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centaurianthropology · 3 years

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Far-Too-Specific Predictions for Critical Role C3 that will Absolutely be Wrong (but I like)

Setting and Flavor

I would love to see a group of veterans after a massive war that left both sides devastated. Matt likes to play with difficult moral conundrums, and a setting where two warring parties both came off poorly, and now they’re both limping through a reconstruction could be really interesting for a long-play game. I would also really like to see both sides of the conflict represented in the group. The one thing I wanted to see more of in campaign 2 was a native Xorhasian perspective in the group (aside from Essek, who wasn’t a PC). I’m placing this as post-major Dynasty/Empire conflict at some point in the future, so it would be the same geographical setting as campaign 2, but time skipped enough that we don’t really have a ton of recurring characters. Cameos from the longer-lived Campaign 2 characters are still possible, though.

Player characters

These predictions are based on my perception of player preferences, interesting roleplay opportunities, and focusing on things that the players seem interested in but haven’t been able to explore yet. I have also built prior relationships, because I loved having PCs come in with relationships to build the group on and give early opportunities for trust and character building:

Travis: Human Cleric (Order), with possible multi-class Fighter (Battle master). I would love to lean into a tactical, Imperial battle-commander type character for Travis, who can hit, but leans more support. I also would love to see him play a cleric with wavering faith in how he used to believe and practice. He has seen too much of war, too much of dying, to be overly-devoted to a single law or side, and is on an active quest of faith to find a higher sense of order and morality. He maybe left the army in disgrace, or went AWOL, but either way he is persona non grata on his former side of the war, with only one ally having followed him into exile. Prior relationship: Ashley’s fighter. When he went AWOL or was driven into exile, she was the only soldier who followed him. He struggles with his choices and his faith, and she acts as his rock and has become far more of an equal because of that.

Ashley: Warforged Fighter (echo knight). Ashley loves a straightforward fighter, so I wanted to give her something without complex rules to stress her out, but one that still has some really interesting flavor and possibilities once she gets into the groove. Echo knight is ideal, because it’s not a hard subclass to play, but it can be seriously fun. I like the idea that her character was built as an answer to Xorhasian dunamancy, to double herself and fight as two. As she evolved and became less a machine and more a person, she became more and more attached to her commander rather than blind patriotism, to the point that when he left, she went with him. Prior relationship: Travis’ cleric. He was her commander, and she still tends to act as his soldier, despite his wavering faith. She followed him when he lost faith, and she continues to be the one who follows and believes in him.

Laura: Full Orc Barbarian (wild magic). Laura loves to hit things, and has clearly wanted to play a hardcore tank for a while. I want her to be able to wade into any fight and tank a ton of damage, and full orc and barbarian both play into that. I figure her character would be Xorhasian, was a soldier for a while, but could never fit in because of her taste for wild magic and her chaotic nature. Having her be a full orc would also allow her to explore playing a character who can’t be traditionally sexy, which would be a fun change from Vex and Jester. I see her as someone who rapidly went AWOL from the army, and is generally unaligned and doesn’t want to think about the war or what it did to her country or her people, and wallows in wild magic to avoid it. Maybe she went to the Menagerie Coast during the war to get away from the fighting and dive deeper into her path, at which point she met Sam’s character. Prior relationship: Sam’s sorcerer, as they walk the same path. They share a faith, and that drew them together before the campaign, and they’re chaotic, happy best friends.

Sam: Satyr Sorcerer (wild magic). Doubling up wild magic would be nuts, but would allow Sam and Laura to play with some crazy combos in roleplay and in combat. Sam loves unpredictability, and so I could really see him leaning into the dice roll and relishing when things go wrong as a wild magic sorcerer. Satyr would also lean into this chaotic bent, and would stack well with the charisma-based sorcerer build. I see him as being from the Menagerie Coast, unaligned in the war, but touched by it somehow (possibly lost someone / his home / etc to the fighting?). He and Laura’s character met due to their mutual inclination and tie to wild magic, and are very close friends who have tried to spend the entire war pretending there isn’t a war. Prior relationship: Laura’s barbarian. They are on the same wild path, but perhaps have different connections to it or opinions about it to give them different flavors and different approaches to the same chaos.

Marisha: Yuan-ti Pureblood Rogue (swashbuckler). Let Marisha play high charisma! Let her play a pirate! I would love to see a snake-y pirate lady, unaffiliated with everything, acting as a sarcastic outside observer. I would love to see her lean into snark and the scoundrel-with-a-heart-of-gold archetype, especially in a race than is stereotyped as evil. Maybe she’s getting out of the pirate’s life, or did something horrific that riddles her with guilt that she covers with snark. I would just love to have her get a dark, but non-political backstory. Prior relationship: None. She is a wildcard character, deliberately. She comes in and adds a very different flavor and perspective, and as such, probably shouldn’t have a relationship with any of the other characters.

Liam: High Elf Artificer (artillerist). Liam’s love of describing his spells’ mechanics in C2 was what inspired this. I think he would enjoy being an inventor steeped in tragedy, possibly as someone who invented a weapon of mass destruction for the Empire, and still wants to believe in his homeland, despite what he did and what they did. Give me Liam as the man who has become death, destroyer of worlds. It plays into his love of tragedy and redemption, and I am here for that. Prior relationship: Taliesin’s wizard. His shame has kept him a hermit, but chance brought Taliesin’s character to him, and he saw Taliesin’s character as a means of redemption or better understanding. Having his closest tie be to someone from the other side would also play into the tragedy of his character.

Taliesin: Drow Wizard (homebrew dunamancer). Taliesin has always been Matt’s go-to for exploring homebrew content, and introducing dunamancy into C2 was a ton of fun. I would love to see this get expanded and explored with a Xorhasian dunamancer character PC, and Taliesin has a talent for taking something Matt has played with (Firbolgs, blood hunters, etc.), and making it unique. He’s definitely the player I could see taking the dunamancer and making him very distinct from Essek and the pre-established notion of what a dunamancer is. This would also fit with my notion that his character was tightly tied to Dynasty politics, possibly a courtier background, prior to the war, and found himself tied up in it. I would love to see Taliesin play a character more politically tied to the central story than Caduceus was, as he has a talent for driving plot and being a lynchpin for Matt’s larger plans. So centering the deep-lore plot on Tal and Liam could be really great. Prior relationship: Liam’s artificer, though theirs is not a long acquaintance. They met shortly before the campaign, and though they have a bond, it’s new and somewhat untested. Not to mention that the combination of an artillerist who built a weapon of mass destruction and a dunamancer make for the potential for some explosive blowouts as secrets get revealed.

#Critical Role #C3 Predictions #travis willingham #taliesin jaffe #marisha ray #liam o'brien #sam riegel #laura bailey #ashley johnson #These predictions are far too specific #and absolutely pulled out of my ass #so I don't expect any of them to actually happen #I just had a fun time trying to fill all the necessary party slots and cater to apparent player interests #feel free to add your own thoughts #can you tell I just dove into CR finally #and am really enjoying getting back to my TTRPG roots?#matt mercer

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kyber-crystal · 4 years

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➳ good enough || s.r.

summary: after a long week you’re left completely exhausted. steve comforts you and helps you unwind.

words: ~1.6k

warnings: slight mentions of violence, angst, angst-to-fluff, a lil friends-to-lovers (i’m SORRY literally all of my oneshots are some variation of this but i just can’t resist), minor age gap? (if you call 5 years a lot). also civil war happened but they resolved it so 2017 au teeheeeeee

a/n: this sucked omg. why is my writing going downhill. also this is a red-room-turned-agent-reader who helped steve adjust when he came out of the ice bc i love cliche love backstories hehe...i tried to be very descriptive here but that failed oops. this is prolly one of my worst fics ever (it’s unedited) but my other one got deleted so i’m uploading this in its place!

Steve knew something was wrong the minute you came back from your mission. You always acted a bit off the first few days following your return, but for some reason, today seemed different. For the past week you'd been blatantly avoiding his gaze, refusing to meet his eye unless forced to.

You don’t even return Sam and Bucky’s sarcastic one-liners - and you always make sure to send a cheesy joke right back at them. It’s not typical for you to be so quiet and reserved like this; frankly, it scared him.

He knows that as a former Red Room assassin, you never had it easy. As the youngest of the twenty-eight dancer-disguised warriors, you were merely eight years old when you were admitted (Natasha was thirteen). At eight, there was much you didn’t know. You were naive, easily shaped to conform to the strict rules they’d set out for you.

But despite all the hell you’d gone through in the past, you managed to find it in your heart to forgive and create a compassionate nature towards others. Especially him. He always wondered what he deserved to get someone like you-- he felt more than lucky to have you in his life.

It was 4 a.m, and his insomnia was at its worst. It had peaked ever since he’d come out of the ice - he was 27, had so much of his life before him before it was abruptly put to a stop. But then he met you, with your warm eyes and kind smile that was such a sharp contrast to the girl you used to be.

The sound of muffled shouts coming from across the compound makes him look up - he sets down his mug of coffee and immediately heads down the hall to see what’s going on.

Steve carefully pushed open the glass doors to the training facility, seeing you standing in front of a punching bag and attacking the hell out of it with an almost murderous look in your eyes - one he’d never seen before. The tape around your knuckles were splattered with your crimson blood. Despite the dim lighting, he could see the outlines of fresh bruises all over your arms and shoulders. The sight made bile rise up in his throat. He felt his heart break.

Every heavy blow of your fists was accompanied by a ground-shaking boom that echoed across the gym, unleashing the monster trapped inside. You pick up the pace and increase your speed, channelling all your pent-up anger and frustration and guilt into what you were doing.

It hurts. You would give anything to get rid of the pain. It hurts like hell, but you would trade living a regret-ridden life for a guilt-free one in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Besides, you’ve experienced far worse before-- six-inch knife wounds, bullets to the abdomen and upper arms, broken ribs and noses. This should be a walk in the park.

The concerned super-soldier stood several feet away and observed you, silently watching you murdering the poor punching bag that’s barely withholding all the fury you’ve poured into pummeling it; it was about to burst at the seams.

“Y/N.” You didn’t hear him and kept going, so he repeated himself again. “Y/N.”

“What?” you snapped, keeping your gaze trained in front of you. “What the hell do you want?”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. What’s keeping you up at this hour?”

“Nothing,” you replied plainly, but he caught the brief flash of a grief-stricken look cross over your expression and your eyes glaze over, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“You clearly aren’t. Y/N, talk to me. Please.”

“I told you, I’m,” you increased the force of your fists with each word you spoke, as you felt your eyes stinging, “just, fine!”

“Y/N...” he whispered, so softly, as if he was afraid he’d break you with a single sentence.

That was the last straw. The tears spilled over. Your vision began to blur as you didn’t even bother to wipe them away. The broad-shouldered super-soldier, your fists, and the punching bag and everything insight are turned into blurry, shapeless blobs. You try blinking them away but it was no use; but you keep going.

“Please tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s wrong...please don’t shut me out. I only want to help.”

“Leave me alone,” you repeated with a growl, arms now aching with the pain of a thousand tiny needles. But he doesn’t, and he stays firmly rooted in his place. You hastily wiped at your nose with your hands. “For gods’ sake, Rogers, leave,” smack “me,” smack “alone.”

Your last punch was so hard the walls shook and caused Steve to take a step back in alarm. But after that, all the fight is gone from you. Your knees buckle from underneath you and your shoulders slump in defeat and you crumble to the floor. A sound so raw and hoarse escapes your lips and it sounds nothing near human.

The metallic scent of blood mixed with your salty tears and sweat overwhelms your senses and makes your head spin. Suddenly the act of taking in a single breath seems impossible and your chest tightens, preventing you from being able to breathe properly.

The ever-so-fragile wall that had been struggling to hold your tears at bay finally broke.

Heaving, wrenching sobs clawed their way up your throat and tore through your already weary heart - escaping in broken, agonized cries and heart-wrenching howls that make Steve feel like his heart is deliberately shattering into a million, tiny fragments of glass. He doesn’t know what to do because for the first time in his life, the woman he’s always seen with her head held high and an unmatched confidence that could almost put the President to shame was vulnerable, letting it all out at once.

Steve doesn’t ask any questions nor does he push to to speak up, but silently comes over to you and wraps you into a tight hug, cradling you against his chest. Your arms find their way around his torso, pressing your forehead against the soft cotton of his T-shirt as his free hand makes a gentle trek up and down your back.

As if you were a delicate flower, he carefully brought your head closer and pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a second longer than normal to reassure you. To reassure you that everything would in fact, be okay. Because he was there.

“Don’t leave me...please don’t leave me,” you choked out as he tightened his hold on you. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t, darling, I promise,” he cooed, lips brushing against your forehead, “it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay, we’re okay. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Then, the suffocating pressure is eased off your chest, little by little. You began sinking into the comfort of his warm arms and soothing words. And with his reminder that you didn’t have to go through hell and back alone, because he’d be there, you began to heal.

...

ONE YEAR LATER

“...Joining the Avengers has been one hell of a ride. I went through hell and back, had my fair share of ups and downs and fought in countless wars. But along the way I’ve been blessed with the privilege of getting a built-in second family and making some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. I met my soulmate.” Steve gazed down at you warmly as you spoke, “I honestly had no idea things would ever work out like this but now, I can’t imagine a life without knowing who all these amazing people are.

“It’s been 15 months since the day he saved me.” Everyone immediately fell silent. "I had hit a very, very low point in my life and I was just about ready to give up. It was like I was screaming into a void and nobody was there to catch me when I fell. I felt so helpless and lost. Stuck. If Steve hadn’t come along at the time he did...I don’t know what would’ve have happened instead. So, Steve...I want to thank you...for everything. I can’t even begin to list all the things you’ve sacrificed or done for my sake and I owe you. From this point forward I promise to always stick by your side no matter how rough things get. I promise to love you at your best and your worst; whenever you need me I’ll always be here. No amount of anything I do will ever match what you’ve done, but I can promise you this: I’ll love you until the day I die, ‘til death do us part.

“’Till death do us part,” Steve repeated, smiling through the tears in his eyes. “God, I love you.”

You broke into a gorgeous grin that had him weak at the knees. “I love you too.”

“The rings, please,” Fury nodded over in Peter’s direction, and the teenager handed them over to the two of you. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Captain Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you said softly, as you put on Steve’s ring.

He turned to the super-soldier. “And Captain Steven Grant Rogers, do you take Agent Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Steve took your hand in his and slid the diamond ring over your finger, “I do.”

“Very well, then,” Fury smiled widely, a rare sight. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve rushed forward and pulled you close, dipping you down low before bringing you back up and kissing you passionately.

His warm lips serving as a reminder of all that you still had left to live for, that you had so much of your life ahead of you. A life with him.

...

general tags(this is from my old taglist spreadsheet, including mutuals who might be interested): @rynhaswritersblock @purpleskiesstorm @pies-writes-and-more @wxstedhexrt @captainchrisstan @sandystoriess @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @patzammit @capcapcapsicle @wheresmyjae @thinkingofbuckybarnes @carryonmywaywardbucky @musicalkeys @buckybarnesthehotshot @tombob2005 @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sylvie-writes @sis-it-dont-add-up @tonystankschild @sunstalgia

steve rogers/chris evans tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @stainedsouvenir @marvelfanatic16

permanent tags<3: @poesflygirl @sandwitch-god

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ververa · 4 years

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heeello, I have a request!! Can you write a Leonore Osgood x Reader where the reader is her seamstress? ✨💗Something where Leonore starts to order more dresses as an excuse to see her more often and flirts with her at every good opportunity. I think Leonore is a very confident woman, so she may have taken the initiative to kiss the reader as soon as she thought she had a chance, not being able to withstand a rejection

thank you and sorry if I made mistakes, I'm not very good at writing in english :/

ps. I love your blog💖

“Beyond The Wildest Dreams”

A/N: Thank you so much for this request!!! I had a lot of fun writing it 🤗😅 It's longer than I intended and it's only a few of all the ideas I had for this fic 🙈 So, I actually may write a 2nd part or since I have a few requests for Lenore I may combine them

Anyways I kinda feel like it's not exactly what you wanted, but I hope you will enjoy it!! 😇

Also many thanks to @misssmephisto who always supports me and who helped me a lot with this fic!!! 💜💖💜💖💜

Lenore Osgood x fem!reader

Word count: ~5k

The moment you saw Lenore Osgoode for the first time the whole world simply stopped existing. People around you, models, photographers, former and possibly new clients, even your nervousness - caused by the very first fashion show of yours, was long forgotten, as you watched the gorgeous blonde taking a seat at the audience, right in the first row. She didn't quite fit with the rest. She was fabulous. No other in the room stood a chance with her. Self confidence radiated from every fibre of her body, not to mention that one look was enough to tell she was an enthusiast of refined style. She was with no doubt upper class. Her outfit itself indicated that she was one of those filthy rich people. Normally you tried to stay away from them, not feeling well in their company, yet this one time you were ready to make an exception. Who could ever blame you? Lenore truly distinguished herself and looked absolutely stunning dressed in a long, red dress and a mink coat.

She was beautiful and tall - you could put on her whatever you would want to and it would drape perfectly, only adding to her captivating charm. But clothes were more than that - for you at least. It wasn’t just about materials draping nicely or the person looking good. You considered clothes to be a person’s second skin. A layer supposed to not only cover all the imperfections, but also hide their dark secrets and sins, at the same time giving out a hint of their attitude. And that particular approach of yours combined with your skills made you an exceptional designer and a wonderful seamstress. On the other hand though, it made you misunderstood by many people - especially your fellows - which seemed to be the dark, less nice side of your profession, but you didn’t care about it at all. You were too busy, positively bedeviled with work, to spare your precious time to think about it.

As your eyes set on Lenore you immediately knew that you wanted nothing more, but to dress her up in all the finest materials you could get. Tailor her clothes to fit whatever was her guilt, to match the darkest parts of her soul. You looked her up and down, for what felt like a hundredth time that evening, and still you couldn’t get enough. You were ready and highly likely to come up with yet another project just like that. You knew for sure it would be something different. It had to be special, exclusive, hand-selected, designed just for her and as spectacular as the woman appeared to be.

The images of Lenore in taffeta and silk kept crossing your vivid imagination. You were just having some debate with yourself on what colour would suit her best, though much to your dismay you were brought back to reality by one of the assistants working there with you.

“Miss Y/L/N, we have a little problem backstage”

You turned towards the young man, resigning from watching the blonde and reluctantly giving your full attention to the man.

“I’m coming” you nodded and - after glancing at Lenore one more time - you followed him to find out what kind of problem he was talking about.

~~~~

Lenore sat and watched, but she didn’t even bother to pretend she was interested. She had a sense that being there was just a waste of time. And as a worldly woman that she beyond any doubt was - she hated wasting her time, especially in places like that. Shabby and tasteless. Full of inelegant, crude people who tended to get above themselves way too often, while in reality they had absolutely no idea what true sophistication and fashionability were. They came there to watch the show, but it had nothing to do with them being interested in fashion. It was just another way of exposing their self-importance. Lenore knew it better than anyone, but that was all right with her. She used to be like them too, though she no longer needed to prove anything to anyone. That's why for her being there was more like a torture.

If it hadn’t been for her impulsive and capricious decision to fire her tailor she wouldn’t even think of attending such a ridiculous event like a fashion show in a small, prospectless town. What could she possibly see there? Nothing. Those were simple people, not accustomed with high standards and clearly not ready for any fashion revolutions. Lenore hadn’t expected anything spectacular. There was no use in getting her hopes up, since she was there only because she needed a new seamstress. Enjoying the show was far from probable and she was well aware of it. Yet she went and stayed there. Fairly sick to death, but determined, hoping that if she put up with all the inconveniences, she would manage to find what she was looking for.

Cheap clothes and shoddy jewellery - was all she got to see for the first hour or so and that was enough to drive her crazy. Lenore wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Those people's taste or rather lack of it - cried to heaven. Calling something like that a fashion show appeared to be some barbarous jape. And at that point Lenore was fed up and ready to leave. It was so naive of her to envisage witnessing something groundbreaking, but there was still one more line of clothes supposed to be walked out - and that was it. A real breakthrough. Something out of the ordinary. Something that Lenore wanted, but didn’t know it before.

She watched - suddenly interested in everything that was happening on the runway. Models walked down one after the other, then disappeared, but each one of them - presenting another outfit, left Lenore even more astonished than the previous one.

Lenore Osgood had always been a material girl, but she felt no remorse about it. Clothes were her own kind of cakes and ale and she felt no shame choosing the perfect fabrics and jewelry that would suit her fancy, after all she had enough money to afford whatever she desired.

At that point all she wanted was that one particular line of clothes. The show wasn’t over yet, but Lenore already knew she was going to be the one to buy all those outfits. She kept waiting though - well aware that the last outfit was supposed to be the most extraordinary one. However she didn’t get to see it, as instead of the last model some man appeared on the runway - informing there was going to be a short break, because they had some problem.

Lenore huffed. She had never been a patient person and so - obviously - she wasn’t going to wait like others.The heiress stood up, flicked her long coat and not paying any attention to people - who intently observed her every move, not even trying to be discreet- she headed out to the backstage. She couldn’t care less about the rules or the fact that unauthorized people weren’t allowed there. It did not apply to her - that was how Lenore perceived every prohibition she encountered. She had never been the one to care much for the commonly accepted norms. She simply did what she pleased, completely unbothered by the possible consequences. Even more so at that moment - she just needed to meet the designer face to face. After all it didn’t happen often that someone managed to captivate her like that.

How surprised she was when instead of a man - as she incorrectly assumed the artist to be a male - her eyes set on you - a young woman. That’s when her amazement doubled.

At first Lenore stopped, slightly confused. She didn't speak up immediately. You weren’t there alone and she couldn't interrupt you and deprive herself of the opportunity to watch you working.

Some young, very tall and skinny woman stood there next to you. Lenore figured it must have been the model, supposed to walk down the runway as the last one. Lenore examined the woman’s body and immediately noticed that the dress she was wearing did not quite fit her - that was the problem apparently.

Lenore stood a few meters away. Not too far, so that she could see what you were doing, but still not close enough for you to notice her presence.

The blonde observed how your hand reached for some pins and then how you put a few of them in your mouth.

"I'm sorry, Y/N" the model said, sobbing

"Please, stop apologizing. Everything is alright" you mumbled, not really able to speak, because of the pins you kept between your lips.

"I destroyed the dress..."

"You didn't destroy anything. Now calm down and let me fix this little malfunction" you said, crouching behind the girl.

You took a seam ripper in one hand and held the fabric of the dress with the other. Normally seam rippers were used to help with occasional mistakes, but you were prone to experimenting with different sewing tools. Necessity is the mother of invention - you often said. And just like that, in one swift move you ripped one of the seams - only to pin it back together with pins within seconds. Except after that little operation of yours the dress became a bit looser. Not too excessively, but just enough to fit the model.

“See? It’s fixed.” you said, proudly looking at the result of your work and zipping the dress “Now, stop crying. There’s no need to cry” you reassured.

“But I couldn’t put it on…”

“Because it was too small”

“Exactly… I-I… I need to lose weight” she said in a breaking voice.

“No” you shook your head “Clothes are supposed to fit you, not the other way. Now go”

The woman nodded and rushed out, passing by next to Lenore, who was standing there with a cigarette in her hand - shamelessly checking you out.

“I must say, that was very impressive” the heiress stated, thereby making you aware of her presence.

You quickly turned around and were instantly met by the blue eyes and probably one of the most entrancing smiles you had ever seen. There she was. One and only Lenore Osgood in the flesh. You couldn’t help the gasp - she looked even better up close.

“I… Umm… Can I help you, madam?” you asked, internally scolding yourself for taking so long to say anything.

“Actually, you can, darling”

“I’m listening” you said, trying to act as natural as possible, despite the fact the nickname she used made your heart skip a beat.

Lenore pulled at her cigarette, then smiled - obviously pleased with your answer.

“You are the one who designed those close” she stated, but with a hint of uncertainty.

“That’s right”

“Well then, allow me to felicitate you. It was a wonderful show - the last part at least” she stated, rolling her eyes as she remembered how sorely dull the beginning of the event was.

“Thank you” you beamed at her words.

“You are welcome, darling” her smile got even wider - making you wonder if she realized what effect that goddamn nickname had on you.

“Now, let’s say I have an offer for you. What would you say if I asked you to work for me?” she continued.

How could you say no to her? You would most likely be out of your mind if you had denied such a proposal. Her invitation was one of those you could not and definitely did not want to decline. How could you do it after she bought all the outfits from your new collection - paying even more than they were actually worth. Not to mention that working for her was what you dreamed about ever since you saw her.

That's how you found yourself standing at the door of Lenore's mansion the very next day. She wanted to know what other ideas you had and see different projects of yours, so you took your binder and sewing planner with you. As you nervously waited for someone to open and let you in, you held the items tight, pressing them to your chest - as if they were some precious treasure.

"Miss Y/L/N? Come in, Ms Osgood is waiting for you" an older woman informed, as she led you inside.

You followed, looking around - taking in every detail of the house interior and trying to memorize it. You always held to a particular belief of the house being the image of its owner's soul. Some people found it ridiculous, but in that case it was true. Lenore's house was as superior, noble and remarkable as the heiress herself.

"Y/N!" the blonde called and you turned round. You immediately stopped, when you caught the sight of her.

Lenore was slowly descending the stairs - looking as gracefully as ever. You smiled to yourself, when you realized she was wearing one of the outfits that you created. You had never felt such joy and pride seeing your previous clients wearing something that you designed. But to be fair, none of them radiated with such regality as Lenore. No one could ever match her dignity or a sense of majesty, and apparently that was what made your projects look even more exquisite.

"Is it alright if I call you by your name, dear?" Lenore asked, stopping for a moment to allow her little monkey jump from her shoulder to the shoulder of the woman who let you in.

"If I'm allowed to call you by yours" you smiled.

"Absolutely, darling" the blonde said enthusiastically, as she moved towards you. A smirk appeared on her face, indicating that she did not miss the way you blushed at the nickname. "Let's sit down, shall we?" she suggested, pointing to a spacious room, where a white sofa and armchairs stood.

You nodded, as you moved to sit in one of the armchairs.

"Would you like something to drink, Y/N?" Lenore asked.

"Just a glass of water, please"

"Darce! Bring Y/N a glass of water" she ordered, clicking her fingers.

You shifted in the armchair. The woman in front of you made you feel nervous for some reason, but you tried to act professional.

"You wanted to see my projects, so I brought my binder…" you said, a bit hesitant.

"Wonderful!” she exclaimed, grinning “May I?" she asked, as she reached out for the item.

"Of course" you passed her the binder and then observed, as she intently studied each page.

"Your water, Miss Y/L/N" the older woman said, handing you the glass.

"Thank you" you smiled, carefully taking the vessel from her.

"What a talent and creativity!" Lenore praised, glancing at you with a smirk on her face, not paying attention to the other woman.

You smiled, taking a sip of the water - hoping it would actually help with calming your nerves.

Lenore spent almost an hour on deciding which of your projects she would like to get. She obviously liked them all, but she needed her clothes to be different. She needed them to be extraordinary, fancy and expensive. And so you suggested creating something just for her.

You were a hardworking person - used to staying up late to finish sewing different outfits. You always went all out and thereby made your clients satisfied, but with Lenore you wanted more. Making her satisfied simply didn't seem enough. You wanted to impress her, blow her away. Little did you know that the heiress already was spellbound - not only by your projects, but by you yourself.

Lenore had never met anyone who delighted her so much. Such manners, such a style and sophistication. Not to mention you were so extremely accomplished for your age. All that impressed her in a way, but also fascinated her. She was truly enchanted by you. No wonder. You had a peculiar background, attitude and approach to the real world. You were a rare sample and Lenore happened to like thinking of herself as a connoisseur. She liked uncommon things. That's why she desperately wanted to have a taste of that extraordinary, magical power that radiated from you. A taste of that particular thing that made you so special. Though before she decided to do anything, she needed to make sure you would not disapprove of her. Because rejection was something Lenore didn't take well.

Lenore figured out that taking things slow was a good thing to do. She decided to warm you up a little and make sure that she actually had a chance. She didn't want her intentions to be too obvious. Lenore had always been a little skeptical of displaying any sort of affection. She'd rather play around. Yet she couldn't deny it felt sort of different with you.

Lenore loved teasing you more than anything. You always seemed so stressed and flustered whenever you would come to her house to deliver yet another outfit - and she found it adorable.

~~~~

At first you would come to her house once a week. Each time bringing with you a different dress and a few of new projects for Lenore to have a look and either go with them or tell you what she would like you to change. She rarely wanted to make any adjustments though. Lenore appreciated all of your ideas - only occasionally asking you to make a particular outfit in different colour or use another kind of fabric than you had intended to at first, but she never criticised you. As a matter of fact, she was always praising you. Maybe even too excessively. She complimented basically everything about you - from your creativity and ideas to the way you dressed. It appeared that she knew exactly what to say to make you blush - of which she was not only aware, but also took pride in succeeding in doing it. However, as much as you loved it, you could not quite help all the worries that clouded in your head - when you began realizing that Lenore became someone more than just your client and boss.

It had been going on for months. You grew so used to spending time with her and designing clothes for her that at some point your life turned to be all about Lenore. Everything either reminded you of her or inspired you to make another outfit that would fit her and only her taste. Lenore and even her monkey became such a huge part of your life, that you couldn't picture yourself not doing all of the things you were doing and you definitely could not stop thinking about Lenore. To say that it scared you would be an understatement. The realization of your true feelings made you freak out completely. So much so that you did not know what to do. So much so you couldn't act the way you used to before. That's why you decided to take a break - hoping it would help you distance yourself.

You enforced your idea immediately - as instead of informing Lenore face to face, you called her.

"Ms Osgood, I need some time off for… personal reasons" you told her.

Lenore agreed of course, though that sudden phone call took her by surprise. She knew something wasn't quite alright, when you used her full name, but she didn't ask any questions.

She kept repeating everything that had happened the past week, yet she couldn't figure out what was actually going on. You had never taken time off before and the way you called whatever was happening - "personal reasons" caused her a lot of distress. What did that even mean? Were you in trouble? Was she supposed to do something? And why was she so worried about it?

At first Lenore tried to convince herself that she didn't really care. But she did. Her little game turned into something utterly different without her even realizing it. You turned out to be far more than just her seamstress and she appreciated you for more than only your brilliant mind or skills.

Lenore truly cared about you and missed you dearly. She missed your smile and seeing you blush at her compliments. She missed listening to you talking about your projects - so passionately.

Lenore was a grown-up and experienced woman, however she had never felt the way she felt with you. With you everything was different, new. And whatever she desired at the very beginning changed.

While you locked yourself in your apartment and lost yourself in work - as an attempt to distance from her, Lenore kept thinking of all the ways she could get closer to you. She was so desperate, so lovesick that she - the great heiress was ready to beg, even bow before for you if that was what it took.

You didn't expect Lenore to turn up at your door. It had been three days, you were sure everything was on the right track and you would manage to cure yourself of your fascination. Though, the moment you opened the door and saw Lenore in all her glory, everything came right back to you. All your feelings hit you again - that time with doubled power.

"Lenore… w-what are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too, Y/N" she said, passing by you - not waiting for you to invite her inside.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. How could anyone be able to make you feel so weak and yet so empowered at the same time?

Lenore walked in, then looked around your apartment. It wasn't too big, but she had to admit it was classy - you perfectly combined living space with workspace. But your flat wasn't what interested her the most. The heiress turned round to face you and offered you a cocky smile, as she took in your form. Lenore was used to seeing you in various dresses and heels, though that day you looked completely different. You were not only barefoot, but also instead of a dress, you had a white shirt and denim overalls on. Your hair was put in a messy ponytail and a measuring tape was draped around your neck - signifying that you were working.

"So, how can I help you?" you asked, not looking at Lenore.

The blonde smiled. "I was just passing by and thought I'd check on you"

"Check on me?" you repeated, raising your eyes.

"Yes" Lenore said calmly "Would you mind if I stay here for some time?"

"I-" you were about to protest, but it was too late, since Lenore sat down on one of the chairs and lit her cigarette.

"So, have you managed to resolve those personal reasons of yours?"

"Not really, I guess" you said, watching Lenore cross her legs.

The way you stared at her body didn't go unnoticed. Lenore didn't miss how flustered you got either, but she said nothing. It wasn't the right time - not just yet.

You sighed, approaching a table on which you had different materials laid. You got back to work, trying to ignore Lenore's presence. It was hard to focus on anything though. It was impossible when she was sitting there and watching you, but you kept trying anyways.

Lenore didn't speak for a few minutes. She simply enjoyed the moment - the possibility of watching you work and being around you in general.

"Is this a new project?" she asked, dragging on her cigarette.

"Actually yes. It's going to be your dress for the party that you're attending next month"

"Oh. Well, it looks nice"

You laughed at her words.

"It doesn't look like anything yet"

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful. Every project of yours is, darling"

You looked at her, not able to contain the smile caused by her compliment.

And that smile was what motivated Lenore to make the first step.

"You know, I was thinking about you for the past few days," she began, as you focused on pinning the fabric together again.

"They don't appreciate you enough. I mean those men you're working with. They're wasting your potential. You should work for your own brand and not for theirs"

"Well…" you were about to say something, but Lenore cut you off.

"And I figured out there are two ways I could help you in"

"Yeah?" you said, but still didn't pay much attention to her words.

"Yes" Lenore stubbed her cigarette and stood up, as she continued "I could either become some kind of your patroness. This is the first option, but personally I like the second one more" she explained, as she stopped on the opposite side of the table.

"What's the second option then?" you asked, reaching for yet another pin.

"Well" Lenore smiled. You were still so oblivious "I could be your sugar momma"

"Shit!" you cursed, as you accidentally hurt your finger with the pin "W-what?" you choked, looking at her. Your eyes were wide open, as Lenore approached you and carefully took your hand in her own. She then slowly brought the finger you had just cut to her lips and kissed it.

"I said…"

"No. I k-know what you said… I… I just…" you stuttered, not able to form any coherent sentence.

"Which option do you like better, sweetheart?" she asked in a low voice.

"I…" you gasped, staring at her lips.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, so instead you leaned in and kissed her. You could feel how her lips formed a smirk and even though your eyes were shut at that point, you could see that damn sly smile.

"I was hoping you'd go with the second option" Lenore chuckled.

You wanted to respond to her words, but before you managed to regain the ability to think properly - Lenore lifted you up and made you sit on the table.

"Your dress…" you tried to protest, but were immediately cut off.

"I'd rather take you this time" Lenore said and captured your lips once again.

That definitely wasn't what you had expected when you accepted the job offer. You hadn't even dreamed about it. And even if you had, being so close to Lenore, feeling her warm hands on your body and her soft lips pressed against yours was beyond any wildest dreams you could ever have.

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx, @pradababey

#sorry if this is bad #lenore osgood #lenore osgood x reader #lenore osgood imagine #sharon stone imagine #ratched #ratched fanfiction #requests

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beyondconfessor · 4 years

Text

Truth or Lie

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Missy/Reader

Summary: “Show. Me,” Missy repeated, a sharp command to her voice that shot down your spine.

N.B.: Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, masturbation/auto-fisting. Mentions of getting turned on by the idea of a pretty evil woman killing you (look, I know who I am and this is purely self-indulgent)

The Doctor didn’t allow you in the vault. In fact, he’d been quite explicit about the fact that you were not, under any circumstances to enter without him present.

Which was fine. Mostly fine. It’d been fine up until Missy had somewhat joined on a mission and apparently spent the entire time flirting with you. It’d been entirely surprising, and if the Doctor hadn’t been watching with high disapproval on his face, you might have indulged in the flirtation back.

As it was, you couldn’t.

So…you snuck into the vault, where Missy had returned to her place, behind the lovely barrier, and while the Doctor was away, his companion could play.

One trip, mostly filled with light conversation, a curiosity really to understand the so-called monster in the vault, turned to two visits, then three and then four, with flirtation and banter running between you. Missy would give a sharp response, somewhere between a threat and a flirt, and you would smirk, and whisper about promises.

“I could kill you.”

“I know.”

“Right now, I could escape.”

“I know.” And then you smirked her. “And how would you kill me?”

“Strangulation,” she said as if she’d thought about it. “You deserve something personal.”

It was the first time the flirting had paused from you. There was no witty banter, no retort or response, only the image of her fingers around your throat as she hushed your attempts to fight back.

You could imagine her blue eyes staring deep into your own eyes, her mouth parted, tongue behind her teeth as she grinned wide and bright, watching the life drain from you. Crooning how good you were being.

It should frighten you. It should terrify you. And maybe it did, but it also a struck a deep part, low in your belly as you imagine her straddling your waist, pinning you to the ground with her knees pressing against your shoulders.

“Oh,” Missy laughed. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, poppet?”

It was enough to tear your thoughts away from the image and give a wave of guilt as you were reminded that your survival instinct was entirely rubbish against the hot evil lady before you. Cheeks turning red, you looked away, hating how the embarrassed washed over your face and down your neck, giving away your desire as plainly as if you’d spoken it.

“There’s no shame in it, you know.” You looked up. She was sitting on the piano, legs swinging idly before she stopped, and stared. “I could even make it pleasant.”

You cleared your throat and looked away. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Mm. I could hypnotise you first, have you do all sorts of naughty things for me before I did it, and then you wouldn’t even struggle. But I would like it if you struggled.”

The room felt hot, and you gasped in a breath, thinking about leaving to sort the situation out yourself before it became too much.

“In fact,” Missy said. “I could hypnotise you right now.” There was a sweet way she turned her voice as if she was promising a Christmas present. If you’re very good, I’ll hypnotise you and then suffocate the air from your lungs.

Honestly, it was terrifying how easy you would allow her to destroy you.

“I need to leave,” you said thickly. Making a move to exit the room.

“Poppet,” she called, and you stopped, turning over your shoulder to catch her out of the corner of your eyes. “If you get something for me, I’ll give you a present.”

“What present?”

She only stared at you, a knowing smile on her face. She didn’t needle to dangle the carrot in front of you. The very promise of it was enough.

“Tell the Doctor to invite me out again. Convince him that I’m trying, and if you do…” she trailed off and laughed.

It was enough.

You spoke to the Doctor, unsubtle in your attempts and yet earnest with your intention. Keeping her locked in the vault didn’t allow her to prove anything. If he wanted her to help, truly help, he should be trying to encourage through actions in shorter, safer walks, so to speak. Rehabilitation was about trust, after all, and it needed to go both ways.

He relented. Advising that he’d allow her to leave the vault on brief trips to places where limited havoc could be reached, to begin with.

And then she stepped onto the TARDIS, her eyes swung to yours briefly, before glancing away. You travelled to distant moons, where museums were held. You travelled to an empty space ship, where she and the Doctor uncovered an ancient murder as you and Bill stood around awkwardly, listening to them bicker. You saw a planet burn as its sun went supernova.

There was a trip after trip, and each time, Missy would glance you, but never speak directly to you, monologuing to allow anyone to comment.

It left you to wonder what the present was.

Wondering if it was just the fact that she didn’t kill you. That should have been enough. Bill certainly thought it was, convinced that Missy might turn at any moment as she made snide comments to an agreeing Nardole.

But your eyes followed Missy, and each time watched as, after your trip, the Doctor would return her to the vault where she would go without a fight, and the Doctor would watch her suspiciously.

On one such occasion, he made a comment to the effect that he knew Missy was up to something, had something planned, but couldn’t quite work out what it was.

“Or she’s just trying to be good,” you told him. “Isn’t that what you want from her? To go and do these trips and not create mischief.”

“She got into a fight with the Derinenium Vendors,” he pointed out. “By haggling.”

“They were asking a bit much,” you countered, but the Doctor wasn’t listening anymore, returning to his thoughts about how Missy was planning something, he just needed to work out what it was before she could put it in action.

At night, you would lie in bed and think about Missy’s hands around your throat. And then you’d wonder about where her else hands could touch.

And then, having enough of the trips, the looming silence between you and the nights alone in your bed stroking yourself raw with thoughts of her, you made your way back to the vault, like you did so long ago.

The piano music stopped at you entered, and although she didn’t turn around, you knew that she was aware it was you.

The vault doors shut and her head slowly turned to face you, eyes alight. “Well look who finally came to collect her present.”

“And what’s my present?” you asked.

“Hmm. Well, I’ll tell you, but first, you have to play a game.”

“What game?” you asked.

“Just a small game,” she shrugged. “I promise it won’t end in death, so as long as you don’t make me cross.” She grinned at the end, eyes flashing to let you know that she wasn’t entirely joking.

“Fine,” you agreed. “I’ll play a game.”

“Good girl.” You squirmed at the comment and watched her grin widen. “Now, the rules are straightforward. I’m going to say a statement, and you’re going to respond with truth or lie. You have to be honest, though, because I’ll know if you’re trying to deceive me.”

You nodded, not quite sure where she what she was getting, but there was the sense that she was setting up a prank you weren’t quite in on, and a low, squeezing feeling filled your belly.

“You joined the Doctor after egghead, but before the other one.”

The other one being Bill, you presumed. “Truth.”

She smiled. “You think the Doctor is quite clever but rather annoying at times.”

“Truth.”

“You fancy yourself more clever than other humans.”

“Lie.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she looked away, adjusting her skirts on the piano seat. “You like the danger of the little trips.”

“Truth,” you said. It was hardly a lie that you weren’t some sort of adrenaline junkie. There was no way you would stay with the Doctor if it weren’t for the thrill of running from and towards danger in equal merits.

“You masturbate about me nightly.”

Your breath was pulled at that moment, eyes staring at Missy’s as you realised her angle all along was to humiliate you. She hadn’t quite managed to lull you into a false sense of security, but you had presumed that she would be trying to get you angry, confront some deep dark, selfish part of yourself. Not…admit to that.

“Answer up,” Missy sighed, rolling her eyes. “Truth or lie, you have to respond.”

“Truth,” you said.

Missy blinked and seemed to grow tall in her seat, back straightening as she laughed, delighted by your response. “How many times?” she asked.

“That’s a question, not a statement,” you said, to lead her back on topic.

“Bored of the game now, answer my question––how many times?” You watched her lean forward on the piano seat, eyes bright with a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Two, sometimes three times a night,” you admit. “Is this the whole point of the game?”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show. Me,” Missy repeated, a sharp command to her voice that shot down your spine. And then she ended it with a grin. It was hungry, it was shark-like, but worst of all, it was the grin of a woman who knew she was going to win.

“Here?”

“Well you can hardly do it in the TARDIS on my next trip––unless you like spectators of course.”

You shivered at the mention and then bit your lip, looking to the vault door. The Doctor was in a class. He’d be busy for another hour at least. And yet, you couldn’t help but think that this was a bad idea, terrible really.

It didn’t stop you from turning back to Missy. “Okay,” you agreed. And then you were unbuckling your belt, before undoing your jeans, watching with heated cheeks as Missy leant back against the piano. Her expression remained neutral as you slid down the denim, then the cotton underwear, feeling your ass press against the leather armchair.

You looked away, sliding down on the edge of the armchair as you stroked between your thighs––finding yourself already slick and swollen.

“Uh-uh, this is for me,” Missy said, “I want eye-contact.”

You turned your eyes on hers, holding the bright blue as Missy rose from the piano and came to step on the very edge of the podium, staring down at you.

“Good girl,” she crooned. “Now open your legs wider for Mummy.”

“Oh God,” you hissed, but obey nonetheless. Your legs were wide open, fingers stroking over the sex and another hand circled your clit. You wanted to look away, but Missy’s expression shifted into that of hunger and you couldn’t.

“Two, three times a night for little old me?” she asked.

You nodded, biting down on your lip as a moan caught in your throat.

“And do you think about me touching you right there?” she asked, pointing at your cunt. “Or do you think about touching me?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

She tilted her head, her eyes fascinated. You couldn’t tell if she was flattered or just curious by the whole thing.

“Don’t just stroke, finger yourself too. I want to see how much you can take.”

And so you obeyed. You slid two fingers in, curling inside as your other hand continued to stroke and circle your clit, then you slid in a third, and then a fourth. The angle was awkward, but the feeling of it filling you up at your stared at Missy’s enraptured attention was enough.

“May I––“

“Not yet,” she said. And she tilted her head, watching you buck and thrust against your fingers. “Thumb in too.”

“I can’t––“

“Won’t. Try it. For me.”

The angle was awkward, but you pressed your thumb to your entrance, feeling your cunt ache at the pressure. Four fingers were easy enough, but the thumb was a lot.

You pressed deeper, squirming in the seat, finger pausing on your clit and hear her tut, “don’t stop, you can do fit it in.”

Pressing the thumb deeper, you whined, but she was right, it did fit. It could fit.

“Good girl, you can finish now if you like.”

You squeezed around the fingers, and with the permission from Missy, her smile completely feral, it was enough to convulse suddenly on the armchair. Your heels dug into the ground as you came around your fist with a sudden gush. The climax spilt across your wrist and thighs, down the armchair as you whimpered at the release.

Missy laughed. “Ohh, you are fun,” she said. “Hmm, but enough now.”

You pulled your fingers out, whimpering at the aching, hollow feeling left behind. You paused, catching your breath. And then, looking away from Missy, you were pulling up the cotton underwear, the jeans, and buckling up your belt again.

You felt wet and sticky, and there was nothing immediately around you to clean the mess on your hand. Awkwardly, you stood up and shivered, intimately aware of what you’d just done as Missy sat back on the piano.

“Doctor will be here soon,” she said. “Best to run off and clean up before he realises what’s happened.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but she blinked at you, not unlike a cat wondering while you were standing before it, and the words died away. You gave a small nod and went to leave.

“Oh, and next time, bring something to play with. Maybe that blue dildo you’re so fond of,” she said

You paused, wondering how she even knew of it, before deciding that Missy had likely gone through your belonging on the TARDIS. “Okay,” you agreed because your underwear was wet, and your hand smelt of your cunt and she was smiling at you like the cat that got the canary.

And then she swung around on the piano seat, and placed her hands on the keys, apparently ignoring you now as she began to play a familiar tune.

You left the fault, ensuring it was shut behind you and wondered how you were going to take before you revisited her.

(It was a week).

#missy x reader #missy #the master x reader #gomez!master x reader #reader #morgan writes #morgans fics

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whetstonefires · 4 years

Text

mcu ethics bad

The thing is that, while I was angry at Tony during Age of Ultron, particularly when he rode over Bruce’s compunctions about building a giant combat super-robot and pressured him into the project like a very very bad friend who happened to also be wrong...

...and when he equipped Hulkbuster armor and fought the Hulk in the middle of a city rather than attempting de-escalation or attempting to haul the Hulk out into the giant adjacent desert....

(And my suspension of disbelief snapped like a frayed cable when he brought down a skyscraper that had had no time to be evacuated on a street full of fleeing people and the only reason we were given to believe he hadn’t just cold-bloodedly created massive civilian casualties was that he told his AI to find the impossible magic angle where doing this wouldn’t kill anyone...)

While I was angry with him then, and unspeakably relieved that he recognized his own damage and retired at the end, haha psych, I was revolted by him during Civil War.

It’s supposed to make us sympathize with a character more, spending so much time with them, getting into their heads, being shown their emotional drives and reactions to things, and we spent so much time with Tony during that film, understanding his point of view. And...I did understand him. He’s not complicated. I even sympathized with his emotional state.

But in the context of his actions, throughout the film, I gazed into that understanding the way I did into Kylo Ren’s face in the seconds after he first unmasked. I see you, I know you, everything you are is written here, and the lines of your shame and self-revulsion are so thick upon you, and you should be ashamed but your self-destruction does not expiate or justify one jot of the harm you do.

Because everything Tony did in Civil War came from a place of selfishness. He was selfish all throughout that movie down to his very spine.

And selfishness isn’t itself necessarily bad--you need a little, to get through life, you have the right to your own portion of it. Your boundaries and your needs. But the type of selfishness that is forcing other people pay dearly for your emotional comfort and sense of control: no.

That is tyranny. That is not acceptable.

And you know how I know he was being selfish? Because his motive for pushing the Sokovia Accords was his personal guilt for the destruction of Sokovia.

But the Accords didn’t address that at all! They were tangential to the issue! None of the terms of the Accords would have saved Sokovia--in fact, the existence of them could easily have prevented the evacuation and harm-reduction the Avengers managed there, without saving a single soul.

The Ultron crisis was something Tony did, not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, with Bruce Banner’s help, and which Wanda as criminal fugitive later helped exacerbate, and which all the other Avengers were involved in only to mitigate harm.

Legislation, or...treaties, idk, the UN isn’t actually empowered to pass laws so who knows what this thing was...aimed at preventing another Sokovia would mandate constant ethical oversight of billionaire science man’s mad science. At the very least! He never has to run things by ethics boards because he’s self-funded, at the very least let’s invent a mechanism to make up for that.

That would address the actual Sokovia issue, both in terms of risks and in terms of Tony’s personal guilt feelings.

But no one suggests that! It’s not even on the table! Because no one, certainly not any government, can tell Tony Stark what to do unless he lets them, that’s been a clear matter of record since Iron Man 2.

And because no one writing this legal instrument of whatever description was actually motivated by wanting to avoid another Sokovia, or even another ‘Wanda tries to neutralize a suicide bomber but merely gives him a different, smaller victim pool’ incident.

They didn’t care! They blatantly didn’t care! The entire thing was a ghoulish use of the dead to gain enough political leverage over the Avengers to put a leash on them!

(Which might not be a bad thing in principle, everything needs its checks, but when the last quasi-governmental organization you worked for turned out to be Nazis who were only prevented from staging a mass slaughter of undesireables by the skin of your teeth, I think you’re well within your rights to be very choosy about who you agree to obey, and to be firmly against pledging your honor to follow people whose first move was dishonest coercive tactics.

Actually you’re well within your rights to demand to negotiate the terms of even a much less sweeping contract, even without the Nazis. The whole approach to this thing stank to high heaven.

The fact that it was written by the UN like a treaty, expected to be signed by private individuals like a contract, and then enforced like a law except not because 1) laws are for everyone 2) if you break a law you get a trial not extrajudicial incarceration and 3) being pressured to consent to a restriction and then punished for refusing consent is hypocritical circular logic and in fact police corruption at its finest, all continues to show it was a bullshit nonsense franken-document.)

The whole movie is people ghoulishly using the dead to manipulate Tony into making bad decisions in response to his emotional pain. That’s. The plot of the film.

Then Zemo staged T’Chaka’s assassination and framed Bucky for it to raise the tension, ramp up the pressure, and prevent any sitting-down and talking reasonably through this, which might have allowed for the recognition of how extremely bullshit the entire concept was.

Tony was being used. Tony was a tool of bad people for most of that movie, and while Zemo banked on using his wrath for it, the politicos were leaning on his guilt.

And there’s honestly little I hold in deeper scorn than going out and hurting other people to assuage your own guilt and treating this as having the moral high ground. No. You don’t have the moral high ground on account of your guilt motivation. You have it if the actions you took were just, or at least could reasonably be assumed to have been so at the time.

And Tony fucking knew they weren’t. He didn’t even last to the end of the movie before recognizing that he’d been manipulated and fucked up, and doubling back.

That he then walked into a different manipulation, turned on a dime, and had to be stopped from doing a murder doesn’t unwrite that.

And it drives me nuts that people will say Tony was acting out of principle while Steve was acting out of personal attachment. Because sure, the Bucky thing was important, was the reason he was walking forward against all opposition instead of standing still to argue, but it wasn’t the reason Steve said no, while...

Tony wasn’t acting out of principle. Tony isn’t...very good at having principles. That’s not even a criticism or condemnation, it’s just how he functions. Since Iron Man he’s been substituting good intentions and emotional investment, which has worked out to varying degrees. It works best for huge, difficult, very straightforward decisions like ‘ride the nuke through the portal and save my hometown.’ It works less well for nuanced situations.

Tony was, as usual, acting out of emotion. And some awful shitheads who’d figured out where his levers were had calculated how to jiggle his emotion switches in the right places to make him do exactly what they wanted.

And you can tell he wasn’t acting out of principle because, for example, someone who was trying to get the superhero community under outside control for the sake of harm mitigation...

...well, firstly wouldn’t have chosen to stage a massive battle? But it’s possible someone in the UN specifically told him to do that, and in theory they at the very least signed off on it, presumably for its PR value of making Captain America look deranged and violent since it’s a deranged decision from every other angle, so yay, he can pass that responsibility up the chain and not have to angst about it, as promised.

But I was going to say would not have approached a minor who (this timeline takes pains to show us) had no prior experience of battle or even, somehow, serious violent crime, to recruit him to go be a government child soldier on another continent, without his guardian’s knowledge or consent. There were overtones of blackmail in Tony’s approach, before it turned out Peter was such a big fan he didn’t need that. What the fuck frankly.

That is not the action of someone who wants to start doing things by the letter, scaling the violence down, keeping within the law and putting the power of decisionmaking in other people’s hands because he’s realized he can’t trust his own.

And frankly even if he did act like that I wouldn’t necessarily support his choices, in particular his snap decision to behave coercively toward other Avengers with vastly less social power and security than he has.

And that’s the other thing! Everything about ‘Tony + Accords BFFs’ rings so hollow because he has never thought rules applied to him, and he knows perfectly well the entire time he’s fighting to force this surrender of agency down other people’s throats that he is going to be practically immune.

This man was technically a terrorist, proabably the most prolific single terrorist in world history until his rogue android exceeded his body count, but he was immune to prosecution because he was in tight with the United States military-industrial complex and basically untouchable due to his status within capitalism, and pursuing their international goals anyway. In the time between Iron Man and Iron Man II he was basically a one-man upgrade of the US drone program, and so good at it that the crest of blood he carved through the Middle East allowed him to announce he had ‘privatized world peace.’

(You are never going to get a world peace worth anything on the basis of a giant flying gun, okay.)

He went to war as a private individual, against non-state actors who were not directly threatening him, which is very much defined as ‘mass murder’ in all domestic and international law, and the US army in response sued him for control of his weapon. And lost! Lost.

No one attempted to press charges. No one. Because Tony Stark is above all that. And he knows it.

And like. I’m willing to accept the mass murder under the heading of ‘superheroing’ within the terms of this setting! Even if, after his vengeance rampage on his specific kidnappers, this violence was kept strictly off-screen for a reason. I did that! I bent that far! Genre convention!

But this history is kind of vitally important to any analysis of what he thought he was doing, and what he actually was doing, when he decided to become the iron gauntlet of the Sokovia Accords.

The currently active member of the Avengers who needed muzzling most was very manifestly Iron Man, and he knew even as he jammed the muzzle on all his comrades to make himself feel better that it would affect him the least, even if he didn’t finally retire for real this time. You don’t force Tony Stark. Not if you want anything out of it but blown up. You persuade him.

And once you have...oh, look at what he can do.

#hoc est meum #mcu #tony stark critical #i am so angry with this man and i will never stop #i throw salt #an ocean of it

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recallingrealities · 4 years

Text

Aligned, Chapter 7 (Zelda x Reader)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

Chapter 7: Begin

Yet again, it had felt as if the Goddess’ words surged through Zelda’s body. The way that you fell, entranced by their faces overlapping one another, drew you breathless. You felt incredibly honored at the intimacy your third eye insighted you. It always felt phenomenal when this happened: being able to see the Goddess’ face. Getting to hear her words exit from mortal mouths was… nothing short of miraculous. What resonated with you even more in this moment, was the way that she felt to you - her essence mixed with Zelda’s. The High Priestess did seem to be growing in connection with the Goddess, and it pleased you to watch the results of her own kindlings from private practice come to fruition. In growth and personal vulnerability - to watch it evolve into the divine power, that filled the room in sermon. You weren’t sure if it was you, or the Goddess’ tidings with her, that gave you gooseflesh when hearing Lilith’s name part from her lips. Even if it were like now, mixed within the methodologies of Hecate’s teachings - In overlapping faces.

The mix of sounds acted as a symphony, for you alone to enjoy; but you had hoped in due time, as others aligned with their own divine self, the Coven would come to see as you did. To witness the harmonious build of synchronicity's orchestra.

Zelda’s poignance in reminding the Coven of the Goddess' many faces was so incredibly important. Like siphoning gold - revealing it to the swell of the Earth's surface. It's beauty and richness held a need to be unearthed. Her voice like a ballad amongst trancing instruments, aiding her with accenting notes per reckoning crescendo. This was a teaching even the most dedicated of Priestesses in the old way sometimes forgot - falling to the knees of their God or Goddess, whilst dismissing in truth that they were only a part of the Greater whole. A simple stillness of frame in the movement of time.

“We all are faces, phases of the Goddess, everchanging”

You heard your own voice whisper, in harmony with the Priestess and the Goddess herself. It was as if your own spirit looked at you from the inside, goosebumps arose again, pricking your supple skin. It affirmed you. All is in Alignment

This would always be of importance to you, something even you and Zelda had never directly discussed.

'We danced in a way everstretching', was the hymn that came to you in vision as the sermon came to a close.

In the stillness of a moment, you remembered your first engagement with this truth, spotting the maiden, the mother, and the crone in all things. In newness, in experience, in wisdom. In birth, in life, and in death. Any interpreted facet of this truth could echo and act as a reflection or introspection. Now you knew, even if you were able to tell your younger self, the only limitations of possibility are that which you choose to believe - what you allow yourself to empower. The cliches fit far beyond an uncanny truth. It still astonished you that the key to your own comfort and accessing your desires, was simply choosing to allow it, in every moment - and that this was also a part of embracing only that of your greatest benefit.

You felt your brain pulse and throb with humility. Could it be possible that the key to embracing the trueness of Divine Self, would be by embracing all faces of the Goddess..? A breakthrough like this felt like something more the notable on your life’s personal journey. In existing humbly as both the student, the teacher, and the master? The openness to all realities had been key to realizations like this before. You felt yourself content in knowing that this thought had come to you now, in this very moment, during Zelda's sermon. You felt yourself fill with delight and honor, at the own fruits you'd seen sew just now, from the benefit of Zelda's own practice. You could feel her growing closeness to the Goddess' - whether she dared say it or not... and it felt spectacular to witness it's results.

As your heels patterned down the hall, you could feel Zelda's smile hit the back of your neck, in a wave of knowing. You smile to yourself and make your way back towards the Academy. You were bound to the everstretching hall, in remembrance that the door you would open would be that in which your time here as the vessel to the Goddess' will, would truly begin.

A crow called, the essence of Stolas perhaps, with the chime of a grandfather clock, in the chamber as the student’s papers shuffling quieted, and your lecture began.

"As you pass through the threshold of this room, let this be a space for practice in the Divine Self. In time, I hope you will be able to carry this outside of these walls - but for now, let this be your place in confidence, to unearth it.

I have little rules to follow by, and I hope in due time you will grow accustomed to them. Comfortable, in fact."

You felt a warm smile rise between your cheeks as your eyes met the varying expressions and faces before you.

"Honesty. Vulnerable, rawness in the truth of this present ever evolving moment is of the utmost of importance in all that I will be teaching you. It will be your key to success in not only this course, but to the future of your craft. A level of self respect, love, and acceptance that will be key to not only identifying your divine self, but honoring your experience. Honesty is the key to all sections of power, and here today you will learn that rather than separate those parts - as you've been taught through the sects of magic before, you will be embracing them all. Together."

Your throat cleared

"This will be a space centered in three main tasks:

1.) Releasing fear, surpassing it. Learning to identify it and move beyond - so not to engage it with your energy and let it weaken you.

2.) Shame, the act of identifying it's illusion, it's ability to take you out of the present moment, and reground yourself in the power of now.

And 3.) Subsiding guilt. That which you are not proud of or prefer not to face can become a tool any person, mortal, witch, demon, or Diety may will to use against you. The only level in trueness that guilt may serve you, is in recognition that it holds no power over you, when you are present. Now…"

You continued, moving to write the three words on the chalkboard.

Fear, Shame, and Guilt

"There are things that these three topics have in common, what are they? Dorkus"

The young witch piped up when called upon.

"All three of them take you out of the present moment - well except maybe fear…" she lulled towards the end of her statement. You could feel the boldness falter as she heard her own words.

"Precisely, now what about fear do you think resonates in the present moment?"

"Well, that's when it happens, isn't it..?"

"All of them happen in the present moment, Dorkus" a fair haired warlock rolled his eyes.

"But Dorkus brings up a fair point - fear may feel most rooted in the present moment because it is the most overpowering, and is an element within the other two of our topics. Can you identify what makes fear different?"

You gave them a moment before calling on Sabrina.

"Miss Spellman?"

"Fear… rather than bringing you to thoughts of the past, like shame and guilt, brings you to the future. What could be, what could happen. There are infinite possibilities and any of them can include your will falling out of your favor"

"Correct in the sense of futurism. Thank you Sabrina.

What separates fear, is we feel more present in thinking of the future. This ties into the realm of manifesting. As wielders of magic we can align our will with anything. That of the misfortune or favor of any subject or person, including ourselves. How we regain power, is in recognition that possibilities are infinite. Which means there is not only that which falls out of favor, but that which comes into favor of our will. When we cast a spell or incite incantation, we are taking the active action to choose our will over the other possibilities. In fear, we can choose to allow other possibilities, OR... we can embrace the universe's great chaos, in allowing ourselves to remain open. Perhaps we do not always need to decide a specific will or preferred outcome.

Most casters fall short in there being doubt in a specified decision. However, when we instead shift our mindset to trust, in the Goddess, and in the good favor of the universe, we open up and begin to allow not just one positive possible outcome,"

You draw a small circle on the board, surrounded by many dots,

"but infinite outcomes of positive possibility" then circle the entire grouping. "By identifying fear, and identifying what it is we want, we separate our energy between thoughts in our favor and thoughts outside of it. We are then able to feel the energy of that preferred outcome and open ourselves up to not just that one ideal outcome, but the billions of possible outcomes in our favor"

The rest of the class implored more examples of ruling application. You could feel something spark in how much recognition could take away the need to will a particular outcome. That in trusting the will of the universe, you can manifest many outcomes of success, not needing to channel or control what it is we think may not work, leading us to greater possibilities of success.

"This takes out any inkling of doubt. Rather than analyzing the facets of one outcome we think we'd be benefited in experiencing, we are releasing all fear and doubt, by putting our energy in the belief of infinite success. In alignment and trust of the wills of the world around us. This is how we find Synchronicity"

You underlined synchronicity before looking up at the hourglass on your desk, beginning to run out of sand.

"Which we will discuss next class. Tonight's homework is in identifying those three topics, and journaling in our present moments, where these feelings arise. These will not be shared with one another unless you will it, and will be key in helping us move to a higher level of acting. I will see you all on Wednesday."

At that the students rose, scribbling in their notebooks before exiting in a rumble of quiet confidence. The fire had begun and you could practically smell the embering wood as they left the room in a whirl of shifting ideas. One student even stopped to reopen her notebook and write down likely one that she had already identified, before scrambling to follow the others.

"That was very good, Y/N"

Zelda said calmly, taking a drag of her cigarette, before sauntering into the room, ashing her cigarette in the tray placed at the corner of your desk.

"Are you sure you haven't taught before?"

You couldn't help but let a shy smile fall upon your lips.

"When you truly know something, your teachings become more of a pleasant reminder to yourself, than guidance of someone else"

She raised an eyebrow taking another drag before letting the ringlets encircle her gorgeous face.

"I enjoyed the bit about the everchanging present. That's quite a good way to put it for the racing forgetfulness of hormone enraged teenagers. Sometimes I swear they couldn't tell the future from the present, already so keen on altering their realities that they completely miss what's going on right now"

She eyed the door before turning back to smile at you, something she clearly wanted to keep between you both.

"I think that once we remember that we only have the present, it can be much easier to manipulate the energy. We can only take steps towards the future as it arises in the moment. Why not let them enjoy watching it unravel?"

"I definitely agree in that"

‘Unravel’ you thought to yourself blushing, as you watched her eyes scan you deviously, letting them shift over the nakedness of your legs, just below the line of your dress.

"Wicked, wicked woman" you retorted, filing your papers neatly into your bag, before moving past her to exit the doorway.

Her eyes followed you as you moved past, letting her tongue skirt her lower lip. You turn gracefully to look back at her in the wake of the doorway.

"Are you coming, Directrix?"

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and smile at this little game you both found yourselves playing. You adored the realization that she had been listening in on your lecture. That such a well seasoned witch such as herself could find pleasure in your first, and what felt like an amateur lecture at the Academy

"Dinner won't serve itself" she smiled before arising to follow behind, at a pace just lengthy enough to enjoy the fullness of your figure.

#Zelda Spellman #zelda spellman x reader #zelda spellman fanfiction #the chilling adventures of sabrina #CAOS #CAOS fanfiction #chilling adventures of sabrina #miranda otto #self insert #fem reader #wlw fiction #wlw fanfiction #reader insert #sapphic #aligned fic #chapter 7

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gingus-doon · 3 years

Text

pov u just shot your childhood hero, wdyd

i.e. i ramble about keiji post-shooting; his occupation, what he does, how he copes, how he feels, etc. etc.

just putting this little thing here because the post got quite long and i couldn't split it up because it's all somewhat related. it started out as a rant / informal ramble but then it got serious lololol

—

one thing i don't understand is why people hc keiji as still having a job with the police post-shooting? like that just doesn't make sense to me– not only based on his character but like... why would you wanna make him a cop with all the talk of how much the police suck lately? personally i'm a brown bitch so i couldn't be down with thirsting over a cop lol. it's just kinda confusing sjdhd

i've seen the hc of him as a private investigator, though, which i like! it's a very neat way to let him flex his detective skills without being part of a corrupt organization and without forsaking his own personal beliefs and feelings about the police, because i don't think those would change anywhere near easily and i just kinda can't see him going back into the police force because of that.

i have often wondered what keiji would do after the death game, and what he was doing before the death game or after the shooting, because i think he'd definitely quit after the shooting, with all the grief and trauma surrounding the job and his newfound cynicism.

i don't think he'd be doing private investigation before the game, or more specifically, before his character develops into something reminiscent of his old self– as he is at the start of the game, he just doesn't have that faith in protection, so i can't imagine him being an investigator at that point. HOWEVER, in a post death game OR non-death game au where keiji has started to pull himself up from that tar (most likely with the help of others lol) i think that's definitely a plausible option for him and i like it a lot :]

as for other options, though... i really don't know! this is more of a stupid idea but i considered him working in a convenience store like shin lol. i had a whoooole au about him, kai, and shin working in the same convenience store just because they can't hold down any other jobs / don't know what else to do for work. shin is able to actually hold down the job because the last manager was mysteriously taken out of commission (i don't know lol) and they were ridiculously short-staffed already so shin ended up being the "most qualified" for the now vacant position. keiji's had a string of odd jobs since the police and this is just the next one. he's hoping to find something with a better wage but this'll do for now, it's even in walking distance from his apartment. and kai, kai's trying to exercise more independence from the chidouins' after becoming his own person! so he gets what i think would be his first job (well, his first official job, anyway... being an assassin and the chidouins' personal maid were more unofficial gigs lol.) ahh that was a lotta rambling about my dumb little au but i just think it'd be neat, they're three of my favourite characters so having them just vibe with each other at work and become friends sounds nice 2 me :] also Coincidentally i ship literally every combination of those three characters so that may have played a part in my casting decisions lmfao

oh wow that was a really long and uncalled for synopsis but this is just a rambly post so it can't really be uncalled for because this post doesn't have any particular point lol (A/N after writing this— IT HAS A POINT NOW, DISREGARD PAST ME)

SO ANYWAY ! i was just considering what keiji would do right after the shooting. honestly i have noooo idea, it's the beginning of a long road of him burying his trauma in a desperate attempt to avoid facing the pain it brings, and it marks a profound loss of innocence which makes his heart begin to grow cold. it's just hard to see the beginning of the process when where he started and where he ended up are very different places.

obviously, he'd quit his job. i wonder if the hallucinations would start right away? him being naïve in the beginning, i'm sure he'd acknowledge them– cry out apologies and plead for forgiveness until his throat is hoarse. the rule of hallucinations in yttd seems to be that if you acknowledge them, they'll burn themselves into your brain and you'll never be rid of them– implying that keiji has done so, as it's likely been years since the shooting and he's still suffering from the visions despite seeming to ignore them now.

ahh, i'm getting in my feelings about keiji now 😭😭 when i started this, i wanted to be held by him, but now i just wanna hug him like damnnnn

but back to what he'd do after the shooting– this scenario is self indulgent, but wouldn't it be nice if he took some time off and just stayed at his mom's place for a while? help her with chores while she's at work, try to regain a sense of normalcy in his childhood home...

i don't think he'd be able to do this right after the shooting. keiji had shame, once upon a time– the guilt would rack him like nothing else. i can imagine him spending a lot of late nights with alcohol, just wishing it was a dream. his resentment towards megumi slowly building as he feels he's being left in the dark as to why, why he isn't allowed to atone, why she's being so cold towards him about the shooting when he's suffering so heavily from the effects of it.

he wouldn't want to be around his dear mom as a murderer, and as a resentful alcoholic who's coping very poorly with his circumstances.

also (tangent incoming), i kind of wonder about keiji and alcohol a lot. in his fondness events with mishima, he says the following—

the "haven't drank that much in years" part makes me wonder– for how long? did he start to restrain himself before the shooting or after? i would say it's most likely after, considering the "feels like it'll swallow me up" comment he made soon after. and, how he talked about binge drinking when he was still a newbie. perhaps it was fine for him to do so, before the shooting— he'd just get wasted and flirt, have a good time. but after, it morphed into an inefficient coping mechanism which he fell far within the depths of to try and control the worst of his grief and self hatred. after that, heavy drinking couldn't just be for fun anymore.

i assume in the "before it got this way" comment, the "way" he's referring to is how he doesn't drink much anymore? or, he could be talking about the depression drinking, but i think the prior makes more sense.

even though i think, given keiji's example of drinking with megumi, that he could have gotten blackout drunk a couple of times purely for fun pre-shooting, i think here he's referring to the painful side of his relationship with alcohol here, the part that took place when he was trying to cope with his trauma. i think he brings up the story of drinking with megumi immediately after, then, to avoid talking about that part of his past. though he doesn't show it much, i think he's deeply ashamed of himself. not only of what he's done, but how he's handled it afterwards.

on a lighter note, though, it's quite funny to think of Lawful Good young keiji shinogi getting drunk off his ass and flirting with every woman he comes across willing to flirt back. like, what's up with that??? he seems like such a serious dork in the flashbacks, but doing well in his police job, he just... lets loose?? no no, honestly i think he hadn't drank much before going out with megumi and he took her insistence on him drinking a little too far, and with his inexperience with alcohol and the successive lack of self restraint that comes with each new drink, you get casanova shinogi, lmao.

BACK TO THE SERIOUS STUFF THOUGH !! i really like the idea of him going to his mom to help him pull himself back together. i think they'd have a solid relationship, fight me! he seems to adore his mom as a child with a good single parent usually does. i'm sure he appreciates her immensely for all the care and love she managed to give him when he was a kid while also working her ass off to support them financially. this very respect for her is what i think would drive him to isolate himself from her after the shooting– as i said above, he's a murderer now. a disappointing human being in general, and an even worse son. to let down his mother who worked so hard to raise him right... how could he? as his condition worsens and his heart grows colder, i'm sure that feeling would fester inside of him. he'd try to ignore it, as he does with everything else, but it's already wrapped its tendrils around his soul. that particular guilt isn't leaving him any time soon.

now that i'm thinking about it, also, i don't think it's likely that he'd quit his job right right away. it'd be more of a slow descent over the span of a few weeks. immediately after the shooting, he may stop showing up to work for a while. he just can't put on that uniform when it's practically caked in the blood of someone he held in such high esteem for so long. eventually, though, he gets a hold on himself– just a bit. he doesn't want to be cooped up in his apartment with his thoughts anymore, and he doesn't want to lose his job. what else would he do?

so, he takes it easy on the first few days back. megumi tries to make it easy for him. paperwork, whatever job he could do that's not on the field. he clings to her like a wounded puppy, hoping that she'll explain why she's covering it up when he doesn't want her to, what he's supposed to do with these feelings around the incident. he's drowning, and she's made herself a big sister figure to him– she's supposed to help him. but, she shrugs him off when he brings it up. she's so harsh about it compared to how she usually speaks to him. perhaps because of her own guilt around the incident, perhaps it's the family's response and how keiji is now, how panicked and sleep deprived the poor kid has looked since that day.

so he continues to spiral with nothing to hold on to. grasps at alcohol in a futile attempt to stop falling, because it's all he can think to fall back on. he's a wreck at work– he's barely living, much less working. but megumi tries her best to keep him from getting fired. she'll get him coffee and breakfast and try to say something encouraging. "hey. hang in there, shinogi." with a touch on the shoulder. but in spite of her efforts, of course, it hits a breaking point. everyone in the job thinks keiji's too damaged to continue, saying he either needs to see a shrink or get the hell out of the way and let everyone else do their job.

and keiji just stops coming into work one day.

the downward spiral ensues.

#your turn to die #keiji shinogi #yttd keiji #kimi ga shine #i really just wrote this much just about keiji like goddamn. calm down @ me #it's not that much tho i checked and it's like not even 2000 words 😔😔#i got sad writing some of the angstier parts of this. like keiji... my darling.... let me hug him #i feel like there's a lot to be said about ~after the shooting~ and the process of him becoming the man he is now #there's lotsa speculation about that here from me specifically lol #i'd kinda kill to read a fic that goes into this stuff! no ship or anything just keiji. and megumi and his mom #i wonder if it exists 👀👀👀 but there are few things without ships that exist....#anyway i love keiji more now somehow #i am super keiji simp trust #i am tired tho lol i think i'll sleep now. maybe #OH ALSO!!! it's very fitting that the last line mentions the downward spiral #because i was thinking of the nin album by that title earlier today #specifically keiji and a certain track. I WILL NOT SAY WHICH TRACK. YOU DO NOT NEED TO KNOW

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

Aw, your pregnant!Xichen was so sad! Is there any hope for a happy Xisang ending?

not terribly happy, not quite an ending, and not even xisang but... a continuation at least? Follow up to this

warning for implied rape even if it’s not really mentioned in this one

Nie Huaisang pretended to stifle a yawn, and drank some tea with the disappointed grimace of a man who would have preferred alcohol. Of course he would have gone for tea even if wine had been offered, but this was all about appearances. He had started to let it show he wasn't quite as incompetent as he'd acted for years, but he couldn't reveal his hand yet, least of all at the hundredth day's ceremony for Lan Xichen's child.

So Nie Huaisang acted as if he had no bigger worries than boredom. And sitting with his uncle and brother, Lan Xichen too was pretending, smiling like a happy parent, as if he'd chosen this. Even Nie Huaisang would have been fooled, if he hadn't known better.

What a trio they'd made, Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen, and him, Nie Huaisang thought, idly fidgeting with his fan, his eyes coming again and again to the omega. Three skilled liars, and poor Nie Mingjue in the middle. Maybe it was better that he had died after all. That way, he'd never gotten to realise nobody in his life was as honest as him.

Nie Huaisang grimaced, and poured himself more tea. It was perhaps unfair of him to judge Lan Xichen so harshly, after having put him in that situation. Clearly Lan Xichen was just trying to make the best of a catastrophic situation, and…

"Who else could it be but Jin Guangyao?" someone seating nearby whispered. "The dates fit, don't they? She has to have been conceived when he was Meng Yao's prisoner. If he really was a prisoner at all…"

Frowning, Nie Huaisang easily found the source of that gossip. Of course, Sect Leader Yao and Sect Leader Ouyang could always be counted on to make a bad situation worse. He'd find a way to shut them up, when he was chief cultivator. Just a little more patience, and he'd have the power to silence those idiots who had bent over to the Jin, letting them get away with so much.

Just a few more years…

"It's unnatural anyway for an omega and an alpha to be that close," Sect Leader Ouyang professed, glancing toward Lan Xichen. "It had to have hidden something all along. And those Lans are good with herbs when they want, so if there were other pregnancies he'd have ended them quickly. He probably only kept that one because his mate died."

"How shameful. He should step down and raise his bastard in seclusion, let someone competent rule Gusu Lan. This is…"

Nie Huaisang coughed, catching the two other sect leaders' attention. They looked mildly irritated at the intervention, but nothing more. Unlike some others, they hadn't quite caught up yet with Nie Huaisang’s change in attitude.

"Is there a problem, Nie zongzhu ?" Sect Leader Ouyang asked, as dismissive as if he were talking to an annoying child.

Nie Huaisang gave him his most pleasant smile while wishing for his prompt death. His son was young but already so much more competent, that relic of an age past needed to go already.

"No problem at all!" Nie Huaisang pleasantly said. "I couldn't help overhearing, that's all. I'm very curious about what you're saying. You know that Lan Xichen stabbed Jin Guangyao that night, dont you ? Who's ever heard of a mated omega, a pregnant one at that, doing something like that to their alpha?"

"Well…"

"I've read stories, yes, but in real life, have you ever encountered such a case?"

The other two sect leaders, who had opened their mouths to quote some legend or novel, closed it again.

Nie Huaisang, who could have cited some real occurrences, all in circumstances similar to what had happened to Lan Xichen, batted his eyes innocently.

"The Lans say he stabbed him," Sect Leader Ouyang snapped. "It might not be true. They've covered for Jin Guangyao, for Wei Wuxian, they can cover their own sect leader too. And Jiang Wanyin too can't be…"

"I'm also saying it happened," Nie Huaisang cut him, letting his smile show a little too much teeth to be friendly. "I saw Lan Xichen stab Jin Guangyo right through the heart. Will you accuse me of protecting a man who might have been the lover of my brother's murderer, Ouyang zongzhu?"

To his credit, Sect Leader Ouyang was not a complete idiot. Whatever his opinion of Nie Huaisang (low, obviously) he still knew better than to risk anger the whole of Qinghe Nie by implying they wanted anything less than full revenge for their beloved late sect leader.

"Nie zongzhu, you make a good point," Sect Leader Yao admitted, leaning toward him with a conspiratorial expression. "And you always know the best gossip as well. If not Jin Guangyao, who sired that child?"

Without realising, Nie Huaisang glanced toward Lan Xichen, only to find the omega looking his way, seemingly intrigued to see him chatting with two men he'd openly despised even when he was still playing the incompetent. Their eyes met, briefly, before Lan Xichen looked away. A slight frown now marred his features, a wrinkle to disturb his perfect act of a radiant parent.

"Does it really matter who sired the child?" Nie Huaisang muttered, unable to tear his eyes from Lan Xichen. "It seems obvious to me that Zewu-Jun would not lightly make the choice of bearing a child while unmarried."

"But you must know," Sect Leader Yao insisted. "Aren't you his friend? Surely he must have told you."

Still staring at Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang felt his smile threatening to collapse.

He had become quite good at dealing with guilt, but that chat with Lan Xichen still twisted his stomach every time he recalled it. He had handled things in the worst possible way, ruining the friendship he'd half hoped to save that day.

"Perhaps I know and perhaps I don't," Nie Huaisang claimed, his voice harsher than he intended. "Either way it's not a matter on which I like to gossip. Nor do I like the idea of others speculating on it. Does it matter who sired that baby? Lan Xichen will be raising it as his heir, the rest is irrelevant."

"Nie zongzhu, could it be that you're…" Sect Leader Yao started, only to abruptly cut himself when Sect Leader Ouyang grabbed him by the arm and minutely shook his head.

"If you find the topic unpleasant, then let's drop it," Sect Leader Ouyang said. "But you are right, Nie zongzhu. It probably cannot be Jin Guangyao who sired that child, it would make no sense. Zewu-Jun would never stoop this low, his partner must be a person quite extraordinary to have seduced him."

Nie Huaisang nodded with a wry smile, but said nothing.

It would have taken someone incredible to make Lan Xichen fall in love, and many had tried before. Now though, marked and raising a child, no alpha would ever want him, not unless the Lan paid a high price to buy their sect leader a husband. That or he'd have to settle for another omega, or perhaps even a mere beta… And that was unlikely.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang started to understand why Lan Xichen had chosen to keep that child, no matter how it was conceived. It was unlikely he'd get another chance at making a family, after everything that had happened. And Nie Huaisang, who knew he probably wouldn't even get that much of a chance to have children, not with everything he still needed to do, couldn't blame him for it.

#nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #xisang #I mean if I continue it it'd head that way #and some people in-universe think it's happening :D #hmm also I think it's the first time I've written anything with nhs actually wanting to be chief cultivator #I kinda want to explore that now #jau writes #madwriter223

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emberbent · 4 years

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QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

[Originally posted by @cassandrapentayaaaaas, whose name apparently is also Elle, ayyyy. I’ll be filling this out for my Fire Avatar OC Shinza, and maybe also for some other characters later.]

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Previous to her airbending training, Shinza would have had a hard time being still and doing nothing for longer than a few minutes. Not out of a need to burn off energy, but out of a fear of being alone with her thoughts for too long. Now, she can meditate and be still for over an hour, or much longer if she takes short breaks. She sat for eleven hours for her tattoo, which was the longest she’s gone doing nothing.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

She doesn’t appear to be easily amused - she’s more of a smirker than a laugher if she finds something funny. Unless she’s among people who are close to her, or she’s drinking pear sake.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Shinza’s one of the lucky ones who falls asleep as soon as she climbs into bed. She doesn’t have to do anything special to fall asleep.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

Hard to say. Maybe moderate? She doesn’t like to reveal much about herself unless she really trusts someone not to abuse that information, which isn’t all that often. She’s self-reliant enough that she doesn’t need others to help her most of the time, which can be seen as untrusting. But really, all it takes is showing compassion and self-awareness to get her to let her guard down.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Fairly easy, since her default mode is not overly trusting.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

She's always had trouble determining which rules are or should be flexible vs enforced. Now that she’s in a position where she’s more or less exempt from following rules as necessary to keep balance, she’s realizing it’s even more complex than she ever thought. She contemplates often whether she has a duty not to follow the rules she holds others to, or to lead by example and hold herself to those same standards.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

The smell of petrichor mingling with the oily smog of Republic City brings her back to when she was small, and she would walk with her mother, a doctor, every day to the clinic. Her mother would hold her hand, and they’d traverse in silence, except to point out the stray capuchin cats sheltering under the Satos on the street, or Shinza would ask for a treat from the bakery.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

Twirling, dancing, spinning around, singing. It wasn’t that her parents discouraged her from these normal activities, but she often didn’t have the presence of mind to refrain in the wrong situations.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Not often; usually to emphasize her point. She distinctly remembers being nine years old and watching someone walk into traffic. A bystander earthbent them out of the way just before a Sato could run them over. She said her first curse word aloud as she rode in a cab with her father. He wasn’t mad.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

She never got into habitual lying. Too much to remember, too much guilt.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Lucky for her, she has thousands of past Avatars to talk to.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

She has long arms - this isn’t normally an issue.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Black and shades of red; absolutely.

What animal do they fear most?

Shinza’s not afraid of any animals in a phobia sense, but she does think canyon crawlers are fairly ugly, and she’d hate to meet one.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

She thinks before she speaks, but she doesn’t rehearse what she wants to say before the conversation happens. She speaks deliberately and rarely says something she doesn’t mean.

What makes their stomach turn?

The normal stuff - gore and viscera, bad smells, being anxious or nervous.

Are they easily embarrassed?

Very much so, although she tries not to let it show.

What embarrasses them?

The biggest thing is having her flaws or screw-ups used as an example to a group. She also suffers pretty bad secondhand embarrassment watching others do embarrassing things.

What is their favorite number?

She doesn’t have one.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

She’d explain familial love as distinctly separate from platonic or romantic love in that for her, it comes from a place of duty as well as physical proximity and similarity. Her personality closely matches both of her parents’, so they naturally got along well most of the time, which made them feel close, which she might define as familial love.

She feels there’s very little difference between platonic and romantic love, and that one can easily morph into the other and back. These are based on things outside of physical proximity or biology, like shared interests, a common goal, and sexual attraction. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “I don’t know. I just love them.”

Why do they get up in the morning?

Duty. Responsibility. The sunlight coming in through her window has woken her and she can’t go back to sleep.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

It manifests as deep sadness and a feeling that there’s a flaw she should fix in herself that will make the situation better. Then it festers into shame for having those emotions or caring at all, and she becomes aloof.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

She might pine for whatever this other fortunate person has that she doesn’t for a second, but then she shrugs it off.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

She’s happy to talk about sex in an academic sense with acquaintances, but she’s only comfortable discussing her own experiences with her best friend Nero. Even then, she squirms a little.

What are their thoughts on marriage?

She likes the idea of loving someone so much that you’d enter a legally binding, life-long contract with them, and she certainly sees the financial and social advantages. As to whether she wants to get married herself, she’d be perfectly fine either way.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

Xia, her dragon companion. Especially now that she’s not afraid of heights or the open air anymore. Plus, they just get each other - no words needed. They had a strong bond from the beginning, but ever since Xia saved Shinza’s ass in Gaoling, Shinza feels closer to her than ever.

What causes them to feel dread?

Knowing that the world is watching every move she makes, and that everything she does (or doesn’t do) will go down in history. Knowing that if she can’t protect herself, she could be the last Avatar.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Definitely not. Being lied to is something she has a hard time forgiving, and she’d much rather deal with the ripples of an unpleasant truth than feeling she can’t trust the person keeping the truth from her, and finding out anyway.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

No, but Shinza holds herself to impossibly high standards.

Who do they most regret meeting?

Yanyu, the ex-Dai Li agent who her parents hired to block her bending and repress her memories when she was little. Shinza thought Yanyu wanted to meet with her in Gaoling to apologize for her role in letting the world go for so long without its Avatar, but it turned out to be a trap; Yanyu attempted to subdue her and turn her over to The Organization.

Who are they the most glad to have met?

Amrit. She came to him on the Island of the Sun Warriors thinking she was a nonbender, that she couldn’t possibly be the Avatar, and he helped her through that confusion. He unblocked her chi and helped her flame. Maybe he was a little too hard on her during training, but he taught her the value of working til you puke. He’s always had her back, even from the first day.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

No. Shinza rarely leads conversations.

Could they be considered lazy?

Not by any stretch. She’s deliberate, diligent, and hard set on doing things right and thoroughly.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

Very, which is detrimental to her role as the Avatar. She doesn’t know yet that she will live with the burden of guilt for her decisions and actions her whole life, or how to be okay with that.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

She’s a supporter and an attentive listener. She does her best to follow up with questions or mention small details later. Unless it’s something like a friend being excited about getting back together with her toxic ex - then she’d be clear about where she stands on the matter.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

She’s never sought out romance, but she has experienced and enjoyed it. Romantic love isn’t something she requires to feel happy or validated.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

She doesn’t have a system - she just remembers things like patterns, numbers, and names. It’s a gift that, oddly enough, she was bullied for in school. Sometimes she forgets that others don’t have such an incredible memory and gets frustrated with them, but she’s working on it.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Leaving Nero alone at the bar, mouth agape, as two Fire Nation officials all but dragged her out the door with them. She never got to explain to Nero what happened after she figured it all out, and she hasn’t seen her since that day almost two years ago. The guilt eats at her.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

Fairly difficult. She can’t ignore her own flaws, so she’s unable to extend that to others. She’s working on it though, and she’s got Amrit to practice on. No shade tho.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Extremely. She was an only child, so her parents were hawks circling her, watching her every move. They didn’t pick on her on purpose, but it was pretty clear to Shinza that they were disappointed she didn’t go to medical school or join the military. On top of that, she grew up believing she was a nonbender, which culminated in a general, oppressive feeling that she was deeply flawed.

How do they feel about children?

She was an only child and didn’t grow up around her extended family, so she doesn’t have a lot of experience being around kids. Before, she could think of worse things than raising a child of her own. But now, she can’t fathom trying to balance her duties while raising a child.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

The shame of leaving the physical and spirit worlds out of balance and being remembered as an ineffective Avatar is unfathomable to her. She’d say she wants it more than anything.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

She’d say she’s sexual, sometimes, and leave it at that.

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

In every OC, I think there’s at least a little bit of their creator; I didn’t intend for Shinza to end up so similar to myself, but she is. And as I develop my own sense of self, I see that reflected in Shinza when I write her, and that’s pretty exciting.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I’d been wanting to write an Avatar OC story for a long time, and nothing felt right or fun or exciting until I considered using Shinza, a character I’d had stewing in my head for a while. Once I pictured her in the Avatar world, things started falling into place pretty quickly.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Absolutely. I planned the story from start to finish so I knew where I was headed, but along the way, Emberbent!Shinza started to take shape in unexpected ways and deviate from the original plan. As her personality in this story evolves, I have to figure out her reactions to things, and the ripples from those reactions, from a new perspective. I don’t have a clear view of her transformation arc, because it’s happening in real time along with mine. The (already flimsy) ending I’d intended has been blown to smithereens, and I have no idea how it’ll go - I’m essentially 50% pantsing at this point - but I feel less frustrated knowing I have more room to see what happens.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

She’s had a number of different physical appearances. At one point, she was a monk child in a DND campaign I played in. In the preliminary planning stages of Emberbent, she looked like Nero, her best friend, and was an Earth Avatar.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I like to think we’d get along, but we’d both have to be okay with natural silence. Neither of us are inclined to lead conversations.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

All of the above. Pride because of how hard she’s worked to get where she is; excitement because of all the horrific and wonderful things she’ll go through to turn her into who she’ll ultimately become; and frustrated because she feels flat to me, so I’m assuming she feels flat to others too.

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

She can’t see past her own nose yet in terms of her role. It will take some time for her to realize she has to relinquish all of her own desires and happiness to her duty as the Avatar. For now, she’s stuck in selfish-mode, doing her best to help those close to her while trying to maintain her grip on her old ego.

H) What trait do you admire most?

While she’s still working on seeing things from a broad perspective, she has an innate ability to deeply understand people, their feelings, and the situations they find themselves in. She’ll drop everything in order to help.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

Yeah. I’m not into crossover fics... yet.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

Mmm, I don’t know about manipulating canon, but I definitely extended it and filled in some parts as needed. Since she’s not the Avatar that came directly after Korra, I had to create the character that came between them. And since Shinza’s timeline is well after Korra’s, I had to envision what Republic City and the world would look like 70 years or so in the future.

Edit: Actually, just kidding. I forgot I totally manipulated canon when I figured out a way for Shinza to reconnect with the Avatars before Aang.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #avatar legend of korra #avatar fic #avatar oc #emberbent

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dxxtruction · 4 years

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Tyrell Wellick - Character profile - (sorta an unprofessional psych analysis)

NOTE: I’m not an expert and this is also non-exhaustive of everything I could write about Tyrell. Can’t observe every little thing. This is also super unorganized below the cut I’m sorry.

Words I’d describe Tyrell by: Ambitious, Boastful, Selfish, Controlling, Violent, Impulsive, Emotional, Loyal, Strategist, Enthusiastic, Extroverted, Adaptable, Vain, Desperate, Observant, Insightful, Driven, Fearful, Intelligent, Cunning, Technical, Prepared, Outwardly Friendly, Resourceful, Loathing, Self Loathing, Sometimes Cooperative, Caring, Vulnerable, Fearful, and Influenced.

Psyche: Erratic behavior, attaches own goals into a special person, delusions of grandeur, looks down on and has disregard for many others, has a certain lack of guilt or regard for breaking ethical or personal boundaries, adapts self in order to achieve goals, wearing masks over the more vulnerable and perceived weaker sides of himself, perhaps hiding various amounts of self loathing, maladaptive perfectionism, strong desire for control.

I’ll avoid anything official and say he likely has some form of personality disorder and/or perhaps an attachment disorder.

Tyrell seems to be driven almost entirely by his own ambitions and goals for his life. Those goals change but he continues on doing anything possible to meet those ends. Believing he is destined to have them over others who seek similar ends.

He care’s a lot about his appearance, both in how he looks and in how others perceive him suggesting a need to garner their respect and control perceptions. Perhaps fearing rejection and public humiliation. Feels it necessary to hide himself behind the best of outward appearances. Feeling equally deserving of respect and deeply afraid of losing it. The latter suggesting a point in time where he saw himself associated with certain perceived inferiorities (perhaps his family being poor, his accent, a lack of knowledge or skill, a lack of restraint), that still lingers in him even though he’s tried (relentlessly) to escape them.

Tyrell tries to maintain a look of control and professionalism, something he’s well developed in order to get to where he is. With control, having the upper hand, he believe’s he can not lose. He however cracks under the pressure of perhaps not having control by lashing out and acting on impulse, often violent impulse. Regaining a sense of power over the situation in destructive ways that run counter to what he’s trying to achieve.

There’s hints at a fear of showing weakness and vulnerability suggesting perhaps toxic masculinity and could also be the same fears of rejection and public humiliation. The amount of effort he seems to put into this suggests he fears in some way that he could very well be exposed as a fraud. Tyrells mask is there for a reason and I think that reason is to avoid his fears, of which there are many.

He is aware of many of the masks he wears (but maybe not all of them), and seems to practice and perfect them. He’s a perfectionist: self defeating, even self harming, towards unrealistic goals and expectations of himself, causing undue stress. Tyrell has a hyper-fixation upon inadequacies he sees in both himself and others. This causes quite a lot of black and white, narrow ways of thinking.

Tyrell can also crack and shed off his mask, showing his vulnerable side when alone or when he is feeling weak or defeated. He cries. I think he feels his emotions fairly intensely at all times. Which may contribute to why he tries so hard on maintaining a different sense of himself which is far more collected. Creating distance from how he feels things in order to see himself as more in control. And as always in order to meet his goals. I get a sense of self hatred, a certain level of shame from Tyrell in the ways he seems to cover up who he is from the world. Perhaps from the amount of things he has bottled up.

Despite feeling deserving of his goals, he knows you must work to get the things you want, and so he will resort to ANY means necessary. Boundaries mean nothing when it works towards his goals. Conventionality and reason can be sacrificed if needed. Breaking conventions seems (to me) a last resort measure as Tyrell is proven to be sufficient at getting to where he is through his social and technical skills along with keen professional insights and overall intelligence within his field. He is very eager even without the more harmful ways of getting what he wants. These are all factors which make him appear desirable for high ranking positions within his field, and probably prove to him a sense of higher worth and tangible achievement.

I do want to point out that he is observant of things most people tend to not notice or have foresight on. This quick internal observations lead him towards quick assumptions, making for keen awareness of how others will act, yet he holds strong to the initial judgements he has of people. The skill of reading people seems fairly important if you are to strategize with or against them and Tyrell is always following some type of plan and agenda. While not always in complete control of how he may act or feel he can control and manipulate the direction of his life to the ends he needs. He needs have it planned out for him to feel secure.

While at first glance Tyrell may seem like only self concerning. He seems to have a pattern of attaching his goals in with a loyalty/contract to a specific person who he does them for. This leans towards delusions of grandeur especially with Elliot.

In these relationships there is perhaps also seeking consistent validation from them. Going out of his way to make sure they notice what he’s willing to do for them. Idolizing them and desiring these relationships to succeed in the ways he envisions them to. Likely has fears of his own inadequacy to succeed within the relationships goals, and fears that he could ruin the relationship by not succeeding. Leading to a suppressed but present low self esteem and easy influence over his actions.

He feels a strong need to provide for them, and they provide him with something as well or he wouldn’t show such loyalty. (Ie: Ability to seek the highest ideal of the American dream/Ability to rule the fate of the world). In other words they seem to offer a boosted ego or chance towards something he finds valuable to his personal ambitions. He cares about them but can’t ever shake what drives him.

In a world where he can get anything and impress anyone those who subvert that are incredibly intriguing to him, and it also must be incredibly painful when he starts to develop strong feelings of attachment and they reject him. These people (Joanna and Elliot) are withholding and inconsistent in showing Tyrell that validation he wants. Making him have to chase their approval and respect. Which keeps him interested in continuing to succeed for them, to show off and get their attention. (Ex: Joanna’s gifts, Tyrells insistence on appearing good for Elliot). Winning their approval becomes a part of his core driving ambitions to succeed.

Joanna is the perfect partner to fuel his more worldly ambitions. He wants to provide for her everything and anything which proves they are both successful and victorious in their dreams in life. While Elliot seems more to fuel his delusions of grandeur - he can have ultimate control and power via Elliot’s perceived ultimate power and control. In both instances he wants to share in success, feels this sharing as very intertwined with his life and the direction it needs to go. This intertwining can lead him to accept certain approaches he shouldn’t, but again he’s easy to influence in this position.

I feel Tyrell fears most of all not having control (like many in this show), when feeling this way he tends to act out in anger. Tyrell uses violence often as a means of control, an outlet for his own anger and rage when he senses a lacking of power in a situation. He is also impulsive when angered showing a instinctive pull towards violence when he feels this way. He lacks a certain control over these emotions, making him erratic. I sense Tyrell does a great deal of work to mask this side of himself from others, at the very least to keep up appearances. (keep in mind I never said he ever did handle himself well.)

The root causes of all of this is likely some combination of genetics, upbringing, and stress from the crushing weight of his goals. He has pointed out a strong desire to be unlike his father, who he sees as weak and pathetic for not trying hard at anything in his life. This seems to be near the root of his pathos as Tyrell shows he must be strong and in control while always doing anything to succeed. He isn’t afraid of the taboo either and almost seems to seek out what is most ambitious, risky, and rebellious in order to prove himself. Especially when it achieves some greater end.

Tyrell has two side really, the conquerer and the meek. He is selfishly driven, but easily influenced. Prone to violent behavior, but passionately submissive to those he loves. Willing to do anything to get what he wants, but can be equally vulnerable and saddened by loss and failure. He suppresses himself but is easily emotional and erratic. Driven by success but also ruled by fear. Insightful but also delusional and narrow minded.

Tyrell may have precarious ways of dealing with situations and getting at his ambitions but ultimately his concerns are always fairly human and usually seem reasonably achievable for him at face value. He wants to provide for his family, make sure they’re safe, he wants to get the position he’s worked hard for (things get ... confused when it comes to Elliot but I think it starts with noticing how Elliot could be a good potential hire to boost his reputation then things just continue to escalate as they seem to toy with one another to his mind). He reacts perhaps with probably just too much passion, and I don’t think he can help it. What I’m getting at it is Tyrell has a very human side to him that’s fairly normal and awkward even, he’s kinda just a huge techie nerd and loves that he is, we see a lot of the normality of Tyrell in 404.

#tyrell wellick #mr robot #read me to filth on this #I always feel bad tagging these long posts in the fandom ags #Anyway this is wha I wrote in order to actually be able to write tyrell for like one thing lol

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pvtrichors · 3 years

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RUDY PANKOW , 22 , HE/HIM/HIS , CIS MAN | hey is that MONROE ST. THOMAS ? i think i’ve seen the 23 year old walking around THE CUT , so i guess that means they’re a POGUE ? apparently if the weather’s right, you can find them SNEAKING A JOINT INSTEAD OF A CIGARETTE BREAK , which makes sense since they’ve got the whole SCARS THAT WILL TELL STORIES IF YOU LET THEM, A SMILE THAT IS BROKEN BUT STILL BEAUTIFUL & A CANVAS SPLASHED IN THE SAME COLOR AS BRUISES thing about them . if people had background music , their song would definitely be CROWDED PLACES BY BANKS

monroe is very much the definition of what you expect to find when you come into the cut. that being said, there are different layers to him, some that are more hidden than the others. on one hand, he’s the boy who was a proud all star for the highschool football team, the all american version of what the dream is supposed to look like. on the other, he’s the same one who couldn’t afford to get himself to the away games, or the guy that can quote you poetry from memory, when he gets just high enough, each person usually gets a piece of him, a version, but never the full fledged experience, because he knows just what it is like to be “too much”, therapy has told him that, for better or for worse.

while plenty of people seem to think that his stint in rehab, something that he does not bother to hide from most of the general public, would have taught him not to drink or smoke, that is hardly the case. he instead learned that he can’t always use them as coping mechanisms, which means that he’s had to learn other avenues to get out the weight of his emotions, one of which happens to be art, you know, when he’s not busy crying in the privacy of the shower like the rest of us.

due to what happened in the car crash with his mother and sister, he has a plethora of scars sprinkled across his shoulders. while that doesn’t stop him from spending a good portion of time shirtless when the weather permits, the people that actually ask about them are usually met with avoidance, and sometimes even aggression. there are some things he will never really know how to talk about, no matter how long it’s been since he woke up in that hospital bed. speaking of scars, monroe is also painfully aware of the ones that came from his brothers experience coming out, and part of that, forces him to be very open about his own sexuality, or rather, blunt about the interest in people regardless of their genitals (and you can fight him about it, too, these hands are free ninety nine, always)

WC1: the exception to the rule, is the name of the game here. this is someone who despite monroe’s usual tendency to never really show his hand, sees through his bullshit, and actually knows him. however far that relationship goes, or will do, is definitely up to us and we can see where it leads, chemistry wise, but this is someone who is unbelievably special to him. he usually doesn’t admit it easily, or in the usual ways, and probably still tries to avoid them when they get a little too close, but usually ends up running right back in less than 24 hours. they even seem to have learned to understand that, or at least accept it, but feel free to torture him a little bit after he tries to run.

the middle children are the ones that are born with tragedy in their bones. They always said that Monroe absorbed all his sisters hurt in the womb, his very first act somehow becoming one of protection. To him, the statement now rang with bittersweet irony, but that’s the story’s tendency to get ahead of itself. In the beginning they were the perfect picture of the American dream, the one that was bought and sold, embraced with open arms. Sure, the floors in the old beach house were always dirty, and his father worked longer than he ever should have had to in order to keep their plates full, but they made it. Caroline started working again after the kids had all started school, breathing a sigh of relief with Kase finally passed that milestone birthday that would allowed her to begin taking the steps to contribute.

by then, his older brother had already begun taking on the family’s burdens, a nervous habit that had long since been coined as the family curse. He knew now that it was guilt that drove him to take that step, a strange since of misplaced shamed in the secret he was about to reveal to them all. The night that the words left his lips, they all remember it differently. It was a confessional that should have been met with love and support, but the scar that the two eldest boys were left with was one that had no chance at healing. The only part of the memory that seemed intent on sticking around was the sound of skin meeting skin in a vicious chorus, and the darkening bruises mixed with blood that formed as a direct result of the backhand that would eventually become the soundtrack to their demise.

that’s right, his brother came out to his family, and David’s first reaction was to take his feelings out on Smith physically, in front of the entire family. It didn’t matter if the bible had fanned the flames of his intolerance, or taught him some misplaced wrong rooted in sexuality, what did matter? Caroline wasn’t going to stand for it. Two weeks later, David left without a word, or a single cent, in his wake. The abandonment of his family seemed easy, and they never received the decency of an apology or even the watchful eye of shame. Nothing, not a single word, and his name became a welcomed taboo in the story, dad was the dirtiest curse word to ever leave any of their lips.

monroe didn’t talk about the nightmares that plagued him in the weeks after, but Smith always seemed to be awake right in time to shake him out of them. The silent agreement to keep secrets between siblings, a small bond that eventually cemented the lines of love between the two. It was no surprise to anyone that he followed in the footsteps of Smith, soon confessing his own struggles, but for him? There were welcome arms, acceptance was offered in free fall, because he needed it, and maybe it was that helped them all heal from the things that they still didn’t know how to speak of. What it didn’t do, was fill the gap that was created by their fathers (if you could even call him that) absence. Eventually, all five of them learned what it was like to be hungry, all the things that Caroline had desperately been trying to keep them away from. Some lessons weren’t meant to be learned, she’d say.

smith graduated high school the same year, a full ride scholarship he could never take, meaning that Monroe was the next to fall victim to the aforementioned curse that came with crushing weight on the shoulders of every member, but especially him. Life seemed to have a fucked up way of changing lanes, though. Caroline was running late, in the rain, to one of her many jobs. It was an unfortunate side effect of her newly minted single motherhood, after all. Dallas was in the car, to be dropped off at the baby sitter, but they would never make it there. The skidding sound of wet tires on warm asphalt, the high pitched screams of metal twisting metal, it all added another track added to the symphony of this tragedy.

you’re so lucky. It’s a miracle. The statements are repeated over and over, like a broken record, but they turn his stomach every time. A miracle, any God, would have either sent him away with his sister, the one he had been born trying to protect, and his mother, who would have died for him time and time again. The first time he told this to a therapist, the change in their expression announced what would be his first forced commitment, something that no one expected, and it tore all his buried scars wide open. Maybe that’s why they say rehab always feels like you’re bleeding out.

two months later, the only thing he was permitted out for was the funeral. His brothers came to visit three times a week, and often, they would cling to each other like the the last straws left in what felt like a burning building. After month three, he was released with false promises of therapy, with fake smiles that said he would take care of it, and the only reason he did seek out a way to cope was to honor the memory of his mother. he finally learned that he wasn’t an addict, but he needed to learn the secret of moderation. he needed to learn a lot of things, and now was going to be the start of that, including how to be a little more unapologetically himself.

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amberedskies-a · 3 years

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it makes me sick to even type this bc i’m deadass still in shock but i got a positive c*vid test result today and i’m just... having a very hard time with it. not physically –– physically i’m fine and have a pretty mild case so far but mentally i just... i’m not well. i’m miserable to be honest and i’m wracked with feelings of guilt and shame and also a lot of fucking anger because i followed all the rules i always wear a mask everywhere i go and wash my hands and i don’t see other people or friends or go to parties or anything and i still don’t know exactly how i got it but someone in my family who didn’t give a fuck the whole time probably gave it to me! it’s just infuriating... it’s so fucking infuriating. i went to work all last week bc i thought i just had a sinus infection bc it felt the EXACT same and i had no other symptoms until i lost my sense of smell on sunday... so i feel guilty that i may have exposed others even though i had no way of knowing... and i live with older, high risk individuals and i’m just terrified that they’re gonna get it and i will never EVER forgive myself and i don’t know if i’ll ever get past this feeling of powerlessness and just ANGER. so much fucking anger... anyway i’m gonna go stick my head in the toilet and cry bc our christmas is cancelled and i have to sit in this room and stare at the walls and not leave for at least the next ten days i am so sad i hate 2020 anyway if u read this thanks mentally i am not going ot be here but maybe once this sets in more i’ll come on to write but if i dont reply to msgs this is why... really going through it bruv xx

#this is a damn mess im just sad

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inkvvells · 4 years

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⧼ toby regbo, cis male, he/him/his / quarter-life crisis by judah and the lion + desks piled high with books and materials, always crowded but never messy; guilt and shame that eat away at him with every mention of family moments and memories he chose to not be part of; three cups of black coffee to make it through the day, four if there’s too much that needs done (there’s always too much that needs done). ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that PERCY WEASLEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY-NINE year old pure blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a MINISTRY EMPLOYEE. i’ve heard they can be quite DRIVEN & METICULOUS, but i don’t know… they came off very OSTENTATIOUS & NEUROTIC in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it? — [pinterest]

who ordered a pretentious, family-abandoning guilty nerd? no one?? guess this one is on the house then. i’m???? super inspired in writing this bio and its more of a character analysis than anything else bc he’s an established enough canon that we don’t know much about personally so i went ham but i’m not about to ask y’all to read the mess i’ll inevitablty type up for him, so here are a few brief bullet points for now bc i want this up:

learned that the best way to get praise was to do everything he was told, be as respected as bill and charlie, and look after the younger kids. he took these lessons and ran with them into overdrive because percy only knows two modes: zero or one-hundred. hence how he turned out to be a killjoy

stupidly smart and stupidly ambitious. the sorting hat considered putting him in slytherin and he debated with it until the hat got annoyed with him and gave him gryffindor instead. you can pry that hc out of my cold, dead hands

so much of him is based in guilty: for the fight he had with arthur, for putting up so much distance between him and his family for years, and for not coming back to them until the very last minute. there’s also an immense level of guilt thinking he had a part in fred’s death, because he was there when his brother was killed and he wonders if he hadn’t caused a distraction, if fred might still be alive. he’s never spoken about any of his guilt because he’s about as good at communicating as he is at having any chill (aka, not at all)

after the war (and all of the grief and pain and healing that followed), percy made his primary focus on rebuilding his relationship with his family. it’s not been easy, but if the war taught him anything, it’s that he will not lose even more time

currently employed at the ministry (duh) in the department of magical transportation because jkr said that somewhere, i’m just too tired to cite the source

i’ll make a stats page and link it later along with the rest of the finished bio, thank u and good night

BIO — under co.

Born the third son to Molly and Arthur Weasley, one of the very first lessons Percy learned was that it was easy to get lost in the crowd. In a family that finally tapered off at seven children, there was always someone crying, laughing, or making some sort of racket (sometimes all three at once). It was such a loud environment, and it was clear early on that Percy didn’t like loud. He liked things to be quiet and structured, because that made sense to him.

While all of his brothers were causing chaos, Percy was more likely to be found trailing after their mother. It was the only time when he felt like he got one-on-one time — he’s never been all that great at sharing, you see, even within his family. Even better than the time, he quickly realized that it was the best way to get recognition in a family as big as his. Rather than trying to make the biggest display for reinforcement, Percy learned to set himself apart by doing exactly what he was told. When his older brothers were away at school, and the younger kids were causing Molly to want to tear her hair, there was an overarching, sometimes unspoken (often times not) question of, why can’t you lot be like Percy? Responsible Percy, who completed all of his lessons as soon as possible and made sure to not track mud into the house and make a mess. It didn’t matter that it made him less likable to his siblings. It didn’t matter that that lack of likability sometimes felt like a lack of love, either (not that he would say that out loud). Their family was under enough stress, with seven kids and strained finances. He wouldn’t be the one to add any more stress.

Over time, it became less about being the responsible one for the sake of being good, and more so just... because that’s who Percy was. He could be overbearing to a fault, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that he sucked at communication. Whenever he scolded the younger kids for even the most minute thing, it didn’t come from a place of anger. In Percy’s mind, rules were established to keep you safe, and if his siblings broke any of the his mother’s rules, it meant they were making themselves unsafe. He may have been garbage at showing it, but Percy always has and always will love his family. The thought of something happening to them, especially something he could prevent, was not okay in his book. They needed to listen in order to be safe, and if that meant he had to act like an overbearing mother to guarantee that, then so be it.

While he was his mother’s shadow growing up, there was also a deep respect for his father. That respect greatly shifted as Percy grew up and learned their family’s status in the wizarding world, but as a little kid? He wanted so much to be like Arthur. That’s why his desire to enter the Ministry has existed as long as he can remember. Thus began a serous case of tunnel vision further fueled by Percy’s own ambition. Once he set his mind to something, good luck getting him to change it. And Percy’s mind was set on the best.

One thing Percy has kept to himself for years is something said to him during the sorting ceremony his first day at Hogwarts. Slytherin would suit you. Percy determined that that stupid hat must be broken, and mentally argued with it for a solid minute before it put him in Gryffindor — like his parents, like Bill, and like Charlie. His only real care? That he couldn’t stand to feel more disliked in his family than he already did.

His school years were everything that he needed them to be. By the time he started, he already had everything planned out. Get top marks? Done (friendly reminder that Percy got twelve O.W.L.’s, how tf). Become prefect? Done. Become Head Boy? Check, check, and check. Of course, it was far more than just a bit stressful when the twins started school and his lecturing towards them went into overdrive. Then Ron, who’s life seemed to be put in danger every five seconds after befriending Harry Potter. And then the entire debacle that was Ginny’s first year. Needless to say, Percy got his first grey hair at aged sixteen. But he managed to deal with (read: ignore) all of his stress and worry, and left Hogwarts with Os on all of his N.E.W.T.s and a job offer at the Ministry. Everything was going to according to plan.

Everything did not go as planned. His first year at the Ministry was an absolute disaster, to put it lightly. His boss never learned his name, which was humiliating enough. But Percy knew that what he wanted involved playing along in order to work your way up, so that’s exactly what he did. And it worked! Even when most of his correspondence with Crouch was done through letters, it felt like something. Being asked to carry out Crouch’s role in the Triwizard Tournament felt like a reward. Nevermind that he was 18 at the time and that job should have been done by somebody much more established than him. So when word got out that someone had been Imperio’d for ages by someone, Percy was an easy target to blame for not noticing. He could have bit back that had barely known Crouch beforehand, why was it being put on him? He didn’t fight back though. That wouldn’t do him any good. He took it all in stride, bit his tongue, and did what he’d always done: exactly as he was told.

We don’t discuss the fight and his subsequent abandoning of his family.

Percy doesn’t like to think about the almost three years that followed. Why would he? The first few weeks were spent seething with anger, towards his father and towards himself. After the anger cooled, it was replaced with overwhelming guilt. Not for the doubt that he’d had in his parents’ side, oh no. He was still very adamant that they were delusional for trusting the word of a teenage boy and an old (though arguably respectable) man over the governing forces, those same forces that he’d been in awe of since he was a kid. No, Percy’s guilt lay in the accusations he’d shouted, and the blame he’d placed on his father for their family’s financial state.

listen i’ll elaborate on his time during and after the war later, it’s like 2am and i’ve been fighting with my laptop for hours and this is already sO MUCH THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR, PERCY IS JUST MY CHILD

#nox.intro #percy.

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

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Hello sweet! I’ve got a part 2 for that Outsider ask I sent. Could I just get a follow up with the reader waking up, the Outsiders relief, him comforting her about her sister selling her out, maybe even offering to punish her (though the reader would refuse that offer), and maybe her asking why he saved her. The way you ended that ask just made me think of a second part, and I’m just looking for some more Outsider angst, fluff, and sweetness. Hope this isn’t too much. Thanks! 🌸

I’m sorry this is so late! I’m a terrible wife ;-;

(Part 2)

- In that empty darkness of the deep, the sting of betrayal your sister had brought to you had not dulled in the slightest.

- It was raw, burning like fire under your skin even while you felt nothing, while sleep was claiming you so heavily you didn’t even dream. And if you had, you didn’t want to know what kind of dreams sleeping in the Void would bring.

- Your sister had been so close to you growing up–you were her little angel, and she was your starshine. You looked out for each other when the riots started during the plague, and when she fell ill you were the one to wipe her brow, feed her broth, and pray to the Outsider for her health.

- But when she took a lover from the abbey…it changed that sister of yours. Her eyes became narrowed and mind fogged by a sea of lies and sermons. She did not hesitate for a second to throw you to the wolves, the very same flesh and blood who used the God’s power to save her. And that revelation was more painful than any gunshot wound.

-It was on those thoughts that you finally awoke, body still drifting in the strange pool of water in the Void.

- For a moment, you had no idea where you were, eyes gazing up at the dull light piercing through the crystalline sheet that was the surface of the water. The pool was completely clear, but down below you was only blackness. Your heart stared to pound gradually, awakening after being slowed for a long period of time, limbs feeling heavy and achy.

- But there was no longer pain in your shoulder or back, no ripping agony of gunshot wounds. They were completely healed.

- You blinked, inhaling more of the strange water in your lungs and letting it swirl out into the pool. As your body came back to you in bits and pieces, you became heavily aware that you were not in fact alone. Arms were wrapped around your waist, steady and unmoving while a body aligned with your back.

- Someone’s chin was pressed to your shoulder, leaning on you while you drifted without going up or down.

- Not just someone. You knew this form.

- Your heart doubled its tempo, head turning to stare at the Outsider’s face so dangerously close to yours. He looked…peaceful, more so than you had ever seen him. Was he actually sleeping? His face was so soft with his eyes closed, lashes a dark contrast against his pale cheeks and lips gently parted in the smallest of breathes.

- Part of you expected not to feel a heartbeat or anything like that, but you could feel his gentle pulse when you reached a hand around to touch his neck, rotating in his grasp so you could wrap both arms around him.

- He was a God, a being of strange and mysterious power, but…he felt very human in these moments, and so very tired. You didn’t want to awaken him.

- But…your movement must have cued him in, or perhaps he was just sensing you being more active in thought? Whatever it was, you felt his muscles ripple in the next moment, his arms squeezing you ever so slightly and his own heartbeat gaining strength again.

- Oh dear. There was quite a few emotions fluttering through you, some that made your cheeks flush despite how cold it was. Had you ever been embraced by a man like this before? Surely not.

- “Your eyes have finally opened, little mouse,” The Outsider’s voice came low and smooth, right against your ear as he cupped the back of your head, “Does your body ache? Can you feel any more pain?”

- You tried to swallow down your nervousness, heart thudding away as your chin rested on his shoulder, “I…I feel heavy, but…I don’t hurt.”

- He let out a low hum at that, slowly raising you both up toward the surface of the pool. He breached the perfect flowing glass in a slow movement, the water dripping down his hair and face in a way that was almost…beautiful.

- You leaned back so you could look at his black, endless eyes, feeling entranced by the way water glistened from his lashes, down those high cheekbones to his lips. He was truly a lovely creature, wasn’t he? You rarely got the chance to see him so close, but now…it was so fascinating, his skin looked so smooth, those lips perfect and soft.

- Oh dear. That made you flush more.

- Upon exiting the pool you were greeted by the cold chill of the Void’s wind, making you shudder and wince. You were soaked to the bone, but the water seemed to be slipping off of you without resistance, same with the Outsider. By the time he was carrying you away from the pool, you were dry but still cold.

- The God was strangely quiet as he held you close, eyes staring ahead as a path of debris formed around you. It was a sight to behold, seeing stone and metal weave a path for his feet until he found his destination–there floating in the abyss was a room, one with jagged edges and open walls. A single, queen-sized bed with blue and violet blankets adored the center with a simple wardrobe on the far wall.

- Was this where the Outsider spent most of his time? It was illuminated by low, glowing blue lanterns and candles, carved with runics you didn’t understand. In another corner books upon books were stacked in piles without rhyme or reason, some covered in dripping whale oil from a source deep in the sky.

- “Is this…your home?” You whispered to him, eyeing it all with a mixture of awe and sadness. What a lonely place to call home, one that was never touched by the sun or stars in the sky.

- The Outsider set you down on the bed, his fingers sliding up to your neck so he could cup your cheeks and look at you. Those deep, black eyes of his made your pulse thud faster in your veins, his head tilting lightly at your question.

- “Home is such a strange term,” He replied, tone low and ominous as he lifted a lock of your hair, brushing it over his lips, “It implies stability, safety, comfort. This place is that and none–It’s a home, but it is also a cage that has me trapped inside.”

- His words were so mysterious, you didn’t exactly understand what he meant but…it sounded incredibly enigmatic, border-lining on downright melancholy. But he didn’t give you the chance to ask any questions.

- “You have been through something truly terrible, haven’t you Y/N?” He murmured to you, tracing the line of your cheek with his thumb. You instinctively leaned into his touch, letting his chilled hand cup your cheek, “Betrayed by your own kin, left to die as you ran from the abbey’s disgusting followers…a shame after all you did to save your family. Even I was unable to save you from such a fate.”

- The image of your sister, lying in bed with the plague returned to your mind, making your heart squeeze in your chest. He was right–you had been betrayed, had you not? The wounds it caused on your heart were still so fresh, eyes closing as you fought back tears.

- All you had wanted was to save your family, and it cost you them in return.

- “I did not hesitate,” You whispered, feeling the Outsider lean one knee on the bed next to you so he could cup your face, “I didn’t hesitate once to sacrifice something in return to save them. And she…she did not hesitate a moment to get me killed.”

- He wiped a tear from your eye before it could drop, his tone low and soothing as he replied, “Humans have an uncanny way of being ruled by fear–That Overseer filled her head with tales of my exploits, of how the plague was secretly my doing and that I sought to kill all of Dunwall. And she ate it up, like tyvian pears over breakfast.”

- That was what you had been afraid of–You never liked the men of the abbey, even before you were a follower of the whale God. But when she had taken the arm of one and claimed they would be married…there was such a joy there in her eyes, how could you object?

- But you saw the change he brought, saw how she went from joyful and kind to pious and easily disturbed. But…by then, it was too late.

- “I should have stopped her,” You whimpered, a sob growing in your throat and threatening to burst forth, “When he started courting her, I should have warned her away from him before he got into her head.”

- The Outsider clicked his tongue at that, stroking your hair back and tapping a finger by your temple. It made you open your eyes, looking up at his face and feeling a bit breathless at the expression he wore–his eyelids lowered, gazing at you with something akin to adoration, a fierce protectiveness, and…guilt.

- “The blame is not yours to shoulder–it belongs to her and the overseer she scorned you for,” He said softly, eyes growing a bit cold and dark as he continued with low, threatening meaning, “What punishment should I bring forth for this sister of yours, to destroy her for what she has done? A thousand years in the Void, hordes of rats feasting on her lover before her very eyes? Whatever you desire, I could bring it forth.”

- His icy voice sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you very easily that he was in fact a creature of neither evil, nor good. He was capable of dark things just the same as any human, maybe darker with that power of his.

- But…what he spoke of, you did not seek. The anger was dying in your blood, draining fast and leaving you simply feeling tired and sad. Because at the end of the day, even after all she had done…she was your sister, and you could not see her hurt.

- “She was not herself anymore,” You replied softly, shaking your head at his requests, “I do not wish to see her punished, not now nor ever–she was weak of mind after living with the plague, so close to death…he sought out her vulnerability, and took advantage of it. And for that…I cannot hate her.”

- The black-eyed God narrowed his eyes at your words, frowning and seeming heavily displeased. A moment of silence paused between you, making you a bit nervous considering you had never seen the being upset before–you didn’t want to do anything to anger him, especially after all he had done to help you.

- Above all things, his opinion of you mattered most.

- “Is that your choice, little mouse?” He murmured, tilting his head to the side and gazing at you with a serious expression.

- You would not be swayed. You nodded, tone soft as you replied, “It is. And for better or for worse, it is what I want,” You flushed lightly, looking away and clasping your hands together in your lap as you added nervously, “B…besides..her actions brought me here, to you…and that I can never be regretful of.”

- You didn’t dare look at his face with such a remark–were you stepping out of line by saying such a thing? You thought you knew how to read the God’s intentions, but maybe you were wrong?

- But there was nothing to fear.

- You felt the Outsider tilt your head back, pulling you closer so he could press his lips to your forehead. They felt chilled, but soft and soothing after all that had transpired. You were growing used to this cold, finding enjoyment in it.

- “Your kindness is admirable, mouse,” He murmured, meeting your eyes with a crooked smirk and gentle fingers holding your face, “But you should not have to suffer to be close to something like me…I would hardly call that a blessing.”

- Something about the low, slightly tired way he said that filled you with emotion you couldn’t ignore. Your heart pattered faster, arms slipping around his neck to tug him down onto the bed with you in one, fluid motion. To your surprise, he did not resist–he simply leaned forward to your wills, collapsing on the bed over you and letting your arms tug his head to your chest.

- He blinked, expression blanking out a bit when you placed his ear over your heart–he could hear it beating while being so close, could he not? You flushed, leaning your head back and gently stroking your fingers through his hair.

- Had anyone been intimate like this with the God before? Maybe not in a long, long time. His expression was confused for a moment, body stiff as he leaned his weight on you. But…after a few moments he began to thaw, lulled by the rhythmic stroke of your fingers, by the sound under his ear. You felt him relax, his eyelids closing half way and taking on a bit of a dazed look.

- He looked more peaceful now, and more tired than ever.

- “Outsider,” You whispered, closing your eyes as you listened to the wind howl by, rustling the pages of book and sending the bed’s tapestry flowing overhead, “Why did you save me?”

- He slid his arms up, wrapping them underneath you to pull your body closer. You felt him exhale, the sensation sending chills up your spine, ones that delighted you–being so close to him was breath taking, heavenly despite the harsh landscape. You could only hope you offered solace to him.

- “I saved you,” He began in a hushed tone, voice tickling the skin of your chest in the most tantalizing way, “Because of all my followers, it is you who I enjoy the most,” He lifted his dark eyes, staring up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite identify, “In a place like this, you are the first true glimpse of the sun I have had…It would be a cruel shame to let you die in such a way, alone in that dark, filthy place.”

- His words sent a thrill through you, eyes opening again to meet his and breath catching in your lungs. It was in moments like these, the Outsider felt less like a God, more like a tired human forced to live years and years beyond what he should.

- You wanted nothing more than to give him the love and adoration he deserved. Not worship, not the love of a fanatic to their source of power…the love only someone who truly cared for him could give.

- So you went to sit up, letting him move with you. That brush with death had made you bold, dropping any hesitations you might have had in regards to the God, but…now those were all gone, there was nothing left to lose.

- Your lips parted, moving to gently brush over his in the first kiss you had ever given a man.

- He didn’t lean away like you had hoped, nor did he try to stop you. Your eyes were closed, unable to see his expression but not needing to when his hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you closer to deepen the contact after a few seconds of pause. He tasted like something cold and dark, of the Void itself. You were happy to let him take control of the kiss, a sigh of delight leaving your lips as he held you in a tender embrace.

- When he finally pulled away, he held a curious look in his eyes, like you were the most puzzling thing he had ever seen. But in those depths was a relief, one mingled closely with awe and wonder.

- “You still feel warm,” He whispered, eyes lingering on your moistened lips as he touched them with his fingertips, “Like the sun.”

- His words made your heart ache terribly, sounding so lonely and lost. You leaned forward again to kiss him, feeling the chill from his lips slowly melt away while they eagerly drank the warmth of your own.

- “I will gladly be the sun for you,” Breath left your lungs slowly, the words sounding soft like clouds billowing through the sky, “If you’ll let me.”

- He released a soft sigh at that, a hint of regret in his eyes as they met yours again.

- “Every moment you spend here, the Void will steal that light from you,” He whispered, stroking your cheeks down to your neck with those chilled fingers of his, “That warmth. I steal it from you with each touch, and that I cannot allow to happen.”

- Would that mean he meant to send you away? Despair filled you with his words, more tears threatening to spill over your cheeks.

- “Is that warmth all you desire of me?” Hurt filled your tone, voice cracking with sobs that wanted to be released, “I want to stay with you, I don’t belong anywhere else.”

- He pulled you closer again, tucking your head under his chin as he said in a fierce tone, “It is not the warmth the Void will take–living in a place like this destroys human souls. It takes and takes…stripping away all you felt and filling you with the Void itself, turning you into something that is no longer human, but nothing else entirely. You forget how to feel, the emotions that once drove you…it makes you numb from the inside out. And I…cannot watch it suck the life from you.”

- He spoke from experience, didn’t he? That sorrowful tone, that deep ache that did not seem to leave. There was a humanity left in this man you adored, warped by so many years in this terrible space that he scarcely remembered what it felt like to be a human.

- And you wanted to help him remember.

- “Then…” You swallowed down your tears, wrapping both arms around his waist and holding him closer to you, “I will have to keep my warmth for the both of us…won’t I?”

#the outsider dishonored #the outsider #the outsider x reader #outsider x reader #outsider x self insert #request

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