mundane, on the way this new dress is softer than the last, the dark green velvet hugging you tenderly. Focus on the pinch of the corset, your eyes glancing at the wardrobe where you know the mutilated one now resides.

You simply won’t think about him. Or Johnny, and his preposterous proposal-

Oh, your sweet Johnny.. still ever the bleeding heart he is. You’ll send him back home with grand gifts, and hope he finds the letter you wrote for his eyes only, hope he can move on, and forget what he regrettably had to witness.

It will be ok. You’ll make sure he’s taken care of, that he won’t be cast into an unsavory light, or blamed.

Not when you’re so painfully aware that he’s the only wonderfully bright light you had been blessed with in so long, and gods forbid it’s your fault that his light is snuffed out-

The mirror catches your eye, reflecting someone so different back to you now. Different from a few short months ago, different from just a week ago, an hour ago, even. And while you don’t know if you particularly care for the woman you see, you know she is necessary for what’s to come.

It will be ok.

Simon stands guard at her door, unwavering and vigilant- but his mind races.

How could this have happened to his Queen, on his watch no less, how could he have allowed that monster to enter her chambers?

To hurt her.. defile her- his Queen. He swore his life to protect her, but he never imagined the one she needed saving from would be his own sovereign.

No matter. Because at the end of the day, the King is just a man; mortal, made of flesh and blood, a beating heart that can so easily be pierced by a sharp blade. A soft, squishy neck just made for cleaving-

And he doesn’t know this cousin of hers, doesn’t know what kind of lord he is, but she seems to trust him implicitly- they seem close in ways he can quite grasp. But, perhaps he’s on to something, Simon could get her away from here, away from this hellish place that drains her more and more, every waking moment.

He would take care of her, it would be so easy to make them both disappear.. they already called him ‘Ghost’, why not live up to the idea the mindless drones of court already have of him?

Hm.. Ghost-

The name rolls around on his tongue, Simon Riley has been called many things in his life, but none of them ever sounded so fitting.

[chapter 5>>>]

#knight!ghost #queen!reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #lord mactavish #cod fandom #call of duty #cod mw2 #also on ao3 #ao3 #simon riley x reader #dark aesthetic #medieval au #cod medieval au #cod fanfic #thank you for sharing your time #you have my heart

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essycogany · 7 months

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Rare But Not So Rare Sonic Moments. Character Analysis.

Crying

A weird topic I’m more then happy to discuss.

Mandate: “Sonic’s not allowed to get overly emotional.”

I’m starting to think the mandates do break in a few instances. This one specifically is something I’m quite interested in because this is probably one of the rarest emotions Sonic displays. Getting sad/emotional.

Hopefully this essay will be a positive outlook on the mandate.

(Despite being a discussion about negative emotions.)

Examples Of Sonic Getting Emotional

I might not include everything, but the examples I have knowledge of will be stated. If you have anymore examples, I’d love to see them.

SATAM: Sonic cried when he and the Freedomfighters had to leave his Uncle Chuck in Robotnik’s lab.

Archie: The times Sonic cried/teared up was when the weight of a situation got to him, when something tragic occurred and all hope was lost, or when he was filled with joy after those instances ended. Those moments like others, didn’t go too far. (For the most part)

Pretty sure he never out right sobbed.

Underground: I think Sonic only cried when he was a little kid.

Correct me if I’m wrong.

X: In episode 52 Sonic allowed his tears to shed with his head turned away from us. He and Chris ran one last time before Sonic left through a portal to go home forever. It obviously crushed him even if we didn’t see his face.

Boom: Sonic cried/teared up in two episodes of the show. First when Tails was reminiscing about the Tornado and noticed Sonic wiping his eyes. Sonic replied, “What?” Then he, Knuckles, and Tails all cried when they thought the baby they took care of was gone. Also, in Archie when Stick’s rock friend broke or “Died,” everyone in team Boom morned it. Sonic included.

IDW: Sonic shed tears in the Scrapnick Island Issue. Even if it was “Mecha Sonic’s” tears I’ll count it anyways because it’s a good loophole and it came out of Sonic’s eyes.

Movie 1: It’s implied he indeed cried during the baseball scene. The sources being a deleted scene and story-board of the film.

Prime: This doesn’t really count, but Sonic teared up in the first episode when he was held captive by the Chaos Council and had light blasted in his eyes, when he was in darkness. Then Sonic actually cried in episode 7 when he ate a seadog. Either because he was home-sick or starving.

(In the last episode of season two it’s implied he might cry in the next episode. Especially with the shot of him looking on the verge of tears and then covered his eyes in the background of the last shot, but we’ll see.)

By the way. You can see the instant improvement from episode 1 to 7 of the tears animation. Just thought I’d say that.

My Overall Thoughts

Hold on because this is going to be a long ride.

First thing I’d like to discuss is the mandate itself.

I personally don’t believe it means, “Sonic shouldn’t cry.”

(Which has been stated a bunch)

If that were the case, I don’t think this majority of moments (specifically the recent ones) would’ve happened. I think the mandate meant Sonic couldn’t and or shouldn’t go too far with his emotions. I don’t think the mandate existing makes any since, but I won’t get into that.

My point is, Sonic can cry, just not in an overly dramatized way unless it’s done for comedic purposes.

(I say that because of Sonic Boom and the 7th episode of Prime examples. Which are obviously not meant to be taken seriously)

My opinions on Sonic crying.

It’s not necessarily needed, but I don’t mind if it’s done well. I do believe Sonic shouldn’t go too far unless the situation does.

One Issue in Archie when Sonic’s entire life was basically ruined, is a good example. If you’re going to have such calamities happen to him, especially since he has zero ego or mask to hold onto, I think it’s a fair enough scenario for him to react as drastic as his misfortune.

But I believe if he were to cry in something like the Metal Virus. (Just for an example) it could be like how Espio teared up after Vector’s sacrifice.

Crazy idea. Let’s talk about Shadow for a minute.

Shadow is one of the most stoic characters in the entire franchise. He barely smiles, gets excited, or displays any overly positive emotions. While Sonic rarely cries, gets angry, or shows any harsh negative emotions. Shadow and Sonic are opposites because of that.

Sonic’s overall a positive and outgoing guy who wants to keep moving forward. Whenever he has the time to worry, he runs. Faces his problems head on. Sonic only let’s a small amount of his true emotions out when helping someone else. In general Sonic’s a pretty optimistic character.

Shadow on the other hand is a reserved and serious guy. Who wants what’s best for the world too, but in a more calculated and planned out manner. But for some reason, in Sonic Adventure 2 after Amy encouraged Shadow to save the world, (Which reminded him of Maria’s real wish) He sheds a tear.

I repeat. Shadow is the most stoic character in the entire franchise. Who rarely shows his emotions. And yet he cries.

Why can’t Sonic? To be fair, Sonic usually doesn’t have time to think, let alone worry about how he feels. But if Shadow himself can have a short moment of releasing his emotional baggage, why can’t the blue blur?

Is Sonic even as happy as he let’s on?

I’d say he’s genuinely happy half of the time. Then the other half Sonic’s internalizing everything negative in him. Everyone knows Sonic’s overall upbeat, but we’ve seen plenty of times (In the Metal Virus specifically) when he’s thinking, or enduring the chaos around him, he doubts himself. Sonic has these insecurities and emotions he barely let’s anyone see.

Besides Issue #24

Even in Sonic Prime while Sonic shows the most guilt, sincerity, anger, fear, and sadness in the show. He sometimes still puts on a front and acts like everything’s fine.

Sonic Unleashed I’m pretty sure was the first and only time we’ve seen him mope for a minute. All because Amy didn’t know who he was. So, he does have some level of insecurities lingering every once in a while.

Can Sonic crying even work?

How I interpret him crying is when he’s alone. Some people theorize in certain instances like SA2 and Unleashed with Shadow and Chip’s sacrifices, he cried a little. I’m fascinated by this idea. I believe it’s the most in character way to let him cry. Maybe even something like X when his face isn’t shown, but you know how he’s feeling.

Even if we do see Sonic’s face, him crying or tearing up could be shown without being over the top. Normalize it in a way that doesn’t fly off the handle. His expression could have a hint of frustration, anger, or exhaustion. Crying is normal and I don’t see Sonic crying as out of character because it’s been done plenty of times.

It’d be nice if it happened in order to make Sonic feel more believable and sympathetic. As long as the dude’s not on the floor whaling, I’m sure it can work.

Final Thoughts

There are other ways to show Sonic’s emotions. Again, crying doesn’t have to happen, but it does help the writing feel less unnecessarily limited of what kind of emotions can be displayed on this character.

Though there are benefits too. Like finding fun loopholes or small animated details like in IDW and Prime. Sonic not crying so much makes the times he does (or may do in the future) feel earned and impactful. The examples before prove it can be done without taking away what makes Sonic who he is. It just needs to be subtle, quiet, and quick. (Or humorous) Depends on what you think.

At the end of it all, Sonic’s a tough hedgehog. Him shedding a few tears won’t ever change that.

Stay Creative! 💜

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writing-the-stars · 2 years

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Forgotten

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Elena Gilbert x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: After seemingly being forgotten by your childhood friends, you seek comfort in a mysterious stranger

Warnings: Angst (Because I’m an Angsty Bitch Who Needs Angst to Survive), Hurt/Comfort, Elena (Because I Know How Most of Y’all Feel About Her). Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Hey guys! I’m finally getting around to showing some love to Elijah. I’m debating on whether or not I should turn this into a series or not. Let me know if that is something you all might be interested in! As always, thank you guys so much for reading!!! Please feel free to leave a comment or send in an ask. I love interacting with you all. Have a wonderful day!!!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

4:30 p.m.

An hour and a half past the time Elena was supposed to come home for your girls' day. A despondent feeling washes over you as you finally accept the fact that Elena has blown you off once again. You can’t even say you’re surprised as this behavior has become expected of her as of late. Your heart is just broken.

Ever since the Salvatore brothers moved into town, it’s been made clear you are no longer a priority in her life. Hell, you’re no longer even a priority in the group’s life— your presence slowly being diminished as they whisper in secret behind your back, conveniently have plans or forget to show up to your scheduled hangouts, or just not invite you to theirs at all. It kills you to watch the people you’ve grown up with— Elena since diapers— push you out of their lives. The four of you experienced your entire lives together, witnessing and supporting each other through every milestone— first kisses, first relationships, first school dance, first heartbreaks, first times of the month. Seeing how all of those memories— your lifelong friendships— can be so effortlessly rendered worthless with the arrival of two boys tears through your heart, leaving you with the ragged pieces.

Unbeknownst to you, however, the gang’s intentions were never to hurt you. Instead, they have been trying so laboriously to do the opposite. You, by some miracle, have been one of the few residents of Mystic Falls who has not been affected by the supernatural presence that thrives there. You have remained blissfully unaware of the vampires, witches, and werewolves that coexist with you in the small Virginian town. As far as your friends are concerned, that is exactly how they will keep you safe, even if it’s unknowingly the catalyst of your emotional anguish.

Hot tears dampening the rounded apples of your cheeks, you gather your things, tired of looking foolish and desperate in front of the people you have shared your life with. You are done fighting for your previous place in their lives which they have clearly refilled.

Storming out of Elena’s home, you are surprised to see a tall gentleman— arm raised as if he were about to knock— rather than the neighborhood you spent the majority of your childhood riding your bike around. Instinctively, you take a step back, placing distance between you and the stranger at Elena’s door.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you,” the tall brunet speaks— his voice calm and carefully crafted.

You take in the man’s appearance, noticing the tailored suit hugging his frame and your heart begins to race as you start imagining the worse. Surely a man with such obvious distinction did not happen to stumble across the Gilbert residence, he has to have been brought here. Given the recent calamities that have intercepted your best friend’s life, your mind can’t help but conjure the possibilities of trouble Elena or Jeremy could have gotten themselves into. You wonder if you will have to tell Jenna and what would you say given the outcome of the situation.

“Are you alright?” the gentleman at the door inquires, interrupting your racing thoughts and bringing you back to the present moment. You blink, realizing you never answered the man, and begin to laugh— your nervous tick.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be at the door.”

You clear your throat, “Has something happened? Is everything okay?” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, a visual indicator of his analysis of your words. “That’s what I came here to find out. I had an engagement scheduled with Elena,” he reveals, hoping you could provide him with the reason behind her absence.

A dry laugh escapes your lips— your annoyance with the brunette pushing through the growing concern you had for her seconds before. “Well, join the club. She was supposed to meet me here at 3. If you really want to find her, look for Damon and Stefan Salvatore. Wherever they are, she is,” you tell the well-dressed gentleman— your disdain for the two brothers made quite evident through the bitterness soaking your voice.

He smiles down at you, beginning to see why you’re the only friend of the doppelgänger he had yet to formally meet, "I guess it’s safe to assume you're not a fan of the Salvatores." You roll your eyes at his massive understatement— your irritation beginning to reach its breaking point. “Don’t even get me started,” you state, knowing you could rant about your semi-undeserved hatred for the two brothers for hours.

Stewing in your vexation, you miss the way the Original Vampire studies you. He has seen you from afar, of course, when he was gathering the information he needed to procure Elena. But now that he is seeing you up close, there is a curiosity about you— an otherness that separates you from the rest of the group. You seem leaden, burdened by the weight of the world. He wonders how someone so young could be so harrowed— the vampire being out of touch with the trials of tribulations of mortal existence.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I would be happy to listen,” he offers, his intrigue winning him over. Your eyes widen as you look him over, shocked by his proposition. You can’t remember the last time anyone offered to listen to you talk. Silently, you question the man, wondering why he would waste any of his time listening to you, but the rational part of you is overruled by the intense desire to finally have somebody’s attention— even if it is a stranger’s.

Walking over to the swing that hangs off the Gilberts’ porch, you begin opening up to Elena’s mysterious visitor and it feels orgasmic to finally have someone listen to you— to acknowledge you and be attentive. For you to not feel discarded, but seen for all you are. That feeling is so intoxicating that you end up sharing far more with the gentleman than you had ever intended— far more than he had expected. You tell him everything— how your mother died when you were 3 and your dad is hardly ever home because of his job as a truck driver, how you spent most of your childhood with the Gilberts because there was no one else around to care for you, how you grew up inseparable from Elena and eventually the rest of the gang. You enlighten him on your hatred for the Salvatores because one by one they robbed you of the only family you ever really had without even possessing the bonds you had built with them. You share with him how you once again feel abandoned by the people you love and how devastated you are by their betrayal. You tell him how you can’t even begin to comprehend how everything you all have been through together can just suddenly not matter, how it feels like they’re telling you that you don’t matter. You tell him so much that you run out of things to say— only able to sob out all of the pent-up emotions that had been brewing inside of you for months.

And through it all, the vampire stays by your side, intently listening to every word that spills from your lips. When speaking became too much, he pulled you into his side, letting you cry onto him. The more he listened to you, the deeper his affinity for you grew. He saw the young woman broken by the sway of the universe, the lost little girl longing for her place in the world. He saw that flicker of hope for the good of humanity and how quickly it was being snuffed out. As he watched you cry, he knew he had to protect it— protect you. He understood the decisions your friends were making knowing the true cause of them, but that didn’t mean he liked the results.

You break away from the warmth of the man’s comforting embrace suddenly aware of the embarrassing predicament you have placed yourself in. With a flush to your cheeks, you apologize to the kind stranger for your unhampered display of emotions, but he swiftly dismisses it, reassuring you he was more than happy to provide you some solace.

You smile at the man, marveling at his beauty and compassion. He is so gentle with you— a complete stranger. His warmth and affection towards you is something you know you will be chasing for the rest of your life. He is magnificent and angelic.

As you look him over, your revere for the man twists into horror as you take note of the stain your running makeup left behind— permanently marring the expensive fabric of his suit. “I am so sorry,” you sincerely apologize, guilt eating at you for the damage you’ve caused. “I’ll help you pay for it. Shifts at the Grill don’t pay much, but I’m sure if I take on enough extra ones, I will eventually have enough money to pay you,” you offer, trying to find a solution to the mess you created, knowing full well you will probably never earn enough to cover even a fraction of the cost of the suit. The Original smiles down at you, amused by your concern over his suit— such a trivial matter.

“I own plenty of suits. Please, don’t worry about this one.”

You stare back at him incredulously, once again baffled by the gentleman’s generosity. You want to protest against his easy forgiveness and kindness, but the arrival of a vintage red Porsche Coupe steals your attention. Elena emerges from the vehicle— confusion coloring her expression.

“Y/N, what are you doing in here?” the brunette inquires as she ascends the steps to her porch. A scoff escapes your lips as another piece of your heart is ripped to shreds by her negligence of your friendship.

“Elijah,” the brunette questions, noticing the vampire standing behind you for the first time, “What’s going on?”

“Well, we’ve been sitting here waiting for you because apparently you couldn’t be bothered to show up to any of the events you planned. Remember our Girls Day of Fun?” you question your childhood friend— your anger with her behavior as of late reaching its boiling point.

Elena’s eyes widen in realization before her face quickly contorts into one of guilt, feeling mortified she’s forgotten about your plans once again.

"Y/N, I am so sorry. I—"

"Let me guess, you were too busy hanging out with Damon and Stefan to remember that you had plans with your best friend. Which, might I remind you, was set in place to make up for all the other times you abandoned me," you say, cutting her off, venom lacing your voice.

The brunette visible winces at the sting of your words, but you are far too gone in your outrage to care about her wounded feelings. After all, it’s not like she hasn’t been killing yours this entire time. “Y/N, please, you have to understand-” Elena begins, but you are quick to cut her off. “No, Elena, I don’t have to understand. You can not possibly have one valid reason for why you consistently keep blowing me off. You are supposed to be my best friend. I have known you since we were in diapers, so I can not even begin to comprehend why you, and everyone else for that matter, have been pushing me off for the freaking Salvatore brothers. I have been here for you way longer than they have and I have helped you through more than they possibly ever could. I expect this from Caroline, but from you, Elena..." you trail off, the lump swelling in your throat. “I just don’t understand why I’m being replaced,” you finally breathe out, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

The Original Vampire inches closer to you, feeling an impulsive need to shelter you from the source of your anguish. He remains quiet, however, understanding the importance of you two having this conversation. But his presence remains nearby waiting to swoop in whenever he is needed.

Elena’s eyes mirror the same tears decorating your cheeks as she encloses her arms around you. The doppelgänger hates that her actions have been hurting you, but with a supernatural development seemingly emerging every five minutes, it has been hard for her to ensure your safety and spend time with you. “I’m not replacing you. You’re still my best friend. It’s just… things are complicated,” she tells you, hoping that you’ll understand the inexpedient dilemma she’s been placed in.

Unfortunately, you can’t understand what you don’t know and you find yourself wondering about the possible meaning behind her vague words. But exhausted from the emotionally taxing day, you let the subject drop, opting to accept her cryptic explanation. You want nothing more than to go home and curl into bed. Elijah, whose presence you had completely forgotten in the midst of your confrontation, seems to sense your desire as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder and offers to escort you home.

Over your shoulder, Elena throws a glare at the Original, not liking the idea of leaving you alone with the vampire. But since Elijah has given her his word that he would not harm her friends, she allows you to leave with him, telling you that she will check on you in the morning. Nodding, you accept the distinguished gentleman’s outstretched hand and allow him to accompany you home.

Upon your arrival, you turn towards the man who has acted as more of a friend to you in the past hour than your friends have in months and envelop him in a hug of your own. The Mikaelson is caught off guard by the sudden contact but is quick to wrap you in his arms— pleased to be having such an affectionate moment with the girl who has quickly whittled a place for her in his heart.

“Thank you. So much. For everything. And I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you thank Elijah for his abundant kindness to you, pulling out of the comfort of his embrace.

“I would happily do it again,” he informs you— a smile lighting up your features.

“Bye, Elijah,” you part, entering your house and leaving a shocked Mikaelson in your wake. He hadn’t realized you caught his name.

"Goodbye, Y/N," he whispers, smiling down at his new favorite suit jacket.

Part 2

Taglist: @catmikaelson20

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask and I will happily add you!

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heliads · 1 year

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So happy that you added top gun maverick to your fandom list. If you’re up for it could you do a Rooster x reader enemies to lovers where he’s in love with her but doesn’t want to get attached to anyone cause what happened to his dad and his repressed feelings manifest as him teasing and picking on her. She takes it like a champ and throws it right back at him (which only makes him fall for her more). One day she gets hurt (she can be another pilot or something else if you’d prefer) and she’s expecting him to make fun of her for fucking up but instead he’s very serious about taking care of her. Then they both confess their feelings for each other.

i am always up for top gun

masterlist

y/c means your callsign btw

In a world as crazy as that of the US Navy pilots, you’ve learned to treasure the brief moments of peace. They come few and far between, usually overshadowed by missions of great calamity. Those you can find, though, are certainly wonderful indeed.

You’re in the midst of one of such instances of tranquility now, staring over the railing of a balcony high up in one of the administrative buildings. It offers you a beautiful view of the ocean, which is not too far off in the distance. It’s just you and your best friend Phoenix. Also the pilot you hate most of all briskly walking your way.

Rooster.

No.

Thus another blissful moment is ruined. You turn to Natasha with a look of utter horror, and she has to clap a hand over her mouth to stop from breaking out in laughter. You glance around for a chance to flee, but Bradshaw’s too close, there’s nothing you can do but face him.

His footsteps stop behind you, and your knuckles tighten on the balcony railing. “Rooster. How wonderful of you to ruin my morning.”

You don’t have to look behind you to know that Rooster’s fixing you with the same smug grin he always seems to wear whenever you’re around. “Y/C. Still searching for ways to be faster than me? I admit, the ocean is pretty big and beautiful and all that, but it still might not be deep enough to hold all the secrets you’d need to beat my records.”

You snort. “A puddle would hold all the secrets I’d need to beat you. I already do that.”

You turn around at last, and Bradley folds his arms across his chest, the perfect picture of military indignation. “Is that so?” He asks slowly, “because I seem to remember Maverick struggling way more to take me out yesterday morning than he did for you.”

“I recall it being the opposite that afternoon,” you reply. “I wouldn’t blame you for having a bad memory, though. You’re bad at everything.”

By your side, Phoenix makes a choking sound that’s most likely her trying to disguise another laugh. “Keep it down, you guys. We only get one morning off from practice, and I’m trying to enjoy it without the constant sound of you two sniping at each other.”

“You don’t have to worry about Rooster sniping at me,” you say pleasantly, “he’d never hit. Just like in a plane.”

You think you see Rooster’s jaw drop, just a little. “So not true. I’d kick your ass in a dogfight any day if Maverick would let us fight each other instead of him.”

You arch a brow. “Then how about you ask him to let us fight? You’re close to him, aren’t you? Go use your advantage for an actual result instead of just trying to get a better showing than me. At least that’s a reasonable goal.”

Bradley scoffs. “That so? I think you’d go down in about half a second.”

“Not a chance,” you declare, “I’d have you in my sights in less time than it takes you to do a roll.”

“Prove it,” Rooster says, “I’d hate to think you’re just talk.”

During the course of the conversation/expressions of deep hatred, you and Bradley have slowly gravitated towards each other, unconsciously taking a step forward in an attempt to get the upper hand. Right now, the two of you are practically breathing down each other’s shirts, neither willing to back down first.

It takes Natasha sighing exasperatedly and shoving the two of you apart for the situation to ease. “Back off, you two. Is it possible for you to stop fighting for two seconds? You’re worse than Hangman.”

You chuckle. “That’s a pretty terrible comparison. Alright, Nat, let’s go somewhere with a better view. I’m getting tired of this one at the moment.”

You widen your eyes in mock horror as you say it, and Rooster rolls his eyes. Ignoring him, you link your arm around Phoenix’s and lead her away.

Natasha starts grinning once Bradley is out of earshot. “You guys are insane, you know that? At some point, you’re going to have to stop flirting with each other and actually go get drinks or something.”

You nearly choke on your own indignation. “Flirting? Natasha Trace, you must be out of your mind. I’m not flirting in the slightest.”

“You must be serious, you’re using my full name,” Phoenix muses, “but you’re wrong. You guys have more tension than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “tension because we hate each other. Bad tension.”

“Good tension,” she argues, “because you love each other dearly.”

You shove her on the shoulder, but the action only serves to make Natasha’s smile broaden. “You can’t say anything to convince me otherwise,” she reminds you, “I know what I see.”

You roll your eyes. “You might have to get your vision checked if you’re that blind.”

Despite your comebacks, you can’t be annoyed with Phoenix forever, even if she’s way off in her predictions of what is to come between you and Rooster. She’s your best friend, both among the pilots and outside of work.

That’s why she must know better than to think that you and Bradley would ever be interested in each other that way. First of all, Rooster would never allow that to happen, your own feelings be damned. He’s been a lone wolf since day one. Sure, he’ll talk to his friends, and get drinks with a big crowd just like anyone else, but he’s not looking for anyone closer than a buddy from work. That much is certain.

There are rumors, of course, about why that would be. Some whisper that Bradley lost his father in an airplane crash and so he refuses to let himself get attached to any one pilot out of fear of history repeating itself. Others say that he’s so competitive about getting the top result that he wouldn’t want to weaken himself by tying himself to another pilot.

Regardless, you know one thing for sure: Rooster is not the kind of person to fall for you. Ever. From the moment he met you, Bradley’s been teasing you nonstop. The two of you engage in verbal warfare every time you’re stuck in a room together for longer than a minute. During aerial practice, the two of you risk your necks to outdo each other, and back on solid ground, you’re firing comebacks at each other like missiles.

Thus, the force of Bradley’s obstinance alone could thwart any idea of yours. There are no ideas of yours, though, none in the slightest. Rooster is a thorn in your side, a too-clever piece trying to stop you from crossing the chess board and beating him once and for all. If you have ever looked at him with different eyes, ones that shine instead of glare, that must be blamed on too many drinks or too many late nights. Anything else would be traitorous.

So, you turn your focus towards doing better, always doing better. Maverick’s demands for his selected group of pilots are a hair short of perfection; seeing as you’re one of them, you have to cross that line, be flawless as no other fighter pilot can be. You are the best of the best, but you must prove it every single time you crawl into your cockpit.

Maybe that’s why you end up pushing harder than you should during daily practice. Maybe that’s why you ignore every warning thrown your way that you’re going to get in trouble. In the end, you do, but not over a disciplinary violation. Instead, the danger headed your way is physical.

You didn’t crash. You feel like that should be stated another dozen times. Your plane was never impacted, nor was anyone harmed. The whole thing happened so quickly that you’d swear it was just a figment of your imagination were it not for the radio logs played over and over again, showing just what you did.

More specifically, the comms show what you didn’t do, and that was stay conscious during the flight. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends just trying to keep your place ahead of the other pilots, and it’s finally slowing you down instead of speeding you up. You were coming out of a sharp dive when the exhaustion took its toll.

You passed out then and there. Maverick’s shouting over your comms didn’t do anything to wake you up. Your eyes opened when you were far below the hard deck, plummeting towards the ground. It took every bit of skill in you to pull the nose of your plane up and save yourself from fiery impact.

Even after you landed, your trouble wasn’t over. You barely managed to climb out of the cockpit before you were passing out again, tumbling over the edge of the plane and falling towards the hard ground below. Your head would have struck the concrete if it weren’t for someone managing to catch you, and of all the people to be your savior, it was Rooster.

That still bewilders you. You ended up staying in the medical wing for a couple of hours with an IV to get your stats back to normal, but you’ve been cleared since then, let go with a warning to take it easy. From the moment you regained consciousness and learned what happened, you haven’t been able to stop wondering why Bradley would have been the one to catch your falling body and not any one of the other pilots.

For one thing, he would have had to act quickly to notice and grab you before your head hit the ground. For another, he would have had to be by your plane in the first place. That means Bradley was waiting for you, something he has obviously never done before. The whole situation makes no sense, and your mood isn’t exactly lifted to see Rooster waiting for you by the door of the med wing when you finally get out.

He’s been leaning up against the wall, but straightens up when he sees you. “Y/C. Good to see you upright.”

Your head is still a little fuzzy, and you really, really don’t want to hear him sniping at you, especially not after the results of the day. You don’t lose control, not when you’re in a plane. You can already picture him calling you out for that little lapse, so you decide to cut to the chase and cut him off before Bradley gets the chance.

You hold up a hand before he can say anything else. “I don’t want to hear it,” you warn him.

Rooster blinks in surprise. “Hear what?”

You laugh bitterly. “You’re here to make fun of me for passing out, obviously. If I hear a single joke about me falling for you, I’ll kick your knees in, how about that?”

“Well, I’d prefer if my knees stay intact,” Rooster says slowly, “besides, that’s not why I’m here.”

You stare at him, confused. “Why the hell else would you be here?”

Bradley spreads his hands. “To check in on you. You’ve got us all worried, Y/C. I just happen to prefer you alive rather than dead, and I wanted to make sure you were going to stay that way.”

This takes you by surprise. “Really?”

He laughs. “Is it really that much of a shocker that I might care about if you’re alright? I saw you fall when you were in that plane. I thought you wouldn’t be able to save yourself. I haven’t been shaken like that since–”

Bradley cuts himself off abruptly, but you sense what he was trying to say. No one has clear memories when they’re that young, but losing your father would do something to remind you of what it’s like to hurt.

You reach over and gently place a hand on Rooster’s back. “I’m okay,” you assure him, “due in part to someone making sure I stayed that way. Thanks for catching me.”

“Thanks for catching yourself when you were in the air,” he replies back, “that would have been harder for me to stop. Just don’t make it a habit. I’m not used to doubting you.”

You laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be this nice to me. Keep doing it, will you?”

Rooster’s smile is soft when you look back at him. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

It occurs to you that Phoenix might have been right. You’ll have to check in with her later and ask what other revelations she’d been keeping from you. In the meantime, you’re perfectly content to walk back with Bradley, to talk and be happy with him. You don’t think you need anything else. Not even a top finish.

top gun tag list: empty for now!

#rooster #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster oneshot #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw oneshot #top gun #top gun imagines #top gun x reader #top gun oneshot #top gun rooster #top gun rooster imagines #top gun rooster x reader #top gun rooster oneshot

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kimbapchan · 2 months

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Hihi!! I just wanna start off by saying I. LOVE. The designs for your roleswap. You have given me many of The Thoughts. One thing I’m a bit curious about: where exactly does Quan Yizhen stand here? You’d expect him to remain a Heavenly Official, but Yin Yu being in Ling Wen’s spot raises questions.

**SPOILERS AHEAD. RUN NOW FOR ALL YE WHOM STILL READ**

With The Brocade Immortal, It’s likely Ling Wen was no longer the one to ‘create’ the Brocade Immortal, so perhaps that ‘honor’ falls to Yin Yu? But then that begs the question of who is the Brocade Immoral in that case? Would it still be the same person as the main novel or would if be someone else? Who could that someone else be? If my initial gut feeling is right then Quan Yizhen being the Brocade Immortal would be neat. Yin Yu feeling guilty for the loss and trying to bring Quan Yizhen back. (If you already mentioned QYZ at some point… whoops..?)

Also pretty curious about the dynamic between the Ghost Kings (well, the Calamities). We can suspect that Xie Lian, Shi Qingxuan and perhaps Mei Nianqing (if MNQ is present) are all on tolerable terms with each other, which isolates Lang Qianqiu, especially since it’s still incredibly likely that Xie Lian was still his teacher assuming Xie Lian wouldn’t continue on his warpath (this is also assuming Xie Lian remains the Crown Prince. But it seems likely because Mei Nianqing would likely have a certain title for Hua Cheng like cannon Jun Wu had given cannon Xie Lian. Plus: The increasing likelihood of Feng Xin and Mu Qing being ghosts supports the theory because if they both *died* rather than abandoning Xie Lian, I don’t think he would’ve held back…

But this is all just a theory! An AU-I-Read-Too-Far-Into Theory!

~ MC Anon (you don’t need to tag it… I just leave a little signature so that I REMEMBER that I was the one who wrote the ask, lol)

I really REALLY love your theories! thankyou for sharing them with me! I already have a comic drafted with Quan Yizhen actually! He is definitely one of my favorite characters in canon story. He reminds me of a very mellow Binghe hehe. I look forward to showing you guys his design in the AU! <3

Oh and yes, of course I would love to show the calamities/ghost kings interact. We haven't seen much of it yet since every comic I've done so far are sort of on Hua Cheng's POV. I'll hopefully make a comic in the future with Xie Lian's POV!

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neverchecking · 10 months

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i see requests are open and i come humbly asking, begging for something with Reader and the triplets. preferably nsfw but anything is appreciated and thanked. we’ve gotten crumbs but i’m greedy and want more for them please 🤲🏼 -🐝

🐝ANON!

Here yall go. See you in four hours ;) I expect big things when I come back BIG THINGS

Reminder: This is not Linkcest. The Links aren't in love with each other. just reader. And for more information on my Request status, check my bio or pinned post :D

Smut so MDNI! 18+

Smut CW: Foursomes, three dudes, one reader. AFAB Reader, Double penetration, anal play. mouth fucking,

"Can't you stay on your fucking side?!"

Whoever thought this was a good idea needed to be thrown down a cliff. Or off a river. Which ever option gave them a more painful death, because this was painful. Pure agony.

Who's bright idea was it to stuff him in a room with the fucking Failure of a hero and the soldier with a stick so far up his ass he was flossing with splinters. Seriously. They could sleep outside like the dogs that they were, in his humble opinion.

The only good thing to come out of this was that he would get to sleep with his goddess. That wasn't new, per say, he had managed to convince them that he had needed you lest he do something dramatic. That wasn't a lie, not exactly, maybe just an exaggerated truth. Because he did need you. He needed you so badly. He needed to feel your plush skin against his and feel your chest rise and fall. Watch every breath you took.

That was just the way things were.

But he had no idea who these two fell into that equation.

"There are no sides, you feral primate."

If he wasn't in the presence of his Goddess, he would've thrown patchwork over there on his ass. Mark his words, he'd do it the first chance he got. That was a promise.

With a snarl, Sage raised a lip to bare his sharp canines, glowing down at Road rash. How he was ever allowed in your presence was beyond him, but you allowed it and he was not one to go against your word. Even if it ate away at him every second.

"You're right. Maybe you should just leave entirely. Take a long walk off a short cliff?" He offered, readjusting his hold on your hips. It was a bit of a feat, convincing you to let him in, using generous amounts of oil and extended periods of stretching to prep the virgin hole for him. But it was all worth it. It may not have compared to your dripping cunt, that was an entirely different feeling, euphoric in every way, but this had it's pros. This was untouched by anyone. And if it meant letting Knightly down there bust his load in the first two seconds to get him out of the way, then he was willing to put in the work.

Besides, it had gotten you to make an entirely new assortment of sounds that he loved hearing, feeling you clench in an entirely new way.

"Eat shit." Wild snarled back, threading his fingers into your hair. Your eyes, pleading and wide and wet with tears, looked up at him before falling downwards. Any noises you were capable of making were muffled as you masterfully swallowed around the cock in your mouth.

Sage gently brushed your hair back. "You're doing so well for me, sunshine." His eyes caught another pair, making him smirk cruelly. "Doing okay down there, prude?"

Below you was the newest addition, who didn't give an answer. He was too put together, with hair that was clean and trimmed and armor that shined almost as much as the Captain's, but he, in some capacity was them in a way. Which was probably the only reason Sage let either of them near what was his. Calamity, they had dubbed him, Cal for short, was beneath you, stuffed into your cunt as he suckled on your tit like a newborn babe. He seemed in pure bliss as his own eyes turned bloodshot, tears pearling in the corners of his eyes. Every move of Sage's hips that jostled you on Cal had the knight whimpering and crying out, curling in on himself and bringing you with him.

It was all a chain reaction.

Sage would thrust forward, fulfilling his own personal mission on carving his place in each and every one of your holes, and pushing you forward onto Wild's own cock. You would stutter, choke a bit before breathing through your nose as he pulled back just a bit. With the rock forward you would raise just the slightest off of Cal, making him gasp around whatever nipple has attention before Sage would pull you back onto his own, and consequently onto Cal. He would arch up into you, giving a particularly harsh suck and making you moan around Wild's cock.

It was all like clockwork.

And in a way, it was poetic. Every piece moving in sync to directly follow it's predecessor before flowing into the next. Like a well oiled machine, everything would click into place, complete the cycle, only to restart itself all over again and repeat the process.

His divinity was quite the sight to behold. Even as the smell of sex permeated the air and sweat dripped down the glorious curve of your back, he found himself licking his teeth, practically drooling above you. You were always a sight, even after he had thoroughly debauched your form. When your thighs were quivering, glistening in your own cum as he sat up from his feast. When you cried into the pillows and blankets as his hips crashed with yours. When you looked up at him through thick lashes, expression much to innocent for the sinful acts you would preform unto him. You were his favorite muse. His own little reward for the shit that good-for-nothing fake had him do.

And he would cherish you. Even when you insist he share and play nice with others.

With a grunt, he leaned down, tongue dragging alone your spine and up to one of your shoulder blades, coating the patch of skin he settled on in his own saliva before biting. Cooper flooded his sense, making him shudder as the consequences of his actions ricocheted around him. Your sudden gasp and orgasmic moan had Wild stilling, head falling back as his hips twitched. Cal stilled beneath you, arms snacking between Sage's own body and your own to pull you closer to him as he cried out around you.

But you, you were what made it so worth it. Your walls clenched and spasmed over and over again as your entire body shook. Your thighs tried clamping together to no avail as your back arched and quivered. Every part of you seemed to be in pure euphoria as pure lust drawled across your features.

He loved that look.

Letting a hand fall between your legs, he quickly used his middle and ring finger to press against your clit, making your twitches amplify before he was rubbing smooth circles into the nerves. Every roundabout had you crying a new sound as Wild pulled free. His hand quickly ran up and down his shaft as your head fell forward, noises no longer gagged by that good for nothing as they ran free in the air. Sage's hips never slowed, keeping their pace in time with his thrusts.

Your movements never stopped, even as Cal gathered his own bearings, shuffling his hips just the slightest. When he picked up a smooth tempo, you shattered.

And like a machine, it all feel into place. Your head fell back so you could look at Sage, drool shining your lips in a glorious gleam as nothing but pure, empty glee warped your features. The spasms around his cock never ceased before loosening just the slightest. A crash of something wet trailed down his thighs and painted Cal's own as burrowed as far as he could into your swollen cunt. The red lips were soon dripping a milky white as the knight's own whimpers were gagged around your breasts.

Streaks of white painted your cheeks and lips as Wild gently tilted your head back, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw.

Sage's own hips stilled as deep as he could physically reach, pumping you full of everything he had to offer. Anything you wanted and it would be yours. You simply had to ask him.

A moment of silence fell over the trio, before Sage was grinning, unlatching from his place on your shoulder.

"Hope you two virgins aren't tapped out yet. I'm sure our goddess has a few more in her."

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cadwhatalad · 2 years

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alright I’ve been thinking about it all weekend and I’ve figured out that what I find so compelling about exu: calamity is how, for the first time in a critical role campaign, we’re working from the point of view of The Establishment.

It’s weird because the thing that really set cr apart for me in the grand scheme of high fantasy media is that in the mainstream campaigns so far, they’ve been incredibly dedicated to playing the underdog. One of the things I really like about Matt and the cast is that they don’t generally go in for the Star Wars/Harry Potter bullshit of “oh it seems like this character comes from nothing but they’re actually secretly special because [insert weird theme of genealogy as an indicator of good character]”. In a wide sprawling world of Lost Princesses and One True Kings, critical role gives us genuine, bona fide nobodies. I’m so in love with the fact that Orym was only ever supposed to be a random bodyguard standing in the corner, that Nott’s big backstory reveal was that she used to be a housewife, that Launda’s character is literally meant to embody the idea of collateral damage.

Even Vox Machina, to date our most respectable party with connections/claims to power from the outset of their arcs (as opposed to clawing their way to legitimacy through adversity Mighty Nein style), only have that to a very limited extent. Percy is an aristocrat, yes, but in a place so small and isolated that it could be seized and ruled by necromancers for a solid half-decade without the neighbouring royal power noticing. Vax and Vex are the children of a high-level ambassador but they’re outcast, bastards, literally illegitimate. Pike is a respected cleric of a god nobody follows. Grog would have led his herd, but was first ousted by his uncle and then willingly ceded the position of power to his cousin. Keyleth was in the same position as Percy, royalty in a way that didn’t matter to anyone outside her civilisation before the conclave arc dragged them into relevance. As a party they spent a pretty big chunk of their early arc half-fighting with Sovereign Uriel in their quest for respect. Compared to our new exu folks they’re still very definitely underdogs. And, y’know, there’s a reason for that – underdogs make for some of the most compelling stories. It’s immensely satisfying watching maligned people gain respect, unloved people become loved, weak people become strong, disempowered people become powerful, etc.

So then I was thinking about all that and wondering why I find these new six so interesting, especially because. It really cannot be overstated how much power they have. We’re shown up front how competent and respected they all are, but more than that, we get all these hints in the build-up to the gala – Nydus being confronted with an NPC whose concerns are “too low” for him as if that’s ever been a thing at the cr table before now; that comment about Laerryn being so fundamental to the workings of the city that most people don’t recognise her on sight because they straight up don’t understand what it is she does; Patia’s exchange with Eldemir the wise – this guy is supposed to be one of the city’s seven highest government officials, and he’s senile. The way as we meet them we bounce from public to secret, statesman to merchant, the very guts of the city to its absolute peak. By the time they all converge at the party and Brennan says that thing about these being the six people who actually get shit done, it’s like. Oh. These are the people who are physically keeping the city afloat. They control infrastructure, information, public opinion. In a room full of the most powerful people in the most powerful city on Exandria, these are the ones who direct it all.

And then it’s hammered home by Purvan’s entrance, because in any other story, he’d be the audience-surrogate character. He walks into this glittering party with his muddy boots and his wolf pal, brings a message from the gods into this monument to arcane hubris, gets laughed at for his trouble by a roomful of wizards in fancy robes. The contrast between this young low-ish level ranger and the ring of brass is so fucking strong. And then even more, by the time he gets done asking to meet with the septarium, we already know that wouldn’t do him any good. We’ve seen what those guys are like already, we know that if he wants to get anywhere he’ll have to speak to our six. They’re the ones who are gonna be able to fix it.

And then I was like, oh. Wait. Calamity.

The reason we like underdogs is because we like watching them rise up, but these folks have already risen as high as it’s possible to go. And we already know how this story ends.

We’re not just gonna see them fall. We’re gonna see them fall further and harder and faster than any other group of people possibly could.

Not to be too dark about it, but. I’m quite excited.

#cr spoilers #exu: calamity

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prokopetz · 5 months

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Hey! So I ran a one-shot of Eat God and we had a blast. I have some feedback to offer from both myself and my players (This was actually a while ago but I’ve been busy as hell so I’m only writing it up now, so I might have forgotten some things).

First off, character creation was just as fun as advertised. My player’s all loved getting to choose their character’s traits and appearance and designing their deicidal muppets. The game’s mechanics also made it extremely easy to create looney-tunes style shenanigans, which both I and the character’s took full advantage of.

At one point a character with the roving limbs trait was running away with a barrel containing another character (I put the character in the barrel) balanced on their legs while their top half distracted the town guards, a completely different character slipped into the sewers I hadn’t thought about and I had a chance to throw a surprise alligator at them, and a theocratic pastor said that he “carried God with him in his heart” (which ended exactly as anthropophagically as I had expected it too). I also got the great quote from one of my players “I swear to the god I want to eat.”

I have a few critiques, a few suggestions for things to develop for future editions, and a few questions. My first critique is that I think that having tokens for obstinacy is a little distracting, since you keep track of everything else about your character on paper (we ended up using Sprite flavored tic-tacs that one of the player’s had in their bag) and would be better done on the character sheet. I also think the game could use a formal turn structure for high-pressure situations. It’s a game that promotes chaotic play, and with people popcorning in it got a bit loud and overwhelming.

For future developments, I think that having more specific action types like attack, help, investigate, etc. would be helpful. Specifying the mechanical effects tied to some of the abilities, like being able to “stun” someone with Primordial Power and Dizzying Display, having a general movement speed that would be doubled by Fast Feet, being difficult to harm with Defensive Dermis, etc., would be useful for the GM. And more examples of NPC abilities would be useful, if only to have something to base homebrew on.

There are also a few questions I had. First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat?

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity? Because I don’t believe any roll over a character’s facet would have no chance of triggering calamity, and similarly don’t believe that positive modifiers would increase the chance of calamity.

Lastly, a general lesson I learned as a GM that I do not hold against your game: be careful how far you let your characters stretch the limits of their abilities in low pressure situations if you’re too socially anxious to retcon in high pressure ones.

Ultimately I think it’s a great game and everyone had a great time. I meant to run another session but didn’t find the time, so I might have more feedback when I finally get around to that. For credits sake I’m Kendall R., my players wanted to be credited as Noc, Ladybug, and Brynne.

(With reference to this post here.)

I appreciate the feedback. With respect to your questions:

First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat?

There is not. Defining a more formal conflict framework with a specific round length is a potential addition to a future revision, albeit not one I'm committing to adding at this time.

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity?

Dice rolls in Eat God are generally not modified in any way; the value of a particular die is the number you rolled on that die. Effect modifiers (which I assume are what you're referring to here) apply to the roll's Result, which is the number you get from carrying out the procedure described in "Rolling and Reading Your Result"; any comparison which does not explicitly refer to a roll's Result is referring to the values the dice are physically showing.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #eat god #game design #violence mention #death mention #cannibalism mention

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lonesilverw0lf · 3 months

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My take on the RWBY/40K idea. It’s not a ‘Jaune is a Lost Primarch’ that @guardsman-of-remnant or @the-wayward-arc have, or as thought out as @weatherman667 Astartes Chapters.

Juane was a normal guy who’s planet was destroyed. Then he decides to do something about it and potentially changes the course of the galaxy.

Jaune’s early life and world was dealt a bad hand. On a planet considered backwater, ruled over by incompetent lords, an over paranoid and self-righteous Inquisitor, continually and unrightfully drained of resources, repeatedly denied aid and due process, castigated for things beyond their control, and so on. Punished for ‘refusing to pay their tithe’ despite the fact they did pay the tithe but it was attacked by pirates. There was even a time when an enterprising farmer designed a better water pump, really all he did was find an older and better model and made more. Yet somehow the Mechanichum got wind of it and declared it Technoheresy. They destroyed every model and glassed a good swathe of the planet. Those are just a couple of many examples that Jaune was alive to experience. When everyday looks like hell, the Warp starts looking pretty good. Well between a Chaos uprising and a surprise Ork Waaah, alongside the possible threat of a Tyrranid fleet, the planet was declared hopeless and Exterminatus was ordered.

However instead of dying with the rest of the system’s population, Jaune was whisked away to another dimension. A pocket realm in-between the Materium and Immaterium. This realm was reined by a goddess yet not a goddess, who also sits in a weird in between with the materium and immaterium. Said goddess was an entity from another galaxy before the War in Heaven. She started off as just another galaxy conquering dragon, but after a few zillion years that got boring. Seeing the Old Ones and their creations she decided to observe. She’s got nothing but time, so why not? Over time she became loving, a gardener, a collector, a teacher. She doesn’t interfere with the Materium much because of her overwhelming power, and her control over the Immaterium is mostly spent keeping her corner of the galaxy protected from everything else. She’s pretty hands off and lets everyone else do their own thing, hence she didn’t take part in the War in Heaven. Or much else for that matter. She likes to watch the galaxy spin and all its different paths.

In her Library Jaune finds out the truth of the Horus Heresy, along with many other Heresies and major calamaties from alternate timelines that brought the Imperium to its knees and eventual demise. Horus Heresy, Robutian, Dornian, Lion, Erebrun, each and every Heresy and their potential variations. In a desperate bid to prevent these calamities, Jaune convinces his goddess to send himself and a motley collection of volunteers back in time to just before the Great Crusade. A Suicide Squad consisting of those that the Imperium would execute on the spot: Mutants, Abhumans, Heretics, Traitors, Xenos, Abominable Intelligence, and more. I’m sure Big E would get a laugh out of the irony.

Jaune knows that he can’t do half of what he wants to do. They can’t deal with anything big, like E’s journey into the Warp, the creation of the Primarchs and Astartes, the scattering of the Primarchs, the Great Crusade, etc. He can’t just go and tell the Emperor or Malcador about this. They won’t listen first off, and then they’ll just kill him for knowing too much, trying to play with things he has no business in, or just because Jaune refuses to kiss their asses.

He can’t just go out and pick up all the Primarchs and raise them like his own sons post-scattering. They’re scattered too far apart, their homeworlds need them in some fashion, the worlds are too big and dangerous to be looking for them, the Crew is always on the move which would be bad for their personal growth, each of them are too intelligent to not notice something’s different, they grow too fast for their limited resources, and more. Not to mention the unwanted attention they’d bring themselves from Chaos and Big E. That would spell doom in no time.

What they can do is use their knowledge of what happened and what could be to alter small yet key moments. A quick bombing run to eliminate the Butcher’s Nails factories, ensuring Corvus makes it to the surface, eliminating Kor Pheron, erasing Erebrus from the equation, keeping RG’s family alive from the deamon(Robutian Heresy story), warn and prepare several civilizations of what’s coming, plant a few bugs into each of the Primarchs’ flagships regarding certain orders, and more. These guys do not get a day off. They have to move in relative secrecy because who’s going to believe them? And those who may will likely have him killed for ‘interfering with the Emperor’s will’.

He’s met with relative success in his endeavors. Angron wasn’t implanted with the Butcher’s Nails, but with a different kind of device of similar purpose. This new set wouldn’t turn Angron’s brain to soup like the Butcher’s Nails did, this set gave him a form of split personality in the same way that Bruce Banner has with the Hulk. So Angron can be either the Stalwart Paladin type he was meant to be, or the Raging Barbarian type from canon. It’s a flip of the coin with him. Give the guy some more complexity than just rage rage rage.

It eventually comes to a point where he’s too far into the game to know what to do next. He’s changed too much to know the right call. The Primarchs are all gathered and conquering systems, so trying to do anything to them is out. Chaos has to know about his meddling by now, probably the Emperor as well. Despite the anti-aging tech, he's getting too old. His entire crew has fallen one by one. He’s the last man standing in this crusade.

Out of resources, options, ideas, allies, full of desperation, Jaune decides to throw one last Hail Mary. He calls in a favor from his Goddess, and through means that I haven’t decided on, gathers all the Primarchs in one room, locks the door, glues them to their seats, and lays it all out on them.*

He explains who he is, what his mission is, the nature and rise of Chaos, large parts of the Emperor’s plan, and all that. He tells them of all the potential futures, all the Heresies, the one where E decides to make Eye of Terror 2.0, one where all the Primarchs go balls to the wall mosh pit civil war, how each of them could/did fall, the War of Heaven, the Tyrranids, Necrons, Tau, many other subfactions, potential allies, those that would’ve been very helpful but were butchered, allies in one but not another, what E has done and his potential plans, their own half Warp entity souls, lots of history, lots of secrets exposed, what Jaune and crew have done, and so on.

He doesn’t hold anything back either. He rants on about how badly humanity has fallen, how logic and reason are replaced with fanaticism, progress with stagnation, the hypocrisy, the injustice, the stagnation and corruption of the Imperium, the bloated and rotting corpse of a once great civilization, the works. He even has a nice little partial Abominable Intelligence helping him out. It puts up all sorts of data, photos, videos, recordings, etc. to supplement Jaune’s rants. Just a little guy that gives intel like how Astartesanonymous, Majorkill, Isyanderandkoda, Livefromtheblacklibrary, Wes, and them give lore explanations.

“But it’s only one guy who did a cute trick of keeping us in our seats and talks a lot, why should we believe him?” Sorry to do this to you Sanguinius, but he just casually drops the fact that your legion suffers from the Blood Thirst in front of everyone. The thing that you fought so hard to keep quiet from everyone and only a few even within your Legion knew about? Yeah that’ll get your attention, along with everyone else’s given how badly you react. Dropping a couple less dangerous secrets from the Lion’s assortment of secrets is also on the table. Pretty sure Alpharius wouldn’t mind getting pointed out as the actual first Primarch recovered, #sarcasm. He drops a little skeleton from each of their closets in front of everyone.

Suffice to say he isn’t going to be invited to any family cookouts after this.

He calls out each of them on their critical failures, dangerous shortcomings, hypocritical mindests, how easily they fell to Chaos, all the ways Papa E screwed up and is still screwing up, and more. All while calling them the stupid nicknames the Crew used. Mufasa, Simba, Long Johnson, for the Lion. Rowboat Girlyman, Bobby G, Robot Gorrillaman, for Robute. Fido, Balto, Scruffy, for Leman. And so on. He only calls them by their proper names once, at the very beginning when he was introducing himself and being respectful.

Is it smart to insult a room of the most powerful people in the galaxy and their daddy? Or talk down to them like the emotionally immature people they are? No. If it weren’t for the Goddess favor pinning them to their seats and disabling their gear and abilities he’d be dead and he knows that. They try to use their Primarch Aura on him, but after however long serving his Goddess he’s relatively immune to it. And he’s in such a IDGAF mindset that the most they get out of him is a raised eyebrow. It’d take one of the Chaos Gods’ or the Big E’s aura to really make him shake.

However pointing out flaws without a solution is just bitching. He gives credit where credit is due. He offers help and suggestions to a lot of their problems. He asks everyone to start appreciating Perty a little more, tells the Prophecy duo to get together and speak with some Farseers about their visions, commends the achievements of the Builder Brothers and ways to make their stuff even better, etc. He gives them self-help books, some psychiatric care books, and some insights from various sources to help out with some of their more human problems. God knows E isn’t helping them out with any of this.

Jaune had the foresight to make volumes of his findings. He drops many encyclopedias worth of books in front of them, all scaled up in size for their convenience. They hold everything. Names, dates, quotes, specifications, supply lines, blueprints, maps, numbers, persons of interest, items of interest, planets of interest, deamons of interest, xenos of interest, xenos that are beneficial to the galaxy and the Imperium, xenos that Leman can have fun exterminating, xenos that must be protected, xenos that can be uplifted, xenos that are up in the air, events that could happen, things that Jaune prevented from happening, nothing was left out. Not just books pertaining to the Primarchs and their dealing with Chaos, as both opponents and slaves to it, either. He also dumped books detailing events from the various futures for the next 10 millennia. Greatest victories, worst defeats, the breaking of the Legions, Successor Chapters, betrayals, redemptions, plots, plots within plots, the power of Faith, the detriments and benefits of groups like the Inquisition and Ecclesiarchy, the strength of character in Xenos races, and on and on and on. The Primarchs have quite a bit of reading to do.

Don’t worry Lemon Rush, you can still have your fun hunting down Xenos. Here’s a stack of books detailing all those filthy Xenos that are detrimental to the Imperium and galaxy at large! This lists where they are, what danger they pose, what their biology is, how best to kill them, and so on. Have fun!

Guilliman, here’s a stack for you regarding Xenos that are good guys that could use a hand. Vulcan, here’s a buncha worlds that could really use your more human touch. Horus, these worlds are major players so will be better won with your diplomacy. And so on.

So what is the Primarchs reaction? Do they accept the things he’s said? Do they bring this intelligence to the Emperor and Malcador? Do they take a hard look at themselves and decide to do better? Do they throw themselves at the feet of Chaos? Do they slow down the Crusade to better reinforce the reclaimed worlds? Do they help each other overcome their weaknesses and petty grievances so Chaos has less of a foothold on their souls? Do they exacerbate their flaws? Do they watch each other’s backs for Chaotic influence? Do they start training their Sons in Astartes vs Astartes combat? Astartes vs Chaos combat? Do they purge the corrupt members of their legions? Do they decide to eradicate the dangerous Xenos while uplifting the benevolent ones? Do they go hard in ways to better the Imperium? Do they become the mindless tools that E wanted them to be? Do they start to stand up to the Emperor and call him out on his shit when he needs it?

Jaune has no idea what they decided, or what any of their thoughts were. After he drops everything on them, gives them the books and AI, he walks out the door. His only thoughts were getting blackout drunk and working on the next step after the hangover. That particular conversation never left that room as far as he’s concerned or aware. He’s fully expecting any one of them to turn him into a red mist for his attitude, or a visit from the Banana Squad for a ‘chat’. He doesn’t even care what happens to him now.

He doesn’t even manage to find a bottle before he’s in trouble. He’s hit from the side, a mortal wound that kills slowly and painfully. However his attacker isn’t anyone from any branch of the Imperium. A deamon has been hunting him and his crew ever since he came back to the past. This is the thing that’s been orchestrating the deaths of his friends one by one. It’s very proud of its work and monologues like a cartoon villain. He just saved Jaune for last since he’s the leader. Something about helplessly watching as your friends are picked off as you can do nothing.

Taking this as confirmation that Jaune was doing the right thing he gets up for one last go. As noble as he is he can be a spiteful little shit, so he’s not going down without a fight. Jaune uses a single word of Enuncia to banish the demon, however his previous injuries and the power of the word kills him at the same time.

This is a good ending right? Did everything he could, gave those who hold the galaxy in their hands everything they need to keep things going right, gave a big middle finger to Chaos, the Emperor, and the demon, and died an unsung hero. Good place for retirement right?

However Jaune’s not done! The word quit doesn’t exist in his dictionary, especially when he knows that he was making a difference. Or was at least enough of a thorn in Chaos’ side to warrant a personal Demon after him. He reject’s his Goddess’ offer of a peaceful afterlife to go back for more. He’s a sucker for suffering sometimes. He crawls his way through the warp to be reborn in an Avatar type way. His DNA is identical, he holds the same kind soul and indomitable spirit, but he’s a fresh slate in everything else. The ‘current Jaune’ doesn’t know anything about the potential futures, his past lives, or any of that. The most that his original past self, the ‘original Jaune’, can do is subconsciously nudge him in what should be the right direction. Eventually the Demon, which I dub Little Timmy, comes back from the Warp to kill him again. To which Jaune’s original soul takes over in a sense, like how Ozma fights alongside his current host and body, and the two die in a draw yet again. Then he crawls back through the Warp to be reborn yet again, and so the cycle repeats.

Jaune does most everything during this series of cycles. Was an Astartes for each of the legions at least once even the Lost 2, guardsman, Commisar, Rouge trader, mechanicum, planetary lord, bounty hunter, Psyker, Blank, anything and everything as long as it wasn’t under E’s direct oversight like the Inquisition, Assassinorum, Custodes, and the like. Not to say he hasn’t tangoed with and against such organizations over the cycles.

Despite having the same face and dna, he’s missed completely by those in the know. Besides the fact his Goddess is blocking certain figures’ sight from recognizing him properly, think how just a piece of fabric over the eyes works for most heroes identities, he’s just one guy in trillions of trillions in that particular sector. They might have an idea of ‘that guy seems familiar’ in a déjà vu kind of way, but easily dismiss it. How common are blue eyed blonde dudes? The only confirmation that the Primarchs get that Jaune has been reborn again is during or after his fight with Little Timmy. Jaune leaves a message or calls them or whatever, and the original soul makes sure he calls them by one of the stupid nicknames from the chew out session. Who else would have the balls to call Ferrus Manus Tin Can Sam, or can tell the difference to know which TweedleTwin he’s talking to? Not like they can do much by the time/if they get the message, he died in the duel again. They’re lucky to find parts of his body from the fight. Little Timmy tends to desire a lot of collateral whenever possible, and Jaune isn’t always the roided up transhuman super soldier to trade blows so he has to get creative when he fights.

*As everyone else is stuck to their chairs, Jaune is standing on the table to look them in the eyes and move around easier. Also allows him to move close enough to the Primarchs to drop the reading material in front of them, but not close enough to be grabbed. It’s a funny image, but couldn’t find a spot where it would fit so here it is.

I have no idea where some of this should go, but I know that it should be a mess of things anyway because it’s 40K. As much as I don’t want any of the Primarchs taken by Chaos now that they have guidebooks on what to look out for and just how fucked that would be if they do, I can see a few of them falling anyway. Fulgrim for instance. I can see him taking the Laer Blade just to try and show Jaune that ‘Oh look, I guess you were wrong and I am strong enough to carry a demonic blade and not get corrupted!’ That’s the reason he talked down to you like a child, ya Purple Nurple! I love the idea of Snakegrim and Clonegrim duking it out, a duel of both loyalties and ideals. Although from what I hear from the various fangroups I’m in we probably won’t see that. Dangit GW. You’re missing a trunkful of easy money.

I’m not sure how the other Primarchs should be affected by Jaune’s meddling either. Angron was just an easy picking on how to change things up.

#crossover #au #rwby #jaune arc #writing #warhammer 40k #primarch #story ideas #mostly a shitpost

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