#LISTEN THEY MIGHT BE WORKING FOR EVIL FORCES BUT I LOVE THEM

[voxmilia]

SQUAD SQUAD SQUAD SQUAD SQUAD SQUAD SQUAD -

[writersdrug]

Nectar and Bane - Pt. 1

Pairings: Hunter!König x Witch!Reader

Pt. 2

Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.

Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)

Notes: thought I'd try my hand a fantasy au version of cod, or at least of König. This is really long (over 15000 words) so I split it into two parts. The next part is pretty much done, I'm just exhausted and wanted to at least crank out half. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt 2!

ps if anyone has any suggestions or tips on how to make collages or banners for fics, pleeeaseeee lmk

translations at the end

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Watch your every step. From the moment you step foot into those woods, you can’t trust anything you see.

That’s what the sorcerer had drilled into his head before he had begun his journey. He called you dangerous, cunning… “A sneaky, meddling bitch…” he had grumbled over the table in that crowded tavern.

Two small pouches, one of silver, one of gold, sat in between the two patrons on the table. Stains of ale and coffee rings littered the unvarnished wood. The wax of the thick candle had trickled down and formed small, hardened pools at the base – its flame flickered weakly, casting unflattering shadows against the man’s weathered features, and making the portentous hood covering König’s face only that much more ominous.

He'd listened warily as the sorcerer described the witch – you. Tens of centuries old, too much knowledge and too little wisdom to use it sensibly. You take whatever you want by whatever means possible, and your favored method was using your physical assets and the promise of sexual devotion to coerce those within your web to do your bidding. “Sometimes it’s for her personal gain – sometimes, she does it for fun.” The warlock added bitterly. “Akin to a serpent, she winds you into her embrace, and then crushes your bones before she swallows you whole, saving your heart for last.” You’d done it to him, ensnaring him into your alluring trap, before stealing his spellbooks, his potions, his most prized collections… and vanishing into thin air.

An enchantress, König had concluded.

The warlock’s request? “Kill her. And be quick with it. The sooner this earth is rid of that swine, the sooner we can all rest. And, better yet – bring me her eyes! Potent things, witches’ eyes can be – of course, that is if they’re still working. If the bitch has gone blind, don’t waste dulling your dagger. A handful of her hair would do just fine.”

König had killed much worse for much less, and this sounded like it would be on the simpler side of things. A few days’ worth of hunting and a quick, efficient kill – hopefully, one of his easier jobs, although with the way the sorcerer described you, that might not be. He’d dealt with magicians before; up until now, they had been rather boring to hunt – tedious, but nonetheless, boring. Most of the time, they tried to end him with some elaborate incantation in the few seconds remaining of their life after he’d ambushed them. His silver blade would be slicing across their throats before they could utter five syllables. They were always so intent on murdering their victims slowly and in a flashy manner. With König’s preference for a more immediate result, he was usually the one collecting the fingernails, teeth, and tongues.

(Over time, he’d had noticed that it was always sorcerers ordering the assassination of other sorcerers. He wondered why they had so much of an issue amongst themselves, but he didn’t question it. Whatever kept him fed and paid for his room, he would do it.)

The picture the warlock was painting of you, however, made you seem much craftier and more calculated. You couldn’t resist the glamorous ways of murder via magic – it was written in your nature as a witch. But you played the game with your charisma and wit, too; something magic users didn’t typically rely on (half of the time, because they weren’t charismatic, nor witty). You waited until your assailant would fall to your wicked charm, before dissecting him like nothing more than a toad for your cauldron. If not an easy kill, you at least sounded like you would be an exciting one – but König knew he could get something more from this client for killing you.

“What more can you offer me?” he asked.

The warlock chuckled. “The gold is insufficient, is it?” he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, speaking in a hushed tone. “Tell me, what do you desire? Recognition and respect? Revenge against someone who’s crossed you? To bring back a loved one from the dead? Or, perhaps, to find a love of your own?”

König’s shoulders tensed, and the rest of the warlock’s utterances fell on deaf ears. Could he possibly give him a chance to find himself someone to love? Someone that he and only he can worship? It was true that he would be happier to live alone, in whatever way that would allow him to be independent of society… but the thought of being able to live alone with someone, someone who was devoted to him, someone who could decorate his hut with signs of life and warmth, someone with a kind smile and a sweet voice, someone who he could spend hours upon hours with, memorizing each curve of their body, the taste of their nectar on his tongue…

He called it love. Others would call him insane. He’d heard it all before – how no one would ever love him, given his profession, his awkwardness in carrying a conversation about anything normal other than how sharp his knives are, and how he uses them… that, and the fact that he never shows his face (“He must be hideous under there…” they would speculate). Nonetheless, he still craved the devotion of an obedient, warm body waiting for him in his cabin at the end of the day – once he did get a cabin. Why should he be denied what everyone else wants?

He knew he was a hypocrite; he couldn’t expect someone else to be so willing to leave everything and run away with him. Not with his insane ideations and obsessions – hell, not with who he was as a person. But if he killed enough healthy rabbits to keep her fed, and if he fucked her hard enough that her eyes rolled back into her head and she couldn’t muster enough strength to escape the mattress… would she ever care about what kind of man he was?

The warlock smiled slowly. “Of course… that’s what all of you sick bastards want.” He said, leaning back and folding his arms. “If it will seal our contract, I will give you whichever woman you choose. I’ll make her yours, and only yours, with unconditional love – even for your damned soul.”

A fair deal, König had thought. Which is exactly what had him currently trudging through the dense woods, searching for any traces of a witch – a sack with two loaves of bread and some apples hung over his shoulder, along with his well-worn tashka stuffed with the coin he had earned over time. His sword was strapped to his hip in its sheath, his dagger (a short sword, when it was compared to the average person) stuffed into the lead-lined, deerskin sheath on the side of his boot; and a pelt, heavy and thick, hung around his shoulders. All he had to his name.

König had done a day of research on you – testimonies and sightings of you ghosting the perimeter of the woods at an early age, hoping to lure some poor soul away as your very first victim. “I imagine she was a succubus in her previous life,” the warlock had spoken, “maybe too much of a whore for even the devil to handle.”

He had caught you one night by luring you to his cabin with the scent of a savory meal. Guessing by your inexperience, and the way you avoided using words as you snarled and thrashed in the warlock’s grip, he assumed you had not yet reached one hundred years old. You were still young and fresh-faced, appearing no more than twenty to human eyes. “After a few decent meals, and reintroducing her to the work of her past life – she’d settled in as the perfect student. It almost felt like having a pet.” He added with a smug smile.

König questioned how happy you were with being reintroduced to the work of your past, but he didn’t comment on it.

After living with the warlock as his student and whore for a few centuries, you turned into a strong, young witch. You didn’t care to go into town, preferring to stay at the cabin and watch over the brews whenever he had to make deliveries or run to the shops. The warlock had no complaints about your desire to stay holed up in his home – fewer people to ogle at you, fewer glimpses into a more civilized life that might tempt you to run away. He’d much rather you be a brooding, antisocial bitch, than watch one of his clients stare at you with a yellowed, lustful grin, like you were some harlot in the window of a brothel.

On one particular day, without any indication of what you were planning, he had returned home from his rounds to an empty cabin – not just empty of you, but of his potion stock, his rarest ingredients, and his most prized spellbooks. He’d run into the woods in fury, screeching your name and hurling threats into the trees around him – but you were gone. Not a trace of you could be found within a five mile radius of his home.

It was like you had never been there, save the absence of his personal belongings.

In König’s opinion, you didn’t strike him as an extremely dangerous individual. Sure, the warlock had harped on and on about how cunning and deceiving you were – but all you had done was lie to him. And from the way he had described the conditions you were under, König didn’t exactly blame you for running away. Maybe this job was a waste of his time…

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain, despite the nip of the mid-autumn air, and the fact that he was embarking on what might be one of the most treacherous endeavors of his career. He was getting a decent payout for it – that is, if he lived to finish the job. Additionally, the scenery was a comfort to his journey; wiry birch trees stood high and thickly clustered, their brown and black spots like ever-watchful eyes, staring at the gargantuan hunter as he moved. Their golden leaves mimicked the light of the sun, the real thing blocked out by the overcast skies. A whisper of wind flew by his ears, carrying down and blowing the leaves further along his path with a gentle sigh. As if nature herself was telling the world to be quiet, be still, and prepare for winter.

It was times like this where König became unsure of himself. What if he hated having someone else to care for? What if, deep down, he preferred the silence and the solitude? But then, the loneliness would strike him. The longing to be understood (if that was humanely possible), and the desire to have something warm, alive, and sentient to acknowledge him. It consumed him on those sleepless nights, perfectly warm by the hearth of whatever inn he resided at, yet so hollow without having someone to wrap his arms around.

A swaying movement in the branches above pulled him from his thoughts. Hanging down by a twine thread, tied to one of the spindling birch branches, was a tiny, burlap pouch. It reached a few feet above König’s head, and was drenched in a dark, thick liquid that dripped rhythmically onto the forest floor. Looking to where the drops landed, he noticed the matter on the ground was decaying – a steaming pile of rot was all that was left of the leaves that were once there.

He frowned. The trap was clever – for a witch in their first century. König had expected something a bit more dangerous for someone your age. Maybe the last hunter had been too gullible, and you stereotyped them to all be oafs. Or, maybe you were too old and couldn’t craft traps with the same skill and precision as your younger self.

He drew his dagger from his boot and quickly sliced the twine thread. The pouch dropped to the floor with a squelch, landing in the very puddle of death it had created. The liquid beneath it bubbled and hissed, and the bag soon dissolved to reveal its contents: bits of bone – a kind of reptilian foot, from the looks of it – dried pomegranate seeds, and a fuzzy layer of mold, all appearing to be drenched in some kind of blood.

He carefully stepped around the stinking mess, his eyes turning back onto the path to continue his hunt. He both hoped for and against finding more evidence of your existence. He wanted to get back to town as soon as he could, so he could hole himself up in an inn until his money began to run out – all the same, his mind craved a puzzle and a chase. Though, with how old you were, he doubted there would be much of a chase.

More leaking, swaying hex bags hung from branches as he trudged on, pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t bother to quiet the sound of the leaves beneath his footsteps – the rustling of the wind through the foliage was doing the job well enough. He held onto his dagger tightly, his other hand on his longsword, as he carefully toed through the dense forest. He had to be close – the smell of fennel and turmeric settled around his presence, along with the babbling of a nearby stream.

The sound of a distant tune danced through the trees. The voice was soft, yet clear, and whoever it belonged too was much too confident that they were alone in these woods. König wondered if it was actually you, and not some poor soul who had been foraging for the autumn mushrooms and berries – but he was nearly a day’s trek into the forest. No one would dare come out this far, unless they wanted to be alone. And, they were potentially hiding from something; their own past, perhaps.

He cautiously followed the sound of the tune, still disguising the sound of his own steps within the rustling leaves and wind. His heart thrummed with both uncertainty and excitement; he always did get too thrilled at the idea of a struggle and blood covering his hands. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, focusing his attention on the voice that carried through the trees, pulling him closer and closer… He gripped his dagger tightly as he crept, reminding himself of the warlock’s warning: cunning, sneaky – be on your best wits.

The voice brought him to the edge of a clearing. The birch trees parted and encircled a few meters of earth, and a few bushes huddled along the far edge, dotted with purplish berries and thorned branches. A wicker basket, woven clumsily and rather lopsided, sat on the ground and caught each berry and branch that was tossed into it. A figure knelt in front of the bushes, carefully plucking the berries with thin, delicate fingers, stained purple from the juice of the berries, and nails that might need a trim soon, unless they were intended to be claws.

The cloaked figure confused König. The voice was too melodic, too clear and fresh for an old witch. He had assumed you weren’t much younger than the warlock, but still old. He remained a few yards away from you, shrouded by the trees and dense foliage outside of the clearing.

It was when you turned your head, dropping your handful of berries into the basket, revealing your face, that he realized how wrong he had been in his assumption.

Your skin was soft, he could tell even with the distance between the two of you. Your lips delicately moved as you sang your tune, your eyes sparkled in contrast to the dull autumn colors that surrounded you. Small wisps of your hair danced around your cheeks as the wind caressed it. Your entire body looked soft, warm, and pliable… exactly what he needed. Craved.

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine it: leaves tangling into your hair as he pressed his fingers around your neck, pushing you to the cold ground and watching as you gasped for air. He’d use his knife, but not to kill you. He’d drag it over your hardened nipples, watching them perk up even more at the prickling sensation, before he’d carve his name into your stomach. Smear your pretty blood all over your pretty face, watch as your eyes widen with horror, as you question how someone can be so deranged and cruel, how he can take so much pleasure in something so vile and horrible-

Or maybe, he could convince you that he just wants a fuck. You looked like you could use one – when was the last time you’d had someone’s lips on your breasts, or their cock in your cunt? It had certainly been too long for him… he couldn’t imagine how long you had gone without being thoroughly ravaged, living in these woods all alone. He could take care of that. He could be gentle, for a little while; holding your wrists above your head as he pushed you against a tree, whispering praise and encouragements into your ear, “… so gut, so Schön, genau so…” taking you from behind as your nipples perked up from the rough texture of the bark, listening to you whine and moan in that sweet voice of yours as he lets out months’ worth of pent up frustration by thrusting his cock into your warm pussy, over and over and over until you scream and tighten around his length, milking the cum right out of him as he fucks you deep, maybe sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck-

He growled quietly, palming his rapidly-growing erection as he tried to clear his head. Stay focused. Kill the witch, and then you’ll get what you want.

Remember the warlock’s promise.

Even if he didn’t need you to satisfy his needs, he could still make this interesting. Not like you could outrun him, anyway.

He stepped into the clearing, and as if by some ironic joke, the wind died down immediately. The crunch of his heavy boots was enough to make his presence known to any living thing within a mile radius.

Your singing stopped. You whipped your head in his direction, and immediately a look of fear fell upon your face. For a moment, the two of you were frozen in a staring contest. You reminded him of a doe, staring at the crossbow of the hunter you had noticed, wondering if this being was actually dangerous, or nothing you needed to worry about. He wondered what he must remind you of, and he wished to hear the panicking thoughts flitting through your mind.

Finally, you broke the trance – you gasped, stumbling backwards and awkwardly standing as you ripped a pathetic, little knife from your boot. You faced him and pointed the knife at him – you held it improperly, and if he truly wanted to make this messy, he could easily make you stab yourself in a struggle. He wondered what it would feel like when your nails dug into his rough skin, dragging marks down his forearms (or his back, if he played his cards right).

You pulled the thick cloak tighter around your body – you were tiny. Well, everything was tiny compared to König. But you were unexpectedly small. With the way the sorcerer had described you, he had expected you to reach his shoulders at least. But there you were, craning your neck to look up at him with fearful, owlish eyes.

“State your business!” You demanded, your voice cracking slightly.

König chuckled in response. You really were too pathetic for your own good, weren’t you? He took you in – your lips were pulled into a frown, parted slightly to reveal your perfect teeth, the way the fabric of your cloak quivered where it bunched in your fist… perfectly ordinary things that ordinary people do. But, besides the fact that you were a witch, something about you made it all so captivating.

“Hey!” you shouted, bringing his eyes back to your gaze. Your fear had given way to a judgmental ire. “Gods, have you ever seen a woman before?!”

König scoffed. “Woman? Yes, of course. I’ve seen witches, too. None as young as you, however.”

Your eyes widened in panic once again. You stretched your knife out towards him as he stalked over to where you stood. “S-stay back! I’ll kill you!”

Your meek threat didn’t slow him down. He continued his advance until he had corralled you against a tree, your one hand bracing against the trunk behind you, and the other holding the knife under his ribcage. The only thing between his flesh and your blade was his linen tunic, which wouldn’t do much to protect him should you decide to stab him – but were you capable of that? Your eyes were so filled with fear as they stared at him, your chin to the sky to take all of him in. Your fingers trembled around the handle of your knife as if the prospect of having to nick him made you uneasy.

“Not with magic?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the bush next to you. He plucked one of the berries between his thick, gloved fingers, rolling the onyx sphere between his thumb and middle finger before squashing it.

You pouted (a sight König could never grow tired of). “I’m not a wi-“

He snatched your forearm, and you yelped, dropping the knife to the forest floor. His fingers easily wrapped around you; he wondered how easy it would be to break it.

“Don’t lie, now.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing with a hint of annoyance. “You’re not good at it.”

He released your arms with a shove. You scrambled back with a fearful expression, swiping the blade from the ground. He watched with interest as you stood several yards away from him, pointing your weapon towards him once again.

“Fine.” You said, holding yourself a bit taller. “You’re right. What’s the crime in that?”

For a moment, König was lost. Why weren’t you trying to weaponize your magic? It was almost as if you had forgotten you weren’t a human. For someone who was supposed to be a cunning bitch, as the warlock had put it, you weren’t very smart.

“I’m not here for justice.” He replied, wiping his glove on his shirt. “Just doing my job.”

“Hunter?” you asked.

He extended his arms – gods, he could have crushed a pillar between those arms – as if presenting himself to you. “Was it not obvious?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You huffed. “Well, you’re not a very good one. Most hunters don’t make conversation with their prey.”

Prey. He liked that you understood your position, that he was the one in charge here. Maybe you were a clever girl…

“I like to listen to the begging.”

“Begging?”

“For your life.” König folded his arms over his chest, inspecting you closely. The only thing you had to protect yourself was your cloak, and that hardly provided a shield against the wind. Even though you were obviously wary of him, it wasn’t wary enough. You had spoken too many words with the hunter, and had it been anyone else, you might have been dead long before now.

You seemed malleable – book-smart and spitfire, yet all too gullible. Easily manipulated. Just what he needed to brainwash you into loving him. Or, at least, being his pet. You’d never truly love him, he had come to learn that from experience. But maybe, if he could somehow convince you that you needed a big, scary man, who could protect you and fuck you nicely, it would be enough to make you stay. After all, you were too naïve to be alone out here, weren’t you?

Could the warlock perhaps make you his prize? It’d kill two birds with one stone, he could convince you to return whatever knickknacks you had stolen, and your presence would never bother anyone ever again – besides him, but of course, it would never be a bother to bed you every night.

Your expression turned sour. “I don’t beg.”

The tone of your voice sent a shiver down his cock. He’d have to pound that little attitude right out of you.

“Who hired you?” You asked indignantly. The knife in your hand had slowly lowered, now pointing at his feet. Your initial fear seemed to have worn off. Were you brave, or just that stupid?

“It doesn’t matter.” König replied.

“It does to me.”

“You don’t know? How many people have you wronged?”

You scoffed. “I haven’t wronged anyone. People just don’t like it when you call them out on their atrocities.”

König hummed. You had a point. “Your teacher – the warlock.”

For a moment, you scrunched your face in disgust. Teacher. Only a fool as mad as the warlock himself could consider he was any such figure in your life, other than a torturous one. Then, you sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, the knife now aimed straight at the forest floor. “That old toad can’t even kill me himself…” you muttered. “What payment did he offer you?”

“He promised me anything I desired of your possessions.” König replied, taking note of the change in your presence. He purposely left out the warlock’s promise to find him a “companion.”

“And what would you do with cursed fig seeds, or stag’s blood?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest (which, König noted, framed your breasts perfectly). “I have no gold – not enough to be a reward for the trouble of killing me.”

“He gave me three hundred gold coin, too.”

Your lips turned down into a scowl. “That’s all?! That absolute hypocrite!” You lodged your knife into the tree behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I took everything from him, save that disgusting old shed he called home, and that’s all he’ll pay to kill me?!”

Your outburst pulled König from his obsessive staring. “You’re… insulted?”

You turned back to him and huffed. “Well, obviously.” You retorted. “I stole all he had to his name, and he treats me like a fly buzzing in his ear. I deserve a bit more recognition than three hundred gold coin.”

“You admit to it, then.” König said, stepping closer. You appeared to be too angry to notice how near the hunter was to you. “You are a thief.”

You laughed – a sound that König did not expect to be so sweet. “I’ve done much worse than thieving, mind you.” You shook your head. “And he’s done even worse to me.” You sighed, pulling the dagger from the tree trunk and sheathing it back into your boot.

Once again, he was reminded of how small you were. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Sure, you had the advantage of magic while he did not, but you weren’t even acting defensively anymore. You treated him like a traveler who had stumbled across your path, starting up conversation and sharing your story.

“What has he done?” he asked, his interest in you growing by the second. An outcast, despised, hated by others. He felt that the two of you were kindred spirits, and he would not risk losing a connection so rare – one he had never felt.

“You mean he didn’t even tell you?” you said, sounding more hurt than anything else.

“He did.” König sheathed his own dagger as a peace offering. “But I’m coming to think he was not entirely truthful.”

You sighed, looking down at your basket, then back at König. “I suppose I could tell you, since he brought you all this way to kill me. Walk with me – but keep your dagger away. And if you try anything, I’ll slit your throat. Understood?”

He suppressed the urge to laugh. Could you even reach his throat? “The warlock said you would lure me away to your hut, and carve out my heart.”

You huffed disappointedly, walking back to the bush near König. Completely calm, like he had only ever come up to you with the intention of finding a friend. “And yet, he’s still alive, after all the chances I had to kill him. We can stay outside of my hut, if it eases your mind. I’ll let you make your own tea, too. But if you aren’t set on killing me right this minute, I really should return to start drying these out.” You held up your basket. “Before too much time passes, and I can no longer use them.”

König had never given his prey more than a few moments to try and beg their way out of his crushing hands. He couldn’t believe he had even given so much lenience to your baseless trust in him – what he should have done was take the opportunity to grab your face and snap your neck. But he was starting to doubt the warlock’s testimony; you were a thief, yes, but had you really committed any crime? Or were you simply just taking the revenge you deserved from your captor – or, as the warlock called himself, your master?

König sighed. He gestured his hand out, signaling for you to lead the way.

You frowned. “First, give me your word.” You demanded.

“I will not harm you.” He said, with a hand over his heart. He didn’t care about forcing you to make the same promise – you were harmless enough. He did, however, make sure to avoid saying that he wouldn’t touch you. Although he was developing a few ounces more of respect for you, who knows? Maybe you would find a reason to drag him into your hut and satisfy both of your needs – and, if he was lucky enough to get that far, maybe you’d offer for him to spend the night in a warm bed, and he could be saved from sleeping on the cold earth for one night.

His word seemed promising enough to you. Threading your arm through the handle of the basket, you began marching through the woods, watching the ground carefully as you stepped over roots and twigs.

König followed by your side, watching you from the corner of his eye. You really were helpless – all it would take is a strong push from him, and you’d be tumbling down, maybe hitting your head on a stone, or rolling down the mountainside until your neck snapped. Even if the fall didn’t kill you, he could easily land one hit to your chest and pierce your lungs with your own ribs. But here you were, worrying more about the uneven forest floor than the lumbering creature by your side.

“What did he tell you?” you asked, pulling him from his fantasies. “About the beginning, when he took me.”

König laughed in pity. “He made it sound like he caught you, not that he took you.”

You sighed. “He didn’t catch me… well, I suppose he did. More like how animals are caught.” You adjusted your grip on the basket, still watching the ground beneath you. “I was the botanist’s assistant before he came along. Stared at me like I was naked. He would come more often than he needed to -  asked me where I was from, who my father was – things I didn’t understand why he needed to know. I still don’t.”

König didn’t understand himself. He continued to listen, the sounds of his footsteps drowning out your quiet ones. He began to wonder just how much of the warlock’s testimony was true.

“He came to the shop one night.” You continued to recount the story. “I was lighting the lanterns in the greenhouse. It was storming, and I didn’t hear him. He bludgeoned me and dragged me into the streets like I was some sort of animal.” You paused, turning your own words over in your head. “I suppose I was, to him.

He brought me back to his cabin – that’s when he started the curse. All I remember when waking up is feeling sick. I tried to stand, but it- everything felt heavy, like I was stuck in mud. I managed to crawl outside, and he was there. Saying my father wouldn’t recognize me, that he had killed the old lady at the botanist, that everyone would think that I had killed her… that I would be burned if I returned to the village. That I would forever be an outcast as long as I lived – as a witch. As what he made me.”

You paused again, for longer this time. König looked down at you, observing how your face twisted in… disgust? Anger? Your eyes were somewhere else, possibly somewhere where you could light the world on fire, drain the life from everyone who had ever done you wrong. König had felt that same hatred before, and he had learned to let it pass. You were still stuck there, wishing you could drive a blade into the warlock’s neck – and more.

“You stayed, then?” König asked, returning his gaze to the trees before him. “Why?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like I could go anywhere, not during the change. For the first fortnight, I couldn’t do anything but crawl on the ground and wail. And he let me – I’d get to the edge of the woods, and he’d be there to drag me back. Drug me into the hut at night and held me, fucked me, saying he was protecting me and similar bullshit. Of course, he was right; at that moment, I was as good as dead if I had ventured out on my own. And once I’d gotten my strength back, I was still a new witch. I’d never be accepted into the village – witches never are, despite the warlocks being the vile ones – and I had no idea how to live as one. So I relied on him for a while, until I knew enough to make it out on my own.”

König hummed in thought. Despite the initial desire to snatch you himself and have his way with you, his fists clenched at the thought of you being dragged around by the warlock. This life wasn’t one you had chosen, and yet the very person who had forced it upon you was killing you for it. It made something within him boil, something deep and buried, that he had thought had been tucked away for good.

You didn’t deserve any of this. He was fighting with himself in that moment, but the desire to show you what you should have been given was consuming him. He wanted to tell you that he knew what it was to be an outcast, he knew what it was like to feel lonely and crave being alone at the same time. To wish that you had the power to hurt anyone you deemed deserving of it, yet to have that someone who would never hurt you.

He would do it. He would be that person for you, he would be the one to kill for you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself – after all, he was hired to kill, you, not fall for you. And he knew it was just another one of his delusional fantasies… but he couldn’t help himself. You were like him, which was something that he had not yet been able to find. Something primal in him told him to sink his teeth in, to hold onto you until you stopped your struggling and realized that this would be good, for the both of you.

He was insane. But did it matter what he was, as long as he could give you what you needed?

“So, yes-“ you continued, bringing König out from the depths of his thoughts. “- I stole from him. Took the books he used to teach me, maybe a few ingredients for potions, a few seeds to start my own garden… but compared to what he took from me, I might as well have taken a loaf of bread.”

You stopped suddenly, and König came to a halt beside you. You nodded your head to the scene before you. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

König looked ahead: the trees parted into another clearing, larger this time. A rickety hut leaned against a wall of rock, made of thin, birch logs and mud slathered on top to keep out the wind. In the center of the clearing was a large stone, positioned near a pile of ash and rocks. A log lay near it, possibly another place for someone to sit. A small garden sat closer to the creek before your hut – it didn’t look to be doing very well, but that was expected as winter approached.

By the creek, there was a large, twisted oak. Its roots hung directly off of the bank and down into the water. Its leaves had fallen to the earth and mingled with the rest of the foliage by now – the entire thing had crimson paths winding around it, hauntingly similar to blood-filled veins. Several pieces of clothing and fabric hung from the branches and swayed in the autumn wind.

As you marched ahead, placing your basket down by the makeshift firepit and disappearing into the hut, König took a few, cautious steps forward. He was both charmed by the simplicity of it, and despondent that you were forced into this lonesome sort of life. He wanted to drag you from this measly hovel and show you something better.

But how? He was no better off than you were. All his earnings were spent on a room at the nearest tavern and a decent amount of ale to help him fall asleep. He never cared about having a home, as long as he had a place to keep out the cold. He didn’t think it would be good enough to drag you back to the village and convince you to spend the night with him in a thin-walled, noisy inn… but, even if he didn’t end up killing you today (something that seemed more and more likely with each passing second), he refused to leave you in this hell. If it was a cozy cabin, built so far away from civilization for the sole purpose of privacy and comfort, he could understand. Maybe even plead his case to you so you would let him stay. But this – this was a last resort. A broken down spot in the woods that you made for your banishment, for hiding. This wouldn’t do.

Call him insane. Call him crazy, hopeless, sick in the head… maybe his desires were founded on the thought that he would give you what he had never received.

You emerged from your hut, the thin, wooden door clanging shut behind you. You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was he still standing at the edge? You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and made your way over to him, your hair blowing across your face.

He watched as you stopped in front of him, your brow creased with question. Your head tilted back to look up at him, yet any traces of fear that you had shown earlier were gone. You looked at him like you’d known him for the past hundred years. It made his heart ache within his chest.

How could anyone have painted such a wretched picture of the woman who stood before him?

“Is everything alright?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said before, if you’d rather we stay outside-“

König interrupted you, reaching down and grabbing the sides of your arms firmly. You sucked in a breath warily, but you were still not afraid of him.

“I- you-“ Scheisse, what is he trying to say? He wanted to take you away, he wanted to show you how similar the both of you were to each other, he wanted to show you what (he thought) love was – slow, gentle, possessive, and strong. He wanted to keep you in his pocket, both to keep you safe from the world, and to make sure you couldn’t be taken from him. He wanted you, you, you –

This is insanity. He knew it. But that didn’t stop the fire in his chest, and the questionable throbbing in his trousers.

You knew. Your eyes said everything as they softened, as your lips pressed together into a knowing, sad smile. Were you going to turn him down? Would you say that you preferred it this way, that you liked being alone and living like a prisoner on the run? You took his face in his hands, and he had a foreboding sense in his gut that you might tell him to leave.

Quickly but gently, he cupped one hand at the back of your neck and pulled himself down to you, pressing his lips to yours before you could speak. It was only right, he thought, as he held the kiss – you didn’t understand that he could help you, he could build the life you deserved and keep you safe from any other hunters and warlocks. He placed his other hand on your lower back and pulled you in, moving his lips against your own and praying you wouldn’t deny him.

Like an angel answering his prayers, you tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes and kissing him back. He tugged his teeth at your bottom lip, and you so graciously allowed his tongue to slip past your teeth, letting him taste you. He whined, flooded with relief that you didn’t try to shove him away and call him deranged.

His cock was quickly growing hard, but he ignored it. Right now, he needed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to make you-

A raven’s call tore through the air, piercing his thoughts. It was much too close than any bird would naturally be.

He tried to turn his head in its direction, but you dug your fingers into his hair, making him stutter and freeze on the spot. He grabbed your hips, about to pry you away-

You pressed your lips firmly to his, and he heard you faintly muttering incoherent words against him. The world around him was suddenly showered with colors: purples like the berries that had stained your fingers, oranges like the leaves that were scattered across the ground, silvers like the thick clouds that blanketed across the sky… The black spots on the birch trees suddenly blinked and flitted across his vision; thousands of them stared at him, and he heard your sweet laughter echoing in the distance as the world spun, spun, spun…

He felt the cold earth press to his cheek, and the last thing he remembered was a sickening ache in his stomach.

He should have heeded the sorcerer’s warning.

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

"… so gut, so Schön, genau so…”

... so good, so beautiful, just like that...

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

I wasn't planning on posting this today, but this idea came to me today and I must share it! (I'm still working on my special au to celebrate two big tumblr milestones! Hopefully it'll be done by the end of the week!)

With all of the dehumanizing propaganda labelling magic users as "inhuman monsters" that Uther spread during the purge, people who are attracted to magic users are probably labelled as deviants. In Camelot, saying "yeah I'd bang a wizard" is considered completely taboo. But that doesn't stop people from fantasying about what they can't have.

This, of course, spawns a whole genre of steamy romance manuscripts featuring evil sorcerers kidnapping fair maidens and falling in love with them, powerful wizards seducing innocent princess with their dark magics, dark and broody warlocks tricking naive ladies into becoming their lovers through a devil's bargain, etc. These cheesy romance manuscripts are quite popular with the ladies of Camelot, as they have a forbidden aspect to them in both the owning of such stories and the material of the stories themselves. Plus, when you're a noblewoman trapped in a loveless political marriage, the fantasy of a dark and powerful magic user becoming enamored with them and stealing them away is quite the appealing fantasy.

To many people in Camelot, magic users become the ultimate forbidden romance fantasy, being (in their imaginations) secretive and powerful creatures who can use their magic to exert their will and their dark desires on their innocent victims.

The few people in Camelot who have actually slept with magic users don't help these rumors either, as they only add fuel to the fire. Gwaine certainly has plenty of stories to share about how much fun sorcerers and witches can be in bed with their magic, and the people in the tavern listen with rapt attention and furious blushing when he tells those stories.

But when tales of Emrys, the last dragonlord and the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, travel from the druids to Camelot? The wizard-fuckers in Camelot went wild.

Within a couple weeks, there were dozens of steamy (and VERY imaginative) romance novels and manuscripts written and passed around Camelot, all revolving around the mysterious and brooding warlock Emrys.

As people's dirty imaginations ran wild with what Emrys might be like, the general perception of Emrys became more and more ridiculous. According to some of these stories, Emrys was a seven foot tall brooding warlock whose magic made him irresistible, forcing people to succumb to his will.

Pretty much everyone in Camelot gets their hands on one of these manuscripts or hears about them. Gwaine has his own collection of them, which isn't too shocking to anyone, but, to everyone's surprise, Merlin starts collecting some of those stories too (to make sure that no one else gets their hands of such embarrassing material, but people just assume that he has some sort of kink). He even blushes whenever someone mentions them (out of mortification).

Eventually, Arthur finds out about his kingdom's dirty fascination with this Emrys guy because people kept teasing Merlin for his crush on Emrys. Arthur demands to know who Merlin has fallen for (for security reasons, of course, not because he's jealous). It's at that point that Gwen and the knights have to tell Arthur that his entire kingdom (including Merlin apparently) has been thirsting over a hot mysterious sorcerer that no one actually knows anything about.

Arthur almost blows up when he hears this, furious that his entire kingdom has been having dirty fantasies about a dangerous man who's most likely their enemy! And don't even get him started on how Merlin, his Merlin, has the audacity to be more attracted to this Emrys than Arthur himself! This is outrageous!

However, no matter how much Arthur tries to point out to Merlin that being attracted to Emrys is a bad idea and nothing will ever come of it anyways, he still keeps on catching Merlin with those dirty manuscripts about Emrys! (Because Merlin is still trying to secretly get rid of them all).

Eventually, Arthur gets frustrated enough that he'll try anything to get Merlin's attention away from Emrys. He thinks over how he could do that for a while, until one day he overheard two ladies of the court talking about how much they enjoyed it when their partners in bed roleplayed as a powerful magic user like Emrys, and Arthur begrudging came to a solution.

The next day, when Arthur catches Merlin reading a story about Emrys and blushing wildly again, Arthur clears his throat, looks a mortified Merlin dead in the eyes, and asks, "if I took you to bed and pretended to be Emrys while doing so, would that finally get you over your ridiculous attraction to this criminal of a sorcerer?"

Arthur was perhaps a bit too blunt in his delivery, as Merlin promptly started choking on air after Arthur's question in lieu of an answer, much to Arthur's annoyance. You see, as much as it would irritate Arthur to have to pretend to be another man, let alone an enemy sorcerer, in bed, Arthur had a plan.

Arthur obviously needed to rein in Merlin's lust before his servant did anything stupid (like fall into bed with an actual dangerous sorcerer), and what better way to do that than slake Merlin's lust himself? Truly, Arthur was the most generous king there ever was (ignoring his own rampant attraction towards Merlin). And once they were in bed, Arthur would prove to Merlin how great and how proficient a lover he is, and any thoughts of Emrys (or any man who wasn't Arthur for that matter), would be forgotten immediately in the face of how superior Arthur is!

Arthur mentally pats himself on the back for coming up with this genius plan as Merlin's coughing fit finally ends.

"Arthur, why on earth would you even ask that?!"

"Because you're clearly enamored with this sorcerer, so perhaps this will finally get that stupidity out of your system!"

They go back and forth like this for a while, until finally Merlin, to his own shock, agrees to Arthur's proposal. Arthur feels alight with victory for a few minutes, until he realizes that he'll have to learn how to act convincingly like a powerful sorcerer for one night. At that point, Arthur goes out to buy some dark robes for himself to hopefully get more into character, and even "studies" some of those spicy manuscripts to get an idea of what Merlin would be expecting.

Arthur barely managed to finish one of them from how scandalized he was at their contents. Why were these so popular with his subjects?! Still, Arthur soldiered on, reading more and more of the embarrassing romance manuscripts until he finally felt confident in what Merlin was looking for.

Of course, when the time came, Arthur was terrible at roleplaying as a sorcerer, but Merlin didn't mind one bit (most because Merlin was torn between laughing hysterically or being embarrassed beyond belief at at Arthur's poor impersonation of a poor interpretation of Merlin himself, so he decided to instead just enjoy being with Arthur).

And that's all for now! I'm thinking about doing a continuation of this later on, where Camelot (who's been thirsting over Emrys) learns that Merlin had been Emrys all along. Please let me know if you'd like to see that one day!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[vampireyuuta]

ftm!megumi is so dear to me……. <3 he’s always trying to act tough and annoyed until you’re knuckles deep in his pussy and suddenly all the glares and mean comments r gone!!!! jst making little circles in his clit is enough for him to get glassy eyed n hazy i love him

includes: gn! reader, aged up! ftm megumi, overstim (kinda), anon spittin facts, not proofread wordvomit oops

megumi can be kind of a dick if you let him. thankfully, you don't let him .

his normally disinterested eyes are blown wide open during the middle of you two making out when you cup his cunt through his pant. he pulls back to stare at you and that stupid, evil smile quirking up your lips. he doesn't have anything to say, though; no scoffs, no eyerolls, no muttered digs at you.

you're tugging down his pants in record time. he gets all shy and flustered—much unlike his usual act. pressing his legs together to keep the way you can see his dripping cunny through his boxers, pulling the collar of his shirt over his reddened face, his other hand awkwardly hovering around you in uncertainty of where or how to touch you. how adorable, really.

you have to practically force his knees apart, giving him an eyeroll when he lets out an almost silent whine of embarrassment. your hand finds his puffy clit through the dampened layer of cotton and you swear his eyes gloss over. the tight figure eights you swirl over the sensitive nub already have his brain leaking out of his pussy.

"'gumi, 'm barely even doing anythin'," you giggle. laughing in his face at his most vulnerable was a pretty low blow, but the way your fingers lazily work his throbbing clit registers him too stupid to care.

he gives a half-hearted shrug, your words not even really affecting his state.

it's not long until you're slipping your hand under the waistband of his boxers and gently teasing his entrance with two fingers. he's clenching around nothing, so much slick arousal coating him it's like a waterslide. he mumbles out your name with a half-real half-fake annoyance in attempt to get you to just fuck him already!

megumi's impatient, yes, but he can't deny how much he loves when you tease him. he's so sensitive, fragile even, that even your featherlight, ghostly touches quickly get him to teeter on the edge of climax. he actually doesn't mind—just don't listen to anything he days.

"please..." he whispers, head rolled back and eyes fluttered shut.

you want to tease the boy longer, want to get him so close then stop abruptly, want to make him into a pitiful, writhing mess. but, alas, you are weak and he is so, so pretty. maybe next time (because there's always a next time with megumi. he's a feind for you) you'll wreck him for real.

he's moaning and gasping out your name like he's choking on the syllables when your fingers sink into his sopping pussy. he feels like he might die or cum right then and there—maybe both.

his hips are bucking against your hand instantly, not giving you any time to set a slow pace, unlike the sloppy desperate rolling of his hips. his clit bumps your palm with each thrust against it, his blue eyes so far back in his skull he can see his brain with 20/20 vision.

"megs, calm down," you grumble, digging the fingers into of your free hand into his thigh, "lemme do it..."

he's not one to get this needy, but, god, the way your fingers fit inside his velvety walls is all too perfect. he can't resist humping your hand like a bitch in heat. he just shakes his head weakly.

"at least look at me," you say with a small pout on your face.

and, when he does, your heart swells.

his eyes are wide open and glassy, tears forming on his waterline. his indigo irises look lighter than normal, glittering with white swirling highlights. his eyebrows are knitted together above them. his lips are parted and swollen from how you attacked them earlier as he pants and whimpers, the bottom one quivering in shaky breaths. you're the only one who sees him like this, so weak, so eager.

on one hand, no one else deserves to see him like this. on the other, he's just so beautiful you want everyone to see him and know it (and know that he's all yours).

it takes only a few minutes of him grinding on your fingers as if it were the only thing he knew how to do before he's painting your hand and the inside of the boxers he'd never bothered to peel off with his squirt. it's dirty and would ruin the moment if he wasn't so utterly lost in it. his hole squeezes you so tight it feels like your fingers might get cut off while he gushes buckets around them.

you aid him in riding out his blissful high by gently curling your fingers inside him, eliciting the most beautiful sounds of pleasure from his lips. he hides his face into your neck.

he's mumbling some apology for making a mess or being so needy against your skin but it doesn't matter one bit.

[cotl-flower-crown]

So @oneofthosenightbees brought a fanfic idea to me and we both agreed that it would fit well in gang au, so here we go, meet gang au Monch! I'm just gonna copy and paste what I wrote in discord and hope it makes sense. (Let me know if I should put up some content warnings)

Mmmm let's see, Monch would probably be one of the citizens of the Faith City who grew up in there her whole life. She used to love the city and she wanted to help it get better the best way she could, so she joined the police forces and eventually was promoted to the position of a detective. Not long after gaining that position Shamura and their siblings started to thrive in their domains and Monch picked up on that. They appear suddenly and begin to shape the city for the better and at the same time a mysterious organisation let itself known to do a bunch of shady business in the city. Monch managed to discover that Shamura and the rest are behind the organisation and she confronts them. Heket and Leshy are ready to kill her, but Shamura pulls her into a discussion. Yes, they are very deep into the organised crime in the city, but at the same time the Faith City have never been doing this well, so is it really something that should be stopped? Doesn't that justifies the means if it's for the better? Whatever Shamura tells Monch, it really messes with her perception of good and evil, but she doesn't back out. She attempts to bring this to the chief police, but they tell her to drop it. In fact if she won't, then they will make her drop it. The best next solution is to take it even higher, outside of the city, but then she's sent a message. A very brutal message. I'm not sure about specifics, but I'm thinking that she was framed into murder by Shamura's goons together with the police, which completely ruined her reputation and she had to hide. With ruined name and a wanted poster nobody would believe her, so dejected, bitter and hopeless she decided to stay in hiding, developing an alcohol addiction in the process. Until a few years later she's sent a message from Lambert, who "hopes" that she might help him "get rid of the evil corrupting the city" and "bring justice for his late family and people like him".

Her and Lambert meet and at this point it's not really a common knowledge that Lambert as a CEO and "owner" of his cleaning company has anything to do with the Red Crowns outside of the gang. So she doesn't really have a reason to not believe Lambert when he tells her how much this city "means" to him and how much he wishes to be able to get rid of the crime infestation, so he and many others can walk the streets feeling safe. But he's just a businessman, he doesn't know how to fight the crime. But maybe she can help him? She was a detective once after all... She sees a little bit of herself in Lambert's act and it sparks a little bit of hope in her once more, to be able to clear her name and bring the city back to it's original glory (which probably never was to begin with). They figured out that the best way to lessen Shamura's influence, is by cutting off their business partners (looking at gRenn rn) and later expose their crimes. Lambert allows her to help him get out the good word for him to the people of interest by working from the shadows. Meanwhile she also does her own research on what's really going on in the city and she warns Lambert about the Red Crowns and how he should stay away from them. She would find all the evidence needed to get police's attention and bring it straight to Lambert, because he's a good man with influence, right? The police will listen to him for sure! While that's going on, she find some loose ends that don't seem to make sense with what Lambert is telling her. Which means that there's either some miscommunications on her part, or Lambert is lying to her. But why Lambert would lie to her? He's a good man, there's no way that he would lie to her, right? They're partners, friends even! It's probably something she got wrong, she tends to do that lately with her issues...

And then she finally sees it. Lambert interacting with Narinder, whom she discovered is the leader of the Red Crowns. Hell, it's almost like they're lovers... but that can't be right! Maybe he doesn't know that Narinder is their enemy? Maybe Narinder manipulated him? So she finally confronts Lambert. And Lambert's mask finally cracks. He laughs, as he was wondering just how long it would take her to figure this out. But it doesn't click with her just yet, huh? Damn, for a detective in her past, she's really shitty at connecting the dots. And the loose ends finally tie together in a fine knot. She wasn't wrong all this time. He was lying to her after all. She wanted to believe so hard in good in people that she didn't notice the blatant snake that was right in front of her. She wanted to believe in the good cause so badly that she didn't realise that she's been working with a wolf in sheep's clothing all this time. He never cared for the good of the city, he's just... He's just like them. And she helped him. It all feels like a nightmare. Except this is worse, because she cannot wake up from it. She couldn't believe how naive she was, how stupid and useless she was to trust Lambert. It is all useless, isn't it? There is no way to save this city. There will always appear another Shamura, another Lambert, who will turn this place into a deeper and deeper pit full of vipers. There is no hope for this place. There is no hope for her... "So what is going to happen now?" she asks "Will you try to kill me? To ruin my reputation once more, like they did? Do whatever you can to assure that your position is safe?" Lambert smiles. "No, I think the damage was already done. Wouldn't you agree?" he says in a silky soft voice that cuts her deeply, as she silently glares at him "No, you've been a great asset to my team and I think it's only fair that you're compensated accordingly for your hard work"

A praise and a reward cut somehow so, so much deeper than if he just stabbed her in the heart right then and there. Because that meant that he treated her as an ally. She did help him after all. How does that make her any better than him? She silently got up and left Lambert behind. The last words he spoke to her was "I appreciate your help, bestie. I'll see you around." with a stiffed giggle. She almost puked at those words. And that was the last time Lambert have heard from her. Who knows what happened, maybe she left the city, maybe she locked herself away, maybe something worse... Lambert wouldn't know or care either way.

The End.

[thefiery-phoenix]

PLATONIC YANDERE WEASLEY FAMILY HEADCANONS

They're very protective of each other, that's for sure. Molly might be the first one to meet you, or the Weasley children at Hogwarts. Heck, you might not even be related to the Weasleys and they'll still think of you as one of their own when they see the chance to make you theirs for good, you're just too naive and innocent for this world. And no doubt Harry and Hermione would play roles in helping them with their obsession with you as well since they are yanderes for you after all

Arthur would LOVE to talk to you about your knowledge of Muggles if you know about them that is. But don't worry, there are still plenty of other things he'd LOVE to talk to you about. It's actually kind of nice and adorable seeing him get so excited whenever you bring up the topic of Muggles, the way his eyes shine and light up with excitement like as if he's some sort of kid in a toy shop. But Molly has to be there to rein him in in case he makes you feel too overwhelmed with his questions. Arthur doesn't care if you're pure blood, related to them or not, half blood, muggle or heck even if your dad is Voldy himself. Unless of course, you're good. He'll still look after you like his own and care for you, and of course, keep you far far away from the prying eyes of the evil Malfoys and dangerous things like Death Eaters and concerning yourself with the activities of the Dark Lord

Bill is the chill and easy going brother who'll understand how you're feeling since he's a pro at it and he's also the oldest Weasley, he's the brother to 6 siblings of his. He's a good listener and always has good advice for you whenever you need to ask him about something and he'll also love it if you talk to him about his work and stuff. And he'll also tell Fred and George to lay back off a bit if their pranks become too much to which they'll apologize instantly. They would never think of hurting you, not even in their worst nightmares. And if you were brought into their family by force, he'll know how you're feeling and he'll make sure to always be there for you no matter what. Oh, and no dating, NONE of the Weasleys would ever allow you to date someone at all. Nope, you're their precious little baby and they don't want some riff raff tainting your innocence

Molly is a really coddling and protective yandere for you. She'll always make you nice hot lunches and meals when you need them, she'll always give you the comfort and love you need from a mother and of course, she'll get jealous when you talk about your past family. You just can't seem to hate her no matter what since she's being so nice to you, hating her would literally be a crime. She looks after you so well and that's actually part of a plan she has in mind. Oh, yeah, she's crafty too. She wants to win over your love and affection by doing these sweet things and all that, but she does truly genuinely care for you. And if you ever mention the name of someone you like, I seriously pray for that poor schmuck, be it boy or girl since I believe in gender equality lol

Charlie loves you as well and he's the adorable nerd, who'll like talking to you about dragons and stuff. Like Bill he's also laid back and easy going, and trying to make you feel more comfortable with the family. He'll tell you funny stories from his time in Romania, some of the hilarious things his brothers and sisters have done, their embarrassing stories and stuff that'll be sure to have a smile on your face. He would literally cry if you wanted to enter his field, he'd be so freaking happy and pleased, no doubt he'd actually say "IN YOUR FACE!" to the rest lol

Percy Weasley is the uptight stick in the mud, the spoilsport and sometimes the killjoy but he truly does want what's best for you despite him being arrogant and pompous. He tries to be a good example for people and his family but it's frustrating when no one follows him or even strives to be like him. He'll try to get you under his wing before the twins try corrupting you. He'll help you with your homework, ask you how your day is going and if anyone's bothering you, he'll teach them a lesson. He knows he isn't supposed to use his status as Headboy for personal reasons but he won't tolerate it if someone decided to make his sibling feel bad about something. And if you guys are at Hogwarts, he'll make his duty to check in on you every single freaking day and act like some sort of pompous watchdog for you

The fun loving Weasley twins, who love pranking you and the others, but will never go too far with their pranks for you since they would never want to see you cry. They're the best to come to when you're having a bad day or when you feel like crying. In which case they'll cheer you up by some of their pranks and make you laugh since they can't stand to see you cry and be sad. And as for the person whoever made the mistake of making you sad... they'll be on the wrong end of their pranks and NO ONE, I repeat NO ONE wants to be on the wrong end of their pranks, trust me on this. And they'll even take your opinion for their products at their joke shop Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes, and go as far as naming something after you and giving you some of their stuff for free, low prices or discounts ESPECIALLY for you. Lol, they'd just rub it in Ron's face and he'd so freaking jealous

Ron would be the really overprotective type for you. Normally the Weasleys are just over protective of you but he's INSANELY over protective. And it's mentioned in canon too that he's really protective over Ginny when she starts dating Terry Boot, Dean and Harry. And if you think he's bad there, he's WAY worse when you're concerned since the way he sees it is NO ONE is worthy of being your s/o, you're the baby of the family and he will NOT allow someone to ruin you. He'll love to talk about Quidditch with you and maybe even show off some of his flying skills to you, to impress you. And he will not think twice to defend you if some prat like Malfoy decides to be a prick to you, and what'll make his blood boil even more is if Malfoy decides to take an interest in you. In which case the entire Gryffindor house would have to get involved in trying to hold him, the Weasley twins and Percy from literally punching the hell out of him. And of course, with the help of his trust y friends Harry and Hermione they follow you with the Marauder's map and keep tabs on what you're doing just for your safety of course

And last but not the least, Ginny, the youngest of the family but knows how to get something when she wants it. And that includes your attention. She's kinda crafty and demands for your attention regularly. And she will snatch you up like some feather if you're spending time with someone else, except for Molly of course. NO ONE has the guts to dare to go against Molly lol. And of course, she'll introduce you to Luna and even Luna would turn out to be very protective over you. For someone who looks so innocent and calm like her, she does know how to get rid of people who bother you and make you sad. There's always someone watching you no matter what, be it a Weasley, a Granger, a Potter, or a Lovegood... they're all there for you and they're at the back of you, scaring people off who they don't like seeing close to you since all they want is the best for you, that's all. They might not have much, but they have family and it's home...

[forthechubbies]

Our Little Maid

Mafia! BTS x Chubby! Reader

Pssst..You might need this -> Our Little Wife

W! Strong Language, Manhandling, Violence , Obsessiveness , possessiveness, and Toxic marriage

"Clearly, I wasn't clear enough about keeping her locked up!" Namjoon's annoyance rose as the minutes passed in complete quiet. "We have bigger shit to deal with than this." You yelped as Namjoon's huge fingers brutally gripped around your bicep. "Wife." You grimaced at how loosely "Wife" played on his tongue.

All around you, there was gunfire-like movement. You've just awoken to a nightmarish folding situation…You'd rather tell yourself lies about what triggered the shift. You're afraid of them.-"Joonie, you.. You're hurting me." Your tears were deafeningly silent. Your husbands began to scream over your squeaks.

"Yah! If you shatter her arm. "I'm going to bash your brains out!" Zip ties restricted Jungkook's mobility to a chair for the time being. "She's our wife, Dipshit!"

Namjoon smiled in response to his darling husband's hollow threats. "Kooky, you're right. Since you're so anxious to get to work, how about this.. " Namjoon's full lips ghost around the shell of your ear. "She is our wife..so-" The buff man pushed and pressed you til you were at Jungkook's boots. "You'll be employed by us. And act like the lovely maid you were referring to before you so impolitely left without getting our consent. "

"Namjoon-Ah!" He pulled your hair while licking his teeth at your " insincere " tears. "I'm so sorry- oww"

Finally, JungKook shatters the zip ties as his wrists are bleeding. He sees your terrified look and says, "Bunny-"

What a fantastic idea. Hoseok gave you a facial squeeze while beaming. "You're lucky. You're not with Jimin." Your appearance hurt his hobi spirit, yet he was unable to restrain his fury. Because, to quote Mr. Namjoon, "you needed fuckin' need a job!"You were returned to the couch by him. "We searched for you. constantly, to learn that you were living like your loving husbands weren't looking for you."

Enough is enough. You catch them off guard as you struggle against their might and succeed in escaping to your room where you lock yourself in the bathroom.

They forced you to take a breath, but they weren't going to give up. "Baby, We're so sorry." Knocking at the bathroom door, Jin murmured. "Honey-"

You fell to the ground once an abrupt succession of bangs rattled the door. "I'm not-! Bring your little ass out here right away." Namjoon growled. You could hear Jungkook & Jin standing up for you.

What did I wake up to?!

The old landline dropped off the hook during the screaming, and the men in your life suddenly fell silent. they are listening.

You quickly responded with a hushed "Hello."

"Cupcake, The dogs got you down?" Hwasa purred.

"Hwasa?" You firmly held the phone. "I'm terrified,"

"Don't worry, Sweetheart, Mama's on the way." The last sound you hear before the line becomes silent is a roaring engine.

Tell me how you like the sneak part. *Insert Evil Laugher*

[thenightshadowqueen]

The best character from each longform

(in my biased opinion)

This is (obviously) a long one, so if you do want to read it, more below.

(Also I left out the Patreon plays. I might do a separate post for them later; we’ll see.)

Jimmy (Tom, Toby’s Secret Pocket)

Look, Jimmy is the best. He’s adorable. He’s the representation we as the autistic community needed. He has happy flappy stimmy hands. He can’t walk through doors. We love him. (STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAW!!!!!)

André Beetroot (AJ, Burglary and Bobsledding)

André Beetroot (André Beetroot) was iconic the first time around, but his return as the first recurring SFTH character obviously had to be memorialised.

The boy witch (Sam, Moist and Magical)

I was tempted by the witchfinder general, but the boy witch won out with “Henry Cavill with a wasting disease” and his thick accent. Also the cheeky little look he gives his grandma (Luke) when he flips her off wins him a lot of points.

Hugh’s mum (Tom, Marigolds Bluebells and Hugh)

She’s, like, a fair bit unhinged, but she has good intentions. She’s got amazing quotes, too; “why couldn’t you have just stayed in my womb forever” and “if you love something, lock it up” are both deeply concerning, but I love them.

The wife (Tom, Murders in Space)

This one is kind of an obvious choice. I mean, her quotes are glorious, and honestly “have you ever heard of feminism, James?” gets her top spot automatically.

Mario the sheep (Sam, the Lighthouse)

Was this even a question? I love Mario intending to be a one-scene character and then being forced to star in the whole play. I love the human bits. I love “🐑fuck you🐑”. I love the sheep (aka Sam) having a fucking breakdown at the end. 10/10 all around.

Titch (Luke, the Unrelenting Aubergine)

Listen, I was very tempted by Old Lady Margery (and by Derek), but in the end, canon queer guy with commitment issues and insane amounts of blindness around his own feelings won out. What can I say, I have a type in fictional characters.

Troll Son (Luke, Wine Under the Bridge)

Everything about this character is perfect. Screaming as hello? Colourful troll as a metaphor for being queer? Correcting a geography fact? It’s got it all. It’s perfect. I love Troll Son and his wine bar in Ipswich.

Juliet (AJ, Caesar and Juliet)

Is anyone surprised? She’s a murderous girlboss. “[My mother] said you have to be careful about men; they can be corrupted with power. But what she didn’t know is that so can woman.” They can, and I’m here for it. She’s bathing in blood and her skin is glowing. I love insane women.

Watson (Sam, the Mystery of the Midnight Circus)

Watson, driven mad with grief over his divorce and his one-sided love for Sherlock, becomes a murderous clown. Am I supposed to not love this? Is there even another choice in this play? And his breakdown at the end was gorgeous.

Priscilla (AJ, Pricilla’s Final Petal)

I was very tempted by both of her mums, and also a bit by the groundsman, but ultimately, Priscilla won out. She’s the title character. She’s confused, but she’s got the spirit, and she’s working through her trauma with a buttercup and a piano lesson. Good for her.

Marty (Sam, the Evil Make-a-Wish Kid)

I considered the seven-year-old detective, but in the end, Marty won. He’s evil. He’s a make-a-wish kid. What more can I say? He’s got an iconic smirk. He burns down all the petting zoos on the entire planet (and his mum). He dies at the end. He’s brilliant.

Derek (Tom, Susan’s Holiday)

There were a lot of great options in this one, but “I like looking at the back of another man’s head” was too good to pass up. Also, I adore the whole monologue he has while he’s waiting to be buzzed in.

The gasoline salesman (Luke, Beetroots and Murder)

Okay, I know he’s only in, like, a quarter of a scene. I know that. And I can’t tell you why I love him so much but I do. He’s just. I just love him. I can’t explain it. There are so many great characters in this play, but the way he says “could be, could be” has captivated me. If you understand the way my brain works, please contact me, because I don’t.

Peter Steven (Tom, the Milkman)

I love so many characters in this play. I love Gareth, and I love the Texan bartender, and I love David the milkman. But Peter Steven is the sweetest, most traumatised little boy and I want to protect him. I will adopt him and I will never make him walk on his knees again. I will throw away the PS5 and I will let him dig up the back garden as many times as he wants.

Johnny and Janae (Luke and Tom, the Neighbour’s Under the Bed)

I know they’re two separate characters, okay, but they’re a set. I want to keep them together. And I just can’t choose, okay? They’re two autistic children whose neurodivergence presents in opposite ways, and their parents don’t know what to do with them, and oh look, I’m back to wanting to adopt traumatised children.

Captain Egbert (Luke, the Leftenmost Window)

Shoutout to the mum, but Egbert won this one. He’s, like, kind of an idiot. I’m here for it, though. He’s got the iconic “diluileayilybilyeilysilym” speech. He wants to go to the ~astral plane~ but he’s waiting for his birthday. He lets his wife dip him into a kiss even though it’s 1940. I love him.

The king (Sam, the Prime Minister’s First Day)

Listen, I love several characters from this one, but I’m going with this one. He’s unapologetically a dick. He wears impenetrable armour made from diamonds stolen from Indian subculture. He’s impossible to beat. He’s brilliant. (Also did anyone else kind of find Sam hot as the king or is that just me?)

Franz Haberburg (Sam, the Excited Chinchilla)

Obviously fuck Nazis (god I hope that’s obvious). That being said, some of SFTH’s best characters are Nazis, and this is one of them. He’s glorious. I have never seen such a brilliant rendition of a Nazi chinchilla.

The Italian detective (Tom, the Ingredients)

He can’t pronounce paella. Do I need another reason?

Chip (Sam/AJ, the Cardboard Stegosaurus)

Oh look, another traumatised child! I want it. (No, but seriously, I love Chip and his English/French seizures.) Also he’s one of the few characters who switches actors mid-play, and I love that.

Persephone (Tom, Wild Wet and Worrisome)

She’s amazing. “HEY!” is a gorgeous siren call and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. She deserved a happy ending and I’m still sad we didn’t get one. I like to think she swam to the shore and found Geoff again, and they lived happily ever after on a boat at sea, singing and not having to kill anyone.

Full Set O’Hands and his love/bother (Luke and Tom, No! I Always Loved that Caravan)

I know, I know, another set of characters, but you really can’t separate these two. They’re insane. I adore them. They’re just… Honestly, these two are comedy gold. Good for them because they are fucking timeless.

Andrew (Luke, All Eyes on Nigel)

Listen, Andrew is a naive little thing, and he must be protected at all costs. He goes through so much shit in this one, and I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and send him to rehab.

Magnus O. Puss (Tom, BUS)

Okay, this was a VERY close one between them and Arthur B. D., but Magnus is a genderqueer icon and we love them for it. Also, I feel like this is some of the most unhinged Tom content we have and I live for that.

Jeremiah (Luke, Inside the Mysterious Cube)

I was so torn because I love Bubba, too, but I’m trying to avoid putting sets of characters where possible, and Jeremiah just edged past Bubba because his death scene was gorgeous. (That is a mildly concerning reason to have a favourite, I will admit.)

Lord Lafayette (Tom, the Midnight Mystery)

You may be noticing a pattern; I adore Tom’s insane characters. We just don’t get to see that often enough. I love his very sexual flirting with Lady Lafayette (Sam). I love him making fun of the detective’s (Luke’s) shirt. I love “what does any self-respecting rich man do when he has a little boy in tights” followed by “captured—and only captured” as a save. I love him.

Dangerfield (AJ/Tom/AJ again, Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum)

I love the confusion when Tom briefly takes over as Dangerfield; it’s not often we get to see AJ understanding something that Sam doesn’t (I say this with all the love in the world). Dangerfield is so fascinating to me. He’s a “cleaner” for a crime lord, but he has mixed feelings about the things he does. I want to know how he got into it in the first place. How did he come into this life? I want to know.

Barry’s wife (AJ, the Hare who Wore a Sweater)

I don’t remember her having a name, but I could be wrong about that. She’s so sweet; she just wants to knit sweaters for the hares in peace. And then Jimmy the hare gets shot, and she and her husband go on a revenge plot. I’m here for it. I love her.

The king/tank commander (AJ, the Oopsie Daisy Bulge)

He’s obsessed with tanks. He used to have gay sex with his fellow tank commanders, but only as a joke. He sailed all the way around, through the other landlocked counties, into the east of France, and they never saw it coming. He drove tanks into the ocean. He’s so stupid he’s almost smart. I love him.

The landowner/farmer (Luke, Too Big to Be a Jockey)

He farms peasants (Luke, you genius). He’s such a dick, with his classist remarks about Johnny Jones, but somehow I love him anyway. His interview process is looking at a photo of someone and then hiring them, and he’s honestly wonderful. I love him.

Larry (Tom, Long Johns—Strike!)

Literally the only thing he does on screen is die. That’s it. That’s his whole purpose. And he does it beautifully.

Wizard Asceroth (Sam, the Dark Moons of Slough)

ASCEROOOOTTTHHHH!!! (I don’t have another reason. I don’t need another reason.)

The French waiter (Luke, Lost in Your Eyes)

I don’t know. I really don’t. But something about this character has stuck with me since the first time I watched it. Gorgeous accent. He kisses Amanda (Sam) for no reason at all. He gets stabbed by a gun. I love him.

The Lady of a Thousand Don Juans (Luke, the Meringue Haberdashery)

She tricked her husband for years. She murdered her own child. She has been a curse on all the Don Juans in this town. She’s one of the only villains who win at the end of a longform, and that’s very impressive. I love her.

Xavier (Tom, Oh my God is This a Joke?)

(Please refer to my previous statement about Nazi characters.) Okay, look. He’s a horrible person. But we as a fandom choose to disregard that because Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. I am not above this. I am, in fact, a part of this. Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. “I will die as I have lived…. Shirtless!” has to be one of the most iconic lines of all time. There was never any competition.

[pellelavellan]

@quiisquiliae from here

"There is always a lesser evil." The inquisitor insisted.

He expected backlash for the choices made at the masquerade ball from a number of people: his advisers, the people of Orlais, shit even people who weren't Orlesian. He'd done what he had to, and as far as he was concerned had done nothing he wasn't told to do. He was told to make a decision, and he did. The circumstances were not perfect, but he saw an opportunity fall in front of him and he took it.

He wasn't happy about cozying up to people who would certainly sell him for a crust of bread, doing them favors, smiling and thanking them for backhanded compliments. He hated every second of it. But that was the game had to be played. It was necessary to play people, get them to think he was on uninformed of their political squabble or they'd keep their mouths shut. If he knew anything about the sorts of people that wandered that ballroom, it was that they loved to talk about themselves, and thought their opinions and ambitions were the most interesting thing to be heard. So he let them think whatever they wanted if it got them babbling.

Truth was he had done his research, and he had actually hoped he might meet Briala at the ball. There were questions that needed answers. Some she could tell him herself and some her body language and inflections would tell for her.

He needed to know if somewhere down there she still cared for the Empress, or the Empress for her. He got that answer, and he used that information accordingly.

"I know what you must think. I acted with an agenda to impose. I manipulated two women who have no business together into forgiving each other, one of which as I see it has no right to forgiveness. I put in a precarious situation to prove a point, and used their affections for each other against them. But do you not think it is better this way for them to see that two people, and one who they would otherwise overlook can work together? Do you not see that men who will do anything to seize power are better off removed before they become a deeper problem?" He sighed. Talon wasn't really the person to argue this with.

It wasn't like Talon was deeply involved in the political turmoil that was the Orlesian court, or that he could perchance offer a better solution. He had asked a question, he hadn't accused him or anything.

"Listen, I don't know if I did the right thing. That's kind of the shitty part about all of this isn't it?" He was very stressed, visibly so. Pacing around the war room babbling all his concerns to no one in particular. The feelings he had were somewhere between anger and fear. Angry that he was certain some would see his actions as a threat, or a ploy to force his ideals onto an entire country, and afraid of the consequences those notions would create. "I don't think anyone knows really. We all just do things and hope they don't come back to bite us in the ass. This certainly will, and I know, I fucking know it will!"

[linkspooky]

What ending would you have liked for the League villains in BNHA?

Well, there's two answers to this question. What would be my ideal ending to the League of Villains requires major story structure changes. To the point where it almost becomes an entirely different story,v venturing into fanfiction territory.

Basically keeping the story as it is until My Villain Academia, there's no longer a clear and distinct line between Hero and Villain. Shigaraki is now the real deuteragonist of the story, and the story is split between Deku's journey and Shigaraki's.

The league are no longer just an insane fringe element that doesn't deserve to be listened to or have their wrongs redressed. Since they now have the MLA they have public support behind them, they like become actual rebels against hero society with even public support. Either the War Arc doesn't happen, or the villains win and society is effectively destroyed so that the heroes no longer have their tight grasp.

A bunch of kids die in the war, because they weren't relevant and it's a consequence for UA raising child soldiers. The remaining relevant kids are forced to cope with two realities, number one they were violent enforcers of a broken system, number two the villains are right in some ways. A moment of the kids going "Are we the bad guys?" However, they can't agree with destroying everything so they have to fight to rebuild. The kids have lost faith in the adults, break off from them entirely so the adults no longer hog all the screentime and try to attempt to solve the problem on their own. Also, Enji dies in the war arc because Hori didn't do anything satisfying with his character beyond that part, and Dabi is hit with feelings of: oh no killing my father didn't fix my problem.

Then you'd basically have to have the narrative find a compromise between Shigaraki's complete radicalism but lack of any motivation to rebuild, and Deku's desire to save others but lack of self-awareness about the evils of his society and how the system can't be fixed as it is. Like a war between the opposite forces of preservation and destruction and Deku and Shgiaraki having to eventually work together to build their world. Maybe Deku even manages to convince Shigaraki there is a future, and save him from statements like "I don't care what happens next." The League of Villains and the reduced Class 1A are like two parallel groups in the manga running in tandem, and also Deku's bonds with his friends are closer now and actually shown in story they become a tight knit group so both sides are trying to protect the people they love too.

Here was my realistic ending I was expecting when the war started. The kids fight their respective villainous foils and then manage to talk them down and solve things with words instead of violence. Then the villains and heroes team up in order to save Shigaraki from AFO, which is the first step of redemption of the league, and also the kids realizing that the league love each other. At the end of the fight Deku tells Shigaraki what he's always wanted to hear when he was Tenko, "You can be a hero, too." bookending the story with the words All Might told him. The villains either get rehabilitated because they helped take down AFO, or they run off to become vigilantes.

What we got was everyone being sent to hell instead and that sure is something.

[gimmethatagustd]

the flower knight (1) | kth + myg

A disciple of the Mugunghwa Temple, Yoongi has lived a pious life free of the vices of the outside world. That is until the temple must become a safehouse for wounded soldiers when war breaks out, and Yoongi catches the eye of a certain military commander.

○ Pairing: Soldier!Taehyung x Healer!Yoongi

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Historical fantasy, magic, pistilverse, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, angst, eventual smut, eventual fluff

○ Word Count: 3,143

○ Warnings: A minor character experiences public humiliation and slut shaming due to religious beliefs (of a fake religion I made up). Additionally, Yoongi is forced to have his body examined for flower markings. This isn't sexual or violent, and Yoongi isn't upset about it, but it still gives me the ick lmfao so I figured I should put a warning just in case.

○ Notes: I added a glossary at the end of the fic for those of you who aren’t familiar with the Pistilverse AU. If you subscribe to me on AO3, this will probably look familiar to you~

○ Post Date: January 2, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Bad things always come in threes.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he believes in destiny, but he does believe in this rule of thirds. He doesn’t remember where he learned the saying; perhaps he learned it from one of the other temple pistils, the older ones who like to tease the younger ones who are gullible and impressionable. Yoongi doesn’t think he was ever one of those young students, but he believes in the saying, doesn’t he?

Life has allotted Yoongi very few tragedies, for which he is grateful. Despite being an orphan, abandoned at the Mugunghwa temple as an infant to be cared for by the monks, he enjoyed a fulfilling childhood. The monks loved Yoongi with unconditional kindness that can only come from someone touched by the grace of the gods. The other orphaned children, those who had yet to have their awakening, played in harmony and were raised to be future disciples – that is, until their subgenders were awakened.

The monks raise the orphans within the confines of the temple grounds, but Yoongi never yearned for what lies beyond the colorful stone walls separating the temple buildings from the outside world. Yoongi had heard enough about the evil of the secular world, where the villages at the bottom of the mountain succumb to greed, violence, and lust and where suffering runs rampant through the townspeople. To Yoongi, it seems that the gods have forsaken such places. He is more interested in maintaining his quiet temple life.

So one might wonder, how does Min Yoongi, a young temple disciple with no knowledge of the world, know that bad things always come in threes if he has yet to experience bad things?

Twenty-one years of peace is far too long of a streak to maintain. At some point, luck runs out. Although Yoongi is a devout disciple of the gods, he can’t help but wonder if sometimes even the gods do not have control over fate.

The morning of the First Bad Thing starts as every morning does: Yoongi wakes with the sun. 

Light streams through the thin curtains drawn across his open windows, illuminating his quaint room with hues of orange and yellow. A breeze gently stirs the curtains, causing them to flutter with each new gust of wind. 

Children’s laughter filters in from outside. Yoongi smiles when he hears one of the older pistils, Namjoon, scold the children for being loud so early in the morning. No one cares if the children make noise, and Namjoon knows that. That’s why his threats of putting the children to work are empty and half-hearted. 

With a longing for simpler times pulling at his heartstrings, Yoongi forces himself out of bed. There is no time to miss the past when the present urges him to get started. 

After washing his face in the washbasin in the small bath adjoining his bedroom, he slips into his white linen hanbok, the simple one that doesn’t weigh heavily on his shoulders. The weather has been unusually warm for the spring, and Yoongi isn’t interested in sweating through his clothes while he does his daily chores. Sometimes, he wishes he could wear less restrictive clothes, like the simple linen shirt and shorts he wears to sleep. Unfortunately, the monks have taught the student disciples that such clothing isn’t becoming of pistils. Less cloth means more exposed skin, and with exposed skin comes the risk of showing off one’s awakening mark. 

Yoongi watches himself in the small mirror he keeps on top of his dresser, propped against the wall. In the oval glass, he twists to take a peek over his shoulder by turning his head to the side. He can barely see the tips of the barren tree branches that decorate his spine. As a sign that he was maturing from a teen into a young man, the mark of a barren tree sprouted from the base of his spine one morning. It crept up his back, its dark lines eventually breaking off into branches that spread between his shoulder blades. 

When Yoongi fastens his hanbok, the black branches are hidden away, just as he was taught. 

Having experienced the extremely uncomfortable awakening nearly ten years ago, Yoongi has reached the point where he rarely looks at his awakening mark. It is a reminder of his status in society, a lowly pistil whose primary purpose in life is to tend to the stamen who desire him. 

While some orphaned teens he grew up with were disappointed to awaken as pistils, Yoongi was relieved. Becoming a pistil meant he could stay in the temple as a disciple of god. If he had awakened as a stamen by developing the mark of a flower somewhere on his body rather than branches or vines, the monks would have sent him away to the military – where the monks send all stamen orphans once they’ve reached their awakening. Stamen are naturally stronger and more equipped to handle the violence of war than pistils are. 

Yoongi is sure the gods did not make him for military life. He feels sorrow merely from stepping on an ant; he could never handle war. 

It is a blessing from the gods that Yoongi was left on the temple grounds by his parents. As a temple pistil, he is privileged to live within a community of only pistils, never once having met a stamen aside from his orphan friends once their status was awakened. And even then, those friends were always gone by the following day, whisked away at night to fulfill their duties as peacekeepers. 

Warriors. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of war, Yoongi leaves his bedroom and follows the hall toward the front doors of the students’ quarters. All students reside in one dormitory on the west side of the temple grounds, just south of the Mugunghwa garden. Yoongi loves the dormitory. He likes the intricate designs that decorate the walls and the proximity to the garden. But most of all, he likes living with his friends. 

Yoongi carries a small wicker basket filled with gardening tools in his arms. He is halfway along the meandering stepping stone path toward the Mugunghwa garden when he sees Namjoon rushing toward him. 

“Yoongi hyung!” 

Namjoon’s sandals slap against the ground, spraying dirt and gravel into the air as he hurries to reach a confused Yoongi. It’s odd; Namjoon is known for his quiet, studious personality. As one of the most promising students, Namjoon carries himself with poise and a gentle confidence Yoongi has admired ever since the two became friends after their awakenings. Yoongi has never seen Namjoon so animated. 

“Be careful,” Yoongi warns, motioning toward the mulched flower beds lining the stepping stone path. A small lizard scurries from a patch of ferns across the stones. 

Namjoon quickly sidesteps to avoid running too close to the pathway's edge. 

Patches of colorful flowers have already poked out of the ground. These are primarily common flowers: roses, marigolds, and peonies – all with little value aside from being pretty and smelling good. It isn’t until one gets deep into the garden, where the well of golden water is, that the magic can be felt flowing through the plants’ roots. 

“H-hyung, oh shit,” Namjoon trips forward and grabs Yoongi’s forearm to steady himself. 

Yoongi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. What has gotten into his friend? 

“Don’t make me tell Myeong noona that you’re using such language, Joon-ah.” He speaks through a teasing smile that slowly dissolves into a frown when Namjoon doesn’t smile back. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Junseo,” Namjoon huffs through loud inhales as he tries to recover from the jog up the steep path. 

The altitude in the mountains can easily affect one’s head. It’s one of the many reasons Yoongi avoids exercising unless he has to. He’s mostly a bit lazy, but he supposes that even the temple disciples can afford some vices. Laziness is the closest to rebelling he’ll ever get. 

“What trouble has he gotten himself into now, hmm? Got bitten by one of the temple cats again?” Yoongi muses. With Junseo, anything is possible. Yoongi swears no one in the entire temple has needed to be rescued from silly mishaps as often as Junseo. 

“No, hyung,” Namjoon rushes to speak. His cheeks are pink, and sweat glistens on his top lip. “Junseo got marked .” 

The wicker basket of gardening tools barely misses smashing a bed of marigolds when the handle slips from Yoongi’s loose grasp. 

Leaving the basket where it falls, Yoongi grabs Namjoon by the wrist. His expression is stony as he asks, “How do you know?” 

“I heard Arem speaking with Misuk-ssi,” Namjoon whispers harshly. He’s breathing heavily as he practically drags Yoongi down the stone pathway toward the dormitory. “She asked her to find Junseo.” 

There is nothing more that Namjoon needs to say; everyone knows what it means to be called upon by one of the temple leaders.

The two men are silent as they weave through the stone paths connecting the temple buildings in a winding journey meant to mimic the peacefulness of strolling through the woods. Yoongi has yet to explore the woods, but he supposes he understands the meaning behind the landscaping. 

Their journey today is anything but peaceful. 

At first, Yoongi is afraid that their frantic hurrying toward the grand temple courtyard will cause suspicion – and he’s sure he and Namjoon aren’t supposed to know about Junseo. But it becomes clear that it isn’t just Yoongi and Namjoon who are privy to the scandal. Despite the early hour, the entire student body is trying to meander toward the courtyard. 

If gossip doesn’t bring the students out into the open, Junseo’s cries do. 

Yoongi doesn’t hear the wailing until he and Namjoon near the grand temple, where prayers and other religious ceremonies are held. The grand temple is also where the temple leaders reside, though Yoongi has never been in the wing with their living quarters. Trespassing is forbidden, but Yoongi is not interested in their living quarters. He has never admitted it out loud, but some of the leaders scare him. 

Misuk and Insu are the most intimidating of all the temple leaders and monks combined, so naturally, they are the leaders whose feet Junseo grovels at as he weeps. The young man’s face is wet with tears and lined with red marks on his cheeks as though he has been clawing at his face. Seeing him with clothes and other small trinkets scattered around his body, his white hanbok soiled by dirt, makes Yoongi’s blood run cold. 

“Pick yourself up, Junseo,” Misuk commands. The refreshing breeze has died down, making Misuk's words cut through the spring air and echo between buildings. 

“Please don’t make me leave, seonsaengnim!” Junseo presses his forehead to the stone path at the base of the temple stairs. “I am nothing without Mugunghwa!”

Misuk and Insu stand a few steps above him and watch him with eyes as dark as the center of the well of gold water in the garden. Yoongi has never seen such icy glares. Until now, nothing has disrupted the peacefulness of the temple. Sure, they all have occasional quarrels; it’s hard not to bicker when living in such a tight-knit community. Scandal, though, is unheard of. And this certainly is a scandal. 

“You have defiled your body, Kang Junseo,” Insu finally speaks, his voice as tight as the grimace on his face. “You are no longer welcome on sacred grounds.” 

When Junseo rises to his knees, the group of onlookers gasp. Even Namjoon inhales sharply, the sound quiet but loud enough for Yoongi to hear from where he stands beside him. 

Yoongi is silent as he watches Junseo hurry to pull his clothes tighter to his body, but the damage has been done. A large rip in the back of his hanbok runs from just below the collar down to the base of his spine. When he twists his torso, slivers of skin peek out from the rips – skin decorated with the prettiest marks Yoongi has ever seen. 

Dozens of flowers line the branches on Junseo’s back. Yoongi can’t make out the types of flowers from where he stands, the markings too small for him to see any details, but he’s close enough to be both amazed and horrified by the variation of colors on the young man’s skin. 

Junseo has many flowers on his back, which only means one thing: Junseo is no longer a virgin. From the looks of it, he lost his virginity a long time ago, or he has taken on many lovers in a short period— many lovers. 

Whispers erupt around them, but Yoongi can only hear his blood rushing in his ears. It isn’t until he feels lightheaded that he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He’s never seen the mark of a stamen on a pistil’s body before. Disciples are forbidden from having romantic relationships or engaging in sexual activity. One must be pure for the gods, dedicating their time to worship and the betterment of their community rather than to bodily pleasure. 

Not to mention the fate of pistils who are outed for having a stamen mark – let alone multiple – out of wedlock. 

“What will happen to him?” Yoongi asks Namjoon, never once taking his eyes off Junseo as he gathers his belongings into his arms. 

Namjoon shrugs, his eyes, too, still on Junseo. “I don’t know, work at a brothel, most likely. No one will want to marry him, and no self-respecting business owner will hire him.” 

Pressing his fingers to his lips, Yoongi tries to suppress a gasp without looking too obvious that he’s shocked by Namjoon’s prediction. “A brothel?” Yoongi knows what one is, but he cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to live and work in one. 

“Mhm,” Namjoon hums. “It’s awful. Many brothel pistils run out of room on their branches, so they go through a second awakening. Or a third and fourth. I’ve heard rumors of some brothel pistils completely covered in flowers.” 

One awakening was painful enough for Yoongi. To go through multiple… he doesn’t even want to consider it.

In front of him, Junseo stands with his belongings clutched to his chest. He has stopped crying and now stares ahead with a blank expression as though he doesn’t see anything at all. The look makes bile bubble up Yoongi’s throat. Silently, Junseo turns his back on the temple leaders and walks with squared shoulders across the courtyard toward the entrance of the temple grounds. 

The students dissipate in waves as Junseo walks through the grounds. There is nothing else to see here; no more drama to ogle. Even Misuk and Insu leave, taking slow, purposeful steps to their wing of the grand temple. In a matter of minutes, the courtyard is empty, aside from Yoongi, Namjoon, and a handful of other students who have returned to talking amongst themselves or studying. Junseo is merely a speck in the distance, moving like an ant until he turns a corner and Yoongi can no longer see him. 

Just like that, Junseo is gone, and the temple returns to how it was as if there had never been a Junseo at all. 

The only change to temple life after Junseo’s dramatic departure is the immediate implementation of what the monks call a “purity sweep.” They insist to the students that this is a one-time occurrence, merely the opportunity for temple leaders to ensure that no one else has fallen prey to worldly temptations. If the rest of the students are well-behaved, purity sweeps won’t be needed. 

Although Yoongi is a virgin, he trembles with nerves when he stands outside the infirmary a week later with Namjoon at his side. 

“It’ll be alright,” Namjoon reassures Yoongi, gently squeezing the nape of his neck. “It’ll be over before you know it. I can even go first if you’d like.” Namjoon is too kind for his own good. 

Yoongi shakes his head even though having Namjoon go first would be a source of comfort for him. His nerves are irrational. If he was a good student, he’d know how to meditate the fear away like Namjoon had.  “No, no, I will be fine.”

Bracing himself for the unknown, Yoongi enters the infirmary. There is a monk there to guide him to the correct examination room. Their sandals click against the stone flooring and echo through the hall. Yoongi doesn’t need the monk to show him where to go, but he doesn’t say anything. Due to his affinity for plants, Yoongi has trained to become a temple healer. Thus, he knows his way around the infirmary due to his regular training hours.

Although magic does not run through the veins of pistils, the Mugunghwa carry magic in their petals from the gold water in the enchanted well at the center of the Mugunghwa garden. Monks like Yoongi, who is patient and kind, know how to nurture the magic within those plants, using their petals to create healing potions that the monks send throughout the kingdom. 

Reaching the correct room, the monk allows Yoongi to enter first. He gives Yoongi a gentle smile and gestures to a wooden table against the wall. 

“You may remove your hanbok and place it there,” the monk instructs. He’s an unfamiliar face to Yoongi, which isn’t surprising. The Mugunghwa temple is one of the largest in the Mountain region; it’s impossible to know everyone. 

Silently, Yoongi follows the monk’s instructions. He shivers once he is standing in nothing but his underwear despite the room being almost uncomfortably warm. Unsure of what to do with himself, Yoongi stands stiffly with his arms at his sides. The stance seems good enough, for the monk doesn’t say anything as he walks a tight circle around Yoongi’s rigid body, looking for any splotches of color along the branches covering Yoongi’s back. 

Sweat beads at Yoongi’s hairline, making his blonde bangs stick to his skin. What if the monk finds a blemish on Yoongi’s skin and thinks it’s a stamen’s flower? Will they immediately toss him out like Junseo? Would Yoongi have the chance to explain himself? 

Questions swarm his mind, churning around until his brain is clouded with nonsense. He’s so stressed that he nearly misses the light touch on his shoulder. 

“Yoongi?” The monk calls out softly, making Yoongi blink rapidly. 

“Yes, seonsaengnim?” 

“You may get dressed. The examination is over.” 

With a sigh of relief, Yoongi scrambles to put his clothes on. As he hurries out of the infirmary to wait for Namjoon in the courtyard, he sends a silent prayer to the gods that the other students remain pure like they’re supposed to. Yoongi doesn’t want to go through another purity sweep ever again.

Series Masterlist

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

(Borrowed from here and revised to fit my fic)

Pistilverse AU - A South Korean fanfic trope wherein almost all humans experience an "awakening" during puberty that assigns them into one of two botanically-inspired groups: Pistils and Stamens. These groups are denoted by marks on the person's body, similar to tattoos.

Pistil and Stamens - Pistils develop a mark of a barren tree that appears along their spine after their awakening, while stamens develop a flower somewhere on their body after their awakening.

Awakening - The moment a flower or tree appears on a person’s body, signifying their status as a pistil or stamen. You could look at it as a coming-of-age moment in a person’s life. These are typically painful for pistils. A pistil might experience more than one awakening if their tree becomes too full of flowers.

Marks/Marking - When a pistil sleeps with a stamen, the stamen’s flower blooms on the pistil’s tree branches. The number of flowers a pistil has is proportional to that of the stamens they had sex with. In this fic, pistils with many flowers are considered promiscuous and experience slut shaming based on religion.

Marked - The term used to describe a pistil who has received a stamen’s flower on their body.

Mugunghwa - The national flower of South Korea.

Gukseon - A Chief officer of a Hwarang group. The Hwarang were an elite warrior group in Silla, an ancient kingdom of the Korean Peninsula until the 10th century.

Seonsaengnim - A respectful honorific for a teacher.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 18 thoughts:

Well that sure just happened

I'm fine

Noelle ate my daughter. But I'm fine. It's fine.

Her girlfriends are gonna save her!

I'm fiiiiine

Anyway, that's like, the end of the arc so there's a lot of other stuff that happens!

Taylor casually drops that she's mostly blind in conversation and Brian kinda freaks out. Understandably.

She got eye drops that she is supposed to be doing but never mentions doing them. I'm very disappointed in her. I'm also worried her eyes aren't going to ever get better.

I do love that the moment Dinah says she only has a 58% chance of going home and Taylor realizes it's because of her, she forces the situation by taking Dinah home right away. She is far from perfect, but she does have her moments.

RACHEL LET DINAH PET HER DOG!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! LOOK AT THE GROWTH!!

One of my favorite lines, when Taylor asks Dinah the chance of trouble before they go into the medical clinic "When there's trouble, it's you.  Eighty percent of the time." Just, kinda embodies the spirit of Worm I think.

I'm still fine.

Taylor sure thinks about Rachel as Rachel a lot now, instead of mostly as Bitch. GAAAAAY.

I really want to know what's on those papers Dinah left for Taylor. Triumph saw them but didn't seem to react. One might have been a message for him, since Dinah would know he would see it. Something that will come into play later maybe.

I love Parian making a giant wiener dog for everyone to ride on. Like, it is a definite upgrade in transportation from "door with glass stuck in it dragged down the street" but it doesn't have much of a supervillain vibe to it.

Noelle just starts it off with grabbing possibly the strongest cape available in Brockton Bay. At a minimum, one of the most versatile to clone. No big deal. Not like even just normal Vista could become very dangerous if she wanted to be evil.

Freaking PRT all "this is a Class A instead of a Class S cause Eidolon is a big man baby and needs to punch something all on his own to prove he's strong". Sure are helping people Alexandria. Good job. What a hero.

I think Eidolon is Bargain Bin Scion. Scion Lite. Blue Light Special Scion. A shitty version of Scion created by Cauldron basically.

Clockblocker is so fucking fascinated with Skitter it's amazing.

Tattletale made Eidolon maaaaaad! I love her.

I'm perfectly fine.

The scene with meeting the Chicago Wards, oh god I loved it so much! Skitter tells Bitch to clear the plywood out of a window and she just instantly fucking kicks it open, then a giant swarm comes in and swirls around everyone and covers Skitter, making her hair move and trailing bugs behind her like a gown, and then starts speaking with the swarm. And Tattletale waits until the perfect moment before asking the Wards their names and powers, very clearly backing Skitter up as her 2nd. Just such a "ok I was playing nice but now I need you to know who you are working with!" power move. Fucking amazing. Also it was Skitter being assisted by Bitch and Tattletale! GAAAAAAAAAAAY!! LESBIAN SUPERVILLAIN POWER POLYCULE!

I think Grace has neat powers but could have been more creative with her name. I fucking love Tecton though, assume tinker. Dude has got to love fights like this, where he is allowed to do all the property damage he wants. He'd make a good villain.

The other two are kinda neat too but they didn't last very long.

Every time they are going anywhere Bitch specifically offers Skitter a ride. GAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!

I love seeing the range of power adjustments the clone Vistas get. Some are pretty basic - can do stuff from farther away or not be slowed down if a lot of people are around - but then we get ones like Paper Mario Vista and Imagine Dragons Vista, with much more wild powers.

Everyone stand back while Eidolon goes and shows us all how strong he is! God.

I'm 100% FINE.

Side effect of being blinded probably, but it is neat how good Taylor is getting at listening, and sometimes even seeing, through her bugs! Just listening in on Eidolon and Noelle from blocks away.

Imp almost gets crushed to death by Eidolon's gravity power cause she ignores warnings from Skitter to run. Sounds about right.

Noelle making rat clones and bug clones (that Skitter can't control) is fun.

Fucking projectile vomit attack suddenly! Did Noelle absorb the girl from the Exorcist??

Texas Wards kinda getting their ass kicked. (Also what the hell is going on in Texas that the whole state apparently just has the one Wards team, vs most places have a Ward team per city?)

Fight is going kinda poorly. Travelers show up to help! And then Trickster betrays everyone to feed my daughter to Noelle! AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm fine.

The Most Powerful Man in the World Interlude thoughts:

Scion just really is empty in there isn't he?

Not a person, just a construct of the entities in 3 dimensional space. Sphere moving through Flatland and being seen as a circle style. No mind, just does what this guy tells him.

Duke is a very good dog.

Kevin talking about Scion 100% sounds like someone talking about a lover that has been lots of trouble for them but that they just can't quite.

Lisette is having a weird day.

I really wonder how the next Endbringer attack is going to go now that Scion has been told to kill them. Wonder if it'll be different.

Crusader Interlude thoughts:

Shockingly, it turns out that the Nazi is an asshole. News at 11.

Night and Fog were basically constructed by this Gesellschaft group. Seems like a branch of Cauldron pretending to be Nazis for more control over things. Or maybe not directly a branch of Cauldron, but they get powers from Cauldron. Maybe not related, but they make weapons, which is very much what Cauldron can do, and we haven't seen anyone else yet reliably make powers with control over the outcome.

This poor TA is having a bad day.

Taylor triggered 2 or more times in that locker. I was 100% positive of that the second the TA said "You can’t really distinguish a single trigger event from having two in quick succession." I probably should have realized this earlier.

Really curious where Theo and Aster's stories are going. I could see one or both of them being a major part of the end of the world (based on stuff from Trickster's visions on stuff from Noelle's interlude I'm thinking a 3rd or 4th generation cape might play a part in it), but I could also see them being red herrings.

Theo is upset but realistically getting abandoned and left with the PRT is the best option that could have happened to him.

Jessica Yamada Interlude thoughts:

This poor woman

Faultline Interlude thoughts:

OH MY GOD Gregor and Shamrock are super fucking cute together!!!!

Faultline is amazing and very organized and detail oriented and an assertive leader who wears a dress shirt with slacks and cowboy boots and threatens to get a bullwhip and I would really like her to tell me what to do k thx.

Not positive I would trust the minor precog abilities of Shamrock to make me Simurgh proof, but it's better than nothing.

The quarantine zone of the city of Madison is doing great!

Wasn't expecting to get to see Matroyshka again, that's neat! She should probably stop eating people but otherwise she's fun.

Faultline just not being able to stand Tattletale is wonderful. I hope they bother each other for years to come.

I like this crew, so I was not happy that they got really fucked up by Contessa. But I also want to like Contessa (as much as I can like someone who works for Cauldron) and this did make her seem really badass.

Noelle Interlude thoughts:

I'm fine.

Regent keeping up the jokes under pressure, good for him.

Finally got some good descriptions of Noelle's powers doing stuff which was very good.

I'm fine.

Also fun to see various clones and their powers.

AND THE VISION! OH MY GOD THE VISION! So much good info from that. It helped me get a much better idea of things and confirmed a lot of things I already thought. (Like Cauldron has basically hijacked an entity, more or less. Not the details on how though.)

I'm fine.

The fact that Noelle can let the god dandruff take control is interesting. Like her connection never got fully closed compared to other people. Which is what I assumed only taking half a vial did. Really curious to see if we ever get more info on Oliver.

Her Earth Bet self is like, 15 years younger. But still has the same name. Kinda wild.

I'm fine.

Also her Earth Bet dad gave her the name Echidna, which like, I get it's the mother of monsters or whatever, but I can only think of the cute adorable little creature!

I'm fine.

I obviously wish Eidolon had been able to defeat Noelle and save my daughter but him having a big sad about it not being fair that he can't get stronger is pretty funny too. I do not like the guy.

I'm fine.

I'm sure Tattletale has a plan and everything will work out.

I'm fine.

I'm 100% absolutely fine.

[diminuel]

Ngl i didnt really love Dragodile but THEN I saw your drag-on (hehe) pic and it all clicked. dragon loves Crocodile no matter what, if he changes gender, kills people, overthrows a government, kills people, enforces a drought on a small kingdom, kills people, steals, lies, cheats, he loves him so fully that it penetrates all else. even when they can’t be together, even if Crocodile did something so evil the only safe and just thing would be to kill Crocodile — Dragon would STILL love him

And Dragon would do ANYTHING for Crocodile, would change as much as he could. If Dragon was straight when Crocodile transitioned he would do everything he could to be supportive and caring, maybe even try to fake or force it if it didn’t follow suit — but if Crocodile was still straight after he transitioned (somehow) than Dragon would crossdress as much as he could. Happily live life as Crocodile’s dotting girlfriend if that’s what it took to make him happy.

But Crocodile loves and respects him too much to try and tie him down. Maybe an even more selfish crocodile could work to slowly corrode and morph Dragon into his pirate desert criminal king, someone eager to protect Baroque works and propel Crocodile to the throne — but that wouldn’t be *his* Dragon.

I think what is interesting about Dragon and Crocodile as a ship is that we have nothing to go on. Zero. The only thing that binds them together is Iva knowing Crocodile and the Crocodad theory. Which means that this ship lives off the potential. It is a vessel for all the wholesome and fucked up ideas we can make up for them.

We can use what little we know of Dragon and Crocodile’s characters to give us an idea what their interactions would be like but even that is kind of uncertain *lol*

Dragon in drag is @mangyraccooon's doing, I cannot take credit for that X’D

But I do like to imagine that Dragon and Crocodile’s love for each other is unconditional because that just appeals to me. Sure, Dragon is most likely a character with a strong moral code, but it’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? He IS branded as a criminal. He doesn’t shy away from starving people as long as those are people he doesn’t approve of. He shouldn’t judge Crocodile too harshly for his nefarious plans. (Well, he might not like the whole government dog thing, but might see the merit in having access to government resources and information.)

So far I’ve disregarded the topic of sexuality and gender and how that might impact their relationship, since I feel it would be a non-issue for Dragon? I have nothing to back this up of course. But yes, I don’t think Crocodile would want Dragon to change for him, at least not in that regard. If Dragon wants to experiment then sure, go ahead.

Regarding the Crocodile influencing (( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) if you’re a Supernatural fan you know why I make that face) Dragon idea. He could but then again I don’t really think Dragon is someone who easily lets himself be influenced. Dragon is a very stubborn kind of man, but even he can be pushed to change his approach as we’ve seen after Ohara. Since he’s now willing to use force, he might also be willing to listen to Crocodile’s more questionable avenues to getting power and money. But I think both of them know that they have diverging paths even though their goal might be the same. And they have to be alright with that.

(Though I really like the idea that Crocodile is basically doing the dirty work for the RA until they manage to have enough power to do the dirty work themselves.)

All that said… I would actually be interested in scenarios where Dragon does not as easily forgive Crocodile for what he’s done – in Alabasta, to Luffy (even though Crocodile wouldn’t have known about the kid). It would be interesting how they might navigate the clash of love and anger. Maybe they should have sex about it.

Sorry, I ended up rambling about random things.

[elisedonut]

thinking about someone feeding a love potion to Percy but like with it it being on their fingers

or like hand feeding someone chocolates if you want to be a coward it's the same concept but just less feral

this is a very dark concept but listen (like if you want obv. I'm putting his under a read more dhfjkdlf)

so like someone strong enough to hold Percy in place in their lap while still having a hand free to attempt to force their fingers into his mouth

Percy fighting less and less as more of the potion enters his body

going from outright biting them and kicking to just calmly accepting what they're giving him until the person holding him doesn't even have to grip him anymore and is able to just calmly hold him and run their other hand through his hair

what ship uhh????? Marcus? for obvious reasons

Cedric?? i was thinking about how he becomes evil in that one timeline in CC so arguably could work

Legit any other older Slytherin quidditch team member

I feel weird when I talk non-con because I'm very picky about it

like when it comes to something like this for me its the most fun when it comes from a place of affection even though its fucked up twisted affection

Like i want the person doing this to be so obsessed that they feel like they have to

like they don't even have a choice

like if they don't they might die type BS

I want them to hate themself for it after the euphoria is gone

I want them to apologize over and over while Percy's still under the potion effects even though they know he won't understand why they are

I want them to vanish after never giving Percy any answers

and like that doesn't make it ok obv but it makes it fun

vs when the character doing it is like hateful about it and keeps saying how the one their doing it to is nothing and worthless where it just makes me sad kfjsljfsd

[queenlucythevaliant]

make your choice

Digory didn’t think much on making choices. The whole world would be over when his mother died anyhow.

Of course, this didn’t keep him from being curious or adventurous. It was exciting to meet new people, exciting to go exploring and to speculate about whatever mischief his Uncle Andrew was up to. Being a lively young boy was perhaps the best distraction from being a boy about to lose his mother.

Going after Polly was so obviously right that it might as well not have been a choice at all. What else could he do? It was easy to be righteous in the face of an evil old magician who said things like "Ours is a high and lonely destiny."

Yet once they were there in that rich, in-between place, with all the worlds there were splayed out before them— ((Make your choice, adventurous stranger)) Well. What sort of lively young boy would he be if he turned back now?

Digory could feel the bell’s magic ((strike the bell and bide the danger)) beginning to work on him. There was no use in resisting. He felt tendrils of magic sinking deep beneath his skin, laying claim to any free will he’d ever had. He said as much to Polly, but she wasn’t listening.

Polly said ((or wonder till it drives you mad)) that he looked exactly like his uncle when he said that.

Jadis’s whole world had ended. Everyone had died, and she’d just gone to sleep. She might have stayed sleeping forever if he hadn’t woken her. Sitting outside his mother’s sickroom, Digory wondered ((what would have followed if you had)) if that was really so shocking. Hadn’t he been preparing for just such an end? Were Charn and Mabel Kirke so different?

Narnia was not an end. It was a beginning.

And face to face with the Lion, Digory was forced to admit that the bell had not been magic. Nothing had caused him to strike it. Make your choice, the writing had said. Digory had chosen. 

I’ve spoiled everything. There’s no chance of getting anything for mother now.

The enormous Lion asked him, "Son of Adam, are you ready to undo the wrong that you have done?" and Digory sputtered his maybes.

"I asked, are you ready?" the Lion said again.

At that very moment, an ultimatum flashed through Digory’s mind. If I salvage your beginning, will you prevent my end? If make amends, will you save my mother? He thought of refusing, of holding his choice hostage until his future was secure. Could the Lion be bargained with? Could Digory twist his arm, as he'd twisted Polly's?

But what Digory said was, "Yes."

Jadis conjured such lovely visions of the future. His mother's face would lose its gray sheen and she would say, Why, I'm beginning to feel stronger. There would be no more morphia, no more of the terrible drawn look about her when she slept. She would rise from her sickbed, vibrant and whole ((Come in by the gold gates or not at all)) rise and walk to the door and fling it open and then Digory would go running into her arms. 

He gasped as though he'd been mortally wounded. Perhaps he had been in a way. After all, had the gate not said ((take my fruit for others or forbear))? 

Jadis ((for those who steal and those who climb my wall)) called Digory the Lion's slave. Years later, he would think back over all that those words implied. The Witch seemed to think that Digory had no will, if he was willing to subordinate himself to Aslan.

But was it not Aslan who made Digory realize his own culpability ((shall find their heart's desire and find despair)), and in the same breath gave him a way to repair it? Had not Aslan given his will back to him?

And at the foot of the tree, Aslan gave Digory his future back as well. 

He was old, but now he is young again, watching as the stars fall headlong across the black of the world-that-was. The world is ending at last, but Digory does not fear such things any longer.

[frootertooter]

Really really long ass rant/ slight analysis? (I dunno what to call this) about Arkhamverse Scarecrow's progression, design, and Rocksteady's environmental storytelling:

I seriously love the world building/design/environmental storytelling around him so damn much- Especially with Arkham Shadows coming out (they better put some cool ass Scarecrow sequences in it since it's in VR), you get to see how he started out as just a guy in a stitched up gas mask. Professor Jonathan Crane in the fullest

Nothing over the top yet (might change, Shadows isn't out yet), until then we hit Arkham Asylum- This game shows us 2 Scarecrow costumes. The one presumably before his incarceration, and the one he wears while inside the asylum.

Inside the asylum, his costume is made of stitched up chunks of inmate uniforms, he's resourceful, he has a higher pitched, cackly voice at the time. He knows his way around the asylum and creates a makeshift secret lair within it. He also knows the doctors within, and uses his experience as a psychologist to trick them during the patient interviews. He even tricks the players when you first listen to the tapes, making you assume the person speaking is the interviewer, and not Scarecrow manipulating/ using the interview tapes as a means to experiment on the doctors. He's even hinted at to have possibly worked at, or with the asylum at some point before he became Scarecrow? (goon dialogue in Arkham Knight)

Favourite quote from the tapes: "I believe he is quite sane. Just evil"

His next change, like his Asylum design, was a result of him being forced to adapt. He gets mauled by Killer Croc in the sewers, barely surviving with his face ripped apart, leg broken, and presumably his throat torn.

Although not present in the second game, the environment of Arkham City shows that Scarecrow is planning on a comeback. There's his mask hidden away, a few goons of his scattered about, and cannisters of fear toxin that you can find in Riddler's rooms and Hush's lair. He's building up connections again, getting ready for the next game.

^^ Using his masterline figure bc it's the only brightened detailed full body image I could find of him (even his in game character trophy has the brightness turned all the way down sobs)

His Arkham Knight design reveals just how much damage Croc did to his body, and how much he's had to adapt. His left leg now has to wear a brace, giving himself a notable squeaking and clacking noise whenever he walks. His right eye is now glassy since he was blinded by the attack, and much of his nose had now been ripped off. So much of his mouth was ripped apart that he can't even close it anymore. Because of his adaptability however, he uses it all to his advantage. As hinted by conversations in game, Crane likely purposefully had his facial reconstruction surgery make himself look like his Asylum costume's mask-

The gas canisters attached to his face and the tubes attached to his throat is likely is what changed his voice into a low gravely tone. His skin now looks like ripped/stitched together cloth, with string tying his lower jaw to the top (don't ask me how he talks with no lips)- He now walks, talks, and acts menacingly, a far cry from his more cartoonish acts in the Asylum.

Yet despite that, he still draws back to his knowledge and familiarity from his Asylum days in Knight. Using his psychologist background, he appeals and teams with every supervillain he can in Gotham, just as the Joker had done back then. He builds his base at the Asylum, bringing Batman over in restraints and ending the game franchise where it had all started.

God I just- he's so cool, I love the world building in the Arkham games, I love the map designs, the character changes, etc. Rocksteady did such a good job at environmental storytelling

Even the foreshadowing bit with Scarecrow's speech on the blimp in Arkham Knight blew me away ksdkfd- "What can you see? A city engulfed in fear? Betrayed by those you trust the most? Your darkest secrets revealed?" He did all that, he tore Batman's legend apart, but even then it didn't break the bat :')

Ofc I still have my issues with Arkham Knight's story (WHY WAS THERE NO SCARECROW BOSS FIGHT...) but overall the series' progression based, environmental storytelling imo is phenomenal