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#he's such a fascinating character!! even if he's so frustrating

mayhemchicken-artblog · 2 days

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The use of "brothers" is telling me that there are no female vamps allowed?

at the very least, there are none at this gathering. rymer's sexism informs his worldview in ways that directly and profoundly affect the world of the story; we only see one example of a female vampire (clara) so there's not really a trend that i can point to, but i think it is telling to look at the differences between her and the male vampires in the story:

male vampires are created as punishment for murder, although the text is maddeningly unclear about what causes a given murderer to rise as a vampire or not. by contrast, clara is innocent of wrongdoing, and is turned by varney as an act of revenge against her brothers.

male vampires remain fully cognizant as they were in life, for the most part. the vampire who is raised during the vampire council starts speaking immediately, as soon as he is raised to life:

"Vampyre arise, arise!" "I come, I come!" shrieked the corpse.

clara, on the other hand, never says a single word once she becomes a vampire. she acts as though in a sort of trance, uncomprehending of her surroundings:

"Speak!" he gasped; "speak! speak!" There was no reply. "I conjure you, I pray you though the sound of your voice should hurl me to perdition -- I implore you, speak." All was silent, and the figure in white moved on slowly but surely towards the door of the church [...]

i've been drawing her with a similar amount of personality to the other vampires in the book, but none of that is present in the original text - in fact, one theory i have is that varney succeeded only in raising her body, not her soul. in the world that rymer envisions, young women are innocent, blameless, and pure, and middle-aged women are either shrews and harpies or background cutouts with no personality to speak of, but the voluptuous female vampires written of by other 19th-century authors do not exist. the vampires who are cursed for their crimes are solely male; the victims which they prey on are solely female. clara remains an innocent victim even in undeath, preying on her sole victim (a random 16-year-old girl) with no awareness of what she is doing; meanwhile, no man is ever bitten, or even implied to have been bitten. as far as rymer is concerned, the idea that any male character is ever in danger of a vampire's bite is never even on the table - which, as you might guess, severely kneecaps the horror.

so yes, as far as the incredibly sexist author of the original text is concerned, vampirism is a No Girls Allowed club, and the reason seems to be because murder is a No Girls Allowed crime. it's fascinating from a critical perspective and incredibly frustrating from a casual reader perspective. this is the man who invented Mrs. Lovett of Sweeney Todd fame; the fact that he can't give us any evil lady vampires is a crime worthy of the vampire's curse.

#not art #varney the vampire #varney posting #this blog is rapidly turning into a varney meta blog lmao #perhaps i ought to make a side blog for this...

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sweetsoona · 3 days

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Firestorm & Humanity

I have to say going into Firestorm I didn’t know what to expect from the new human characters. I initially just wanted more content about the apes, about Caesar, Koba, Cornelia, etc.

And don’t get me wrong, Firestorm definitely delivers on the apes. It was REALLY interesting seeing Caesar early into his leadership. He always feels so confident and self assured in the movies, so watching him not only stumble, but get scared or frustrated and handle some things “not so well” was fascinating. Not to mention the deep dive into Koba and his backstory, which I could write an entire essay on alone. And Cornelia has a lot of moments which was really nice!!! #JusticeForCornelia

But I didn’t expect to enjoy the human stories as much as I did. I was content with the “Okay the world is gone and is mostly apes now. The end!” transition from Rise to Dawn, but it was actually interesting seeing how it played out. The politics, the riots, the cults, the confusion and desperation of every human as they realize the fall of civilization is upon them. Everyone reacts differently. Every faction moves and believes different things. Some live, some die, some fear the virus, some worship it. Some hate the apes, some are willing to kill for them. It was a wild ride the whole way through.

Honestly it reminded me that the point of POTA as a franchise, is not actually to play around and see the apes as just a fun, fantasy race (although there is no harm in doing so!) The main point of the franchise is the apes are a mirror of humanity. They’re supposed to reflect who we are, who we used to be, and who we’ve become. The apes are written as so complex and multifaceted because they are us. As the apes grow, make mistakes, and learn from them, the audience is supposed to be doing the same. Learning from their mistakes as they learn from ours.

I think of the fans that are 100% pro ape.

That hate or have zero sympathy for the human characters, and think the apes “deserve” to become dominant and humans “deserve” to be wiped to near extinction.

The fans that wished Kingdom and for the rest of Noa’s trilogy to focus solely on apes with little to no human intervention.

The fans that were upset at “how little” the apes have progressed in 300 years. That want the apes to delve into sciences, mathematics, that dislike how some of the apes still talk with a bit of a struggle because they want them to talk fluidly. Familiarly.

I think of these groups, and now I think of this:

Why did they do this? Koba wondered. Make us do tricks for them, wear clothes?

Humans think apes funny when they act like stupid humans, Maurice explained.

Why? Koba asked.

It took so long for Maurice to answer that Koba thought that he had refused to do so, or had forgotten the question, perhaps lost in a reverie of his own. But finally the orangutan lifted his hands.

I think maybe they hate themselves, he said.

— Firestorm, Chapter 11

And this quote too:

“The thing is, whatever we do with apes—experiment on them, train them to perform, even teach them language—everything we do just keeps them from being what they are. What they’re supposed to be. We got kicked out of a paradise, not them. Yet we feel like we have to drag them out with us. I guess misery loves company.”

— Chapter 21

And finally this:

Beyond the burning woods, Caesar could see the city, the place that had once been his home. There were fewer steady lights than ever, but there was a new light—an orange, flickering glow, cousin to the flames that had nearly killed him.

Like the woods, the city was on fire.

He wondered what that could mean.

— Chapter 26

The apes in POTA are a reflection of humanity. Of the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. They are written the way they are, whether it be in the original movies or the modern ones, with the intention that the very human audience see themselves in both the ape and human characters, and learn from the experiences of both sides. Because both sides are the same.

It’s very easy to get lost in the apes. They are written amazingly well and are so easy to sympathize with! That’s the point. They are YOU, me, us as people. Our humanity reflected back at us in a different shape.

And so when people go on about how they hate all the humans in POTA, and only want the apes to rule and prosper, or so on and so forth, I have to agree with Maurice.

Yes, humans do hate our own species. Historically, passionately, and excessively. But the way we all love and admire the humanity that’s intentionally written in the apes, makes me think that despite the loathing… we love humanity too.

And no matter how much people might whine or moan about how awful humans are, how much they wish they’d just go away, become simple-minded animals, die out, get nuked, etc., there is a love for humanity underneath all of that.

You look at the human characters and only see the bad. You look at the apes and only see the good. Whether you want one side to die out and for the other to rise or vice versa, it is all about humanity. Hate and love mixed into one.

#firestorm got my brain cooking like a lobster #there’s no firestorm spoilers in this btw. some quotes but not very spoilery #had ZERO intention of writing this essay when I first started lmaooooo where’d this come from #anywhoo yeah #the duality of man and all that #‘the apes are better than humans’ no they’re not #‘humans deserve to be wiped from extinction’ no you don’t #‘humanity sucks’ ‘I don’t want the next movies to focus on humans and apes. only apes.’ ‘the humans–‘#*grabs the sides of your face to make you look at me* the apes and humans are one in the same bestie #your hate & love for either side is the hate & love you have for yourself #planet of the apes #dawn of the planet of the apes #kingdom of the planet of the apes #pota #pota firestorm #thoughts #analysis

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 22 hours

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one of the things i always feel guilty about is empathizing with certain historical figures who, more or less, turn out to be a spawn of the devil. sulla's familial relationships always intrigued me because in a way, i see parallels between our lives. i cannot turn out a maniac like him (perhaps not as large scale but corruption spreads like a disease anywhere) yet it is still a fig in the tree, ripening slowly and it scares me.

Anon...I'm not your therapist, but I'm posting this because I suspect a lot of people on here have similar fears.

There are many reasons why you might feel drawn toward a "bad" character or historical figure:

Escapism. When I was a teenager I loved Alucard from Hellsing. Not because I wanted to run around killing people like he did, but because it was fun to imagine being invincible. It's another form of playing pretend.

It may help you process difficult feelings or thoughts. As a kid, my classmates and I sang songs about bombing our school and decapitating the teachers. (It was a different time.) In play therapy, kids often fantasize about killing their parents - even if those parents are good people. Because again, it's not about really wanting to kill, it's about letting out feelings of frustration, in a symbolic and nonviolent way. Catharsis.

Maybe it feels validating to see a character who shares some of your feelings or experiences. It's a form of representation. Also cathartic.

Intrusive thoughts. Repeated thoughts of "What if I do [bad thing]?" usually occur because your brain knows it's bad and is trying to avoid doing the bad thing, not because you secretly want to do it. Just having these thoughts, but not wanting to act on them, does not make you more likely to do it than someone without these thoughts. It can also be a symptom of OCD.

Maybe the character was engaging in a book or TV show you saw. I suspect a lot of Sulla's popularity comes from novels like Masters of Rome and Roman Blood, where he is fascinating and well-written.

Maybe you just think he's hot. There's a reason why the "bad boy" is such a common love interest in romance fiction, and it's not because the readers are too clueless to notice he's a bad role model. It's pretend.

We're often drawn to the forbidden and taboo because they're taboo. It's like watching horror movies. By exposing ourselves to dangerous or scary topics on our terms, we retain a sense of control, and can learn to cope with those feelings.

If you have low self-esteem, your brain might just be inventing reasons why you're a bad person, and if it weren't Sulla it'd be something else.

Whatever it is, there's a part of yourself that needs space to feel, to breathe, to express itself. If you try to reject it, you'll just keep holding onto this shame and fear. A lot of people do that. They often become judgmental or controlling of others because they're projecting their own judgment and shame outward.

Instead, I suggest drawing a line between your thoughts and your actions. Thought crime isn't real. You cannot harm or help people just by thinking something, so applying morality to thoughts is pointless. As long as you act toward people with kindness and respect, you're golden.

I noticed a lot of Christian language in your message (moral corruption, the fig tree, spawn of Satan). Try looking into non-Christian religions and philosophies. Look at what Epicureans, Daoists, Buddhists, and other cultures have to say about being a "good" or "bad" person. Then decide for yourself who you think is right. This will make you more confident in your own judgment, and less easily influenced by people trying to shove their moral baggage onto you. (If you need a starting point, I've always loved Stephen Mitchell's version of the Dao De Jing. It's short, beautiful, and gentle.)

Try to go easier on yourself, anon. The very fact that you worry about this is a sign that you have a good heart deep down. The most dangerous people in this world aren't those who admit to having "bad" thoughts, but the ones who refuse to consider they could ever be wrong or bad.

#there's a puritanical streak in fandom culture that i think contributes to this stress. but that's for a different post #philosophy #self-compassion #jlrrt essays #just roman asks #psychology

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dolphin1812 · 1 year

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This shouldn’t be as funny as it is:

“Fauchelevent had expected anything but this, that a grave-digger could die. It is true, nevertheless, that grave-diggers do die themselves. By dint of excavating graves for other people, one hollows out one’s own. [ . . . . ]

“Father Mestienne is the grave-digger.”

“After Napoleon, Louis XVIII. After Mestienne, Gribier. Peasant, my name is Gribier.””

“Grave-diggers can also die” is a wild plot twist, especially since Hugo portrays it as a shocking fact. And Gribier’s matter-of-fact attitude (and his listing of political events, as if all of this is just “natural” turnover) is humorous in a dark way.

Gribier himself is fascinating. The fact that he has to provide for seven children links him to Jean Valjean, who had to care for the same number of children before his imprisonment. His need to work, then, is desperate, as we know just how hard it is to provide for so many. Avoiding drinking is one way of saving money, but it also speaks to the deprivation of small enjoyments for the poor. Drinking isn’t just a pleasure in itself, but a major way of socializing, as Fauchelevent notes here; by not accepting drinks, Gribier is not only dodging an expense, but a chance to get to know his coworker, one of the few people he has a chance at bonding with in a life dominated by work. Of course, this expense isn’t just hard on him. Fauchelevent is also nervous about the idea of paying for drinks, highlighting his own financial struggles. But Gribier is also even worse off, working two jobs and still having this worry. It’s notable that his jobs mean he literally works day and night: he writes by day and digs by night, not having any real time to rest. The extent to which he can keep this up is debatable. He doesn’t complain of the hours, but he does say that digging is ruining his hand, which he needs to write. He’ll ultimately be forced to choose, losing the funds of one job and likely his dream of writing. Work has consumed his life because he has no alternative if he wants to feed seven children, just as it had taken over Valjean’s existence.

Although the parallel to Jean Valjean is more blatantly referenced through the number, Gribier bears an even closer resemblance to an early Fauchelevent. When we first encountered him, Fauchelevent had just fallen on hard times, losing all the relative comfort he’d had as a notary but maintaining a sense of pride and superiority from that status. Gribier is certainly poor if he works all day and all night, but he also specifically came from an educated class (having studied even more than Fauchelevent). He’s fully literate, speaking of the examinations he’s passed; how he was destined for a career in literature; using words Fauchelevent can’t understand; and referencing philosophy in the middle of their conversation. His contempt for Fauchelevent also links to a rural-urban divide, with him addressing him as a “peasant” and a “rustic” to stress the differences between him, an educated Parisian, and the convent gardener from the countryside. His pride is even more extreme than Fauchelevent’s was, although he doesn’t necessarily have a specific target for his bitterness at his loss of status (unlike Fauchelevent with Father Madeleine). Gribier is doubly dangerous, then. On the one hand, his poverty keeps him from building ties with people that could ultimately create a system of support for him and bring him closer to others. On the other, he rejects these ties on the basis of his past status. He can’t feel solidarity for Fauchelevent if he feels superior to him, and while he does address him as “colleague,” he largely seems to look down on him.

This parallel is particularly interesting given that Fauchelevent is depicted the way Valjean typically is in this chapter. We see him as an outsider would, only being told who he is later on. We may know that Fauchelevent actually has quite a bit in common with Gribier, even if they differ because of their origins (city vs countryside) and the extent to which they rose and fell class-wise. But Gribier only sees that image from the beginning of the chapter: an elderly worker limping behind a hearse.

#les mis letters #lm 2.8.5 #fauchelevent #gribier #jean valjean #he's such a fascinating character!! even if he's so frustrating #the coffin heist is dramatic enough without outside obstacles but unfortunately #nothing can ever go so smoothly for Jean Valjean :(

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cipheramnesia · 2 months

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The Dungeon Meshi character I think about the most, not love the most but think about most, is Chilchuck. He is much more Some Guy than anyone else, he's got a wife and kids and he's gonna open a store. He's a little dude with sharp senses who knows about locks and traps, and it's all very straightforward compared to like, really anyone else in the manga.

But why I'm fascinated is that his whole core essence revolves around organization and function, around safety not in the sense of cowardice or excess caution, but in the sense of a deeply rooted belief that everyone deserves to live and everything has a place. One day he'll open a shop and retire but right now his people are being exploited and he needs to plan for his future, so he's unionizing half foots and reducing risk and that functions for society because it's dumb using the guy watching your back as bait. It's a broken system he has to fix.

And it's like that with Laios and Senshi and Marcille and Falin. Falin dies, it's a broken system, she was a vital component that kept the group healthy. Eating monsters departs from the system, it's wrong to him, but then he figures out how Senshi has created a new system with better survivability. Senshi interrupts his trap hunting and he goes ballistic because that's not how the system survives. Itzutsumi drives him bonkers because she refuses to be a part of his system. Laios' lack of people skills frustrates him because Laios' charisma has made him a leader. A leader needs to know how to see how people feel, and Laios can't do that.

I think a lot about how his approach and personality are so nicely interwoven with his skill at traps and exploration. Everyone else has big weird personalities, but Chilchuck, well he's not a cool head per se, but his weirdness is less grandiose. He's a puzzle guy, a problem solver, and everyone around him is a moving part he's trying figure out. People ditch the party early on and he's not bothered because that's mechanically sound. Laios and Marcille go back and he has to come too because they're more than friends, they're a part of something that works and survives and even missing a part, he knows he can keep this little machine running. But they won't thrive without him, and he won't work as well alone.

#dungeon meshi #chilchuk tims

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sabertoothwalrus · 3 months

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There’s something I love love loveeee about Laios and how badly he wants to be cool.

Let me preface with this: in general, I believe the harder you try to be cool, the less cool you actually are. The less you care what people think about you, if you’re “cringe” or “weird”, the more likely people will perceive you as confident and self-assured.

There are countless pieces of media where characters try to fit in with some group, change every part of themself to look/act like what they’re “supposed” to be, and end up miserable, often realizing the people they’re trying to impress aren’t worth the trouble.

I’ve experienced this in my own life too! Sometimes when I go out I wear a rainbow propeller cap! Cause I think it’s funny and silly and!! I ALWAYS get compliments!! I don’t wear it to be cool, I wear it because it makes me happy. And people overall have a positive reaction to it. it’s a huge contrast to when I was teenager and didn’t really put as much of myself into my appearance/wardrobe, and barely left any kind of impression on people.

So anyway, let’s get into it.

Laios… he’s been hurt so badly by people. He resented humanity for it. And yet, he still yearns for the approval of others. He wants FRIENDS!!!! and was angry and frustrated to learn his perception of his relationship with Shuro was so drastically different than Shuro’s!!!!

He KNEW that people were put-off by his love of monsters. Up until Falin got eaten, he deliberately suppressed how much he talked about it with others. He probably thought by not talking about monsters so much, it was working!! He was doing all the Right Things now! So Shuro confessing he always hated him was a huge blow.

But the reality is, he loves monsters. And most importantly, he loves cool monsters. He fantasizes about what would make the Ultimate Monster.

He feels very strongly about what he considers “cool” as well. He finds all aspects of monsters fascinating, but can still be HORRIBLY underwhelmed when they look too lame for his tastes.

He knows most people don’t feel the same way he does. He knows his “cool” is everyone else’s “weird”. It’s so tragically sweet how he latches onto Kabru the moment he shows interest in monsters, and takes every opportunity to infodump about them to him.

He wants people to find monsters as cool as he does!! But, he also wants people to think he’s as cool as he finds monsters.

Like!!! djkfghadkfjg IT DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER HIM WHEN PEOPLE HAVE A WRONG IMPRESSION OF HIM! He's FLATTERED by it. It's almost like, at this point, it doesn't matter to him if people don't like him. People can not like him and still think he's cool.

And my favorite thing is, it works. Laios IS cool as fuck. You KNOW he thought he looked so badass when he did this and he was RIGHT:

And yet, this is him trying very hard to look cool. But it's Laios's version of cool. It's almost contradictory, in that sense. Cause he knows people still don't get it. Like. He wants to be cool. He doesn't care about the "normal" ways to be cool. He thinks his cringe thing is cool. He does his cringe thing, that people very much do still think is cringe. So you would think that, since he wants people to think he's cool, he would not do the cringe thing. But he wore the pelt because he thought it was cool. And people clapped and cheered for him anyway.

is what he's doing really so different than this? ^

YAYYYYY WOOO GO LAIOS YOURE SO COOL!!!!!!!

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #long post #photos #laios touden #I LIKE HIM A LOT!!!!!! HES SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER!!!!!

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midascrow · 3 months

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Great Minds Think Alike

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

synopsis: Alastor is jealous of his own shadow.

a/n: The reader is portrayed as being pretty smart and into science and stuff. I like the idea of Alastor being fond a character who’s pretty intelligent, he finds them fascinating and likes seeing how they tick. Also this might be a little rushed I apologize in advanced!

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

Alastors shadow is a traitor and a fake.

That’s what the man himself believes anyway, whilst he watches HIS shadow flutter around you, a wide smile trying far too hard to appear innocent on its face, as it helps you reach an especially high set stack of papers.

“Oh! Thank you so much…” Your sweet, melodic voice trailed off into an unsure note, not quite aware of how you should address the shadow that’s…ears(?) Twitched and wiggled, eyes(??) squinting back at you as it danced across the walls.

The radio demon wasn’t the least bit sure what had caused his shadows sudden bout of rebel, or why it had seem to take a special interest in you of all people.

Not that there was anything wrong or displeasing about you. Actually it was quite the contrary. Alastor found your company to be far more pleasant than most of the hotels staff and inhabitants.

You were awfully kind for a sinner. And not quite in the same realm of naivety that was the princess’s kindness.

You were smart. Clearly. Always aware of what went on around you and the neighboring spaces. Hardly had you been known to be caught off guard by the entrance of another, nor had you ever bumped into any of the sinners contrary to how the group seemed to enjoy clumping around each other in the foyer during special…”redemption” activities.

You were even so aware as to avoid any touch with the inhabitants of the hotel, including Alastor himself.

And while he wasn’t a very large fan of touch himself, even finding that he could appreciate your aversion to it, the demon couldn’t help feeling a little displeased by the lack of power it left him with when you evaded his touches so expertly.

Always stepping just slightly to the side when his hand attempted to connect with your shoulder. Head craning back, just quickly enough to appear natural when he made and effort pinch your cheeks condescendingly.

Frankly..it was frustrating.

And despite all that, despite all your evasions of the radio demon….here you were, practically-!-canoodling with his own shadow!!

“Oh..! You’re so sweet..” Red ears flopped and twitched, while his eyes narrowed. Alastor could not believe he was being made to watch this…disgusting display of treason.

You giggled softly, hand brushing along an invisible form, as the shadow curled around your own. You watched with a smile as your shadowed hand fell into the hair of the deers, only to gasp when met with the soft sensation of hair beneath your finger tips.

“Oh my…so you’re tangible..?” The shadow nodded vigorously, bumping its head into your palm before grabbing your wrist and laying a gentle kiss to your hand. With that smug fucking grin.

A static screech echoed in the parlour, turning the heads of the incoming dwellers, prompting them to gap at the twitching and seething demon.

And oh, was he seething.

You were far too curious for your own good frankly. So eager to dissect and experiment in what ever had caught your eye. Magic, contracts, demons, anything you could possibly find you wanted to study.

And Alastor was known to be one of the more enthusiastic individuals who indulged in your fascination. Encouraged it even.

Angel had often joked about the way he seemed to preen and puff up in pride whenever he dropped a newly disembodied sinners corpse at your feet, seemingly delighted in your ecstatic gasp of approval.

Which was…another thing. Redemption. Did you want to be redeemed? You’d hardly spoke of it. Sure, you participated in the trust exercised that the princess set up, but nearly everyone had to regardless. Perhaps you were too fascinated with the underworld to truly even think about the idea of redemption.

Alastor himself knew he wouldn’t, nor could he ever be redeemed. And frankly, the idea of you being thrown up to those pearly gates made his insides squirm in the most horrible way.

But that’s not something he wanted to ponder on right now. Not as he practically teleported to your side, shooting his shadow a sneer that it had the nerve to return, as he bent slightly over your shoulder. “My dear! What is it that has currently caught your eye this fine evening?”

When your eyes snapped to his own, he could practically feel the static buzz around him pleasantly, a smug shine in his eyes having successfully stolen your attention from that accursed shadow.

“Alastor! I was just…uh..chatting I suppose with your shadow! He’s been very helpful today. Did you send him?”

No-“Why yes! I did my dear. I figured it wouldn’t help to lend you a helping hand this night, after all you’ve been such a joy around the hotel since your arrival!”

The shadow swished and darted around, vigorously shaking its heads and hands in a way to catch your attention, but a small tap of alastors can to the floor sent it dissipating back to his feet with a displeased hiss.

“I simply could not stop myself from assisting the lovely little sinner that had come into the arms of our sweet little hotel.”

His smile twitched and stretched at the sight of your shiny flattered gaze, that darted across his face with the same awe you exuded when coming upon a new bit of information you had to uncover. A new mystery.

Perhaps Angel had a point. Prior to before…he could feel the way his back straightened..the way his ears stood tall and proud, and the tail of his coat shifted just slightly. The Radio Demon could not deny the pride that fluttered into his dead heart and seeped into his flesh.

Even as he hummed about a new species of sinner he had stumbled upon. Even as he watched with somewhat softer eyes as you gasped and leaned just the slightest bit into his space, eyes alight with interest. Even as his dark shadow like tentacles darted beneath his feet and out the door, in search of a new test subject to grab- just for you.

Even as his hand touched the dip between your shoulders blades, when he led you towards his room for a refreshing lunch before your next scientific session.

Alastor could not deny,

He and his shadow were one and the same.

#hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastors shadow #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor

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americaswritings · 7 months

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Voices of Roses and Ruin

Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself

Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.

Words: around 2k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.

This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.

Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here

Part II | Masterlist

Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.

He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.

He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.

All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.

You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.

Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.

You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.

He hated it, every part of it.

They all deserved to die.

But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.

No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.

You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.

You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.

Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.

It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.

Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.

Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.

It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.

He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.

Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.

He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.

Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.

You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.

As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.

And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”

He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.

„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.

No, no, no.

Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you.”

He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.

He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.

Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.

The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.

The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?

His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.

It would ruin him.

“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.

Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.

There was no reason for him to be there.

Except…there was.

“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”

“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.

“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”

And it was ironic.

Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.

All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.

Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”

Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.

Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.

Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.

Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.

That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.

Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.

Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.

And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.

But he had underestimated the gamemakers.

Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.

But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.

You had saved him.

But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!

“Coriolanus!”

Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.

No!

He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.

When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.

“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.

What was this?

With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.

Was this what the gamemaker wanted?

Whatever you did or said would never matter again.

All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.

A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.

Flashes of a better life filled his mind.

A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.

It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.

There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.

But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.

The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.

Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.

Part II

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PERMANENT

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pomefioredove · 1 month

Note

So idk if I'm requesting in the right place. But I would love a twst scenario with a yuu that just says all their intrusive thoughts. Like just out of NOWHERE, as they reach for a water bottle hanging out with the first years they go.

“I robbed a house back home”

Or when Azul tries cornering them with the twins for something they just blankly turn to Floyd going.

“duck off you look like you can't steer a shopping cart”

But feel free to do it with whoever you want and if you don't want to do mine that's perfectly fine and I hope you have a great day :)

certainly!!

summary: reader who speaks all their impulsive thoughts type of post: headcanons characters: heartslabyul, octavinelle, scarabia, diasomnia additional info: platonic or romantic, reader isn't specified to be yuu, reader is gender neutral author's note: for some reason I had the hardest time thinking up new nonsense, so many of these dialogue lines are from lewis carroll poems, which I have a wonderful nostalgia for. check those out as well!

Ace and Deuce are pretty much used to you saying whatever's at the top of your mind... with no filter

so used to it that it barely even registers with them anymore

whenever it's quiet, they can expect you to come out with some incomprehensible nonsense.

if you didn't, they'd probably ask what's wrong

"I robbed a house back home,"

"Yeah, okay,"

Riddle, on the other hand, gets frustrated alarmingly fast

despite running an entire dorm based on nonsensical rules, he has a low tolerance for outside nonsense

and... well, despite his name, he's not really a fan of riddles

Trey matches your energy immediately

no joke. he doesn't even bat an eye

"I eat plastic,"

"hm. sometimes I eat muffin wrappers,"

honestly, sometimes his tangents get even weirder than yours

Cater probably wasn't listening very closely when you first started going off, or maybe he's just become accustomed to riddles, though the next time you say something he just thinks it's cute

might use your "thoughtful anecdotes" as a caption for his next post

would it be surprising if I were to say Azul is used to randomness?

Floyd has a tendency to say the strangest things out of nowhere, after all, and the sea itself can be a surprising place

he does not, however, appreciate how you keep speaking in tongues when he's trying to have serious business conversations with you

(seriously, how hard can it be to swindle one person?!)

"Please, just talk normally,"

"But the mome raths outgrabe!"

he doesn't know what that means, but it sounds like an insult

...and then will refuse to converse with you again until you're in a "better mood" (in his own words)

Jade, on the other hand, finds you quite fascinating

he keeps a little notepad on him just to jot down the things you say. why? you can't imagine. he just finds it interesting, you suppose

"'Twas brilling..."

"Really? How interesting. Go on,"

Floyd isn't really paying much attention

your funny words amuse him at best and annoy him at worse

if you ever find yourself in a bad place with the octotrio, you can just say something like:

"You look like you can't steer a shopping cart,"

and Floyd will take actual offense to that, and just straight up leave

(much to Azul's dismay)

Kalim adds on right away

and keeps going

and keeps going... and keeps going...

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail..."

"Oh, I know! He pours waters on every shining scale,"

at one point Jamil has to pull you aside and beg you not to encourage him

"No promises!" is your answer

Kalim even buys a parrot to add onto the fun

it becomes a three-person (or two-person-and-a-bird?) act

...even if you're not really doing it on purpose

Jamil is who ends up taking care of the parrot while it squawks your old nonsense thoughts, though

he likes the parrot much better than either of you

Malleus will entertain you based on his own curiosity

none of his other human classmates speak in such odd and puzzling words, so he knows it's a "you" thing

might try to solve them if they sound like riddles

but he mostly just thinks they're cute

"O, oysters, come and walk with us,"

"How interesting... I do wonder where you come up with all this,"

Sebek will listen to you because Malleus does, and Silver has enough nonsense to deal with as it is. will definitely fall asleep while you're talking to him

Lilia responds in like terms

meow at him? he'll meow back

in fact, he'll meow at you every time he sees you until you say something else to capture his curiosity

might go ahead and start speaking to you in tongues before you even say anything

he just thinks you're neat!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #kinda...#malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Make Friends 1/4 (Word count 5.4 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: AU where König (sadly) isn't a colonel and doesn't have a t-shirt as a hood but an... actual hood. Please heed the tags lovelies 🩷

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No one sees a cleaning lady.

Cleaners are invisible. People remember them only when their desks start to gather dust, when their floors are full of mud. No one sees her except the tallest guy in the building: the guy who everybody seems to ignore, just like they ignore her.

It doesn't take long to see why. He's different, and not just because of the mask he's wearing.

She sees him playing with knives. He throws them in the air leisurely, catches them by the handle, and never misses the catch. He flicks them from side to side, spins and whirls the blades in motions she can't even see because they're so swift.

It's pure magic. And they're not dull training knives; they're sharp as a razor, vicious, tactical – but that doesn't make them ugly. They're quite stunning, and she's caught staring more than once.

His movements are not what she'd exactly call precise and fluid. They're urgent, antsy, made to relieve stress of some sort. He's stimming with the knives. Alleviating pain or frustration. The rest of his body is still; only the ice-blue eyes flicker on the blade as he focuses all his attention on the dance. Sometimes he just stares at them, turns them around as if checking the edge, as if it wasn't evident that they're deadly and sharp. That's how she knows he takes good care of the things he loves.

He's fascinated by them, just like she is. And it's not just the knives; she's fascinated by him.

Others cast side eyes, nervous looks at him. Even some of his fellow operators look at the man like he's a lunatic. And perhaps he is, but she can't help it.

She's mesmerized.

It all changes when she accidentally walks into a meeting room while there is a briefing going on. Apparently, no one considers her a threat or a potential spy because she is summoned in before she rushes to close the door, and so she goes on about her day while the soldiers are already wrapping things up.

The hooded giant is there too, leaning back in a chair too small for him, this time playing with a butterfly knife. It's the smallest, daintiest thing she has yet seen in those hands. He always has gloves on, but that doesn't make the flashy flipping look any less dangerous.

She starts by dusting the side tables so she is not in the way. This time, she vehemently does not want to be seen. Save perhaps by the knife maniac.

The man even helps her with cleaning: he picks up some of the objects he can reach so she can wipe the surface more easily. It makes her cheeks grow hot, but she cannot bring herself to thank him. She doesn't dare to make a single sound while there is a meeting going on and their captain is still speaking, but she gives her thanks through her eyes and her smile, and the man looks at her like she's some kind of saintly sight.

The look in those blue eyes is starstruck. Almost… obsessive.

It should send ice to her stomach. But it doesn't.

He continues showing off with the knife as she moves to the other side of the room. He does it to mess with her head or entertain her, delight her, perhaps - the man already knows she’s intrigued by his vast collection of blades.

It's a bit creepy. The man as a whole is a bit creepy, but she only feels a rush, a high that turns her monotonous work day into a thrill.

"König. Would you mind?"

The sound of the flicking blade stops, and she is possibly the only one in this room who misses the noise.

"Entschuldigung."

He speaks, and the voice sends ripples across her scalp. It's twisted and amused, as if the man gets off on annoying the shit out of his workmates.

"English, please..."

"My apologies."

The blade is tucked somewhere in his pocket and the man named König leans forward on the table. Slightly hunched over like that, he looks even more intimidating than before. The playfulness is gone, and he looks fiercely professional. More shivers are sent down her spine.

König…

König is the reason she still keeps working in this odd little compound, the base of some special operations unit that requires an insane amount of security checks and secret contracts and confidentiality agreements just so she can clean the floors from their soddy footprints.

König is the reason she starts to put on some mascara in the morning, tie her hair in a high ponytail, or braid it in two little braids so she would appear cuter if she happens to pass him by in the hallway. He's the reason she opens not one but two buttons of her blouse before she starts the day. He's also the reason her underwear is soaked in the middle of a boring shift.

He appears in her break room to borrow coffee. And not once, but twice during the same week.

"You're running low again?"

"Eh… Ja."

He's shit at lying, though. She is relatively sure by now that he's here only because he wants to see her.

"I'll bring it back. I mean–I'll buy you some."

He seems a bit shy, like her, and combined with the fact that he still chooses to seek her out already gives her sleepless nights. It makes her far more confident than she has ever been with people.

His accent, his voice, are pure fire. She feels sinful for thinking about how he would behave in the bedroom, how he would talk – after all, it already sounds like he's breathless and strained, already sounds like he's working her open with whatever monster is hidden in those pants a bit too small for him. He walks with a wide lounge, and she just knows it's because he is so big down there.

"You do that," she gives him a particularly flirty smile and revels in how it makes him even more distraught. It's quite fascinating how the same man can exude barely repressed bloodlust one moment and stupefied silence the next.

He returns the very next day to bring her a package of coffee. The same brand he borrowed twice already is set on the table in front of her with tense shoulders. She has seen the man relaxed only when he’s achieved that alluring flow state with his knives.

"Hier."

"Why thank you."

He simply stands there, switches weight from one foot to the other, and shrugs.

"I'll be going then."

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away. He watches her with that icy, burning stare, and she cocks her head.

“Bye,” she chimes with a soft smile – the guy is simply too cute. His restless twitching stops; he freezes where he stands, blinks – and then turns and walks out the door like a robot.

. . . . .

She's not supposed to be here. Or, she is, but he's not.

No one’s supposed to be here when there's the sign on the door. The men's showers are supposed to be cleared once a week for good scrubbing, and she only has 30 minutes to do that. It's once a week, less than an hour, there's a sign, and still, some jerk has to walk right through it.

No one sees a cleaning lady.

No one appears to even care about the fucking sign.

But then she sees who exactly has disrespected her humble position. It's a shock to see that familiar black hood with two eye holes on it thrown on the bench. Next to that, the khaki-colored cargo pants, a black shirt, and those gloves, all in a heap – this guy is not the most orderly, perhaps.

And she takes a fucking peek inside the showers because the door is, for some unfathomable reason, transparent, see-through glass.

The first thing she sees is muscle. Just wet, powerful cords of muscle slapped on the tallest man she has ever seen or would probably ever see.

He's a vision: godly, almost. Then she notices what he's doing.

Of course he has to be fucking fapping on top of everything.

Her throat is dry and her hands are numb as she watches how he leans on the tiles with one hand and works himself with the other. The body hair on the guy is so pale that he basically looks neatly shaved, save for the short hair on the top of his head – the man's nothing but sleek, dripping muscle through and through.

He sounds weak when he's masturbating; the noise that echoes in the showers consists mainly of frail, high-pitched grunts.

She's wet in no time, and it doesn't help that he looks frantic, almost violent, while jerking off. It's a sloppy frenzy, and the sounds of wet, angry slapping make her heart beat so fast that the rush of blood in her ears nearly drowns the noise.

The man has big hands, but his cock still looks massive inside one. She knows she will copy-paste the image of that long cock, slick with water and soap, in her mind over and over again while releasing some tension herself. Of course it's big because he's big, but the length of it is simply outrageous – she cannot comprehend how he can fit himself in his pants, even when soft.

His whole upper body tenses abruptly, like a huge cord of cable; he throws his head back, his hips jerk forward and he goes catatonic – the cum shot that follows would shoot a meter away if it wasn't stopped by the wall. The spurts of his load are equally as fierce as the fap, and she feels faint.

And why the fuck is she even standing here in the first place?

And then he…

He drops his head, turns a little to the side, like he’s known she has been here the whole time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She can only see his eyes from behind the arm still leaning on the wall. That heated glare is not furious, but nor is it benevolent: it's simply pure, manic lust.

She turns and rushes from the locker room like she has just seen a monster.

. . . . .

"Hey."

If he's here for coffee or for her, she doesn't know. Or, perhaps she does, but she's also so unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed that perhaps it's no surprise that he seeks her out in the break room since she has avoided him everywhere else for two days.

"Hi."

Her weak voice is followed by silence, and she doesn't turn, even when she knows he's still behind her. Something in the air, some part of atavistic instinct tells her he's standing right behind her.

"You here for more coffee?"

He still doesn't say anything, and she begins to freak out.

"König… I'm–God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her heart shoots up her throat, and her stomach churns, almost starts to eat itself from the pure terror. But it's nothing compared to what he says next.

"I was thinking of you," the calm voice reaches her ears like a tall wave, making her even more woozy than she was in the men's showers.

"I'm– sorry, what?"

"Your mouth… Breasts. If you're tight."

She finally turns, doesn't even try to conceal her horror tinged with incomprehensible, strange lust.

"Jesus…"

The ice between them is broken, but at what cost – and the anxiety she had mistaken for cuteness reveals something psychotic underneath. He still looks at her with the same stare, even when she tries to make it clear that this approach makes her want to vomit. He doesn't move, only towers over her like a hulking shade, and she darts from the break room, completely soaked and on the verge of tears.

. . . . .

There's a knock on her door the next morning, so early that she wonders who the hell could be up at this hour other than staff. It's like… five-thirty. She's so sleepy that she doesn't quite think it through as she throws only a t-shirt on before strolling to the door.

What the f-

König shoves the flowers almost in her face as she opens the door, and she has to yank her head back. All the sleep is gone in an instant, and she curses in her mind that she's standing here in only a tight t-shirt and a black pair of panties.

"I'm sorry. Please, accept my apology," he says like a poorly rehearsed actor while watching her thighs and what's between them. Her nipples shoot up, and not from cold.

"Uh… sure," she tries to sound neutral while accepting the flowers, if not his apology. He takes a step back after making sure she has truly taken the gift, and she instinctively lowers the bouquet down to shield herself from his searing gaze. She knows she's a hypocrite, having masturbated at the memory of him last night. Twice.

He has his hood on, and wears the eternal black shirt, padded gloves and some cargo pants, but there’s also an overload of gear on him. Pouches and pads and wires and ammo - she even catches a grenade or two. There’s a gun strapped to his thigh, and the shoulder pads make his already broad shoulders look even more wide. He looks so… tactical, so in his element that her instincts tell her it wouldn’t do shit to slam the door in his face and retreat back to the safety of her room. This soldier would just barge through the plywood.

And where did this guy get flowers at this hour of the day? No florist can possibly be open. Then she notices they're not exactly the kind of flowers she has seen at a shop.

Has he picked them from outside…?

"I thought you liked me."

His explanation makes her heart melt a little. He's so straightforward, so utterly without any charades or roles, that it makes her feel like she's the one who has disrespected him with her games. After all, she has done nothing but flirted 24/7 with the poor man for the last week. Of course he only thought she was interested.

"I do. I do like you."

His eyes light up with uncontained hunger. "Can I come in?"

Nope. Big mistake.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Ok. I'll be going then."

He turns on his heels and is ready to go like nothing ever happened.

“Wha-… König, please, wait.”

He halts on command, turns back, looks at her solemnly. The only thing that gives his confusion away are his eyes, which flicker from her puzzled stare to her mouth, occasionally to the bouquet covering her nether areas.

"Could we just be friends?" She offers him rather desperately.

He merely shrugs.

"Never had any friends."

For some reason, this guy has already started to live rent-free inside her head. She simply can't get him out. And she's intrigued, even when the sanest option would be to stay away from a creepy lunatic like him.

"I can be your friend."

Fuck, what did I just say, what the fuck did I just–

"Sure. Why not," he says immediately. "You just want to be friends?"

She resists the urge to facepalm right then and there in front of him. The guy is not only socially awkward: he's in a state of denial.

Some of his friends – or at least, teammates – pass them by. Kyle, if she remembers correctly, and a Scottish man they call Soap. They both smile at her kindly. It's the first time these men have ever paid her any attention; actually, this is probably the only occasion anyone pays attention to König either. They are both suddenly visible.

"Hey König, don't go harassing our cleaning lady. We got a plane to catch."

König stares somewhere behind her as Soap speaks. His eyes are covered with glass, and she knows that look all too well. The tallest man in the building is dissociating while the two soldiers march by behind him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips: a mocking gesture only she can see.

She watches the scene with an odd pity. It appears they step into existence only when they're together – an unfamiliar setting and an odd couple, the object of ridicule for people who probably claim themselves to be normal.

"I think it would be best, yes," she whispers when the hall is quiet again. She has to start her day soon, and he has a plane to catch - no one else is awake except one hard-working woman and a few operators about to leave on an early mission. She feels the strangest sorrow as she realizes that he wanted to drop by with some flowers and his apology before leaving some place he might never return.

The man gives her a last once-over before taking his leave. He nods slowly, never breaking their gaze: an odd, gentlemanly move.

"Just friends, then."

. . . . .

It is the hottest day yet, and the guy walks around with his black hood even then.

Her new friend.

She's outside, trying to catch some fresh air and sunlight after spending another 8 hours inside a buzzing facility, and somehow, some way, the tall enigma of a man always finds her.

He angles his walk towards her as if he only happened to pass by at the same time she was lounging against the wall and looking at clouds drifting in the sky. In truth, she has an odd, yawning suspicion that she is being stalked nowadays. One of her underwear has gone missing, and she's wretched because her first thought upon finding it gone was the solid assumption that he had stolen them. Which further meant that the man had broken into her room.

But there's also flowers. Every morning when she opens her door, there's a single flower awaiting her. Sometimes, two or three, and not from a store, but from outside, from nature.

He's courting her, and she feels stupidly like a little princess because of those homely yet thoughtful gifts. She doesn't throw them away: they gather on her table, on her window sill, in a little water glass on her bedside table.

She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

"How are you?"

His accent lingers in the air between them, and she can't help it: it always brings a rush of heat on her cheeks and a rush of wetness down below when she hears him speak.

"I'm good. Just… good. How about you?"

"Sehr gut."

Perhaps the underwear has simply gone missing while washing laundry: it's not unusual when at least 20 people share one washing machine.

And they're only friends. Friends don't steal each other's underwear. Friends ask how they have been, how their day's gone.

"You look nice."

But the summer sun pales in comparison with the heat of that stare. Friends might compliment each other, but they don't look at each other like that.

She feels grungy enough while cleaning, not to mention in the bland, saggy clothes she has to wear every morning, so it can't be a surprise that she likes to put on an effort after the day is done. The citrus-yellow dress she has this afternoon catches his attention like she's a whole circus in town.

"You always look like an angel," he elaborates further, and she has to prevent herself from taking support from the wall upon hearing his compliment.

"Oh.. Thanks," she smiles, and he answers it: the faint creases around narrowing eyes are enough proof of that. "It's so hot… Do you ever take the hood off?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you take it off before bed?"

Oh god.

That sounded weird. She meant to ask if he took it off before sleeping.

Well, 'before bed', 'before sleeping'… What's the difference, really?

Still, he reads into it like a hawk for a seemingly socially graceless case.

"Depends if I'm alone or not," he says. Definitely thinks she's flirting with him again. Talk about sending mixed messages…

Friends, friends. We're just friends.

"Where are you from, by the way? Are you German?"

"No. Austrian."

"Oh. It must be beautiful there at this time of year."

"It is. I would still trade all of Austria for you," he says without any clumsiness, even though the pickup line is awful, one of the worst she has heard – and god, still, those big hands, that fire and ice stare makes her feel high as a kite. The image of him plowing her with the same pace he fucked his hand won't leave her alone.

"König… Just friends," she warns while feeling how another pair of panties is already ruined. She's so wet it's not even funny anymore; it makes her annoyed.

"Ok."

He says ok, but she knows he won't yield. She’s been far too kind for far too long and won't be losing this guy's interest anytime soon.

"How's work?" She tries to patiently show him how to be fricking friends, even if one party is constantly undressing the other with their eyes. As if she's not doing the same…

"You really want to know?"

"Sure."

"Had to scrub intestines from my shoes all night," he says casually. She can only blink and watch how completely distanced and indifferent he seems about something so sick.

"Everything's a mess when you use a knife," he explains further.

"Uh... I'm sure it is."

"Do you regret that you asked?"

"No. Well, perhaps a little."

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks proud; only seems pleased with himself for succeeding in scaring her even more.

"That's why I scrub guts and you scrub floors."

"I guess so," she agrees to his ever-authentic way of saying things how they are. He's a soldier: she can’t change that fact no matter how he or she puts it. Decent guys did the exact same things he did; they just didn't go around telling shy girls about the gory details of their work.

"Do you like knives?"

Nor did they ask things like this. They would ask if she wanted to go see a movie or have a lovely dinner that would end in a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.

"Um. Yes, I think they're beautiful."

Her response causes a short, deafening silence, a few blinks. The wind catches his mask, but it never rises: she notices he's not only undressing her body, but also her soul with those eyes. Patient, like he knows all her secrets and loves them already.

"What would it take to be more than friends?"

His sudden change of subject is almost as shocking as the devil-may-care account of his work. She is feeling unusually wild; the warm weather and the yellow hues covering the distant horizons make her want to lie down on the grass and pull him on top of her. She thinks of him sliding up the fabric of her cutesy dress, thinks of him opening his pants to get that huge cock out and force it inside.

"Well… You could… Ask me out, for starters?"

"What if you come to my room and I'll show you something," he offers instantly.

As nice and naive as she may be, she's sure the only thing he wants to show her is his cock. Which she has already seen, technically speaking. Which she would like to see again, heaven forbid.

She is slightly breathless and wonders if the heat on her cheeks is visible, if her lips are a bit fuller than usual from her thoughts. Perhaps that's why she resorts to a counteroffer as if she's bargaining here. As if she can't say no.

"Uh.. How about you come and pick me up for dinner this eve–"

"Ok."

He nods with full-blown promise in his eyes and leaves right away, a little too content, and she realizes she has made the worst mistake of her entire life. She will never get a man of his size out of her room if she lets him in and things go awry.

In a hurried decision, she decides she will simply leave him blue-balled at the door. She simply won't go to dinner; she certainly won't let him in. She doesn't have to, even if and when she has to watch him mope for the rest of the year.

She will tell him they're not friends, they're nothing anymore, and that's just it.

She goes, determined and her mind set, to shower, only to notice that she's more soaked than the pool of soap water gathering at her feet. Her body simply betrays her at every turn. Perhaps she should masturbate, just in case, so she won't be weak-willed when he arrives at her door this evening. Yes, that's a brilliant idea, one of the rare good ones she’s had these past few days.

“Jesus–"

By the time she enters her room, wet and throbbing, he's already there.

"How did you get in?"

He shrugs his shoulders like he always does.

"You asked me to visit you."

He doesn't even answer her question about him breaking into her fucking room. He's standing right next to her dresser and a bra she had thrown on one of the open drawers, and she knows right then and there that he's the panty thief.

"Yeah, but… I thought you'd knock or something."

"Sorry."

If you shrug I swear I’m going to…

"Where do you wish to go?"

He's standing there like a contrapposto statue, narrow hips deliciously tilted and with an obvious erection in his pants. He doesn't seem to feel ashamed about it, and it makes her even more wet.

She has a murderous giant in her room, a killer who's visibly turned on by the sight of her underwear, perhaps the lingering scent of her perfume, too… and he's asking where she wishes to go eat tonight so he might have a chance to bang her afterward.

"Do you like Chinese?"

He shrugs as an answer, and she sighs.

"I need to change. Could you turn around?"

The eyes behind the hood regard her with curiosity, but the man does as he is bid. She takes out a floral dress and a more comfortable bra and walks further away to the bed to change. König faces the wall while she gets undressed with trembling hands. She’s sure the man will turn around, march to her, and simply have his way with her before she gets the dress on. Some sick part of her even yearns for it.

But he doesn't. Instead, his head tilts a little to the side, and his hand rises to gently brush the lace of her bra while she's in the most vulnerable position she's ever been with this man. It's an almost equal violation of her privacy as it would've been to turn, but her tongue is tied. And she only now notices he's not wearing gloves.

König is caressing her underwear with no fabric whatsoever between his skin and her chastity, and it makes her breath grow heavy like they're living in the 18th century.

"All set," she says, voice tight, and he lowers his hand and turns as if he has done nothing wrong.

The evening, however, goes far better than she had hoped. Or feared.

He buys them dinner, drinks one beer. They even have a perfectly healthy, civil conversation. She helps herself to a bit of wine to calm her nerves, and they discuss what their dreams used to be before they landed the jobs they currently have.

He reveals he wanted to be a sniper and that he prefers to work alone, but to her question on what went wrong with all that, he merely answers he was 'too clumsy.'

What the man is really trying to say is that he's simply too big. Detectable, loud, and tall.

He hints at being bullied at school and in the army, and she feels even more sorry for him, curses in her mind – if the guy's tactic is to get a girl by being a hot loner with a tragic tale of woe, it sure is working for him.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks when there's still tension between them, tension that should have melted by now.

"A bit, yeah."

"Is it because of the hood?"

His voice is softer, and she realizes that he's really trying: trying to tone down whatever beast rages inside him, trying his all to be normal instead of some tormented madman.

"No, not exactly," she confesses and feels a sting in her heart when he looks defeated. She almost feels like a bully, too. She wants to take the guy in her arms and shush him to sleep so he would wake up less haunted. But that's not how this goes: she cannot fix him, and even if she could, she has no right to.

He takes her back to the base and stands at her door again. The halls have fallen silent, everyone's asleep at this hour, and her heart is still hammering in her chest.

"Are we still just friends?" He stares at her from the darkness of the hood, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to make himself appear smaller. Less intimidating.

"I…I guess so."

"You think I'm weird, don't you."

His next question is more of a statement. And all she wants to say is no, even if it's a lie. The guy is… not evil; it's just that he certainly isn't sane and sound, either.

"Um… I… Uh-"

"You're the one who watched me in the showers," he points out as if they're keeping score on who's more of a perv.

"Yeah. I guess I'm the weirdo here," she laughs nervously, then almost bites her tongue. He only cocks his head a little to the side and repeats his earlier question.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Well… yes, ok? I did. Why else would I–"

"It's ok. I understand. I don't mind."

"Well, it was still rude of me to do that." She guides her gaze to the floor, then up at his polar stare that makes her want to swoon in the hopes that he will catch her. "Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

"I did," he said, and the corners of his eyes slowly gather a few wrinkles. Smiling again.

She shakes her head slowly, scoldingly, and notices how that smile only deepens under the hood. Then his face – or what little can be seen of it – straightens.

"Am I harassing you?"

Wow. Well, at least the poor guy is trying to self-reflect. But something tells her there's more than some new-found awareness of his late behavior at work here.

There's bitterness... Exclusion.

Loneliness.

"No," she tries to comfort him. Another facepalm moment: she is basically telling a stalker she likes being stalked. That this sort of wacko shit was approved of. So this is what it has come to… Years of being invisible apparently did things like this to people.

"Or maybe a bit," she says as a spineless afterthought.

"Do you want me to stop?"

In all honesty, she is drunk on his attention. The obsessive behavior, the relentless wooing, romantic gestures accompanied by a stare that says he wants to plow her until she is a limp heap on a bed stained with tears and cum.

"König… Are you lonely?"

He shrugs, and she wants to grab him. Shake him.

"Are you?" He says with an unusually deep voice.

"...Yes."

Her voice is as fragile as can be, but the hall echoes her confession like it's a loud song. The eyes under the hood look at her softly, longingly: she hasn't even noticed how soft they can sometimes be.

"You don't have to be."

There's simply no use in denying it: she wants this guy to fuck her, no matter how creepy or weird he is.

She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him inside.

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fanfic #mw2 smut #könig fanfiction #könig mw2 #konig x reader #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #könig

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sunderwight · 4 months

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SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan's younger sister does a villainess transmigration.

The world she ends up in was originally a dating game and visual novel with some light RPG and crafting elements. Playing as purehearted main girl Qiu Haitang, one could choose any number of routes to pursue, from dashing Liu Qingge, to scholarly Mu Qingfang, sexy ice demon Linguang Jun, cute-but-domineering younger half-demon Luo Binghe, and so on. It was an interesting game, though it notoriously inspired some frustration when some of the more interesting side characters (like Yue Qingyuan) were completely unavailable as romantic options, and inspired at lot of rumors about hidden content and demands on future DLC expansions.-

Shen Meimei hadn't particularly liked the game. Sure, she played every route to 100% completion, bought all the extras, the official soundtrack, and the merch (fanmade as well as what slim-pickings existed officially), but that shouldn't be mistaken for approval. Much of that was in fact a desperate quest to figure out what the hell was even going on! Ignore the play time listed for this scathing Steam review, everyone! It shouldn't be factored into any assessments!

The game had several problems, in Shen Meimei's opinion.

The main issue was the lack of follow-through on the buildup of the backstory. Qiu Haitang's whole family was killed one night, maybe-probably by her sketchy as fuck ex-fiancee, who was also a hostage being kept by the Qiu family as leverage against a rival family. Which begged so many questions! Shen Meimei had suspected all along that there was more to it than met the eye (not just because the evil family shared her surname) but it was never deeply delved into. The whole thing only even got resolution in some of the routes, and the most thorough was Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe had a huge vendetta against Shen Qingqiu, Haitang's sketchy former fiance, which left a lot of room for doubt about his investigating the issue. Was Shen Qingqiu really to blame? Or was Luo Binghe just taking advantage of an opportunity to pin SOME crime on him, since he couldn't really get him for the shit he actually did to Luo Binghe himself? What about the hints regarding that Wu Yanzi guy? Why did those never seem to amount to much? Were the Qiu family really stupid enough to betroth their only daughter to a hostage, or was something else going on? And what about Xiao Qi, the slave boy servant of the Qiu who was mentioned a few times as another possible survivor or witness, but who never comes up again?

Shen Meimei played through everything, certain that there had to be some way to actually solve or gain clarity on the Mystery of the Qiu Family Murders, but even after completing the main routes and unlocking and completing the hidden ones -- nothing! It was all just swept aside in favor of tepid romance arcs, made all the more insufferable because of the compelling subtext between the male love interests. Like, why were any of these guys even interested in Haitang when they so clearly had more going on with each other?

Annoyance over a game Shen Meimei lost too many hours of her life to was one thing, of course.

Transmigrating into the younger sister of notoriously sketchy ex-fiance Shen Qingqiu was another!

Bad news: in the routes where Shen Qingqiu is prosecuted for his crimes, his whole family goes down with him. So if this goes poorly, not only will he be punished, but so will Shen Meimei!

Worse news: this fictional version of her family is almost identical to her actual real family. To the point where she would be checking everyone else for transmigration, except that no one but her seems aware that anything is odd. Shen Qingqiu acts exactly like her older brother, right down to his particular flavor of prickly social behavior and cynicism. And their middle brother is a chronically ill nerd who hate-reads trash novels and is completely fascinated by weird monsters (a much more worrisome trait in a world that actually has a lot of those...)

In short, her life is on the line, and so is her family's!

Damn you, Veiled Heroine Games! If you hadn't abandoned so many plot threats, Shen Meimei might actually know what was going on and be able to neatly circumvent everything! But now she has to figure out how to win the protagonist back over, rescue her brothers, and solve (and possibly further cover up...) the mysterious Qiu family murders, all while keeping Luo Binghe away from Shen Jiu, and preventing Qiu Haitang from completing any of the romance plotlines that will cause troubles for them! Which is most of them!

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #shen meimei can take after shen yuan #as a treat #also i think it would be funny if sj's siblings just kept accidentally seducing the antagonists who strung him up in pidw

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jinbedreams · 1 month

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It's been so fascinating to see how strongly people react to Toshiro in Dungeon Meshi. When I first read that scene I didn't feel hurt by Toshiro's rejection of Laois at all, I was more shocked at Laios raising a hand to him in anger because Laios had always felt like a man free from such anger and aggression. Although it was very powerful to see that Laios was capable of feeling such a way. I felt the scene was very emotionally charged and an important moment for both characters.

So when I started hearing about how hurt other people were at seeing Toshiro lash out in frustration towards Laios, and seeing people express discomfort towards Toshiro I was surprised but not confused. Honestly I was more surprised at myself for not having a similar reaction because I have also been subject to being led on in "friendships" that the other person secretly despised (or at least did NOT feel the same). It can be very hurtful to discover that someone has built a resentment towards you but never made any attempt to clear the air with you until a point of crisis.

I am autistic and I struggle a lot with relationships but in this instance I didn't see myself in Laios' shoes (although I have been there) instead I found myself relating to Toshiro. A man trapped by social expectations, rigid rules of engagement hammered into him from a young age, only to discover that there is someone who does not follow these rules at all. Even more bizarrely they seem completely free from any of the consequences that would befall Toshiro if he ever deviated from his carefully cultivated mask.

I can say from experience it is confronting to try and unpack your own high masking trauma while also feeling compelled to support the low masking autistic person in your life. Even if the other person means no ill will and has not truly done anything wrong, having them unknowingly walk all over you can be enough to push you to a breaking point. There is an intense frustration that comes with seeing someone else get away with not following the social rules you have beaten yourself painfully into shape to fit.

Yes Toshiro could have chosen any moment to correct Laios on his name, or clarify his discomfort or his personal boundaries, but that is operating under the assumption that Toshiro feels safe enough to do so. He is a stranger in a strange land, and often in that position it is a safer choice to subject yourself to a level of discomfort simply to keep the general peace. Where my fellow high maskers at? We make biting our tongue a fucking art.

#Could Toshiro have approached the topic in a more gentle manner? Yes #But in that vein Laios could have checked in with Toshiro and made sure he got his name right or that he also felt the same way etc #thats the beauty of this story #no one is right or wrong theyre just people #and despite their differences they do have a level of respect for one another #god I love #Dungeon Meshi #shuro #toshiro dungeon meshi #laios dungeon meshi #laios touden #DONT even get me started on Kabru hes got me in even more of a chokehold than these two

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