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the-fiction-witch · 4 months

Text

Reading

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Smut

I sat in the darkness of the grey basement. The Apartment is cold as the heating hasn't worked in a week. The Wind and rain battered the little windows above me luckily, no water had found its way inside yet. The lights were all off but the small lamp beside me, with no other items powdered on left the basement with a gentle silence. My breathing was all that broke it, and the occasional flicks of my fingers against the paper pages. My body snuggled up into Benny's brown leather chair, a black and white blanket over my legs, the tip of my nail between my teeth as I read the words.

'He seized her swiftly by the ponytail, thrusting her body against the frigid stone. He united their bodies pulverising forcefully against her delicate innocent form. He came tight his breath sizzling on her neck.

"You believe you can get away from me, Princess?" His hushed vocals growled,

She spread her lips but couldn't create words, as if his profound ocean-blue eyes had stolen her voice.

"You," He said his finger stroking down her cheek to push her chin up to their lips sat only mere inches from one another, "Belong to me." He snarled,

"P-P-Prince Alon..." She gagged her body quivering and trembling against the stone.

"You're mine princess." He asserted, "And I intend to have you."

"Have me?" She interrogated

"Right here. Right now." He declared, "You're so defended chastity, shall be pilfered. You're angelic body mine to command."

"Prince Alon Please I-" She began,

"So Precious, so charming, so innocent." He sneered, "Though your sentiment is not what I desire."

He shut the void between her shoving his lips to hers, the taste of his salty lips against hers, his body thrusted against her letting her feel his throbbing -'

"I'm home," Benny called as he came through the front door with a brown paper bag of groceries in his hand,

"I'm not doing anything!" I yelped in shock as his call woke me from my book, out of fear I slammed my book shut. "Hello..."

"Hi," He chuckled at my reaction, he kicked off his shoes and set the groceries on the kitchen counter. "You alright?"

"Fine." I gulped

"You sure?" He asked setting his hat and jacket on the rack by the door,

"Yes."

"Mhm..." He nodded as he leant his elbows on the stair railing, "Not sure I'd wanna be attending your class on 'How to now look suspicious' Y/n,"

"What's suspicious, I'm not suspicious, nothing about this is suspicious, no one is suspicious, if anything you're acting suspicious!"

He simply cocked his him, cocked his eyebrow and glared at me, "What are you reading there y/n?"

"Nothing..."

"Y/n?"

"I uhhh I can't read!"

"You can't read?"

"No."

"I've been your boyfriend for five years I know you can read."

"Uhhhhhh..."

"What book are you reading?" he asked coming closer,

"What book? where? I uh I don't have any books? I uhh I've never seen one. I don't even own a book."

"What's that in your hand then?"

"Uhhhh... Sandwich."

"Okay, take a bite of your tasty sandwich."

"I uhhh... I don't want to right now."

"No, no I insist take a bite, I wouldn't want you not to enjoy your sandwich on account of me."

"I uhhh uhhhh don't like this type of sandwich."

"Then why did you make it?"

"... Hilcuinations?"

"Then why do you have it in your lap?"

"I don't," I said

"Give me the book Y/n."

"No!" I yelled as I tried to hide it under the blanket, but Benny was smarter than that and we began a playful if not a little aggressive fight for my book,

"What are you reading y/n? What are you reading?" He smirked as we battled for the book, "Ha!" He yelled as he managed to grab it from me,

"Benny! Give it back!"

"What is this?" He chuckled, "A Vast Ocean of Love? What is this?"

"Nothing!"

"What the- What!" He chuckled, "Prince Alon forced Princess Guinevere onto the rocks and pulled her hair enough to compel a moan to leave her lips!"

"Benny!"

"Ohh, My God! His long shimmering tail slithered through the water towards Princess Guinevere his hand stroking his throbbing- Ohh god!"

"Benny! Give it!" I yelled,

"Where did you even get this?" he asked putting it high up as he read,

"None of your business," I said jumping to try and reach it,

"Ohh my my," He cooed, as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest, "My naughty little girl," he smirked as he rubbed his nose on my own, "You like this kinda stuff?"

"Ironicly." I snapped taking my book back and pouting,

"Ironicly? Why don't I believe that?" he smirked as he wrapped his arms around me again and pulled my back into his chest, his hand slipped under my jeans,

"Benny!" I argued as his hand slipped into my jeans and my panties,

"Ohhhh... You really liked that didn't you?" he smirked as his hand began to rub on my clit and slipped inside me,

"Ughh!"

"Awww, my you're soaked Y/n. You really like this dirty book?"

"Benny!" I yelled and forced his hand away as I moved to sit in the chair, "You read penthouse sometimes, leave me alone."

"Yeah for the articles."

"Yeah, the articles." I glared,

"Even so, only when we weren't dating darling." He laughed, "Why would I need to read some smutty penthouse magazine when I have you?" He smiled and sat on the chair with me and he kissed my temple, "And I'm not judging if you wanna read some smutty books about, Some Sexy Mermen. You go ahead I'm not stopping you."

"You don't mind?"

"No, You wanna read it you read it." he smiled, "Just... come to me when you finish the chapter," he winked as he got up to go put the groceries away,

"Why?" I blushed as I got up and followed him

"Ohh you know..." he smirked as he grabbed my hair and forced me up against the fridge closing the gap between us, he stroked down my cheek and picked my chin up to look him in the eye, "You're mine, princess." He growled with a sly smirk, "And I intend to have you."

"....uuuughhhhhh," I whined or moaned or I don't know what noise came out of me as my knees gave out, my legs felt like jelly and my body slipped down till I fit the floor.

"Would you like that?" he chuckled and looked down at my body as I now lay on the floor,

"Yes Please, Benny!"

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leosxrealm · 4 months

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i just started reading The Song Of Achilles and i’m in love with the way Patroclus describes Achilles 🤍

“In the huge hall, his beauty shone like a flame, vital and bright, drawing my eye against my will. His mouth was a plump bow, his nose an aristocratic arrow. When he was seated, his limbs did not skew as mine did, but arranged themselves with perfect grace, as if for a sculptor. Perhaps most remarkable was his unself-consciousness. He did not preen or pout as other handsome children did. Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.” (Chapter 4)

“He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.” (Chapter 5)

“There was a vividness to him, even at rest, that made death and spirits seem fool-ish.” (Chapter 5)

“When he smiled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled like a leaf held to flame. He was like a flame himself. He glittered, drew eyes. There was a glamour to him, even on waking, with his hair tousled and his face still muddled with sleep.” (Chapter 5)

“This was more of the gods than I had ever seen in my life. He made it look beautiful, this sweating, hacking art of ours. I understood why his father did not let him fight in front of the others. How could any ordinary man take pride in his own skill when there was this in the world?” (Chapter 5)

“Something in the way he spoke it drained the last of my anger from me. I had minded, once. But who was I now, to begrudge such a thing? As if he heard me, he smiled, and his face was like the sun.” (Chapter 5)

“I did not mind anymore that I lost when we raced and I lost when we swam out to the rocks and I lost when we tossed spears or skipped stones. For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty?” (Chapter 6)

#i’ve read around 1/3 of the book #still pretty new to greek mythology but i kinda know the story of Iliad and Homer so that’s made reading this a bit easier #the song of achilles #tsoa #achilles #patrochilles #patroclus

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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WIBTA if I told my friend I couldn’t accept their gift to me?

I (27nb) have a complicated history with my best friend, Red (31nb). When we met, we were both married. I was in an open marriage and they were testing the waters with poly.

We had a deep connection from the start and eventually I ended up dating both Red and their wife, Yellow (26f). The two of them weren’t prepared to be in a poly relationship and things fell apart really quickly. Red told me they were seriously considering a divorce right after and we were having an emotional affair before I learned what that was and went no contact for about 4 months.

Just before I figured out we were having an emotional affair, Red and I went on a hike together because they needed to get some distance from Yellow (they just had a huge fight). We found 2 seeing stones (rocks with naturally occurring holes going all the way through the rock), I kept one and Red kept one. I turned mine into a pendant and wore it everyday for about a month, when we went no contact.

When we went no contact I gave them back all their things I had and included the seeing stone necklace because it hurt to much for me to keep.

Once we reconnected to try being just friends, I found out they had been wearing the seeing stone every day since I gave it to them. I was OK with this because I put a lot of work into it and wanted them to keep it safe. Red and Yellow started couples therapy, I divorced my ex husband (unrelated) and I started seeing a really sweet and kind man, Blue (28M). All was well.

Except a few months after we reconnected, Red started wearing their wedding ring on the same cord as the seeing stone. I’ve felt uncomfortable with this but didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was my place since how they wear their wedding ring is their business and Yellow seems to be aware and AOK with it.

Apparently, this whole time Red has been trying to work on the seeing stone they brought home from our hike so that they can make it into a pendant for me.

I feel very uncomfortable with this because of our history. I talked to Blue about it and let him know the history and my feelings on the topic and he thinks Red is still in love with me but he trusts me and thinks what ever I decide is ok with him.

Red is super important to me but I’ve had to aggressively put up boundaries to keep things on the up and up (they aren’t allowed to touch me with out permission, we can only hang out in groups or public areas, etc) because I’ve felt uncomfortable and tbh Yellow told me she felt her feelings don’t matter in all of this (since then I’ve been trying really hard to make sure I take her feelings into account when doing anything that involves Red. I don’t like Yellow but she doesn’t deserve to feel like she doesn’t matter or that her feelings are invalid).

I don’t think I feel comfortable accepting the pendant from Red especially since they’ve expressed they want me to wear it. I’d be ok with maybe having it as a key chain or attached to my backpack but idk if even that would be inappropriate.

Yellow knows Red has been working on this for me and is apparently ok with it, so am I being over sensitive? Is it ok for me to accept it and keep it as a key chain or something? I value my friendship with Red so much and don’t want to lose them but I’m worried I’d be crossing a line if I accepted it and worried I’d hurt them if I told them I felt uncomfortable with wearing it.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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snapghoul · 6 months

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Songs I think Johnny Cage actually listens too.

✰ Note: I love “International Love” being his unofficial theme song, it’s funny. This is just a collection of songs I think represent him and songs he has on his playlists. Some have headcanons for funzies.

✰ Head cannon: Johnny gets his music taste from his mother, It was one of the only ways to bond with him because of her job. Favorite memories are him singing with her in the car. Has old cassettes his mom made for him, refuses to get rid of them.

– ⭑ –

Head Over Heels & Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears

Voulez-Vous, Money, Money, Money, Super Trooper & Slipping Through My Fingers - ABBA

✰ His mother played Slipping Through My Fingers on their way home from his high school graduation, and they both ugly cried.

Blue Monday - New Order

Sunglasses At Night - Corey Hart

Bohemian Rapsody, Another One Bites The Dust, We Will Rock You, Killer Queen, Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

Paint It Black & Sympathy For The Devil - The Rolling Stones

Girls On Film, Hungry Like The Wolf, Rio & The Wild Boys - Duran Duran

Sabotage, Fight For Your Right, Intergalactic, No Sleep Til Brooklyn - Beastie Boys

✰ Listens to BB while he is training. Something about them make him want to beat the shit outta his punching bag.

Enjoy The Silence & Never Let Me Down Again - Depeche Mode

Devil Went Down To Georgia - The Charlie Daniels Band

Sunburn - Fuel

Love Shack - The B-52’s

✰ His mother's favorite song. Listens to it when he’s feeling nostalgic.

Black Betty - Ram Jam

Enter Sandman, For Whom The Bell Tolls, One, Master Of Puppets & Lux Æterna - Metallica

✰ Johnny is a sleeper Metalhead; one would never know he is until someone walks in on him listening to it. He had his wrist broken in a pit. Will white girl dance to metal and rock music.

Lonely Day, Chop Souy!, Sugar & Violent Pornography - System Of A Down

Welcome To The Jungle, Sweet Child O’ Mine & Paradise City - Guns N’ Roses

The Chain, Go Your Own Way & Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

Super Massive Black Hole, Knights of Cydonia & Starlight - Muse

Punk Tactics - Joey Valence & Brae

✰ “I am the King and You’re just a pawn. Who’s got the high ground now, Obi-wan?”

#johnny cage #mk1 #mortal kombat #mk johnny cage #mk1 johnny cage #this is my opinion #I think he’s more of classics guy #he probably does listen to new stuff but complains it’s not as good

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papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 3, The Cat Returns

After the incident with Mouse in the Alps, König is put into frontline insertions instead of wilderness patrol following his noticeable change in demeanor. Life without Mouse goes on, or does it?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Again, I am just beside myself with the amount of love and support this silly story of mine is receiving. I will probably update this author's note when it is not 01:00 my time after a date. This chapter is a little longer to make up for the fact that the next chapters may take longer, as we are getting to the end of my stockpiled hoard of writings. Expect shorter, drabble bursts between bigger chapters!

Small note: if you see a rapid switch between the use of Mouse and Maus, it is meant to show that König's sense of ownership and possession of Mouse. In his thoughts, she is distinctly separate from her role as a military contractor, he thinks of her as his. I am sure I messed it up a couple of times, but if you see both it is not a typo!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 3, The Cat Returns | 5k words | König POV | NEXT

It’s sometime in February, and the fighting has moved into a little town somewhere in Italy. They’re gathering intel on SpecGru, trying to figure out something or other.

König is not an intelligence officer. He is not subtle enough for that. Everyone knows this.

He’s a battering ram as a human, thick and tall and good at making closed doors open if they don’t fly off their fucking hinges when he hits them. He’s not stupid by any means, but he’s not stealthy the way the position would require.

He hasn’t seen her in three weeks. He hasn’t been on patrol at all, he’s been on frontline insertion. A place where his Maus is not.

He misses her voice in his ear. He misses the little things she leaves behind, the leaves she folds into animals, the rocks she arranges into shapes like smiles. His favorite was the piece of flint she knapped into sharp edges all around, into the vague shape of a heart- he reasons that was probably not on purpose but he’s distraught the second he gets it back to base and realizes the fragile thing broke to dust in his pocket. When he cuts himself on the flint shards and doesn’t patch them up, he thinks of it as penance.

He tries not to think too harshly about that. That she gave him her heart and he literally pulverized it. He's resolved that he won’t mention it in the comms. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings if she did intend to give him a heart-shaped stone. It was the latest thing she’d gifted him and he was starting to think that its destruction was some sort of terrible omen.

It’s that moment he realizes just how badly he’s had it. Having it. Wanting it. Needing her. Their silly little game is all he lives for these days. It’s pathetic but he can’t stop himself.

Slicing and dicing and scouting and barging and battering and shooting and whatever else-ing enemies are little consolation for the gap she’s left in his life. He begs and barters and borrows around base for the books she recommended to him. He’s hoarding terrible jokes to tell her when he sees her (hears her?) again. Whenever he gets halfway decent food the first thing he thinks is “I wish I could teach Maus how to make Austrian food.” He thinks about dancing around in the kitchen with her before sharing a hot meal. He sees a particularly sturdy tree and wonders how long it would take her to climb it. When he gets cuts and bruises he thinks about her small, agile, soft hands patching him up instead of the sterile medics. He thinks about laying his head down on her plush thighs as she sighs and reads a book. He thinks about going hiking with her back in Austria, holding her hand the whole way up, then down, the mountain. He thinks about camping with her, kissing the top of her head as they sit by the fire. He fucking aches to make her mewl around his length in a lover's embrace.

She’s all he thinks about during the day. How to make her happy. How to be closest to her. How to see her again. She’s all he thinks about at night, too. How she might want to be touched. How she’d taste. How to satisfy her so thoroughly she’d never try to find someone else. He cannot stop himself from thinking about her in these ways, and the realization that he simply does not want to either is just as disorienting.

He had been making good progress, inching his way closer and closer to her. Every time he would abandon his post while on patrol and wander around until he found her, she would allow him to get a little closer. He’s no fool, she is a sniper. If she didn’t want him any closer, she would just take him out from far away. But she doesn’t. At first, he thought he was hallucinating the slowly closing distances. It took a full 50 feet of gained ground over a month and four meetings for him to even consider that she was allowing him to get closer. As ridiculous as it is, he refuses to get any closer than first contact, except for… that morning.

He doesn’t like to think of himself as superstitious, he prefers to think of himself as logical. Perhaps too many head injuries, too many kills, and too much war has ruined his complete objectiveness. When he got the transmission about the agent running away with files in his direction, he got a feeling. An instinct? A calling? It was the auspicious nervousness of a near-death encounter, an intrinsic sort of rush that any soldier learns to obey if they want to survive in a war. But this one was different.

His stomach flipped more violently than he’s ever known it and he felt thick lightning throughout his entire body. His vision nearly blanked as he looked down at his peace offering, he knew at once the feeling was not for him.

He didn’t hesitate to take off running for her position when he got the transmission about a rogue soldier strapped with explosives.

“Keep moving and I shoot,” Maus had said. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the obsession he tried so valiantly to deny himself. Maybe it was the scratchiness of the radio feeding him pretty lies, but König couldn’t help but hear a sort of begging desperation in her voice. His heart lurches fast and heavy in his chest as he sprints, fearful energy enveloping his anxious mind. Something is very wrong here, he thinks but how the hell is he supposed to tell her that? Would she trust him? Would he even get there in time?

“It’s right under you, Liebling,” he rasped out through frantic breaths, so high on genuine concern for her that he could not help the blandishment that he offered her. If only she knew, maybe she’d just let him help her.

Somehow, miraculously, she listens (Good girl, Maus,) and turns her attention to the adversary gaining ground between the trees. The man is quick, but König is quicker, taking off through the snow like he did as a child. Running with reckless abandon, long legs carrying him faster and further than anyone else when he and his cousins would play capture the flag at his Oma’s house in Gauso. This prize, however, is much more important to him.

He feels an almost sick sense of vindication when her gun jams, but whatever positive emotion he felt for it is drowned out with a tidal wave of concern and fear when he sees her struggling with her rifle and the man beneath the trees taking aim at her.

Slicing that man clean between his ribs like a lion strikes a lamb was the second most satisfying experience of his life, greatly eclipsed by the settling of her weight against his chest when she trusted him enough to jump into his arms.

She looks so fearful beneath his stare and he shrinks away in an attempt to placate her nervousness, equally as fearful that he must have somehow damaged her by simply holding her. He has half the mind to berate himself about touching her, still bloody from the enemy and still a monster beneath it all.

He had never intended to actually give her the birchwood effigy. He originally started carving it on a restless night camping alone after a particularly suggestive series of flirtations over the radio.

(“Why did the bike fall over, Maus?”

“Tell me, König.”

“Because it was two tired.”

“HA! That’s terrible! You’re so tall, can you even fit on a bike?”

“Eh, sometimes, but the peddles are not so good.”

“What does that mean?”

“They are too small.”

“...oh. Big feet?”

“Ja.”

“You know what they say about big feet…”

“I do not.”

“Have trouble getting into pants in the morning, too?”

“Was?”

“You big, everywhere? I mean, with hips like those…”

“...” Fuck, bad time to get a boner.

“Oh come on, big guy, don’t get shy on me now~”)

The chunk of wood was too damp for kindling so he started gouging at its sides idly while waiting for his water to sterilize from boiling. He was just whittling with no real purpose until the absent image of a mouse started to appear in the pale material. From that moment of fireside recognition onwards, he’d been chasing a little prayer in her shape. He wouldn’t have considered it ‘done’ when he gave it to her but-

Her warmth was still in his fingers, her beautiful eyes trained on him, her fantastic form somehow devoid of his blood or his filth in his rescue attempt, well. He had been praying, hadn’t he? It’s only right to pay tithing to the thing you worship. He gave her the figure, and he did so with the only real regret being that he couldn’t give her more and that he almost sullied her perfection with his violence.

And to top it all off, when he wrenched himself away from her, heart heavy and entirely certain that she would never, could never, follow- she called him back and reciprocated. Like a siren’s call, he obeyed without prejudice, without regret, without even realizing he was turning backward to meet her. When he caught it in his hands he felt the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders in the shape of a little whetstone in the palm of his hand.

She gave him her lucky charm. She gave him a tool after recognizing his fondness for knives.

He simply does not have the words for the stringent emotion that thought invokes in him, the fire it ignites. When she apologizes for its quality or lack thereof (It is her charm, the thing that keeps her safe, and she gives it to me? And has to apologize for it? Just her charm? Silly little girl…) he bites back confusion and instead reassures her. The emotion in her eyes when he responds “All the more reason to treasure it,” is his favorite thing he’s ever seen. And yet, he knows he cannot take her with him. If he didn’t leave at that moment, he knows he would have starved to death on the spot waiting for her to follow him. When he turns away it is because his brain cannot comprehend a world in which she walks away with him.

He remembers walking off, dazed and in a trance with the whetstone in his hands, trudging off into some unknown heaven he had never anticipated escaping to. He walks all the way back to base and gets harsh stares and reprimands for returning a whole 5 hours earlier than he should have. He hears confused whispers and concerned words from the medics who give him the all-clear, and he has been placed on Frontline Insertion two patrols following this event as an attempt to cleanse his mind and body from whatever ‘walking sickness,’ Aksel called it, he picked up in the woods. (And in fairness, he would rather die than admit his treachery, not out of any misplaced moral but instead out of precaution for her safety.)

His days are miserably long without Maus and he kicks himself every night and day for unwittingly getting himself separated from her. Every time he gets back to base he cleans the whetstone and prays to see her again.

The KorTac base here is relatively large, he gets his own room in the barracks and he’s never been more thankful for it when on a snowy night, he dreams.

In the dream, it’s snowing and he wakes up in a car somewhere in the wilderness. The trees are bare but there are so many of them he just tastes cold and sees gray. Then the sudden urge to run overcomes him, and so he does. He sprints, to where? He doesn’t know. Familiarity laps at the corners of his mind, and his feet move on their own, like an animal stalking its way back home. He doesn’t need to be told where to go, he just does.

Then! He’s tracking the smallest prints in fresh powder snow, keeping up with the tracks as best he can as they get drowned out by new falling chunks of ice.

He’s burning. He’s burning. He’s burning. He doesn’t slow down.

Then, he follows the tracks beside a little creek cutting into limestone outcroppings until he sees some smoke in the distance, the tracks go into the creek and come out the other side towards the smoke.

Then he wades through the creek, it barely comes to his ankles and on the other side of the stream, the tracks are combat boots, not animal tracks. But they’re still small.

Then he starts running alongside the tracks as they disappear, the smoke gets further and further away until-

He finds a bright red, blood-toned shed. In the shed are recently discarded supplies mixed in with hay and various domestic and agricultural equipment. Something is nesting nearby, and his mouth waters at the prospect of a fresh meal. He rests his own packs there and goes to the house the shed is next to.

He nearly has to break down the door of the house, and the single room it leads to is impossibly small on the inside from how it looked outside. He looks around for any signs of humans, hostages, or hostiles, he’s got the thrum of battle in his ears. It’s one room, with a ladder leading to a loft space. There are a few cabinets, a sink, a counter, and a wood stove that pipes out to a small chimney. There are two windows, filtering in grey-cloud-toned twilight. That’s it.

Except- it’s not. The wood stove is burning. Someone’s home.

The ladder to the loft takes him no time at all to climb and on it, there’s a mattress without a bed frame with blankets piled high. Clothes are leading to the pile and a lit gas lamp is. It’s colder up here than down there.

There’s a lump on the mattress. It rises and falls, as though it breathes.

It gets up.

It turns.

It’s Mouse.

The blanket falls from her frame and he sees her in the light of a gas lamp at the foot of the blanket nest. Her neck cranes to look at him and she doesn’t seem surprised to see him. The lamp illuminates her form like a display light in a museum lights up a statue. Her soft skin pebbles into goose flesh and he smells smoke like the house is on fire. She’s naked from the column of her neck down to the exposed divet of her hip. She turns over to face him, breasts on full display, slightly falling into each other as her inviting lips part.

“I was worried you’d never come,” she says.

He’s on her in an instant, like a barbarian he doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes, he just kneels at the bed and lifts his hood enough to kiss her. At first, it’s only chaste lips in a fleeting embrace. Like everything, he waits until she signals for something more. When she timidly bites on his bottom lip, asking for more, he more than obliges. He complies with a fervency he chokes backward on in a futile attempt to control himself, terribly mindful that he may hurt her, or worse, scare her. The inside of her mouth is raw from chewing on it idly, she tastes like blood and rainwater and poppyseed. He wagers a guess that she’s twice as addicting as opium, though, when her fingers tangle into his hair underneath his hood and pull him closer, closer, impossibly closer…

Their breaths are hot as they mingle, he swears the line between her and him is fading by the moment and he gets an adrenaline rush to rival that of bloodlust. Her skin is soft and pliant beneath his large, steady hands. She is so small, so perfectly tailored to him, so soft to the rough bits of him that he cannot help but gasp in their embrace. The tantalizing curve of her smile melts into his lips as she giggles at his gasping.

She is everything like Modanifil, the second she is on his tongue she hits his veins faster and harder than any post-gunshot amphetamine-mimicking pharmaceutical. He hums and huffs into her as he notices that she really is tiny compared to him. She could fit snugly on top of him and not seep to the sheets beneath, he could toss her over a shoulder with ease and carry her miles across any terrain, he could protect the whole of her body with his own and not leave any weak spots. Like dovetail joints, a great carpenter must have made them to fit together. There must be a God, and he must have made her to perfectly fit beside (and dare he hope, inside?) her.

The only thing older than war to mankind is intimacy. You need soldiers for war, you need men for soldiers, and you need love to make those men. Battle is a cruel Rube-Goldberg machine of “if this, then that,” and it's all König has ever known. The rigid structure that bends and breaks for no one, the absolute rule of power and intellect even at a material disadvantage, the vain hope that you make a positive difference when in reality your life is worth a few millimeters of ballpoint pen ink as it scribbles out K and I and A.

War is all König has ever known, it's the only thing he has ever taken comfort in besides alienation and purposeful seclusion.

At this moment, he understands something older than war. He feels the most primal form of empathy and community and he fucking craves it. For the first time in his life, the hum of blood in his ears is welcome and he doesn’t mind the idea of surrender. War is nothing compared to this, compared to her. He is remembering how to be human, to be a man and not a soldier, and he smiles back into her mouth.

He spends a blissful eternity licking into her mouth, mapping the soft tissue with his tongue. He drinks the occasional squeak of surprise she lets out when he does something just right. Her exploration is reciprocal, careful, and agile just like she is on the field. Her hands grasp each other behind his head and he distantly hopes she never has to move them. One of his hands cradles the back of her neck and the other strokes her cheek. He pauses only long enough to bring her slender neck to his lips for a fleeting kiss— a silent signal that he wants more if she’ll give it— and he inhales like she is oxygen before continuing to worship her mouth with his. She smells like cinnamon and he’s desperate to get a taste.

He breaks away when she pushes him slightly. Before he can even think about having offended her, her thumb strokes the scar between his left nostril and the corner of his mouth like a honey salve in reassurance. She glances down to his hand on her cheek and he follows her implicit orders like a good little soldier attempting to impress his commanding officer. He raises his gloved hands to her mouth and she keeps them in her teeth to pull them off. Before his hands can go anywhere, as if she knows right where they’re going, she kisses his digits and suckles on his fingers. His unoccupied hand goes back to her cheek as she works at the other one. She hums and moans when he presses them in a little more, then a little more, then a little more, then-

She gently chokes and with tears in her eyes, she pants around them.

He could kill her. Now. He could slam her head back and choke her. Gut her with the knife in his waistband. Or worse, he could have his way with her. He could let feeble cries of God, no more! die on her tongue as he takes what he has wanted so badly. He could prove that he really is a monster.

The intrusive thought is ripped away by the overwhelming urge to do the exact opposite as her throat constricts around his fingers.

All this time, she hasn’t refused them. She doesn’t refuse them. She doesn’t refuse him.

She is giving him total control. Complete power and without hesitation. In her teary eyes, he sees a soldier’s trust, firm and unwavering. Ever faithful. Unquestioningly and genuinely she believes the man she’s at the mercy of will make her need no mercy.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s the one that takes the fingers out of her mouth. He is hellbent on rewarding this fidelity, his own pleasure be damned.

“König,” her eyes glaze over with worry. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing and they both know it. “Are you sure you want me?” She whispers, lips meeting the shell of his ear, he feels her fever pitch skin even through the fabric of his mask. His heart aches and he’s so angry with himself that she could even ask that. As if there were ever any questions. As if he has ever wanted anything else in his life like he wants this. As if there is anything else to want. As if there is anything else.

“Always, Maus,” he says instead of the million things he wants to because he cannot wait. She is right there. She has asked for him. This is all he wants. He kisses her perfect lips just once more and grunts once he tears their flesh apart. He’s too impatient to prove himself any longer to be bothered with waiting. He has nothing of worth for her, except the fragile hope that if he can keep her physically satisfied in ardent service this angel may let a pitiful man worship her a little longer.

Her desperate question and the obscene amount of her spit on his fingers are all the invitation he needs to dive between her thighs. He keeps one hand on her hip and the other at her left breast- and he sighs when his flesh meets and yields to his palm- and before he can latch onto her center and give her all the attention she so deserves-

“I knew you’d fall for it,” she says. Her thighs grab his head and twist.

His neck snaps.

When he wakes up in his cold barracks, decidedly alone and not in between her thighs, he pounds the bed in frustration. The bed that his Mäuschen isn’t in, the bed that’s not in the loft of some secret mountain hideaway, the bed that he sleeps in alone. The bed he considers leaving forever, leaving KorTac, running into the night, and taking her from her own quarters at SpecGru.

He’s thought about that. Long, long ago someone told him a story. In the story, spartan warriors would kidnap the women they wanted and have sex with them in the barracks. It was to claim their marriage rights because they couldn’t get married while in the military but had to be in the military. They were supposed to kidnap the women to prove they deserved them. It was just what they did. Not so dissimilar to the bride-stealing traditions his Oma had told him about as a boy.

He’s not sure if he believes that, but that night when he fucks his hand in frustration and bites his pillow to shreds, he lives in that fantasy.

Where he finds Maus sleeping in her barracks. He steals her away in the dead of night. In his fantasy, she’s willing. She whispers “I was worried you’d never come,” when he wakes her up. She throws her arms around his neck and he lifts her out of her bed and they run. They just run. Until they find a cabin. Or a tent. Or something. She lets him do whatever he wants to her and he asks for nothing in return. He’s waited for her for so long and he’d wait longer if he could just find the proving ground of the heat between her thighs and claim his rightful spot as the winner of her- then, and only then, he’d worry about his own satisfaction.

In the end, however, he cannot convince himself into escaping to her. The fantasy of her is potent and life-consuming, but he is also viscerally aware that it is just that. A fantasy.

It is not real and despite his choking desire to be with her, he is not entirely sure she wants him. In fact, he is quite assured of the opposite, that she would reject him without a second thought. That she does not want him, that there is nothing to want because he is just hulking gore covered in scars and a hood. He is less than human, maybe even less than animal, he enjoys war and his comrades consistently remind him that that is so far into abnormality he may as well not even be animate. His long etched scars and sins burn across his forehead, cheeks, and lips in a phantom pain when he pictures her own face. There is nothing for her in him and all the dreaming in the world isn’t going to change that innocent little mice don’t fall in love with things like him.

He wants so desperately to just be a fucking person for her. A person allowed weakness, a person allowed good-morning kisses, a person allowed terrible flirting, a person allowed to sit in the same room, a person allowed to touch and savor and make better another human. Allowed to heal, not harm. Allowed to save, not slaughter.

But he is a soldier, he’s not a person, and he’s not sure he ever really was a person in the first place.

He wants her. Wanting is an unusual sensation for him, long dormant and now suddenly hotter than hellfire. He wishes he could stop burning himself but every time he sees the flickering flame he gets a little closer, convinced this time he will walk away unscathed or better yet cleansed of original and perpetual sin. She could be his funeral pyre and most of what he’d think of that is “God, she’s pretty. I’m glad it was her.”

He could just take her, he is more than capable of it. If he really wanted to he could just reach out and sink his teeth in and have his way with her just like a Spartan King. But, then he would really and truly be a monster. He might not deserve better than ire and hate, but she certainly does.

The only thing he wants more than to have her is for her to want him. That hope is a delusion deeper than the ravine they met at, he’s sure. Even still, he cannot run the risk of scaring her off or going against her wishes.

So, König stays. In his cold bed, harsh snow beating against a rotting window sill, his only company the images of Maus he makes up in his mind and the perverse and shameful noise of wet-skin slapping.

He finishes twice in his hand that night, hot and pissed, and halfway to desertion when he finally falls into a dreamless sleep. He’s so exhausted and uncomfortable in his own skin and brain that he doesn’t even have the shame of being embarrassed about the ways he imagines her. His fantasy is punctuated by the all-consuming settle of her weight upon his chest somewhere warm and dry. He feels no shame when he wraps his arms around the bunched comforter on his chest, imagining it’s a slight body he faithfully cradles.

When he wakes up, however, that shame drowns him when he prepares to meet for orders in the morning. What kind of a man does that? Now he’s sure she will never want him. If she knew how obsessed he’s become that he cannot help himself from having dreams about her and cannot help himself from getting off to the idea that she killed him with her fucking thighs she would hate him and she would have every right to. He nearly claws his eyes out when he washes his face with cold water. He asks the mirror if he’s a monster, his clear and evident scarring from a lifetime of abuse and war does not need to answer in the affirmative for him to know it to be true.

Even more so than usual, those around him give him a wide enough berth that he does not need to do so much as walk in a straight line for others to scurry out of the way. He only half hears his orders in the morning briefing, he only glances at his map when he is sent out.

He tucks the whetstone into his right pocket when he goes on his patrol, beneath the familiar weight of his beloved field knife. His right hand burns from healing flint cuts and getting bucked into for hours, the rough whetstone doesn’t help but he still caresses it in his pocket like a prayer.

Once he’s in the woods his radio receives a message.

“I was worried you’d never come,” it calls to him, full like fresh dirt of relief over a buried urn of anxiety. His throat catches on the tone, the static hides none of its desperation.

He finds her in her tree.

He falls. He knows it’s fatal. He cannot recover.

There’s nothing he can do and nowhere he can go.

He’s in love.

“Always, Maus.” He says back.

He’s always in her sights.

Sometimes he wishes she would just pull the trigger.

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 9 months

Text

Though The Path May Be Long, I Shall Find You; Jack Howl

A path lies ahead, some are more treacherous than others. At the end of the winding, coloured footsteps is where they can rest; a bird directing them forward, made out of precious stone.

Main Character; Jack Howl

Supporting Roles; Jack's parents, Vil Schoenheit (if you squint), Leona Kingscholar, bird messengers

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match), gender-neutral reader, this can be read as platonic, familial, or romantic, made up some lore for Jack's family, hurt/comfort (but not as much as the others)

Content Warning; brief violence (not reader or Jack), some swearing, nightmares (reader)

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators’ - works into AI; that shit steals.

Prologue & Leona's Story | Ruggie's Story

Winter was in the air, despite it only being the start of September. But this was the Shaftlands, winter always came early, and a thin blanket of snow would be covering the ground before the end of the month. Jack was out picking berries with his father, as his mother was out hunting game to fill their freezer for the long winter nights. The Howl family was stocked up on almost everything, but having some fresh and rare cloudberries were always welcomed; especially during the long nights that were to come. A raven flew overhead and came to rest on his father’s shoulder, croaking into his ear.

Jack’s ears perked up, but he continued picking berries, trying to overhear the conversation between his father and his messenger, made from sodalite. Hmm, oh there’s a large patch over there! Dad’s busy so he wouldn’t notice if I went ahead and picked those!

“What news do you bring,” the older man asked the bird. A particular harsh wind rustled through the evergreens. Seems like winter would be here early this year, earlier than usual.

The raven puffed up, and shook their head. “The Mrs has harvested a moose, a large bull. Enough to feed the household until spring.”

Mr Howl nodded his head and his raven was off again, going back to reunite with the others. “Jack?” He called out. Nothing. “Jack?!” He looked to where he was earlier, but he wasn’t there. “JACK?!” He shouted, causing birds to leave the trees in a panic. “JACK HOWL?!”

Jack was still busy picking berries, and he stopped upon hearing the echoing, concerned, yelling of his dad. How had he gotten so far away? “Dad? I’m over here dad!” He stayed calm, and stayed put. Should you ever get lost, stay put. Should you panic and run more you’ll only get yourself more lost. He got up on a rock and waved his arms, in the hope that his dad would notice the movement. “I’m over here! DAD?!”

A twig snapped in the undergrowth, and Jack stopped. The wind was moving towards him and he could smell something, something dangerous. He wedged himself into a narrow rock overhang and held his breath. Slow padded footsteps thudded outside and soon he could see the brown fur of a brown bear outside of his hiding place. And he could hear and feel the hot breath entering the crevice.

“JACK?!” His dad shouted, and all he saw was something white and furry fighting the bear. But it wasn’t his dad, it was his mom. “Jack, come on! Hurry!” His dad forcibly dragged him out of his hiding spot and made a beeline home.

…

“What were you thinking,” his mom inspected his face, looking for any marks, even though during the fight with the brown bear a claw had left a gash on her shoulder blade. “I told you to stay with your dad while out foraging-”

Jack’s eyebrows were knotted, and his lip trembled. His mother stopped and cupped his face.

“Love,” she embraced him in a crushing hug, “we were worried about you. Please, just stick near us. Okay? You’re okay, Jack.”

Jack squeezed her back, tail in between his legs. “I’m sorry Mom.” He just wanted to pick some cloudberries, his mom’s favourite. He wanted to surprise her with enough so that they could make some jam together. But all the berries that he had picked had been destroyed during the fight. It was all for naught.

A light knock on the front door made him stop, and his mother went to answer it. At the door stood a blond boy a few years older than Jack, bright amethyst eyes looking up. “Excuse me, Mrs. Howl, but can I play with Jack?”

Jack’s mom looked at Vil, taking mind to make sure her wound dressing was still covered. “Sorry Vil, but-” she stopped and looked towards her son. “But, you’ll have to play here, in the yard.”

Jack looked up, asking silently for permission, and his mom nodded a yes. “What do you wanna play,” he asked excitedly, grabbing some of their usual play things.

Vil smiled, and helped bring the toys outside. “Hmmm, what about knights? Trying to save the village?”

And the two boys went off and played. Vil would continue to visit every day, until a large ice storm rolled in on Jack’s fifth birthday, forcing everyone to stay inside.

That night, as Jack was starting to fall asleep, he looked outside. The ice had temporarily stopped, and a bright orange moon hung in the sky. Green and blue auroras painting the night sky. Jack didn’t know what to ask for when it came to his messenger. He knew it was going to be a raven, as it was customary for a raven to form a bond with a wolf pup.

“Can I,” he paused, thinking. What do I want? “Can I have someone there for me?” He was about to turn in for the night, but an unseasonably warm wind opened the window. He rushed to close it, and when he looked down there was a raven messenger, but it wasn’t made out of typical stone. It was made of petrified wood; representing trust, grounding, and knowledge. But he didn’t know that, all he knew was that he had a raven. That he had a soul match. That’s all that mattered.

…

Jack placed his belongings down on the floor and the desk beside his bed, looking over the room. He didn’t know what to expect of Savanaclaw, but he was thankful that he at least had a dorm, unlike the one student. They also smelled… different, not a bad different, but different. They didn’t smell like they were from Twisted Wonderland, that they were from somewhere entirely different. But that wasn’t any of his business, and he wasn’t about to poke his nose into someone else’s business, let alone a complete stranger.

He shook his head and started placing his items where he thought they would go best. And since he was now in a place temperate enough without any harsh winters, he could finally start growing some plants he saw in a book once; some cacti. The little green plants spoke to him; they survived in harsh conditions and adapted to not only survive but to strive. He could appreciate that, even if the plant did prick him every so often, he couldn’t blame it for doing so, that’s what the spines are meant for.

His mind wandered, wondering if his siblings were doing okay? He knew that his parents were more than capable of looking after them, but he still worried. Ever since his mom fought off that bear, she hasn’t been able to use her left arm like she normally did; weaker from nerve damage. Her raven also had the scar, and couldn’t fly due to it. But she never alluded that she was in pain, keeping on a brave face for Jack, and later on for his siblings.

Jack looked down to his raven. Unlike the others, his raven was made of fossilized wood, preserved throughout the aeons. He turned it over gently, his hands dwarfing it in comparison. It would stay small, small enough to hold until his soul match’s bird awoke… that is if he had one at all. Apparently, messengers made out of anything other than stone were rare and could be seen as a blessing, but also as a warning. A warning that hardships may await them in the future. He didn’t want to dwell on that though, he had a messenger so that in itself proved that there was someone out there for him. Be they a friend, found family, or life partners, like his parents.

“What lessons do you hold,” he asked quietly, ears twitching making sure the coast was clear. He placed the wooden bird on his desk carefully, and when he was satisfied, he left the room, heading off to the dining hall.

A cold breeze entered the room, which was rare for the Savanaclaw dorm. It carried the smell of snow, pine trees, and a lone snowflake landed on the wood raven, resting between their eyes. They shook their head and stretched out their wings, flexing them for the first time. The cold wind was gone as soon as it came, the warmth from the sun-baked stone returning.

The raven hopped to the window sill, looking out to the rapidly setting sun. “The time is nigh. They are here.” And they took off, but not to find Jack.

…

You couldn’t sleep, but what could you really expect? You had just arrived to this ‘Twisted Wonderland’ and everything you knew had been flipped upside down. Magic was real. There are merfolk, fae, and beastmen?! All of the fairy tales were true but they were Disney-fied; honestly that probably saved your butt, since the originals are… well you would have had fewer chances of survival let’s just say that.

“I swear if I see one more Mickey Mouse easter-egg-” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your temples. It didn’t help that your new place, Ramshackle Dorm, was not up to code. How that ‘Headmage’ thought the decaying mansion was suitable to live in was beyond you. To be fair, he does seem to be quite a few screws loose.

A gust of cold wind blew the windows open and you scrambled to close them. When you finally got them closed a low croaking was behind you. You turned around and on your bed were two ravens, but they looked to be made of stone instead of flesh and feathers. “Finally arrived, I see,” the one said, hopping up to stand on the bed frame.

You blinked a few times, but the ravens were still there. “Uhhhh, I just got here.” You had already been exposed to so much today that, sure why not, talking stone birds are totally normal now. Totally normal. Nope, not internally freaking out. You are totally zen. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! Not having an existential crisis. Everything is normal here.

“We have been waiting many years for you,” the other raven spoke, their voice being deeper than the previous one. They stood stoically, unlike the more hyper one which was tracing patterns in the hole-ridden bedsheets. “However, there is much to learn here. You must grow before I or your messenger digress any further information. For now, know this; many a hardship will fall your way, but you must stand tall. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.” They bowed to you and took flight, exiting through the window from whence they came, leaving you alone with the more playful bird.

Many a hardship will come your way. You had just gotten here and that cryptic line of advice sounded more like a warning than something comforting. I must stand tall? I’m stronger than I give myself credit for? Haven’t I already received enough character development? I just… I want to go home.

You felt a soft tap tap tap on your hand. The raven had stopped making patterns and was sitting beside you, looking up at you. “Come now, it has been a long enough day for you. You cannot do anything if you are not well rested. Off to bed with you now, shoo shoo!” They flapped at you with their wings.

You planted your feet down, and stopped. “And why should I listen to you?!” You snapped. For all that you knew, this could be a prank, a hazing ceremony of sorts.

The raven stopped and calmed down. “I am a part of you. Once you awaken tomorrow, I shall tell you everything that you ought to know.”

You would have protested more, but in all honestly all of your energy had been drained throughout the day. The mattress was hard and lumpy, the sheets thin and with holes, but you fell asleep quickly. The wood raven silently looking after you.

“King of Beasts,” they said in a hushed tone, looking up to the moonless night. “Make haste, for many a challenge will face them. Send their match on his quest for them… before something else finds them.”

…

When Jack got back to his dorm it was dark out, being held back by a fight between Leona and the Diasomnia housewarden. But when he opened the door he stilled. When he left, his wood raven was sitting on his desk, and now it was flying around and collecting anything shiny it could find. “Oh, this would make for a lovely present, yes, yes, that will do nicely!”

His soul match was finally here then. He should have felt happy, but all he felt was confusion. Should I be… happy? “What are you doing?” He asked the raven, as it had made a mess of his side of the room.

The raven squawked, and dropped a coin it was carrying. “Ah, Jack, my good fellow! Finally back I see! Oh, I’m just gathering up some exquisite gifts for you to give to your match!” They presented all of the ‘presents’ they had collected; several coins, a bobby pin, and some dryer lint. “Are they not lovely?”

Jack’s ears pulled back, “You didn’t have to do that, I can do it myself.” He wouldn’t classify any of those gifts 'exquisite’ or ‘lovely’. “Nevermind that. How are you alive?” He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it, to have confirmation that this was real. That this was really happening.

The raven hopped down to the floor and bit at his tail, hard.

“HEY-”

“There, proof that I’m alive. There should be a bruise tomorrow as well.” The raven looked smug, and puffed up with pride. “Oh your meeting shall be splendid! Their raven and I have it all planned out-”

“No,” he interjected. “Nothing is planned out, it’s not your place to plan how, when, or where, we meet. Don’t force them to do anything.” He didn’t want to force his match with anything, even if both of their birds wanted nothing more than to plan some horribly cheesy scene. “We will meet when we meet.”

The raven stilled in its actions, looking at the things it had collected. “Which will be when, Jack? It has been over ten years since you received me.”

Jack pushed his hair out of his face, centering himself. “I’m not sure, but one day. It could be tomorrow. It could be a week. Months. Or years. But we will meet when we deem ourselves ready. That isn’t for you to decide… So please, let us do it on our own terms.” He sighed, and sat down. He wasn’t planning on any of this happening and it was only his first day at Night Raven College, and there was still yet more to come.

…

Jack had adjusted to life in Savanaclaw and the college. He may not always agree with how… underhanded some of his peers may be, but he wished not to rock the boat. But he had stepped out of his comfort zone, he had confronted others when they abused their power. But even with all of that chaos, he had made a friend; you. But he knew that you hadn’t told him everything, and he wasn’t going to push you for it either. You would do that on your own terms, and he would patiently wait. Unlike his raven who kept on pushing him.

“It’s almost winter break,” they croaked in his ear. “Do you not wish to inform your parents of this wonderous news? That your match is here?”

Jack shrugged the bird off, and sighed. “I would, but I would like to know that for certain that they, my match, are prepared for… that. Mother can be… overprotective.” He may not be a young pup anymore, but his mother still doted over him. And yes, he loves her, but he doesn’t want to throw his match to the wolves when it came to his family. He didn’t want to rush into it. He wanted a slow progression where they got to know each other.

The raven relented in its actions. “Ah, I understand… have you seen the footsteps yet?”

“No.” No, he had not. There was no trace of any glowing footsteps, and he has yet to be visited by his match’s raven, which means that they were not ready. There was still something they were looking for; either in themselves or around them. He just wondered; what were they looking for?

…

Books upon books upon books, and there was absolutely nothing. No word of your world, the only thing coming close being this world’s version of Paris. Other than that, nothing. You were frustrated. Have the weeks of pouring over volumes of text been for nothing? And now winter break was nearing, and you would be left alone here… stuck as you have been for the past several months.

“Prefect, you look unwell,” Jack’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He had become an unlikely friend during your time here. He had helped you so many times before, and now he even brought you some lunch, as you were hunched over yet another book. “And you’ve been reading non-stop.”

You looked over to your friend, and there was concern in his warm, golden eyes. A lot of people saw Jack as aloof, but you saw him as warm, but not overbearingly so. “Just trying to understand a few things is all. You don’t need to worry about me, Jack, you’ve done more than enough as is!” He had even brought you a plate of pear compote, his favourite.

He didn’t look convinced, his ears pinned back. “You can just ask, Prefect. I may not know everything, but it’s best to not let things cloud your mind.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“What do stone birds mean?” You quickly closed your mouth, regretting that you brought it up. As far as you could tell, no one else had a stone bird. “Ignore that-”

Jack cocked his head. “Prefect, do you have one?” He didn’t need an answer, as your expression, body language, and fast heart rate was one enough. “A stone bird means that you have a soul match. Someone who is right for you. They can come in many forms… but a lot of people wish for a romantic one. The more common ones are familial or platonic matches though.” He reached down into his bag, getting out a small journal with a wolf and raven on it.

“Don’t get your hopes up, herbivore,” Leona took a seat at your table and eyed the journal. “Shouldn’t be letting some bird tell you who to bond with.”

You picked at your plate; both of what they said playing in your mind. Jack’s ears twitched, and he opened up the journal. In it were crystal meanings, common birds for the different clans of beastmen. “Bitter, aren’t we?”

Leona’s ears pinned back, and Jack shifted closer to you. He didn’t know why, and he knew that Leona wouldn’t try anything, but he felt compelled to protect you from harm, even if it never came. And the hairs on his neck stood on end, much as the hackles of an agitated canine would.

Leona raised an eyebrow at Jack and rolled his eyes. “Not bitter, herbivore,” he sighed. “Just don’t like havin’ someone else call the shots for me, let alone some pesky bird and some long-dead king from times past.”

Jack huffed and handed the book to you, ignoring his house warden. “Hopefully this helps, since the messengers can’t tell us anything of substance-”

“What’s your stone bird?” Your eyes widened, and you fumbled. Why did I do that? That’s something that only… his soul match should know? What’s the etiquette on asking about soul matches? Did I offend him? Why is Leona looking so smug right now?

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “A raven, that’s the messenger that wolf beastmen and their soul match receive.”

Huh, that’s- Wait a minute MY ‘messenger’ is a raven- Your brain was scrambling trying to put that information together. “That makes sense, I guess,” is what came out of your mouth instead of some hot word vomit. “Since, ya know, ravens form friendships with wolves and help lead them to food- Well in this case not food, rather their soul match…” You stopped talking, feeling like you were just digging yourself into a deeper hole. Best stop while I’m ahead. STOP RAMBLING! “But, uhhh, thanks for the book Jack!” You smiled warmly, finally having at least a few answers to the seemingly never ending list of questions you had.

“It’s no problem,” Jack offered a small smile and a nod of his head. But you knew that it was genuine, you could read him like an open book.

I don’t get why people are intimidated by him. Jack’s a nice guy. Sure, he’s a bit aloof at first, but he means well. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, okay?” He had already helped you out so many times before, so you only thought it would be fair for you to help him out in return in the future; not to repay him, but because you’re his friend. Friends help out friends.

He gave you a nod and the bell rang, and you were both off to your respective classes. Both of your wooden messengers flying after you, giving each other a nod.

…

Ink. Ink was everywhere. Hands were everywhere. And eyes, so many eyes were looking down at Jack. What is this? He shook his head and the scene changed, there were still eyes looking down, but the hands were gone, and there were only a few puddles of ink? Overblot? But there was no one around. The scene shifted again, and this time he was in the magishift field. Leona’s overblot?

“It’s their nightmares, I’m afraid. Rather rare for their dreams to enter into yours.” His raven said, but was nowhere near, off in the physical world. “I cannot do anything I’m afraid.”

But why is my soul match having nightmares of overblots? Only certain people have witnessed them… But he walked forwards, the field shifting into water, the browns and tans fading into blues and purples. Azul’s overblot? But only- But he was ripped out of the dream by his alarm blaring. He shot up out of bed, in a cold sweat. “What was that,” he huffed, trying to calm his racing heart.

His raven hopped over, and handed him a towel. “Night terrors. Premonitions. Awful things. They’ve been haunted by them for months now.”

This caused Jack to frown. His soul match has been haunted by dreams, dreams that he had just witnessed for months? How in the Seven were they able to get any sleep if their dreams were filled with the fraction of what he saw? They must be exhausted… “Is there anything I can do to help?” He hadn’t really thought it over, but the urge to help his soul match, whoever they were, was strong

“Hmm, until you properly meet through the path, no. but you know them, so just keep on supporting them-” the raven stopped, realizing its blunder. Jack wasn’t supposed to know that he had already met his soul match.

He narrowed his eyes at the wood bird. “I know them,” he said, not amused. “How long have I known them for?”

The raven did its impression of a guilty smile. “Oh since about… Actually, I can't say that, as that would be a dead giveaway and can’t have that happen, no no, can’t have that happen at all.”

Jack just stared at his messenger, and he bounced his knee, thinking. If my raven won’t tell me anything maybe their’s will… But that would have to wait until later, right now he was behind in his morning routine. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone then.” If you won’t tell me, maybe their raven will.

…

Night after night has only been nightmare upon nightmare. Waking up, sweating, gasping, and feeling like there were eyes everywhere. But they were just dreams. Dreams aren’t real. Dreams shouldn’t scare you. But they did. And tonight was no different.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but you couldn’t fall back asleep. You didn’t get up either, staying in a fetal position, trying to rid the feeling of sticky ink and the sensation that you were being watched. “It was just a dream,” you whispered, “it was just a dream.”

“Dreams have meaning,” the throaty voice of someone said. Out of the darkness walked forward a raven, much like your own. “It is good to heed them.”

Dreams have meaning. “Who is the wolf then,” you ease out of the fetal position and sit up, staring at the raven. Your soul match’s raven.

Amongst the nightmares, the being that saves you is a large white wolf, standing between the darkness, the hands, and the eyes, protecting you. A white knight in furry armour if you will.

The raven clamoured into your lap, getting comfortable. “Thought it would have been obvious. The wolf is your soul match, dearie. Afterall, ravens are the messengers and companions of wolves.”

You knew that much already, and looked down at the wood raven. “That’s not what I meant, and you know that.” Why can’t they give me a straight answer? It’s not that difficult of a thing. “Who are they?”

The raven sighed and propped itself back up. “I cannot tell you that… but I may give you this; you know him. And he is closer than you think.” They perched themself on the window sill, the full moon backlighting their silhouette. “And he knows you. Why do you think he’s in your dreams? It’s a very special link, do treat it with care.” They took off into the night, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You looked up to the sky, searching for answers. “Should I follow?” A brisk wind entered through the cracks of Ramshackle Dorm, ruffling the sheets and loose papers. It was cold, but in a comforting way. You closed your eyes and breathed in, and when you opened them again you saw glowing footsteps the colour of the harvest moon.

You are ready. The breeze seemed to say. The time for waiting and second-guessing was over. Now was the time for action.

…

Jack was doing his morning workout session early since he couldn’t fall back asleep after that nightmare, and running tended to get his mind off of things. He was running laps when he noticed something glowing on the ground. Footsteps. “Did you have something to do with this?” He looked up to where his raven was flying overhead.

The raven swooped down, coming to glide by Jack’s head. “No, just some reassurance is all.”

“What did you tell them,” he huffed, speeding up his pace. The footsteps followed him, but they led outside of the field, to the tree that always grew flowers. That’s where they ended. That’s where I’ll meet them?

The raven soared overhead, looking between Jack and the tree, where someone was sitting patiently, picking at the hems of their sleeping clothes; you. “That they know you. And that they are a lot closer than you think.” The raven stopped in front of Jack, making the wolf-beastman stop right in his tracks. “Go to them. They are ready, Jack. And so are you. Can you feel it? It’s in the air.”

There was a slight breeze that carried the smell of winter, but there was something else. Anticipation. And if Jack focused just right, he could hear the anxious heartbeat of his soul match, waiting for him. He looked towards the tree, where his raven was looking, and saw your outline, the weakest hints of the waking sun rising behind you and lighting your features in soft pinks, purples, and orange.

The footsteps led to you. And Jack could feel his tail wagging furiously. Wagging so hard that it was hitting his legs.

Go to them.

He wanted to run forward, but he controlled himself to a calm walk, not wanting to surprise you. All while trying to control his tail which would be a dead giveaway that he was beyond happy that it was you; his soul match had been you all along.

You sat under the tree, as the footsteps lead you there. And so you sat, watching the dark navy of the sky change colours as the sun rose. You heard footsteps approaching you, but you didn’t look up or get up. You knew. You knew they were your soul match.

Closing your eyes you turned to them, and took in a deep breath. “I don’t know exactly what soul matches are, but I do know that I want to put in the effort to befriend you. Not because some raven told me too. But I do hope we can be friends at the least.” You stopped, waiting for his response.

Jack tilted his head, and huffed out a breath of air in amusement. “I don’t think that will be a challenge.”

Your eyes shot open, and Jack was sitting beside you, the light of the rising sun reflecting in his gold eyes. Your raven was on his shoulder, preening his hair, and his raven was on your’s, fixing your outfit. The two birds stopped their actions, realizing that both of you had finally noticed the other. They took off, and performed their dance before falling back onto your shoulders.

“So,” you started, picking at the hem of your shirt, a nervous habit. “What now? Does this change anything between us? Do you want anything to change?”

Jack looked at you softly. “I’m okay with whatever you’re comfortable with… Do you want anything to change?”

I feel safe with you. You gave him a soft smile, “Not really… but I’m okay if it changes as we do. As long as it’s together.”

Fin!

Author's Note; Jack's story is the one with the least amount of hurt/comfort, so he deviates a bit. Happy with how this turned out though! And I hope I did Jack some justice in this! This story also concludes Savanaclaw's part in the Soul Match AU.

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kryptid-writes · 10 months

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Chapter 2 - A Gift From the Devil

Y/n stirs to find herself in the grips of her captor, an unwanted gift forced upon her.

(1.8k)

TW: Emetophobia & Trypanophobia

I slowly regain consciousness, confusion and grogginess clouding my mind. My body feels like a pound of lead, heavy and exhausted. It’s a fight to open my eyes, a battle of wills. When I finally blink them open, I'm confronted by his devilishly handsome face, just inches away from mine. All the memories of the night before flood back like a tidal wave making me feel sick to my stomach.

“Good morning sunshine,” He coo’s, his voice sickly sweet. “I was wondering when you’d wake up, you've been out for far too long.”

I sit up at lightning speed, pushing myself back flush against the headboard of the unfamiliar bed I sit upon. I frantically glance around the room to gather my bearings. It’s all surprisingly nice, seemingly just a normal bedroom, if not a bit extravagant.

Shelves of musty old books with odd titles line the walls. Luscious red curtains hang from the large stained glass windows in which rays of light shine through, leaving glints of color across the dark wooden floor. A crystal chandelier gently sways above my head, reflecting the morning light in all different directions.

My hand grips the crimson silky sheets as I remember what’s happening. This isn’t some sick dream I'm going to wake up from. This is reality.

We sit in silence for a moment, the uneasy tension thick in the air.

He stares at my trembling form, not unlike a predator might look upon its prey. Just standing there with his arms crossed, watching.

“Who are you? Where am I!” I practically yell, unsure whether I should be angry or scared, perhaps a bit of both?

“Shhh. It’s okay, you’re safe here with me.” He gives a soft smile, trying to soothe my panic, only making the situation worse.

“This is my home. Well, for the time being that is. It’s your home now too.”

“You’re fucking sick! I’ve seen what you do, what you're capable of, you're the furthest thing from safety! And if you think I'm staying here, you’re out of your goddamn mind!” I glare at him with a stare that could turn him to stone.

His expression doesn’t change, clearly unphased by my outburst.

“Wow you’ve got quite the attitude missy. I like that in a woman.” He teases.

He furrows his brows. “You’re in shock, you'll come around,” He assures.

I’m not entirely sure if he’s talking to me or himself.

“You humans always were so sensitive” he scowls, his demeaning tone returns once again.

He kneels in front of me and places his hand over mine, my grip tightening on the silky sheets. His calloused fingers softly run over my soft hands in an attempt to diffuse my tension.

I pull my hand back with force, almost as if he had burned me, but in reality his skin was cold to the touch. “You didn't answer my question! Who are you?”

He chews on his cheek for a moment, clearly reluctant to share the information, preparing himself for how I will react.

“My name is Lucifer,” his voice is soft and he gives me a look that you might see on a lost puppy begging for scraps.

The air is knocked out of my lungs, like a punch to the gut. The devil. It can't be. My stomach twists, the feeling of nausea taking over. I push him aside and dash into the room attached to the bedroom that I currently reside in, practically kicking down the door. To my luck, it happened to be an empty master bathroom. Kneeling over the porcelain toilet, I empty my stomach with haste. The waves of nausea come and go, rocking through my body. I hang my head over the toilet bowl in defeat, my body going numb.

I jump at the feel of a hand touching my back, rubbing small circles between my shoulder blades. The skin where he touches me feels like soft electricity coursing through his body into mine, a feeling I've never experienced before. I should be scared, I should be shoving him away, but to my surprise I find his touch oddly comforting.

“It’s okay, my beloved. Let it out.” He sounds genuinely sincere.

It’s sickening. My stomach heaves one final time, emptying until there's nothing left to give. “Why are you doing this?” My voice shakes and lip quivers. A thousand emotions course through my body at once, it's utterly and completely exhausting. I slump on my side, sinking into the cool tile below me. The moment seems to last forever.

He kneels over me, a disappointed frown on his face. He loops his hands under my knees and neck, scooping me up in his arms as if I weigh nothing.

I hang limp in his grasp, giving in, tired of fighting my body. A lone tear runs down my cheek, leaving a cold wet sensation in its wake.

He gently places me on the bed. It feels soft and inviting. The silky blanket is pulled up over me, wrapping my body like a cocoon. I feel as if I'm floating, like TV static is playing in my head on loop.

“You’re exhausted, I can feel it. Sleep.” He says, more of a demand than a request.

I don’t think much of his words, too tired to process them and I reluctantly close my eyes.

The bed shifts and dips under me as he climbs in. He pulls me into his chest, snuggling in by my side and I don't fight. His warm body smells of herbs and ash.

That pleasant electric feeling returns, surging through my body, almost like it's drawing me in, it confuses and comforts me at the same time. I listen to his heart beating and his breathing becoming deeper, feeling the soft puffs of air in my hair. I close my eyes and drift off into a deep slumber.

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

The dreams come tonight, but they're not scary and gruesome as they usually are. They feel warm and fuzzy, the kind of dream you wish you would never wake up from. There’s an overwhelming sense of compassion and affection surrounding me like a blanket.

I find myself standing in a beautiful garden, surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms whose sweet aroma fills the air. It’s dark out, the stars twinkling and the moon shining bright above it all. Fireflies surround the garden, their blinking lights bringing back pleasant memories from childhood of chasing them in the field and capturing them in jars to admire their beauty. \

And there he is, Lucifer, the man who lives in my dreams.

He’s dressed in a nice suit and tie, much different then the beat up clothes and scuffed jeans he usually wears. His hair is groomed nicely and his beautiful wings stand tall behind him. He presents me a bouquet of lucious roses, painted black and red, which happens to be my favorite colors.

For once he is not a gruesome murderer, having the time of his life slaughtering everything in front of him. There is no crazy stare and twisted smile, he is just a handsome man with beautiful white and golden wings showing me an unexpected kindness.

I sniff the flowers, the floral scent filling my senses, bringing a smile to my face.

He smiles warmly, inviting me into his arms and I accept. For the first time in a long time, my dream is pleasant and I'm in no rush to wake from it.

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

I stir to a sharp poke in my lower back. Coming out of my sleepy haze, I feel the pressure of a needle enter the space between the lumbar vertebrae in my lower spine.

“Wha-” I was quickly interrupted by the excruciating pain of a burning hot substance entering my nervous system. I scream at the top of my lungs, it feels like every nerve in my body is on fire, the pain unbearable. “STOP! PLEASE!” I beg over and over again, sobs racking my body. I try my best to squirm away, willing myself to jump out of bed and run as far away from this nightmare as I possibly can, but I find myself being held down by some invisible force.

“Shhh, it’ll be over quickly, my love” Lucifer purrs in my ear, petting my hair and tucking a strand out of my face. He places the large syringe with remnants of a glowing white substance on the bedside table and takes my fisted hand in his. “The pain is only temporary, then you’ll feel so much better.”

My eyes go white and my body shakes violently. I’m dying. This is it. Meeting my end at the hands of the devil himself. I cry and sob until my puffy red eyes sting and are too dry to produce any more tears. The pain slowly starts to fade. I sink back to reality, a wave of anger and confusion washing over me. I sit up, forcing myself on top of him, raising my fist high above the both of us, shaking with anger and aftershocks of the pain.

He stares at me with wide eyes, a hint of hurt painted across his face.

I hesitate for a second before using all my force to strike him right on the nose, the grotesque crunch of bones breaking under my knuckles. Pain radiates through my hand from the impact, specks of blood painting my skin and the sheets below. It was nothing compared to what I had just experienced, so I simply couldn't bring myself to care.

He grabs my bloody fist and twists it behind my back. “I suppose I deserved that,” his voice is nonchalant as ever and it infuriates me. He taps his nose and it is instantly healed. His bones click back into their previous shape, early signs of bruising disappear. All that remains is a trickle of drying blood.

“WHY?” I scream in his face. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” My chest heaves, breath coming in uneven and heavy. I shake with anger, feeling completely violated.

“All in due time my love.” His smile is sweet, as if he didn’t just put me through unforgivable pain.

I suppose this is what the devil does. Why would he care? Surely he takes pleasure in torturing me.

I raise my other fist, ready to strike down another blow with all my might. He grabs my hands, pinning both my wrists uncomfortably behind my back with one hand. “Don’t do that again.” He growls, this time much less forgiving.

I twist in his grasp, trying desperately to free myself.

“Sleep.” He touches two fingers to my forehead and I'm out like a light, folding into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, breathing in my scent and counting the rise and fall of my chest the whole night.

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#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #lucifer x reader #lucfier x reader supernatural #lucifer #lucifer supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #spn fic #slow burn #love triangle #choices #reader insert #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfic

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feyhunter78 · 11 months

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Hello bestie, Elrond request delivery service!!

Female reader x Elrond.

Reader has been kidnapped by another king who wants her for his wife but she’s already married to Elrond so our beautiful little elf comes to her rescue and they get all fluffy with each other after he finds her and takes her back to Rivendell so he can treat her for her wounds she has received ❤️🥰

Bestie!!! So I mixed your request with one I got for protective Elrond Hcs! I thought they kinda ran along the same vein! I hope you like it!!!!

Protective Prince

Elrond as we know him in TROP is not a fighter, of course in the later series we know he can fight, but he is still heart of hearts a diplomat. That being said, our boy can throw down if need be. Y’all remember that show of strength in the mines???? Crushing rocks with that hammer, not even breaking a sweat?? OOF that did something to me fr fr, anywayss let’s get to the headcannons:

Elrond is very protective of those he loves, but he goes about it in a more subtle way, usually.

He is quick to defend you verbally *see sfw alphabet* and never loses an argument. If anyone speaks badly about you, he can and will ruin their life. After he tries the civil route first, of course.

I see Elrond as someone who:

Makes sure doors don’t hit your shoulder when you’re rushing to get through them,

Always gets off his horse first in order to help you off yours,

Always drinks a little less than you to make sure you get home safely,

Put himself between you and any assumed threats,

Encourages you to learn to defend yourself,

Keeps track of people who talk badly about you and ensure you don’t run into them,

And like a million other little things! If we get battle scenes in the next season then I’ll definitely do an updated one of these with that knowledge in mind, but I feel like all in all, Elrond’s way of being protective is being proactive.

Now to a little blurb about sweet Elrond:

Truly you believed these types of things only happened in children’s tales, a beautiful maiden kidnapped by a loathsome king who desires her as a bride, and yet there you were. Tied up in a dungeon while a man you had meet briefly monologued on and on about how you were destined to be together, you just did not yet understand that.

“I am married, I cannot, and will not, marry another.” You told your captor once more, bracing yourself when his bejeweled hand drew back, the skin of your cheek already torn open and bloodied from his strikes.

He did not wish to hear that your heart belonged to another, but you would not cease. You had spent a century with Elrond, not a mere moment that could be so easily forgotten.

A surprised grunt and the heavy thud of flesh hitting stone bid you to open your eyes, and before you stood Galadriel, sword in hand, and Elrond who rushed to untie you.

“Y/N are you well, did he harm you?” He asked, gently caressing the irritated skin of your wrists.

“She is bleeding, clearly, he has injured her. Cowardice thrives in men like him.” Galadriel seethed, cleaning her blade with the cloak of your deceased captor. “Those who would harm the helpless, who would steal a woman from her home.”

You stood on shaky legs, leaning on your husband for support. He handed you lembas urging you to eat it as he and Galadriel led you out into the sunlight.

Now you sat in your quarters, strength partly regained thanks to the provisions your husband had provided during your journey back. Elrond bustled around the room, pulling out your favorite nightdress and beginning to run a bath for you as the healers finished dressing your wounds. Once they left, Elrond kept moving about the room, the anxiousness rolling off him in waves.

You held your hand out to him, and he took it, pressing his lips to your palm reverently. “My starlight I was so worried, my heart would not still, my mind would not rest, day and night I agonized over your fate, forgive me for not coming sooner, the High-King—”

“Elrond.” You stopped him gently, his oakwood eyes settling on you, the skin underneath them wan and purple with fatigue. “All is well, there is nothing to forgive, you came for me and that is what matters.”

He pressed your hand to his cheek, taking your other hand and placing it over his heart. “I will always come for you, there is no force in this world that would keep me from you. No distance, or peril, no storm or foe, that could hinder me not when you, my starlight, my love, my life, are waiting for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you smiled at him, your fear had vanished the moment you saw him in the dungeon. The sun at his back, his cloak already in hand, being wrapped around you. The way he whispered your name and held you with such gentleness. If the fairy tales were true, then your husband was a prince of legend, and you, his beloved princess. “I will always wait for you, you are my love, my husband, my protector, no god or king could hold my heart as you do.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace

#meg's writing #elrond x reader #elrond peredhel #young elrond #elrond rop #rop elrond #trop fic #elrond x y/n #elrond x you #thanks for the request!#meg talks with the rop babes #elrond headcanons #young!elrond #young elrond fanfic

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aita-blorbos · 8 months

Note

AITA For Wanting A New Rock For My Collection?

I (M) am an avid rock collector and environmentalist. Recently, I've come into contact with a fellow interested in selling me a rare and valuable rock with healing properties and energy-lasting values. Unfortunately, he only has one left in his supply, and he asked my daughter and I to visit him to negotiate the price.

Now, my daughters (F29 & F30) are both adopted and have never gotten along with me since they were children. They're both constantly picking fights, my younger daughter has started dating a troublemaker, and my oldest has spent her entire life trying to modify her body. Nevertheless, I love them both equally, and I thought that my younger daughter would be willing to help me secure this single rock for my collection. When I asked her, however, she said that she was already planning to "hang out" with her "friends" (including that troublemaking BF) so I had to push her just a little bit. Still, she refused. I had a feeling that her friends were getting up to mischief, so I called a policeman friend of mine to check up on them, and of course, my daughter was there helping them steal something.

It was then my daughter had come to her senses and decided to help me, but she was absolutely INFURIATING during the entire journey. She wouldn't stop talking about me being a "terrible father" and a "ruthless maniac with no regard for others' lives" when that couldn't be further from the truth. As an environmentalist, my life goal has been making sure the universe is consistently sustained by resources. Rock collecting is just a hobby of mine.

Anyway, when we got to the negotiating spot, the guy told me that he didn't want any money. I thought to myself "hell yeah, free stone" until he told me that the price came in the form of a 'sacrifice'. I asked him what he meant, and he said that if I wanted the stone I'd have to drop my daughter from a cliff. Like I said before, I've always been there for my daughters, and I've always made sure that they knew that I loved them. So I was hoping that my youngest would cooperate just this once and let me have something for myself instead of the other way around. She was pissed off and tried leaving, but I managed to push her down that cliff before she could and got the stone.

I went somewhere else to take a break, but apparently my daughter's "friends" were hanging out there too. Just my luck. Her boyfriend was absolutely livid at me and tried JUMPING ME with his friends. What the hell?! I tried explaining to him that it was for the sake of the universe and that I was sad that my daughter wouldn't be able to see my victory, but then he ASSAULTED me, and I resorted to self-defense. Now his friends think I'M the bad guy for just wanting to add to my collection!

TL;DR - Wanted a rock for my collection, my daughter didn't want to help me, and her boyfriend tried to assault me. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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uncaught-coolfish · 1 year

Text

The following post is a RWDE rant that is long, angry and non articulated. If you don’t like that, don’t read it, and leave me be. Thank you.

Warning for mentions of racism, bigotry, genocide and slavery.

RW//BY, as a show, is… I’m going to say it, actually really racist. Is it the most racist thing ever? No. Fuuck no. Not even close. But I’d daresay at least half of it is riddled with some of the most appallingly ignorant shit I’ve seen in any webseries, and yet… some people will go out of their way to harass any who dare to criticize it.

Remnant is not real. The characters I am about to discuss are not real. But the writers who wrote these characters and the world they inhabit are very real, and the shit they wrote fucking disgusts me.

so. Rant begin.

Something the crazies of the fandom will say (I say crazies because, the fandom isn’t all like this. many of you guys are chill and cool as fuck) in defense of RW//BY’s many problematic aspects, particularly the criticism of “75% of the show’s POC and minorities are villains”, is that “well, there’s a lot more POC and minority’s on the GOOD GUY side now! Hooray!”

And they’re technically right. I like Elm and Pietro and I love Maria (in V6 especially she was fucking golden) and Marrow. Them and all the other POC they’ve added in as of V6-7~ are, in my opinion, mostly great additions to the cast.

The side cast.

The thing that isn’t usually pointed out is that these characters… they are side characters. Pietro and Maria are side characters. The Ace Ops and Happy Huntresses, while playing a decent role, are side characters.

Hell that extends to pretty much every POC character we’ve gotten aside from Oscar. They’ve been side characters. Many of whom, we likely won’t see again (Until Volume 10… if RT lasts that long)

But I want to mention one thing. We didn’t start getting characters that weren’t blinding white until the end of V2 and the start of V3.

One of these characters in question I’d like to point out, Flynt Coal.

I like Flynt. He’s fine. I think his design is cool. But to deny that his character isn’t extremely racist is ignorant.

One of their first. Black characters. Was basically named… “Dark rock, Dark Rock”…

and his weapon is a TRUMPET😭

Not only that, but he and Neon fight Yang and Weiss in the tournament. Let’s talk about Weiss actually. She is the second oldest child to the megarich Schnee family, whom owns the SDC, which she is heiress to. Earlier in the series she acted extremely racist towards characters of an in-universe minority group, and never really apologized on screen. Instead, we’re given justification for why the rich girl is racist. She’s scared because of the White Fang! Poor little German name “White Snow.”

Anyways, back to the fight. Flynt mentions how it was the SDC who put his father’s own company out of business in their monopoly. Does this go somewhere? Nooooo he’s a side character, who’s beaten by Weiss and her bestie by the end of the battle.

How come they made one of their first black characters fight and lose a battle with their whitest richest character? (Obs not implying he should’ve won, just asking why they chose him in the first place) How come they named him after black rocks(which is in reference to how, in a minecraft letsplay, one mentioned the name “Flynt Coal” and another replied “He’d have to be a black guy!”)?

Who knows. But surely this is the last time they’ll make a (minority) character be positioned oppositely from our mains. Surely they won’t ever write one as a villain!

Surely she won’t be the Lakota girl, either!

Ilia as a character was a big stepping stone (at the time) in terms of RW//BY’s representation. She was the first canonical, on screen LGBTQ+ character. She was a member of the White Fang who, before joining, was able to “blend in” with humans due to her Faunus trait not being as noticeable, being spots on her face and along the rest of her body. Ilia was orphaned due to her parents dying in an SDC mine collapse, and when she saw her school friends laughing about it, she “punched their teeth out.”

Hell, overall I really like Ilia. Her design is adorable, as LGBTQ+ rep I think she’s good enough (though the fact they wrote their first lesbian character to be… a villain, is a talk for another day), and overall I find her decently written on her own. Plus, she’s fun as hell to write. Love her dearly.

On her own. Because in the story, the more I think about it… the more I’m sad, and mad, about how she was handled.

Firstly. Her name. Apparently it’s supposed to mean “Butterly Rainbow” (again, naming your first lesbian girl “rainbow” lol)… but nope. They got the name Amitola off a baby named website, when it really means something closer to “Like a blue sky.” From my understanding. Typical RT shenanigans. It gets worse :3

Ilia was also one of the very few villains in the show to be redeemed. How was she redeemed?

By being told by the much-more privileged, whiter minority girl whom she had a crush on that what ilia was fighting for was Bad. How Ilia was fighting for it was Bad. The White Fang? Baaaad. How dare the MINORITIES FIGHT WITH NEEDED VIOLENCE for their basic living rights against the POOR WIDDLE OPPRESSORS! It’s THEIR fault they’re oppressed, because they’re making the humans uncomfortable and angry! They need to just keep their dirty mouths shut and be good, presentable minorities.

And upon being redeemed, Ilia is immediately put on a bus. Shelved.

And let me remind you again. Who was redeemed through being told by her much whiter (I say whiter in a way not to demean Blake btw, as privileged as she is she is still a minority obviously. Just… stating facts) friend that “a minority Shouldn’t use violence against their oppressors for their rights. It’s Their fault the humans are still so racist towards them. The Faunus should stop being so aggressive and be peaceful”?

Not only the lesbian character, but…

The indigenous girl.

The.

Indigenous.

Girl.

I’m sure I don’t need to point out how fucked this is. Let alone the fact this whole show is written in fucking Texas.

It’s no secret, as much as some try to make it be, how horribly Native Americans and indigenous people have been treated throughout history. The oppression they have faced stems back centuries. Their land and home was stolen from them.

Their own culture was all but forcefully eradicated.

Men, women, children, were all genocided.

To this very day it’s all they can do to fight for not only their own rights as people, but the very lands that were stolen from them.

So for this show to write… it’s Indigenous

WOMAN

‘s character being “redeemed” by learning “Peaceful protest is good, violent protest for your living rights bad!” is… sickening. Genuinely. Fucking. Sickening.

But maybe that violent protest WAS bad! Maybe, it was going nowhere and really causing the problems. Who the hell would ever try and implement that? Who leads the White Fang?

…You wanna know?

Don’t bother.

Sienna is a character we see for. One. Scene. One scene and she’s GONE. dead, stabbed, thrown down some stairs. We know very little about her, but we know a lot of her actions.

Under her rule as high leader, she got shit gone. Through her use of violence against the oppressive humans, she did in five years what many before her couldn’t in decades: Her methods were working. Her people were being given rights.

But noooooooo!!!!!!!!! We can’t have the Woman of Color in power be CORRECT. Her methods were WRONG, MONSTROUS! How dare she end slavery and fight against oppression?! She should’ve just asked NICELY! Just like Blake told—

Wait… Blake? BLAKE?!

BLAAAAAAAAKEEEEE!!!!!

Blake is one of 4 main characters in RW//BY, and she was easily my favorite. Fierce and a bookworm, an ex-freedom fighter who was quick to call out Miss Rich “White Snow” on her bullshit. She was fun, strong, and like the show said itself, she was Feisty.

I miss that Blake, tails. I miss her a lot. I’ll be back.

Nowadays, that feisty personality she has has been diminished so she can be all meek and quiet and sweet for her white human friends.

(and just now in v9, she’s completely fine with being referred to as an animal. Sienna in honorary heaven: she would not fucking say that.)

White fans and likely the writers themselves were too uncomfortable having to face that all majority people still benefit from a society built on and from deep systemic racism, so they wrote Blake to be an All Lives Matter doormat so she was more palatable Blake saw the error of the White Fang’s ways and how their justified acts of violent protest against the privileged majority were making the humans SCAWED🥺, so she stood before them all and put her status as literal Faunus princess to good use: telling all those like her who’d suffered beneath the humans’ oppression that they were wrong. How could they fight back violently? They did this to themselves. They brought the oppression, the enslavement, the bigotry and cruelty upon themselves because they just didn’t play nice enough.

Fuck, even when she’s in the “City of Racism” Atlas, she’s too busy being uwu sad and nervous and having to rely on others (funny how instead of ever empowering her again, they write Blake as this submissive docile flower baby immediately after hey reveal she was an abuse victim. Real fucking funny. Laughing my eyes out of my skull with a toothpick.) except for when she jokingly comments how rich the Schnees are and how they own basically everything.

Past Blake wouldn’t be laughing about that. She’d use it against the Schnees, rightfully.

But we can’t have that. She’s the good minority, who keeps her mouth shut tight and looks pretty for the camera.

But… about that bigotry. That oppression, that racism… do we ever see that?

lol fuck no

We hear of how horribly the Faunus people are treated. Controversial labor forces that keep them as slaves to the SDC. Treated like dirt and beaten and killed and lynched.

We hear. We hear of that.

In the show, we get… a No Faunus sign put out in some background places. And the equal opportunist bully bullying a bunny girl.

That’s it. Background shit. Background shit that could easily be interpreted differently, or missed completely if you fucking blink.

There has only been one point where the true extent of this oppression is shown to us. One point which…

we’ll fucking get to.

But there’s one thing I’ve mentioned rather frequently throughout this rant. Two, technically. The Schnee family and the SDC.

Let’s talk. Let’s. Fucking. Talk.

*sighs*

So this show demonizes it’s fictional worlds only freedom fighting organization, so surely they do the same for the oppressive Amazon company that has a chokehold on the economy of an entire—

In the early volumes, Weiss, another main character, was extremely racist to those who were Faunus. She was also the daughter of the Richy Rich Bitch Family of “CEOs of Racism”. Her older sister was a cop, her younger brother out of the picture until V4, her mother a neglectful abusive alcoholic (she is a victim too but neglect. is. abuse.), her father a racist abusive asshole who looks like I could break him like a bendy straw. But her racism isn’t her fault at all! No, the dirty minorities in the White Fang who were terrorizing the richest of the rich were what made her racist. It was never her fault, only the scary minorities.

How dare the marginalized be so evil.

But she apologizes off screen and is no longer racist! Yippee! At least we marked “Racist” off her “Racist Blood Purist Rich White Weiss” card! she’s White Savior Blood Purist Rich White Weiss now! Now we can make fun of how much shit her family owns.

But before all that, she and her girlfriend battle… a black man! Gasp! Who… says before the fight, her family’s company put his family’s business OUT of business!

A throwaway line before he and his bestie get beaten. Also just realized as I type: not only did Weiss battle a black character who was affected by her family company’s monopoly, but… a Faunus. Another one for the jar.

B-But Blake knows Ilia was affected by the SDC, too! It orphaned her, because in their mines Faunus weren’t given nearly as much safety. Surely she can tell Weiss and have her see—

*Ruby voice* nope. Nope! Ilia was being violent for equality, and that’s no good. So she learns that all their oppressors (likely including the SDC)are really just SCARED of them! So she’s redeemed and becomes peaceful. The Lakota indigenous girl is turned “good.”

But maybe once they’re in Atlas—

Jokes are made about how FUNNY LOL XD it is that her family owns so much, and they’re appalled by how… literally fucking normal Mantle is, as if it’s just an utter travesty to their eyes. She doesn’t want to outright abolish the corrupt SDC, which basically rides on Atlas like a parasite, but instead free it from the dirty-blooded clutches of her father, and return it to the Pure Blooded Schnees, who will use it righteously, in Santa Schnee’s name!

She’s the granddaughter of a hero, after all. A hero who monopolized and capitalized the world’s resources and began a chokehold on an entire kingdom with how vital the Resources became, all the while implementing minority slave labor.

Because we can’t have our pretty princess Weiss face any consequences. We can’t have one of ours mains face consequences. Realize her privilege and try and do something. We can’t make our writers uncomfortable!

And this extends to Winter, too! The woman as racist as Weiss was, but without the “”excuse””, who is also a cop, and who… punches, kneels over one of the characters who is both an in-universe minority of a Dog and easily the darkest skinned character, and tells him; “You want a collar? Fine.”

But the Pure Blood Schnees are good. They’re beautiful and powerful. Even if Weiss has that scar, it’s as tiny as can be so to not ruin her pretty face. Let’s give the rich white family all the angelic imagery. Let’s show Weiss with wings.

Twice. Twice with white, huge and glowing angel’s wings.

Looking pure and holy. Pure. And. Holy.

But Angel imagery? Surely there’s a contrast. Demonic imagery: like the horns, black and red, something to do with darkness and the moon, who should that belong to? If the rich, white, blood purist main girl Weiss gets the angel wings, pretty face and princess aesthetic… who deserves to be the demon of Remnant?

…Oh, I know the answer to this one! It’s—

Throughout this whole post, there’s been one character I’ve purposefully neglected mentioning by name.

Adam.

We didn’t see the guy much. Black trailer, V2, V3, V5, V6. And he was really only reoccurring in V5, which… 😶

But from what we did see, we saw the Face of the White Fang. We saw someone who did bad things for the right causes. We saw someone who despised his oppressors, but who seemed to care for his fellow Faunus. We saw…

a fucking lie. A headcanon, perhaps. Badum tss.

What Adam REALLY WAS was an abusive cruel irredeemably evil monster jerkface asshole creep bitch who NEVER cared about his own people, NEVER cared about his people’s rights, NEVER wanted anything more than glory and power and to be lionized.

The minority character, by the way.

Why did the writers decide to make this guy the hatesink? Why did they decide to make Adam suddenly not care about his fellow people’s rights?

Why did they decide to make him laughably cruel to his own people whom he seemed to genuinely care for before (like in that scene in volume 3, where he only agrees to go along w/ cinder after she starts KILLING FAUNUS, but maybe that scene was a headcanon too, all in le head)

Why did they decide to make the goals of one of their in universe minority characters to be wanting nothing but fame and power?

Why did they also write him to be a former child slave?

Volume 6 is one of my more liked volumes, with it (for me) easily being the best looking, and the horror stuff was great. Also, Maria.

But then they threw Adam in last minute. One last kick of that dead bull.

He comes back in his finest NieR: Automata cosplay and starts spouting some of the most embarrassingly bad dialog this show has had while fighting Blang (basically that one fucking hilarious “Boobs in my mouth please please please hello You’re nothing” post as dialog), and it’s in this that, after 6 volumes, we finally see his face.

Adam was branded. I’m not putting that shit lightly, Adam was fucking branded.

And the brand is used to show how evil HE is. He was hurt more by his gf leaving him than ANY scar ever would. Who cares about all the trauma he surely went through in slavery, he sure fucking doesn’t! Okay, Cameraman Mike, be sure to focus a whole bunch of shots on his brand, which is still blood red and grotesque, to really hammer the point in how much of an asshole he is.

Never mind it’s a brand of the SDC, of which one of our main character’s family owns. Who cares if this is literally the only time we’re shown the true extent of racism against Faunus?

It’s swept aside! Because the same episode we’re given one of the most honestly depressing reveals for a villain yet is the same episode that villain dies.

Dies with the brand facing the camera. His death. Entirely. On. Screen.

Thank fuck Adam was written as an irredeemable monster of a villain(/j), because they literally wrote, animated, and voiced a scene where we the viewers watch a former child slave, branded and blinded over an eye, have his death be entirely on screen. A slow death, entirely on screen.

Adam, a former slave to the SDC who, sometime during his childhood was branded and permanently blinded, died more slowly… more gruesomely… than Jacques fucking Schnee did.

Even died before him, too.

But notice one thing. I keep referring to him as having been a “child slave.” Emphasis on child.

Don’t blame me. Blame your fucking writers.

I want you to read this. Read this paragraph. Twice, if you have to. As many times as you need to to get the fact into your head that THIS IS FUCKING VILE.

This is in the writers commentary track for volume 7. They tiptoe around with their words, but I’ll translate it to the best of my ability. In it, Miles shared a particular headcanon: in which the

FUCKING VILLAIN HE WROTE TO HAVE BEEN A CHILD SLAVE TO THE SCHNEE DUST COMPANY GOT HIMSELF BRANDED FOR BEING TOO MUCH OF A LITTLE SHIT TO KEEP HIS DIRTY TRAP SHUT.

SO THEN ONE OF HIS CAPTORS HELD THIS CHILD DOWN TO THE GROUND AND JAMMED A CATTLE PROD DOWN WITH THE SDC PROPERTY LOGO ONTO HIS EYE.

THAT LITTLE BOY SURE HAD IT COMING, HUH? HE’S ALWAYS BEEN SUCH AN INSUFFERABLE LITTLE PRICK, EVEN AS A CHILD IN SLAVERY. HIS CAPTORS REALLY LET HIM HAVE IT!

LET.

HIM.

HAVE.

IT.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AFTER HE STARTS THE FIGHT. HE STARTED IT.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AND GROWING UP TO BECOME A HORRIBLE, DISGUSTING DEMON.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AND HIS CAPTOR JUST “LET HIM HAVE IT.”

“LET HIM HAVE IT,” NOT IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY BEING HATE CRIMED.

“LET HIM HAVE IT,” NOT IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY SLAVE BEING PERMANENTLY SCARRED.

“LET HIM HAVE IT” IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED AS PROPERTY IN THE EYE BY HIS CAPTORS.

And I think this says it all. From the white and the black, blue and the red, oppressor and oppressed and angel and demon, Weiss and Adam almost mirror each other.

Just look at their scars. Theirs are on the same side.

But while Weiss’s is the smallest, prettiest scar of all,

The brand of the SDC all but covers half of Adam’s face, in all it’s grotesque, blood red and hideous glory.

I’ll let you guess the implications.

Killing off a WOC in power the very scene she’s introduced. Showing the Lakota girl the “right way to protest”. Painting the oppressors in a more positive light than ever showing the oppressed be oppressed. Showing your hatesink character had been branded in the eye the same episode he dies on screen. And this is what broke me.

They’d read in the history books of children forced into slavery slaves being branded

and they’d see the backstory for a villain.

Because we can’t write the minorities fighting against their oppressors to be justifiable!

We can’t face how a member of the majority will almost always benefit from an oppressive system!

We can’t write the pretty white rich family of Fantasy-Amazon owners as wrong for their horrible practices both past and present!

We can’t let the WOC be right about violent protest!

We can’t let the native girl be angry and fight back against her oppressors!

We can’t have a shred of sympathy for the ex slave who was branded while he was a boy!

Because they did this.

Faunus.

#rwde #seriously long post #image heavy #long post

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