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sansaorgana · 1 month

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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IX)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN || PART EIGHT || PART TEN

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — Feyd-Rautha focuses on bringing back the spice production to full efficency while his wife plots against The Baron. The ghosts of her past are haunting her in the Arrakeen Palace where her family lived and died.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. This chapter is quite long so I think the next one will be the last...? Of course I am open to write some additional chapters with these characters in the future 👀 Thank you everyone supporting my work 🙏🏻😭 I don't know when I'll post the next / last chapter. Next week I hope but it might take me more time than usual because I have to catch up with uni work finally lol

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death

WORD COUNT — 8,170

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IX)

Feyd-Rautha was barely able to hide his excitement on that day. Becoming the Governor of Arrakis was a huge deal – not only it proved that he was his uncle’s worthy successor if he was given such responsibility, but also Arrakis remained the most important planet under the Harkonnen rule due to the spice resources. Controlling this planet was like controlling the universe.

Before the official ceremony would begin, he had to deal with the formalities, all dressed up in the accurate black leather attire and pride on his face. Then his wife entered the throne room accompanied by the guards and from that moment he could only focus on her.

Her black leather dress’ design was mimicking his uniform’s one and her face was hidden by the veil made of chains and gemstones. She walked past him and bowed down in front of his uncle. Feyd knew that was the custom but it still made him clench his jaw and blood boil.

She straightened herself and fixed her dress on her abdomen as it was getting too tight in that area. Feyd smirked at the sight of her womb getting visibly swollen with his child. With his heir.

His wife signed the contract about him becoming the new Governor of Arrakis as the Atreides signet ring sparkled on her pinky finger. The truth was, her signature was not required there at all but the Baron loved to humiliate her in this way. However, she managed to do it with such dignity. Feyd wondered if she still felt like an Atreides. That signet ring wasn’t leaving her pinky finger at all ever since it had been adjusted to her size.

He wondered if it was a symbol of power for her or did she keep it for sentimental reasons.

Sentiment. That word was new in Feyd-Rautha’s dictionary. But now, when he watched his wife standing behind him with her hands clasped on her womb, he swore he could feel it.

He couldn’t explain most of the things happening inside his body at the sight of her. It was more than plain desire or sexual attraction. In fact, he had had lovers more adventurous than her and surely more experienced. But he had never met a woman like that.

She made him think of his mother, especially now, when she was expecting his child. He wondered what kind of mother she would be. Would she… love… his son? Or would he be another pawn in her court games…?

His mother was cold and distant but only recently Feyd had realised it was no reason to kill her. Was it possible that some part of him regretted it? His uncle had manipulated him into doing something he couldn’t truly understand back in the day – an act impossible to undo and sealing his murderous fate.

But even his mother had never touched him so gently like his wife. And he knew that it was weak to crave that but he did – he craved more from her and her only. He would kill anyone looking at her the wrong way but she could disrespect him in any way and he’d still be on his knees for her. He had never been as obedient to his uncle. He had feared him as a little boy and then he had hated him, waiting for his turn on the Harkonnen throne. The obedience to his wife was dictated by admiration and… sentiment.

Yes, that was a new word in his dictionary.

And his harpies… Well, he had been attached to them but killing them had felt cold – he hadn't even felt sorry.

The room slowly filled with people who were to witness his nomination for the Governor of Arrakis. Feyd stood proudly and already imagined the day he would be nominated The Baron Harkonnen.

And when his uncle officially named him the Governor, Feyd grabbed his face and brought it down for an angry kiss that was a mockery of gratitude. In that kiss there was a promise of the upcoming succession of the much more important title. In that kiss there was the Harkonnen poison and everyone cheered but the Baron knew.

He knew.

You were laying on your bed on the ship inside your cabin and playing with the Atreides signet ring on your pinky finger. It felt surreal to realise that under different circumstances you would had made the same journey a few months earlier with your family when your father had been gifted Arrakis.

Your stream of thoughts was interrupted abruptly by Feyd walking inside the cabin.

“Apparently, Rabban has no idea we are coming,” he announced with a smirk and sat on the bed next to you, waiting for your approval like a little boy after telling his mother exciting news.

“Why do you hate him so?” You only asked and his smirk dropped in an instant. “Is he not your brother?”

“Do you love yours?” Feyd tilted his head a little as he watched you carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you smiled sadly at him and caressed your bump. “He is dead and so is his older sister. But in that relationship, I was Rabban and Paul was you.”

“I am better than Rabban. He means nothing,” Feyd shrugged his arms, visibly annoyed at the fact that you scolded him and started asking questions instead of sharing his excitement.

“Do you think you will catch a tan on Arrakis?” You changed the subject and chuckled at the confused glance he gave you.

“I’m not going there for vacation,” he moved closer to you on the bed and placed his hand on your womb. You felt its warmth spreading all over your body. “And neither are you,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“The medic says that the Arrakis might do you good. The sun and all,” Feyd explained, a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, I know. But it is also not a very pleasant environment. It is hot and dry,” you sighed. “And full of spice.”

“You will have everything you want and need there, my Baroness,” Feyd leaned in to suck on your neck – his idea of a romantic kiss. You leaned back and sighed at the pleasure.

“How big do you think he is now?” You caressed your husband’s hand gently and he moved away from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes. “Our son. Do you think he is still smaller than your hand?” You bit on your lower lip. “I like to imagine him so little that your hand covers him whole when you place it on my womb.”

“Do you think of him often?” Feyd asked and you furrowed your brows at his question.

“Of our son?” You wanted to make sure and he nodded. “All the time,” you answered with all honesty. “And you…?” You asked, carefully.

“All the time,” Feyd nodded and looked down at his hand caressing your bump.

“And what do you think?” You were scared to know the answer but you needed to know it.

“I’m proud to have a son. He will be the Baron one day and I will train his body to become even stronger than mine. And you will train his mind to be sharp like yours,” Feyd looked at you. He was serious but you chuckled at that as you caressed his cheek with your thumb.

“Just promise me that you won’t do to him what has been done to you,” you whispered as the smile disappeared from your face. “Please,” you pleaded.

“It has to be done,” was all he said as his jaw clenched.

“No, it doesn’t,” you shook your head. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes. Thinking of what your husband had gone through was painful enough but imagining your son going through the same thing was even worse.

“How else do you want him to be a great warrior?” Feyd laughed at you. “He will need discipline.”

“Discipline does not have to mean abuse. I want him to follow your steps out of admiration and respect. Do you want your own son to feel the same way towards you that you feel towards your uncle?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want your son to plot how to get rid of you? To wait impatiently for you to finally die and rot?”

“No, I do not,” he admitted after a short while of hesitation.

“Then we will do it my way,” you stated.

“I don’t want my children to be weaklings,” Feyd drawled as his hand squeezed your womb possessively.

“Neither do I,” you assured him. “And it insults me greatly that you think that I would raise them to be weak. I hate weakness,” you gave him a stern look.

“There’s your answer why I hate my brother,” he said and moved down to lay his head on your womb. You carefully caressed his temples in a soothing manner.

You still had to play little games with him sometimes, you assumed it would always be like this one way or another. But you loved him. Yes, you loved him.

Princess Atreides would rather die than admit that. For the Harkonnen na-baroness it was difficult to admit her feelings, too. But you didn’t mind giving up and finally allowing yourself to confess the truth. It was making you feel less lonely in the world. Perhaps it was love dictated by the fact you had no one else around. Perhaps you loved the way he worshipped you. Perhaps you loved him for the way he was making you feel so powerful and important. But at the end of the day, it was love. Not that you planned to say it out loud.

It was true that you hated weakness but Feyd-Rautha was yours. If he was to die, you’d die, too. You had no home to go to, no family member to turn to. All you had was him. Him and the dream of the life you two were supposed to live one day.

You knew that the black colour was a bad choice for the planet like Arrakis. But you couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. As a Harkonnen you had to establish dominance in your House’s way. Your arrival dress had to be black and made of a flowy material with a semi-transparent veil to protect your skin from the hot rays of sunshine and the wind full of harsh sand and spice.

The very first step you took outside the ship nearly made you dizzy. It felt so odd after so many months to feel the sunlight on your skin and to see the colours while not being inside any building – even if the colours of Arrakis were not many.

“My Lady,” Astra and Cara followed you outside, both widening their big, black Harkonnen eyes at the sight of the desert, “are you alright?”

“Yes, my girls, I am,” you held their hands.

“Let’s go inside, na-baroness,” the medic joined you. “At this time of the day it is recommended not to go out,” he explained and you nodded before following him with your girls, guards and all the servants carrying your things. Feyd was already inside the palace with his uncle and dealing with an embarrassed and humiliated Rabban.

You looked up through your veil and examined the sight of the building in front of you. It was not much cosier than the Harkonnen fortress on Giedi Prime. On the inside the design was raw as well, but some part of you was already used to such an environment.

“My Lady,” one of the servants approached you. He had already been living there for quite some time now as he had come to Arrakis with Count Rabban. “Shall we prepare the rooms for you and na-baron or will you take the room that belonged to the previous Duke? Count Rabban did not take it, therefore we left it untouched,” he informed you and you froze for a second.

“My father’s room? It is left untouched?” You gasped.

“Yes, my Lady na-baroness, Duchess Atreides,” the man was bowing down so low you became concerned about his spine.

“Enough of the titles, take me there,” you ordered and then you turned around at your servants. “Wait here. I will let you know what room I am taking.”

“My Lady,” they all nodded as you followed the man alone. You didn’t want even Astra and Cara around you because you couldn’t tell what your reaction to your father’s chambers would be.

“Behind that door, na-baroness,” the servant bowed down and pointed at the doors. You pushed them and let them close behind you as your body trembled at the sight. You lifted the veil off of your face and looked around.

The room was arranged in a similar way as your father’s chamber back on Caladan. Duke Leto hated any form of mess and he had everything always put in its place. You wandered around and touched all the personal belongings – his chair, his desk… You froze at the sight of the pictures he had there. One picture was of him and Lady Jessica, the other one was of you and Paul. There was even a tiny picture from his wedding day with your mother. You remembered that picture very well as you had once asked him about it. He had told you he kept it out of respect for her and for you.

You had no idea he would still keep it even if you weren’t around.

You opened the desk. Someone had been rummaging inside – most likely to take the jewellery and the important documents. But the personal letters stayed. Personal letters and… a small doll.

You had given it to him at the age of four and asked him to take care of it. You didn’t expect he had been keeping it all these years.

“Oh, father…” you whispered and brought the doll close to your heart. “One day, it will be my daughter’s,” you decided and were about to walk away from the desk when you spotted an unfinished letter.

Carefully and curiously, you picked the paper up and read the few sentences that he had written down before taking a break and never being able to go back to it again.

Dear Daughter, I am aware of the anger and all the resentment you must be holding in your heart towards me. I am not asking for much but please, write back to us. If not for me, then do it for Paul. We both miss you dearly and we are worried when you are not answering our letters personally. All we want to know is if you are safe and…

Your eyes widened and your heart skipped a beat. So, they had been writing to you. All this time... And only Baron Harkonnen knew how many letters had been kept away from you. Of course he had lied to you. How could you be so stupid…?

You clenched your fist and then threw the crumpled paper back into the drawer. It didn’t change anything now. It brought you some peace, deep down, but it didn’t mean anything anymore. It wouldn't take back time.

You approached your father’s bed and spotted a robe laying there, discarded. He would wear that over his nightwear when he was leaving the room in the middle of the night due to an emergency. You assumed that the Harkonnen invasion was an emergency so sudden and violent that he had no time to put it on.

The robe was silk and dark green with the Atreides emblem on the chest. You sat on the edge of the bed and put the doll down on your lap before taking the robe in your hands and squeezing it as you brought it to your face. It still faintly smelled like him. It smelled like your father.

You buried your face in the silk and closed your eyes, remembering his embrace. For a short while it was almost as if he was still there, holding you and telling you it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. It hadn’t been alright and his daughter had died. You couldn’t tell when it happened exactly. Had Princess Atreides die in that cell on the night before her wedding? Or when she had been locked up after the Baron had told her about going to Arrakis and killing her family? Or maybe she had died somewhere in the meantime. Perhaps when she had seen Feyd taking an innocent life for the first time. It was really hard to tell but she was definitely gone now.

You startled at the sound of someone entering the room without knocking. It was Feyd – no one else would dare to do that.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said and froze at the sight of you holding your father’s robe. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you stood up and threw the robe on the floor as you picked the doll up. “Burn it,” you ordered. “And we’ll take a different room. They can clean up this one,” you approached him and handed him the doll in your hands. He took it, confused.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Our next child will be a daughter and you will give it to her when she is born,” you told him sternly.

He snorted at first but then he realised that you had been dead serious. The doll held lots of significance and meaning to you and he didn’t even have any idea how much you trusted him with it.

Feyd nodded his head after a long while and he looked down at the doll, awkwardly holding her in his pale hands.

“My Lady, what is your decision?” The servant knocked upon the door and joined you.

“I don’t want this room, clean it up,” you told him.

“Do you want a room next to your husband’s, na-baroness?” He asked.

“No, we will share one room,” you told him and he bowed down before leaving you quietly. “Unless you want your own,” you laid your eyes on Feyd.

“I want what you want.”

You were walking through the endless desert. It was like the oceans back on Caladan but instead of the water there was sand. The heat did not bother you and you did not feel tired at all. However, all this walking seemed pointless. You didn’t know where you were or where to go.

And then you spotted someone on the horizon. A tiny figure in a stillsuit and your heart skipped a beat. Was it one of the Fremen? You didn’t want to find out but your legs kept walking anyway as if you had no control over your body.

The figure remained motionless. After a while you spotted it was a man. You wondered why he was not reacting at all, seeing you walking towards him. Perhaps he was waiting for you. But why?

When you were close enough to see his face, you gasped. It was your brother, Paul Atreides, with his eyes blue from the spice, wearing a Fremen armour and he seemed to stare in the distance. Now you realised that he couldn’t see you even though you were facing him.

“Paul?” You asked as your body stopped walking with your face inches away from his. “Brother?”

He startled a little and furrowed his brows. Did he hear you…?

“Paul,” you said again and his eyes found yours.

“Sister,” his voice was different now. It was rough and held no affection. It made your blood run cold.

“What are we doing here?” You asked sadly. “Let’s go back home.”

“What is home now?”

“Caladan,” you explained.

“We cannot.”

You woke up abruptly and sat up, breathing heavily as you felt the sweat running down your spine and forehead. You had never experienced a dream so vivid and realistic as this one.

You assumed it was because of Arrakis. The heat could cause such a vision or perhaps it was all that buried deep down grief after losing your family. Being here now, in that palace where they had lived and died, it was making you feel odd.

Feyd woke up as well and you heard him reaching out for the knife underneath his pillow.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “I’ve just had a bad dream.”

“It’s your first night on Arrakis. Maybe it’s the spice messing with your head,” you felt his hand rubbing your back. “Lay down, come to me,” he whispered and you did.

You laid your head on his chest and hugged him tight like a scared child. Your heart was pounding and you felt dizzy. But you didn’t want to tell your husband what the dream was. He didn’t ask anyway.

On the next day you were gathered in a conference room. Everyone was there, the Baron and Count Rabban, too. You hoped that they would go back to Giedi Prime but it seemed like they wanted to stay and ensure that the spice production would go back to normal. You tried not to make a face at that as you watched the hologram globe of Arrakis in front of you on display.

“Shouldn’t the Fremen delegation greet the new Governor of Arrakis?” You asked.

“The Fremen do not have negotiations with us anymore. We are in the state of war, na-baroness,” one of the engineers answered you with a nod of his head.

“Let it be war, then,” you nodded back.

“What is causing the biggest problems?” Your husband asked as he gave his brother a contemptuous look. “Apart from the bad governing of the resources.”

“The Fremen have a new leader, a mysterious Muad’Dib,” The Baron explained and for some reason a shiver went down your spine at the mention of the name. You didn’t know why because it didn’t sound sinister or dangerous.

“And what about him?” Feyd asked. You could hear he was bored of the meeting and wanted real action as soon as possible.

“They are destroying our machinery and killing our soldiers, slowing down the production. He is unstoppable. Like a shadow,” Rabban explained and Feyd snorted at him.

“My big scary brother failed to deal with one Fremen savage,” he drawled. “Instead of slaughtering them all.”

“And what would our Baroness do?” The Baron interrupted Feyd and stared at you with a smirk. Suddenly, the whole room laid their eyes on you and you blinked a few times, surprised.

“Why would you ask a woman that?” Rabban inquired and Feyd hissed at him for that remark.

“Because I want to know her insight. Our Baroness happens to have interesting ideas,” Baron teased, his squinted eyes never leaving yours.

“I would oppose slaughtering the Fremen,” you stated.

“I’ve told you, she’s just a woman,” Rabban laughed.

“She is the Governess of Arrakis and your na-baroness and you will respect her,” Feyd barked.

“Enough!” You banged the fist on the table and the sound echoed through the chamber full of the Harkonnen servants and engineers widening their eyes at you. “Both of you!” You snapped. “Acting like children,” you scolded. “I am not the Governess of Arrakis, Feyd,” you laid your eyes on him and he looked a bit taken aback by your outburst. “That title does not work that way. You’re the Governor and I am your wife. However,” you looked at the Baron again. He was smirking all that time. “I do not think slaughtering them will bring us profit. They know the desert and the spice more than we do. We need them as obedient allies. But in order to have them as allies, we have to defeat them and their will to fight. We need to hit them with aggression that they have not yet seen nor experienced in their worst nightmares,” you raised your chin up.

“And that aggression is Feyd-Rautha,” Baron nodded at your husband.

“If we have negotiations with the Fremen in the future, I’d like to be there,” you announced and Rabban snorted. You knew that he did not mean these things personally, he was just frustrated that he was being replaced by his brother and seeing that an off-world woman was holding more influence than him had to be rough for his ego.

“What’s so funny, brother?” Feyd asked him and you rolled your eyes. They were at it again. “The only thing I find funny is how my wife has more brains than you.”

“And why is that funny?” You asked him, irritated.

“That is enough indeed,” Baron raised his hand. “We all have better things to do,” he announced and everyone bowed their heads as he left the room.

You watched your husband and his brother leaving right behind him, still having an argument like little children. Then you took a deep breath in and stood up to go back to Astra and Cara.

However, when you left the room, Feyd grabbed his brother’s neck and pushed him down on the floor. He basically threw him at your feet and you were surprised that he had managed it so easily since Rabban was a big and strong man.

“You will kiss her shoe and show your na-baroness respect,” Feyd ordered, “as you beg for her forgiveness.”

You looked down as Rabban looked up, scared. As much as it brought you some satisfaction to have a big, strong Harkonnen count who was called Beast Rabban at your feet, you felt sorry for him, too.

“Feyd, there is no need,” you looked at your husband.

“No, there is, because I say so,” he insisted and kicked his brother’s head. “He will kiss your shoe or die.”

“I said, there is no need,” you repeated, more sternly this time. “Your brother is not my enemy like he is not yours either,” you pointed out. “Stand up, Count Rabban,” you ordered the man.

Carefully and hesitantly he moved up, trying to avoid looking into your eyes.

“You shall remember the kindness I have given you,” you told him and he nodded. “Now, leave.”

You watched him walk away as fast as possible and then you looked at your husband. He wasn’t pleased but he was trying to hide it. You could tell when he was angry very easily from his facial expressions by now.

“Do not torment him. He might be useful,” you told him.

“He will do anything to keep his pathetic head on. He’s got no honour,” Feyd snorted at that. “He would kiss anyone’s shoe if his life depended on it.”

“Then he is more like me than I have expected,” you only said and walked past him, leaving him behind, surprised.

“You are not like him,” Feyd followed you as he grabbed your wrist. “You have honour.”

“Do I?” You chuckled and turned around to face him. “I did everything to survive. It had nothing to do with honour. I became a Harkonnen instead of doing what my Atreides pride was telling me to do and that was to kill myself before letting any of you hurt me or change me.”

“It is different,” he was trying to deny your words. You were confusing him now.

“You also do not have honour, Feyd-Rautha. The way you used to fight drugged warriors in the arena. It has nothing to do with honour,” you reminded him as his jaw clenched. “And you know what? I don’t care,” you shrugged your arms. “My father, he was an honourable man. And look where it has gotten him. We are too cunning for honour.”

“We?” Feyd asked.

“The Harkonnens,” you explained and cupped his face to pull his head down and place a kiss upon his forehead. “Now, go, weren’t you supposed to terrorise the poor Fremen?”

He smirked at you and leaned in to place a hungry kiss upon your lips as his hand caressed your womb.

“Be careful, my darling, come back to me in one piece from the treacherous desert,” you bid him farewell and kissed him one last time before going back to your chambers.

Weeks had passed and the mysterious Muad’Dib remained uncaught, however the spice production came back to full efficiency. It was difficult to celebrate such victory, though, because you weren’t even sure if it was because of Feyd-Rautha being a good Governor or was it because of his uncle who still was present on Arrakis. Both him and Rabban. You wondered how things had been back on Giedi Prime – especially now, when all the important Harkonnens were on Arrakis.

You had your girls and your medic and much less nosy guards following you everywhere. The Arrakeen Palace was giving you lots of freedom and safety but it was also a much more boring place than the fortress on Giedi Prime. It was full of ghosts, too – you couldn’t stop thinking your family had been slayed in that very place.

You kept dreaming of Paul each and every night. It was making you feel weary and frustrated at this point. You didn’t want Feyd to know so you often would leave the bed quietly in the middle of the night and walk outside to sit on the balcony. There was something fascinating about the desert; it was so calm yet dangerous. By day it was too hot to just stare and admire but at night it was peaceful and with no one around to bother you.

Tonight you were standing and admiring the moon in your nightgown, with your hand caressing your swollen womb. It was getting bigger and bigger each day and you could feel the child move now. The medic assured you he was placed properly and growing healthy. You wondered if your son would be born on Arrakis.

“What’s wrong?” Feyd’s voice made you turn around. He was standing by the entrance to the balcony and staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you lied. You could but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to dream of Paul.

“Again?” Feyd sighed and approached you. He stood behind you and leaned your body on his chest. It made you sigh out of relief and he placed his hands on your abdomen. “Perhaps the spice is doing you harm.”

“No, the medic would have noticed that,” you shook your head. “Perhaps it’s your son keeping me awake,” you made up a believable excuse and Feyd chuckled.

“And what are you doing here? Staring at the sand?”

“I don’t expect you to understand the beauty of the desert,” you teased. “But yes, the sand, the moon, everything.”

“When I will become the Baron, we will have a little tour and visit every planet under Harkonnen rule,” he whispered into your ear. “You will see many beautiful things, my darling pet.”

“And when will that be?” You snapped, frustrated. “In ten years? A hundred?” You snorted.

“What are you talking about?” Feyd took a step back and leaned on the railing to take a better look at your face but you remained staring in the distance.

“What is he still doing here? I thought Arrakis was ours. Yet, he is here and it feels as if we are being supervised. Meanwhile, Giedi Prime remains without protection,” you drawled through gritted teeth.

“If you were him, would you leave us two to each other?” Feyd asked.

“Are you by his side again?” You finally looked at him, angrily. “He gave you the planet to govern and you’re defending him again?”

“I am not defending him,” Feyd got angry, too, at your words. “But it is obvious why he stayed here. He knows we might be plotting. He needs to keep an eye on things.”

“I have already plotted,” you lowered your voice and went back to staring at the moon.

Feyd kept looking at you in silence for a while before he finally spoke up again.

“And what is that?”

“He shall be slayed by night alongside most of the guards and servants. We will say it was a nighttime assassination attack by Muad’Dib and his people. They targeted the Harkonnen nobility and you were too busy saving your pregnant wife to help your uncle,” you whispered.

“Everyone will know the truth, it's too obvious,” Feyd told you. “It's only giving us an alibi for those who want to believe in it.”

“Of course they will suspect what really happened but they will not care. You showed them your worth in the arena and you brought back the full efficiency of the spice production. The Harkonnen lords will give you a chance. I am sure they’ve already grown tired and weary of the Baron,” you kept convincing him.

“What if Muad’Dib suddenly decides to show up and deny?”

You sighed and looked at him again, furiously.

“Just admit that you don’t want him dead, because in some way I cannot understand… you love him,” you hissed at him.

“Love?” It was the first time you heard him use that word and it brought a chill down your spine. It sounded so off and scary when your husband said it out loud. “I don’t know what that pathetic feeling is,” he assured you.

“I can see that,” you raised an eyebrow at him and walked away to leave the balcony and go back to your bedroom.

You were hurt, angry and frustrated and it was starting to bring tears to your eyes but you didn’t want him to see that.

Your husband followed you to the bedroom. In the way his footsteps were even heavier than usual, you spotted his annoyance as well.

“What do you expect of me? You’re so impatient, woman,” he started once the doors closed behind him. “You want everything and you want it now. I said I’d do it, I swore I’d do it but you admitted yourself we have to wait longer. If he dies here at night, do you think the noble lords of Giedi Prime will accept that so easily?”

“Then slay the ones who refuse to accept you as the successor!” You turned around with the rage making your blood boil. “Slay everyone standing in our way, as you promised. Do you want our son to be born in a world that he is manipulating for his own gain? Do you want to be his dog following the orders for the next few years? I am tired of playing the games with him on his own chess board. I want to make my own game, my own rules, my own board!” You tried to keep your voice down in case someone would spy on you but it was difficult with all that anger pouring out of you.

In one swift move, Feyd grabbed your chin and squeezed your cheeks as he brought your face so close to his that your noses were rubbing each other. There was so much anger in his eyes that the old you would start trembling out of fear for her life but the new you didn’t even flinch.

“Keep your voice down, we will do it,” he spat out.

“No,” you mumbled. “You will do it. You’re the hand that slays,” you reminded him and he kissed you so hungrily that you became breathless.

“I still want to kill you sometimes,” he confessed between one kiss and another as he led you back to your bed and laid you down on the mattress. “Choke you, slit your pretty little throat, watch you squirm under me as you bleed to death.”

“Whatever turns you on, my darling,” you chuckled at him as he looked at you sternly.

“If I hurt you, I’d kill myself right after. I’m bound to you forever,” he confessed and you smiled gently.

You didn’t want to tease him that after all, he did know what love was. After all, he did feel it. But you knew that he’d hate being confronted with the truth.

“If something happened to you, I would want to die alongside you, too,” you told him. “You’re the only one I have and none of my ambitions matter without you by my side.”

It was true. You didn't want to rule alone. In fact, you didn't want to ever feel lonely in your life again.

You were sitting next to Paul and watching the sunset in silence. In your dreams you would always meet him in the desert. Nothing else seemed to exist on Arrakis in the dreamworld – except for you and him.

“Why do you haunt me?” You asked and laid your eyes on his angry face. He was always so angry these days.

You hated Paul from your dreams. He was different. There was no kindness and gentleness about him anymore. If you were supposed to be haunted by his ghost, you’d rather be haunted by the brother you had remembered instead.

“I am not here for you,” Paul snorted and you furrowed your brows. Then he looked down at your swollen womb and you instinctively protected it with your hands.

“What do you mean?” You gasped.

“The spawn inside you shares my blood on both sides,” he answered mysteriously, which confused you greatly but you decided not to give it a second thought. After all, it was just a dream. “No, it is not,” Paul smirked viciously at you, as if he was able to read your thoughts.

“Get up,” you heard Feyd’s rough voice as his hand shook your arm. You woke up abruptly and sat up, trying to calm yourself after the dream.

“What’s going on?” You asked and looked around the dark room.

“Come with me,” your husband looked very pleased with himself as he pulled you out of the bed.

“What are you–”

“Shh,” he put his finger over his mouth as he led you outside.

You gasped at the sight of the bodies scattered all over the corridor of the palace. Servants and guards with their throats slit, laying in poodles of their own blood.

“Have you done that?” You asked quietly and Feyd nodded. “My girls…” you gasped.

“I haven’t touched your pets,” he assured you and stopped in front of the doors leading to the Baron’s chambers.

“Have you killed him…?” You were both excited and terrified of the outcome if the answer was yes. But, most importantly, you were in shock.

“Not yet,” Feyd answered as he pushed the doors open in front of you.

Not sure what his words meant, you entered the chamber carefully and spotted the Baron on his bed, letting out loud and raspy breaths. His life support machinery was no longer attached to him; you assumed Feyd had decided to give him a slow death.

You looked at your husband and spotted a sadistic sparkle in his eye as he was visibly enjoying the sounds and the view. He put his arm around you and walked you closer to the Baron’s bed.

That old and sick man looked pathetic at that moment and for a short while you even felt sorry for him. His eyes widened even further at the sight of you as he raised one of his hands towards you but you took a step back.

You didn’t know what to expect of him on his deathbed. Some part of you craved for him to admit his defeat and name you a worthy successor of the Harkonnen throne. Some other part of you expected him to curse you and your whole bloodline, which would be quite justified.

However, you certainly did not expect the sheer desperation and debasement.

“P-please…” He could barely speak. “Please, help me,” he tried to reach out for you.

You didn’t feel sorry for him anymore. You felt disgusted.

“You’re a weakling,” you smirked at him. “You called my father weak but I am sure that he did not beg like a dog on his deathbed. I am sure he died with dignity.”

“Please, help me…” He coughed out. “Help me and I will make your son an Emperor…”

“I do not need you to make my son an Emperor,” you laughed with contempt. “I am to become The Baroness Harkonnen; commanding the largest army and possessing the biggest wealth in the galaxy.”

“F-Feyd, I was like a father to you…” He searched for his nephew’s cruel eyes now, giving up on asking for your compassion and pity. “My boy…”

“Like a father, you say,” Feyd drawled. “I couldn’t wait to kill you for so many years now.”

“Please…”

“Oh, shut him up, how long will it take for him to die?” You sighed with an eye-roll as Feyd nodded his head at you and grabbed the short knife attached to his hip.

“Farewell, dear uncle,” he smiled smugly as he slit the Baron’s throat.

You watched mesmerised, without even blinking. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“The Arrakeen Palace will be considered cursed for all the Barons and Dukes from now on,” you only said.

Without a word, Feyd dropped the blade and fell on his knees in front of you, pulling you close by your hips and burying his face in the fabric of your nightgown right where your womb was. You knew what he wanted. A praise, an approval, a blessing.

“My Baroness,” he breathed out.

“Stand tall, my Baron,” you caressed his head and he looked up. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight and you cupped his chin to caress his full lips with your thumb. “You’ve made me proud and happy, my darling,” you assured him.

He nodded at you and collected the discarded blade from the floor. It was important not to leave any trace. You both went back to your chambers and laid down in bed, pretending to be asleep – too excited to actually be able to drift off. This time you didn’t feel guilty even a little bit like after the death of the harpies. This time it didn’t even feel like murder or taking another human being’s life. This time it felt like nothing but relief.

You watched the sunrise through the window with your head on your husband’s chest and his hand rubbing your back, waiting for the remaining servants’ screams to signal the beginning of the new era.

There were screams indeed. People were running, yelling, banging on your door. Both Feyd and you acted surprised and startled at the news but Astra and Cara had to be the only people in the palace who actually believed your story. The medic inspected the Baron’s body and started to wonder if it really had been Muad’Dib’s work since the cuts did not remind of the Fremen weapons. Feyd only hissed at him so the medic stopped any further insinuations.

Count Rabban’s behaviour surprised you the most as he was following his brother around and seeming to act like the most loyal and obedient subject. He had quickly realised it was the best chance of survival for him. He hadn’t questioned anything so far and simply followed every word leaving his younger brother’s mouth.

Everything was a mess and chaos on that day but it was mostly Feyd dealing with it, basking in his new title and glory, as you were sitting on your bed with terrified Astra and Cara, holding them both and assuring them of their safety.

“How can you not be worried, na-baroness? I mean, Baroness?” Astra widened her eyes. “If Muad’Dib was here last night… Oh, I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if he went inside your chambers instead…”

“My husband would defend me,” you kissed her forehead and then you kissed Cara’s.

“What if he comes back?” Cara was shaking out of fear and you felt bad for making them feel like this but you couldn’t tell them the truth. “Now, when they know that we have fewer guards around?”

“We will be prepared this time,” you squeezed their hands. “My girls, I am sorry for being insensitive but I shall get dressed in mourning attire now and finally join my husband to help him with the officialties.”

Every lady travelled with a mourning dress just in case. Yours was a combination of black silk and black armour pieces with chains, connected to the matching headpiece. It looked dignified and intimidating – exactly how you wanted it to look like. You had already dreamt of The Baron’s death while planning your trip. Therefore the mourning dress you had chosen was accurate to your new role of The Baroness.

It sounded so good. For the upcoming days you would get drunk on the way people would address you. And then, when you'd finally be back on Giedi Prime, there would be a lavish celebration and official event for you two becoming the new Baron and Baroness. You couldn't wait for that day.

You smiled to yourself in the mirror and fixed the headpiece for one last time as you adjusted the Atreides signet ring on your pinky finger. On your pointing finger there was a huge ring with the Harkonnen emblem. And hidden between the folds of your dress and attached to the armour piece on your hip was the blade your husband had given you on the day of his birthday. No one could see it but you could reach for it swiftly in the case of emergency.

You joined Feyd in the conference room and everyone straightened at the sight of you. They always would but this time it felt different. You were the one holding the power – and they respected you for you, not for the fact that you were under protection of The Baron.

“Baroness,” they bowed down and went back to work, avoiding your gaze.

“How are things going?” You approached Feyd as he looked you up and down with a smirk. You put your hand on his chest.

“I sent Rabban back on Giedi Prime with our uncle’s body,” he told you and held your hand to lay a kiss upon it. “He will take care of the affairs there until we finish our business on Arrakis. I want to take care of that Muad’Dib rat before returning home and finding someone worthy to replace me as the Governor here. Rabban will also send us more Harkonnen troops since we have lost many guards last night,” he informed you in an official manner.

“We must avenge our late Lord Baron,” you clenched your jaw as you nodded. His eyes sparkled with mockery as he pretended to look worried.

You were sure that most people in that room had known the truth but they kept their poker faces on and allowed you to play out this little scene.

“My Lord,” one of the engineers raised his voice, concerned. Feyd turned around and you both stared at the hologram of the Arrakis globe. Red dots started to appear on the orbit. “We have guests,” the engineer explained. “The ships are definitely not ours.”

“Who is it?” Feyd barked at him. “Find that out, we are not expecting anyone,” he looked at you, a little concerned.

You were not pleased with the idea of guests now, out of all times, either.

“Who dares to interrupt our peace unannounced on the day after our late Lord Baron’s tragic death?” You asked out loud, playing your mourning role the best you could.

What a mockery it was that you had to be hiding all the grief after your actual family but had to display fake tears for the man you had hated with every fibre of your being.

“M-my Lord, my Lady…” the engineer turned around with his eyes widened, “it’s the Emperor himself… The whole imperial delegation.”

You and Feyd looked at each other.

“It took them days to get here. There is no way they are here because of last night’s incident,” Feyd pointed out. “Still, I do not understand. I have brought the spice production back to full efficiency. What could be the reason for his visit?”

You moved uncomfortably as your son kicked your rib. As if he too knew of the importance of this sudden imperial audience. It would be the first time you’d greet someone of such importance as The Harkonnen Baroness and it would be the first time you’d see the Emperor face to face. He had visited your father a few times on Caladan but children had not been allowed near their meetings.

“We have to greet him and find out,” you took a deep breath in, preparing yourself mentally for the first challenge in your new role.

You shot Feyd a glance and he nodded at you, reassuringly. With him by your side, it couldn’t go that bad, you tried to convince yourself. His presence was equipping you with courage and determination you had not known before.

Everything you were doing now, you were doing for the two of you and your future. Nothing else mattered.

MASTERLIST

#dune x reader #dune fanfic #dune imagine #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen imagine #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction #tttw

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peachesofteal · 11 months

Text

Mermaids

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/mermaid!reader 8.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Dark themes. Magical beings eating human hearts. Magic. Blood, Violence. Explicit sex. Blood kink. Breeding kink. Creampie. Dubious consent. Possessive Simon Riley. "And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, you crawled from the sea to break that sailor's heart" - F+TM

It begins early this year.

Earlier than usual, when your hunting ground in the mortal world was just starting to turn green, shaking its frosted and frozen branches free to make room for bright blooms and emerald leaves. Just as the steps of Brighton Pier changed from ice slick ledges to waterlogged, weeping wooden planks, and human clothing shifted from long coverings that protected their fragile membranes from the bitter wind to soft and flowing fabrics that allowed their bodies to breathe.

This time of the year the mortal world was alive. Full of rebirth and growth, strong and vibrant.

Vibrant, like the song that began early this year, the frequency echoing deep below the water’s surface to where you waited for its pull. The siren song of a true treasure, far beyond any other, the melody of your chosen, the ebb and flow of the rhythm that is not unlike the sea. The siren song of a mortal’s heart, the cacophony able to reach you and your sisters far below the swell and crash of the ocean, far beyond where the light ceases, the melody possessing the ability to pull you to the surface once a year.

Once a year, to hunt.

One a year, to dance and drink and fall in love, if only for a night.

Once a year, to sacrifice a human heart.

Your eldest sister holds you tight to her body in an embrace as the sun rises. Elegant fingers fuss with your hair, smoothing and tugging and pulling, a vain attempt at taming something wilder than her own heart. Her face is grim, a black void that reflects no joy or excitement, just dread. It is a mirror of yourself. It is a pain that you know too well.

“What bothers you?”

You are the last two left on the beach. The others have all gone, eager to stretch their legs and seek their own songs, the trill of the blood bubbling up in their veins, their bodies pulled like magnets to the source. One heart, one song, one human male for each sister, poor mortals who have no idea what awaits them today, their ignorance bliss on the last night of their lives. Your sisters, as well as you, all live for this night. The joy of the love, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of the ichor that sustains you. The anticipation of this night fills your dreams with swirls of violent songbird chords and sweet melodies of affection. It is all you talk about for cycles, leading up to the day when you leave the water at sunrise and your tail shifts and shatters to reveal two very human looking legs.

“I am weary.” She tells you plainly, an announcement that does not come as a surprise. You have watched how she fades. Watched her linger in the darkness of the caves, watched her float lifelessly on slow currents, gaze hollow, vigor lost. “My song is faint.” She pushes further, holding your hand tightly as she releases you from her embrace. “I think I may not take a heart this year.” But we must. Must we? It was a question unanswered, but one that plagued you both. How else could you live, if not for these sacrifices?

“You would choose to die.” You surmise and she gives you a curt nod, as if it is obvious. As if her admission does not rattle you down to your very bones. Perhaps you too, one day, would make this choice. Would choose not to hunt. Choose not to love and lose. The notion pains you, fills you with sorrow as it has for many, many years. This was not an unknown feeling, even though you still experienced the joy, the bliss of your hunting, of the harvesting, you still felt the pang of loss every time, stronger and stronger as the years ticked by.

“It aches now, knowing I will fall in love this night, just for it to end as the sun rises.” The sea crashes onto the beach behind the two of you, and her lips part with a smile before she leans in to graze a kiss along your cheek. “Happy hunting, my sister.”

The song encourages you onward, leading you through a maze of streets and buildings while the sun rises and lingers in the sky. You comb the city for your male, following the electric hum of the song through alleys and neighborhoods, stopping to enjoy the day, your one day on land, as often as you can. You relish in the things that are rare for you, the taste of coffee and human food, the smell of flowers in the park, the feel of grass on the bare pads of your feet. The dress you’ve chosen flutters in the breeze, allowing the cool air to caress your skin softly, and the sun beams down on your exposed limbs, warming you under its light as you indulge in mortal world. It is nice, you decide while you bask in its rays, to feel the sun as humans do. Such spoiled creatures, being so close to something that gives so much life.

That same sun begins to sink lower behind the skyline and you’re still mindlessly gazing at small insects and diving birds when your heart trills, the force of the song slamming between your ribs, a smattering of warning bells going off within you. He’s close, your blood croons, so, so close. The incessant rattle, the insistent pull is enough to bring you to your feet and anxiously smooth the wrinkles of your clothing, eyes darting wildly around while you hunt for the source, feet flying beneath you. So close, so close.

You come to a stop in front of a pub where a black door is propped open, music and revelry echoing from inside. Here. He’s here. The supersonic vibrato that hums in your own blood draws you into the dimly lit bar, and you hear the song in his veins grow even stronger when you step through across the threshold. He is not hard to find, this close, and your magic strings out before you, weaving and seeking past the bodies that dance closely on the floor, each as desperate for one another as you have grown for your mortal and his song.

He stands in the back, half covered by shadow, the dark pitch of the room matching his clothes and the mask he wears over most of his face. Everything about him is bigger than the males that have called to you in the past, his height, his arms, the width of his shoulders, even the feeling of him in this place. Everywhere you venture, every spot you position yourself in, you feel his eyes on you. He is unusual, and watches, from his vantage point, his companions, other humans, the bartender.

You perch atop a barstool on the opposite side of the room to study him. His eyes carry a ferocity, a heaviness of emotion that stirs the blood running through your own veins until it is pounding in your ears. The severity of him nearly intimidates you, the level of his awareness, the pools of his amber rich brown eyes occasionally flicking over to where your fingers wrap around a glass of beer, the heat of his gaze searing away at your skin underneath the dress. The mask confuses but does not caution you, and your own heart now beats in time with his due to your proximity. Handsome. You muse to yourself, caught up in tracing the outline of his cheekbones. Beautiful, in a dark way.

There is something about him. Something ruinous, something different. Something you cannot name.

It is of no consequence. You are the huntress. You will have your prize, your immortality, the taste of his heart on your tongue. His death becomes your life. His love, his heart, becomes yours, for eternity.

But how nice, might it be, to keep this one? It is an impossible thought, a dreamless idea, but one that still crosses your mind. The fantasy of falling in love for eternity, of having more than one night, more than the blood and violence that follows, more than the loss that would sustain you. If it were to be one, you know you’d choose this one. Your thoughts stray to your sister for a moment, imagining her alone beneath the surface, mourning the centuries of life she has lived, the centuries of love she has lost. Did she know this feeling? This hopelessness, this despair. Your lips tug downward as you consider her words. It aches. It aches, knowing I will fall in love this night, only for it to end as the sun rises. Gloom washes through you, your own yearning itching inside your soul, your desperation for your human itching at your skin. It aches. It aches, it ach-

“Hello.” Someone says from behind you, a deep, distinct voice, and you snap upwards, straightening your posture to turn into the body that crowds you. You jerk backwards on the stool when you realize how close he is, the action unsettling you from your seat, and you slip forward, nearly falling free from your wooden perch. Balance on land is difficult, and yours is perpetually off, a skill you've never mastered. A massive hand wraps around your elbow to right you, gently steadying you, and your jaw goes slack when you finally look up.

It's him.

“Hi.” You smile, trying to recover from your less than graceful impression. Your heart thunders in your chest, and the melody inside him screams for you.

“I’m Ghost.” He motions to your mostly empty beer and raises his completely barren one in return. “Buy you another?”

The indulgent smile that scrawls across your face is practically involuntary as you give your answer.

“Sure.”

His name isn’t Ghost, but he keeps his true name close and won’t give it to you. You give him a nickname, one you usually use on land, and he doesn’t bat an eye, even when you tell him it’s a pet name and not your real one with a wink. The name Ghost doesn’t strike you as odd, after learning what he does, why he keeps it tucked away, and you marvel at him while he tells gives you bits and piece of himself, occasionally peeling his mask up to drink. He’s a solider, a Lieutenant in a special task force, some of which he happens to be out with tonight. He likes bourbon, specifically from a certain region in America, and he smells like the forest. You lean closer, completely unable to stop yourself, inhaling as deeply as you can, breathing in the mossy, earthy, green scent that hovers in the air around him. It was heady, and endless, and wrapped you in a dizzying cocoon of memories that you couldn’t place, but clearly envisioned. Forests, teeming with life and glowing chartreuse from top to bottom, oceans with aquamarine waters, shallow pools for you to bathe in under the sun, the water crisp and cold, your skin eagerly soaking it up its potent brine. Sapphire skies, the beaches stretching on and on, their seas fathomless, their bounties endless. You push closer, nosing as near as you can to his skin and take a lungful of the air. Strange. You knew humans wore things to mask or change their scents, but had never encountered one so… affecting.

“Alright, love?” He brushes the lightest contact of his fingers against yours, and you straighten, eyes ducking down in embarrassment.

“Yes, sorry. I- I was… distracted.”

Unusual indeed.

One drink turns to many, and you carefully note how Ghost’s posture becomes more relaxed, shoulders less tense as the two of you indulge. He continues to surveil the room, observing and cataloguing, and you find it dangerously appealing, how in tune he is to his surroundings. How vigilant. Your hand lays gently on his thigh when you can no longer hold off the desire for physical touch, and he inclines his head to speak above your ear, the warmth of his cheek behind the fabric pressed casually to your head.

“D’ya want to go somewhere else?” Yes. You nod, and he motions to his group before excusing himself, his large body cutting a path through the packed room like he’s parting the sea.

You note the couplings around the bar as Ghost approaches his companions, leaning down to speak to one who is seated, legs spread wide on a faux velvet chair. He has a mohawk, and cerulean blue eyes that trace you from head to toe after Ghost begins to walk back towards where you're seated. You break the eye contact hastily, observing the others, pity pulling on your heart strings over a distraught female who sits in a corner, watching another with longing. The state of her broken heart is written all over face, her body rife with grief. The object of her affection, another stunningly beautiful female, dances with a different mortal, her artfully woven hair spiraling from her shoulders in tune to the way she moves her body. They have it so hard, you think. The song does all the work for us. You never have to woo your mortals, just provide them with the opportunity to find you. The song pushes them to seek you out, drives them to near madness unless they are in your company. They don’t always love you back, as you love them, certainly. But you never have to vie for their attention, never have to posture for their affection.

A large hand takes yours, warm and beating with the pulse of his heart, the rhythm of the song.

“Ready?” You open your mouth to say yes but nothing comes out, and the feeling of dread, the ache swamps you for a passing second. I think I may not take a heart this year. All you can do is nod.

As he leads you through the crowd, you cannot help but reach forward with your free hand and clasp onto the dancing woman. She pauses, eyes lighting wantonly when she sees you, but you push a sprinkle of magic through her, sparking desire in the base of her consciousness for the mournful dove in the chair.

You don’t look back at either of them as you leave, and silently pray to no one that they find happiness in love, that they relish it and keep one another, if only for you.

You bring him to the beach, as is your custom. It was where you felt safest, closest to the ocean, it’s where your power felt most pure should you need it, should something go wrong. You shiver at the thought, shoving down the memories that threaten your balance, and you clutch Ghost’s hand.

“Come down here often?” He inquires and you shrug, a response you know mortals are fond of.

“I like it here.” You offer, and he hums in acknowledgement. You tug him towards the overhang of the pier, where the shadows will shield you, where no one dares to venture. The only light comes from the moon, it’s silver glow glittering dimly through worn wooden pier slats, and you watch it catch his eye, his pupil expanding and contracting as you step closer and closer. “I want to kiss you.” you implore. “Will you remove your mask?” The song. You’re depending on the song to help you with this, depending on his desire, the power of the melody in his veins to urge him to comply with your request, and when he tilts his head like he’s considering you, you hold your breath.

It happens quickly. He removes the mask in a fluid motion, and then his lips are upon yours, hot and seeking, tongue exploring your mouth while yours opens for him, your body clenching with dizzying desire at the feel of his touch against your skin.

“I knew it.” You gasp when you pull away and trace the fine point of a fingernail down his jaw. “I knew you were breathtaking under there.” He chuckles.

“Happy you think so.”

Your mouths melt together as he holds you around the waist, your bodies getting closer and closer until you can feel the hardness of his cock in his jeans, feel the scorching heat of him through his clothes. You are desperate for this mortal, your desire to feel him moving inside of you nearly as strong as the lust you feel to taste his heart. You sink to the sand together, a dance of limbs and movements that have you panting astride him when he settles, propped up on his elbows.

“Simon.” He says mid breath. “That’s my name. Want ya to have it.” Simon.

“Simon.” You whisper it, and he nods before pulling you back to him, two large palms cradling your face like you’re a delicate creature. It makes you feel special, makes you feel cherished, like you’re something gentle to be treasured, and not a monster out for his life. You kiss him tenderly, one more time, as softly as you can manage, your heart trembling inside your chest, before your teeth bite into his lip, the ferocious intensity of the act returned by him, his mouth meeting yours full force. You bite again, and this time his flesh gives way, bright, mineral rich blood bubbling from the tiny cut and you eagerly lap at it, the ichor coating your tongue and exploding across your senses. He laughs, the echo of it rumbling deep in his chest, and you place your hand against his heart greedily, the vigor of its beating nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. The length of his cock throbs between your legs, where only the fabric of his jeans separates you, and you rut against him helplessly. Sparks ignite between you, your body shuddering when his hands hook into your hip, strong grip guiding your movements against him. Your magic swells inside of you, and your head spins.

Take him, take him. Take his heart, take his song. Have him, his love, his heart, for eternity, forever.

You push him onto his back, dress rucked up around your hips, fabric pooling around the two of you.

“I want you.” you tell him, fingers fussing with his clothes, encouraging him to strip his shirt free and then unbutton his jeans. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and sloppy but you can’t find a care. You’re too filled with want, overflowing with desire for your mortal, your desperation mounting as he stills you, tracing a finger over your ribs and then down your pubic bone to where your slick, silken folds wait to be touched.

“Simon.” you whisper his name again, the word close to begging, and he shushes you, swirling a finger down where you’re leaking, circling the swollen bud of your clit with agonizing strokes that fill your senses with electricity.

“Shhh. I know what you need.” He soothes, and deftly pushes a finger inside of you, stroking along your walls. You shiver, face dropping into the crook his neck, and he turns his head so that the soft puff of his breath wafts over your skin as you whimper. “Does that feel good?” He asks, pressing another inside, his thumb flicking over your clit in lackadaisical patterns. You moan, body welcoming his touch, and you nip at the skin of his shoulder, eager to tear it apart, to taste his blood again. His other hand pushes at the back of your head, until your teeth are flush with his skin. “Go on.” He urges, and your eyes slip closed with bliss while you break the thin membrane, blood pooling to the surface as he lets out a small grunt. Your tongue swirls in it, painting his skin ruby, and you drag your lips downward, over where his heart pounds wildly in his chest. For you. It pounds for you. It sings for you.

“I need you inside me.” He pulls at the straps of the dress, divesting you of the top, exposing your breasts to the cool air and silver light of the moon. His thumb rolls one of your nipples and you feel for him, already free from his under garment, the things humans wear under their outside clothes, and you swallow when you feel the size in your fingers.

You sink down onto him with a hiss, body stretching for the intrusion, cunt spasming around the width and length as it fights to make room. He pets your hip soothingly, and you sit straight up, letting out a cry when you feel the true length of his cock inside you, the absolute fullness of it nearly seated in your belly. When you look back down, your eyes trace the smear of blood from his lips and shoulder, and your tongue darts out against your own skin, seeking the flavor of ichor that waits on the corner of your mouth.

Something glitters in his eyes, something shifting as if he finally recognizes the danger he’s in. Even here, with you astride him, split open his cock, hips stuttering in slow circles, wariness flexes across his face as if he knows, finally, that he is the prey and you the predator.

“It’s okay, do not be afraid.” You reassure him, stroking a fingernail over his breastbone, to where his heart flutters beneath your touch. He blinks, eyes blissfully blank, the firm grip of his hand on your hip relaxing before he says:

“Will you not tell me your name?” A long sigh slips between your teeth. Mortals. So hung up on familiarity. But how could you refuse a dying man his last request? Your lips kiss the shell of his ear as you give it to him, the point of your fingernail pressing into his delicate flesh, desperate to seek the strong muscle beneath, the song in his blood echoing through your own bones with supersonic vibration. The sounds and colors of the mortal realm all increase, too bright, too loud, everything shaking like the earth is suddenly trembling and then-

Something snaps inside of you. Magic, raw and powerful, a force unlike anything you’ve ever felt spills into you, your body being washed over with the rush of floodwaters, your heart and blood now singing for him, yearning for him, desperate to be consumed by him.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

The claim burns beneath your skin, your magic twisting away into something completely new, something more powerful as your mind grapples with the changing reality.

In the next moment, you’re spinning, tumbling through the air until you’re on your back, splayed beneath him, hands trapped at your sides. Your legs are folded underneath the width of his torso, your body opened for him just so, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, stretching the slick walls of your cunt with each punishing thrust.

“I-“ the words are cut off sharply when he seals his mouth to yours, teeth gnashing and gnawing down from your lips to your jaw and then up to you ear.

“You,” He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust, and you gasp. “are mine, little huntress.” It is a vow, snarled through clenched teeth, and your own body betrays you by tightening around him, eager and willing to be claimed. The air is hot, humid and electric with magic, the burning effects of your error travelling through your every vein, every cell of skin. The utterance of your name, the act of your own foolishness strings heavily between you, while your body tenses underneath him.

“Simon.” You breathe and he only nods, holding your cheek in a gentle palm, stroking a loving touch across your face.

“Sweet little Nereid...” He names your kind with a growl, and your heart slams in your chest, his cock thrusting into your cunt wildly, desperately. “More beautiful than the sea herself.” The laugh is crooned, like the satisfying scratch of a needle against a record, and his fingers stroke your clit while he presses himself to you, your hips pinned beneath his weight, your body immobile. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” He smiles darkly, lips curling with sinister satisfaction, and you feel the cold hand of fate reaching into your own chest cavity, rooting around in your soul until magic is searing across your skin, a bending and scraping feeling digging underneath your ribs, your own magic twisting and clawing until it burns away into something new, something changed, something imbued with him.

No. It’s not possible.

“You… you’re-“

“Yes.”

Simon cares little for the mortal realm. It’s pace and its noise and its scents are all cloying to him, obnoxious and foreign, the general rush of its inhabitants and their lack of care for their world offensive to him and his kind. They do not care for their realm, and do not take care of it ether, instead choosing to let it rot and fester beneath their feet, their drive and determination to outdo one another single handedly responsible for the destruction of most of their world. They call it something here, 'capitalism', like naming it will excuse it, while Simon just calls it murder, and greed.

Mortals and their extreme indifference do allow him certain things, however. Their love of violence and obsession with wealth put even the most well-off of his kind to shame at times. His kind loved things that shone, certainly. But mortals? They loved things that bled. It was this lust for power, this ravenous streak of greed that gave him the opportunity to position himself as he has.

As a hunter. A killer. A ghost.

Simon had been hunting for the thing he loved for a very, very long time.

And tonight, he was finally going to bring you home.

The first time Simon saw you; over a century ago, it was beneath Brighton Pier. You had a human male panting after you as you walked beneath the wooden overhang, your hand cupping his cheek softly, eyes full of tenderness and love. Simon, and the man, were both entranced by your beauty, the way your body moved under the night sky, how your skin seemed to glitter against the sand. Simon watched as you led him to where the moon couldn’t reach, beneath the shield of the slats, the dark of the evening hiding you from all prying, curious eyes, except for his.

He watched you take the male inside your body, watched you lavish your tongue across his neck and chest, watched your lips form sweet words of reassurance and honey while you tasted his blood. He watched the nails of your fingers gleam in the low light, watched them sharpen and then dig, scratching and clawing beneath the threads of the male’s skin, until you held an ichor rich organ in your palm, a complex system of vessels and ventricles, it’s sinew glowing red beneath your touch. He stood in awe as you devoured it, your feeding turning into a frenzy as you consumed it piece by piece, the male bleeding out and dying slowly, all while still buried inside your cunt.

After your feast, you dragged the male’s lifeless body down the sand to the water with you, where you pulled it beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Surprised, and intrigued, he stood at the water’s edge, watching the tide that was tinged red lap calmly at the shore. He knew humans had a taste for blood, but this was another desire onto itself. What were you?

The following year, Simon couldn’t help but return to the same area in hopes of spotting you again, the creature unknown to him, a mystery begging to be unraveled. You appeared at dawn on the same day, with a horde of others, who then dispersed into the city and surrounding areas, following the sound of a song he could not hear. He became a creature obsessed, tracking your every movement, watching your every hunt and sacrifice. He stood in the dark while you made love to the mortals whose lives you would take, watched you hunt with wild abandon, watched you enjoy the small, tiny things in your eternal life that others often overlook. He began to know you, began to learn what you liked and didn't, began to learn what made you smile.

You became the brightest spot in his own too long existence, the yearly reminder of love, of vitality, of life. He loved you, desperately, recklessly so. His dreams were filled with soft, sweet visions of you, bloody moments of passion and adoring, lingering kisses that he swore he could still feel when he woke.

It took time, too long of a time, before he discovered who, or what, you were. He spent a century trying to learn how to lure you to the surface. Simon tore apart libraries, bargained favors across dimensions, granted wishes and wove powerful spells just to trade for information on you and your sisters, the Nereids, the lasting remnant of a forgotten power, reclusive magic lurking inside the deepest depths, a realm inside a realm, never to be discovered unless you wished it so. And even then, the additional answers he sought were scarce.

Every year, he returned to the human realm to see you, tucking himself away in cloaks of magic and darkness so that he could creep as close as possible to you. Every year, he watched you hunt, watched you capture your prey effortlessly and consume their heart. He watched you shed a tear for them. Watched your drag their corpses down the beach to the sea, where you carried them into the water with you before disappearing all together.

Eventually, time began to change you. He watched you regard your lovers, your mortals with callousness, and cruelty. He watched you treat them with tenderness, and adoration, caring for them, making their ends sweet and soothing their fears. He watched you stand on the beach for hours at dawn and try to fight the urge to hunt. He burned to take you away from this world, to sever you from your ocean, bring you home to him, but your kind did not live in his realm. He was unsure how to sustain your life, and the search for answers was slow. Years went by, and the soft dreams that he had always welcomed turned to nightmares, fueled by the fear he’d lose you before he even had the chance to try to bring you home.

A decade ago, he watched you falter. Your body trembled as you took your sacrifice, your cries so hysterical he was certain you’d draw the entire block to where you hid in the shadow of someone’s gaff. His own body was rigid with tense, untethered magic that sought to lash out, and he was rife with worry that you’d give yourself away, you’d be caught by some mortal force and unable to return to the sea when the sun rose. The fear he felt was unreasonable, uncontainable. He'd level the city to protect you, to keep you safe, and he nearly did. He almost took you, that night. Was quite close, so close that he was crossing the street in front of vehicles and preparing to pull you into his realm when you composed yourself and completed your harvest, the glowing organ in your hands proof of your will to live, to love.

He rarely left the mortal realm after that. Only to seek his final answer and solidify his plan, his masquerade as the masked Ghost allowing him to exist in the realm indefinitely, giving him the availability to be close for when the time was right, for when you would be ready.

A year ago, you were the last to return to the water, your steps slow and clumsy, your eyes tired and weepy. You appeared satisfied, but as you looked back on the city from the shoreline, he saw the hint of desolation in your eyes, the shadow of dejection haunting your face.

It was more than enough, to spring him into action. More than enough, to find your promised mortal for next year and steal his song, bringing it into himself by a small piece of blood magic, something so simple and obvious Simon cursed himself for not realizing sooner.

This morning, as he observed you and your sister on the beach, he knew he had been right. He could see it in your face. The pain of sadness, of loss twisting your elegance into an ache, those feelings compounded by the admission of your eldest sibling. This could be your last hunt.

It was time to bring you home. Forever.

“That her then?” Johnny nods, indicating he’s looking the same direction as Simon, watching you walk down the curb, paper coffee cup clutched in your hands, face smiling at the sun.

“Yes.” Simon answers, shifting uncomfortably. The bloody song has been heating his flesh for weeks, boiling in his veins and driving him practically mad. Nymph magic. Its incessant hum has been battling his own power, jockeying for position as it worked to pull you to the surface. Combined with his own, he wasn’t surprised it possessed the ability to bring you up earlier than normal, encouraging you and your sisters through the depths and to the shore. If his blood was singing, then so was every other poor sod’s in this city.

You cross the street into the park, dress swaying around your hips, and he indulgently stares at the form of your body, the set of your shoulders, the texture of your hair. He closes his eyes to breathe, reaching into himself to get a handle on the battle of will going on in his blood, the warring magic factions pushing and pulling beneath his skin, begging to be let out, trying to lash out. Soon. He reassures himself. She will be with him soon.

He can smell you from here. You’re ripe. Overflowing, your scent is like a flickering ocean breeze, briny and cold but full of life, of promise. You’re ready, ready to be taken from this awful realm, ready to be bent underneath his body, ready to be crying on his cock as you come while he floods your womb with himself and his power, tying you to him for all eternity.

That is, if he can get you to relinquish your name.

It is a key piece of his plan, and the one that worries him the most.

He knows you do not give it freely; knows you keep it guarded. It’s like you’re already aware that he waits in the shadows for you, watching, keeping track of every step you take, every year, from sunup to the next, until you slink beneath the water where he cannot follow.

The pressure inside his body is nearly unbearable by the time you step into the pub. Dozens of heads turn towards you, mortals’ eyes roving all over your body like you’re a treat for them, like you’re something delicious they’ll have an opportunity to taste. Foolish, greedy mortals, too busy staring dreamily at you to recognize the predator that you are, or the predator he is, oblivious to the two hunters in the room with them right now. He wonders, if you'd bathe in their blood, given an opportunity. The image makes him smile.

Johnny clears his throat expectantly, and Simon nods, casting a glance over to where Gaz sits with a pretty female on his lap, her attentions focused solely on him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust. Johnny gives him a nod.

“Good luck.” He offers and Simon waves him off. He’s no need for luck. His blood sings your song.

“Ready?” He nearly loses control when he watches your face fill with despair for a moment after his question, his aching need to soothe and comfort you almost forcing his hands out to touch you. I'm here, little huntress. You are not alone anymore. He cannot tell you this, not yet. So instead, he applies pressure to your hand gently and waits. When you nod, he breathes just a tiny bit easier.

He cannot stay in this place any longer. The eyes, the mortals, their inane thirst for alcohol and violence starting to scratch underneath his skin. He needed you, needed your name, needed to take you home to his realm, and all this noise and smoke and foul-smelling liquor stood in his way. The feeling of your hand in his soothes him, calms the anxious explosion that’s building in his chest, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough, until he has what he wants.

On the way out, he does not miss your little spell. He is, and has been, the most powerful creature in this room. He has felt every ounce of magic used, by you, by Johnny, by Kyle, all night long. It makes his heart swell when he feels your effort to push the dancing female into the arms of her scorned lover, makes his heart soar when he realizes perhaps, you have not given up on love, on life. Perhaps, you just need something else, something other than the hunt, to live for.

He allows you to take your time beneath the Pier. He cannot rush you, cannot allow you the feeling of anything being amiss, being off. You are so close to the sea, so close to the edge of the water that if he spooks you, it will be too easy for you to slip away. Too easy for you to be lost beneath the surface, again, just as you have been for hundreds of years.

When your teeth tear into his flesh he nearly moans, almost loses control again, but tamps down the urge to spring forward and toss you into the sand beneath him. He needs your name, needs your name so bloody badly it has his head spinning, his entire being desperately urging him to act, to claim, to take you. Your cunt is searing hot around his cock, your body shivering in his arms as you rock your hips delicately, eyes watching him half addled, crazed with the lust for his blood, for his heart.

“Will you not tell me your name?” He thrusts slowly up into you, and pity flashes across your features as you bend forward to brush your mouth against your ear. He feels your lips part, hears the intake of your breath and then-

You’re his. The magic begins immediately, bonding you to him, searing you into his soul and vice versa, the song in his blood slipping away until all he feels is the combined force of your power and his, the melding of souls and magic that will guarantee your existence in his realm, by his side, guaranteeing your survival, your ability to thrive. He takes advantage of your confusion, of the chaos that rises in your heart and flips you on your back, spreading your thighs wide beneath him and plunging his cock as deep as he can. So close. So, so close, and then you will be truly his, for as long as you both shall live.

“I-“

“You,” he thrusts harder, desperate to claim you. “are mine, little huntress.” He hisses it, pushing the words forward with the brunt of his power, and you gasp before whispering his name.

“Sweet little Nereid…more beautiful than the sea herself.” He kisses your throat, stroking your clit at a torturous pace while your confused gaze tracks his every movement. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” The magic pushes through your blood and bones, continuing to stitch and sear you to him, and he can’t help the feelings of possession that come over him.

His. His. His.

His magic cuts and gnaws at your own, ripping and shredding it to bits until it’s infected with him, the strength of your name, your free admission to him, turning you inside out, changing the very chemistry of your body. He watches with dark satisfactions as your face shifts, your lips parting with understanding, eyes widening with your knowledge of the truth.

“You… You’re-“ Clever little huntress.

“Yes.” He purrs, and punches his cock back up inside of you, pressing close to your cervix, your body wet and needy, just for him. You shudder and blink hazily, confusion flickering across your features while his magic roots around inside of you and binds you to him, cell by cell. He can still smell you, smell the cool salt air of the sea that comes from your skin, smell the ripeness of your body, your willingness spilling forward in the air, the scent of sweet honeysuckle and sea holly. Your thighs tighten around his hips, your body rocking swiftly in time with him while your brow furrows, like you’re not sure what you should be doing. He licks at the stain of his blood on your lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a sharp whine, small hands flexing against his chest.

“No.” you admonish, face stricken. “No. No, you t-tricked me.”

“I did.” He agrees, reaching between the two of you to rub your clit in a swift circle, your breath hitching. Your face twists into something sour, but your cunt clenches around him, and his lips curl into a crescent moon smirk. “Are you going to come on my cock, sweet one?”

“Unnf.” You moan nonsense, turning your face away from him but he does not stop, hips snapping against yours, his body working to bring yours closer and closer to its climax.

“I think you are.” He hisses and grips your jaw to turn your eyes back to him. They’re wet with tears, but he doesn’t see fear in them, doesn’t see the despair. Only flares of rage, and the heat of desire, the electricity of the magic that is now shared between the two of you. He smiles triumphantly. “I think,” he relaxes his pace, dragging his cock out of you painstakingly slowly, gaze never leaving your lovely face. “you’re going to come for me, and then I’m going to breed you, little huntress.” You tense around him, squeezing his cock, the words pulling a delicious, physical reaction from you that shakes his focus for a moment. His palm lays flat over your lower belly, low enough that his thumb can feel the hardness of your clit, can stroke around it’s hood while you gasp and convulse in his arms. You shake your head stubbornly, chest heaving for breath, and he slams himself back into you, your spine curling forward into his chest.

“Gods.” You cry out, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto, finding his shoulders and sinking deep, deep enough that he knows you're drawing blood. It oozes from the tiny wounds, tracing down his skin and when you pull away, your fingers have been darkened with it.

He watches with small wonder as you slip them into your mouth, face going slack with bliss, cunt spasming around him while he strokes deep. His skin prickles, mouth finding yours again, and you moan into him, uninhibited, full of abandon.

“I have watched you for over a century, my sweet Nereid. Watched you hunt, watched you love, watched you lose.” He slows to look down at you, caressing your face with a gentle touch. “I have watched the light fade from your eyes, watched despair take over your existence.” Your gaze widens, mouth dropping open in surprise, and then closing abruptly, eyes softening around the corners.

“Simon.” You murmur, pressing your finger to the weeping wound from your teeth.

“My huntress. You will never be alone again.” He noses your jaw, licking and sucking against your skin, cold brine exploding against his tongue. Your scent crests, peaking with the honey flower and salt, your body yearning beneath him, cunt milking his cock. “Come for me.” He encourages when he knows it’s time, when he sees the glossy want all over your face. It doesn’t take much urging, another stroke of your clit and you’re coming, body locking up around him, muscles straining as you cry out, face full of bliss and legs tense around his hips. You clamp down around him, holding him deep inside your body like a vice but he works you through it, thrusting slowly inside your scorching cunt, your walls desperately trying to keep him inside. “There you go.” He soothes, fucking you through the aftershocks, your face still twisted up. “That’s just what I needed.” The orgasm makes your more pliable, more soft and less angry, and he sees in your eyes what he knows to be true. You want this. Perhaps this is not what you would have chosen at first, perhaps the magic was too strong in your veins in the beginning, but your body knows what your mind works to accept. You are choosing this, choosing him, over the hunt. Over the sacrifice. Over the immortal life of loss.

So, so close.

He folds your legs towards your chest, opening you deeper and you mewl, lips parted in dazed, post orgasm glow. He can’t help but kiss you again and again, his painfully slow thrusts forcing irritated breaths to puff from your nose.

“Something you want?” He teases, and you nod, pressing your face into his shoulder and groaning into his skin.

“Simon. Please.” You voice breaks, and he feels your cunt pool around him, liquid heat forcing him to grit his teeth in an effort to stave off his own orgasm.

Ask me for it, little huntress.

“Please, what?” He mocks, thumb pressing down on your clit hard, causing you to keen. He doesn’t move, just stays steady inside of you, your cunt working pull him deeper.

“Please, please. I want-“ you gasp when he bites the skin of your neck, and he smiles wickedly. Your cunt practically strangles him now, body working to drag his orgasm from him, magic singing in both of your hearts.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your scent overpowers him, the swell of the ocean behind him combined with the salt of your essence pulling him harder into your gravity.

“What do you want?”

“I want your come.” You beg and he snarls, finally losing control, fucking into your eager body with abandon, hard and punishing while you moan and cry beneath him. He takes your earlobe in his teeth before whispering a vow:

“Then you shall have it.” He plays with your clit, the intensity of his strokes matching the pace of his thrusts and you pant eagerly. “You shall have it every day until you are full of me, full with my child.”

“Yes.” You moan, and he feels you moving towards another climax, your muscles spasming and eyes slipping shut.

“I’m going to breed you, give you my baby, sweetling. Make you mine, forever.” Your back arches and you wail, your cunt clamping down on him again, and he thrusts as deep as he can, chasing his release, fueling his burning desire to empty himself inside of you. He lets go completely, untethers his magic, lets it fully fuse with yours as he spills inside of you, the pressure of his orgasm working against your aftershocks, and your own magic that wraps itself wildly around him, clawing at the seat of his power, desperate to attach itself.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

His. His. His.

You fall asleep on his chest, body relaxed and sated, mouth open in a small o. He needs to get you up, needs to get you ready to travel to his realm but in this moment, he’s content to sit here, against the old wooden pier, timing the rise and fall of your breathing and planning for the future, for eternity.

“Will you care for her?” A musical voice asks from a short distance, and his head snaps up to see your sister, the one you stood with on the beach this morning, inclining her head towards your peaceful, sated body that sits snugly in his arms.

“Always.” He promises, and she nods, eyes looking down the shoreline.

“I am happy for her.” She looks sad, forlorn, not unlike how you appeared hours ago.

“It is not too late, for you to hunt. There is still plenty of time before the sunrise.” He tries to encourage, and she nods.

“Perhaps.” Simon briefly wonders if Kyle or Johnny are still in town, a sinister idea forming in his mind, taking shape before his very eyes. He pushes, just the gentlest bit of magic, the piece that’s mixed with yours, towards her. A long moment passes, and then, “I think I’ll walk.” She motions up the pier and gives a goodbye nod, as he strokes a hand down your spine when you shiver in his arms.

You do not stir until she is a speck on the horizon, and when you do, you lift your head wearily, like you’ve slept for a thousand years.

“What’s going on?” you murmur, shifting your dress so it covers your thighs. He presses a light kiss to your forehead before giving an answer.

“We’re going home now, little huntress.”

#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #mw2 #ghost call of duty #mermaids #mermaids au #magic au #ghost x reader #cod fanfic

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gabessquishytum · 8 months

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Okay someone somewhere said ballet dancer hob and rewrote my brain chemistry.

So. Ballet director dream was once the absolute best in the world but he had a violent feud with a cold and demanding director named Burgess. During one practice Burgess was yelling and screaming at Dream for being useless (he hoped by hiring Dream, his legendary sister Death would come dance for the London ballet too. It didn’t work and he is bitter about it now). And it turns into a fight and Burgess hits Dream in the knee with his cane, injuring it so badly it ruins his career. (His mistake. In revenge, Dream launches a hostile takeover and ousts the asshole.)

Now Dream is the cold and demanding director of the London ballet. And for ten years (time skip because of silver fox dream supremacy) he builds himself up into an absolute legend. Gault is the prime ballerina because I say so. The Corinthian took over Dream’s role as the other star for a while but eventually he wouldn’t take direction and is also sort of a scummy person so they have a massive falling out and he quits.

Without the Corinthian, people say Dream’s shows have lost their spark. He gets colder and more difficult and demanding as a result. Everyone is on the brink of quitting.

Death is now a director too and she promises Dream that she knows the perfect replacement who will breathe new life into his company.

And she sends him Hob.

Hob is the exact opposite of Dream. He went to school on scholarship. He never even saw a ballet until he was 16. He started late but he’s making up for it with the sheer joy he brings to his dancing. He fucking loves it. There’s something loose and free in his dancing that’s so opposite from Dream’s typical technically perfect but brutally emotional style.

Dream bets Death that Hob will quit within a month. Hob is always showing up smiling and joking around and distracting others. Dream is hard on him as he is hard on everyone. And yet. Hob doesn’t quit.

There’s something about the way he throws himself into the dance that is unshakeable.

Dream can’t help but wonder when he lost that kind of joy. He is very quickly captivated by him. It is always this way. Dream fell for Calliope’s dancing before they ever spoke, those many years ago.

One night, Dream catches Hob dancing late on the stage when everyone else has left, practicing a section Dream criticized him harshly for. It is hard not to overcorrect and be too harsh on Hob. Dream knows eventually it will drive Hob away. So for now he stays in the shadows and watches, his heart pounding against his ribs.

When he’s done, Hob looks right at Dream and asks if that was any better.

Dream wasn’t aware Hob had known he was being watched, but he climbs up onto the stage with him. He tells Hob he is improving. But Dream has extremely high standards and it takes more than passion to survive in this world.

Hob just smiles at him and starts his cool down stretches. “I don’t know. I think you could use a little passion.” He‘s flushed and Dream…can’t quite look away.

“I want to impress you. I want to improve,” Hob tells him. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Dream carefully doesn’t examine his words closely. Hob…can’t be imagining what Dream is. He doesn’t know what things Dream might ask for.

“I am not known for my kindness,” Dream says stiffly. “More experienced dancers than you have quit rather than work for me.”

Hob rises to his feet. “You can’t scare me off. I want this,” he insists. “I want to be here.”

Dream is reluctantly impressed. But he is also picturing Hob on his knees in Dream’s silk sheets and he doesn’t know how to stop. “I can be…punishing,” he warns, unwisely worded.

Hob is beautiful and determined in the stage lights. “Punish me,” he dares him.

Oh I LOVE a ballet au!! There’s so much drama here, I love it. Love the idea of dancer Hob, imagine the Billy Elliot vibes!!! Or maybe he doesn’t start dancing until he’s a teenager. Either way he’s the most lively, exciting dancer of his generation and he has so much JOY when it comes to ballet. He’s rough and uncouth at times but the moment he starts dancing he just becomes the most beautiful thing in the room. Death has nurtured him and given him a wonderful grasp of technique, but she knows that in order to become the greatest dancer he can be, Hob needs to go to Dream.

The thing about Hob is, he loves ballet. Loves it in a way that simply can’t be faked. And Dream’s heart clenches each time he sees Hob because he used to be like that! He used to love ballet more than anything in the world. Where has that love gone, and when did he get so angry and cold? It’s not something that Dream wants to dwell on, but watching Hob makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in a decade.

Watching Hob also makes him horny, but that's another thing that he's not ready to unpack.

Imagine Hob practicing at the barre. Repeating over and over, the same exercises, the same positions that Dream has drilled into him. He sees Dream watching him in the mirror and his eyes just light up! He works even harder, enjoying the attention, enjoying the fact that he KNOWS that Dream is going to find something to pick up on.

Imagine Dream stalking up to Hob and just pouncing. Pressing him against the mirror and kissing him desperately. Hob’s fingers stroke Dream’s silver streaked temples and his mouth moves just as beautifully as his body does when he's dancing.

And when Dream pulls back he's like "your tendu is sloppy, do it again." And Hob can't help but grin <3

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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wannab-urs · 8 months

Text

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 18

Hi friends!! I have 19 absolutely fantastic fics for you this week.

There are so fucking many incredible fics coming out every day in this fandom and I cannot possibly keep up with them all. I am in constant awe of the Pedro fandom and the gorgeous work that comes out of it at a frankly alarming rate.

If you if you're tagging me in stuff and I'm not interacting with it, just know it's on my list and I'll get there eventually <3

As always you can peruse my Spreadsheet here and you can find all my previous fic rec lists here.

Recs below the absolutely stunning photo of our collective husband

a lover's pinch - a joel series by @hier--soir

I love a fuck first, feelings later situation. I love it even more when you have a super fucking hot bathroom fuck with an older man and he ends up being your PROFESSOR!!! God this was fantastic. I really love the way they can't stay away from each other. That one thing that happens in part two, you know the one, had me barking like a rabid dog. This is hot. And it's beautifully written. I'm excited for the feelings to come in.

Mr. Miller - a joel series by @tremendum

I read the first installment of this fic a while ago, I'm assuming before I made the spreadsheet because it wasn't on here. Picked it back up this week and oh my god. Joel is mean, emotionally constipated, a little stupid. Reader is also mean, emotionally constipated, and a little stupid. The way these two crash into each other, a little violent, a lot desperate... it's gorgeous and devastating. I could read about these two forever

Revenge - a Dave York one shot by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Forced cucking is hot idgaf. In this one, your husband is a blatant and unrepentant cheater and his boss helps you get back at him. Dave is sexy and menacing in this. There's subtle hints to his darker side, but it's never directed at you. He takes care of you in a way your husband never has and makes your husband watch the whole thing -- without anything more than his words btw. Husband isn't tied down, he's just terrified.

I know it when I see it - a Joel series by @bageldaddy

Pornstar!joel, pornstar!reader, set in the 70s (? nixon?) the fucking golden age of porn. This isn't your usual "aspiring porn actress fucks big bad joel miller and gets hooked" fic, even though it is that kind of fic. It's a really fresh take, with some really fucking good emotional dynamics and shit going on. The smut is filthy, dirty, gorgeous, delicious, perfect -- but the emotional grit in there with it? The struggles that both reader and Joel are experiencing and the way they're navigating (or failing to navigate) them? Stunning. I'm so invested in this series

Yes, Chef - a Joel series by @sempersirens

Mean.... secretly soft.... Joel. I love this! It's a Chef!Joel AU and the reader is a chef in his kitchen. They start secretly hooking up. I love the way this is written so much??? The angst is so good also. I cannot wait to read more of this.

The Layover - a Frankie series by @goodwithcheese

This fic, man. God damn. Reader kept pissing me off (this is a compliment, btw, i love it when reader makes me feel things) because of all her hang ups with Frankie. Frankie is so perfect. He's soft, caring, sweet. He's worked on his trauma and come such a long way and he's such a good dad. Reader is a wonderful mom and I see where she's coming from with all of her decisions even if they make me SCREAM. And the reason it makes me scream when she pushes Frankie away is because when they meet in the middle? When they get all tangled up in each other after days or weeks of staying away? It's stunning, mind blowing, earth shattering. I don't know how anyone could resist

The House - a Jack series by @gemmahale

Okay I kinda fucked up and only read the first chapter of this series because I have ADHD and I had to go do something and then I never went back. BUT seeing it on my list just reminded me how fucking excited I am to read this. The first chapter sets up such a good story. I love the suspense... Why does statesman give a fuck about her dad's land? How does she know Jack? How well does she know Jack? AHHHH what is going ON???? I'm immediately reading more of this after posting the digest bc oh my god???

Common Grounds - a Marcus Pike series by @whataperfectwasteoftime

I am, as usual, absolutely in love with the way Penny writes Marcus. I love love love reader's backstory and that she's an artist. I loved her kind of pining for him while he waited for Teresa and I adored everything after she dumps him. I just... AH. And like... in this one... he has this darker undertone? Some of that inner turmoil jumping out maybe idk, but it made the smut gorgeous. I was in awe, for real. He's so gentle and sweet with reader in the coffee shop and on their dates and stuff and then he just kind of snaps, but even then there's like a feeling that he's restraining himself? It's unbelievably hot. No one does Dom Marcus quite like Penny... got me fuckin droolin got DAMN

Friendly Competition - a TF boys (no Tom, and mostly Frankie) one shot by @absurdthirst

This was so hot. Literally reader just gets blindfolded and dicked down by all the boys and Frankie is a sex god. Perfect. And there's some really cute feelings in there too. There's more installments to this as well and they are just as fucking lovely. I loved the plot twist in the second one -- was not expecting that. God absurdthirst really is out here writing down all my fantasies....

Go ahead and cry little girl - aJack one shot by @xdaddysprincessxx

Okay obviously I love this because Reader is called Agent Gin... but also reader does a little sex work on the side and she accidentally sends a lil somethin somethin to Jack and he goes all Daddy on her and it is SO FuCKING HoT OH MY GOd

Eat - a Joel one shot by @notjustjavierpena

Men suck, usually, and won't put in the effort to make you cum with their mouth. And this is why reader doesn't really ever ask for it or even want it.. it's a waste of time. Oh but our lovely dbf!Joel proves her so very wrong in this fic. Joel is so soft and sweet and sexy in this UGH

The right wrong number - a Joel one shot by @proxima-writes

I read more than one wrong number fic this week lol. Anyway this was SO hot. Joel is a dirty talking god in this. and then the like slow build up with the soccer coach? The way they are so totally dancing around flirting with each other and Sarah is egging it on and then by pure chance they find out.... HE was the dirty talking dom with the gorgeous cock? Excellent. This is so good UGH. I want a part two in that sex club.

Gotta Start With a Good Foundation - a Joel one shot by @bonezone44

This is a part of a series called Sacred Spaces where Reader and Joel talk to each other, no actual smut, and.... just give it a read. I love these so much. This one is kind of a dom/sub relationship negotiation thing and it's gorgeous

In Every Lifetime - an Ezra series by @xdaddysprincessxx

Witch!Reader and Demon!Ezra!!!! I love this. I love the setting. The mysterious spell book. The ritual. I'm so excited to see where this goes. Demon Ezra is sexy omg

Late Night Texts - a Javi P series by @undercoverpena

SOFT JAVI ALERT!!!! Set after the events of season 3, Javi is back in Laredo and he's lonely. Then he gets a text from a wrong number and subsequently racks up the biggest phone bill the year 2000 has ever seen. This fic is soft and sweet and flirty and adorable with a touch of angst (long distance things). The smut is sequestered in bonus scenes if you want to skip it, but it's so worth reading. It's so good. I love this fic AHHHH

Bad Idea, Right - a Dieter one shot by @proxima-writes

Yes, hooking up with your ex is usually a bad idea. Especially when it's Dieter Bravo. But I sure as shit wouldn't say no. Guys.... Proxima made the motherfucker CRAWL. If my ex dieter is crawling across the floor to eat me out... who am i to say no. Seems like a great idea actually. Also they're both still clearly down bad for each other and we love that.

Hard Work Gets Rewarded - a Joel and his crew one shot by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

This is like... if you looked at my search history -- if I had one ;) -- you would find this. Straight out of my depraved fantasies you've got contractor!Joel and his very sexy crew giving you the fuck of a lifetime. We got a little breeding kink, a little DVP, a little cum on every part of your body, situation. This is... so hot.

like rabbits blinded by the light - a Joel one shot by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Yeah so I read a depraved smut fantasy and then jumped on over to this. This is stunning, emotional. it has depth. I love the way Joel finds her and I love the way they stick together and I love the ending. This is sad and sweet, a little painful, very human. I loved it

the world tipped on its side - a Frankie series by @idolatrybarbie

Chronic pain havers -- you will love this one!! Reader has chronic pain from an injury. I'm two chapters in and I'm hooked. There's a lot of trauma and fucked up shit swirling around in both reader and Frankie's heads and it's just under the surface as of chapter two. I love the set up here -- stunt coordinator!reader and stunt pilot!Frankie -- it's really interesting and not something I've read before. (i think i did read a stunt pilot!Frankie / actor!reader / actor!Dieter thing once though lemme know if y'all want that link). Bea writes beautifully and I'm so excited for more of this series.

---------------------- oldies but goodies -------------------------

Wanna bet?, Lingerie, Morning, Afternoon, and Evening - Dieter one shots by @write-and-buried

I'm being so for real right now Every Single Fic by @prolix-yuy - I have almost her entire masterlist on my spreadsheet and this seemed easier than linking them all.

And the same for like everything by @ezrasbirdie, I have so many of their fics on my list.

---------------- my fics --------------------

My most recent fic is This Night Has Opened My Eyes - a Javi P one shot.

--- I have written for Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Javi P, Mr. Ben, Veracruz, Max Phillips, and my darling boy Dieter, you can find those here

-----------------------------------------------

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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hollyoaksmusings · 7 days

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i’m excited for the episode the day after tomorrow where ste will be like well, child i ignored for like two months, i too beat someone i loved, experienced violent homophobic abuse from a repressed someone who loved me, and was groomed by an ultra conservative group. apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, etc. glad we as a family learned nothing. let’s discuss.

i’m kidding i am sure it will be acted and written very well, probably.

#hollyoaks #ste hay #lucas hay

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sailoryooons · 4 months

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In Every Life | Drabble | kth x pjm

☾ Pairing: Taehyung x Jimin

☾ Summary: Taehyung has lived thousands of lives. He has recognized his soulmate in every single one of them, a gift of his bloodline. Finally, he has crossed paths with his soulmate once again.

☾ Word Count: 1,206

☾ Genre: Reincarnation, Soulmates, Implied Romance, Stranges to Something

☾ Rating: SFW

☾ Warnings: Brief discussions of life and death and some saddness - mostly just talking about living multiple lives and loving someone in their multiple versions. Obscure hints at magic/unexplained ability to recognize soulmates in every life.

☾ Published: January 1, 2024

☾ A/N: This is my first drabble for the 100 Drabble Challenge that @gimmethatagustd and I are doing together! I am so excited to be doing this and look forward to using this as a way to get myself writing at LEAST twice a week, and to explore AUs I normally wouldn’t get the time to do. This is also going to be a test of self-restraint and making myself write actual drabble-length things. Please make sure you check out Jai’s drabbles too - we are going to have so much fun!! Today's number generator provided number 70 for reincarnation!

☾ A/N 2: HAPPY NEW YEAR! What better way to ring in the New Year with a brief drabble about soulmates Vmin meeting each other for the first time in a new life! I hope everyone has an amazing 2024 - here is to more writing, more joy and more fun!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾

Taehyung would know his soulmate in the dark. He would know them in the blinding light of morning, when the golden sun spills like yolk over the horizon, making it impossible to see. He would know them in the warm summer rain, carrying in on violent winds off the tropical coast, thunder echoing across the sky. He would know his soulmate if he were at the bottom of the ocean, too cold to feel and too dark to see.

Recognizing his soulmate in every one of his lives is both a blessing and a curse. Taehyung has experienced the joy of knowing his other half every time he has been able to walk across the earth. He has laughed with them, smiled with them, and fallen in love with them, each and every time.

But sometimes, it has brought inexplicable pain. Every once in a while, Taehyung loses them too early. He tastes the sourness of grief as he waits to reach the end of his current life before he starts the next one anew. Sometimes it’s Taehyung who leaves too early - gone in a snap or withering to illness. He might have some sort of magic in his blood, but he’s not impervious.

The magic is a strange thing. His grandmother told him that it was gifted to their family by the gods when the first of their lineage saved the god from a hunter’s snare. Now, Taehyung is always able to remember a handful of things in every single one of his lives: that he has the gift to recognize his soulmate each time he begins a new life; that he is - according to grandma - blessed by the gods with this gift; he has had past lives and they are all as familiar to him as a recent dream; and that when he remembers these facts about himself differs each lifetime.

Sometimes Taehyung remembers these things when he is ten, overcome with emotion that he hasn’t quite learned the words for. Sometimes, Taehyung remembers when he’s twenty, stricken by the fact that he has the chance to find his other half in the world again. Sometimes, he doesn’t remember when he remembers, just that he does.

In this life, Taehyung remembered everything about his special gift four years ago. Sometimes he feels lonely. In other lives, it’s taken a short amount of time to find his soulmate. They always come in different versions and at different times. He’s eager to meet every version, though. Loves every single one of them, every different face, gender, and shape.

Today, it happens.

Taehyung doesn’t go into every single one of his days hoping it will be the one. He’s learned after many lives that he has to treat each day the same, lest he fall into a constant cycle of disappointment when he doesn’t see the person he is hoping to find. He remembers one lifetime where it took him twenty years to find his other half.

And he still loved them.

But today.

Today Taehyung goes to Seokjin’s coffee shop on Third Street like he does every Saturday morning. Winter rain mists down the street, car tires hissing on black pavement, and water flooding the storm drains. Taehyung ducks his head to keep his face away from the cold bite of the wind and rain, pulling his umbrella a little lower.

Inside the coffee shop is warm, the smell hitting him immediately. He shivers and shakes off the rain, closing the umbrella and sticking it in the umbrella bin alongside others. He smiles when he sees a plastic yellow one covered in ducks. Cute.

Seokjin waves at him over the counter. Taehyung lifts a hand before placing it back in the warmth of his pocket, forgoing ordering at the counter to walk to his favorite table in the back. It faces the park and even though it’s raining, he likes to watch the world go by. Seokjin always brings Taehyung his coffee, memorized from years of Taehyung haunting his little corner of the world.

Holiday music plays, and Taehyung is so wrapped up in humming and the routine of his morning that it takes him a second to recognize there’s a buzzing in his ears and a tingle in his spine. He stops for a moment, head snapping up as his eyes flicker from booth to booth, heart picking up speed.

This is it, he thinks. Taehyung knows this feeling. Knows that it means today is the day. He squeezes his hands inside his coat pockets, slowly turning around to look over his shoulder at the booths he’s already passed. His eyes settle on one, and the world goes cotton-soft at the edges, fading to the background.

Taehyung’s soulmate is beautiful. His heart pounds harder as he stares, drinking in the soft brown hair hanging in the man’s eyes, the pouty lips as he reads a book held by dainty, soft hands, and the hoop earrings that catch the dim light of the cafe. Taehyung can barely breathe, eyes sweeping over a small, but fit frame. Round cheeks with a natural blush, and beautiful eyes that remind Taehyung of a siren - or perhaps some other temptress of old.

His mouth goes dry. He feels everything all at once: the deep breath before skydiving, the first at the concert of his favorite band, the last second before the New Year. None of it sums up the feeling of rightness that settles into Taehyung’s bones. He swears the world sits just right on its axis now, as if it were off before.

Without thinking, he walks over to the table, chewing his lip. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do until he’s standing at the edge of the booth, staring and shaking and smiling.

His soulmate looks up. For a moment, the man looks confused. Then, something like curiosity glitters in his warm, brown eyes. His mouth twitches upward in a smile, tentative but pleasant. He grips his book a little tighter, tilting his head as he drinks Taehyung in.

“Hi,” Taehyung offers. A hundred lifetimes and he still never nails the greeting, too nervous.

“Hi,” the stranger says back, smiling. “Do I know you? You look… familiar.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No.” He gestures to the open seat. “Mind if I join you? Today is a good day for company.”

“Please, I enjoy new friends.”

Taehyung can’t help but smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sits, peeling his jacket off. His soulmate watches him, interest piqued as he shuts the book he was reading and sets it down on the table. Taehyung recognizes the novel.

“I love The Notebook,” Taehyung admits. “It’s a comfort book. And movie.”

The man’s grin grows. Taehyung warms from his fingertips to his toes, happiness spreading. “It’s my favorite,” the man admits. He sticks a small hand over the table between them, an offer. “I’m Jimin.”

Taehyung takes Jimin’s hands, watching as the spark catches in his eyes. Jimin doesn’t know what he is to Taehyung, but there’s something there. As though his soul recognizes Taehyung, somehow.

“I’m Taehyung. I look forward to getting to know you, Jimin.”

And so he does as he always has, in every life.

#taehyung fic #vmin fic #vmin #vmin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x jimin #bts fanfic #bts fic #100 drabble challenge

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planetariumwriting · 1 year

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𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤

Follow me on AO3: PL4NETARIUM

𝐍𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢/𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 - 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟏𝟎𝟒𝟗

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You were tired of being treated like a fuck-toy by Niragi, enough was enough. You decided it was the good time to make him understand what it feels to be vulnerable and used.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mature Content, hand job, use of drugs.

“Are you sure you really want to do it?” Chishiya asked, before giving you the tranquilizer. “I am. Don’t worry about it.” He simply smiled at you, full knowing you were about to put your entire hand into the fire. You didn’t even want to know where he found the medicine, you only wanted to take your revenge. And also because you knew Chishiya had his own secrets – it was better to not ask.

You were tired. Tired of being treated like a fuck-toy everytime by Niragi. It was true, he saved you and you kind of liked him, but enough is enough. You could count on your hand the times he actually treated you like a human being, showing you his soft side. The other sides were…just him being rough and violent. You had to be more clear about it: it wasn’t the rough sex the problem, but it was the fact that he never asked you. He always took and took, probably never caring about if you wanted it or not in the first place. So, you decided it was time to make him feel the same things you, and also your body, felt.

You started to rearrange the entire room for the event. You wanted it to look perfect, like if you didn’t have any revenge plan against him. He could never understand. After everything was ready, you almost ran to reach The Beach main hall where everybody was having the time of their lives. Oh, Niragi would have experienced the same too tonight, you thought. The music was so loud and trying to find him was becoming a challenge – until you saw him. He was drinking, screaming and having some girls all over him. You licked your lower lip, already tasting the revenge. You got closer to him and Niragi smiled to you. What a fool.

“Missing me, (y/n)?” He said, grabbing you by your waist and licking your neck with his tongue. Your body couldn’t lie to the sensation, causing you to feel shivers all over your skin. You had to focus on the plan, not on the pleasure this time. You went closer to his face, whispering in his ear: “meet me in my room in five minutes.” He looked at you with eyes full of lust, like if he was ready to take you in that hall in front of everyone. Oh, he was getting excited and turned on. You smiled at him and walked away from the chaos of the party. The time was coming. Chishiya, who saw everything from a distance, laughed to himself – he wished he could see Niragi getting what he derserved.

He rushed into that room, looking around surprised. He didn’t expect to find you like this: literally serving yourself for him and only him. “You need me so much, (y/n).” He threw his rifle on the bed, not caring where. What he cared the most was to grab your waist with his strong hands, putting you on his lap, while he sat on the armchair. You could already feel his lips torturing your neck all over. “Wait!” You almost screamed, making him looking at you all confused. He didn’t like to stop, imagine to wait, in a situation like this one. The preassure in his pants were making him even more impatient. “I want to make a toast.” “A toast?” He was becoming more confused, you didn’t like it. You had to be fast. You knew these type of games would have made him angry, you couldn’t make yourself fuck everything up. “Yes,” you said, grabbing the two glasses full of what looked like champagne, “I want to make a toast for the sexiest man on the Beach that makes me have the most satisfying orgasms ever.” You could see his grin coming back to his face. He was feeling himself knowing that he deserved that toast. He didn’t think twice to drink all of it, making the glass empty. You drank from yours and smiled mentally at the scene in front of you. You put both glasses back on the table, letting Niragi grinding against you and his hands touching your body all over. While the time was passing by, his movements were becoming slower and slower. More than once he put one hand brushing his face, trying to make him to be awake and active.

“What the fuck…” he felt all the strength leaving his body, he couldn’t keep it up with touching you. You giggled, getting up from and going behind him. Your lips touched his ear, making him groan, while you whispered:”you didn’t expect, right?” “Fucking slut…” his breath was becoming more and more panting, like he was having difficult to speak, “what did you do to me?” You stopped kissing his jaw, only to answer to him:”I want to make you feel what I felt every fucking time.” You started to kiss his jaw again, going down on his throat, marking it with hickeys and bites – licking it so slowly. Your hands started to roam on his body, unbuttoning his shirt. Your hands were cold against his hot skin. Even if what he could see was too blurry to interpret, he felt everything so strong. The pressure in his pants was becoming even more unbearable. You didn’t think twice to unfasten his belt, just to guiding your hand inside Niragi’s pants. A moan escaped his lips. His member was already twitching in your hand and you made the situation worse by moving your hand up and down slowly. “Look at yourself, Niragi, so desperate for me.” You smiled against his skin, repeating the same words he said to you. “Whore,” he tried to speak between his moans, “I’ll fuck you to the point you have only to kill me to make me stop.” Your hand became faster this time, and Niragi’s back arched for a second at the pleasure. The precum was already spilling on your fingers. “I really want to see it happens.” He couldn’t stop himself from cumming on your hand, making his chest raising up and down fast. You pressed a dry kiss on his lips, looking him directly in the eyes. “Fuck you.” You smiled at the reaction, only to leave him in the room all alone.

#niragi x reader #niragi suguru #niragu suguru x reader #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland #x reader

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phoenixyfriend · 1 year

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Okay so, originally, I pitched this on discord:

Ahsoka… but distressed dapper. She's still a tog and all, but she's otherwise right out of a film noir setting. Rugged Detective. If Anakin were still around he'd be freaking out over the cigarette.

@jebiknights responded with:

this is a great image for post-jedi Ahsoka but also ngl part of my brain went straight to padawan Ahsoka trying to solve a mystery in the temple pretending to be a noir detective, sucking on a lollipop with a fake mustache like Nino did in s4 of Miraculous Ladybug fdijirdgjs She hasn't received shadow or spy training yet shes got a long way to go 😂 she hums her own theme music whenever she can get away with it

And we were off to the races!

I met us in the middle: after she leaves but before RotS.

Her sleuthing leads to Sidious through the most ludicrously indirect route possible.

She's not even a PI. She's a mechanic on the lower levels. She just stumbled into a thing and put on a costume to hide her identity through judicious use of Hat.

She's got an apartment across the hall from some girls who work in the red light district and one time some guys were harassing them and Ahsoka kicked them out through judicious use of Armbars And Catching Punches, which was impressive without being actively violent or revealing her Force abilities, and it was... fine? They're friends now, have pizza once in a while. Ahsoka likes hearing about their lives.

But then they decided to come to her for advice on a whole Thing at work, where they overheard some stuff about a drug deal that's taking place worryingly close, and maybe she could just keep an eye out when the deal goes down in case things go south? Please?

Ahsoka does so. She overhears things about the war in the deal (which is about information, not drugs), and. Well. She doesn't want to call home for help when she's making a whole point about needing to find herself away from them, so maybe she can just do a little digging of her own?

The red light girls insist she needs a cool outfit for her PI work (they do not care that it's not PI work). They are very excited about this.

At some point she runs into a junior Corrie Guard and steals him for a bit. He is officially "missing" and unofficially Fox was just like "fuck it, sure, help the shiny not-Jedi, I don't care." Now Ahsoka has a clone roommate/sidekick/backup who is, in fact, much more experienced in this than she is, but also has far fewer contacts and resources since they can't use CG databases while they're running this op. Meanwhile, Ahsoka has Friends, and some of her friends know a guy who knows a guy.

Fox doesn't tell the Jedi because technically this doesn't involve them (Ahsoka didn't mention the war stuff), and he has an Outside Contractor and a Coruscant Guard working on it.

He'll let them know if it goes anywhere, but for now he's assuming it's grandstanding lowlifes, and will leave it to the baby Jedi and babier Guard.

jebiknights:

a probably way too young cg helping Ahsoka while Fox aggressively pretends it isn't happening has such good- ohmygod this has psych vibes just a lil bit I've been on a psych comparison kick lately tho so

Ahsoka is trying so hard to be cool

listen psych is my favorite framework for the consulting detective schtick lmaooo AND SHES TRYING SO HARD but shes like what 16? just not there and living in the non-jedi/non-battlefront world for the first time sidgier

Her hypercompetent psychic is a babyfaced 9yo

i was thinking that she would be the psychic bc jedi but honestly convincing everyone that its the shiny corrie is so much funnier also just imagining all the stupid names they call each other as aliases

Sidekick I meant hypercomptetent sidekick

that… makes more sense ngl i was ready to yes and you all the way tho turn it into a gods whats the Jude Law movie where "Watson" is the genius who hires an actor to play "Sherlock" and has him pretend to be the genius or st?

I am, however, open to a Detective Conan situation, which has a lot more context so I'll actually use a different reference and say she pulls a Cyrano de Bergerac.

Ahsoka is stage-whispering instructions to her Corrie Guard, feeding him lines so he can pretend to be psychic while she sneaks around with significantly less eyes on her.

Also the red light girls stay involved they are so excited to Help even though Ahsoka keeps trying to keep them uninvolved for Safety. The girls love teasing her shiny friend. Please remember that all of this nonsense is happening while Ahsoka tries to dress like a prototypical film noir detective.

wait wait wait but if we go back to the original gag of, lowkey being a lil Psych/chaotic Sherlock inspired… shiny being a baby medic?? he tries to be a voice of reason but also enjoys the chaos too much, gets wayyyy too into the play acting and bad covers, but also knows how to patch up the reckless former jedi lol. Ahsoka sometimes just showing up in the Corrie medbay not for a check up but to drag the shiny into shenanigans

Fuck yeah, baby shiny Guard is now a baby shiny medic (Guard). Ahsoka regularly sneaks in through the vents to kidnap him.

Quinlan figures out she's doing Things through psychometry by accident but decides to let sleeping dogs lie until she finally shows up a the Jedi's door like "hey I need help."

The Jedi and various commanders all think it's a standard "the world is bigger and harsher than I thought and as a teen I want to come back to stability," but instead... it's "Chancellor's a Sith Lord."

Though tbh the shiny might just suggest she go to Quinlan first.

REAJGRIGJAERI Quinlan was not prepared for this at all I'm just imagining him as the airplane gag where every new thing Ahsoka reveals is just "I picked a bad day to stop [addiction]"

tbh I initially pitched the AU for Gay Reasons and that's why I was thinking post-RotS but I am now in love with mostly-competent-fumbling teen Ahsoka and her shiny friend.

#Ahsoka Tano #Original Clone Characters #Commander Fox #Original Characters #Quinlan Vos #star wars #the clone wars #film noir #kinda #psych #phoenix posts

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bisayawa · 1 year

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the caretaker's side ; alejandro vargas/fem! reader

― sickfic, hurt/comfort, fluff, tiniest bit of angst

― reader is fem, regarded as sampaguita (a fragrant flower native to tropical asia), she/her pronouns used

warning: icky sickness stuff, vomiting, coughing, pills, capsules, crying.

note: i don't think this is anything, just recalling what i've experienced when skipping meals (gastritis? i think it's called? i try to explain it somewhat here.) reader & al are in a situationship of some kind. idk i didn't think this through. not proofread.

"good to see you back, alejandro!"

the afternoon was noisy with chatter & song. his cousins were frantic to meet with him once they arrived, shouting praise & honor with each grin they wore. his mother, his father hugged him so tight they might as well have been one. his sisters, his brother ― nearly crying when they saw his scruffy face. his little nephews & nieces ― excited in the way they walked & talked & held his hand all the way through the day.

but there was one person, amidst all the laughter & noise of the day, he found himself thinking of.

"so... mama," he tried to broach, though he knew in his heart his questions wouldn't get past her. his mother is perceptive as she is loving.

"yes?"

"sampaguita still lives down the street, no?"

she smiles, the lines of her face squinching up. it masks her suspicion.

"yes, she does," his mother says. "still the same house, still working in the same clinic. if i recall, she's trying to visit her family for the holidays ― in november maybe."

"...and her father?"

"he's travelling, cariño, but last i heard ― just as he left, she went down with a terrible sickness. she took leave about half a day ago." his mother's voice had taken a curious quality, soft & cheeky.

alejandro's face falls at the sickness of his friend.

"oh," he intones. "is she alright then? did she go to a hospital?"

"oh, no, cariño." her voice is honey, chokingly so ― too sweet to not be a scheme.

"she wanted to take care of herself in her own home. we tried to help but ―" she shrugs. "she refused, felt herself a burden, poor girl."

the sentence did its job. the seed was planted. alejandro would visit his friend come morning.

―

"alejandro? you're back!" is what you say when you open the door, eyes bleary & grey-faced in the wake of the sun.

"yes, that i am, sampaguita,"

the lines of his grin still make you warm in the chest. your friend, as always, was as handsome as could be.

"i'd invite you inside but," your hoarse voice tapers down. you see your buckets & dropcloths by the sink, the sheets of pills & capsules, a gatorade going warm on the floor. "it's a mess in here."

"that's exactly why i'm going inside, sampaga."

"what?"

"i heard you were sick. you need someone to help."

"wha ― no, alejandro, you don't need to ―"

"i've already made up my mind."

"you ― you shouldn't waste your leave on something like this!"

"with you, it's not a waste." he says, no violent rejection ― just the gentle strength of words & care. "please, let me in."

you grumble. your matted hair is wiry, curling along your shoulders. you feel like a mess, sweaty from trying to break your fever, unable to take a bath because of said fever. your clothes were from the day before yesterday, most likely with drops of regurgitated food, smelling of stomach acid.

"sampaga," he meets your eyes. "i won't take no for an answer."

you wilt, shrugging into yourself.

"you won't be disgusted?"

"mi cariño, i work in the special forces. i believe i've seen worse."

you always thought that there were times he's had to use that exact grin for his job ― to reassure families, children of the safety he'd give. you just didn't think you'd be one of the people receiving it.

you welcome him inside, closing the door with a click & locking it in place.

his eyes rove from wall to wall, corner to corner. he sees the buckets, the dropcloths, the pills, the capsules, even the gatorade going warm on the hardwood floor.

he finds your face, and smiles, tight-lipped, sincere. it was meant to comfort & it did exactly that.

"come on," he says. "let's get you to bed."

entering the bedroom brings more mess. there was porridge on your nightstand, half eaten & cold. a bottle of water stood by, three quarters of the way full. your sheets were a mess. the blanket was running down the side of the bed. a pillow was sitting on the floor.

without a word from you, he sets out to fix the bed sheets.

you had half a mind to protest before deciding you wouldn't win that conversation. you choose to carry the bowl of porridge to the kitchen sink, watering it down before going back to bed.

he holds your hand when you settle down, sitting by your legs when your head finds the pillow.

"how'd you get sick?" is what he asks, kneading the cloth where your knees billow the blankets up.

"i skipped a meal."

"well, there you go," he chuckles, and so do you.

you recline to your side, ruffling up the sheets even further.

"i had an early breakfast the other day & by the time 11 o'clock happened, i was already hungry. i couldn't find the time to eat ― i had forgotten because we had a fire safety seminar."

your hair is curling up & around, looking like a crown.

he sees you yawn & his eyes go softer.

"it's interesting though," you say. your hand is now on his.

"what is?"

"this isn't from bacteria, you know? or a virus or any infectious agent. it's just... my body doing its job because i didn't take care of it."

"see? even your body is telling you to take care of yourself. ah, so stubborn, never listening to anyone."

at that, you laugh with him. the corners of your lips pushing your cheek further into the pillow.

"i'll listen from now on, i promise."

he faintly feels your fingertips kneading circles into his knuckles.

"wait, if you skipped a meal, how come the...?" he recalls the buckets & cloths strewn around the house.

"skipping a meal means the acid in the stomach ―" you cough into your elbow, rough, forceful. "the acid in the stomach has no food to digest. it sits there long enough, it eats into the stomach lining."

"so... the stomach,"

"the stomach gets irritated, inflammed. some people bleed, too. the irritation means you can't keep the food down, or at least, a lot of it." you clear your throat. "antacid helps. painkillers, too."

he cards his fingers through your hair & kisses your brow. he holds your cheek in his hand. it's warm against his palm.

"you stay here, okay?" he asks. "i'll clean up, and then i'll make you some soup."

"alejandro ―"

"whatever you say won't stop me." his grin is smug but genuine. he wants to take care of you, you realize belatedly.

"thank you. you don't have to do this."

he chuckles. "i'd do it ten times over if i have to. you're never getting rid of me, sampaguita."

―

the first bout of emesis he witnesses happens late at night.

he had taken to using the guest room after insisting you needed to be monitored even in sleep. you lost that conversation fighting, he admits, but still, you lost.

the room was close to the bathroom, where he heard your footfalls echo into the dead of night.

he opens the door & finds a sliver of light carving the hallway in half.

he sees you, then, on the floor, with your hair in your hands. the force of your stomach clenching makes you jump from your seat. it looks painful, especially with the way you're hunched over.

he sits with you, taking your hair & rubbing circles into your back. the corrosive smell did not ward him away. the line of spittle & half-digested food did not scare him.

he hears you cough, a detonation of fireworks in the muscles of your throat. it catches in your esophagus. you're tearing up, and when you spit it out, it comes streaked with blood.

it's there that alejandro flinches. seeing that bright red, seeing it come from you, you who was in pain, who was tired, who had your sleep interrupted by bouts of nausea.

he couldn't help it. he hugged you tighter.

―

he found a cloth somewhere in your room. he didn't remember.

all he recalled was drying the tears that ran down your face, wiping the corners of your lips.

"i can do it myself, alejandro," your voice was rough, like stone grating on iron. it sounded like the color red, raw & bleeding. agony in a breath.

alejandro couldn't reply. what would he say? that he couldn't do anything else but bring you medicine & food? that the sickness in your body can only be fought by you? that if he could fight your hurts rather than nurse them, he would?

illness was an invisible enemy. no strategy, no surprise. just waiting & watching for results until it all becomes better again.

he didn't know illness could hurt from the caretaker's side, too.

"you coughed until you drew blood,"

"so? it's not the first time."

your words startle him. how could you say that so cavaleirly? so carelessly?

"that's not... cariño, that's not the p―"

"it's not that serious ―"

"to me, it is, cariño! listen!"

he raised his voice. he begged the earth would swallow him whole.

"i didn't mean to shout... at you. it's ― you're..."

his irises meet yours & he feels himself grow small.

you were crying. big fat droplets were running down your cheeks, reaching the bunched up sheets inside your clenched hands. you swallow, come back to your senses.

the water registers & you're frantic to wipe away every last tear.

"no..." your voice was breaking like glass. "alejandro, just get out, please, this isn't your fault. i'm sorry. i'm not crying because of you."

the words are blurred together, coiling & writhing in a symphony of your hoarse, broken tenor.

alejandro feels a lump in his throat. he's caused you more pain, and you were apologizing. he doesn't want to cry, too. no, he shouldn't.

his hands have gone limp on the blankets, unsure, hesitant.

"samp ― may i hold you, please?" there's a crack when he says please.

you eyes are filling with tears again. they run along their course & meet the corners of your lips.

"yes..." your voice ― a stained glass window stoned to splinters. "please."

and so he does, planting his hands on your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. your hair tickles the underside of his chin, catching on the scruff.

there's a low groan wheedling out your esophagus, bringing with it an uneven breath.

then another.

and another.

you're hiccupping. your whole chest is trembling under him. your lungs under his fingertips stretch with each inhale, trying to accommodate air that shouldn't be there.

"deep breaths, cariño, deep breaths."

he has to remind himself not to hold you too tight, else you get smothered. with no other avenue to reassure you, he does what he can. he rubs your back & kisses your forehead.

"i'm sorry." he says into your temple.

"you ―" two erratic inhales. "you shouldn't be sorry."

the pitch of your voice rises & falls. the muscles in your throat spasm in tune with the inhales.

"no, i am. i'm sorry that i ―"

"stop apologizing, please." you bury yourself further into him, weave your arms around his torso. "stop it, stop it, please."

it's barely a whisper but he follows, blindly, as if your words were gospel.

―

the day goes on after dawn.

your head was splitting after your sobbing session. you take a paracetamol sooner than the prescribed four hours.

alejandro was busy cooking you something. soup, you guessed, or maybe more porridge. you couldn't tell from the smell. both your nostrils were blocked.

you'd been restrained to sitting or lying down on the bed as per alejandro's reprimands. he had listed reason after reason to not let you walk out nor even stand up to do anything in your room.

"you've just vomited all your food." he had said. "your stomach is empty. your source of energy is gone. get some rest, sampaguita. drink something."

you took to staring at the sunrise in the far corner of the room. the window was ajar, not even open all the way. you see the rays of light pass behind the curtain, pointing up to the walls & the ceiling.

there's wind somewhere outside, making the drapes fly up. bird were singing, faintly.

the door opens & alejandro brings in a tray full of food, water, medicine & a small basin, presumably for future instances of nausea.

despite the aches of your head, throat, chest & nose, you grin whe he sets it down, beckoning him closer to your seat at the bed.

"thank you," you're pensive for a while. then you take his hand & you give it a small peck.

"you don't need to thank me every time i do something, sampaga. it's alright."

"& are you gonna stop me?"

there it is, a face so joyous & radiant that it lights up like a full moon. the squinch of your nose, the arch of your eyelids, a golden dream of a person. alejandro could kiss you. he almost did.

but he did something better. he gave you the bowl of hot soup & a bottle of warm water. he helped you take the medicine when you finished your meal & he tucked you in when you felt drowsy.

he'll take care of you, he promises.

#alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #colonel vargas x reader #colonel vargas x you #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #mwii #my fic.

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hilaritas-helianthus · 3 months

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For the fanfic request: CanLiet(Hws Canada x Hws Lithuania)please, something for Valentine's day it I not mistaken soon is gonna be Valentine's day

Have a great and wonderful day 💖✨️

Its my first time posting a fanfic like this, so I hope you like it!

⚠️Warning: Really sooming, soft and romantic.

CANLIET, love between nations. 🇨🇦🇱🇹

Another day of the annual meeting. A sigh escaped from Matthew's lips as he adjusted his tie knot in front of the mirror, something that at these levels was pointless since he knew no one would notice in the end... maybe today France would compliment him for looking good. He was absorbed in his thoughts as he made his way to the large hall where the world meeting of countries would take place.

In the other corner a distant country called Lithuania, Tolys was also heading towards the same destination. Their steps coincided in rhythm with Matthew's, although they were going in opposite directions, foreshadowing an unexpected encounter.

When Matthew and Tolys reached the door of the hall, both seemed immersed in their own affairs. However, suddenly and without realizing it, they placed their hands on the door handle at the same time, experiencing a shock of surprise that made them stare into each other's eyes for a couple of seconds.

An electric current ran through Matthew's body as he felt the contact of Tolys's hand, causing him to smile timidly but radiantly. However, his joy was overshadowed by sudden embarrassment as he realized the situation.

- Oh, sorry, excuse me. It wasn't my intention... I mean... we're here so close and... you caught me off guard - Matthew stammered, desperately trying to find the right words.

Tolys, for his part, was momentarily stunned by the unexpected encounter.

- Don't worry Matthew, it was an unusual encounter - he replied with a smile, trying to alleviate the tension.

Before they could exchange more words, they were interrupted by Kumanjiro, who impatiently urged them to enter the hall.

- The meeting is about to begin! It's not the time for you to be flirting, Canada! - exclaimed Kumanjiro loudly.

Matthew blushed violently at Kumanjiro's comment and looked at him with embarrassment.

- Who are you? - the bear asked, looking at Tolys, trying to change the subject and divert attention.

Tolys and Matthew looked at each other again with a mixture of surprise and amusement in their eyes. Immediately after, Matthew, after thinking for a moment, realized what had happened and was astonished to notice that Tylos had called him Matthew.

- Wait... Do you know who I am? - I blurted out, my eyes widening as I looked at him, trying to understand how he knew my name”.

I looked at him confused, not believing that he really knew who I was and could notice my presence in addition to Francis, Alfred, and occasionally Arthur.

However, before they could exchange any more words, the doors of the hall swung open wide, and the voice of Ludwig resonated in the air, calling on all the countries to take their seats to begin the belated meeting.

They took their respective places.

——

During the meeting, they tried to focus on the important topics and ignore the monotonous discussions that always took place at meetings, but their thoughts kept returning to that fleeting but significant encounter at the door.

After the meeting, Tolys looked for Matthew among the crowd and finally found him, sitting silently among the crowd talking energetically without noticing his presence. He found a tired and somewhat sad look in his violet eyes. Without thinking twice, he approached him with determination and offered him a smile.

- Hello again, Matt. It seems we crossed paths today in a very unusual way - said Tolys, trying to cheer him up and filled with excitement.

Matthew, upon seeing him appear among so many people, looked at him fixedly for a moment before nodding and smiling, still with embarrassment.

- A-Yes, it seems that life has mysterious ways of bringing people together.

Tolys interrupted him energetically before he could say anything else.

- You know... I would love to get to know you better, Matthew - Tolys responded, with enthusiasm.

Matthew felt immense joy upon hearing those words and what followed from the last part of the meeting was Tolys energetically introducing Matthew to the other countries that were his friends.

Finally, at the time of returning to their hotels, they exchanged phone numbers, promising to stay in touch.

———

As the days went by, Matthew and Tolys became inseparable. They spent hours talking on the phone, seeing each other to watch movies or for Matthew to tell him more about Canadian culture.

They discovered that they had many interests in common, and every time they met, it seemed like time stood still, there never seemed to be enough time to explore all the pending conversations. Despite doubts and obstacles, their connection only grew stronger with time, sharing laughs, stories from their past, and anecdotes about their families.

Over time, Matthew's shyness and trembling voice began to disappear, he no longer woke up afraid that Tolys or Kuma would forget about him. He became more confident in himself while Tylos tried to make him known among the Baltic countries by holding meetings in their hotels where they stayed.

There were many memorable moments, like the time when Matthew and Tolys walked together through the charming streets of a European city, illuminated by the lights of the night. They stopped at a small café, where they shared deep conversations and contagious laughter until the early hours of the morning.

There were times when they stayed silent and stared at each other, feeling that there was something important they needed to say, but they didn't dare. Still, they continued prolonging that conversation that had much to say since there was something between them.

———

But after sharing numerous outings together, the month passed quickly and Tolys had to return to Lithuania to attend to his political affairs and Matthew to Canada to see to his work matters. At the airport, the atmosphere was charged with emotion and silence as they bid farewell.

- I'm going to miss you a lot, Tolys - said Matthew with a choked voice, struggling to hold back the tears as he watched Tolys walk away towards his boarding gate.

Tolys looked at Matthew with tenderness, his heart heavy with the inevitable separation.

- I'll miss you too, Matthew. But we must return to our responsibilities. I promise I'll visit you in Canada as soon as I can - replied Tolys, trying to maintain composure and sound positive.

However, as they walked away in opposite directions towards their respective planes, a wave of regret and desperation invaded Matthew's heart, who was also heading to his plane.

Then he didn’t hesitate any more, he stopped abruptly and dropped his suitcase, determined to stop Tolys before it was too late.

- Tolys, wait! - shouted Matthew, running at full speed towards the boarding gate for Lithuania, dodging the crowd with determination.

Tolys, who had also dropped his suitcase abruptly and decided to reach Matthew as well, stopped upon hearing his name and immediately turned around, surprised, finding himself met with Matthew's desperate gaze as he approached him.

- Matt!, what are you doing here? - asked Tolys, confused by his friend's sudden appearance.

- I'm sorry, Tolys. I can't let you go without telling you this - said Matthew, breathing heavily from the race as now Tolys took his hand and looked him in the eyes intensely.

- What are you talking about, Matthew? - asked Tolys, intrigued by the urgency in his friend's voice.

With his heart in his throat and the words welling up from the depths of his being, Matthew knelt before Tolys and confessed everything he had been holding inside him.

- Tolys, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were someone special. I was very surprised that you were one of the people who noticed me despite being invisible to others…. I've been in love with you ever since, but I never had the courage to tell you. I love you, Tolys. I love you with all my being and I can't bear the thought of losing you without you knowing the truth - said Matthew, his eyes filled with tears and his face as red as Antonio's tomatoes as he looked at Tolys with hope and fear.

Tolys was breathless at Matthew's confession, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he processed the words he had just heard, it seemed that only in his dreams had such a perfect scene been possible.

- Matthew, I love you too. I never thought I would fall in love like this, but here I am, completely surrendered to you. You are my light in the darkness, my reason to smile. I love you more than I can express in words maybe that's why I always remained silent without knowing how to tell you - replied Tolys, his eyes shining with tears of happiness and excitement.

And so, amidst the bustle of the airport and with the eyes of the world on them, Matthew and Tolys found themselves in an embrace that transcended time and space, united by the love they had found in each other.

Their hearts beat in unison as their hands did when they met for the first time, as they promised each other a future full of love and happiness.

——

After a prolonged kiss, their hearts were beating in unison and they could hear each other's breathing, their mouths were full and their lips wet after the emotion of moving in someone else's skin, after a small kiss full of feeling closed the moment, Matthew and Tolys slowly separated, with their hands still intertwined and eyes lost in each other. It was then that Tolys , with a shy laugh, noticed something special in the air, in the people, and the overly cheesy decoration of that day.

- Matthew, have you noticed the date today? - asked Tolys, with a gleam of astonishment in his eyes.

Matthew furrowed his brow slightly, confused by the question, but then his face lit up with understanding as he checked his watch.

- Its… oh! It's February 14th! - exclaimed Matt, his voice full of wonder and joy as he realized the significance of that date.

Tolys nodded with a radiant smile and releasing a joint laugh, feeling a comforting warmth flood his chest as they immersed themselves in the magic of the moment.

- Yes, it's Valentine's Day. What a wonderful coincidence that our encounter happened on this very special day - said Tolys, with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he looked at Matthew.

Matthew nodded with a smile, feeling a wave of love and gratitude towards Tolys and towards the destiny that had brought them together.

“I love you”

…

This is for: @madam-of-lithuania who made the request. Thanks you for requesting!🙌❤️‍🩹

I hope having more requests.

Romantic-little spicy final part added and edited from my dear friends Dani and Tana! (Las amo hermosas)

FT: Happy Valentines Day! I love you all~!

#hws hetalia #hetalia #aph #canliet #lietcan #matthew hetalia #hetalia matthew #matthew williams #hetalia canada #canada hetalia #sunflower answering #tolys laurinaitis #lithuania #hetalia lithuania #romantic fanfic #happy valentine's day #i hope you enjoy #canadá

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melonteee · 8 months

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I'm really enjoying the live-action show. It's different, but I think some changes are improvements, some changes are neutral, and some changes are for the worse. Overall, I'd say it's about as good of an adaptation as the East Blue anime is (factoring in the changes the anime made).

Syrup Village is a great example, they cut Jango (though you do see his Bounty poster, so he still exists in canon), but they also made Kaya's illness be the result of Butchie poisoning her and part of Kuro's plan. Luffy drinks the poison soup and that replaces the scene of him unconscious from hypnosis. Zoro has to climb out of a well, and that replaces him climbing up an oil-covered hill and also sets up for Mihawk saying he's a frog in a well. They also change the setting for the battle from a beach to inside the mansion, introducing a horror theme to the story which rachets up the tension a lot more. Sham is also gender-bent and super cute.

And it's not wrong to say the showrunners understand and love the characters and the world. All of the bottles of alcohol are brands in One Piece, the barrel Luffy gets into has the name of the fishmonger from his village, Garp mentions that he's turned down multiple promotions, Nami reads Noland the Liar to Zoro while he's unconscious after his fight with Mihawk, Arlong introduces Fishman discrimination.

I think it's best experienced from the perspective of "it's going to be different, and that's okay". The characters are written a little differently, but not in a bad way. They still feel like the characters at their core, Inaki's Luffy and Taz's Sanji are two stand-outs, they're fantastic.

I understand if it's just not for you, and you did watch one episode, so I can't say you didn't give it a chance at all. I just feel like you and the others are being too harsh on it. It's way better than any other live-action anime adaptation I've ever seen.

I appreciate this anon and I do think the poison change works, but there's certainly a 1 good thing for 9 bad things ratio going on. Because in all fairness, I am going to be extremely critical of a 20 year old series that's making an adaptation with a 17 million dollar budget per episode - especially from Netflix. If I'm being approached by friends who were actually excited for this series and they came out of it disappointed, somehow I don't think I'm gonna have a good time myself. I'm watching One Piece for One Piece, I don't think I should go into an adaptation thinking this is gonna be different in STORY and CHARACTER. I can accept changes for medium, of course, but there are so many absolutely bizarre changes that literally do nothing. You don't go from the manga to the anime and think "Well if I just disconnect these characters from their original selves, I can soak this in fine" because in all honesty, that probably means it's a bad adaptation if you need to work to see what you want to see.

Also the 'frog in the well' thing is exactly my point of this script just slamming you in the face with what it's trying to do, we are not meant to take that literally. The well is the east blue that Zoro lives in, not a literal well lmao. It's a nice cheeky idea to have, but the goofiness of Zoro's character is removed from the scene where he's trying to run up a greased hill like an idiot. Because yes, even THAT scene served a purpose for Zoro's character and how we view him. It's definitely subjective to say the characters are written differently but not in a bad way, because ripping away parts of a character to leave them as this Frankenstein version of themselves is personally not something I want? Why would I WANT all the goofiness and stupidness taken out of Zoro? It might be good for some, but it just feels like a total downgrade and misunderstanding of his character to me. Same goes for Sanji just being this artsy guy who's complaining cause he can't make the dishes he wants, with his over dramatic, angry, violent flare completely gone. Those changes being good or bad are completely up to you, but I am personally just made to see a hollowed out, dumbed down version of them because I liked these characters as I originally met them and that's what made them stand out.

I appreciate the time they put into the sets, I do think the visual world was made well (although it could've used a bit more style), but the little physical details mean absolutely nothing if I can't even FEEL the magic the original gave me. A set does not make a series, 1000 strawhats will not make me see Luffy unless he is written to be Luffy, and that's the problem. I don't want to watch an adaptation that removes the most emotional and impactful moments of my favourite character just to replace it with a fight or to focus on ANOTHER character they've deemed more important. I am going to be critical because these characters mean a lot to me, and I am expecting to feel from an adaptation what I felt from the original with such characters. An adaptation does not mean making things different just for differences sake. I am glad you enjoyed it anon, as many people have, but if I'm watching something that's literally called One Piece and have been told this is an adaptation of One Piece - with the producers even saying they want to put the manga on the screen, mind you - I am going to go in there expecting One Piece, from the characters to the story. I shouldn't have to do the work in my own head and go "Well, they did their best!", especially at a million dollar Netflix production...sigh

#ask #sorry that was long winded and I am not trying to be mean here but we gotta remember this was not a fun arthouse project made by fandom #this a corporate made project looked over by netflix. we are allowed to be critical about it and want better of it

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stardustbarbarians · 6 months

Text

When Prince Samuel finally reached him, he was greeted with the most awful sight of Daniel bound to a boulder with iron chains clamped around his hands. His arms were forcibly stretched out above his head, the strained muscles on his chest on full display due to his lack of clothing. And perched atop his ribs was an eagle, its talons digging so deep into his flesh that they seemed to coil around the bones of his ribs. Its head was bowed, its beak violently tearing into the skin right beneath Daniel’s right pectoral. A sickening amount of blood spilled out from Daniel, some of it even dried on his sweat-slicked sinews.

His face was screwed up in unbearable pain, his teeth gritted against the agony of having his liver scavenged from beneath his still beating heart. Each movement of the eagle made the man cry out in pure arduous torment. Tears even flowed down the sides of his face.

Samuel’s knees buckled beneath him. He crashed into the cold stone of the ground, horror freezing him in place. There was nothing he could attempt in order to save Daniel. He had been sentenced to this torture under divine order. There was simply no escaping your fate once the Gods had condemned you.

Knowing that he had limited options, Samuel went with the only one he knew to be possible. He crawled along the floor of the cave, reaching out for his best friend. When he reached Daniel, the royal simply smoothed the curls on the crown of his head. The tortured man’s sobs became stronger as he experienced his first comfort in Gods knew how long, leaning his head into the touch of Sam’s caress that traveled down to his cheek.

Samuel felt a tear of his own trickle down his cheek as he pressed his forehead into Daniel’s. “I am so sorry.”

“Sammy!”

The prince jolted awake at the calling of his name. Blearily, he rubbed at his eyes before searching around to check that he was not still trapped in that awful nightmare. Instead of the oppressive darkness of that cursed cave, he was greeted by the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun. With a sigh of relief, all of his fear seeped out of his bones in his exhale. He glanced upwards, Daniel gazing down at him with a look of carefully masked concern on his face.

“What is it?” The prince’s voice sounded as though he had swallowed sand. He lifted one of his hands to his forehead, rubbing at his temples that were beginning to throb.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Daniel inquired, his brown knitting as he closely examined his companion.

Yes

“No. You needn’t worry,” Sam quickly reassured, waving his hand in a dismissal of his best friend’s concern.

Samuel watched as the ward regarded him. He was aware Daniel knew he was lying, it was now simply a matter of whether or not he would call Sam out on this.

After shaking his head, the ward came to his decision.

“Pythius just came by to offer up the news. Jacob has returned to the palace.”

Samuel, still reeling from his nightmare, forced himself to react with the same enthusiasm he had emanated for the past week in regards to his brother. Cosmetically, he knew he had managed to muster the appropriate response; his lips parting into a blinging smile as he shot up from his position, forcing his skin to buzz with excitement. But, just beneath was a darkness that was sapping away his true elation and replacing it with an encompassing sense of dread.

He had dreamt of Daniel as Prometheus, the Gods ultimate scapegoat. And as he bounded off towards the marble structure he had called home for the past eighteen years, he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling deep within his stomach that his nightmare mirrored that of his prophetic dreams.

Even Sinners Drink the Wine, a prologue of Too Pretty For War, coming soon...

#surpriseeeeeeee #I promised a Sanny chapter of this series and I did not forget #too pretty for war #greta van fleet #greta van fic #danny wagner #sam kiszka #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sammy gvf #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf #sanny gvf #samuel francis kiszka #daniel robert wagner #sam x daniel

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darexirepublic · 2 months

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Hello to all residents, friendly neighbors, and visitors to the Republic! It is time once again for all to enjoy the headlines of this Republic News Update! I am Pevox and I am super glad to be broadcasting to you all on this beautiful day!

Now to the news!

A rather violent avalanche has struck the colony of Laxosa Prime, in particular the northernmost sections of the Laxosa Ski Resort! This morning guests were greeted with "rather intense shaking" before the tons of snow propelled its way down the mountain and into some of the resort lodgings, common rooms and technical spaces!

Thankfully, Republic colony planners had contingencies in place for such events, and magnetic-engaged force fields blocked the majority of the snow as it deflected harmlessly off the shield, though some large pieces and debris were able to get through.

No injuries were reported save for a guest who experienced a sprained wrist after they fell into a snowbank trying to take a photo.

"We are most thankful for the technological assets that prevented a catastrophe." said outgoing Governor Tagrek in a special announcement. "As always, the fusion of @elepharchy and Darexi technology has helped to keep our people - and the visitors - safe from harm."

In more exciting news, @zangren-signal sponsored theme parks across the Republic are expanding! Two more parks have been planned for building, say Ministry of Finance officials. The details of the deals have not been released yet, but negotiations are "ongoing"!

The theme parks have been a huge success since their opening last year. The Zangren have been and continue to be wonderful trade partners with many successful deals between us!

Republic Command today announced that new ion technology has finally been approved for general installation and fitting aboard Patrol Fleet assets. Naval command had been tight lipped about this new development, only saying that work with @phlaalu, @pactargent and @guildsre scientists had made it a reality.

The new technology is said to increase weapon firing range, alongside which deploying "cyber defense protocols" to help disarm and/or deactivate enemy weapons.

"The defense of Republic worlds and our people remains fore front in our minds, given the Elcon crisis." said Admiral Taxxo, head of the Ministry of Defense's science wing. "and given the myriad of refugees we have - and continue to accept and shelter - the needs of defense grow ever greater thanks to Elcon aggression. This new weapon shall help continue to protect all we hold dear."

For now, friends, I have been your host, Pevox, and I hope you all have a wonderful weekend full of rest, relaxation and fun!

#peritainia #stellaris rp

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moregraceful · 6 months

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hockeyblr ask game

tagged by the illustrious @kitnita thank you my friend ✨

1. The thing that got you hooked on hockey

I have told this story many times and I will tell it again because I think it is so funny and perfectly demonstrates how I can be convinced of literally anything if I have a good time. when there was the great bandom collapse and all my bandom friends turned to hockey I said fuck hockey I will never be a fan of hockey what the fuck is an edmonton oiler. and joined Twin Peaks fandom like any normal 20 year old college student in the year 2009 would. EIGHT YEARS LATER, my dear friend got into the pens and said pls pls pls get into pens hockey rpf with me the fic is so good. and I said NO. FUCK sidney crosby (did not know who sidney crosby is). 1 year later this same dear friend said pls pls pls come to this Sharks-Pens game with me, no one else will go with me bc tickets are $90 and i gotta see my man evgeni malkin, pleaseeee. and I said you want me to pay 90 american dollars for HOCKEY???? and she said yes and I will buy you a beer. I said okay FINE.

went. experienced several emotions I had never felt before. experienced several old emotions I had not felt in a long time. experience a few emotions that didn't exist. experienced emotions only shrimp feel. Pens lost but this was in 2018 so the Sharks were still pretty good and it was a genuinely skilled game of hockey in a packed arena. I was enthralled. the game was so exciting and so fun to watch. Evgeni Malkin's legs were so long. Tomáš Hertl's ass was so big. I don't even think I finished my beer I was so into it.

"haha heyyyy," I said as we walked out of SAP center. "you uh got any recs for these pens guys?" "oh boy DO I EVER!!" she said. and it was all over.

(hilariously I swore I would never be a fan of the Sharks but my terminal Bay Area brain disease took over and I fell eventually bc I always fall for the home team in the end. also bc for a long time my schedule was 9-6 or 12-9 in a library with an open plan office with an hour commute on both ends and I really cared about how people perceived my work ethic for a while, so I would just never watch or listen to games at work. by the time I quit I would watch full Avalanche games on my night shifts though dw lol.)

2. Your first ever fandom friend

trying to think of who I was friends with on hockeyblr first that wasn't someone I knew from livejournal or someone I met through someone I knew on livejournal lmfao. it took me like 10 years to figure out how to make friends with people on tumblr lol. I have no idea

3. The jersey you would most like to own

historically I have never denied myself the pleasure of owning anything however I did get in a bidding war for a Jared McCann HIFE jersey when he was on the Pens -- had to stop bidding when the jackass I was up against went over $1k bc I just could not justify spending $1k on a jersey. on the bright side this means someone paid one thousand american dollars for a jared mccann pens pride jersey lol

I wanted a Matt Murray HIFE jersey another year too but the bidding went from $500 to $1.5k in like two hours and I was like oh ok. and gave up on ever owning a pens HIFE jersey

I assume if the Cuda have a pride jersey this year I do something reckless this year lol. fingers crossed no one fucken sits so I have options

4. YOUR player (you only get ONE so choose wisely)

Cale Makar..... (didn't he try to kill jared mccann a man you just said you were willing to pay nearly $1000 for his jersey - yes and he felt bad about it. it's a violent sport who cares). I hope I am able to watch an Avs game again someday :')

5. A pairing that deserves more fic

ROOPE/ROBO HIVE RISE. also jason robertson/nick suzuki. i mean Jason Robertson in general, supremely underutilized considering how bananas hot he is

6. Your favourite on-ice moment

god have I ever actually seen anything good happen on ice, ever. oh!! When Garnet Hathaway scored a goal against the Sharks and fell over and he was just punching the air and Nic Dowd started pummeling him bc he was so excited for Garny

also Pat Sieloff pride night gwg. he said I won't do pride tape but I'll end an ot on Pride night with my only goal of the season. He did that for me.

link someone else's art/fic/etc that you love & think everyone should check out

pls read @kitnita's robotter primer it is literally a masterclass in ship primers. we need more ship primers like zoe's primers. i dream every day of writing a primer as masterful as zoe's robotter primer. (also her robotterpetey primer was SOOOO good and then my stupid ass gm stole petey and now he has to pay income tax. sorry to the state of texas for my gm's crimes.)

@tofumilanesa's strauss mann eating disorder fic featuring jasper weatherby that i think about every week, then i sit on the floor and yell and yell and yell

and bc i was hooting and hollering about it earlier today, the original dick trick by mcspot is one of my all time favorite fics - joe thornton/patrick marleau where patty is aspec. i read it like every six months and experience shrimp emotions. it is by no means an unknown fic but it does star the sharks so obvi not getting as much attention as it SHOULD

link something you made & are proud of & want people to see

😐

I started writing this post in the grocery store check out line and then the check out guy was like if you donate money to Second Harvest food bank I'll do a voice impression. I was like what??? and he was like yeah for real :) and pointed a piece of paper with several character voices. so I donated $10 and got Charmander and Jar-Jar Binks and it was very impressive voice acting but it's been two hours and I'm at home now and I'm still so harrowed that I donated $10 just to hear Jar Jar Binks comment on the amount of kombucha I was buying

Listen to Get A Read On Me while doing the dishes and tell Beryl what a great job they did!!!!

#fresno oilers.txt

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astheswarmitcalls · 4 months

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PART 3: RETURN TOUR WARDROBE - FEMCR

This is the third part of my 4-part analysis of MCR5, the Masterpost for which can be found here. Link to next part found at the bottom of the post. If there's something I missed, or you'd like to add your own spin/elaborate on something I brushed over, by all means I'd love to hear it!!

I’ve been waiting a good 6000 words to talk about these next outfits. Since at least the Revenge Age of MCR, Gerard Way’s toyed with gender expression. He’d frequently wear women’s jeans and had long hair for a ‘guy’ back in the 2000’s. And even before MCR, he recounted being experimental in his youth and going to Arts School in drag. Here though, they really take off with that femme expression.

Guy is in quotations because Gerard’s spoke sparingly about their own gender identity, and from what they’ve inferred it’s not as simple as Man. Gender identity can be an incredibly personal, nuanced thing, and Gerard’s stance on labels is generally negative, that they can be used to control/limit you and I understand that fully. They’re a father and a brother and a guy in colloquial terms, and I don’t believe it’s necessary to get pedantic about language in this discussion.

My Chem has always had a history of this extensive performance artistry and theatrical influence in their shows; they play characters from their albums or make up new ones for the stage. This is that again, but very explicitly feminine.

I’ll be getting into this later, but there’s another layer of meaning with these particular outfits that are tied to Gerard’s own gender expression. They’ve talked about finding themselves more comfortable with femininity, and we can see that reflected in the wardrobe of this tour.

I’ve dubbed this category of clothing FEMCR, and it can be broken down into a further two subcategories: Traditional Female Archetypes and Tragic Historical Women. It’s equal parts self-indulgent and performance artistry. I am so fucking here for it.

(And just like the previous post, costumes that were designed by Marina Toybina are marked with an '*')

*THE CHEERLEADER (CHEERARD): “Alright Naaaaashville!”

I’m so fucking excited to talk about this. Cheerleaders aren’t foreign to the My Chemical Romance mythos. There was the bloody cheerleader photoshoot during their ‘Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge’ Era, the cheerleaders in the ‘I’m Not Okay (I Promise)’ music video, as well as cheerleaders in the music video for ‘Teenagers’ and ‘Blood.’ In all these instances, cheerleaders buy into this Attractive, Young, All-American Icon that gets juxtaposed by gory or macabre imagery (i.e. covered in blood, wearing gas masks). In the ‘I’m Not Okay (I Promise)’ music video, their presence contrasts the outcast croquet-playing, DnD-loving nerds that are played by the band members.

Whenever we’ve seen cheerleaders with MCR, they’re there to juxtapose them. Case in point, the cheerleaders with the gas masks in the ‘Teenagers’ music video. Gerard wrote the song ‘Teenagers’ based on their experience riding the subway with high schoolers; they experienced genuine fear because of how violent and rowdy the teens were. Halfway through the music video, the cheerleaders don gas masks, reminiscent of the ones donned during wartime drills and nuclear scares in the past. This creates that unease, that snappy, bizarre satire.

The cheerleader is this symbol of femininity, of innocence, of that Hallmark High School Patriotism. They’re desirable, they’re upbeat, they’re entertaining. They’re almost decoration with the way they’re positioned in sporting circles, there to support the men and be eye candy. The blood and gas masks subvert that innocent femininity, twisting it into something unnatural to see. It causes cognitive dissonance, those things should just not go together. Gerard could’ve portrayed this cheerleader; the pretty, patriotic schoolgirl covered in blood. Giving that seemingly wholesome figure a fucked up twist would seem at home with MCR’s ethos.

He didn’t do that, however. Cheerard is every bit that feminine, All-American figure. The white and green are almost the antithesis of that Revenge Era red and black. This isn’t a modern cheerleader either, it’s a recreation of a real, vintage uniform. Whereas the modern cheerleader may be seen as more of a sexual symbol (trope of the sexy schoolgirl, it’s pretty messed up). The cheerleader uniform is from the 1940’s. I think when Gerard was talking about costuming with Marina Toybina, they had just said ‘vintage cheerleader’ and hadn’t specified what decade. You could look into it from a propaganda perspective, it was rife all throughout this decade apropos of World War 2. She’s patriotic. She’s wealthy, personable, attractive, acceptable. She’s a white picket American Dream.

Cheerard is so far removed from what has already been established of cheerleaders in MCR’s history. She’s stereotypical and tame in her femininity, which is why Gerard choosing to represent this character seemed so left of centre. First and foremost because of how inextricably feminine it was, but also of what cheerleaders represent in the public eye.

At the Cheerleader’s second appearance, she comes out with a flamethrower. I feel as if this could be sprinkling in those little bits of darkness, the small hints of violence. Mostly I just think it’s cool as shit. Both times we’ve had Cheerard they’re also super bouncy, and I thought that should be pointed out too. Those white sneakers and that short dress just brings out Something Else and it’s fantastic to see. Gerard always looks like he’s having the most fun.

As it turns out, Cheerard would only be the first in a trend of Gerard portraying conventional, desirable feminine figures onstage. How do they come up with this stuff? Mr. Chemical Romance let me pick apart your brain, please.

*THE NURSE: “Take your meds.”

Visually, this character harkens back to two MCR pieces: ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ and ‘The Ghost of You.’

She’s reminiscent of the nurses present in the music video for WTTBP. The album itself has that overarching medical backdrop, and the nurses appearing in the beginning of the music video wear attire incredibly reminiscent of this nurse. Themes of death, grief, morality, and reflection on one’s life all littered throughout the album. Another thing I found interesting about this nurse resembling the nurses in WTTBP is it’s the second time Gerard revisits imagery from their discography; the Cheerleader and the Nurse are both supporting characters/used to establish setting in their respective appearances in the concept albums. He’s not revisiting their established material in the way we’d expect, with outfits that feel at home with or pay homage to the albums. No, he’s specifically portraying these feminine figures that are used to frame and embellish the main characters. Like how the Swarm tour is rampant with the rat motif, but they dressed up as a (sexy) cat instead; still inextricably tied to established symbology but not being lame about it and doing exactly what you’d expect.

No nurses appear in the music video for ‘The Ghost of You’ (unless you count Medic Ray Toro, he’s sort of nurse-adjacent), but the costume itself reads as incredibly vintage. The dress itself is hard to place, it’s certainly reminiscent of white nurse dresses worn from the 40’s-50’s, but it’s not exact. The allusions to a wartime nurse would be at home with the established war imagery present in The Foundations of Decay and the set of the tour. The scrubs of the modern nurse are more or less gender-neutral, but there’s still a large disparity in equal representations of male and female nurses. The Nurse herself appears evocative of a time where nursing was an exclusively feminine career. Nurturing, healing, and tending to another person isn’t thought of as a career for men.

The Foundations of Decay speaks of rebirth and healing. ‘You must fix your heart and you must build an altar where it swells.’ Nurses are healers. They tend to physical illness, but also must maintain a degree of care and empathy with the way they interact with patients. Again, careers that are rooted in nurturing and subservience are deemed to be more suitable for women as ‘natural caretakers.’ Another thought: rats are rampant throughout the tour. What do rats carry? Diseases! Who can treat diseases? Nurses!

The ongoing repetition of decay and rebirth as a theme also marry into the appearance of The Nurse beautifully. The show she appeared too had the word ‘Sick’ written on the drumhead. DESTROYA starts of with ‘I’m sick! I’m so fucking sick!’ Illness and decay alongside healing and rebirth. She just fits so well and looks so good doing what she does, I love her.

There’s instances of Gerard adding in little tidbits in the lyrics and between songs that allude to the character. For the Nurse, the break in DESTROYA was changed to ‘take your meds take your- take your meds.’ It’s mostly for The Bit, because it’s performance and it’s entertaining, When Gerard’s portraying these feminine characters, they have this extra layer of performance to them. As I’ll get into later with some of the other characters, I think they’re purposefully trying to push us to believe these are characters. Again, this wouldn’t be far-fetched. My Chem’s always been a little theatrical, their stories are always multi-medium.

The Nurse? Oh man she’s so cool. She’s got that bright, cheeriness to her. At the end of a lot of the songs she’ll go ‘Wonderful!’ She’s just so happy to be here and I get it. She’s not one of the stoic, scary nurses like that of The Black Parade, she’s friendly and sweet. I love her so.

*JACKIE KENNEDY:

I’ve seen this been referred to the MILF outfit or the Grandma outfit, both of which are fair enough. Others have pointed out that this may be a nod to Jackie Kennedy, wife of President John F. Kennedy who was famously assassinated. The latter I’m more inclined to believe, as although Mrs. Chemical Romance looks fantastic in all of their outfits, I don’t believe this is just another fun femme moment.

While this doesn’t seem to reference any one specific outfit worn by Jackie Kennedy, the shades and scarf are fairly telling.

Also the fact that Gerard and their wife Lyn-Z did a photoshoot reenacting the assassination. He obviously has some level of interest or fascination with the Kennedy’s to be able to revisit them repeatedly.

This is going to sound like some Illuminati Confirmed bullshit, but the show prior was the one were Gerard was dressed in his ComicCon attire with the bullet wound in his skull. Though I said it was a reference to the Watchman Smiley Face, I think it may also be a nod to JFK himself. There’s a few other instances of MCR inadvertently or outright referencing JFK, such as the release of Danger Days falling on the anniversary of JFK’s assassination, and the members of the Fabulous Four spelling out his initials. (Party Poison = President, I assume, the rest are Jet Star, Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid so just do the math.) So national symbols/presidents/references to American government aren’t foreign to MCR, they may be sort of left-field to a casual fan. Something I am becoming less of by the minute.

This is our first instance of the second subcategory of FEMCR: Tragic Historical Women.

I’m not so knowledgeable on the Kennedy’s, but from my brief research, Jackie Kennedy was subject to a lot of attention from the media following the assassination of her husband. At some point she remarried and moved to Greece, at which point she was bombarded by paparazzi and vilified by the press. She is a woman surrounded by tragedy, that becomes a spectacle to be picked apart by the public. Genuinely, there is a lot to unpack with sensationalised figures like these. There are so many perceptions, so many iterations, it’s difficult to handle. You have to be a certain type of person to find yourself engrossed in stories like these. That’s not particularly a bad thing, I think many people are fascinated by the controversial and macabre, but People are not my thing. Ask me about theme park accidents, and it’s a whole other can of worms.

Another interesting tidbit I picked up on: shows that Gerard Way performed ‘Bury Me in Black’ in their fun little outfits had lyric changes. Instead of the second person ‘I wanna see what your insides look like. I bet you’re not fucking pretty on the inside,’ we had first person ‘You wanna see what my insides look like? I bet I’m not fucking pretty on the inside.’ This shows the shift in perspective from being the enactor of these violent revenge fantasies to the brutalised women on the receiving end.

*THE CAREER COUNSELLOR/TARGET MANAGER (MISS ALPHARETTA): “Alpharetta! Alpha dog! You’re the dog now! Who’s the dog now?!”

IT’S TIME!! IT’S TIME!!!!! I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY FAVOURITE GAL!! I CANNOT STRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS LOOK. THE CROPPED TOP. THE SCARF. THE SUNGLASSES. THE SETLIST FOR THIS SHOW IS UP THERE AS ONE OF MY FAVOURITES.

This look hasn’t been tied to any preexisting historical women. On the drumhead for the Alpharetta show ‘You got the job’ was written, and later referenced at the end of Give ‘Em Hell, Kid by our leading lady. This implies she’s some sort of career counsellor, professional woman, or maybe a hiring agent. I looked at women’s business casual fashion from the 70’s and 80’s, but couldn’t find anything concrete. The scarf and pants read as vintage, but the crop top isn’t reminiscent of any vintage fashion in my research. This costume was designed by Marina Toybina, but the Instagram post doesn’t hint at who this character might be. That just makes it more fun for me, actually.

‘The Career Counsellor’ is a bit of a mouthful, so I’ve dubbed our lovely professional woman Miss Alpharetta. I've also heard people call her the Target Manager, and I cannot unsee it. I’m actively fighting the urge the ramble about how much I adore her. All I’ll say is that she loves Grease, she’s from LA, and that she’s a total menace in the workplace. Miss Alpharetta I love you.

(Also, flagrant self-promo but I made another post headcanoning names for all of the FEMCR characters. Not really MCR5 relevant but it's so fun to me. It's here if you're interested!)

Once again, Gerard Way is subverting that emo, brooding, all-in-black perception people have of MCR with this character that is so bright and feminine. I can imagine there’s some level of empowerment for them to be able to express themselves onstage with these characters. Both The Nurse and Cheerard had some connection to MCR’s established lore, but Miss Alpharetta appears to be far removed from those concepts. Instead, our professional lady seems to indicate a shift in concepts; businesswomen aren’t established symbols in the MCR lore, but they’re about to be. Miss Alpharetta’s existence is reaffirming that rebirth for MCR, not so much as a theme for a future album, but for the actual band.

And just like our sweet little lady Nurse Gerard, Miss Alpharetta is incredibly peppy and enthusiastic, but with a bit more of that unhinged energy. She’s the loveliest person you will meet but maybe a bit of a menace.

FLIGHT ATTENDANT? TEACHER?:

Mr. Way that skirt is so short Jesus Christ.

This character’s ambiguous in what her profession might be, but I’ve seen two titles pop up consistently. From the black stockings and red scarf, she reads as a flight attendant or travel agent. Gerard also made that comment onstage when the leg (mannequin leg covered in graffiti) ‘you can get this at the end of class’, which was likely a joke but could also infer that this character is a teacher of sorts. Personally, I’m inclined to believe the former because this doesn’t read as a teacher to me, but the latter is probably more exciting.

^^ Here’s the aforementioned leg.

Both options are, again, seen as typical/suitable careers for women. I don’t feel it to be necessary to keep rehashing my points at this stage, because there’s not much I can add to this. This outfit Fucks, love you Gee Way.

MANSON GIRL:

This would be a cute outfit if not for the subtext. It’s also likely a Colleen Atwood costume since it doesn’t appear on Marina Toybina’s Instagram. Unless this is a purchasable item. That would be so messed up.

Charles Manson was a cult leader and serial killer from the 60’s. I really don’t want to read up on this stuff because it tends to make me feel sort of demoralised and gloomy, but he had this charismatic draw to him which attracted so many people to his cult. The ‘Manson Girls’ were these women, teens and young women, who were obsessed with him, would obey his every command, and end up abetting in the murders committed.

Dianne Lake, one of the ‘Manson Girls’, who had testified in court later revealed she was 14 when she met Charles Manson. It’s all just fucked up, which is no doubt why Gerard has chosen this specific homage for the tour.

These were mostly young women who were manipulated and charmed into following a murderer. Some of those girls were victims in their own right. They are yet another example of women who are surrounded by tragedy that the media so desperately wants to pick apart. That dichotomy of youth and beauty versus darkness is so appealing to a wide audience. Femininity is almost synonymous with innocence. It is something clean and pure and beautiful, it cannot coexist with cultists and murder.

This also functions as a critique on masculinity, mirroring Gerard’s own stance on Rock culture. During the early 00’s (and likely still today), there was a large culture around ‘groupies’ and rampant sexism within the Rock scene. It was all too common for women to be asked to do provocative things for a backstage pass, and Gerard talked extensively on how much he despises that aspect of the scene. These idolised, charismatic male figures taking advantage of young women who are desperate for their approval and attention is a tired old tune we are sick of hearing.

Double whammy with this one. Maybe the most jarring one on the list, but the next entry is a close second.

*PRINCESS DIANA:

The universally loved Princess Di. In all honesty, I should have my mum write this part because she loves Princess Diana, and she is very much before my time. Since that’s not an actual option, Wikipedia.

Much like Jackie Kennedy, she was a woman of high status and regarded for her taste in fashion. The conspiracies that surround her death are what give her story that element of darkness. She’s called The People’s Princess because she really was loved universally. People who talk about her today were fans from her time, or people who are into the conspiracy of it. Genuinely, I don’t have a lot to add to this one. Yeah, she was a beloved woman who may have been murdered by the royal family. Gerard’s got an aesthetic, can’t you tell?

*JOAN OF ARC:

Gerard Way loves Joan of Arc. During the writing of The Black Parade they would have these ‘waking dreams’ of seeing her burn at the stake. I’d love to insert that incredibly long ramble they have about how much they love her. Actually, I will do just that. From the 2007 Rolling Stone Interview:

“Joan of Arc is my favourite historical-legendary-whatever figure. Number one, it’s a boyish, waifish girl in a suit of armor on a white horse, and that’s badass. I’ve always been attracted to that character because it was somebody who was willing to die for what they believed in, and they were probably fucking crazy and like, touched by the hand of God, and I believe in that shit. I totally believe in that stuff. I believe that it can happen to anybody.

Like when we started this band, there was a brief amount of time where it felt like you drank gasoline and shit glass, and you were always covered in your own sweat, somebody else’s spit or blood or something. And I felt that, you know what I mean? I would make crazy speeches that made no sense onstage. I would talk about purifying flames being shot out of our cabinets at max volume to destroy evil and shit like that. I was, you know, touched in the head. And really, when you get touched in the head like that, I think your job at that point for the rest of your career is to remember what it was like to be touched in the head, and kind of keep that going. ‘Cause that can’t last forever, you’ll be dead, I think. Like Joan of Arc. So, yeah, I love Joan of Arc.”

He just thinks she’s the coolest thing to ever grace the earth and he went on about ‘she was probably touched by the hand of God and was batshit and sometimes I feel like that too.’ The MCR Return Tour was supposed to start on the 100th anniversary of her canonization, but it was delayed due to COVID. ‘Just give is war-worn lipstick blood and purifying flame’ is a lyric in Bury Me In Black, which may be a reference to Joan’s demise. She makes an appearance on the art for the Black Parade vinyl.

So there’s the very meta ‘Gerard Loves Joan of Arc’ interpretation of her appearance on tour, but the religious imagery and talk of ‘purifying flames’ do allude to themes of MCR5. She herself was a saint, which is referenced in the lyrics of The Foundations of Decay. Joan of Arc led troops through war and was an accomplished leader before she was sentenced to death, mirroring those allusions to war that are scattered throughout the tour. Crossdressing was considered blasphemous, and while it was an effective tactic to rally troops, it wasn’t so well-received among the French public.

This may be an exception to FEMCR because her story doesn’t fit so cleanly into the Tragic Historical Women category. Getting burned alive is horrifying but considering the times it’s not out of the ordinary. Joan of Arc was only 19 when she was burnt at the stake, and although that’s messed up her story is never one of tragedy, but one of freedom and feminism. This costume dips its toes into that historical heroine horror, but reads more as passionate homage as opposed to commentary.

If it appears that I’ve omitted a particular FEMCR outfit, I can assure you it is intentional. I’m saving the best for last.

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#mcr #my chemical romance #mcr5 #mcr5 theory #mcr5 is real

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