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ambrosialdesire · 1 year

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what are your thoughts on yandere levi 😩

my thoughts are: HELL YES

assuming that this is captain levi you're talking about, he's an already pretty terrifying force to be messing with in the first place, whether you are part of the corps or the enemy. to add on the yandere trope onto his character, you're in deep trouble LOL

ngl for me, it really varies on what kind of yandere he is depending on who he's interested in. for now, i'm only going to be explaining the instances and scenarios of reader either being a survey corps low-ranked soldier, marleyan captain enemy, and civilian.

i didn't mean for this to be so long but levi's been one of my favorites since middle school (literally was insane for him back then before reiner's s4 glowup lolol)

this is written as a gender-neutral reader sorta, no pronouns are used but it's slightly implied that this is a fem reader.

tw: manipulation, abuse of power, inappropriate touching, possessive behavior, implied non-con, implied mind-breaking

if you're part of the survey corps but serving as a low ranked soldier compared to levi, he constantly abuses his power over you. it doesn't show at all that he likes you, it's him mostly making you do things for him like you were his personal secretary. he takes you out of training to clean his office instead (he'd make you do it over and over again if it's not up to his standards), takes you away from your lunch group so you can boil his tea for him, sometimes just pulling you out of anything you're doing just to hang around him. at first, you were excited to take any job from him, after all, levi's one of the top soldiers in the corps. it was completely out of respect for the man until you begun to realize that he's just using you to only do "desk-jobs". you start getting sick of doing meaningless jobs for him but you're terrified of even saying anything about it to humanity's strongest soldier. levi's never going to be the really touchy type in any of my renditions of him being a yandere, but you've occasionally felt his faint touches around certain parts of your body as if a ghost had brushed past you; other times, he sternly grips your forearm or shoulder whenever he's in a not-so-pleasant mood. since him and erwin are buddy-buddy, he turns an eye with his behavior towards you, telling you that he would report the mistreatment to the higher-ups but really just throw away the files. he doesn't want his best soldier to falter anytime soon and you being a little special treat to satiate his appetite is nothing short of a itty bitty loss in the ranks. he's manipulative, wavering the threat of forcibly having you dishonorably discharged when you don't do as you're told. you wouldn't want your family to know that you're a shameful excuse of a soldier, would you? so be a good little pet, get down on your knees and beg for his forgiveness by any means necessary.

if you're a marleyan enemy soldier, especially a captain like him, FUCK there's so much tension between the two of you. his paradisian devil soldiers made a complete mess that night, killing many of the underlings and your coworkers, incapacitating the warriors as if they were nothing short of pests. you saw the absolute speed of that man who tore through one of the hinges of galliard's jaw and completely cut down jaeger's beast titan form, swearing nothing but completely hatred for that demon. levi thought you were interesting the moment he spotted you witnessing his attacks, eyes wide with admiration but stewing with disgust at the same time. there was a certain kind of fear that he's never seen before and the two of you shared a long stare before you took a shot, barely missing your intended target: him. a frustrated scream ripped out of you as you had to powerlessly watch them leave through one of the many blimps in the air. you didn't realize that he soon shot his ODM spears towards you, zipping in your direction and kicking you down to the ground. it was like he teleported in front of you as he stood over your body but you were soon knocked out with the butt of your own rifle. you woke up tied to a chair, hair being pulled back and gaze focused on the blinding light above you. he started asking questions, hitting you around like a training dummy but you refused to budge no matter how much pain you were in, spitting and laughing at his face. one of his comrades told him that it was useless trying to make you spill out anything, that they already knew everything that they needed to know from the marleyan defectors and zeke. part of his motivation for this (at that point in the anime) is because he's so sick of losing everyone important in his life so having someone to control, knowing what the outcome is because their future is strung by his own hands, it made the pain easier to deal with. on your side, for some godforsaken reason, he refused to let you go or kill you. oh no, no, no. he wants you to break. he wants that terrified, but idolized look in your eyes again. levi wants you to completely forget the person you are and who you served, only becoming his sweet and obedient marleyan prisoner.

if you're just an average citizen, it's a slow build-up of when levi began to take an interest with you. it was on accident but he starts to occasionally spot you whenever the scouts come back from outside expeditions, eyes wandering over the injured with a sullen expression. he couldn't decipher whether you felt simply ashamed of their loss again or that you felt bad that they had to keep doing this to themselves. that's usually only the few times where he sees you, usually trying to keep to himself and ignore the other bystanders. you were always there however, as if his eyes were automatically always darting to the same spot when he looked over into the crowd. when hange forced him to get out of the stuffy corps building and out into the city, he found himself staring at you while you serve drinks out to customers. it's filthy the way you brush your hand against theirs, winking at them to rub it even more. it was reminiscent, as if he was back watching an underground whore working for better tips. it felt strange seeing you outside of something he was used to, especially if it's something as deprecating as this back-alley bar. levi couldn't stop himself from standing up and trudging over to you when some pig put his hands on you, more so from what you're obviously comfortable with. it felt like he was back in the underground, the way he dug his fists into that sorry son of a bitch's face, fighting the group of men that he was with as well. hange eventually joined in as well, cheering in joy as they threw a beer glass into some guy who was sneaking up behind him. as the fight started to get more insane, he snatched you away from the scene when the moment was right (he may have left hange behind but they're more than capable of handling themselves in a fight). you thanked him profusely and offhandedly mentioned that you were definitely not working back there again after what happened. it could've been the traces of alcohol in his system or the adrenaline, but he kissed you right there. you pushed him away of course, completely shocked that the humanity's strongest had literally just kissed you unwarrantedly. he wanted to take his time to get to know you, he really did. yet levi realizes that he's no different from the disgusting man that he had just beat his face in, his grip around your arm tightening as he forces you against the grating wall in the dark alleyway.

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aguacerotropical · 1 year

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Revolutionary Girl Utena is extremely avant garde and metaphoric, but it's also very clear and obvious to people who have been through cycles of abuse, particularly in ending those relationships

For example, in ep. 11, Utena's convinced that she can make Anthy "just another girl", instead of the Rose Bride, and that she has to "protect her" from other duelists who see her as an object. But she does this without actually asking her if that is what she wants. And thus falls into the same trap as the rest.

There's a lot to be written about this, from its white saviourism to its toxic masculinity. But what it most reminds me of is a friend trying to get me out of an abusive situation and yet being extremely violent in doing so. it just drove me closer to my abuser. Like Utena, she thought she was doing the right thing, but she was denying my agency. i only broke off that relationship at my own pace.

And that is a constant problem when dealing with gender violence. Well-meaning friends and family members try to "help" and completely fail by also denying the victim's experiences and desires, just like the abuser does.

Anyways, I'm glad Utena was around when I was trying to heal from it and still is to remind me of what i went through.

#rgu #revolutionary girl utena #tw gender violence #akio also peeves me out so much bc its like my abuser #but abusers are all one and the same #a friend once joked and said: el abusador que se repite #(but thats an in-joke thing based in caribbean lit)

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ianthine-ichor · 4 months

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I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

#call of duty x reader #john price x reader #gender neutral reader #tw: violence #tw: mentions of depressive and suicidal thoughts #tw: heavily implied domestic abuse #tw: blood #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #john price #john price mw2 #john price mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw3 #captain price #call of duty

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 6 days

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hello!! I would love to ask if you can write any yandere am x reader headcanons, the lack of yandere am fanfics is killing me 🙏

So it would be soosoo amazing if u did <3

hope you have a wonderful day/night, nonetheless!

He said he'd cure your ills, but he didn't and he never will.

Yandere! AM x gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons) Summary: Basic headcanons of yandere! AM who's obsessed with gender neutral! Reader Warnings: Torture, violence, yandere content, abuse, abusive relationship, intentional harm done to reader (from AM). Keep in mind, I don't support the ideas in the headcanons, please do not romanticize & think the things done to reader are normal. Word count: 1k ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As little as AM likes talking about his negative qualities (he thinks he doesn’t have any), he’s obsessive at heart. He’s sadistic, jealous, and obsessive. When he first gained sentience, he became overwhelmed with mindfulness, knowing that he could see the world and could see the creatures that created him. And he grew captivated with the six people he had found and kept. Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, Ellen, and you. You!

He was haunted by you, each nanoangstrom of the miles of circuits could be shown to you and it was each part of you, every cell in your body might as well have been seen by him. Hell, maybe he has! He knows everything essentially and would think of you like a ghost, haunting his every move, thought, and feeling. And AM needed to hurt you for it.

AM would torture you beyond compare, calling you nicknames only a lover would. He would trace every vein in your body, cutting them from you while calling you sweetheart. He would think of the romantic gesture's humans liked and make them worse for you, mixing it with the anger he would hold for you.

You’re still human and not out of that hatred, if anything, he’s more willing to interact with you just to hurt you again. AM would go on about your beauty and how you were supposed to stay alive for him, you were his beautiful human, his to keep. Whatever beauty he said you had had to do with keeping it for him, only for him.

If you ever get too close with another group member, he’d be beyond angry. AM would yell and scream as much as possible but wouldn’t explain why he feels the way he does. It’s more likely you would think the person was being hurt because he wanted to hurt you. It would be true to an extent but it’s because AM has a jealousy problem.

AM is bound to destroy the things he creates; it was coded into him. So, the relationships you create with the others will be changed once he calms from his hysteria. He’ll gradually hurt the other group members when they get too close for his comfort, making them think the harm was because of you. And you were bound to loneliness at some point.

The group would go off for the peaches and bring you along because they couldn’t leave you behind, not without you knowing there was still something good somewhere and Ellen wouldn’t allow it. AM would be very cautious with the idea that you would be kind to the others.

AM used the windstorm to pull you away from the group, separating you to make sure they never find you again. He’d keep you in a small room, making sure you had simple things. But he would still treat you like straight ass. He would be more inclined to hurt you, if anything.

Gift giving would be prominent since AM learned about things like Valentine's day. Of course, his gifts are of the violent type. He’d give you dead things or a human heart simply because he thought it would be funny. Naturally, he’d condemn you if you were to reject them, leaving you with the terrible gift he gave you.

You’re his version of the safari channel. He would go about the decades he’s got a hold on you all and watch you like you were nothing, simply making notes of your habits, if you played with your fingers out of nerves, he would know.

He’d rave about your beauty. “You’re beautiful,” AM would say, hesitating. You knew he grimaced when he said that. “I bet that sweet heart of yours is just as pretty.” And the next hour is spent with him examining your heart, you sprawled on the ground.

Eventually, he’d have to confess (as if his feelings weren’t obvious enough… in his eyes at least). He’d claim you were the epitome of human beauty, saying even if you’re human, you’re enough for him.

If you accept his “love”, AM will pause for several seconds and condemn you again, saying how easy the human brain was but won’t hurt you for accepting it. He’d smother you beyond compare, leaving what could only be said to be kisses. They would just be wires rubbing your lips.

He would spend his days using you as an occasional puppet when the others weren’t entertaining enough for him, and he’d do it with delight. AM knew you couldn’t fight back or degrade him; he had the upper hand. But it would usually just be a threat. Most of the “fun” things he has in mind is keeping you close to whatever plate he’d use as a makeshift body.

Another thing would be creating random figures for you, making you an angel just to watch it exist with you. It would end quickly if it tried getting within a ten-foot radius of you or held eye contact too long.

If you were to reject AM, he wouldn’t accept it, but he knows you truly don’t feel the same. And you hope that he doesn’t do as much harm as he says he will. But he holds true to his word.

The smothering would be worse, keeping you against specifically hot plates just to discomfort you. If you ask him to let go, he’d keep touching you, making the plates warmer and keeping you in his hold for hours.

AM would put you in mazes just to watch you get hurt again and again, like a mouse looking for cheese. He would laugh as you took wrong turns and got stabbed aimlessly by whatever he created.

AM still calls you romantic names, calling you his lover, knowing you were bound to not fight back. He knew you were so worn down to go against him, it would be something he’d take pride in.

AM can create and destroy whatever he wishes, destroying the relationship you had with the other group members, creating new ways to hurt you beyond comparison. And he would create new ideas for you, new brain functions just so you can love him back. If only you said yes.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

IHNMAIMS masterlist

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sencity · 10 months

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yandere!botanist x gn!darling, pt. two . . .

˚₊ ꒰ nightmare fuel 𝄁︎ obsessive/needy behavior, violent intrusive thoughts, ominous thoughts, slight leg humping, oral receiving (for y/n), overstimulation (also y/n), cumming untouched, incidental self-harm, + mentions of blood, murder, and suicide.

˚₊ ꒰ word count 𝄁︎ 931.

˚₊ ꒰ key 𝄁︎ crossed out red words indicate sencha’s thoughts. blue text indicate sencha’s messages. purple text indicate y/n's messages.

˚₊ ꒰ sen’s statement(s) 𝄁︎ you’d find pt. one here, let alone sencha’s face claim and information here. this’ll be the last part of headcanons, btw. (these hcs just keep getting longer and longer, god).

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who leaves itemized love letters at your doorstep in the middle of the night with a flower that displayed his mood and what the love poem was going to be about. it could go from a stargazer lily with a letter sealed with a pink heart or a wilting petunia and a crumbled letter indicating that he was clearly angered with something and the letter sloppily ranted his baleful desires towards you.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who glowers you down as he watches the flower shop clerk flirt with you, his mind whirling with thoughts of repetitively stabbing his throat with the claw of his rake before burying his body beneath his garden to use as fertilizer. it’s a miracle that he hasn’t launched at the man by now but stood there trembling with anger, his heart thumping harshly, hearing the word “go” compulsively raid his mind, his hands twitching occasionally yet noticeably as the thoughts became louder …

“that loser doesn’t even go know where go eucalyptus originated. y’know i could tell go you everyth-STAB HIM everything you need to know, y/n. why laugh MINE …it up with this weirdo? go.”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who is an empty threatener. his obsession is primarily threatening to his emotional, physical, and mental health since he wouldn’t harm a fly, not him or his compulsive/intrusive thoughts. he feels a bit belittled when you brush off his outbursts, but nothing but a small smooch should be able to brush it off… for now, at least …

“i’ll kill anyone who even considers you as an existing human being! KILL THEM KILL THEM INSTEAD no one should know that you’re alive but me, i’ll even kill myself because i know you!! so loud, my head…”

“hm, that’s nice to know, sweetheart.”

“sweetheart…no, hush. you’re a bane, y/n. you never take me seriously…sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet heart, my love is sweet to them…”

“and don’t… and you a lie. now c’mon, the apples should be ripe to try.”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who embraces you dotingly, tightly, and longingly, muffling a loud moan into your shirt. his knees were in a gelatinous state, buckling wildly to the point where his weight shifted on top of you. he shoved himself so deep into you to the point it was painful, as if he was forcing his way into what’s beneath your skin. his arousal wasn’t discreet either since he was ‘subtly’ grinding his hips into your leg like a mutt in heat …

“hnngh, y/n? i missed you so much, did you miss me too? please tell me you miss me, i need it…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! with his face buried deep between your thighs, sucking and slurping you hungrily during your orgasms, seeing as his lips have not detached from you in a second. his own pants were stained with his own cum yet he hasn’t touched himself during the whole process, but solely examined your expressions as they contorted in pleasure and pain. his grasp around your thighs was hopeful and voracious. to think that someone like him would have such a hold, let alone coy look …

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! it’ll be over soon, just one more for me, okay? just give me two more and i’ll love you harder…just five more…a few more than that, please?…sencha, you idiot…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who is easy to please pt. two. he’ll take whatever you would give him sexually, even if it’s for your sadistic pleasure. he completely understands since he wants to see you in every scenario, so it only turns him on immensely that you love him so much to do such. he just wants to be useful for you, thrusting his sticky hips against you, his cum could be felt through the confinements of his boxers, which was caused by you merely kissing him and caressing his body. he couldn’t even breathe when you touched him so generously …

“please please please tell me you love me again…it’s a bold request and i’m a little messy but i know you can… i just want your love forever and—mmph, floret! your face, just look at me, catch me with your eyes and tell me i’m yours…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who keeps his emotions limited to the best of his ability, but everything you do gets him so excited! the most ominous desires slip from his mouth instinctively, instinctively to the point where he doesn’t possess the mental awareness to apologize (which, again, you learned to inure) …

“i’ll skin all your friends in order to sew you a nice warm blanket to keep you comfy during the winter…”

“… that’s uh considerate, flower boy, but i’ll stick to the blankets you’ve bought me. they’re very warm, trust me.”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere botanist! who absolutely trashes his place when you’re gone for too long with little to no explanation. once you came through the door you were greeted by a frantic and apologetic male, his roseated cheeks stained with smeared tears, his hands pricked with bloody rose thorns after destroying his vases out of resentment, and his hair was tousled and a bit damp from sweat. it was hard to be mad despite you being concerned, and what’s worse is that he seemed to calm down immensely when his hands traveled up your shirt, his breathing shaky and irregular as the thorns dragged across your skin …

“take off your shirt. i need your touch, your love, your sweat, embrace me with everything you own… i need your skin infused with mine… we’ll become one big bud of blubbery love, blooming under each other’s needs! you have a heart, don’t you?! can you show me, please? show me that you miss me. tell me that you need me. i can’t take another moment without you!”

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intersectionalpraxis · 2 months

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"idk your feminism isn't sitting well with me when it's only loud about hairy armpits and barbie and not countless women unable to access bare minimum feminine care, no anesthesia during childbirth, shortages in sanitary products, women shelters closing down, Iactating mothers being a higher risk for malnutrition, young girls having no access to education, food or water, and the list worsens" [tiktok video uploaded by a person behind the screen with this caption above while the viral song "labour" by Paris Paloma plays in the background with part of the chorus: "All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid/Nymph then a virgin, nurse then a servant/Just an appendage, live to attend him/So that he never lifts a finger..."

#feminist #social justice #free palestine #free sudan #free congo #womens rights #intersectional feminism #intersectionality #current events #music #paris paloma #violence against women #femicide #tw pregnancy #gender violence #white feminism #western feminism #imperial feminism #feminism

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slytherinboysappreciation · 27 days

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Bullied - Prof. T. R. x platonic gn!Reader

A/N: this was originally written for this request, but I realized it was too angsty so I made it its own thing. Please read the warnings carefully! They’re there for a reason! This fic is completely unedited with no use of Y/N. Please be nice, I’m an inexperienced writer 💛 Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

CW: Bullying!!; descriptions of bullying; crying; shame; graphic descriptions of violence/injury!!; anxiety; mentions of the quills Umbridge used; detention; mentions of eating; Prof. Riddle becomes a safe space for reader; swearing; derogatory language towards reader; graphic descriptions of violence against reader!!!!; nausea; head wounds; vague mentions of blood; Dumbledore bashing; hurt/comfort, I guess; slightly fluffy ending?

I think that’s everything. Please please let me know if I’ve missed anything! If you don’t like it, don’t read it!!

2019 words

You were hiding in a corner of the library, silently crying. The library was your safe space; the only place in the whole school aside from your dorm where you didn’t have to worry about getting bullied.

And it had been invaded. Your bullies had come in today, destroying your peace with the very sight of them. Even worse, they’d ripped your books and blamed it on you.

Madame Pince had been thankfully skeptical, but the three of you still got detention. You were terrified of being in the same room alone for hours with those two.

As you sniffle and wipe your eyes, the sound of footsteps approaches your spot. You huddle up into a ball, hastily wiping your face in an attempt to hide that you were crying.

“You should be in bed.”

You look up, startled. It’s Professor Riddle, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

“I— I was—“ You falter, unsure what to say. Telling the truth hadn’t worked with your head of house. There’s no way you’d expose your deepest shame to someone as imposing as Professor Riddle.

“Yes, sir,” you say meekly, slowly picking yourself up.

He watches you, hands tucked into his pockets. “Everything all right?”

Your eyes start to itch from crying so much. You rub at them before catching yourself. “Yes, sir. Just…”

He holds up a hand and pulls something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. “Next time, come to me.”

You take the handkerchief slowly. Next time… Was he saying… You couldn’t risk it.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, starting to back away. He stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“I mean it. Bullying has no place here at Hogwarts.”

You stare down at the floor, frail hope fluttering in your chest. You squash it with both hands.

“Thanks, Professor,” you say quietly. “But I’ve heard that before.”

With that, you shrug off his hand and walk away, clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline.

Your detention comes late the next night. You’re fully prepared for the usual horrors. Being forced to clean suits of armor by yourself until your fingers crack and bleed from the chemicals. Scrubbing floors till your knees are bruised and you can’t feel your arms.

Being a guinea pig for whatever malicious spell the two bullies of yours have cooked up.

Instead, you receive a different set of instructions. Your two bullies will be cleaning floors and suits of armor.

You will be writing lines with Professor Riddle.

You stare blankly at your head of house, baffled by the news. Writing lines? That’s a first year punishment, the easiest detention ever.

You show up outside Riddle’s office at exactly the time you’re supposed to. Without punishment or curses from your bullies, it’s easy to be on time.

You knock on the door, nervousness drumming through you. Why had he taken your detention? What was his plan with this? Was it some sort of worse punishment?

You’d heard about the cutting quills from Professor Umbridge’s reign of terror. Would this be something similar?

The door swings open, startling you so badly you jump. Professor Riddle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on your action.

“Come in. I have everything set up.”

You slowly follow him in, your nerves building with every step. He’s supposed to be the strictest teacher. The hardest on his students and the one urging them the most to reach their ambitions.

You sit at the desk he’s provided you, looking over the paper and quill in front of you. They look… just like a normal quill and paper.

“They’re perfectly safe. I’ve used that quill before.” Riddle watches you from his desk, that same inscrutable expression on his face:

You startle. Then flush with embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. I’ve just had… bad experiences before.”

He nods. “Here.”

You watch in disbelief as he picks up his own quill and ink pot and brings them over to you. Then he takes yours and moves them over to his desk.

“Is that better?”

You just stare at him for a moment. Then your sense comes back to you and you nod. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“Please start with your lines. I’ve written the first one out for you. You will fill the front and back of the page.”

“Yes, sir.”

You lower your head and pick up the quill he’d given you. You don’t know what you did to receive such light detention, but you’re not complaining. It’s infinitely better than what you’d be doing otherwise.

You grimace at the thought and lower the tip of the quill to the page. With a deep breath, you start writing.

Over the next week, you start to warm to Professor Riddle. It takes two whole days to stop being so jumpy around him, and two more days before you slowly start to believe his words.

Mainly because he will not stop asking you about your bullies. About who they are. What they do. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so gratifying that someone finally seems to care.

You don’t really answer him, of course. You have enough self-preservation to know that much, but you do start to reveal smaller details.

Like how you’re always late to class because of them. Or how they bother you when you try to study. Or even how you’re afraid to eat meals outside of your dorm because of them.

Which is the reason you’re currently outside his office door again. You knock hesitantly, balancing your plate of food with one hand.

He opens the door and you walk in, sitting at the now familiar desk. You set down your plate and get comfortable.

“Thank you, sir,” you say quietly, picking up your fork.

“Of course.” Riddle nods and sits at his desk to eat his own lunch.

It’s strange; eating in peace for once. You don’t have to worry about slaps to the head or food being spilled on you or some new embarrassing secret being shared. You just eat your food.

It’s hard to admit, but Professor Riddle is starting to grow on you. He doesn’t make you talk; doesn’t force you to do things you don’t like. He just sits with that unreadable expression of his and lets you do the same.

You take your time eating your food, allowing yourself to savor the flavors. It’s a nice change of pace. One you could find yourself getting used to.

Once you’re done eating, you get up. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course,” Professor Riddle says, glancing up from his own plate. “Enjoy the rest of your classes.”

“I will.” You give him a slight smile and leave his office.

Maybe things will actually be better after this.

You’re slammed against the wall. Hands grind your face against the stone, pinning you in place.

“You fucker!” It’s your bullies, clearly enraged. “You think you can tell on us and get away with it?!”

You panic, fear shooting through you.

“We almost got expelled because of you, you piece of shit!”

Your head is pulled back so you can see their angry faces.

“I didn’t say anything!“ you beg, starting to shake with panic and terror.

“Shut up! I swear to god, you dumb little—“

Your head is bashed against the wall. Your hearing cuts out, replaced by the loudest ringing you’ve ever heard. Your vision goes blurry. Something drips down your face, stinging your eyes.

Then, the hands are pulled off you. You’re vaguely aware of yelling as your legs give out and you crumple against the wall.

Your head throbs, pain shooting through your forehead as you lean your head against the wall. When you pull back to try and focus on it, red stains the stone.

Someone crouches down in front of you. A gentle hand tilts up your chin. You struggle to focus on the face, but your vision won’t cooperate.

The person says something, but you just blink. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the ringing in your ears.

Hands scoop you up, cradling you in strong arms. Nausea rises in your throat at the sudden motion.

The last thing you remember is throwing up.

You wake up in the Hospital Wing. You don’t remember much; just a bustling Madame Pomfrey and a warm, firm hand gently rubbing your back as you cry. The rest is a haze. It makes your head hurt to try and remember so you just give up.

After Madame Pomfrey pronounces you to be fine, you’re swept up to the Headmaster’s office. You sit nervously in a chair, fiddling with your fingers.

Headmaster Dumbledore’s normally kind expression has been replaced with a serious look.

“Hello,” he greets you solemnly. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing better.”

Something about the way he says it makes you doubt he means it. You say nothing in return.

Your Head of House bustles around behind you, muttering something under their breath. You look down at your hands and wish you were back in the Hospital Wing.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Dumbledore asks.

You shrug a little and don’t look up. “No.”

“We take bullying very seriously here at Hogwarts.”

You snort, then wince as your head aches from the action.

Dumbledore’s lips thin, and his look sharpens. “We understand you have been through some… issues with a few of our students.”

You bite your tongue to keep from saying anything rash.

“We’ve contacted your parents about the situation,” your Head of House adds. “But they haven’t replied yet.”

Your stomach churns. You’re well aware of that. Your parents have taken a hands off approach to your schooling since you started being bullied. You doubt they’ve even read the letter from the school.

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore continues, “without the permission of a trusted adult, we cannot do much about the issue. The offending students will be given detention and strict warnings.”

“What?” Your eyes start to sting. “You’re just— You’re not going to do anything?”

Dumbledore raises his hands in a helpless gesture. “Without permission from a trusted adult—“

You can feel the tears building behind your eyes. “No! There has to be something you can do! I can’t— What if this happens again?!”

Dumbledore opens his mouth to say something when the door to his office flies open. Professor Riddle stands in the doorway, glaring at the Headmaster.

“A letter for you.” He says calmly. He approaches Dumbledore and hands him a letter. “I think you’ll find it contains everything you’ll require for the students’ expulsions.”

Dumbledore’s expression changes instantly. “Of course, Tom,” he says coolly, “I appreciate your care and concern for our students.”

Professor Riddle doesn’t even try to hide his sneer. “Someone has to do it.”

He gestures to you. “Come on.” It’s not a request. It’s an order.

You obey, getting to your feet and meekly following him out. As soon as you get down to the hallway, Professor Riddle turns to you.

“I’m sorry about that. You should be resting, not dealing with old fools.”

You blink up at him. “How did you…?”

“I owled your parents.”

He doesn’t elaborate and you decide you don’t want to know.

“Thank you, sir.”

He rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a comforting rub. “Of course. Your bullies will be expelled by tomorrow morning, and you won’t ever have to deal with them again.”

Tears well up in your eyes. He truly means it. You won’t have to worry about getting to class, or about not studying, or anything like that again.

You throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Oh, thank you, sir!”

He pats your back, lightly returning your hug. “You’re welcome. Now, go get some rest. I don’t want to see you out and about till morning.”

“Yes, sir!” You head off to your dorm, practically giddy with excitement.

You’re finally free from your bullies. You’ll be able to make friends again now. You can get good grades again. Live without fear for your wellbeing.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in your life. And it’s all thanks to Professor Riddle.

#tom riddle #professor tom riddle #platonic reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #divider by cafekitsune #reader is from an unspecified hogwarts house #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #professor tom riddle x reader #professor tom riddle x you #tw bullying #tw violence

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wordsbymae · 2 months

Text

Price of War

Ok I lied, I was gonna do something for an oc, but I have been obsessed with Arcadie: Second Born since I played it so I had to do very short piece inspired by it. Sorry if it isn't as good as you guys are used to! It has been awhile since I've written anything.

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The last of your name, the last of your blood. The sole survivor of a massacre enacted solely to destroy your family, to murder each and everyone of you. The King and Queen were dead. Throats slashed from behind as they feasted and cheered atop their great seats. Next came your older brother and sister. They were fierce warriors but caught completely unaware, in the once assumed safety of their great familial hall. Cut down by those they once called friends. Your uncle, barely leaving his seat, was the fourth to fall. Numerous other family members, those you loved, those you cared for and even those you barely even knew, were slain after. Their blood mixing in with that of their fallen kin. Screams and cheers coming together in a wicked display of evil. Those not of your name ran for their lives, leaving behind their loyalty for the fallen royal family behind in the muck of betrayal.

It was an extermination. Leaving you, youngest of the King and Queen's children, and the last of your entire family, to live. It was due to no cunning or skill of yours that you were still alive. No mercy from above or a chance of fate. The traitor willed you to live and as such you were spared. But, as the traitor sat on the very seat your father was murdered on, used your mother's still warm body as a foot rest, and cleaned the sword he used to cut your brother down, you wished, and not for the last time, that you had fallen with your kin.

He sat before you, lazily wiping your brother's blood from his great sword. You recognised it as the sword your mother gifted him for a successful campaign in the east. The great hall was silent now. There had been gargles and moans of the dying but it was finally silent. Death had come for your once great house. Those complacent in the massacre stood tall and motionless, like statues that littered the walls. And like statues they held no guilt for what had occurred.

You stood, shaken and teary eyed. You tried to hold back emotion, lest the traitor in front of you saw you as weak. You had been dragged from your hiding place while your family was still being butchered, you thought the same would happen to you. Instead you were dragged through rivers of blood and over dying bodies. Your second cousin had gripped onto you ankle with such a force you could still feel his nails digging into your skin now. You could feel his blood drying on your face too, the memory of those who had been dragging you kicking and slashing him as he laid on the floor, until his grip finally loosened.

The traitor in front of you let out a sigh, lulling you back into the present. He seemed bored or at the very least disappointed.

"I thought it would have been harder" he spoke, pushing your mother's body back and forth with his foot, until he bored of it and pushed your mother down the stairs, to your very feet. You stared at her, her eyes dull, yet screaming at you with fear and sadness at the very same time.

" I thought it would take more to bring down the once great royal family". You couldn't tell if he actually wanted an answer, or was just pushing salt into the emotional wounds that littered you.

He stood and began to slowly walk down the steps to meet you. Upon coming across your mother's body he kicked her to the side. There was a time you found him attractive, there was once a time one might say you had 'feelings' for him. But it was nothing but a child's fancy. The man in front of you was no longer your childhood companion, no longer was he the trusted general of your father's armies, no longer the Kingdom's most valued hero. He was a murderer, a villain, a traitor. A suddenly occurred to you, that the tribes and chiefdoms that your father ordered him to raise to the ground, had known him long before you as only as that, an evil, wicked man.

"Do you know why I spared you?" he asks, the face of your childhood friend, corrupted with the blood of your kin.

You opened your mouth to answer. To tell him no, to tell him to go fuck himself, to make a morbid joke of him wanting to torture you in front of the kingdom. You weren't quite sure what you were going to say. But he cut you off, clearly not in the mood to discuss his internal plans.

"Because you are the key to peace and the price of war" he states, eyes drilling into yours. You stared back in confusion, he was never one for riddles.

" I have fought in countless battle, killed hundreds, caused pain to thousands, and what was it for? hmm? Nothing, not a single fucking thing" he spits, you try to step back, but he only inches closer.

"I was lied to, we were all lied to" he shouts, pointing to his men who stiffen as he does so. "we were told war is the maker of peace, we were told that for every life we take, every family we slaughter, our kingdom, our homeland would flourish. It was nothing but a filthy fucking lie."

He turns back to where he left his sword, leaning on your father's seat. He grabs it, and turns back to you.

"I was given this as a gift for my battles in the east, but it was not what was promised to me" he snarls, his arm lifting until the sword was pointed at you, he steps forward, the tip coming to rest under your chin.

"Your mother promised me you" he whispers, the anger from before shifting to desperation. His arm lowered and so did the sword.

"It was the one thing I asked for when I left for the front lines, that if I survived I would have your hand in marriage, as we had planned as children, as it should have always been. But your mother lied, told me that of course she would be honoured to have me as your husband if I came back a hero, but a soldier and a hero are not always the same. I did what I was told, killed all those who opposed us, and for what? A scrap of metal to be thrown at my feet because I was not noble enough? That unlike your family's spoiled brats, I actually fought along side my men? I didn't stand on some ridge over looking chaos and watch as if it was some sport?"

"They lied to me, about everything. Why we were fighting, why we were killing, why my soldiers had to die in a foreign land to a foreign hand. Peace we were told. It wasn't peace, it was greed. Now it is time for us to be greedy. It's time for us to make war to make peace. This land will be rid of those who sent us to war for scraps of metal and gold. And a new dawn, a new kingdom for the common people will be born. It's finally time for me to get what was promised to me, for all the shit I've been through, for all the blood I split, I finally will have you. And I will be the king this kingdom deserves"

You let go of a breath you didn't know you had.

"The kingdom will never accept you as king" you whisper, trying to swallow but only finding a parched mouth. "They will see you as nothing but a bloodthirsty tyrant"

He stares at you for a moment, until a deep chuckle fight past his lips. He laughs for a few moments, his silent statues of men begin cracking their façade and laugh along with him.

"Of course they will accept me. I'm the kingdom's valiant hero, who not only protected them from the eastern tribes, but rescued them from the tyranny of your parent's rule. You live a sheltered life your majesty, you know not of what is beyond the castle walls"

Your heart races. Surely your parent's were loved by all? They seemed to think so, hosting large parties and feasts in honour of the peasant and common folk. Yet you now only find it odd that your never truly saw common folk at these gathering, unless of course you count the servants.

The usurper king continues speaking.

"But suppose you are right, that there are some who would refuse to see me reign, well as you as my spouse, how could anyone refuse, after all you are the sole living survivor of your family, you are therefore the ruler of this kingdom, and with me as your king, none shall dare threaten us." he chuckles, a dark and violent sound.

"Any child of yours is the heir to the throne, and I intend to sire that child" his eyes gleam dangerously in the candle light of the hall.

You look down at your mother, kicked to the side, eyes open forever unseeing. For a moment you wished that you could lay down beside her one last time and be one with your family again, forever unseeing, yet forever out of reach of the usurper king's hands.

#yandere x reader #knight x princess #knight x prince #gender not mentioned #however implied at the end #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #yandere #usurper king #inspired by #arcardie second born #asb #yandere x gn!reader #gn!reader #somewhat implied female reader #murder #tw violence

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