#that they got to break the cycle and just fucking live for once
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Y’all I’m literally never going to be okay about Simon and Betty.
Simon realising that their whole relationship he hadn’t been examining why Betty always followed him because he was too focused on his love for her and not what she really needed. Not what they both really needed.
The devastating parallel of Betty being so blindly in love with Simon that she willingly and unthinkingly always put him first. And Simon being so blindingly in love with Betty that he saw her being happy and so never thought to fucking question whether those were the right decisions to make. Enabling them every time because they were in love and that was what she wanted, right? She wanted to be with him. She loved him. She was happy. So why would he think it should be any different?
And Betty reassuring Simon that she made her own choices. That he didn’t hold her anywhere. That he never forced her to be with him, or put him first. That she made those decisions and that she didn’t have any regrets. But that they both had to let this go because as long as they were focused on each other neither of them were ever going to be able to have the life they needed.
That they had both been trapped for so long carving pieces of themselves out for other people. Betty in her blind devotion when it came to Simon. Simon in his belief that his crimes as the Ice King, and that all the ways he had let down Betty, meant the only purpose and worth he could have was in sacrificing himself for others.
That they both deserved self-possession and the ability to find autonomy and actualisation as individuals. That they deserved to make their own choices, the good and the bad, and just live without the blind devotion, and guilt, and sacrifice that was going to trap them in this loop forever.
That they meant everything to each other, but that now they needed to mean everything to themselves. That the only way forward was on different paths, but that they both deserved that. That they were able to show each other that they deserved that.
That Simon gets to live now.
I will never be okay about this show. Or these two.
#fionna and cake#fionna and cake spoilers#simon petrikov#betty grof#simon and betty#i am not okay#but I’m also fucking so happy that this is how the story ended for them#that they got to break the cycle and just fucking live for once#that there wasn’t a blame game or resentment or hatred#just an understanding that they loved each other#but that they way they both loved each other wasn’t what they needed#that letting go was the only way forward#but that they had no regrets#that the time they had was so fucking meaningful#but that it was time to move on#it was time to live
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The more I read Exlibrium, the more I hate the Bookwizard Circle...
#especially the Leska family. those bitches committed literal crimes against humanity.#Tamara was not kidding when she called her parents fascistic assholes#she and her sister Varvara are the only ones who were able to break the cycle#EVEN THOUGH Varvara was one of the human heads of the Circle (and she liked to experiment on sentient shadows)#she got better of course (mostly because of her little sister) but lets just say that she was as creepily cruel as her parents once#but speaking of the Circle itself...#just... how many lives they ruined?#they abused Angelina and Nightingale to the point they were so traumatized that they decided to set the events of Exlibrium in motion#which resulted in so many problems (basically the Circle created its own monster)#the Circle also did something very fucked up before that - with Kai and Kira.#NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT THE ORIGIN OF CIRCLE ITSELF IS JUST AS HORRIBLE.#the most recent fucked up thing the Circle did (Leska family specifically) was Sasha and Inga situation#Leskas experimented on them. they blamed them for not being what they wanted them to be.#Inga was considered a failure but a failure that could be potentially experimented and abused on again.#Sasha was 'an almost success' and for that they broke him to the point he wanted to kill himself.#this was the reason he did what he did in 'Salt in the wound' arc (which is the cause of so many deaths and present events)#HE BECAME THE SOCIAL PARIAH. EVERYONE HATED HIM SO MUCH.#except for Inga of course because unlike everyone else she knew exactly how much he was traumatized. because she was there to witness it.
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NOBODY’S BUSINESS ⟡ CHOSO KAMO
content warnings: 18+ nsfw, non-curse AU, slight angst, bestfriend!choso x fem reader, cheating (reader gets cheated on/cheats back), choso is pussydrunk, consensual recording, creampie, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), pet names, praise, smut, squirting, toxic relationship, unprotected sex┊wc: 3k
notes: this is loosely based off of a very nsfw dream i had about choso a few months ago, oops┊tags: @manjibunny @rookie98writes @jabamin @satoruhour @kizoken @marimogf @screampied
masterlist
Never in a million years did you anticipate reading the nauseating words that adorned your screen.
It felt like pure agony, as if your heart had been shattered into a million fragments. The shock overwhelmed you, finding out through a mutual friend that your boyfriend got caught having sex with another girl at a party. Buried alive inside a nightmare, you were spiraling — as if the very foundation of the perfect world you lived in had crumbled beneath your feet.
Your relationship with Naoya had only begun four months ago. Initially seeming idyllic, until you slowly started to see a darker side of him. There were early warning signs when you first got together, but you brushed it off, viewing your relationship through rose-coloured glasses.
He had always taken you for granted, never buying you flowers or getting you any gifts for your monthly anniversaries. Making empty promises and getting your hopes up were his specialties, but you were blinded by his looks. Failing to see he was only using you for his own selfish desires.
Much like a ravenous crow, he always found himself looking for the next shiny, pretty girl he could get his hands on to manipulate and discard once boredom set in. A never ending hunt for a new prized possession — a twisted cycle that left behind a trail of endless heartache he showed no intention of breaking.
Blaming yourself for not seeing through his façade sooner, you were already trapped in his iron grip when it was too late.
He had an extremely flirtatious nature you hated, only worsening while talking to girls you couldn’t stand. It was like a sick power trip to him, letting his eyes wander a little too long on whoever piqued his interest, not even caring in the slightest that you were standing right next to him. But he knew you would never dare to leave, well aware of your devotion to him.
To Naoya you were just a mere object; his possession, devoid of thoughts and feelings. The polar opposite of how your best friend Choso treated you right from the beginning of your friendship. He regarded you as delicate and fragile — not wanting to cause you any harm, always being extremely protective of you.
His envy of Choso's genuine love for you only fueled his toxic possessiveness. Naoya didn’t truly care about you, he just didn’t want anyone to get close and steal you away from him. You hated how the fake affection he showed made you desperately cling on to the good parts of a relationship that was slowly falling apart. His love was like a drug, and you were addicted.
You could fix him. It was just a mistake, he didn’t want to lose you — he loved you.
With trembling fingers, you desperately scrolled through your contacts to call the one person who could mend your soul.
“C’mon…” Anxiously pacing around the living room, your body violently trembled as you attempted to suppress the intense nausea. “Answer the fucking phone, Choso…”
The phone rang a few times, each passing second feeling like an eternity, before a deep, honeyed voice finally filled your ears. A sigh of relief washed over you in the midst of your hellish heartache.
“Hello?”
Breathless and shaken up, you cried into the microphone. “Oh, thank god. You’re still awake.”
“What’s going on? Are you o-” Before he could finish his sentence, your soft, melancholic voice cut him off.
“Can you come over… like right now? I’m at Naoya’s house.”
“Of course. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Need you right now,” you sniffled, tears staining your screen.
“‘m coming. Just stay where you are; everything will be okay.” His calm aura always knew how to soothe you, even in the midst of utter despair. You clung to him, hoping that his presence would be a balm for the searing pain in your chest.
After ending the call, a mix of emotions swirled within you —anger, betrayal, and a longing for solace.
Rushing to the bathroom, you tried emptying your stomach but to no avail, tears streaming down instead. Kneeled on the tiled floor, your cries were interrupted by the loud ringing of the doorbell, prompting you to stand up. Shaky legs moved towards the entrance.
Slowly opening the front door, big, beautiful purple eyes met yours—a spark of electricity rushed through your veins. He had never looked this worried before.
”Hey.”
“Hey…” You greeted, looking up at him distraught, but his loving gaze never faltered. ”Thank you, Choso.”
“Of course, anything for you.”
He stepped inside, closing the door. Trying to hold back tears, you jumped into his big, strong arms. Inhaling his familiar scent to regulate your uneven breaths. He softly kissed the top of your head, gentle hands wiping away the mascara stains from your cheeks. “Let’s go get you some water first, and then we’ll talk.”
Choso walked into the kitchen, opening different cabinets to find a drinking glass, filling it with water before handing it to you.
“So, who dared to upset my girl?” You almost choked on the liquid, thinking you must have heard it wrong. Trying your hardest not to burst into tears again as the words of that damned text flooded your memory, you struggled to gather your words.
“I received a text from Yuki about half an hour ago. She told me Naoya cheated on me at Sukuna’s party,” you felt your heart aching again. Choso, in absolute disbelief, furrowed his brows, and his expression morphed from shock into anger. “He didn’t even care that he got caught.”
”What — he did what?” The rage inside of him fired up quickly, “I will beat the shit out of that blonde bitch. What the hell is wrong with him?”
“Don’t call him that.”
He scoffed, “Why not? He doesn’t give a fuck about you, so why would I care about him?”
“I don’t know. But just don’t, please.”
“I’m not letting him get away with it.”
You sighed deeply, leaning against the countertop. “I know, but I love him.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. Choso knew you well enough to understand that you wouldn’t give up on Naoya, even if your relationship was on the verge of sinking like the Titanic.
”You’re honestly insane if you forgive him after pulling shit like this.”
“It was just a mistake, Choso.”
”Yeah, right—he accidentally slipped and fell into another girl’s pussy,”
“Fuck you,” you glanced at him, a hint of genuine anger laced in your voice.
”C’mon… Do you really think he won’t do it again? Be honest with yourself.”
”I don’t know how to break up with him.”
“You do know, you just don’t want to. That’s different.” Trying to mend fractured relationships and giving second chances to people who didn’t deserve your forgiveness. It was your best and worst characteristic simultaneously.
“Kinda sucks that he gets to have you, and I can’t. I could treat you way better — just sayin’,” Choso mumbled nonchalantly.
“What was that?” You raised an eyebrow, looking back up at him surprised. Your words hung in the air, a heavy silence enveloping the kitchen. His admission lingered between you, creating a palpable tension. You shifted uncomfortably, the chaos of emotions swirling within you making it difficult to find the right response.
”I can’t believe I’m actually saying this out loud,“ Choso repeated, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. “But I want you — I’ve wanted you since the day I first laid eyes on you. You deserve to be treated like the amazing woman that you are,” he spoke into your ear, before pressing a loving kiss on your right cheek.
His warm breath sent shivers down your spine, and the gentle kiss on your cheek left you confused. “C-Choso… d-don’t say that,” you stuttered.
He knew it was wrong to admit it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“It’s the truth,” he insisted, his gaze unwavering. He gently grabbed your chin, making you look up at him. “Listen to me, I’d let you break my heart, if that means I get to show you for one night what it means to actually be loved.”
The echoes of his confession lingered in the room, intertwining with the complex emotions weaving through your heart. The fragile state of your relationship with Naoya, coupled with his true feelings, left you feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
Choso released his hold on your chin and took a step back. “I didn’t plan on saying any of that out loud. But I needed you to know.”
You closed your eyes, allowing your hazy mind to take over. ”Kiss me,” you breathed out loud, the words escaping before you could fully comprehend their weight.
His eyes widened in surprise, trying to process your words. ”W-What?”
”I said… Kiss me.”
Taken aback by your sudden request, he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between you. His smoky scent enveloped you in a dizzying cloud.
He leaned in, letting his breath fan over your face before soft lips met yours in a tentative, passionate kiss.
Time seemed to stand still as you embraced it, letting the warmth of Choso’s affection wash over you. The chaos of your emotions slowly subsiding. As the kiss deepened, his hands found a delicate place on your waist, pulling you closer. Your eager fingers got lost in his dark locks, making his hair fall down. The room filled with the rhythmic sound of your shared breaths.
Big hands sneaked under your oversized black shirt, exploring every inch of your soft body. His touches became more sinful, making you further sink into his embrace.
A little whimper escaped you as you felt his wandering hands everywhere. He broke the kiss to bury his face into your neck, planting hot, wet kisses along your jawline. He started to temptingly suck on the skin, your lewd moans growing loader. ”Mmphh, Choso — don’t stop,” he could feel his cock stir in his gray sweats.
Touches becoming more desperate, his muscular body pushed you against the wooden cabinets. The impact making a jar fall to the tiled floor, there was so much dizzying tension between you he thought he might actually faint.
Suddenly he halted his attack on your neck. You squealed as he lifted you up effortlessly, carrying you bridal style to Naoya’s bedroom.
”You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he shamelessly whispered in your ear. Laying you down on the soft pillows that covered the bed, his tall figure loomed over you. Quickly taking off his shirt before he lifted up yours slightly, uncovering your breasts. Choso grazed his lips along your chest, biting the skin before he soothed the bite marks with his tongue.
Trailing down kisses to your stomach, Choso pried your thighs open. He skilfully removed your already soaked pink panties, flinging them across the room. Your heart was beating so fast — never in your entire life did you want someone to touch you this badly. You couldn’t take your eyes off his broad, muscular back that was covered in a sheer layer of sweat.
His hot breath fanned over your cunt for just a few seconds, before he licked a long stripe up your puffy folds. His tongue traveled towards your clit, circling little figure-eights around it. He groaned contently licking and sucking every spot, “Fuck. This pretty pussy tastes so good… Just as I thought.” His praise ripped a lewd whine from your throat.
”Choso, please. Need more,” you whined, arching your back into the mattress.
“Shhh— I know,” he cooed, half-lidded purple eyes peering up at you, “Gotta make you cum first.” His deep, honeyed voice vibrating against your folds made you clench. He covered his digits in your slick, stuffing one finger inside your soaked hole. Hearing your moans grow louder, he quickly added another one.
His tongue and fingers made you feel like you were floating, pleasuring you like it was his last night on this earth. You gasped and trembled, repeating the words keep going like a broken record until the pressure in your lower abdomen almost exploded.
He satisfyingly hummed against your cunt, “Mhm. Cum for me, pretty girl. Give it to me.” Speeding up his tempo, your eyes rolled back in your head, crying out his name as you squirted all over his face.
Choso’s chin now covered in your juices, he smirked at you seductively, “Fuck. Could do this forever.”
Before you were able to blink, he had switched positions, your body now on top of his. Not satisfied yet and growing desperate to feel him, you started riding his abs. The rigidness of his muscles stimulated your sensitive clit again. “Chosoo—need you inside of me.”
“Patience, baby. Would never be able to forgive myself if I only made you cum once tonight.” His strong arms grabbed your hips, moving you back and forth on his abdomen. “So sweet and needy; lookin’ so pretty on top of me.” He pulled one of your hands up, tenderly kissing your fingers while you were riding him, before he placed them back on his chest.
His devotion to you made your brain short circuit, “‘’m close again.” Choso loved seeing your dazed expression as you inched closer to reaching nirvana once more — the moonlight illuminating your glistening body. Your ears were ringing as you came for the second time.
He grinned proudly, “There she is, my good girl.” Your shirt and his stomach now covered in your juices. You panted heavily as your soul returned to your body.
Choso lifted himself up and started kissing your neck again, and you were so eager to let him finally fill you up.
“Need to feel you inside now.”
”Mm? Say that again?”
”Please fuck me, Choso,” you whined. He removed his sweatpants and turned you around so you were positioned on all fours. Slick-covered cunt on display, almost making him cum at the beautiful sight. You wiggled your ass, turning your head to look up at him. His dick was so intimidatingly big, making you panic slightly.
He slowly sank himself inside of you, inch by inch, your walls hugging his cock as if your body was made for him. He grabbed his phone from his sweatpants and opened the camera, “Shit. Need to remember this moment forever, gonna put this as my lockscreen. Can I?”
You giggled, further arching your back for him, “Yeah. Don’t mind.” He pressed the record button and gripped your waist, “Oh baby — you feel so fucking good.” He moaned as he picked up the pace, dragging your walls so nicely, sounds of slapping skin filled up the room.
Mewling and whimpering as he moved the angle of his hips just right — making you see stars, mouth falling agape. “Mmpf. S-so deep,” You panted breathlessly, cunt gushing around him as he pushed you over the edge, coaxing your third orgasm from you. Choso ended the video and threw the phone on the bed. Following soon after, he stuffed you full of his cum before pulling out, staining your black shirt.
Both of your bodies collapsed onto the bed, and he gently kissed you again, “I meant everything I said earlier.” Your mind was too fucked out to respond, only humming in response.
You quickly took off your stained shirt, dropping it to the floor. Choso shook his head and smirked, caging you in his strong arms as you drifted off to sleep in your boyfriend’s bed.
Your boyfriend had arrived home unexpectedly in the middle of the night, drunk and disoriented before falling asleep on the couch. His alarm jolted him awake, prompting to navigate his way to the bathroom for a quick shower.
Opening the door to his bedroom, Naoya grabbed the nearest shirt he could find from his bedroom floor and hastily put it on. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him, the realization of the situation slowly dawning on him. A venomous smirk curved his lips, and the storm in his brown eyes intensified.
His footsteps waking you up from your deep slumber, “What the fuck?” Naoya’s loud voice sliced through the charged silence, laden with accusation. "Is this what you do when I'm not around?" Anger dripped from his words, the air thick with tension.
Choso's expression remained stoic, but his gaze held a glaring intensity. Before you could respond, Naoya's eyes flicked to the tousled sheets of his bed, and the smirk on his face contorting into a sneer. "I see. You didn't waste any time," he spat, the words a volatile mix of rage and betrayal.
As you attempted to form a response, Naoya lunged forward, confronting him. "You think you can just walk into my house and touch my girlfr-"
Choso, unyielding, cut him off with a steely glare. "Maybe you should've thought about that before treating her like shit. She called me because you stuffed your dirty dick inside someone else.”
”I’m sorry, this was a mistake.” You sniffled, directing your gaze towards Naoya.
Choso, with a heavy sigh, gathered his belongings and headed for the door. "I'll give you two some space. Figure it out." His words were laden with a mix of anger and disappointment. “You’re wearing the shirt I fucked your girlfriend in last night, by the way.”
Naoya inspected every inch of his shirt until he saw the white stain, leaving him mortified. ”You need to get the fuck out, before I beat your ass.”
As the door slammed shut, the two of you stood frozen, the reality of the moment sinking in. Naoya's gaze softened, a flicker of realization in his eyes. The storm within him seemed to subside. "I... I messed up. I messed up big time. Please forgive me, I don’t want to lose you."
The conversation that ensued lasted for two hours, his manipulative tendencies resurfacing again — weaving their insidious charm to win you over once more. Trapped within the clutches of his vice-like grip, the toxic cycle persisted, weaving an intricate web around your emotions.
Several weeks later, you were randomly woken up by the chiming sound of your phone. The blinding light hurt your sensitive eyes, and your blood ran cold when you opened the message.
© 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐤𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 ⟡ do not copy, plagiarize or repost any of my works.┊network: @enchantedforest-network
#choso x reader#choso smut#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#choso kamo#jjk choso#jjk smut#jjk x you#kamo choso#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo x you#choso kamo x y/n#choso x you#choso x y/n#jjk x y/n#jjk drabbles#jjk recs#jjk x reader smut#anime smut#female reader#‘☁️ .𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬
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Bingqiu roleswap where disciple Shen Yuan knows he's gay, and figures out that he has a big huge crush on his handsome Shizun, but also concludes nearly at once that he's not going to be drawing Luo Binghe's eye any time soon. Firstly, Luo Binghe is notoriously straight. Secondly, even if he weren't, he wouldn't go for his scrawny untalented nerd of a disciple! Shen Yuan's not bad looking, not before or after transmigrating, but he's neither a beautiful nor a hot manly man, and he assumes if Luo Binghe were into dudes he'd be into the same kinds of twunks that Shen Yuan likes. Guys on his own level, etc etc.
Plus Luo Binghe hated the original disciple Shen, and only started to warm up to the transmigrated version after Shen Yuan got injured in front of him trying to stop the other disciples on the peak from killing a small animal. For some reason, Luo Binghe brought Shen Yuan medicine. He got even nicer after Shen Yuan distracted the skinner demon by trying to convince it to take his skin instead of Luo Binghe's, and then again when Shen Yuan successfully fought off a demon invader -- though initially when Luo Binghe volunteered him for that job, he thought it was an assassination attempt. His heart was in his throat when Luo Binghe nearly took a poisoned blow for him, but luckily he reacted more quickly and got hit by the thorns instead. His heavenly demon blood took care of the poison, and he managed to convince everyone that he narrowly avoided getting cut at all.
Shen Yuan's careful not to read anything into it when Luo Binghe finds out about his, erm, uncomfortable dormitory situation and moves him into the side room, or when he completely messes up trying to make dinner and Luo Binghe takes over cooking and bans him from the kitchen (he swears he's not actually that bad at cooking, he just never had to use a kitchen without a microwave or an electric hot plate before...)
After all, it's not like Luo Binghe is cooking for him, he's just making food he likes and letting Shen Yuan eat it too! Because he's nice! He's way nicer than the book gave him credit for being, see, clearly Shen Yuan was correct in signing up for his defense squad, "top ten worst villains of all time" his ass that poll was nonsense...
Unfortunately, though, the plot's still gotta plot. Shen Yuan is heartbroken when the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around and his shizun stabs him and throws him down into the Endless Abyss. Heartbroken, but not surprised. After all, it was always going to go this way, wasn't it?
But at least, now that it's done, he has some agency in how he reacts to it. He's changed the story enough that he doesn't need to go get revenge. Maybe Luo Binghe's still the villain of his story, maybe that was inevitable, but some heroes let the villains get away. Don't they? It's all part of that noble, breaking the cycle of abuse type stuff. He can be that kind of hero. He can let it go. As long as he avoids Luo Binghe altogether, it should be fine, right? It's not like he's obligated to turn people into human sticks. He asked the system, he's definitely not!
Technically he's not even required to conquer the demon realms. He just has to get out of the Abyss and the be sufficiently cool and/or tragic. Conquest is just one means of doing that, and not even Shen Yuan's preferred, since he doesn't exactly want to rule over anybody. Going around the demon realms beating up some jackasses and rescuing some damsels in distress and becoming sworn brothers with Shang Qinghua, one of the current demon kings, is suitable. He definitely doesn't want to marry any of the damsels he encounters (thank fuck the system lets him off the hook for that!)
But eventually he has to go back to the human world. Not only is it mandated by the system, but he also misses living there. The demonic realms are in many ways better than expected, plus a lot of the monsters are really cool, but he misses the weather and plants and the people he's more accustomed to being around.
He misses Qing Jing Peak, if he's being honest with himself. Shizun's cooking and the bamboo forest and the crisp mountain breezes, the comforts of home.
Not that he can actually go back there in specific. Of course not. If he did that, Luo Binghe would try to kill him, or else the system would try and make him kill Luo Binghe. Bad ideas all around. No, he can't go back to Qing Jing Peak, but he can go find someplace nicer than the demon realms at least. He just has to keep a low profile, which shouldn't be hard since the original goods did that even while actively scheming to kill his former master!
Except.
Everywhere he goes, suddenly Luo Binghe is also there?!
Good thing Shen Yuan thought to take a page out of the book of Luo Binghe's actual love interest, Liu Mingyan, and start wearing a veil. He just didn't want any randos who might have seen him at the Immortal Alliance Conference or on any of the other missions his shizun sent him on to recognize him. But one minute he's investigating a strange case in Jinlan City, and the next the streets are full of Huan Hua cultivators (Shen Yuan has no intention of joining them, that's the path the original took to getting revenge! He doesn't want revenge!), and then Luo Binghe and Sect Leader MBJ and Peak Lord SHL show up, and SY is ducking down alleys and hiding behind columns, just trying to stay out of the way until the lockdown on Jinlan lifts and he can leave.
Except...
Luo Binghe really isn't acting like himself?
He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping well. There are dark circles around his eyes, and something almost melancholy in his countenance. And he's dressed entirely in white, none of the usual Qing Jing greens and blues anywhere to be seen. Of even greater concern, he's being reckless. Shen Yuan can't stop himself from rushing out when he sees his former shizun get infected by a sower demon.
Luckily, it's been some years since the last time they saw one another. Shen Yuan's gained a few inches in height, so he's almost at eye-level with his old master now, and though he's still more slender than bulky he's picked up some totally new styles from training the demon realms. He doesn't move the same way he used to. With that, plus the veil, it's enough for him to quickly swallow back his words as he grabs Luo Binghe and quickly administers a cure for the sower infection.
Well, he has one of course. He wouldn't need it himself, heavenly demon blood and all, but his time running around playing hero in the demon realms meant he rescued a lot of humans from such fates. Which is hard to do if you don't have a cure to their afflictions, but between him and Shang Qinghua, sourcing such things was almost easy.
Luo Binghe looks at him like he's just seen a ghost. The other Cang Qiong sect members are alarmed by SY suddenly accosting one of their own and of course find him suspicious, so he runs away right after, and then he has to lose Sha Hualing's pursuit in the city.
But what else could he do? He manages to evade the system's attempts to railroad him into meeting Gongyi Xiao, avoids the rest of the Cang Qiong crowd, and drops some of the cure through the current Qian Cao peak lord's window to get the incident sorted out. Then he flees and puts a good amount of distance between himself, Jinlan City, and every righteous sect he can think of.
The only problem is that after this point, Luo Binghe is everywhere.
Any time Shen Yuan stays in one place for longer than a few days, Qing Jing disciples start turning up. Any time he takes a job hunting some cool-sounding monster or pursuing some interesting tome of knowledge, the better to satisfy the system, it seems like Luo Binghe has selected and gone after the exact same target! Which is especially annoying because back when SY was a disciple, Luo Binghe was always assigning him to do this stuff. Since when does his chronic homebody master have an interesting in six-tailed scorpion lemurs or ancient spiritual kilns?
What's weirder, though, are the rumors.
It seems like any time SY stops at some well-populated place and asks for the latest gossip, he has to hear about how the Qing Jing peak lord lost his beloved disciple during the Immortal Alliance Conference, and mourned like a widow, and now wanders the earth in search of solace for his grief. Seeking something, possibly even the ghost of his dear disciple.
What nonsense! Luo Binghe threw SY into the Abyss himself. He had to do it, it was the plot! And also his obligation as a righteous cultivator, confronted with a "dangerous" half-demon. Does it sting? Yes it stings! That's why SY wouldn't just forget it! Despite logically knowing it's pointless, is there some part of him that wishes his master would have chosen differently? That thinks he should have known that no matter what kind of power Shen Yuan had, he would never use it to hurt people recklessly, or harm innocents, or especially not harm... well. It's pointless, his blood condemned him, and if there is some part of Luo Binghe which regrets what happened, it's doubtless just that he unwittingly harbored a monster for so long.
Which is fine and Shen Yuan would leave it at that, if the guy would just let him!
But no. Instead he has to deal with Luo Binghe turning up and asking him questions, trying to get him to talk (SY has no hope of disguising his voice, if he says anything he's not even sure it won't crack as he comes perilously close to tears instead, so he just stays silent), and then asking for his name, asking if he's mute, asking about his background, his sect, his kin. Is his a righteous cultivator? Where did he get that sword? (NOT Xin Mo, thanks, he used that thing once and then tossed it back into the Abyss before the portal finished closing behind him -- he knows a poisoned chalice when he sees one, although knowing the plot twist about that sword from the novel sure helped.) Where did he learn those forms? Is he... does he have a safe place to go home to? Someone to tend his injuries? Make sure he eats his meals?
SY, of course, stays silent. But it's difficult. Not only because Luo Binghe asks, but because he still looks... bad. Sunken, sorrowful, desperate almost. Shen Yuan can't figure out if he knows or not. Maybe he's unsure, maybe he's looking for SY to give him a sign, so that he can figure him out and then flip a switch and try to finish the job he started.
That can't happen. If they fight, SY will win, and he doesn't want to hurt Luo Binghe.
But even if Luo Binghe's not a heavenly demon, he is a highly accomplished cultivator, and it seems he's got his own breaking points to reach. Eventually he corners SY and gets a hand on his veil, and for a moment SY is sure he's going to rip it off, see his face, and confront him all "I knew it was you, you twisted evil demon, you won't escape justice a second time" and he feels a deep, icy terror close around his lungs--
Luo Binghe lets go of the veil before he can lift it.
But then something even worse happens. Because Shen Yuan's handsome, peerless, noble master breaks down. He falls to his knees, begging forgiveness, sobbing, clutching at his head like he's being driven to madness.
It all spills out of him, then. How he pushed his own dearest disciple into the Abyss, which obviously SY already knew, but also how he was apparently qi-deviating the whole time, and his senses could not differentiate between one kind of demonic "threat" and another. How he realized what he'd done only after he regained his senses hours later, and rushed back to the place where the tear to the Abyss had opened, but could not find a way in after the one he lost. How he had betrayed and thrown away the only person who cared about him, and couldn't even explain that he hadn't intended to. How he would accept anything, any punishment, hatred, penance, or revenge, if only he could see his disciple's face once more.
SY is stunned.
Apparently, Luo Binghe hadn't rejected him for his demon blood?
Not only that, but beforehand, he seemed to have valued Shen Yuan a lot more than Shen Yuan would have credited.
Is it a trick? Is he lying? SY would have guessed so, would have assumed that Luo Binghe's plan was to lull him into complacency only to turn on him once he finally had confirmation. But somehow, he just... doesn't think this is an insincere display. His old master is too cool for this stuff! He has too much dignity to just throw it away on a scheme! There are other ways to get what he wants.
Even if it is a lie, Shen Yuan is tired of running. He's the hero. He won't actually lose, and if it comes to it, it's still in his hands to decide if he wants to spare Luo Binghe or not (he does, of course he does, even if this whole spiel is an act). Plus he's got a backup plant body in one of Shang Qinghua's greenhouses if all goes to shit.
He takes the veil off himself.
Luo Binghe, teary-eyed, stares at him as if his face is the most beautiful he's ever seen.
Shen Yuan nearly puts the veil back on. His cheeks heat up. Dear Shizun, aren't you an immortal master? A noble peak lord? Isn't it your calling to vanquish demons? Get up off the dirty ground right this minute! Where did your dignity go? Shen Yuan did not spend all those nights doing the laundry to watch his teacher dirty his knees for no good reason!
There's a quaver in Luo Binghe's voice as he points out that Shen Yuan was terrible at doing laundry. Luo Binghe had to redo it the day after, all the time.
Shen Yuan chides at him that he should have made one of the other disciples do it then.
Luo Binghe just laughs, and stays on the ground, until finally Shen Yuan has to physically pull him up. Muttering about how he's being ridiculous, what's he crying for, why's he been moping so much, doesn't he know that handsome face should never look so bereft? Then he realizes what he's saying and shuts his mouth, but Luo Binghe just looks happy for the first time in years. Since the Abyss. How is it possible that SY, who actually had to slog through that awful place, can still smile more than Luo Binghe, who didn't?
They're standing so close. Holding on to one another. Almost as if... as if the scene's tone is... well...
Oh what the hell!
Shen Yuan closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses Luo Binghe.
#svsss#scum villain's self saving system#bingqiu#long post#of course the plot probably interferes further then#turns out that while luo binghe was desperately trying to get sy back he accidentally woke up sy's father#who for this au let's say is sj instead of tlj#sj does NOT approve of this match and also hates all the righteous cultivators (and demons... and everyone mostly...)#but he is also busy trying to resurrect yqy or something#kidnaps sy like well I missed the chance to raise you and actually that's probably for the best but now I need your blood#for Reasons#luo binghe is not a fan of this turn of events#reverse holy mausoleum arc when SY is mostly unconscious except to sometimes throw out advice and LBH is dodging traps and villains#the pining-over-the-dead-shizun arc is probably AFTER the holy mausoleum and lbh self-destructs to rescue sy from sj's plans#sy refuses to accept this outcome he decided luo binghe was NOT to die he didn't need a redemption arc he was FINE sy DECIDED#but luckily they're in the holy mausoleum so sy grabs a resurrection artifact of some kind#has to spend a few years restoring and maintaining lbh's corpse before he can get the to actually work but it's fine#he's fine everything's fine he's GOING to get lbh back lbh is NOT ALLOWED TO DIE#luckily unhinged sy results in way less collateral damage than unhinged lbh#so mostly he just fights off mbj's attempts to honorably recover his shidi's body and offer him a proper burial#while camping out in the holy mausoleum and arguing with sj's detached body parts#y'know normal healthy behavior
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Mermen au with mer TF141 and researcher reader trying to learn about their. . .biology :Dd Or them trying to bring progressively bigger fish trying to woo and then Ghost ends up bringing you a fucking orca or some shit,
...I had to look up the reproductive cycle of several marine animals for this I hope you are happy.
Deductive Reasoning
Words: 1.3k
CW: ...light fish porn (?)
It was just fascinating. It would have been dreadfully difficult to not talk about this every chance you got and thus break your NDA if not for the fact that you never left this secure little island base. You were permitted to, but why would you want to? You were speaking with living, breathing mermen almost everyday.
4 of them, although they had alluded to their being more out there. These 4 were a... well that was the question wasn't it? Only one shark did not make a shiver, only one seal did not make a herd, only one walrus did not make a rookery and only one mandarinfish did not make a shoal. Was there a collective term for mermen? You were told you were now the leading researcher in the world for this new species, so perhaps that meant you got to decide.
Or maybe you'd just ask. They spoke to you sometimes, or at least made noises. They seemed to understand each other at least which was intriguing on its own.
It had been Soap you had met first. You had been basically abducted and hurried to this island facility where they had captured a real life merman. You were enamoured immediately by the furious thing in the tank. Half seal, harbour seal you thought. Top half looked all but human (skin must be different to allow for underwater living and ah, yes, you could see gills), hair in a mohawk (which suggested someone had cut it to look like that, who? Was it a ritual? Did they have community? Was it an emulation of human culture? Perhaps some mating strategy?), eyes somewhere between human and seal (his physicality was a similar story, he was built strong and thick, a healthy layer of fat over hard muscle).
You perhaps felt a little bashful looking back. You had been so wildly excited, asking a thousand questions and going into chaotic science mode that it took you a whole 16 hours of straight observations and notes to realise there was a creature of higher intelligence being held captive in a tank. You did, of course, apologise profusely. He clearly did not understand what you were saying, but the emotion was human enough. Bemusement.
Soap had come about because he was slippery. Well, actually he wasn't, but the story was that he was slippery. Because if the military knew you had actually been helping him escape you were probably going to get disappeared. It was lucky the facility at that time wasn't as high security, you had gotten away with it.
You had met Gaz right there on the coast when Soap went slicing through the water. You thought looking back that Price and Ghost had probably been there, just out of sight. They had come for him. Gaz was a magnificent thing. His tail was the same pattern as a madarinfish, bright orange with gorgeous blue markings. You had shown him a tin of irn-bru once with a grin and learned then that Soap could laugh. He had come right up to you and after some form of exchange with Soap had been playful, showing off his tail and holding his hand out to you. You had been existing on caffeine and noodles so hardly your fault you took it, getting dragged into the water.
Oh how thrilling an education you received in the courting practices of Dragonets! He had made quite a show of displaying his fins, including a gorgeous dorsal fin on his human looking spine. You knew you simply must see them again if only to study why Gaz's eyes were more human while Soap's leant towards seal like. He was certainly the most expressive of them. His name had only come about because you had tried every other one and he made his disdain for them very clear. By the time the merman had been rubbing what you would call his ventral fins against you, Soap had grabbed you and soundly deposited you back on shore. Just in time too for the soldiers to find you because the doctor later told you that you were in the early stages of hypothermia. Totally worth it actually.
You talked the powers that be into allowing your pet projects to free roam, after all they kept coming back to see you. Over the course of a year the facility was upgraded and a channel added from the sea to an indoor pool that would allow for better study. Soap and Gaz didn't run on a schedule exactly, but they seemed content to swim in every so often and let you poke and prod. Fascinating that they should both be half human but their other half was so entirely different. Soap was half mammal, retractable penis something he was very proud to show off anytime he was in the observation pool. Gaz was half dragonet, and while you tried to put a clutch of eggs in the pool to see if he could fertilise them he had only raised an eyebrow at you and tried once again to pull you in. Tough luck, you had learned your lesson about going into the water with them when you had met Ghost.
It had been the middle of the night when he swam into the pool. Silent, you hadn't heard him (that's where that name had come from in the end). So unsuspecting were you that you were too near the edge and his hand had snaked around your ankle, one sharp pull dragging you in after you fell to the ground (hardly avoiding a broken nose). It wasn't only his tail that was shark, he had a sharp set of teeth that he sank into the meat of your shoulder without much ceremony. His claspers had been strong as hell holding you there, the only thing likely saving you his frustration at your clothes. He must not have understood the concept very well because he released you and dove, pawing at your trousers to try and figure them out. It was an endless source of fascination for him anytime he visited after. He would lean his arms on the pool edge and just stare at your legs, tracing the outline of your body with his sharp eyes. It only seemed fair to let him look since you spent an inordinate amount of time staring at him. He was sleek and muscular, every inch an apex predator in his prime.
It was a contrast to who you would say was the leader of their group. The merman who had saved you from Ghost that first time you met him, who had ripped him away from you when his teeth had sunk into the meat of your thigh through your trousers. Price had hauled you out of the water with ease. He was part Walrus, huge and soft with a layer of blubber similar to Soap's that hid considerable strength. Of all of them his animal half was most pronounced, his canines elongated into tusks and his hair thick and whisker-like around them.
As a scientist you could not possibly play favourites. Price was absolutely your favourite. He would be still and patient with you when you were working with him. He would gently run his fingers over whatever parts of you were in reach. When you babbled excitedly he seemed to listen as best he could.
If you had taken more than a moment to really look into it, you might have realised you were not the only creature conducting research. If you had used some deductive reasoning, you probably could have anticipated that fateful day you were dragged into the sea, never to be seen by the human military again.
#mhairiwrites#cod au#tf 141 x reader#today on CWs I never thought I would have to use#was going to make one an octopus but we all know that would be Konig#and I liked flamboyant Gaz and fat Soap and Price and sharp toother Ghost too much
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okay so like, what about a reader that also goes into heat? And as soon as Jax finds out (while he himself is also in heat) he just breaks into readers room while reader happens to be humping a pillow and just fucks them raw then and there. (Breeding kink maybe?-)
decided to put these two asks together since they were similar, 🤭
tags: heat cycles, breeding kink, overstim, manhandling, tail pulling, cursing, crying, rough sex. kinda mean jax. (fem reader)
Usually Jax was more or less good at hiding his heat. After all there was no way in hell he planned on letting anyone get the jump on him about this. It'd probably become the main topic of conversation among the circus, seeing as everyone has nothing else to do here.
The only downside was he'd be bored completely out of his mind being stuck in his room. It was a better alternative to pouncing any living creature that walked and trying to fuck it raw though. So he'd have to deal with the boredom for the time being.
Days went by, and Jax spent his time rutting into his fist and hand to take the edge off. But it never satisfied him. It was honestly humiliating how many times he jacked off in one day just to feel a piece of normalcy. So not only did he have to deal with being trapped here, but every once in a while, he had to go through this torment. With no one to relieve him, but.. well him.
It did occur to him that maybe others may have had this problem, like you, for example. The new girl, you had two ears that sprouted from your head and a tail as well. But as far as he's concerned, you've been perfectly fine. It wasn't fair. What kind of sick joke was this anyway?
A day trudged by, and luckily enough Jax wasn't bothered by any of the other members. Which was great considering he was preparing to fuck his fist once again .. until. A very particular smell hit his senses. All of the sudden his pupils were blown wide. "What.. is that.." He muttered to himself , absolutely confused yet intrigued by this scent drawing him in. Made his dick throb in his pants.
He had tunnel vision now and had to find the source, maybe it was the cure he needed to get rid of this damn feeling.
"Not now Kinger, don't got the time." He said once he opened the door to leave his room. Kinger was standing there waiting to knock but Jax walked right past him. Kinger hunched over in disappointment.
Jax walked past a few doors in the large corridor, he knew he was getting closer as the scent grew stronger.
"Huh." Jax scoffed, arriving in front of your door after following the scent here, it was so overwhelming that his instincts took over again and he opened the door slipped inside , and closed it behind him immediately... and there you were , the room full of your scent. Jax shuddered, watching you hump a pillow on your bed, whining and gripping at it in need. Ears flat against your head. He watched for a moment in silence. His dick throbbing and straining against his overalls.
"H.. Hey, doll—" He said and cleared his throat his throat, trying to interrupt your little session. He was still quite surprised you didn't hear him come in.
"Hhn.. J.. Jax? Please.. I need help.. I.." You were too dazed, too drunk on lust to care that he barged in. "I don't know whats wrong with me.."
"The pillow not cuttin it doll? You know I can help ya.." You both were like animals in heat... literally.
You weren't even aware you could go into heat until now, and it was driving you insane. You came so many times that your cunt was sore and puffy but it wasnt enough. You needed something inside, you needed to be bred. Full of someomes young. Jax's young.
"Jax.. please..." You whined, and positioned yourself in such a way that Jax almost came in his pants immediately. Your ass was in the air, two fingers pushing your puffy lips apart to show off the wet needy hole in between your legs.
"Don't gotta ask me twice," Jax climbed onto the bed , in the process pushing his overalls off his shoulders and pulling his heavy cock from its confines. You both were far from needing foreplay, he needed a hole to fuck and you needed to be filled. "You always this wet.. its like you pissed your pants or somethin'.." He jokes, teasing his angry throbbing tip against your slick.
"Ah.. J.. Jax, I've only used m'fingers before so— nnhg..!!" He slammed all the way inside, burying himself to the hilt in your cunt. You squirmed beneath him, as the wind was knocked out of you.. there was a tinge of pain but overwhelming euphoria. "S.. So d...deep hha.." Your fingers clawed at the blankets beneath you.
Jax's self-control was thrown out the window as soon as he was buried inside of you. He used his hand to push your face into the mattress. His mind is now filled with, "Breed, breed breed."
The panting bunny was forcing your back to bow in a steep arch, giving him acess to dig deeper into your cunt. You gasped and continued to squirm, whining that it was 'too much, too big'.. until your words turned into incoherent babbles. As Jax refused to stop humping into you.
"Too much? Nah, doll sit here and take it. I've been dealing with this for way too long for you to back out now... ghn..." You were squeezing him so tight, sucking him in. You were made for this. Made for him.
"J.. Jax pleas.. nnh.. senstive..!" You wailed, tears welling up in your eyes. Ypur poor body was jerked forward each time he thrusted into you.
Your body was at war with itself, Jax was battering against your most senstive spots.. it was so good but too much at the same time. You felt like your brain was melting. Maybe you should just give in, get bred and maybe you wouldn't have to worry about a thing after that.. right? He'd take care of you.. and your babies.
Jax's voice pulled you out of your head, and back to reality. Suddenly your body was buzzing and the feeling of Jax's thick dick pummeling inside of you was real again.
"J—Just stay still sweetheart, it isnt that hard. Heh, maybe this is what ya get for letting someone.. l-like me into your room at a time like this..heh.." He grunted, eyes hovering over your form before his gaze rested on your tail. He grinned wide before yanking it and forcing your ass to perk up a little towards the air. You yelped and convulsed around his dick, orgasming immediately from him manhandling your tail.
"J..Jeez, doll..!" He spoke through gritted teeth, your slick insides clamping down on him as he humped you through your climax. Jax had to hold on though, he wasn't quite ready to cum yet. "Wonder how many times you can do/that.." He yanked your tail again, and just like that you were squeezing him.
It was pure bliss for him, "There ya go, just like that.. ngh.. k-keep squeezing on my dick babe... gotta get you pregnant after all.." The words left his mouth carelessly.
Jax didn't care that you were overstimulated, no it was too late for that. You were the answer to this problem, his perfect little slut, and he'd do this as many times as he needed to.
Who else could you go to that would take care of you like this?
"Tell me you want it baby, c'mon.." He urged into your ear. Jax gave your tail a rest, instead opting to pull your hair. Yanking your head from the pillows so he could hear you.
"W.. Want your cum Jax..! Wa.. Wanna get pregnant please..!" You whined and he throbbed in your cunt, grunting in pleasure. "Yeah, I'll get you pregnant babe, you'll be nice and r-round f'me.."
The sound of that made him snap finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. "S.. Shit, doll—" His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you towards him. Your back was flush to his stomach as he pumped his cum inside of you. Stil thrusting even when he stopped cumming.
"There ya go.. can't waste a drop.. or who knows, maybe we can doll. You can go another few rounds, can't ya..?"
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I got sad because I realized that the only good relationship that Dark Urge and Gortash had was with each other.
Gortash got sold by his parents, was abused in hell, barely escaped, and then spent the rest of his life plotting and scheming and refusing to get close to anyone, ultimately even selling another child he took in to the same nightmarish life he'd once escaped from.
Dark Urge was forced to kill their foster family by Bhaal, and then went to a Bhaal temple, where they might've been worshipped, but I highly doubt that the murder cult weirdos really thought of them as a person, and not just an object of worship. It is awful lonely up on that bloody pedestal. Plus the way they beg Bhaal for forgiveness for liking Gortash makes me suspect that it's never happened before.
And then I hold my little heart in my hands and weep for the two of them.
Because I know gortash is a piece of shit who refuses to break the cycle of abuse. And I know the dark urge has murdered a shit ton of people and enjoyed it too.
But...but...your honor ...I still feel sympathy.
I still felt sadness in the house of hope, when that asshole admitted he used to beat Gortash black and blue for fun.
I still felt grief when I read dark urge's letter to their god for ADMIRING someone.
For caring about a person.
And then I found out that dark urge had been living a normal life until they killed their foster parents.
You can say that dark urge enjoyed it, but I just don't think that's the case.
Baldur's Gate 3 has some laughably evil villains but there is nuance. There is humanity in most of the characters, good, evil, and morally gray. Even big baddies. Ketheric Thorm notably has a rather sad backstory full of grief, loneliness, and love turned to madness, Gortash was broken as a child by parents who shattered his ability to care for anyone but himself, and even Orin, if you confront her about Sarevok's relationship to her mother, can even be seen as a tragic figure. Like what the fuck, her own mom tried to kill her as an offering to bhaal.
Maybe all bhaalspawn are laughably one dimensional villains with absolutely no human traits to them, but that's just fucked.
One of my favorite themes is how everyone is a slave to the gods, their playthings, their disposal tools.
Poor Ketheric Thorm said it best when he said that we're just copper pieces to be traded, that we might have beaten him, but the gods beat him first.
He's so right, man. Most if not all the companions are slaves to Gods and devils.
Dark Urge was a slave to Bhaal, just a means to an end, a sharpened blade pressed against the world's throat, and Gortash was the plaything of devils, traded away by parents who didn't care about him, a powerless little boy who'd grow up to be a tyrannical power hungry despot.
I choose to believe they recognized each other. They worked together initially because they had their own agendas, and were doing their usual song and dance of manipulating others, but the more time they spent together, the more they actually liked each other.
They were genuinely friends, or lovers, and it's sickening and it's driving me mad, and it's all so sad.
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just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….
thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D
My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)
I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.
It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress
The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:
The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).
Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.
They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.
Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.
Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.
And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.
I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."
Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.
Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.
Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.
Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.
Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.
And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.
There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.
So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.
You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.
You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.
You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.
And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.
A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.
Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.
A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.
A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.
Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.
If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:
A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.
Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?
If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?
Was she wrong to cut him off?
If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?
That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.
Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.
Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.
Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.
Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?
Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.
Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?
That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.
You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.
Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.
A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.
An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.
A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.
Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.
Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.
She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.
People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.
Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.
Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.
Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.
So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.
Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.
In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.
"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."
Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.
She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).
From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.
"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"
This is a question she cannot answer properly.
I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.
Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.
#bg3#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#mystra#long post#like really long post holy hells#did not expect this to go on for this long#swearing tw#< for karlach#oh yeah#astarion#karlach#wyll ravengard#shadowheart#lae'zel#ask bee
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Eye for an Eye Pt.1
MASTERLIST (and information about Palestine) Please read!
SYNOPSIS: Your body yearned for the touch of your girlfriend, the warm embrace that calmed your mind but you couldn't give in, the anger you harboured for her at disappearing with her group for three months without any warning, explanation or even a mention of when she would be back stopped you in your tracks any time you got close to giving in. You loved Abby so much but looking at her made you sick, you couldn't push the feelings down no matter how much you craved for things to go back to what they once were. You hadn't planned this but the anguish in those green eyes mirrored yours and sucked you in before you could think twice about the repercussions of your actions. You made your bed when you made the deal with the auburn-haired stranger, eventually you'd have to lie in it.
Okay i know the vote isn’t over yet but there is a pretty overwhelming majority so here it is! i’m sorry if this is not what u wanted but i promise friends?never is gonna still be getting regular updates, that will be prioritised until it is complete i was just too excited to not put a little something out. love u all as always xxxxxxxx
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In and out. In and out. Focus on your breathing, focus on it to quell the pit of rage burning deep inside you. That was all you had done for weeks and even at the resolution, when everything was as it should be, still the fire burned on. In and fucking out. Your breaths got deeper, shakier, more frequent again as the weight of her sleeping peacefully by your side consumed you, it had once consumed you with love and it still did, quietly in the background, but it was now overshadowed by the screaming torment of the rage you felt when you looked at her or even felt her presence. It had been like this ever since she got back. Weeks and weeks of refused touches, unanswered questions, shameful glances, you were stuck in this loop because she kept you in the dark. But humans adapt, better than most, so you adapted to the dark, learned to sneak around in it, hunt in it, live in it. You could never leave, neither could she, you were bound cosmically, and you cursed it every day. It was a paradox; how could you love someone so much you felt like your world would burn if they weren’t in it but hate them so much you never wanted to see them again? You couldn’t make sense of it, she’d come to understand your feelings but she was blissfully ignorant to how the swarm of indifference surged through your mind and clamped down on your heart.
You sighed and spared a glance at her sleeping form, the peaceful expression of her face only screaming at you to smother it with the pillow you had laid restlessly on. Weeks and weeks, every morning, you wake up, you stare at her sleeping face and you wish you could just make her sleep forever, it made you want to join her, to sleep and never wake. The anger had become so palpable you actually dreamed of killing her and then yourself just to break free from this never-ending cycle. You tip-toed around each other, you avoiding her like she was the plague because in your mind she was, and her treating you like an unexploded bomb that could go off at the slightest wrong movement. She knew it was her fault, she had made you this way but she had to believe you could both move past it without her shedding light on where she had disappeared off to those months ago. She knew what it would do to you both, leaving for three months without a word, just a quickly written note, no warning, no reassurance, just vanishing. She knew it was stupid to think she could come back without a word as to where she had went and everything would be the same but there was a tiny sliver of hope in her that it could happen. That hope was dashed away when a door was slammed in her face and not opened for her again for two weeks but when it did eventually open, that tiny sliver of hope came flooding back, a flame had ignited in her at the thought that everything would be okay but the flame was slowly dying the more weeks went by without a change in your demeanour. She could feel the hatred, the resentment, the hurt radiating off of you whenever you were near and there was nothing she could do to stop it anymore, you were stubborn, that she knew, but this, this was torture, karma getting its own back at her.
You couldn’t contain it anymore, the energy within you, staring at the wall and focusing on your breathing couldn’t help you now so you threw the covers off of you, rushing out of bed to storm out of the bedroom.
“Babe?” Her quiet, groggy voice sounded out from behind you and your body burned.
“What Abby?”
“Where are you going?”
“I dunno, be back soon.” You echoed the words in her letter and it stung, a physical pain ricocheting through her chest making it hard for her to breathe as she jumped out of bed to follow you.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” You paused and spun to face her, your dark circles were craters under your eyes, your face gaunt and paler than it typically was, your eyes completely vacant, devoid of any emotion.
“I mean I don’t know. Don’t try to find me.” She wasn’t sure if you were doing it on purpose but once again you echoed the contents of her letter as you yanked your boots from the ground, opening the door and slamming it behind you without even a glimpse over your shoulder at her defeated expression. She huffed and dragged her hands down her face as she reluctantly went back to her room, collapsing on the bed. It was times like these she was glad Isaac had moved her to a suite of her own, the thought of Manny witnessing this sending a shiver through her. She knew you could both get through this, she knew, so why was doubt invading her every cell?
You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t know where you were going, you couldn’t go back to your room, it only reminded you of the memories of those three months when she had disappeared and you had locked yourself away, refusing assignments, refusing most food, refusing contact with anyone that wasn’t her. It was too painful to be there, it made being in Abby’s room calming despite her looming presence but this morning it had overwhelmed you, so you kept walking and walking until you ended up at the mess hall. You didn’t remember taking the route there but you had and it was too late to turn back because eyes were on you, familiar eyes, beckoning you over to them.
“Hey stranger! Where you been hiding?” Manny, he had once been a positive presence in your life but he was the antithesis of that now, he had left with her, they had all left with her, leaving you here in the dark and they wanted to play nice now they’re back, you couldn’t. His smile juxtaposed your death glare as you scoffed and looked past him like he wasn’t even there. He could see the anguish in your face, evident in all your features that were nowhere near the radiance you typically emitted, he knew what had happened to you, who had happened to you, his part in it weighing on him heavily. You don’t acknowledge him, you walk straight past him like he’s a ghost, straight past him and all the others waiting expectantly for any sign of forgiveness, straight to the double doors at the other end of the hall, ramming through them like you’re made of steel. “Well fuck.” He mutters as they all watch you storm away out of their sight.
“Are you surprised?” Nora remarks.
“Well no but it’s been almost two months now. She hasn’t cracked one bit.” His eyes never leaving the doors you had exited through.
“She’s seeing Abby, has she said anything about how she’s been?” Mel chimed in with a concerned tone.
“Nada. Fucking nada. It’s radio silence from both of ‘em. I barely even see Abby unless we’re on assignments together because she’s always locked up in her room. I’m worried about ‘em both.” His voice was laced with sadness and there was a tense atmosphere clouding over them as there always was when what they had done was brought up, it was never directly spoken about, it felt like poison to speak it aloud but even a hint of it was enough to make them all shrink into themselves, becoming wrapped in their thoughts.
You trailed the halls of the stadium, circling round and round until your legs ached and your mouth was dry, you had seen people dotted here and there as you walked, smiling politely at any that you mistakenly made eye contact with. You walked past another faceless body as the deafening thoughts drummed around your mind. There was a muffled echo, distant but growing closer until you’re interrupted by a hand enclosing around your wrist, you knew who it belonged to without even having to look causing you to snatch your wrist free from their grasp as you jumped back with a scowl.
“What are you doing? I was worried.” You scoffed at her concerned expression as her eyebrows scrunched. You went to walk away but she was too quick, hands squeezing your hips and pushing you back against the wall you had jumped toward in a bid to escape her first grasp. “Stop fucking walking away from me. When is it gonna end?” You just stared back in disbelief, unmoving in her strong grip, her glassy eyes mocking you, she doesn’t care, her actions had been the opposite of someone who had cared.
“You’re so fucking full of it Abby. You’re worried? Bite me, you don’t worry about anyone other than you.” You spat at her, the shock of your words causing her to loosen her grip around you enough for you to break free and begin storming away from her again.
“I- I just wanna talk. Please.”
“You had your chance to talk. You had so many fucking chances and you wasted them so don’t give me that shit. You wanna feel better about what you did and my forgiveness is the only thing that will do that. Too fucking bad Abby.” You don’t slow as you grit over your shoulder to her but neither does she, following your every movement only a step behind.
“Well if you can’t forgive me why are you still with me? Why do you sleep at mine every night? Why do you still say you love me back when I tell you I love you? What’s the fucking point of it?” You freeze, a choked sob catching in your throat as you look up to the ceiling to beg the tears to just stay in your eyes.
“Because I do love you Abby.” You mutter barely loud enough for her to hear. “How don’t you understand that?” You sound broken, like a shell of yourself.
“Make me understand.” You scoff and chuckle dryly at her as you shake your head.
“I don’t owe you that.” You continue walking again but this time she doesn’t follow, stuck in her place.
“I have patrol! I won’t be back until later.” She calls out to you.
“Thanks for the heads up!” You call back sarcastically. “This time.” You mutter under your breath as you storm further and further from Abby.
You don’t know why you ended up back at Abby’s room, it was so stupid, you couldn’t stand seeing her but her room was the only place that felt safe, you stared at the key that she had once slammed down in front of you as you refused to acknowledge her pleads to just talk, the memory making your blood run cold. It was the first time you had even answered her repeated pounds against your door, two weeks after she had returned, though you opening the door made absolutely no difference because it was like she wasn’t there at all. You had unlatched the door, so it opened a sliver before immediately walking away from it leaving her to hesitantly follow you inside. She watched as you sunk down onto your bed, staring at the wall opposite instead of sparing a glance towards her as she stood over you. She had just stared down at you, pleading with you silently to just look at her but you never did. She slammed the spare key to her room down on your bedside table before sighing and leaving disappointed for what was only the first time to come over the next two weeks. It became a routine, she’d knock, you’d unlock the door and walk away, she’d come in to desperately get you to reason with her but when you showed no signs of a change in your demeanour, she’d give up and leave you alone, letting herself out shamefully. She was just too good at leaving you.
When you had turned up at her door, using the key she had given you, she was stunned, almost so stunned she didn’t see your tear-streaked cheeks and red, glassy eyes but she did notice, she noticed and a lump formed in her throat that she desperately tried to swallow down as she just watched you. Even in her own room you barely acknowledged her only choosing to mutter a small ‘can I stay here tonight?’, the second she vigorously nodded her head you drifted towards her bed, collapsing onto it and immediately burying your face into the pillow to muffle your sobs. She had rubbed your back but when she tried to cuddle into you and wrap you in her embrace you pushed her away hard enough that she didn’t try again. You had gone back to hers everyday since then and the routine hadn’t changed from that point on though you had grown from hurt and beaten down to hostile and the tense atmosphere was painfully tangible. It remained the same as you let yourself into her room, knowing she would eventually come back from patrol later that day and you’d have to face her once again
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Abby felt completely dejected, she was tired and her adrenaline that had powered her through today was fleeting, she was panicking about Owen after seeing Danny’s body and hearing what Nora had told her, everything was backwards and knowing you wouldn’t be there as a comfort to her only made her feel worse as she turned the key to unlock her room. She knew you were here but that made no difference these days, even when you were here you weren’t here and that broke her.
“Hey.” Her voice was meek and cracked as she looked at you, standing in front of her with the same vacant expression you had worn for months, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, the dam broke and hot, salty tears began flowing down her cheeks as her choked sobs filled the quiet of the room.
“What’s wrong?” You had moved closer, your eyebrows knitted together in concern as you spoke softly, juxtaposing your harsh tone she had gotten used to, it only made her cry more which drew you in closer until your hand was on her shoulder and squeezing. “Abby what happened?”
“I- nothing, nothing. We just got ambushed on patrol, I think I’m just tired I don’t know.” You nodded but you were looking at her like you were expecting her to continue, you were coaxing the words out of her and she had no control. “Owen shot Danny and now he’s missing and I just don’t know what to do. Nothing’s the same anymore.”
“No it isn’t.” Your voice wasn’t as soft as it had been, it wasn’t mean but it wasn’t soft, she warily peeked at your face and the sight of it hardened once again caused another choked sob to rack through her body. She stepped towards you and dropped down to her knees as she wrapped her large arms around your waist and squeezed as she pressed her cheek into your stomach.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left the way I did and if I could take it back I would but I can’t keep doing this, I miss you and I miss us, I need you, everything’s different I need us to be the same. I’m sorry.” Your hand came to her hair, stroking gently.
“Tell me where you went.”
“I- I can’t.” She sobbed more as your hand snatched itself away from her hair before you reached behind you and desperately tried to unclasp her from your waist. “No please, please don’t go. Please I can’t do this without you.”
“I don’t fucking understand Abby, why won’t you just tell me?”
“You won’t be able to look at me the same.”
“I can’t look at you the same now so what difference does it make?” Her eyes meet yours as she looks up at you from her place on the floor and the sight of her lip wobbling as her cheeks were red and tear-streaked almost made your resolve waiver but you couldn’t. You wished you could forget but you couldn’t.
“Please.” She begged but it fell on deaf ears.
“Let me go Abby.” She blew out a breath as her eyes clamped shut and she swallowed a sob, her arms loosened around you letting you break free from her grasp to practically run to the front door and leave. She didn’t watch you go from her position on the floor, she just sat and collapsed into a fit of sobs as her door slammed signalling your departure. You couldn’t keep it together once you had walked out of her room, everything felt like it was coming crashing down as you paced the halls. It wasn’t enough to leave Abby’s room, you still felt suffocated, you needed to get out of the stadium. You headed straight for the secret hole in the fence that only you and Abby knew about to make your escape and the second you emerged into the drizzly outside of Seattle you could feel your lungs filling with air that you desperately needed. You considered going back in but when you turned back, your lungs felt like they were constricting again and you ran in the complete opposite direction until your legs were tired and your lungs burned. You didn’t have a gun, or a knife, you were completely defenceless so when you heard the shrill cries of infected, you immediately looked for an entrance into any one of the buildings that surrounded you.
You spotted a window open just one story up at an old theatre and you sprinted towards it and up the stairs of the fire escape to climb through. Once you were inside, you shut the window softly and began making your way through what you assumed was the backstage area of the theatre, the red, velvet curtains called you towards them and as you stepped through you gasped at the sight of an auburn-haired girl sleeping on one of the chairs. She looked a couple years younger than you, nineteen or twenty you assumed, and despite the sleep her face still looked screwed up and tense. You edged closer to her, careful not to make any noise and when you saw her gun on the seat next to her you grabbed it, pointing it at her while kicking at her shoe. She stirred slightly and then her eyes flashed open revealing bright green eyes staring back at you in disbelief.
“Don’t scream. Who are you?”
tags: @emiliabby @liasxeatt @kawaiibreadbouquet-blog @tphmnv
#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie williams#ellie williams tlou#ellie x reader#abby the last of us#abby anderson x reader#ellie x fem reader#tlou ellie#abby anderson x female reader#ellie williams angst#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie x you#abby tlou#abby anderson#abby and ellie#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson tlou#abby anderson tlou2#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x you#abby x reader#abby x you#tlou abby
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♡ Once More, With Feeling ♡
♡ Pairing: poly!hyunlix x gn!reader
♡ Genre: fluff/angst
♡ Summary: Unable to sleep after a major argument leads to a breakup, you return to a place that's close to your heart to find comfort and end up with something much more special.
♡ Word Count: 1.4k-ish
♡ Warnings: None.
♡ A/N: I was listening to dreamy low-fi indie music and got in my feelings so, like, come get in them with meeee.
It’s 3:23am and you can’t sleep. Two tablets of melatonin, three cups of chamomile tea, and an endless loop of soothing rain sounds have done nothing to change that. Your heart aches, it’s unbearable, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. Rolling onto your back, you rip the covers off, only now realizing how much you’ve been sweating from the anxiety of cycling through last night’s events over and over in your head.
None of this feels real, losing Felix and Hyunjin, the ones you love the most. Maybe it was a bad idea from the start, the three of you being together. Maybe you weren’t as well equipped to keep them both happy as you thought. Every “maybe” hangs over you as if it’s written in glow-in-the-dark paint on the ceiling, taunting you from the void. Does any of it even matter now? Whatever it was that led to the eventual downfall of your relationship, the argument that ended it all, you can’t go back and fix it.
Even still, your heart longs for the possibility that you’ll be together again someday. You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. It could be wishful thinking, the musings of a hopeless romantic. What does it hurt to wish, you figure, if that’s all you have? You take a long, deep breath in, allowing your breath to slowly flow back out as you squeeze your eyes shut. If I lay here long enough I’m bound to fall asleep. Right?
“Fuck it” you groan, popping up out of bed and throwing on your fuzzy bunny slippers. Felix thought it’d be cute if the three of you got matching pairs. You hate how right he was. You’ve been fighting tooth and nail with yourself all night not to drive down to the pier. For years it’s been the destination of endless late-night drives. It’s where you snuck away together when the rest of the world felt like it was too much. Your memories of being there, as much as they might sting, are the dearest things to you and you need to drown yourself in them now more than ever.
So, before you know it, you’re headed out the door pulling a hoodie over your head, car keys in hand, desperately seeking solace in nostalgia. It’s a long, lonely ride to the pier. The combination of empty streets and too-long traffic lights gives you the sense that the world has come to a screeching halt. Whether it has or not for everyone else, it has for you. The light flashes neon green, bringing you back down to earth just as you begin to drift away, and you’re making the right turn that takes you to your usual parking spot.
Turning the car off, you take a moment to sit and inspect the other cars around you. There are a few on your side, a dozen more on the other, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone out here. Probably all people who live nearby. Confident that you’re alone, the wall you’ve put up comes crumbling down, tears falling down your cheek faster than you can wipe them away. Why am I doing this to myself? You shake your body in what would look to a passerby like a cute, albeit strange, dance of sorts in hopes that some of the emotions overwhelming you will fall away like leaves.
Get it together. Summoning all of the courage you have, you make your way to the stairs leading up to the pier. You almost slip on the gritty, sand-coated steps, but manage to make it to the top without breaking your neck. As you venture forward you already hear the waves crashing to shore. You feel the stars watching you, their gaze intense and overwhelming. Only it’s not their gaze at all. There’s someone at the end of the pier staring back at you, teary-eyed and stunned. That intensity, that overwhelming emotion, it’s his.
Felix? No, no, no. You turn on your heels, racing back to the car before you lose it completely. “Wait!” he yells, running after you. Felix hadn’t expected to see you here either. He’d typed a million text messages asking you to come but he’d deleted all of them, thinking you wouldn’t want to see him with everything being so fresh. He’s been wishing too, as much as you have, and he can’t let this moment slip away. Your car door’s halfway open when he reaches you, your fingers held tightly around the handle.
“Can we talk?” he asks, his hushed voice skimming your neck as he pushes the door closed. You don’t fight him. You don’t want to. The feeling of his chest against your back, the wind blowing his hair so that it tickles your cheek, makes you want to melt into him. Turning to face him, melting is the first thing you do, straight into his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you tight to him, the tension soothed by the simple act of having you near him again. “I’m really sorry” you weep, “I should’ve seen that you weren’t happy.”
Felix shushes you, his fingers stroking your neck, “Stop, don’t say that. I was happy. Me and Hyunjin…working with each other, we just get frustrated sometimes and it wasn’t supposed to come home but it did. I should be sorry” “What? No invite to the family reunion?” you hear Hyunjin ask and you’re positive that you’re hallucinating. But when you look up he’s standing there staring at the two of you with an expression you can’t quite make out. “I…no…we didn’t…” Felix stutters but Hyunjin’s already walking away, heading for the edge of the pier, ignoring you like you’re strangers.
You’re so much more than that and he knows it. Enough time hasn’t passed for him to erase what you shared from his mind. Even if he could, he wouldn't. Why else would he be here? Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets, stopping to make a half-turn toward you. “If I admit I’m an asshole will you come with me?” “I mean, we already know you’re an asshole so…no” Felix teases, getting a laugh out of both of you. “What if I say I’m sorry and that I’d really like to not be alone…to be with you two?” A long stretch of silence separates his question and your answer.
“Wait up,” you smile, taking Felix’s hand and dragging him along with you to catch up to Hyunjin. Meeting him at the center of the pier, you take his hand too and the three of you walk to the edge together. Any other time the minutes would fly by, all of the laughter and kisses making hours feel like minutes. But, in the presence of lingering pain, minutes feel like hours. “It’s not the same,” Hyunjin sighs, picking at his already chipped nail polish and flicking it into the sea. You want to deny it but you can’t. “No, it’s not.” Felix sits down, crossing his legs as he frustratingly tousles his hair, “So that’s it, then? We’re done?”
You take a seat beside him on the ground, sick to your stomach at the thought, “I mean, is that what you want?” “Of course not. It’s never what I wanted. We are what I want.” You turn to Hyunjin and he’s already sitting down on the other side of you, his head resting on your shoulder. “Me too” he yawns, “But what about you? It doesn’t matter what we want if you don’t—” “I do. I always will.” Their faces brighten up, even in the midst of their exhaustion. Felix takes his jacket off, gathers it in a little bundle in your lap, and lays down. “Maybe it shouldn’t feel the same this time,” he muses, “We should make it better.”
You pet Felix’s hair, “I’d like that.” Hyunjin nuzzles up closer to you, seconds from falling asleep, “Better sounds nice.” Stroking Hyunjin’s cheek, you lean into him too, every sleep aid you tried kicking in at once. Suddenly the world feels like it’s moving again, bursting with life even in the dead of night.
You’ve always liked to think that when you truly love someone you’ll find each other no matter what, in this life or the next. How beautiful it is that it turned out to be this one after all.
#hyunlix x reader#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x you#lee felix x you#lee felix x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#lee felix fluff#lee felix angst#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin angst
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To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These
Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.
Word Count: 5.1k
Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader
Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ
Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3
“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”
Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”
“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”
“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”
Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.
“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.
“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”
“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”
Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”
“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”
The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.
It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.
Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”
No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.
“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.
How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.
Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.
Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.
“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”
You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”
“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”
The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.
Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.
Yeah, you have time.
The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.
“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”
Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.
Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.
“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”
Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!
“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.
“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”
It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.
The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.
But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.
This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.
He looks up. “Yeah?”
Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”
“Wah’gawn?”
“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”
Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.
“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.
“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”
Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.
The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.
“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”
In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.
You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”
A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.
“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.
Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.
What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?
But what if you’re right?
A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”
Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.
“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.
Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.
It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.
Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”
He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.
“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”
When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.
“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”
“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”
“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.
There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.
Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.
“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”
“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”
“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”
“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”
“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”
“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”
“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”
Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”
“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”
A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?
“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”
It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”
“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”
Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”
Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.
Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.
“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”
You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.
Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.
“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.
“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”
Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.
“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.
Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.
There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.
Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.
“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”
“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.
“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.
Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.
After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.
“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”
“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”
You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.
“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.
His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”
You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.
The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.
Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.
Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.
He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.
You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.
There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.
Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.
Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.
A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”
He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.
You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.
The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.
Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.
The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.
You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.
“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”
A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.
Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”
The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.
Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.
“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”
“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.
From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.
Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.
Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”
“What about the mission?”
“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”
“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.
Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.
#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown/reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown/you#hobie brown#across the spiderverse#across the spider-verse#hobie brown imagine#fluff#angst#kissing <3 yeah#miguel o'hara#gwen stacy#i wish this kiss were a canon event i really do#yeah uh hold onto your hats for the last part
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John Wick Yandere Headcanons
Never done this before so be kind to me! But anyway I just had these thoughts and needed to word vomit them up!
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, ddlg,
A/N: Wouldn't a fic be cute?
Okay so I know I'm not the first to say this and won't be the last but John is a fucking Yandere.
He's a full-blown stalker who probably sees you at a bar or even something so normal as a grocery store.
This man is LONELY af. Since Helen passed he can not find someone else for the life of him.
That's until you come along with your pretty doe eyes and sweet nature.
You can be younger than him and he'll be fine with it. John doesn't mind babysitting a cute bimbo like you
You'll catch his eye with your soft voice and sweet smile. Most people his age have a smoker's voice or are married.
He becomes OBSESSED with you quickly. I mean very swift like within 2 days of seeing you not even talking.
He'll just stalk tf out of you probably at your work. He'll see you bagging groceries or serving drinks and just observe you with customers.
He'll take note of what days you work and don't. He'll mark it on his calendar, and circle it in red like the old man he is.
Once he figures out your schedule and what time you get off, what route you take, if you drive or walk he'll follow you.
He's a skilled hitman so he knows how to disappear and follow someone without them noticing.
He'll stalk you all the way to your apartment and once he's sure you're asleep he'll break in.
He's scoped out your place enough to deduct that you have no pets. Even if you did he'd know how to handle a dog.
John is precise and determined which is why he'd be so keen on placing hidden cameras all over your house.
He'd position them in the living room, kitchen, shower, and even your bedroom.
He'd want to see your most intimate and private moments but not totally invade it.
Of course, you wouldn't find out. Your head is too stuffed in your phone scrolling through social media or online shopping. You got an addiction but it's okay once you're his he'll spoil you! John has a lot of pocket money from all his jobs!
How will he get you?
John doesn't half-ass anything. He's learned to see through tough missions. Even ones he didn't enjoy. Capturing you though...? He would enjoy it.
He'd enjoy setting a date, waiting outside your apartment with his car off.
He'd prepared all the necessary equipment such as ropes, duct tape, and a gun if he needed to threaten you but he'd find that would only scare you more and he didn't want his little girl frightened of him.
He'd go about it more skillfully, more stealthy.
John entered your home after he was sure you entered the deepest REM cycle. He snuck in the window you often left open. Poor forgetful you, always leaving windows unlocked.
One time he found your door unlocked which was a dreadful surprise for him. He locked it right after he watched you sleep for a whole two hours.
See? You needed him to look after you. He'd try to justify his insane actions with that.
With a completely guilt-free head, he'd enter your home, make his way into your bedroom, and see you asleep all cuddled up in your pink plush covers.
You'd look so cute and docile breathing softly.
He'd smile, admiring you before pulling out a clean needled from his jacket pocket. John pricked the needle into a vial of clear liquid, sucking up the fluid before administrating it to you.
Your eyes didn't even flutter open as he injected it.
"Such a good girl." John would speak softly to you, smoothing down your hair and kissing your forehead.
He'd pack your favorite stuffed animal, clothes, and even your cute collections of calico critters or sonny angels, whatever cute trinkets you collected.
He'd want you to feel comfortable at his home. Y'all's home.
#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#john wick chapter 4#john wick x oc#john wick smut#john wick fluff#keanu reeves#keanuverse
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toby rogers relationship hcs! (both sfw and nsfvv)
tags II toby rogers x reader II creepypasta II nsfw II mentions of him being a manwhore II toby being a whinny little bitch II slight angst at the beginning II toby being a wet cat of a boyfriend II just general hcs of mine II
-Okay so im just gonna say this right now that he is NOT a good boyfriend not intentionally of course but none the less, a bad boyfriend.
-He’s the type to be overly obsessive and jealous of you, not even like the people that surround you and other men but just you as a person
-i don’t think he’s abusive but i do think he would be an asshole for two reasons
One, he is canonically an asshole and he is an obnoxious little shit
and two it is cannon that he is annoying to the point where he makes people full on cry
So in my opinion i think if you were to ever get into an argument with this man he’s either mocking you until you break down
-i do think he’ll feel bad about it tho after a while and apologize (eventually)
- but adding on to being overly obsessive i think he’ll also be very clingy and extremely scared of loosing you
- I think being with him would kinda be an endless cycle of good times, hating the world, and then fighting, apologies and then repeat
But moving on from that lets talk about some happier hcs!!
I think he’d like very calm very small easy dates liike going to the aquarium or literal hanging out on the roof of a house and just eating or talking just something very simple and easy to do.
He would definitely be the type to just stare at people and not even realize that he’s doing it and he does that alot and now he does it even more with you! He just stares at you like some type of strange special thing he found
I don’t feel like he’s the type to be vocal about his love and he mostly just uses physical affection (kinda like a cat, he’ll give you affection if he wants it)
Which brings me to another point, he looks like a wet cat and acts like one whenever he even TOUCHES water. Like he can’t stand it and he hates the way it feels on his skin, you found this out when on your second date he let you pick out where to go and out of everywhere you chose a beach..? Like okay picture this..
“...what the fuck is this?”
“It’s a beach, toby.”
“I know that much im not stupid, why are we here.”
“Because your whiter than a ghost and you can use some sun and two, the beach is fun!”
“...now what in the peanut butter fuck made you think that the beach is fun.”
“Stop whining like a little bitch and get in the water.”
“Im not getting in the goddamn water- wait- no-”
SPLASH.
-you threw him into the shallow part of the water and he started coughing and squirming and trying to claw his way onto shore like his life depended on it.
-which brings me to another point, his hygiene is ASS. Like if you weren’t there you he would have continued to use axe bodyspray and act like that is good enough and nobody notices that he showers once every blue moon.
-He did used to shower more often when he was with clockwork but after that he just fell out of habit
-but once he got with you he started to slowly fall back into actually taking care if himself and eating full meals and not just living off of several week old pizza and monster energy
-but when you first met him it was unbearable, so unbearable that you literal had to get in the shower with him and take one with im just to make sure he actually cleans himself properly.
-you actually ended up helping him was his back and he ended up sobbing like a baby, so safe to say you knew then and their what his love language was..
-acts of service!! He is a huge fan of acts of service because boy hadn’t had people really take care of him like that before at first he ends up rejecting almost all of the things you do but eventually he comes around to it and ends up letting himself enjoy being taken care of
NSFVV WARNING FOR THIS PART
- I don’t think that he’s as sex addicted as most people say he is
-like don’t get me wrong he still has a fair amount of hook ups but i personally don’t think it’s as big of deal to him
- i think when he does do it it’s to let out frustration when he’s pissed about something or he just wants to feel something
-he probably mellowed out overtime so now that he’s with you he’ll still do it when he’s really pissed about something or he’ll just do it because you asked
-he had some experience but he wasn’t very good at it but his willingness to learn made up for that
-he’s very awkward at first he has not clue on what to do, he’s used to it being a one and done type of thing.
-he was only in school until maybe 5th-7th grade (my personal hc not cannon) so he was only given a basic understanding of how the human body works in that way
-but when he gets into it oh my god he is a such a manwhore.
-he is pretty rough most of the time, not intentionally but you can not tell me that working for slender hasn’t given him strong ass arms and a sleeper bulid (but more on that at a later date)
-he is unbelievably whinny, just praise him and he is your bitch.
- as i said earlier, he likes acts of service, his way of returning that is aftercare (even if it’s like the bare minimum, it’s the thought that count’s really)
It appears i have ran out of shit to say so that’s the end of this post
(reposts and requests are deeply appreciated and if you want to make a request then submit it through my ask me anything!)
#headcanon#creepypasta#ticci toby#toby rogers#toby rogers x reader#toby rogers creepypasta#toby rogers headcanons#slenderman#slenderverse#x reader#fanfics#creepypasta headcanon
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Wolf In Sheep's Clothing
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~2k
Warnings: tw: rape, tw: talk of being raped but not the act itself, tw: verbal abuse, tw: emotional abuse, john is a really bad person, super sweet bucky, relief and being free at the end
Summary: Ever since your failed one-night stand with John, you two have been in a "relationship". He won't let you leave and treats you like less than. Will you ever find your way out of this abuse cycle?
Squares Filled: romania (2021) for @star-spangled-bingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
x
The person staring back at you in the mirror is someone you don’t recognize. How did you get to this point in your life? You used to be so full of life and loved going out with your friends. Now? You’d rather stay in and not see a single person in fear they’re going to see who you really are: a weak bitch. At least, that’s what John tells you daily. Your eyes used to hold so much light but now they’re sunken in. Your skin used to be glowing but now is pale.
Thank God for makeup.
You paint your face to make yourself look happy, to conceal the tear stains away, and to make your skin shine like how it used to. Just as you put the final brush down, John walks in with a scowl on his face.
“You take fucking forever to get ready. The boys are waiting on you. You’re either ready in five minutes or I’m gonna leave you here and I’ll punish you when I get home.”
“I’m ready.”
You turn to him with a fake smile plastered on your face.
“Fucking finally. Come on.”
As soon as John leaves the room, your smile drops. This is getting to be very exhausting and you’re not sure how long you can do this for. Still, you grab your purse and meet John at the car. One of his good friends is hosting a small party with drinks and dinner, so he doesn’t live far from you and John. John has his hand on your thigh the entire ride as a sort of reminder. His touch makes you want to throw up, everything about him you hate, and he’s not a good person.
Not only is he mentally, verbally, and emotionally abusive toward you, but he crosses the line into physical abuse almost every night. He’s only hit you once out of anger but the physical abuse is sexual. One night a year ago, you were looking for a meaningless hookup to get over your ex and John had taken you back to his place. Everything was going great until the point where you two got into it. You backed down at the last second because you didn’t want to do that to yourself, but John didn’t take no for an answer.
He ended up raping you that night and has been almost every night after that. He became obsessed with you and had been for months before that, and now that he got his hands on you, he didn’t want to let you go.
He won’t let you leave, and you don’t know how to break this cycle.
You and John arrive at his friend’s house just as Bucky and Sam get there. It was John’s idea to invite them as a sort of “get to know my neighbors” type deal. He wants to prove to them that he’s just as capable of being Captain America as Steve was. Bucky isn’t going to go for his bullshit but Sam made him come here.
Bucky smiles when he sees you. He’s always thought you were too good for John but he’s kept his mouth shut because it seemed like you were happy in the relationship. However, when you pass by him to get into the house, he can see how terrified you are in your eyes.
“It’s good to see you two. I’m glad you could make it,” John smiles.
The worst thing about John is that he’s super charming and can convince a town full of people that he’s the good guy.
“Sam made me come.”
“Hush,” Sam says and whacks Bucky on the back of his head.
All four of you walk inside and greet the men who are already here. The only other woman who is here is one of John’s friend’s wife. You’d much rather go off on your own with the wife and make small talk but John keeps you by his side all night. Even as he’s talking to Bucky and Sam about his plans regarding Captain America, his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. Bucky looks at you briefly and sees the look in your eyes. You’re smiling and agreeing with what John is saying but your eyes are telling him a different story.
Something is wrong here but he doesn't know what or how to help you.
Eventually, dinner is served and you’re seated next to John and the other woman. Bucky and Sam are on the other side of the table but Bucky’s eyes haven’t left you since you walked past him. It’s bugging him that he knows something is wrong without knowing exactly what it is. Everyone is eating and having a good time while you pick at your food cautiously. You can eat only what John approves of you to eat since he’s told you constantly that he doesn’t want you getting fat on him. If you look a certain way, he’ll force you to lose weight until you can fit into the clothes he buys you.
It’s your fault for eating too much anyway.
You’re not sure how the conversation ended up on languages, but John is always looking for an excuse to talk about this. You’ve pretty much tuned out this entire evening.
“I don’t know if you guys know this but Y/N can speak five languages, Romanian being one of them. It’s the one I find the most romantic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I grew up with it,” you nod.
“Tell them how great I am in Romanian,” John chuckles.
The only other person at this table who can speak Romanian is Bucky. This is your chance. This is your chance to ask for some real help without alerting John you’re doing it.
“Am nevoie de ajutor. John nu mă lasă să-l părăsesc. Mă violează de câteva ori pe săptămână. Este abuziv fizic, verbal, mental și emoțional. Mi-e teamă că mă voi trezi într-o zi să-l văd cu un cuțit în față. Vă rog să mă ajutați. Nu mă va lăsa să plec.”
I need help. John won't let me leave him. He rapes me several times a week. He's abusive physically, verbally, mentally, and emotionally. I'm scared I'll wake up one day to see him with a knife in my face. Please help me. He won't let me leave.
You can’t look at anyone in the eyes, especially Bucky. Still, you peek a look at him to see shock written on his face. He understood every word you said but John is still smiling next to you as if you told everyone how loving and kind he is. John reaches over and grips your thigh gently to let you know he has all the power here.
“What did you tell them?”
You look at John and smile at him.
“How much you love me and how much you treat me like a princess. How much I love you.”
“See?” John chuckles. “She’s a keeper.”
John goes back to eating and chatter resumes as normal. However, Bucky can’t stop looking at you. You lock eyes with him before looking down and finishing your meal. The rest of the dinner goes by without a hitch and John is saying goodbye to his friends.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom real fast. I’ll be quick.”
John can’t be his usual self around company so he kisses the side of your head and allows you to do that.
“Hurry back.”
It’s a simple request but it holds so much threat behind it. You leave his side and head to the upstairs bathroom since that’s the only one working. As soon as the door is closed, you rush over to the toilet and throw up everything you ate. You want to cry until there is no more water in you but you have to remind yourself that John is waiting and he’ll get meaner the longer you make him wait.
Someone knocks on the door and the panic and fear in your body spike to a high level. You wipe your mouth with toilet paper and flush the toilet to make it seem like you’re done.
“Who is it?”
“Bucky.”
Relief replaces your panic but the fear is still there. He knows what John does. He knows everything. What is he going to do? You open the door carefully and he pushes his way inside with determination.
“Is what you said true?”
“I can’t do this here, Bucky.” If you talk about it openly, then you’re going to cry and John will know for sure something is up. “If I talk about it, I’ll cry and I won’t be able to stop.” You look at your reflection to make sure your makeup isn’t ruined. “I have to go. John is waiting.”
“Wait just a minute,” Bucky says and prevents you from leaving.
“Bucky, please. John will get angry. I need to leave now.”
“John is no longer going to hurt you.”
“What?”
“Stay here and wait for my return.”
Bucky leaves before you can say anything else. John sees Bucky come back alone and he’s getting a bit frustrated with you. He can’t do anything in front of his friends but just wait until he gets you home.
“Where’s Y/N?”
“In the bathroom. It sounded like she was washing her hands when I passed by. Can I talk to you for a second outside?”
John looks confused but follows Bucky outside nonetheless. John passes by Bucky while he stares at his vibranium arm. The metal flexes with power and Bucky is trying so hard to contain it.
“You want to know an interesting fact about me?” Bucky asks and looks at John.
“What?”
“Vorbesc fluent Romana.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m fluent in Romanian.”
John immediately gets nervous. You told him you told everyone how much you love him but based on Bucky’s reaction, he knows you said something else.
“That’s cool, man. You and Y/N have something in common.”
With his vibranium arm, Bucky sends what’s supposed to be a deadly blow to the face. It would be deadly if the person he is punching didn’t have the super soldier serum in him. John crashes into the car behind him and sets off the car alarm. Everyone inside rushes outside to see what the commotion is.
“Never lay a hand on her again!” Bucky yells angrily.
Bucky sends another hard blow with his flesh hand to the side of John’s face. This is when the fight or flight response in John kicks in. He starts to fight Bucky back but there is no use in stopping the Winter Soldier. They both have the serum in them but Bucky has always been and will always be stronger than John. Bucky grabs John’s collar and pulls him up to his feet only to slam him to the concrete down below. Bucky punches John’s chest so hard with his metal arm that John’s ribs break and he coughs up blood.
“Hey! What the hell is going on!” Sam yells and pulls his friend off your abuser.
“He’s a fucking abuser and a coward! He’s hurting Y/N, and it’s gonna stop now. Don’t fucking go near her or I’ll do more than break your ribs,” Bucky threatens.
Everyone looks at John who just groans in pain with his eyes closed. Bucky pushes past everyone to get back into the house and to the bathroom where you are. You’re sitting on the toilet biting your nails nervously. You have no idea what is going on out there or what Bucky can do to help you. The bathroom door opens and Bucky enters without a second thought. You stand up to greet him when you smell blood. Your eyes trail down his body until they land on his flesh hand which has open wounds on it.
“What did you do?” you gasp.
“I should have killed him.” The realization that you’re free, at least at this moment, hits you and the floodgates open. The tears come flowing out and won’t stop, and Bucky pulls you into his arms. “He will never hurt you again. Sam and I have an extra room you can use.”
Your grip on him gets tighter.
“Thank you,” you cry and shake in his arms.
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#marvel fan fiction#marvel fanfic#marvel fan fic#mcu#marvel fluff#mcu fanfiction#marvel fiction#marvel angst#mcu angst#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fiction#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fluff
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I have caught up through episode 8 of TsukuTabe and I really cannot contain my emotion about Kasuga's arc with her family in these episodes, so I am here to scream. That was so fucking beautiful. This has to be one of my favorite depictions of breaking the cycle of family trauma that I have ever seen.
I loved how efficiently the show established everything we needed to know about Kasuga's father with just a few lines of dialogue over the phone. The way he began the conversation by trying to shame her, the way he started making demands without asking her a single question about her life or how she was doing, the way he casually said "Akira is in the prime of his life" while tacitly dismissing any worth or value Kasuga's own life as a single woman might hold. With just that one conversation we knew exactly who that man is and why Kasuga has tried to build her own life in solitude rather than continue to live with him.
And her conversation with Nagumo gave us even more insight into how she was raised that fills in some context about the way she thinks about food and why taking pleasure in her meals is such a big deal for her. Kasuga's family deprived her of food (love), and so it's no wonder that meeting someone like Nomoto, who was so determined to give her food (love), would be such a life altering event for her, and finally give her the sense of safety she has never had.
I loved, too, that the show delivered some firm commentary on the way women are subjugated in heterosexual marriages and forced to serve their husband’s family like indentured slaves, particularly in many Asian cultures. Kasuga was very affected by seeing her mother live that way, and you could see she is carrying guilt about leaving this burden to her mother. But ultimately, she cannot control her mother's choices or fix her mistakes, she can only save herself from repeating them. And she found the strength within herself to do it, even though it must have been terrifying to take that leap.
The way that Kasuga drew that boundary with her father was a Very Big Deal in her cultural context, and I loved that the show drove that point home by having Kasuga confess to Nomoto about her decision and express her fear of being judged. She knows she will absolutely be cast as a bad daughter and judged harshly by most people who find out she has cut ties with her father, and she needed Nomoto to reassure her once again that their relationship is a safe place for her. She needed Nomoto to reassure her that she is her family now and she will always be on her side. And of course Nomoto did exactly that, and we got to end this very emotional episode with a Kasuga who is bravely building the life she wants for herself with the love and support of her chosen family.
#tsukuritai onna to tabetai onna#she loves to cook and she loves to eat#intergenerational trauma#japanese gl#shan shouts into the void
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y’know i’m writing this fic and it’s making me think that maybe we don’t recognize enough as a fandom that a lot of harrow’s guilt and shame, which make her light years more sympathetic as a character, are a.) not actually that moral, b.) directly caused by the ninth, and c.) probably shared with her parents, the only characters in the whole series that i’ve never seen a single post trying to humanize/analyze as complex. like. harrow hates herself for what her parents did and honestly? the most likely reason for this is just that kids subconsciously recognize themselves as extensions of their parents, and *her parents probably hated themselves for what they did.* regularly explaining your crimes against humanity to your five-year-old but only being willing to discuss it in the terms of it being a horrible sin and having to take a ritual cleansing bath every single time is the action of a very guilty person. i have to imagine that those saltwater baths probably included some really intense self-flagellation on the part of harrow’s parents that she internalized. i’d venture so far as to say that their suicides were motivated by guilt over the massacre just as much as by shame over the opening of the tomb.
harrow’s sense of constant guilt is so often seen as proof of her having overcome the imperial morality pushed by the houses, and that makes sense given the fact that she *has* taken a viewpoint by the end of the series that opposes imperial morality, but also, guilt is like the main export of the ninth house. harrow’s relationship to it, even once it stops being something she projects onto gideon or otherwise externalizes, is fundamentally ninth and ties her to what she herself acknowledges as “the worst flaws of her house.” ultimately it is something she inherited just as much as the 200, which to me provokes a lot of questions about how her parents actually coped with the consequences of their own fucked-up actions. gideon experienced that coping as just straight cruelty, but we know that harrow got a much more complex window into their feelings and behaviors, and my guess is those behaviors bore distinct resemblance to hers.
i have to wonder what sorts of systemic pressures were falling on them and their house that led to them killing off a whole generation, and what sort of transformations they underwent. how *do* you live with yourself knowing that the blood of so many innocent people, people you were responsible for *protecting,* is on your hands? how could you possibly raise a well-adjusted child when she’s basically a mirror into an atrocity you could’ve hardly fathomed up till the day you committed it? do you think they tried to? i think they probably tried to, but ultimately being a good parent doesn’t change being a mass murderer, and it’s impossible to pull off at all when the mass murder is so directly tied to your hopes for your child. the ninth’s entire purpose within the empire is to carry the weight and memory of one of the most horrible things john ever did, to *inherit the mass death and necromantic subjugation of the earth.* in this capacity, harrow’s parents are *victims* of the empire and its doctrine around death who proceeded to perpetuate both the mass death and necromantic subjugation AND the task of bearing the burden of shame onto their next generation. i don’t really know where i’m going with this aside from “the ninth’s cycle of violence is based in shame and is an extension of john’s disbelief in forgiveness, which means harrow can’t break it without forgiving something unforgivable; it’ll be interesting to see how she manages such a difficult task,” and “i think we oughtta talk about the politics of guilt as it applies to the entire reverend family dynamic”
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