#and was like 'you belong in the fields of punishment!'

[hazellvsq]

mfs really love slotting hazel in roles. died bc she’s a daughter resurrected bc she’s a sister. everyone’s like “hazel’s not like the OTHER undead ghost that i’m about to kill bc she’s pretty/good/like my sister.” hazel is actually exactly like that other undead ghost.

[bi-writes]

If you have time I am kindly asking for Simon and the teams POV on the arranged marriage fic!! Like why they put that ad out! I also think they’re silly for doing the whole ceremony in their gear 👉👈

the arrangement prequel

it wasn't much of a choice. ghost knew this was coming, knew this might happen--disciplinary action from the increasingly...unorthodox ways he was coming back from an op.

one too many times, a capture or kill became looking for the pieces of their target scattered across the field. an accident on the way back to interrogation--he doesn't know how his blade ended up embedded in their mark's throat. he misfired his gun--it's too bad it went straight through that prisoner's forehead.

disobeying without saying no. taking matters into his own hands without exactly defying the rules. ghost had been walking along the boundary line for a long while, and he knew eventually someone would realize the risks he was taking.

it was kate's idea. ghost needed something to chew on, something to satiate the hunger in his bones. a companionship, is what she tells price, but even he knew that was a stretch. anything given to ghost would surely be shredded apart on impact. anything that belongs to him ends up tucked underneath layers of shadows, not to be seen again.

but ghost is the best at what he does. all kate needs is for him to fucking listen once in a while.

when they ride back in the humvee, ghost is fiddling with the chamber of his pistol when price speaks up.

"got somethin' new," he says, looking into the rearview mirror. the sergeants shuffle a little closer to hear him. "new program between CIA and SAS. pilot program, not...exactly routine. but they'd like one of you lot to be the first to participate."

"what is it?"

price clears his throat, "the legality is a grey area. but both parties need to be willing."

"spit it out, cap'n."

"an arrangement of sorts," he says finally. "it's...not a secret 's hard to keep a bird with the things we do...always away, hard to reach. but you're the best at what you do, and i think if you take it seriously, it could be good for one of ya."

soap snorts. "cap'n, ye wanna play matchmaker with us? see if we're worthy of little bonnie spies?"

price snorts, rolling his eyes, "i need you to set an example, is what i need. i need one of you to step forward."

ghost looks up when he says that. his eyes flicker, and he looks at his captain, who keeps his eyes on the road as he drives. he hears what price doesn't say. this is your punishment, he imagines. and you will take it and not say a word, like the lieutenant that you are.

in the dark of his room later that evening, he opens the file with your name typed across the front. CONFIDENTIAL it reads, and he flips the manila folder to spread your profile out onto the desk.

you're smiling in the first photo. it's a headshot, from high school maybe, from college, a pretty photo of you beaming at a camera with a nice background. he eyes your height, weight, measurements, the skills they've identified and the answers to your questions about why you want to participate in the program.

Q: What kind of partner are you looking for? A: Resistant. Unmovable. Loyal.

Q: Why do you want to participate in this program? A: I'm tired of being disappointed.

Q: What are some of the qualities you possess you would like your partner to know about you? A: I'm not afraid of what I don't know.

short answers, straight to the point. affirmative and honest, with no room for interpretation. ghost doesn't need interpretation; he knows what it is you're saying.

when he looks back at your picture, he brings it closer, narrowing his eyes as he studies you. the smile you wear, while beautiful, isn't real. it's a persona, a ruse, a costume that you wear to put the outside world at ease. you understand that a smile makes you agreeable, but he knows, somehow he knows, that there must be a tick that you feel that no one is able to quiet, an anger and a lilt to the soft voice you must speak in that carries the weight of your defiance and your disappointment with everything the world is that you thought it wouldn't be.

ghost isn't told that the program is a lie. you aren't an operative for the CIA, you aren't some kind of spy in need of company. when he reads the rest of your file, he is amused because he knows the rest is made-up bullshit that doesn't apply to you. you are as civilian as they come, but with how well you lie, he wonders if you should be recruited just for that.

with just a little training, he thinks perhaps you might be everything your country needs and more. a little blood wouldn't scare you.

it's weeks later when ghost eyes the date on his calendar. he has marked it with an X, black marker haphazardly traced there to indicate the day. he told price he doesn't want bells and whistles--no music, no men, no party. an unmarked room and his bride is all that is necessary.

he steps outside to smoke a cigarette. he sucks on it gently, blowing it out to the side, and he eyes the car that pulls onto base carefully. when price steps out of the drivers' seat, ghost stubs out the cigarette and turns the corner. he catches a glimpse of a lace veil before he disappears.

and when he steps into the room hours later, your back to him, he can't help the way his pupils dilate and the way his body goes rigid with rage. there you are, standing there, in white silk and lace, your back to him but the picture of elegance and the presence of something honestly deserving.

it is only when he lifts the veil off of your face and sees those eyes that he understands what you are, what you wear.

a façade, a beautiful mask of your own, to cover up the ugly you hold on the inside.

he smiles under the mask when you kiss him over the fabric. because fuck, yes...he doesn't care where you have come from. he doesn't care that they lied about who you are, that they didn't tell him the truth, that in all honesty, they have given you to die and you don't know it--he doesn't care because it worked, at least for him. the finest flesh he has ever set his eyes on. he cannot wait to brand you for what you are worth.

if they meant to punish him for the crimes he has committed, he is sorry. because you are his reward, and there is no hell to pay.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Break Free

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: angst, prison!wanda

Summary: Four new prisoners get admitted into the Raft, and you now have four new clients as the resident psychiatrist. Wanda is an interesting person and the more you get to know her, the more you understand the position she’s in. She’s a hero even if she doesn’t see it.

Squares Filled: "I won't let you be hurt anymore." for @scarletwitchbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

When you got into the psychiatric field, never did you think you would be at one of the most dangerous prisons on Earth. The Raft houses the most dangerous criminals known to man. They started letting superhumans into the prison since it’s the only safe place to put them.

Never did you think you’d ever see any of the Avengers here, either.

You’ve seen some of the worst humans known to man, so why the hell are heroes locked up here? They didn’t do anything wrong. It’s no secret that the Accords were put into effect, and you know some of the Avengers signed it and others didn’t. Everyone heard about the fight at the German airport.

If you were on the team, you wouldn’t have signed it, either.

Thaddeus Ross walks with you down the hallway where the Avengers are staying. You’re the on-call psychiatrist where you work with each prisoner one-on-one and provide them with a bit of therapy and medication to help them. Since they’ve just arrived, Ross is introducing you to them since they are now your new clients.

“We will be giving most of the other prisoners to Dr. Farrow so you can focus solely on our new guests.”

“Are you sure this is the best option? They didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ross stops walking and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“They violated the Accords. They’re criminals.”

He won’t listen to reason so you don’t say anything more of the matter. Everyone knows who the Avengers are but Ross takes you to their cells to do introductions anyway.

“Meet Sam Wilson a.k.a the Falcon.” Sam paces the entire cell and only pauses when he locks eyes with you. “Steve Rogers right-hand man. If he gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to punish him how you see fit.”

“Real mature,” Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to pacing.

Ross takes you from his cell to the next.

“Clint Barton a.k.a Hawkeye.” Clint looks at you but doesn’t say a word. He’s known for being stealthy and not making any noise. He’s not a big talker which is going to be a problem for you. “He’s one of the most notable spies besides Black Widow. Don’t let him manipulate you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Clint bites out.

Ross takes you to the next cell.

“Look, I have a family. They’re going to be worried about me. I’ll do whatever, just get me out of here.”

“Scott Lang a.k.a Antman. He’s a talker. Won’t shut up. Wouldn’t blame you if you skipped his session every once in a while,” Ross scoffs.

“Come on!” Scott begs, but Ross ignores him.

The final cell he takes you to is the one you’ve been looking forward to the most.

“Wanda Maximoff.” She is sitting on the ground with a straight jacket on and a blank look on her face. She looks so broken. What have they done to her? “The witch.”

“Why is she in a straight jacket?”

“We can’t allow her to use her magic. Be careful with her. She’ll get in your head.” Ross takes you back to his office before you can say anything else about it. He must know that what he’s doing is wrong, right? “You’ll be given two hours with each person a day while also tending to some of the other prisoners. I don’t care who you start with but plan your time however you’d like. Any questions?”

“Are you sure they belong here?”

“Yes. They’re criminals. They went against the Accords that over a hundred countries had signed.”

You don’t think the Accords should have ever happened, but you keep your opinions to yourself. You start the day by having sessions with the other prisoners because you’re unsure how you’re going to go about treating the Avengers. They have nothing that needs to be treated but if you don’t do your job, you’ll get fired.

After lunch, you decide it’s time to talk to the Avengers. You wanted to start with an easy one, Scott, but you find yourself in Wanda’s cell with her.

“We didn’t get to meet last time but my name is Dr. Y/N. Can you tell me a little about you?” Wanda doesn’t speak. She looks at you but you don’t think she’s seeing you. She’s distancing herself from the situation. “Wanda, don’t do that. Don’t disassociate.”

“What do you know? You have no idea how I’m feeling,” she says and looks at you.

“You’re right. I don’t, but I do know that disassociation hurts more than it heals. I’ve been doing this a long time, Wanda. I want to help people and understand them better. I believe in the power of medicine which is what I give out.”

“Do you think I need help like that?”

“No. I don’t think what they’re doing to you or the others is right.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs and looks down.

“No, it’s not. It’s not humane.” She looks at you. “I don’t think you did anything wrong here.”

“They seem to think so.”

“For now, don’t think about them. Think about us. It’s just you and me in this room. I just want to get to know you.”

“Because you have to.”

“Because I want to. I could just sit here and pump you full of so much medicine you’ll forget your own name or I can get to know you and understand you as a person.” You hate that she’s in a straightjacket. You fight the urge to take it off her but then Ross will blow a fire under your ass for doing it. “Your choice.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything for five minutes as she contemplates her options.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your interests. What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Before… Sokovia… I loved going to the movies with my brother. We’d sit in the back and make fun of the characters.��� She has a faint smile on her face from the memory. “We’d do everything together.”

“You must miss him.”

You’re no stranger to what happened in Sokovia.

“He was my best friend.”

“What about afterward? How did you cope with the loss of your brother?”

“I didn’t. My home was ruined. My parents were gone. My brother was gone. I had no one left. I was living in a place with strangers. I usually kept to myself. I liked playing guitar. Tony got me one. I watched a lot of TV.”

“What were your favorite shows?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. My family and I used to watch those when I was a kid. It makes me feel close to them.”

“What made you feel safe?”

“Vision.”

“What will make you feel safe now?”

Wanda looks at you in surprise. She didn’t expect you to ask her that question. Normally, prisons don’t care about the comfort of their prisoners but you do. She looks down at the jacket wrapped around her and you nod in understanding. She flinches back when you approach her but she doesn’t move away from you. You step behind her and undo her jacket so that her arms aren’t restricted. You take the jacket off her and lay it over your arm.

“I can’t do much but I can do this. You don’t deserve this.”

Wanda looks up at you with unshed tears in her eyes. Your phone rings and you look at the message Ross sends you.

My office. Now.

“I gotta go. I look forward to talking to you again.”

You leave her cell and make your way to Ross’ office. He doesn’t look too happy and you have a feeling it has something to do with the jacket still over your arm.

“Who gave you the authority to remove her jacket?”

“Me. I did what was best for my patient. Isn’t that why I’m here? To help them become the better versions of themselves? Isn’t that why you hired a psychiatrist and not a psychologist so I could prescribe them medicine if needed?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Then let me do my damn job. No one who isn’t clinically insane deserves to be in a straightjacket.”

“I don’t like your tone, Y/N.”

“You want to fire me? Go ahead. Good luck finding someone who will want to come out here.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says through clenched teeth.

You’re the only one here who doesn’t put up with Ross’ bullshit and he knows it. Everyone else is afraid of him but you won’t let him control you like he does everyone else. You respect yourself too much to let him.

Scott is the easiest to talk to since he won’t shut up. You ask him one question and he’ll go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with what you asked him. Clint is more reserved and will only give you one or two-word answers. It’s clear he isn’t interested in talking with you. Sam is more talkative than Clint but loves to compare this to his experiences with the Air Force. Wanda is the only one you connect with on a personal level. There’s something about her that’s pulling you to her, and you know it’s not her magic.

The next time you see Wanda, you’ve brought her something to eat. She is lying in her bed when you enter, and she sits up to greet you.

“I don’t like what they serve. I brought you something from my personal stash,” you wink at her.

“Thank you,” she smiles.

You sit down on the other side of her bed and share your food with her even though you let her eat most of it.

“Tell me, do you like your powers?”

“I’m kind of stuck with them so I have to, right?”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you like them?”

“Sometimes, no.”

“How did you get them?”

She knows you know how she did but talking about it helps the mind come to terms with what happened so that it may start to heal from it.

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“Whatever version you’re comfortable with giving.”

“My parents were killed by a bomb hitting our complex. The bomb came from Stark Industries. Pietro and I grew up to hate Stark and anything that he did. We attended every protest against him, did everything we could to try and stop him from making weapons and destroying cities for his selfish purposes.

“Hydra saw us and gave us an opportunity to strengthen our country. They gave us a way to fight back those who had too much power. They had Loki’s scepter. Apparently, I was born with the ability of magic but it was so weak that had I not been with Hydra, it probably would have diminished into nothing. The experiments they did allowed the mind stone to reactivate that side of me. It gave me my abilities.”

“Did you want to volunteer for their experiments or do you think Pietro had to convince you to?”

“I think we wanted to matter. I think we were looking for a reason for why all the bad things were happening to us.”

“Do you think you’d do the same thing if you had the chance?”

“No, I don’t,” she sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you do what you do? Why prisoners?”

“I believe in helping everyone regardless of what they’ve done. Some prisoners think prison is a rehab and use that to get better. Some don’t, but I believe in the power of medicine. I just want to help people.”

“And us?”

“I’d use medicine if I thought it would help. Honestly, I don’t think you guys have done anything wrong. I don’t think you guys deserve to be here. You’re heroes in my eyes, especially you.”

Wanda looks into your eyes and tries to understand what you’re thinking. Her cell has power-dampening technology in the walls so she can’t use her magic. She glances down at your lips. Time stops and the only thing that matters is Wanda. She barely moves an inch when the alarms go off and the red light flashes in the hallway.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“What’s happening?”

“A prisoner escaped. Finish the food. I’ll be back for it later.”

Wanda watches you leave and she doesn’t realize she’s smiling until she sees her reflection in the glass. Ross got a handle on the prisoner who escaped. One of the nurses came by to administer medicine for him but they didn’t know that the prisoner doesn’t like to be touched without warning. He knocked her out. You’re the only one who knows this about him since he’s worked with you since he came here.

That took the next three hours of your time, so it’s nearing dinnertime when you’re finished. Wanda deserves more than the slop they serve, so you’ll fix her a plate from the nurses’ station. You’re plating the food when you hear commotion come from the other nurses.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Tony Stark is here.”

You drop what you’re doing and head over to the command center where you spot Tony talking to Ross.

“If Sam’s going to talk to anyone, it’s you, Tony.”

“Yeah, let me see what I can do.”

Steve and Bucky are men on the run, and Ross is searching for them since they violated those stupid Accords. Ross thinks if Tony talks to Sam, he’ll tell him where they are. Tony leaves Ross’ office and you rush to catch up to Tony.

“You’re not on Ross’ side, are you?” you whisper.

Tony pauses and looks at you. He doesn’t know who you are and he doesn’t trust you to reveal his true motives.

“Get back to work before you get in trouble.”

Yeah, he’s not on Ross’ side. Tony and Steve are best friends. He’s here because Steve needs him. If he is going to get Sam to tell him where Steve is, then he can’t let Ross know. Tony has a plan. You’re not sure what it is but you’re going to use it to your advantage. If this goes sideways, you’ll get fired but if it works, you can get Wanda out of here. You rush over to her cell and open the door without letting it close.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I need you to trust me for the next ten minutes. Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”

“What?”

“I don’t have much time. Tony is here talking to Sam. I don’t even know if this is going to work but I have to try. You don’t belong here, Wanda. None of you do. I won’t let you be hurt anymore. Come on.”

Wanda jumps out of bed and follows you out of her cell. She feels her powers heighten inside of her now that she is no longer under the influence of the power-dampening technology. All eyes are going to be on Tony so you’re banking on none of them seeing you and Wanda escaping.

You hold her hand the entire time you’re running with her to where Tony’s helicopter is. Of course, there are guards patrolling the area and moving shipments in and out of the area. If you go now, you’ll be spotted and she’ll be in even more trouble than she already is.

“Shit, that’s a lot of guards. I really didn’t think this through.”

“I got this,” she whispers.

She uses her magic and puts each and every one of the men to sleep. They all fall to the ground like dominoes, and you know you’ll have even less time to get her on that helicopter.

“Yeah, that works,” you nod. “Come on.” You run with Wanda to the helicopter and practically shove her inside. “Keep your head down and don’t let Tony see you.”

“Wait, what about you?”

“I have to stay and make sure they don’t find you. Don’t tell me where you’re going but I’ll find you, okay?”

“No, it’s too risky. You have to come with me.”

You pull her in for a hug and run your hand down her back.

“I have to help the others. It’s what I do, remember?” You pull away but keep your hands on her. “Wanda, you deserve to be free. Now, go before Tony comes back.”

You’re about to leave when she pulls you back into her. This time, her lips plant themselves on yours. You kiss her back feverishly, not knowing when the next time you’ll be able to do this again. You pull away seconds later and run away so that Tony doesn’t spot her. He comes walking out moments later with Ross on his heels.

Wanda peeks her head out one of the windows and looks at you. You give her an encouraging nod and disappear back into the prison. You have to have faith Friday disabled the audio and video but you’re prepared for the ugly alternative.

In case Ross figured out Wanda is gone and you helped her, you have to get the others out as soon as possible. They don’t belong here. They’re heroes and it’s time people start seeing them as that.

x

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[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART I

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 2,992

read on ao3

summary: in which contract killer simon "ghost" riley has to marry by a deadline, and of all the women to pick from, he chose you - without your knowledge, against your own stubborn will, and without much hesitation. your entire life, what you thought you knew, is flipped on its head while you try to navigate your new worldview and the complications therein.

cw: toxic parenting

♡

Simon stares at the photos before him, eyes flittering across the array wordlessly as he contemplates the question at hand. As migrant as his gaze has been, he keeps circling back to the same photo in his grid. Something about it draws him in, calling to him like a siren song. There’s no inclination that this path could lead him to his death, leave his bloated corpse floating just below the surface like seaweed, equally as limp and lifeless, nor can he be bothered to mind the possibility of rocky shores ahead, nearly certain to run his ship aground if he’s not exercising the utmost caution. His sails have never flown higher, and this? This feels like the right rigging for his needs.

It’s not that Simon wants a wife. Truthfully, he wants for nothing - he fucks when he feels like it, does as he pleases, and has hired hands to handle his household; anything he desires is placed at his feet with the snap of his fingers. He’s earned the life he has now, paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears - the likes of which belonging both to him and the piles of bodies he prefers to think of as stepping stones rather than people. But Simon Riley is nothing if not a man of his word, and the bill has come due.

Twenty years, he promised. Twenty years, and not a day more. It seems like an eternity to an eager, naïve teenager.

John Price, the master of hired guns, trained Simon. He put years of his life into molding Simon into the perfect weapon while instilling a moral compass impossible to sway. It did not come without cost, though. When he agreed to teach a driven, persistent, gifted fifteen year old Simon the ins and outs of the business, they made a deal. In exchange for John’s knowledge, Simon would be given time to build his empire before being required to take a wife.

“A mountain can’t rest upon a single pebble,” Price had told him. “Strength is in numbers, my boy. Earn loyalty where you can and buy it where you can’t.”

He’s been on his own for just over a decade, John becoming his equal, and he still takes those words to heart; hence the spread of pictures. Word travels fast, and when it gets out that the Simon Riley is seeking a bride, every magnate - respectable or otherwise - with a daughter to spare is throwing their hat into the ring. Conceited, perhaps, but having connections with Simon gives a man the kind of power they’d be foolish to reject.

His right-hand, Johnny, has already weeded out those with seedier dealings - those who cater to terrorism or are even suspected of having connections to human trafficking. While Simon is merciless in his kills, he does not kill without compunction. He’s swift and silent and doesn’t believe in leaving them to suffer. Death itself is punishment enough. There’s no purpose in his life for those who inflict undue dolor for their own gain, and he will not be associated with the uncouth.

The process limits his options, though not by nearly enough. Still, nigh on two dozen remained. He culled the field down to a mere nine by adding stricter constraints: age, employment history, education, and the like. He has no interest in the barely legal, the spoiled socialites, the vapid, shallow, or vain. As hollow as this state of matrimony may ring under the circumstances, he’d prefer not to be one of those men who feels disdain for his partner.

That’s the thought that keeps him circling back to one specific photo - a grayscale surveillance-style photo. The subject is undoubtedly stunning, appears to be precisely his preference in every physical aspect, but the devil is in the details. A delicate necklace that appears to be well-worn but treasured enough to stay polished, a purse that bears no distinguishable designer but shows no sign of detrition, neat, complimentary nails, but he can see a thin sliver of dried glue at the cuticle of the thumb; all signs of frugality without sacrificing sophistication...

Even the tiniest observations sing a haunting, operatic tune that keeps Simon hypnotized with little regard for what could lie within the treacherous depths below. Instinct drives interest, and if there’s anything Simon’s learned in his line of work, it’s to trust his instincts.

Not another beat passes before his fingertips finally close around the edge of the picture. He hands it to Johnny.

“Dig up everything you can on this one, yeah?”

♡

Fascination seems to be the weakest word to describe the rabbit hole Simon finds himself in when Johnny slides a file across his desk. He thumbs the manila tab that peeks out beneath the slew of staggered papers, taking caution to remember the name printed neatly across it - your name. It tastes sweet when he says it out loud. Pretty name for a pretty girl, he muses with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

The surname strikes him with a notch of recognition. Your father, if memory serves correct, is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. A pleasant man by reputation, though Simon has never met him directly. Sans the obvious, he keeps his nose clean. Nothing iniquitous or unscrupulous. There aren’t many American families that Simon has ties to, and forging a bond of this sort with a weapons tycoon would certainly be beneficial.

He digs into the contents of the folder, the pages feeling almost like silk between his heavily calloused fingers. A vague eagerness settles into his bones. Simon feigns disinterest outwardly, expression masked in stoicism, but he can’t lie to himself - he’s undoubtedly curious.

Each barely-cooled sheet turned only draws him further into a spiral. Your basic documents - driver’s license, birth certificate, passport - fill in a few blanks. The additional knowledge of your height, weight, and eye color offer insights not clear from the photo. He knows your middle name, birth date, that you’re an organ donor. You’re not living off your father’s money, as evidenced by the consistent bi-weekly paycheck deposits in your bank records. Educated, obviously, as your student loan payments are automatically drafted monthly.

On paper, it’s almost as if you were made for him, and what a thought that is. Optimism isn't in his nature; a heavy dose of skepticism hangs like a dark cloud, brewing a storm of adversarial rationale. But the pinch of hope that hovers like the sun in the back of his mind tells him to digest before coming back for seconds, and he concedes.

In the days that follow, Simon notices himself spending every spare moment revisiting your file. He placates Johnny’s lingering nosiness with the assurance that he’s merely trying to make a prudent choice under the circumstances, but that’s not quite honest. Truth be told, you’ve become a bit of an obsession of his over the last week. He often notes that his mind is wandering to the things he didn’t learn from the dossier - how you take your tea, what perfume you use, where you’ve always wanted to go but have never been. It’s a dangerous admission, one best kept to himself.

He toys with the notion of conducting the same research on a couple of the other candidates, just to be sure, but his decision is made final when Kyle sends over the links to your social media accounts. None of them are private - an issue Simon will have to address quite thoroughly at a later date - so he has no trouble combing through the last several years of your life.

Admittedly, it leaves an adequate mark. You’re witty and smart while remaining a bit sardonic. Thoughtful and warm, but not without your sharp edges. You’re ambitious and driven, a bit of a firecracker. Color him impressed; he quite likes that.

Demeanor aside, he also finds that you really, genuinely are an absolute beauty. The few photos from your file don’t hold a candle to the selfies you’ve posted. Something about seeing you when you feel most confident, when you’re exuding that effervescent glow of aplomb, it sparks a sensation in Simon’s stomach that he can’t quite describe.

That all but seals the deal.

He snaps up his phone and sends a text to Johnny before placing it face-down and turning back to his laptop.

>>> Set up the meeting

♡

As his jet touches down in Bogotá, Simon is reminded of what a nasty beast jetlag can be. It’s an animal he’s not had to contend with since his younger years, a fact for which he’s grateful. Call it a perk of his constant travel over the years and the more… unconventional hours he entertains on jobs. They’re approaching hour fourteen of their flight, though, so he supposes he can’t fault his men for falling asleep.

(He did, however, take a picture of them sleeping on each other before the turbulence awoke them; you know, for the sake of posterity and potential future blackmail.)

Simon’s mind had been far too occupied to allow him the opulence of rest. Upon his lap sits a dossier on his next target, a relatively high profile subversive at that, and all he can think about is the pretty little thing that’s been haunting his subconscious for the last two weeks.

By all accounts, it’s baffling. He understands that this sudden onset of infatuation is irrational, illogical, and quite frankly, irresponsible. It distracts him from things he ought not be distracted from, and that irritates him to no end.

The whirring of the engines slows to a dull hum, and Simon, with a grunt of discontentment, stuffs the file into his briefcase. He’ll accomplish nothing as long as he’s preoccupied. Hopefully, focus will be far less elusive on the flight back.

A loud thunk from the cockpit draws him from his spiral of ire, and Nikolai emerges. He greets Simon only with a curt nod before disengaging the door and deploying the stairs. Once they’ve kissed the asphalt, he ventures back a step, creating room for the men to disembark.

“Welcome to Colombia, gentlemen,” he announces. “We leave in six hours; gives me time to refuel the bird and grab some fuel myself. Enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” He tacks on a wink for good measure, which draws a bark of laughter from Kyle. Nik’s been with them long enough for them to know that’s a very short list, a fact Johnny is very quick to point out.

Simon claps a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and hands him an envelope before stepping out - a hefty cash sum for his time and efforts. He may have also snuck in a sizable bonus as an anniversary present, but that will stay between the two of them.

“Get some rest, too, yeah? You’ve earned it.”

The air outside is crisp and pleasant. Underneath the standard airfield smells, Simon detects a pinch of coffee and cocoa. He wouldn’t be surprised; there’s a manufacturing plant not too terribly far from here, and if the wind blows just so, it may carry on the current. It’s refreshing, especially after being trapped for hours in an aluminum tube with three men who, today in particular, seem to be having a war over who can wear the strongest cologne.

Kyle and Johnny flank him on either side as they stroll off the tarmac. They’re both covertly armed to the teeth as a general precaution, but he trusts there will be no sinister intent behind a simple lunch. Surely, his appointment won’t mind. He likely won’t be attending alone either.

At the far end of the strip, a hired car is waiting. It’s relatively inconspicuous for the part of the city housing the restaurant, according to Simon’s research - a sleek, black SUV with windows tinted dark enough to hide any passengers, but passable enough to not draw attention.

Once in the city, it’s inherently obvious that there’s plenty of time to kill before the agreed upon hour. Place and time re-confirmed, the boys are turned loose to occupy themselves however they see fit, and Simon delves into the rows of local shops.

He finds things here and there; a pair of stunning leather boots, a box of cigars for Price, trinkets and treats he can share with his staff or gifts he can bring to gatherings so that he never greets his gracious hosts empty-handed. Even a little something for you, should all go according to plan. He smiles inwardly as he tucks the velvet box into the pocket of his slacks. It won’t replace the necklace you clearly adore, but he hopes you’ll wear it regardless.

After a quick trip back to their driver to leave their finds, the trio makes their way to the restaurant. Johnny and Kyle lag behind, keeping a respectable distance from Simon, whose eyes are immediately combing the patio for your father.

He spots him closer to the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Two tables over, a pair of rather conspicuous men sit, cliché aviators perched in place while positioned to have a clear view of the upcoming interactions. Simon makes a mental note to wait until closer to the wedding to offer suggestions for higher quality detail. Assassinations are easier when you can gauge your obstacles so easily; trust him, he’d know.

In his periphery, he sees his companions select an empty table four over from the rent-a-cops. Kyle sits with his back to the table, glasses off. Johnny sits across from him, keeping his on to supply a reflective overview. Simon can’t help but crack the tiniest grin. He’s taught them well. They move as a singular unit when needed and rely on instinct over protocol. It’s the perfect display of how safe you’ll be with him. If he seems a little arrogant about it, that’s because he is.

Your father looks up from his phone and meets Simon’s eyes with an unspoken question. Simon tips his chin just once before the man stands, greeting him with a gracious smile.

“Ah, Mr. Riley… Pleasure to finally meet you.” He’s sincere in tone and offers his hand. Simon takes it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake while he shares the sentiment.

“You as well, sir.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and he gestures to the open chair, saying, “Please, sit.”

Simon takes the invitation, settling into the seat and the subsequent relatively meaningless small talk. They cycle through the basics before ordering their food and get a pinch more personal while they wait, discussing their respective hometowns and places their work has taken them. It isn’t until they’re digging into their plates that your father finally broaches the subject they’re both most anxious to discuss.

“As much as I’m enjoying getting to know you,” he begins, gaze not rising from his fork as it prods a pile of coconut rice. “I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just for that.”

“No, sir,” Simon responds. “I’m here to talk about your daughter.”

That draws the man’s attention, eyes finally meeting Simon’s with a subtle grin. It’s almost somewhat unsettling, like a cat finally catching that damn canary, though he’s unsure whether it’s him or you that owns the role of prey.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“That I did,” he confirms, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Tell me, Simon, what exactly is it about my daughter that calls to the infamous Ghost?”

Simon pauses a moment, unsure of quite how to approach the response. He'd rather not tip his hand until he determines what sinisterity lies behind that predatory gaze. The mask your father is wearing at the moment is approaching uncanny, and a faint alarm bell sounds in the back of Simon’s mind.

“I only ask because, well, I never would’ve expected that a man of your stature would choose someone so… plain, shall we say? Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, but she’s certainly not without her flaws. Stubborn, opinionated, talks too much, certainly far from the ideal housewife. And don’t get me started on how she takes care of herself. Really makes me wonder, Mr. Riley, what ulterior motives might you be hiding?”

“None, sir. Nothin’ I need from you that I can’t get myself.” Simon’s voice is flat as he tamps down the anger crawling beneath his skin. How does a real man speak ill of his own daughter so flagrantly? Does he really have no regard for you? He has half a mind to remove your father’s tongue after the wedding, if only for your sake.

“Pray tell, then.”

Simon scrubs a hand over his jaw before he answers, “Pretty girl. Smart from the sound of it. Doesn’t rely on attention from the public or ‘er daddy’s money. Ain’t lookin’ for a sweet little housewife; I like it when they bite back.”

“And you understand that she’s… How do I put this delicately?” He pauses. “She’s a bit bigger than what you'd consider a trophy wife."

Simon scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he's aware of that. That's part of what drew him to you.

“Quite like a fuller figure. Don’t want a woman who’ll fuss over calories when I cook for ‘er.”

Your father mulls it over, chewing thoughtfully as he considers the words before him. Simon watches as the muscles in his jaw flex and reflex, and he swears he can hear the scales tipping back and forth as they try to find some balance.

Finally, he wipes his face with his napkin. His expression cracks into something adjacent to genuine, and that alarm gets just a little bit louder.

“I suppose this little meeting has reached its end.” He snaps his fingers twice as the waiter, gesturing for the check. Rude, in Simon’s opinion, but he bites his tongue.

“Sir?”

“I’ve got business to attend to back in the States, and by the sounds of it, a wedding to start planning.”

♡

part ii

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere male Areal??

Yandere Genderbend Ariel x Reader

Well, what were you supposed to say when you saw some girl come out of the water singing with a shell on her neck? But for your parents, it was perfect grounds to leave you with a forced 'apology gift' of being the head planner for their wedding ceremony. You felt it was ironic that was your 'punishment' when your the king and queen spent a whole day with your sister being hypnotized and hadn’t noticed–but whatever. You didn’t mind and in the end, Erica admitted she never blamed you. You’d do this not only to get your parents off your back but for your sister even if her groom was a hopeless case.

“No Arrel! Don’t put that in your mouth!“

“But it looks just like–”

“It doesn’t belong there! Spit. It. Out.”

Perhaps this was why they didn’t bother, they knew you’d have a hard time educating the merprince. Since his negotiated stay for the wedding and there on a switch occurred: while the prince is on land the princess navigates the sea. It was Triton’s final stipulation, her only way to test and know the woman meant to take away her darling boy.

“How is he fairing?”

“Your Highness…he’s got a ways to go…”

You lifted your shoulders up as you moved your hands like a seesaw. Facing the magical reflection of the Queen of Atlantica, who twirled her trident and stroked her braid.

“Ah I know that tone…my Arrel is so much like his father…a little scatterbrained, yes but his heart was always in the right place.”

Surrounded by smile lines she reminisced with a sad fondness. You admired the ruler, even if she might’ve hated your family in the beginning. But just as any human would she cared about family and that was more uniting than anything. 

“Speaking of, how’s my sister? Not giving you too much trouble I hope?”

Triton chuckled, “Oh no she’s been a dream and a fast learner too!”

“Ah, that's good.”

“She says she misses you.”

You playfully scoffed, ”That softy, of course, she’d say that.”

Talking late into the night, you both exchanged the highlights of your family’s adventures. Snickering to one another as you laugh at their failures, playfully jesting with one another about them. But the night was drawing to a close and with yawns from you, you moved to make your departure.

“Oh (Y/n), before you go–I have a bit of advice for you when training Arrel?”

“Oh?”

____________________________________________________

“Alright, Arrel we’re going to try something a little different today.”

“Uughhhh! Is this new thing going to be how I’m supposed to move these feet!? All day these tu-ders have been making me use them and I’m just tired of it!”

“Oh? That’s too bad, we were going to walk into town–”

“LET’S GO!”

Hopping giddily on the feet he claimed to exhaust minutes ago, he followed you to the prepared carriage ready to take you both into town. Bouncing his knees and smashing his face into the window to look at the surrounding greenery. Tapping twice at the wood above you the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the town. The redhead tilted his head at you following eagerly as you stepped out and waved the carriage off. 

“Today you’re going to explore the town for yourself.”

“Myself? Like I pick where we walk!?”

“Yes, yes I’m just here if you have any questions. So where first princey?”

He excitedly intertwined his hand with yours before darting off in a clumsy run. Dashing through the marketplace as he searched for a specific stall. When he found it he released you stopping abruptly, naturally leaving you to smash into his back. Steadying yourself you walked beside him as he excitedly smiled at the stand.

“I want those things!”

“Things? Do you mean the apples?”

“Ah-pulls? Is that the red rocks?”

“They’re fruit, and their called–A-pples.”

“Aaaahhhh-pulls?”

Paying for the fruit would be the first of Arrel’s many souvenirs that he gained throughout his field trip. The lesson was more engaging and fruitful than anything you had tried before. Exercising new vocabulary and practicing the right platitudes when speaking with others, Arrel was learning so much. Watching the mer-prince’s mind racing with excitement as he truly came to learn what life as a human was like. You could understand why Erica fell so fast.

“Ah the uhm–sun, is settling, right?”

“Close enough. We’re allowed to be out a little bit longer if you want but if you’re tired–”

“Hmmm, I want to go to one last place! Is that okay (Y/n)? “Yup but where do you want to go?”

“I can’t think of the word uh just come with me!”

Once again weaving your fingers with his own he pulled you away from the populated streets of the town. Taking you to a place that sparked a forlorn nostalgia in its discovery. The grotto. As you helped Arrel who was trying to recall the actions of Erica to send you out on the boat, you let the memories of the place run wild. 

“Come on (Y/n)! I found this cool place where I can be the captain!”

“Okay okay! Wait for me *huff huff* I have tiny legs.”

Just like before you let eager hands take the handles of the paddles from you, in order to enjoy the way the reflecting light shines in their eyes. Letting you sit back to see the beauty in their dreams flash in their eyes. 

Arrel was no different than Erica.

Beautifully smiling as your boat floats into the blue lagoon. It was a gem, that no doubt was the catalyst of many romances. Drifting from under the rising moon to the roof of the willow tree’s branches, entering a world of flora and fauna. Firefly lights illuminated the space giving a magical glow to space; you’d be concerned if you didn’t fall in love. 

“...Isn’t it fantastic? Those eels got in the way last time but now…this is perfect!”

Arrel mumbled to himself to which you tilted your head.

“Uhm Arrel wouldn’t it really be perfect if you were back here, with Erica?”

“...Well yeah…but I don’t know it feels right like back then!”

“Arrel…is this feeling awe?”

"Awww?"

“Awe. Like you’re enamored with nature and feel of this place.”

“Mmmh that sounds right!”

“But do you realize how that sounds when–ugh forget it you probably don’t even notice anyway.”

You quieted after that and enjoyed the orchestra of croaking frogs and crickeys. Gingerly reclaiming the paddles when Arrelbegan to dangerously slump against the boat. With great coaxing, you returned to the entrance of the lagoon and scheduled for the carriage ride home. 

This would be the first of many new adventures into the town. Triton encouraged a more rewarding type of learning for his son whose attention was short for study but active for his curiosity. And it had become quite the brag to have the prince whine through his other lessons to attend your own. So in between you’re days spent organizing the intricacies of the wedding, you were taking Arrel into the town. On particularly busy days you did try assigning Grimsey to be his chaperone but the prince wouldn’t budge; instead, he spend his day clinging to your leg. Sullying your pant leg with his tears he refused to commit to his outings if you weren’t the one guiding him.

Other than that little hiccup, it was smooth sailing. Magically calling Triton as you both gushed about your respective students. As the days counted by the glorious day of the wedding was surging forth and you along with everyone else were on cloud 9. 

It would be a glorious day.

____________________________________________

The news came as quick as a light shower. Lightly washing over the freshly painted smile on your face. Leaving an incredulous daze to take place as you could only tentatively look at the greyed sky.

“W-what?!”

“Erica…is dead.”

Perhaps it was because you hadn’t seen the body. Maybe that was why you didn’t immediately cry; you didn’t believe it. The princess–-your sister was supposed to return today. Return to her post on land to prepare for the big day. To whine in your ear about all her worries and woes as you fitted her gown for the overeating she most definitely did while in Atlantica. She and Arrel would have been squealing and twirling one another as though they’d been apart for years.

They ruled it an accident. Pure coincidence that the second she had been given her legs and ran to your parents she wobbled, clutched at her chest, and collapsed. A heart failure…an underlying condition she must have been secretly stoking with her hunger for adrenaline. A horrible match really. 

The king and queen weren’t the only ones to witness the sight, Arrel was there as well. Having slipped past an adamantly guarding Grimsey to hug his beloved fiancee. Slowing his run when he found that her reaching out to him was not in welcome but in a reluctant farewell. Triton looking horrified from the safety of the sea, not only witnessed the fragility of humans firsthand but the terror it brought her baby boy.

Both kingdoms were thrown in disarray. The ones on land were rightfully devastated as the white decor became black with mourning. Those in the water did their own preparations longing not only for the loss of a new friend but of the uncertainty this meant. War? Forever severed ties between kingdoms? Atonement? Nothing was set in stone, even the status of Prince Arrel was a tempest gray. So overcome with grief he refused his mother and brothers when they begged him to come home.

“No…I won’t….not when…she’s gone.”

Your parents, too consumed in their own grief and the state of the kingdom to give nothing but tearful remarks to the prince. So it was up to you. Up to you to chaperone the fish out of the water with a new lesson. A grim one. All about continuing on if only in reverence of those beyond. 

“Do…you not have funerals in Atlantica?”

“Barely…we live…long…healty lives…”

You dryly laughed, looking past your veil at the lowering coffin.

“Heh, guess we just aren’t meant to last that long.”

Arrel looked at you noting the salted water streaming down your face and the way your lips curved the opposite of their usual state. He did what he saw others do: wrapping his arms around you, subconsciously curling into the warmth you provided. 

Living humans were so much warmer. 

He found that to be true when he awoke in the same position behind you in Erica’s bed. You couldn’t sleep, trudging through the halls into her room.  Grazing your fingers along the untouched relics of her past. Shining brightly under the stream of the moonlight’s beams was Erica’s bed. So undisturbed it made you hesitate to ruin it even in your tired state. But in your mind was the memory of a younger Erica reaching out to you from her bed as she looked longingly at the sea.

“(Y/n), come come. I’m always happy to have you in bed with me. Cozy up with your big sis every once in a while…”

So with her voice and smile replaying in your clouded mind you curled into her bed. Shuffling under her comforter, smelling the faint remnants of her presence within the sheets. Unshed tears collected in your lashes as you succumbed to much-needed sleep. Completely unaware of the prince with a similar yearning. Tired and consumed with grief he saw no problem with shoving his nose into the crook of your neck as he curled himself around you. 

You smelt nice. 

Not the same as Erica but comforting all the same.

He’d spend many nights completing this ritual. Having waking moments that led to joining you in Erica’s bed. Waking together with the comfort of one another's heat before silently encouraging one another to eat. Even when you no longer found yourself needing to go to Erica’s room, Arrel still found himself waking up beside you. 

It didn’t feel right not to at this point. 

______________________________________________

As your debilitating depression became something manageable you found yourself able to offer your guidance to the rest of the castle. Becoming a figurehead as the only remaining heir and one of the few able to look logically through this season in the kingdom. 

“(Y/n)...my baby…we worry that with this incident the kingdom has fallen behind in their affairs…”

“Truthfully we’d rather devastate ourselves than put you in this position–”

“Right, this is only if it’s alright with you…if you’d even consider it. Its a big responsibility–”

“Mother Father, please. Tell me what does the kingdom need?”

Letting out a shaky sigh she continued, “With this–no doubt severed connection with the sea kingdom it's best that we start looking to wed suitors with nearby kingdoms…”

You nodded. It was expected—that the next course of action was to reach for security. Even with the contact established for Triton attempting to speak with a distraught Arrel it wasn’t a situation to debate. Already having to dissuade the misinformed conspirators that were insistent that it was the mer-population fault along with the general instability of the kingdom. You were prepared for this, as you’d been raised to. 

“I will begin looking at suitors two days from now.”

“S-so soon?!” 

“We might as well move fast while all the preparations for a wedding remain. Not to mention this is for the kingdom, right your Highnesses?”

“Y-yes!”

“T-thank you, (Y/n)! We’ll begin preparing right away!” 

When you exited the room you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Swallowing a silent plea you deeply inhaled and exhaled, holding your head high as you made your way through the castle. There was much to be done and no one needed a moping leader. 

Unbeknownst you a certain bird was intently listening through an open window. 

_______________________________________________________

When the day came, you fought the turmoil in your tummy as you let yourself be dolled up. Settling in the comfort of the garden for the suitors to give their impressionable first meeting. At the sound of the bell, the speed dates interviews would begin. With cups full of tea you would let various royal suitors talk you up about their many ventures. After a day full of bragging and insincere condolences as they attempted to capture you’re attention. Taking note of the least hated potentials, you sighed but nodded for the maid to call in the last suitor. Keeping your eyes on the cold ceramic you prepared yourself for the final interview.

“You look…tired.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet the sullen blues of a familiar redhead. Dressed in the pink drawstring blouse and matching pants, he looked the most put together since the funeral. 

“...Arrel?”

“Do we have to stay at this…venue?” 

Visibly trying the word on his tongue he smiled at you. Hand outstretched to you with the eyes of a mature prince. Torn between familiarity and proper etiquette you take his hand. Letting him lead you through your own castle to the entrance where a carriage was waiting. Helping you in first, you let Arrel tap the roof of the carriage starting an unknown route. 

You didn’t bother speaking, finding that more was understood when nothing was said at all. Resting into the cushion of the seat you barely registered the familiar buildings and stalls being passed by. Sitting up to look at the waving citizens of the town.

“Are we-?”

You didn’t bother finishing, turning to look at Arrel who was lightly smiling as he looked out the opposite window. 

When the carriage stopped it was at the man-marked dock of the blue lagoon. A simple wooden boat tied and awaiting you and Arrel as its passengers. Once again hand-in-hand he pulled you along seating you in the boat before pushing away. Discretely making eye contact with the coachman and guard who briefly tilted their hat to you; you assured that this was planned. 

He paddled efficiently moving past the light current of the water to re-enter the willow’s cove. The moon was far from full instead the light was that of a small crescent. Letting firefly light bring dramatic shadows to his otherwise bright face. His darkened eyes remained on you, for the most part, harvesting an intensity unfamiliar to you. It kept you quiet for the most part, waiting until he spoke.

“My Father died, prematurely too.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“It was a human ship, you know. What you’d call Pie-rats?”

“Pirates.”

“Right. Well, they were the ones who killed him. He was…supposed to live longer.”

He was looking into the murky waters below, unglowing, and seemingly blacker than the night sky. The look was distant and foreboding, a widened terror to them that reminded you of a fear you would have felt during the news of a lost-at-sea Erica. You spoke if only to bring him back but it didn’t seem to sway him.

“Arrel.”

“But it's not like all humans are bad…heck I’m sure I’d be just as bad if nature hated me the same way!”

“E-excuse me?”

“Don’t you know that (Y/n)?”

He looked to you this time. Turning away from the edge of the boat directly to you, face distorted in a way you couldn’t behold. The darkness of nature made it worse only giving you a glimpse of the grieved madness swirling in his eyes—the blueness exchanged for a black substitute unmoving from you as he spoke. 

“I’m sure humans were supposed to live as long as us mermaids, you know? B-but if you look at Erica and anyone else in that town’s graveyard it's obvious that's just the same case for you!”

“Arrel!”

Something about how he said her name, rubbed you the wrong way. Eager to stop, what had to be a mental breakdown, you leaned forward gripping the collar of his shirt. Pulling him close to your face as you tried to search his eyes. 

“Arel stop it! D-don’t try to compare our lifespans to yours…this is just what you sign up for when you decide to love a human…”

You released him in order to nurse the burning in your eyes. Sinking back into your seat you used your sleeves, scolding yourself in the darkness. Fleeting lights of the fireflies hardly let you see your own sleeves, as you sniveled. So focused on yourself it didn’t matter at the time that he smiled into his hand before giving a muffled dry laugh.

“I guess you’re right… it's my fault for falling in love with a human right? Heh, heh then if Its all my fault I should fix it right?”

“W-what?!”

“Right (Y/n)?! I’m going to fix it! You’ll let me won’t you!?”

“W-wait?! W-what!?”

He moved fast, stabilizing himself on the sides of the boat. Moving closer to you until you could feel the boat shake with its weight. Letting his knee stabilize himself in between your legs as he leaned in close. Nose and breath fanning against you’re own it scared you even more that you couldn’t see his face. 

“I know where the sea wizard’s lair is and he has loads of knick-knacks for keeping humans alive.”

“H-hold on–?”

“I could even turn you into a mermaid! Per-man–ent-ly!”

“Ar-”

“Or-? I could turn everyone into a mermaid then you’d have to live longer right?” 

“Arrel!”

You tried to push him away stopping when the boat shook too much, making you tuck your arms against your person as he moved his hands to your seat. He tucked his head against your head, nuzzling into you as he wrapped his arms around you. Practically uncaring of the instability of the boat.

“You’ll pick me.” 

He let his lips graze along your ear. Shuddering you fruitlessly attempted to move, failing.

“What?!”

“To marry. You’re going to marry me. I’ll be keeping you alive one way or another.”

“Arrel, you can’t–”

“I will and if that means making you like me that’s fine….Otherwise, I’ll just do it to everyone too! Then you can live forever like me!”

[cutecinnamon]

Concurrence I

{ Concurrence I: A Declared Traitor • Levi x Reader }

CW: ⊹₊ MDNI ⊹₊ Pregnancy ⊹₊ Somewhat Explicit Smut Details ⊹₊ Levi Cares Despite The Circumstance ⊹₊

:gif from pinterest

• 2.3k word count •

Note: Concurrence II is now up ♡

: divider by @cafekitsune

Synopsis:

(Y/n) was a soldier under Levi's squad, she was a very skillful and effienciently trained scout until one day her cover was blown and the whole squad found out that she was in fact a Marleyan, and she was a warrior sent as an agent to infiltrate the survey corps. When Levi and the others found out she was to be executed until Queen Historia decided that the best punishment for her was to in fact stay at the survey corps since she was one of the most liable scouts, but one thing she did not expect was that she was ordered to carry the child of Humanity's strongest in order to keep the Ackerman Bloodline alive.

PART I

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The gentle breeze of the air touched your skin, it was cold.

Ever since the cat was out of the bag it became almost impossible to gain the reputation in the survey corps you once had.

You gently looked down at your belly, it was still not showing.

You then remembered the words of the queen that changed your life.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"(y/n) how can you do this...? " Historia asked her, her gaze flickered with doubt and cold acceptance of the situation.

"Forgive me Historia, please know that I never intended to be a traitor to the survey corps... even if I'm not an Eldian by blood, my loyalty belongs to everyone here, in the walls, to Captain Levi and the survey corps."

(y/n) told Historia while kneeling, facing the consequences of her actions as a declared traitor.

"I know you (y/n), We have been under Levi's squad and I can tell that it wasn't all an act and show... that your loyalty was indeed with us... despite you being sent here by Marley to infiltrate the corps."

Historia said knowingly, she did believe that

(y/n) never intended any of that to happen and she had grown to fight for Paradis.

"I will accept any punishment that will be dished out on me, whatever it is... I know the terms of the regiment and I will face the consequence of my actions wholeheartedly."

(y/n) said, looking at Historia, her gaze showing acceptance of what is to come towards her actions.

"You know that I won't punish you with death or anything of that sort (y/n), I know that you are needed in the squad and I know that you are a good person,"

Historia said, her orbs carried kindness, just like how she was when she was still reffered to as her former alias Krista.

"Although you are still a declared traitor and... there is this other thing..." Historia continued,

"The Ackerman Bloodline, it must live on." Historia stated, her gaze changing with a hint of austere.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

pitter-patter

The sound of raindrops making contact with your skin and the floor brings you back, pulling you away from your thoughts.

You looked at your uniform as it started to soak from the droplets of water meeting your now fragile body.

You were still out of it, after hearing the words fall from Commander Hange's mouth an hour ago.

"Looks like you're pregnant (y/n), Congratulations." Hange said, her voice laced with warmth and anticipation.

Although it was delivered with a cheery and accepting tone by the Commander, it was not something that you wanted to hear, especially given the case that this was the punishment dished out to you by Historia herself and the fact that the biological father also despises you due to your faults of being a declared traitor under his squad.

You continued to stand at the field despite the continued droplets of water becoming heavier.

You were lost in your thoughts, the overwhelming feeling of the potential present and future,

It was all too much.

You were once again pulled away from your spiraling thoughts when someone pulled your arm, it wasn't the most gentle gesture but it also wasn't the harshtest.

"Snap out of it (y/n)." Levi firmly reminded while leading you to the barracks, to your shared quarters,

Levi didn't say anything afterwards, the walk towards your shared quarters was very quiet.

When you both reached the door, he opens it and drags you in despite your uniform dripping from the cold rain you openly welcomed while standing at the field spacing out earlier.

Levi closed the door, he then approaches you. The same distant, cold and hardened gray orbs was met by your gaze, despite the news he still maintained the same demanor, unfazed.

Turns out that Hange had a discussion with Levi telling him the news while you were at the field drenching yourself in the rain while your thoughts and feelings were all over the place.

"Tch, are you really that fucking careless (y/n)?" Levi asked her, his gaze piercing her.

"Sorry, I was just out of it, Captain." (y/n) replied, trying to keep her emotions in check, it was honestly an indescribable feeling.

"Change your clothes, you shouldn't get sick." Levi told her, though his tone of voice was void of concern and was laced with a hint of annoyance, he did care for her, and their now existing baby inside of her.

"Do you know...?" (y/n) asked, looking at Levi.

"Do you think I'm dumb? Besides, four eyes already discussed it to me." Levi responded, his tone still hinted subtle annoyance.

Levi approaches their wooden closet, he then grabs (y/n)'s white colored silk nightgown which was neatly folded and hands it to her.

"Take a bath and change, we wouldn't want you and that growing baby inside you to get sick." Levi told (y/n) his voice in monotone, his gaze still the same, with that unbothered and unfazed look to it.

(y/n) took the neatly folded silk nightgown, muttering a "Thank you." to her Captain.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You knew that your relationship with the Captain wasn't the best ever since your identity of being "A Marleyan warrior sent to the survey corps to infiltrate them to get intel" was disclosed.

When everyone found out in your squad, they're jaws were all hanging open and they can't seem to grasp that you were a traitor,

The betrayal was far too foreseen.

You were a very skilled scout and edition to Levi's squad, especially when it came to your mission to protect Eren.

Your relationship with Levi was not bad too, although it was only civil, he did see potential in you, hell you even sometimes have tea with him at his office after helping him clean.

Which adds to the more disappointment and hatred that Levi has for you.

Although he still somewhat acts civil with you, you know deep down that he hates you, and the idea of concieving a child with you was indeed a burden for him.

"I mean, who would want a child from a traitor anyways?"

That phrase or question, the usual you hear from a few scouts who had heard about your rumored punishment.

After taking a warm bath, you wore the white silk nightgown as you proceeded to leave the bathroom.

You and Levi had been sharing quarters ever since you were exposed at the regiment about you true identity, It was an order that you are to be watched by Levi as he can end you with a swift if you are still proven guilty for the past accusations against you.

You went to your side of the bed, there is only one bedroom but it has two beds with a small space in between which was occupied by a small nightstand.

A few minutes prior, the Captain also entered the room, approaching your bed as you sat down at the soft neatly covered cushion.

"Don't be careless again brat." Levi stated, his tone hardly annoyed but still maintaining its usual monotone.

"Yes Captain," you simply responded avoiding his gaze, unsure how to face your captain,

Unsure how to face the father of your developing child.

"I'm sure that you were thought as a cadet to look at your superiors when taking with them."

Levi reminded you of your current behavior with his stern tone of speaking as you continued to avoid any eye contact with him.

You tried your best to look at him, meeting his piercing gray orbs.

"My apologies Captain, that was wrong and disrespectful of me." You stated, trying your best to maintain eye contact with him.

"Don't forget your ground (y/n), even if you're pregnant with my child, that doesn't change anything." Levi said, the coldness of his voice still lingering.

You nod at Levi, while maintaining eye contact with him.

"Yes Captain, I understand." You replied trying to keep your voice monotone despite the overwhelming feelings you were feeling.

You were seeking for comfort,

Namely Levi's comfort,

The comfort of your baby's father.

The news still struck you with many emotions of uncertainty, and it all wasn't easy.

Your mind then went back to the day that you and the Captain were both trying to conceive, it wasn't the most romantic gesture like others described it to be, reaching cloud nine, but then again you still reached that high, despite knowing better than anyone that given your circumstance, affection was doomed to be devoid between the two of you.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The room was lit dim with candle lights, The smell of Chamomile lingering the room's gentle atmosphere. A few moans and groans were heard from the room.

"Ca- Captain..." you moaned out, as you arched your back feeling Levi's lips making contact with your already wet core.

"I shouldn't be enjoying this... this is suppose to be a punishment, damn you (y/n)". Levi said as he continued to burry his lips and tongue towards your moist and slippery entrance.

"I... I'm close... Captain Lev-" Levi cuts you off, as he continued to burry his tongue deeper reaching for your sweet spot that makes you see stars, as tears started to blur your sight from the overwhelming pleasure running its course throughout your body.

"Give it to me, let go." Levi said with his usual monotone and cold voice, but despite the cold gaze he always conveys, you also saw hunger and anticipation in his orbs as he looked at you while you lose yourself into the pleasure with the work of his tongue.

Your back arches as you let go a muffled moan echoing throughout your shared quarters as you grabbed Levi's raven black hair.

"Good girl, now let me fill you up until you carry my child, you Marleyan brat." Levi stated as he started to align his tip in your sensitive yet still soaking core.

As Levi pushed his length inside of you all you can do is remember the punishment dished out for you, for being a Marleyan traitor who infiltrated the scouts.

"You are ordered to carry the offspring of Captain Levi as your punishment."

"Is.. is this really all for the punishment...?" you asked while feeling Levi's tip between your seizing needy walls.

"Do you actually think I'll make love to someone like you?" Levi asked with a hint of subtle sarcasm in his voice as he fully inserted his hard length inside of you.

"So... this is all nothing to you...?" you asked, although you know the answer all too well, at the back of your mind you were hoping for a different answer, as you felt each thrust Levi was giving you, it started out slow as he lets you adjust to his size.

"Nothing, just like how you mean nothing to me." Levi answered coldly with no hint of guilt, not even a flash of regret is visible in his eyes, as he continued to thrust deeper, his pace getting faster as he penetrated your walls.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"Nothing, just like how you mean nothing to me."

Levi's words were honestly stuck in your mind, playing like a broken cassette record.

You then decided to lay down on your bed while Levi was sitting on his chair near a small round table drinking his tea peacefully despite his unknown thoughts screaming loudly at him.

"(y/n), I know our situation is not ideal for the both of us." Levi stated while looking at his cup of tea.

"I am aware, Captain Levi." you simply stated, still feeling the needy desire to be wrapped around his arms while being comforted by his warmth.

Levi sighs, he knows what you need, even though he wants to provide it, he feels as if something is holding him back from giving you the comfort you very much seek for.

"You're a traitor." Levi stated while looking at your direction, you then decided to sit up making eye contact with him, both of your gaze meeting.

"No matter how much I explain myself, I do know I have that reputation in your eyes, and the whole regiment." answer him softly, at this rate you have come to the conclusion that nothing will change, it was impossible to change your image nor your fate after everything.

Levi stands up, leaving his cup of tea at the round table beside him.

He then makes his way towards you.

"(y/n) a scout never gives up, if you really want to return your proper reputation then prove yourself, the regiment is no place for pathetic and soft-hearted beings like you." Levi stated firmly while still maintaining eye contact with you.

"Captain... no matter what I do, I will always be viewed as a traitor, I'm a lost cost." at this point you were honestly at the verge of tears.

"Damn this pregnancy hormones," you continued to state, while wiping the tears forming in your eyes.

Levi then kneeled his right knee while you were sitting at your bed, making you both leveled.

"Listen to your Captain, I may not be fond of you but you are currently carrying my child, I do not wish for my child to have a mother who is a pathetic crybaby so stop crying."

Although Levi's voice was still the same with its usual stern and cold hint to it, his orbs were softer, making you come to the conclusion that he is at the very least trying to comfort you.

Your tears started to pour,

"Damn it brat, didn't I tell you not to cry?" Levi asked with the same tone of voice but then again, his gaze melting softer as he stood up, closing the distance between you both, he then pulled you into the warmth of his body, his arms holding you, while gently stroking your hair.

"Stop crying, I don't want your tears soaking my uniform." Levi reminded, still holding you gently betraying the coldness of his own tone of voice.

"Yes Captain... I understand." you softly replied while sobbing, as tears continued to pour from your eyes, soaking his scout uniform, although everything was a mess and out of place due to the overwhelming occurring events, you felt safe with the presence of your Captain's warmth meeting yours.

Maybe, he does care.

I hope you all like the first part of Concurrence,

Will start and write a few drafts for part II,

- Cinna ♡ ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[soulessjourney]

T'ill I Go Blind

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: When Gortash reveals details about your past relationship, Astarion refuses to entertain any of it.

Warnings: OOC Astarion, angst, mentions of truama, mentions of death, jelous Astarion, Gortash, fluff, Humor, Astarion of course making a few out of pocket comments, Scared Astarion

A/N: It's basically cannon at this point that Gortash and the Durge are exes or had something going on, so enjoy my depiction of just how their first meeting after so long would be like.

Who would have thought that you would find yourself standing in Baldur’s Gate, face-to-face with Gortash, who gazes at you with surprising tenderness? "Well, isn't it my favorite assassin? It has been too long since we indulged in each other's presence," he remarks. You raise a quizzical brow as your arms fold over your chest, leaning against the protective metal.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? You lack the memories of what we once shared. A shame, truly. Your father never was one for the ideals of... affection." You resist the urge to let your jaw drop at his words, while Wyll stifles a laugh beside you.

"I'm sorry, but you're telling me you and Tav had some sort of connection?" he asks, looking between both of you. Beside you, Karlach goes stiff, and you reach out through your connected minds, assuring her that you have no clue about the nonsense the man is spouting. Upon your words, she visibly relaxes, folding her arms and shifting to stand a step in front of you, ready to protect you from the person she once trusted if need be.

"We did, in fact, have a connection, and that connection was the reason why your friend now has no memory of who she is," Gortash states, a frown appearing on his lips. "Her father felt threatened by the idea that his perfect assassin was falling for someone, so why not punish those who fell into forbidden love." From beside you, a sudden gag sounds, and Astarion clears his throat.

"I do apologize, but that had to be the most sickening thing I've ever heard, and I don't mean the fact that her father stripped away her memories." It's hard to suppress a laugh at Astarion's words, especially since you can feel the jealousy radiating off of him. Astarion is what you'd call a cat; he thrives when affection is given on his terms, but he is quite territorial with things that belong to him. In this case, you are that thing—mind, body, and soul. You are his human, and he would rather tear the world to shreds than give you up.

Reaching back, your fingers gently brush against him, and he seizes the opportunity to interlace his fingers with yours. A sense of safety and confidence washes over you as his hand firmly holds yours. Gortash, observant of the interaction, advances toward both of you, prompting a tenseness in your body.

"I see you've found a replacement, Little Flower," he remarks. The use of that nickname freezes you, causing your body to stiffen as memories flood your mind. Flashbacks of your younger self and Gortash flow through your consciousness. Despite the rugged and worn-down appearance, Gortash possessed qualities that rendered him remarkably handsome. In the recollection, you both stood in the middle of a flower field, having sneaked off after some convincing. He delicately placed a flower in your hair, affectionately uttering the same nickname.

Gortash notices the recognition in your eyes, prompting him to smile at Astarion. "Seems she remembers that exchange very well. The kiss we shared sealed our promise to one another. Yes, you two are quite...adorable, but let her stay where she belongs. It won't be long until your little romance disappears when her memories return."

Astarion vibrates with anger, and all you can do is squeeze his hand, offering silent reassurance. Gortash attempts to provoke him in a way he knows best, wanting to witness the dissolution of the bond you share. However, Astarion surprises everyone. Instead of reacting impulsively, he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and regulates the tightness of his grip around your hand. He's wrestling with the urge to draw his knife and thrust it into Gortash's chest.

Your chest swells with pride at how far Astarion has come from the first encounter when he held a dagger to your throat. "I'll never let her go, not until she tells me to. And when she does, I'll do everything in my power to protect her from a distance because she doesn't deserve to revert to the life she once lived. Not when she's worked so hard to build herself a new life. Not when she's almost killed herself fighting the demons that claw at her, begging to escape."

A snort escapes Gortash as he listens to Astarion's words. "To think someone as powerful as you settled for that," he spits, redirecting his gaze toward you. "Have your fun, Little Flower, but as much as I would love to bring up the past and the memories we share, I have other matters to discuss with you," Gortash states, pacing around the room. "Your sister is stirring up trouble and making things difficult. Her newfound thirst for power after you left is creating tension in my city." You know precisely who he is referring to. In your few encounters with Orin, she made it clear that you both shared the same father.

"What Orin does is none of my concern. If she's hell-bent on trying to take something I don't even want, then let her. I don't know what kind of life I lived before this, but I don't want any part of it. I was given a second chance to finally live, and I won't be ruining that over some family drama," you shrug. You notice Karlach adopting a look of approval at your words. Seeing Gortash again is tough for her, especially now that you know you apparently had some kind of relationship before waking up on the ship.

Gortash sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nods. "Yes, yes, I quite understand what you are saying. You're breaking free from those torturous chains, but your family matters affect the lives of those in Baldur's Gate. I don't care if you are sweeping your matters under the rug, but I want you to kill her. Take out Orin and bring me her stone, and when you do, I'll assist you in defeating the Elder Brain." Something about his words is taunting, making you question the truth of his alliance with you. Almost as if sensing your doubt, he leans against the table behind him.

"I do not wish to fool you; I don't stand for the loss of innocent lives. Orin is out of control, and the brain will wreak havoc if given the chance. If we can control the brain, we can destroy it."

Your mind races as you consider the situation. Releasing a defeated sigh, you clench your jaw, allowing your face to fall into a blank stare. "Fine, I'll kill her." The sound of your group protesting fills the room, echoing off the walls. Gortash only smiles at your words, letting his eyes lock onto yours as your friends attempt to talk some sense into you. After a few minutes, Gortash dismisses you and leaves the room.

Your companions follow behind you, attempting to get your attention before Karlach finally speaks up. "Tav, stop walking away. You know what he did to me and the hell I've lived through. Accepting his offer is a betrayal to me, so you better explain. If you don't, then I have no choice but not to trust you or to stay in the group." Her words hit you hard. She was like your sister, a reason for you to live.

"I'm playing him at his own game. We saw the power these stones had over the brain when we fought Thorm, meaning he had plans for them when he got them all to himself. Trust me, Karlach, I don't trust him either, but we need to take advantage of this. He could be the key to leading us right to the brain so we can destroy it, so I can save all of us," you whisper, looking up at your friend.

Karlach meets your eyes, searching them as if trying to detect any lies in your words. So, you open your mind to her, letting her read your intention with Gortash. Silence fills the area around your group as they wait for Karlach's response. "I trust you," she finally says, sending you a bright smile. You let out a breath of relief at her words as Astarion walks up beside you. You could feel how tense he felt, and you immediately knew something was wrong.

Things between the group had gotten tense after you entered Baldur's Gate. You felt the urge calling to you more than ever before; Astarion was only steps away from having to see Cazador again, and Karlach finally had to come face to face with the person she trusted her life with and who stabbed her in the back. Sending him a look, he nods slightly before looking away. It was a silent communication that you two would be talking when you got back to camp, and you could only hope this wouldn't end in a fight between you two.

---

Upon your arrival, you couldn't help but notice how Astarion immediately headed toward a shaded area. Jaheira spoke quietly to you about matters that needed attention in the city, but your gaze remained fixed on your lover. Jaheira fell silent before laughing quietly, drawing your attention back to her. "You two are quite fond of one another. Go to him; you've been worried about him since the walk back," she said, patting your arm soothingly. Nodding in gratitude, you walked towards Astarion.

He sat on the ground, gazing up at the sky, with rays of sunshine warming his face through the leaves. Stopping behind him, you were unsure of how to initiate the conversation between the two of you. "Star," you said, your voice carried by the slight breeze swirling around you. You sensed him tense, knowing that the forthcoming discussion would likely be tense as well.

With his back to you, he leaned his arms on his knees, shifting his gaze ahead. "So, you were the one involved with the absolute and why we're like this," he stated. Your heart dropped as you looked down. Indeed, you were. Your memories flooded back when you entered Wyrm’s Crossing, remembering who you were, who your father was, and what he wanted you to carry out.

"As angry as I want to be with you, I can't. I know what it's like to feel trapped under a command without being able to escape. I mean, look at what Cazador made me do. I want to be angry, but I just can't," he continued, and your shoulders dropped as you listened to his words. "But that's not why I'm questioning things. Not us; I could never question us. What I'm questioning is what will happen when you fully regain your memory. You and Gortash obviously have something, or rather had something. He talked to you like he was seeing his lover all over again. He looked at you like he was undressing you, ready to show our group of lovely friends that you still belong to him."

There it was—the feeling of your heart shattering in your chest as you listened to his words. He was terrified of losing you, and you had no idea how to reassure him that you're his.

Moving to stand in front of him, you drop to your knees and gently grasp his face in your hands. Opening and closing your mouth, no words escape you. Lost in his eyes—those crimson-red orbs that appear scared and broken—a part of you feels angry, angry at yourself and angry at Gortash for dredging up a past you have no memory of, a past you never want to revisit.

“I meant it when I told you that you mean a lot to me, Star,” you finally say, brushing your thumbs against his cheek. “You’re my entire world. You stayed by my side when the urge wracked my body, when I attempted to take your life that night. You didn’t judge me when it got so bad I caved and harmed an innocent person. You held me and told me that I could beat those urges. You saved me, Astarion, and I will not be leaving you.” His tears begin to pool under the pad of your thumb as you speak.

“Losing my memory was my second chance at life, and then I met you. You gave me something worth living for. Hells, all of our friends did, and I refuse to go back to that life I once lived. I don’t want to be a killer, and I don’t want to be his daughter. I want to be my own person. I want to be able to make my own decisions and control my own body and mind. So, my little Star, I won’t be going anywhere because my home is right here by your side.”

You can tell your words have moved him in some way as he is now fully sobbing. Pulling him to you, you let his head fall onto your chest as you allow him to fall apart in your arms. The fear that plagued him during your meeting with Gortash finally leaves him as he deflates in your embrace. Soon, his sobs quieten, and you both lie under the tree, his arms wrapped tightly around you, almost as if he fears you will disappear if he lets go. In that moment, a peaceful and intimate moment, three words are finally shared between you two. In that moment, you vow to destroy Cazador and show him what true power is. In that moment, the urge claws at your insides, begging to be unleashed, and soon enough, you will let it take over your very being.

[show-your-fangs]

HOLY FUCK WAIT IDEA!!!!! WHAT ABOUT A TYPICAL CRIMINAL MINDS TROPE WHERE SOMETHING GOES SOUTH AND READER AND HOTCH ARE DATING BUT ITS STILL FRESH BUT SOMEHOW ONE OF THEM GETS IN TROUBLE AND WHEN IT ALL ENDS THEY HAVE ANGRY SEX BC HOW COULD THEY RISK THEIR LIFE LIKE THAT AND THEN THEY CONFESS THEIR LOVE

anon you are a fucking GOD

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU f!Reader

Words: 868

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni, rough smut.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, mean!hotch, tiniest bit of exhibitionism, sir kink, rough unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!), love confession.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

You were bent over the hood of the SUV, your arms pulled behind your back, your skirt hiked over your ass and your panties tossed to the side as Aaron fucked you from behind. The dark country road he’d driven the two of you on your way out of the hospital deserted, even from wildlife. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” your screams filled the night air, pleasure and pain blurring together as he continued to pound into you. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care about how bad you were feeling, about how he should’ve probably not been this rough with you. But the doctor had said you didn’t have a concussion, so he’d allowed himself the leniency to be brutal. “It hurts, Aaron, please!”

But he didn’t stop. As much as you were protesting, as much as you claimed you weren’t enjoying the sadistic pace he’d set, he knew deep in his heart that you loved it. You loved it when he showed you who was in charge, who you belonged to, and he also knew that you would take this punishment for your carelessness without question.

“Being sorry is the least you can do,” he spat, words mean and heavy. “You were stupid,” he landed a powerful smack against your ass and you whimpered. “Refused to follow orders,” another blow, the sting only adding to the lightheadedness. “And almost got yourself killed!” he slapped your ass twice to emphasize his words, the weight of them, how your actions had made him feel. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you sobbed, tears blurring your vision, stinging your eyes. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean for that to happen I was just trying to help.”

Your voice seemed to snap him out of whatever anger fueled trance he was in. He finally took you in, your shivering body, your heavy breathing, the sobs you were desperately trying to conceal. 

He gently let go of your hands, giving you a moment to shake out your arms to relieve the pressure. He then stepped further into you, connecting your bodies as far as he could go before he leaned his chest over your back, pressing into you, enveloping you in his warmth. 

You whimpered against him, slowly but surely calming down as he ran soothing hands over your body. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck. He was everywhere, you felt him everywhere, the pressure he was putting on you grounding. “I was just so scared, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You nodded, your face turning over the cool metal of the hood to face him. “’S okay,” you managed. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“I always worry, baby,” he confessed. “Every time you’re out in the field and I’m not there with you…it kills me.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I worry too, Aaron,” he kissed your cheek before pressing his own tightly against your temple. “I know you’re this…this confident and strong person but I still worry something might happen and you won’t come home to me.”

The thought alone terrified him. He’d been so consumed by his own fear, his own feelings that he hadn’t stopped to think about how you could possibly feel the same way about him. His heart ached, his cock twitched inside of you and you clenched around him. 

“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he said, gently rocking his hips into you, slow and soft thrusts to show you exactly how he was feeling. “You know why?”

You shook your head, your brain slowly disconnecting from your body as he resumed his previous movements. Only this time they were precise, calculated, meant to pleasure solely. His hand snaked into the front of your panties and his fingers began to lazily rub circles over your clit. 

“Because I love you, and there is no way I’m ever going to let anything keep me from coming back to you,” he confessed and all you could do was moan in response. Your sounds egged him on, made him pick up his pace just a little bit. “Tell me you love me,” he commanded, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

You squealed, the sensation uncomfortable and painful once more. 

“I love you, Aaron,” you slurred, anything to make it stop. He pulled back then, chest overflowing with warmth, heart beating faster than ever before. He rammed back into you, his thrusts moving in tandem with his fingers. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whined, your brain too far gone to think of anything else to say. 

Your walls constricted around him, your body tensed and he knew you were close. “Cum for me, come on, show me how much you love me.”

You came undone in seconds, powerful waves of pleasure washing through you and against him. He managed a few more thrusts before he sank himself in you, painting your walls with his spend. 

He held onto you tightly, like his life depended on it, gently caressing your body as you both came down from your highs. “I love you so much, baby.”

I need a fucking cigarette dude.

[fayerien]

What if He's Written Mine on My Upper Thigh

Only in My Mind? — Xavier

xavier x mc, sfw, slight angst (maybe lol), queen mc pov, messy writings and grammar T_T, not proofread!, inspired by Guilty as Sin? from Taylor Swift

*featuring xavier, omw to make a series with other LI too!

Everything he did was lie. You felt drained listening to all his empty promises, yet here you are, hurting alone. You waited for him, hoping him would return into your arms. But he didn't. You were staring at your unmoving, soulless body in despair? or was it regret?

'Am I really dead?' The question pondered in your mind as you felt totally hopeless and unable to do anything.

Is this a punishment for you? You thought that you were being too greedy, hoping that he'll be yours. Is this how you're going to atone your sins?

You stared at your own dead body and started to overthink. 'Maybe if I don't have this sickness, he'll stay with me forever. Is that too much to ask for?'

You left Uluru, your little planet as a wondered soul. You found this surprisingly lively and colourful planet called Earth. It's a different side of coin from Uluru which is very calm and quite. But you felt like your soul belongs here. You couldn't quite sure why but you have some sort of connection here.

Time passes quickly as you arrived here, the sun was starting to set at the horizon. It was absolutely a breathtaking view. As night took over the sky you stumbled upon something so familiar. Forget-me-not. You thought this kind of flower only exist in your little planet. Why is it here? No. That is a field of forget-me-nots— and they're blooming. Was it already spring on Earth?

You walked through the massive field, as the flowers gently caressing, tickling your skin— it was rather calming. You stopped on your track as you noticed that you weren't physically alone there. You spotted a guy, his back was facing you— no, he wasn't just a guy. That's him. Xavier. You felt your stomach clenching at the sight of him, anger and sadness flashed over your face.

Like a moth to a flame, you slowly approached him, though he couldn't even see you in this state. You stood in front of him, trying to read his expression but he showed something you can't quite comprehend. He looked... devastated? Pained? But it was clearly a heart wrenching sight to see.

You couldn't stand seeing him like this, your hands itching to hold his. Slowly, you brushed your hands against his, it felt like you're home again. The thing is he can't see—

"My queen..?" His voice rang in your head and it made you froze. Were you being delusional or did he really said that?

He smiled, you didn't actually know what he was looking, maybe those flowers? But it was impossible for him to see you as a ghost now right..?

"Are you here, my queen? I feel like you're so close to me." He asked again and that confirmed that he knew you were there.

Your touches on his skin was like gentle wind passing through the lonely night. That alone was enough to let him know you were there. He smiled again, it was really genuine but his eyes couldn't hide the sadness behind them. And that was really breaking you.

"I'm really sorry for making you wait, my queen. I failed you. I traveled through spaces— hoping I can find the aether protocore for you. But my efforts died in vain. I'm so sorry." Those words were like a dagger piercing your heart. You wanted to scream, telling him that he shouldn't apologize, it was you who doubted him for leaving you for no reasons. It was you who should apologize, but you doubted that he'll hear you.

He smiled again and said, "I grow these flowers alone because they remind me of you." You felt your throat dried hearing his words. He grew them..all alone?

"I wished I could show them to you, my queen. This is the least I could do to show how much I longed for you, craved for you." He stopped talking, looking at the stars like he was searching for answer. "If you're here, my queen, I hope you can forgive me." Xavier stop. Your heart shattered even more.

"I won't stop loving you my queen, even if you hated me in this life. Come back to me please, my queen. I'll be waiting for you. I won't fail you again this time, even if my time is short." You stared blankly at him, what did he mean by that ?

You woke up and realized that you've been falling asleep in the class. Your head hurt after having an odd dream, but it felt too real. You glanced at your side, seeing your tablemate staring outside the window, admiring the nature maybe?

He noticed that you were looking at him and a smile formed on his face. Somehow he looks very oddly familiar, the smile, the face and the expressions. And you wondered why.

ᯓ★masterlist

tags: @astrallkiss

[paingoes]

Cuckoo Egg

@echo-goes-aaa: Speaking of uniforms Slave whumpee belongs to a general in the army. As a punishment for being "disrespectful and ungrateful" the general puts him in uniform and sends him out "on mission" to "see what I do for you" Whumpee gets captured by the enemy, and it's only after an interrogation that the enemy realizes something is very very wrong with this soldier...

@sowhumpshaped: sucks to suck! saying this to both whumpee and the enemy. idiots lol also there goes a perfectly good general uniform, ugh. whumper's never getting that back

inspired by this post. i really couldn’t get over how much i loved this prompt, i wrote something out last night! it ran a little long so this is part one of two. i’ll upload the next section soon.

(Content: verbal abuse, implied physical abuse, institutionalized slavery, military content, minor character death, fear, begging, lot of crying, blood)

========================

“I didn’t mean it like-,” The sharp look his master gives him cuts off his speech. Cillian shrinks back in on himself, tucking his chin into his chest protectively.

“Did you iron the flag as I instructed you to? Yes or no?”

“No, sir.” Cillian says through gritted teeth.

“Did you take care to make sure the emblems on the uniforms were in their proper state? Yes or no?”

“No, sir.”

“When you disrespect the symbols of our nation, do you disrespect those who have given their lives so that you may live? Yes or no?”

“No, sir,” Cillian answers automatically. His eyes widen.

“No?” The general asks, danger in his voice.

“Yes, sir.” Cillian corrects himself.

“That’s right. And when I asked you why you had neglected your duties like that, did you accept your failure and apologize? Or did you talk back to me and disrespect me further?” The general stares at him, as if challenging him to argue more.

“I talked back, sir.” Cillian lowers his head in apology. 

The general taps the riding crop against his own leg. Cillian flinches, but it does not strike him immediately. The general bounces it idly, as if caught in deep contemplation. Cillian waits, barely breathing.

“I don’t think you appreciate the sacrifices we make every day for you. You’ve been sheltered all your life. If you spent a day out in that heat, you’d shrivel up. Where is your gratitude, son? Don’t you have any respect?”

Cillian looks down. It’s not a question he’s meant to respond to. He can recognize when he’s being scolded. The general’s voice booms throughout the small space. Small, stinging tears begin to form at the boy’s eyes. The general gives him a disgusted look.

“Maybe you would benefit from a day in the field. Would it stop you from crying your eyes out everytime you get disciplined?”

It is decided for him that quickly. He’s sent immediately to bed, knowing well he’s expected to rise early the following morning. He blinks and the sun is up. 

The general dresses him personally. He is particular about the details. Cillian only catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He has seen the soldiers brought into the manor. They have been large, strapping. Their muscles bulged out from beneath their uniforms, the fabric well-worn and natural looking. On Cillian, the effect is clownish. It hangs off him loosely. His sleeves and pant legs both have to be rolled up and pinned.

His master guides him forward, his hand clamped tightly over Cillian’s shoulder. For better or worse, the encampment is not set up far from their current lodging. Cillian is dropped off without fanfare, rolling out onto the hot sand of the desert.

He falls in line. One of the officers was made to expect him. She retrieves him quickly from the entryway, shuffling him in amongst the other soldiers. He’s noticeably shorter than most of them, just barely meeting the height requirements for enlistment. 

It was only meant to be a day trip. At the same time, she understands the exercise is punitive. She puts him onto one of the offroaders set to leave that morning. It pushes off into the hottest parts of the desert, well past where the gore begins but where it’s unlikely to see any action. There is not much that is required of him. She does not care enough about making a point to endanger her own mission. All he has to do is keep watch. He is not — under any circumstances — to be given a gun.

Cillian shifts uncomfortably in the seat. The leather burns him even through the uniform. The other soldiers there are content to ignore him. He gazes out into the horizon, his eyes catching on the painted rocks that jut out from the sand. The craters in the ground become more and more frequent the further they go. The offroader shakes in protest as it hits another one.

“Whoops,” the driver lets out a laugh, pulling over before the whole thing topples. They’re close enough, anyway. The soldiers pour out. Cillian climbs to the top of the vehicle. The sun beats down on him immediately. His neck quickly burns up. The dark brown of his hair captures the heat. It makes him feel feverish. 

The pack takes off further into the desert and in between the painted rocks. They carry their devices with them; gunpowder, thick coils of wire, shovels. It’s not demolition day today, but it will be when the insurgents next arrive on the scene.

You can imagine their shock when they are already waiting for them. 

They’re dressed in slick black despite the desert heat. Their bikes are tucked safely into the shade of the rocks. Almost thirty of them are pressed against the rock face, all of them armed. Outnumbered two to one, there is no fight.

Cillian isn’t fast enough. Of course he’s not fast enough. He falls quick and hard when they catch him, his hands bound up with zipties before he can even see the face of the man doing it. He does catch a glimpse of the soldiers fleeing. Most die before they reach the threshold. The bag is pulled securely over his head and the last thing he sees is the blood boiling in the sand.

===================

There’s a hand against his face. 

“The fuck? Did you waterboard him or something?” A voice says, feeling the dampness of the fabric.

“No. Crying, probably.”

“That’s hysterical,” The voice says flatly. 

Cillian thrashes as his wrists are yanked back. The knife nicks him. Its wielder curses. The ziptie breaks abruptly, but his hands are pulled in front of him just as quickly. He whimpers as the cold steel bites into his wrists, pinning both his hands to the surface. The hands depart and the door slams shut. It is dark and silent and cold.

He has no way of knowing how much time has passed, but the bag is abruptly yanked from his head. Even the dim light of the room is shocking to him after the hours spent in darkness. He winces. Tear tracks stain his face. His eyes adjust enough to just make out the features of the woman standing in front of him.

Black eyes. Black hair. It falls off her shoulders in sharp edges. Strangely pale skin. Her eyes don’t blink. Her blank expression does not change. She leans against the table, only inches from his face.

“I swear they get younger every year,” She mutters to herself.

“Please let me go,” He sobs. “Please, please.”

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him. Cillian gets the overwhelming urge to hide himself. Her stare seems to go right though him, so much he begins to think she isn’t here for him after all. He’s just in her sightline by mistake. Stupidly, he glances behind him. It’s a blank wall. When he looks back, her expression hasn’t changed. She still hasn’t moved an inch.

She tilts her head as if it’s about to roll off her shoulders.

“What’s your name?” Her affect is flat and cold.

“C-Cillian,” he sniffles.

“Sicilian?” 

“My name is Cillian,” he takes a shaky breath.

“Hello, Cillian. My name is Nicolette.”

Her slowness is agonizing. The silence hangs in the air, interrupted only by Cillian’s little gasps for air. 

“Please let me go,” he repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please.”

It seems like the silence will go on forever. He startles a bit when she is first to break it.

“Cillian, why did you try to bomb us?” She asks.

How could he possibly answer? He panics at the question.

“I didn’t- I’m not-. I’m not with them,” he manages, cut off by his own sobs. 

“Cillian?”

He glances up.

“I don’t like liars.”

She withdraws from the table. Her hand disappears behind her back, appearing just as quickly. She places the dagger gently down on the table. She fixes him with a final look before she withdraws from the room. The door slams shut again. His frightened sobs are still audible even down the hall.

=================

She’s perched above him on the table, rolling the knife between her fingers. She rests her head in her other hand, her eyes narrowed. Cillian sobs, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as he can. The cuffs make it impossible. She’s practically sitting on his hands. 

“Cillian.”

He regrets having given her his name. He flinches at the sound of it.

“Are you going to be good?”

It’s a familiar question. His mouth answers before his brain can catch up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, I kinda like that,” she says, as if she’s surprised too. He blushes. She doesn’t notice. His face is already flush from crying nonstop. He jumps in alarm as her hand suddenly presses up against his chest.

“No,” he mutters in protest.

She flattens out the insignia on his breast pocket. “E5, sergeant? That’s not bad.”

“It’s just a uniform,” he whines in protest, about to break down again.

“Cillian,” she says in warning, “Enough games. You know what I want.”

“No I don’t!” He protests, “I’m not enlisted, I’m not-“

She cuts him off with a sharp slap. Again, his reaction is involuntary. He curls in on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. 

Nicolette withdraws her hand, placing it back in her lap.

“They’re carving out supply tracks along the Eastern Stretch. Why? What’s the target?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, absolute misery entering his voice, “I don’t know. I’m not part of it.”

A brief look of frustration crosses her face. He almost misses it. He’s been so trained to anticipate that twinge of annoyance, he reflexively flinches.

Nicolette stops twirling the knife. His breath catches. It’s poised at such an angle that it’d be very easy to just stab him in the chest and end this whole thing. She moves the tip down by his fingers instead. It doesn’t touch, not yet.

“I don’t know,” he curls his hands up into fists, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, ma’am. I don’t know. Please. Please.”

“You seem like such a nice kid. Why are you making this so hard on yourself?”

“I’m not trying to,” he sniffles, “I’m sorry. I’m annoying you, I know. I’m not trying to.”

“You aren’t annoying me,” Nicolette says. She does not elaborate.

The tears start back up. He doesn’t speak again. Nicolette twirls the knife on the table, its tip making a small dent in the surface.

“You know, in the old days of the war, your men would cut the noses and ears off of ours. When they’d come back to village, we could barely recognize them. They didn’t die from it. Neither did we. They only meant to terrify us. It’s the fear that gets you. It’s always the fear.”

Cillian twists his neck, wiping his face on his shoulder. He shivers.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

“Me too.” She stops twirling the knife, holding it firmly within her fist.

“I’m sorry,” he yelps, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, god, please. Please, I don’t know. If I did I would tell you. Please, please, don’t.”

He jumps back in the seat, his wrists still fastened firmly to the table. Her silence draw on. She doesn’t move. He keeps talking.

“I don’t know, I’m not lying, I promise, I don’t know. Please don’t. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today. I’m not one of them. It’s a mistake.”

“Some mistake,” she says, but she still doesn’t move. His crying is too out of control for him to speak further.

“Do you need more time to think about it?” She asks patiently. 

“No,” he insists, “I don’t know.”

She drives the knife clear through his palm.

(continued here)

[ddarker-dreams]

Apologue.

Yan Albedo x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Albedo just having this strange unsettling energy... Word count: 3k.

There’s a homely atmosphere to Mondstadt that you don’t experience in other cities. 

Everyone knows one another and does their part. If a neighbor falls ill, without requiring formal organization, the community provides meals so fresh, you can still see steam rising off it. Birthdays are remembered each year, you go to one childhood friend’s wedding then the next, and funerals pack the Favonius Cathedral to its limit. There’s an unspoken sense of togetherness each denizen of the city of freedom possesses. It is invisible, yet tangible, like a gentle breeze. 

That’s why you don’t think much of it when Noelle seeks you out, carrying the news that once again, Klee has been placed in solitary confinement. 

When the stalwart maid departs, you just sigh and shake your head. Klee’s solitary confinement punishment has become synonymous with ‘wait until [First] comes to take her off our hands.’ The Spark Knight may not be your blood relation, yet you often care for and look after her. Her eccentric mother is gone more than she’s around. While you can appreciate Alice’s zest for adventure, you wish she’d take her daughter into account before disappearing for half a year. 

You can practically hear the globe-trotter’s voice from the last time you raised this concern. 

“That’s what I have you for,” Alice would say. “Klee is fortunate to have such a kindhearted influence like you in her life. If it ever gets to be overwhelming, why not rely on her big brother more?” 

At the mention of him, you dropped the topic. If Alice noticed the change in your demeanor, she didn’t comment on it. She instead elected to discuss a stipend you then respectfully refused. Monetary compensation was the last thing on your mind — you were raised in a community that helped one another because they wanted to. 

You slide a bookmark into the latest novel that caught your interest. Chapter five will have to wait until after you’ve rescued Klee from the strange way the Knights try curbing her behavior. 

Not even a second later, a shadow envelops your form on what is otherwise a sunny day. 

“[First],” a calm voice belonging to a certain alchemist greets. Then there’s a gloved hand held out for you to take. “I assume you’re also going to headquarters?” 

Biting down on your bottom lip, you inspect the choice you’ve been presented with. Presently, you’re sitting in a field of fluffy dandelions, right outside Mondstadt’s gates. This particular gesture is harmless enough. It feels like a concession on your part, but nonetheless, you place your palm in his and he hoists you up from the ground. 

You come eye to eye with Mondstadt’s resident genius, Albedo. 

It isn’t until silence resounds that you realize you should respond.

“Yes, I was just about to walk over there now. How did you…?” 

“I heard about Klee’s predicament. As her guardian, I wanted to smooth things over with Jean.” 

“Of course,” you say a little too hastily. Your eyes flicker downward, to where your hands remain connected. Should you tug it back? The thought doesn’t sit well with you, it’s too flagrant. Fortunately, he notes where your attention lingers, and releases his hold. You pray the relief you feel isn’t too palpable. 

You dust some imaginary dirt off your blouse. “I’ll let you get to it, then. I know you’re busy.” 

“You aren’t planning to come with me?” 

His tone isn’t the slightest bit accusatory, and still, you’re burdened with this burning need to defend yourself. 

“Ah, well, there’s no need for both of us to go, right?” 

“Klee’s missed seeing you around, you’re all she talks about,” The edges of Albedo’s lips tug into a smile. His eyelids then droop ever so slightly, and he tilts his head. “I hope your reluctance isn’t because you’re trying to avoid me.” 

Incredulous, you gape at him, heat flooding your face. He’s impossible to get a read on. If eyes are windows to the soul, then that wall of impenetrable teal might as well be shutters. Most consider Albedo to be aloof and polite enough, if not impersonal. He doesn’t entertain conversations longer than necessary and prefers to be left alone to his own devices. You either pique his interest or you don’t. Depending on the category you land in, he’s more willing to show his wry disposition. 

“I’m joking,” Albedo claims, though his composed visage remains impassive. “You’ve already done plenty for her. You’re under no obligation to do more.” 

This snaps you back to reality. “It isn’t like that. Should we discuss this later? I don’t want Klee to be in that dark closet longer than necessary.” 

He takes a moment to study you. You instantly regret the way your words came out, they were more abrasive than you intended. He didn’t technically say anything to incite your displeasure. From a purely logical standpoint, this rings true every time you’ve talked. You’re never given a justification for the apprehension his presence brings. 

At least with a bad omen, you know what to expect, even if it foretells disaster. There’s a paradoxical comfort that comes from learning certain doom awaits. It is kinder to tell a man he’ll be killed tomorrow than to say he’ll be killed sometime in the future. He’ll rest easier the night total oblivion awaits compared to an agitated lifetime of glancing over his shoulder. True anguish comes not from knowledge, but a lack of it. 

This is the limbo you occupy where Albedo is concerned. A permanent state of inertia that could equally be a product of your overimaginative mind or a legitimate threat. A pendulum swings yet tauntingly, yet never fully settles between the two. 

Albedo finally grants clemency from being held prisoner beneath his stare. 

“You’re right. That takes priority,” he relents. When he’s no longer facing you, he then casually adds, “It’s never good to be kept in the dark.” 

You scrunch your lips to the side and follow him into Mondstadt. 

-

“Big sis?” 

Klee sits before you on a red gingham blanket. The little girl pinky promised not to try playing leapfrog with her bombs in Mondstadt’s main square again, but in return, she wanted an outing with you and Albedo. This request was paired with doe eyes and a pout. Although you had your reservations, this infamous combination easily demolished your defenses. So here you are, sitting beneath the shade of the monumental oak tree in Windrise. For the moment, Albedo is absent, the only sign he’d been here is his easel. He said something about needing a more accurate shade to faithfully paint your hair and took off to his workshop. 

“Hm? What is it, Klee?” 

You continue brushing through her platinum blonde locks. In all the excitement today, her signature hairstyle got entangled in knots. 

“Are you mad at big brother?” She inquires, much to your astonishment. You’re grateful she’s situated in such a way that she can’t see your face. “When he comes back from the snowy mountain, I don’t see you as much.” 

Your grip on the hairbrush tightens. Kids are nothing if not observant. “I’m not mad at him, no. I’ve just been busy lately.” 

“All the fun grownups are always busy,” You can practically hear the way she puffs out her cheeks. “No one can tell stories like you, big sis. The chatty lady with a bird tried, but I couldn’t understand.” 

What’s admittedly a cute anecdote tugs on your heart in a painful way. You do come around less often when Albedo is in town. For the longest time, he seemed content to conduct research for months in the frigid climate of Dragonspine. This allowed your interactions to be few and far between. Lately, however, he’s been hovering around Mondstadt like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Hence your current predicament: avoiding him meant avoiding Klee. It’s a temporary solution in desperate need of a better fix. 

Not wanting to sully the mood, you extend an offer. “Would you like me to tell you a story now to make up for it?” 

She practically leaps up in excitement. Stars twinkle in her eyes as she wraps her arms around your form, pulling you into a tight hug. You can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. You’ve never found the stories particularly impressive, though Klee would vehemently disagree. It must have to do with your flexibility to retcon Dodoco into every fairytale. He’s been a valiant knight, a mad scientist, an explorer of the sky, and far more. Your humble apartment is decorated with colorful drawings from Klee, depicting these collaborative storytelling efforts. 

Her attention goes up and over your shoulder. “Big bro! Big bro! Big sis is gonna tell a story!” 

He must be back. That was fast. 

“Oh, is that right?” You hear Albedo reply. Klee nods fast enough that it’s a miracle she doesn’t get dizzy. “I had good timing then. It’s been a while since we’ve been treated to a [First] narrative.” 

Is he going to make a point of mentioning that as well? You pay him no mind, instead opting to fix Klee’s hair before she gets too impatient. She sits crisscross, unclasps Dodoco from her backpack, and places him on her lap so he can participate. Meanwhile, Albedo gets to mixing his paints. He’s already roughly sketched various outlines onto the canvas. So far, it’s Klee tugging on your hand, pulling you to some unknown yet fantastical destination. 

Klee once told you her big brother has drawings of you “everywhere” in his laboratory, prolonging the first syllable for emphasis. You still recall how you shuddered upon hearing this revelation. 

“Let’s see… what kind of story would you like to hear, Klee?” 

“A scary story!” 

You knit your eyebrows together. “... A scary story? Are you sure? I don’t want to give you bad dreams.” 

“It’s okay. I have Dodoco and my big brother to protect me,” Klee reassures. “Ms. Lisa told me I can’t check out a scary story until I’m older. She said you’d share one with me instead. Pretty please?” 

That’s one crafty librarian. What is it with the Knights of Favonius and pawning their Klee-related problems off onto you? Your genial nature must lend itself to such dilemmas. After mulling it over a few moments, you arrive at a story that frightened you as a kid, but not excessively so. You’ll still tone down some elements regardless. 

“Once upon a time, there was a poor married couple who lived in the woods. The wife was pregnant with their first child, yet she never had enough to eat. She asked her husband to pick vegetables from a nearby field, believing it’d long been abandoned by its owner, who they never saw. Her husband did as he was asked. He returned with cabbages, carrots, and potatoes. His wife cooked a yummy stew. Full and happy, she no longer had to worry about being hungry. A healthy baby girl was soon born. Their daughter grew up to become a sweet young lady who everyone in the nearby villages loved. Though the family had little, they cherished one another. All seemed well. Until one day, the father went hunting, and came across a man wearing a cloak.” 

Klee’s eyes widen and she leans in closer. 

“The man wearing the cloak revealed himself to be a warlock who had magical powers. He knew that many years ago, the husband had taken vegetables from his garden. The warlock demanded to be paid back for what was stolen. The husband said he had nothing of value. The warlock threatened the husband, saying that he’d place a curse on him and his family for a thousand generations. Unless, that is, he made it right by giving up what he loves most. And there was nothing the husband loved more than his sweet daughter. Left with no other choice, the married couple tearfully gave up their daughter to the warlock.” 

“Oh no!” Klee exclaims in a whisper. “The poor daughter…” 

You nod solemnly in agreement. “And so it was that the daughter was taken to a dark, isolated tower where the sun never shone. The warlock quickly fell in love with the woman, for she was very beautiful and kind. He did everything he could to make the young woman love him too. He gave her the finest jewelry and clothes in the land. Still, she wept bitterly at the sight of him, no matter what he tried. The warlock then thought to use his magic. One night, when he approached her, he created a pretty bundle of the reddest roses from nothing. She—” 

“He made a flower? Like what big brother can do?” 

…

An audible snap can be heard behind you. 

You look over your shoulder to see Albedo holding his paintbrush, which has splintered into two. 

There’s a quiet intensity radiating off him in waves. He’s frowning, though other than that, his countenance remains as unreadable as a tome in a foreign tongue. He ignores you completely and fixes his strange stare on his younger sister. 

“Klee,” he starts in a monotonous voice, “Would you mind running back home and getting me a new paintbrush?” 

“Aw, but big sis is in the middle of her story! I wanna know what happens to the nice girl and evil magic man.” 

“You can find out when you get back. I’d really appreciate your help, Klee.” 

It’s rare that Albedo ever asks for help, much less from her. She promises that she’ll be right back and sets Dodoco onto the picnic blanket, so that “you and big brother won’t get lonely.” She then skips off onto Mondstadt’s main road. Once she’s out of earshot, you stand to your feet, smoothing out the wrinkles on your skirt. 

“Unaware of your own strength, huh?” You ask Albedo, almost absentmindedly. When he doesn’t respond, you swivel on your heel.

The alchemist is scrutinizing his work with a hand on his chin. He must’ve been in the middle of painting your hair when his paintbrush broke, the glossy streaks revealing that it’s still wet. You pull your lips into a straight line. It isn’t like him to zone you out. You’re about to voice a similar sentiment when he finally speaks up. 

“It’s smudged,” he mutters under his breath. 

The impossibly idyllic scene he tried depicting is marred with an imperfection. 

Teal hues scrutinize you next. “Would you be open to changing the tone of the story when Klee returns?” 

“Hm? Why’s that?” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s important that she learns there are people in the world who don’t take no for an answer, always testing the limits of what they can get away with.” 

It’s such a miniscule motion, you almost miss it, but you know for certain his eye twitched. 

“Is that so?” 

The calm waters of his voice obscure the raging tides hidden beneath the surface. Soft tufts of sandy blonde hair brush against his face as a zephyr passes through, rustling nearby branches with it. To be a citizen of Mondstadt and a child of Barbatos means to ascribe importance to the wind. The direction it blows, its strength, and what scents or sounds may come along with it. The Anemo Archon watches over his people with a certain fondness the other gods lack. 

You wonder what it is he’s trying to get across to you. 

“You have that expression again,” Albedo comments. 

“... What expression?” 

“A prey warily eyeing a predator,” he’s walking toward you now. You go stiff yet remain firmly planted. “Attempting to access the threat level and plan accordingly. To fight back, flee, or do nothing. Do you no longer find the last option appealing?”  

The pendulum errs to the side of warning. 

He still isn’t giving you anything substantial. In passing, you’ve heard of Sumeru scholars who spend their entire lives trying to find rare, elusive species. Camouflage is what allows these lifeforms to go undetected for so long. They slip under the researcher’s noses, almost tauntingly, blending into their surroundings and giving the false impression there’s nothing worthwhile to look at. Then the researcher moves on to the next area, frustrated and at a loss. 

Perhaps you came to a conclusion prematurely. A lack of knowledge may be damning, but possessing it and being unable to do anything might be the cruelest fate of all. 

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you just do something already? Say what’s really on your mind?” You seethe in a fit of frustration, jabbing your fingers at his chest. He doesn’t so much as flinch. “You obviously want something from me that I’m not willing to give. Is this some sort of punishment for not feeling the same way you do?” 

“Nothing I do is intended as a punishment on you, [First].” 

“Then what are you doing?” 

“Waiting.” 

You take a step back as if the word had physically pushed you. “What is it you’re waiting for…?” 

Albedo extends his hand into the air. The sensation surrounding him begins slowly, a focusing of energy. He sees the world for what it can be, not what it currently is. A light golden hue emanates from his outstretched palm. You’ve seen him do this enough times to recognize the alchemical process. For a natural like him, overlooking notes or extensive preparation isn’t necessary. Sucrose often impressed upon you just how prodigious Albedo’s abilities are. 

The gold light fades. 

Dark green stems twist into vivacious hues of blood-colored petals. Utilizing his esoteric knowledge, Albedo produced a bundle of red roses from thin air. He takes one, inspects it for thorns, and once he confirms there are none, nestles it gently behind your ear. He sweeps your hair aside with such tenderness that any passerby might mistake you two as lovers. 

Dumbstruck, you accept the bouquet into your hands at his prompting. 

There it is. That mischievous glint, flickering in his eyes briefly, just long enough to burn. It extinguishes before you can gauge how dangerous the fire will one day become. 

“Finish the story and maybe you’ll find out.” 

[definitelynotamhafan]

Punishment (Darkness pt. 1)

“Hurting someone is easy…..But healing? You wouldn’t know about that, now would you?”

Alone. That’s what you first felt when you entered the world. When the first winds produced by the primordial goddess sent you to the Egyptian dunes scorched over by her light, when your eyes had opened for the first time, when the only thing shielding your eyes from the fiery ball of madness in the sky was the sun goddess herself.

Am-Heh, that was the name spoken in fear by many, even by Ra herself. Once a goddess which you trusted, which had suddenly banished you to the underworld.

Devourer of millions, Eater of enternity, The One in the Dark. As much as these titles swelled you with honor, as much hurt and pain they stabbed in your heart.

But now, those times of sorrow and pain are now over. Trapped in the underworld as you were, you didn’t have much to complain. You sat in your lake of fire and scorching lava, watching the bubbles blow from time to time, chatting your days away with whatever poor soul you could find, which had maybe gotten lost from the field of reeds, or escaped Osiris’s watchful eye. Your boredom however, was increasing moon by moon. And trust me, the dark confines of the land of the dead were really starting to piss you off. That was, of course, until you heard a scream.

Screams here were rare, since there were only dead people, who had nothing more to fear. Well, that was except for the newcomers who failed the weighing of the soul test. But of course, they never let out screams that loud.

You grabbed your headdress, pulling on your black shendyt, as you dried the lava off yourself. You tiptoed towards Osiris’s chambers, not knowing what the incredibly evil pea-looking bastard was up to. He wasn’t there.

I wonder why…

Your eyes gazed towards a hole in the sky, well, what you would call the sky of the underworld. There it was. After millennia of being stuck here. An exit. You crawled out, dragging your whip with you, which you managed to recover from a chest under Osiris’s bed, which hadn’t been hidden quite well.

The stars. You hadn’t seen them in ages. They looked even more beautiful than you remembered.

——— It has been at least a moon or two since you had escaped from the underworld, your betraying lover’s scorching eye searching restlessly for you each day.

“Honestly Ra, give me a break.” You mumbled to yourself, pushing back your grown out hair out of you face.

You groaned to yourself as you pulled the veil over your nose and mouth, preventing the specks of golden sand to creep where they shouldn’t be. Just as you were about to walk over to the Foreign God and complain about the poor condition of the tent which he had you in, you noticed a red haired beauty laying on his bed. If it wasn’t for red hair, you wouldn’t have recognized him in the first place, and yet….. how could you? You barely were there for Nut’s birth, let alone his.

You had only heard rumors, of course. Of the Great Seth, who Osiris was pretty much simping for. Every minute you would spend in your lava bath, casually trying to enjoy your exile as an ex-god, Osiris would strut in, waving his hips like a schoolgirl and twirling his nonexistent hair as he rambled on about how perfect Seth was. Damn. Now you could see why he was so obsessed with him. No wonder he acted like that.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a whistle from behind you, and a friendly shoulder pat.

“Well well, Am-heh. Like what you see?” The Foreign God asked.

“Shut it.” You elbowed him in the ribs. “The tent you gave me is ripped!”

“Awwwww, can’t you handle a little wind?” He teased, his hand tracing your shendyt.

“Paws off, this fine ass belongs to someone else.” You retorted. “And no. Sand has gotten in places I didn’t even know I had in the first place!”

“Alright, alright. You can sleep in my tent tonight, if you’re so insistent.” He winked suggestively.

“You smooth fucker.” You mumbled as you entered the tent, dragging the little luggage you had, only to be interrupted by a groan.

the red haired sleeping beauty was waking up, and he wasn’t exactly pleased.

“What the hell? Don’t you know how to keep quiet for at least half a-“ He stopped himself as soon as his red eyes landed on yours. They widened in horror as he realized what you were, grabbing the nearest object and throwing it in your direction, which happened to be a pillow.

You caught the pillow in one hand, effortlessly before chuckling.

“And who might you be? FG’s little boyfriend?” You teased. “What? You act like you’ve never seen a god before.”

“Y-you…..Y-You!” He stammered out. “You’re him! Am-heh!” He pointed at you, shivering.

“Relax, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.” You chuckled, reaching to tuck out a red strand of hair which had gotten in Seth’s face.

He pulled away as if he had just been bitten by a venomous snake. He backed up against the wall, staying as far away from you as possible.

“I know about you! I read the scrolls-! And the hieroglyphs on the temple walls! And-“ he raised his voice.

“I know….I know…” you tried to calm him down, putting your hands out in a protective manner. “See? I’m harmless! I can’t do anything.” You showed him you hand, which was marked by a curse.

Its black veins molded in with your skin, the ink-like substance making your very existence a pain in the ass. The little flakes and specks of silver and gold, which had been your only map to the sky in your exile to the underworld. His Ruby red eyes stared at your open palm, his own cursed one reaching out to examine it, only to pull back away.

“I don’t trust you.” He hissed.

“I know.”

[driftsart]

since you told us starscream’s relationship with the decepticon’s + seekers.. could you tell us megatron’s relationship with the decepticon’s? (or shockwave’s relationship with the decepticon’s either way is fine!)

Sure! :D

(I'll do Megs cause I had another ask about Shockwave's relations)

Megatron's relationship with Soundwave: His relationship with Soundwave is strong, like a brother or a very close friend. Megatron trusts him and knows he can rely on him for anything. He feels protected when around Soundwave, and he feels like he's free to tell Soundwave anything without judgement or fear that it'll be taken the wrong way.

Relationship with Starscream: His relationship with Starscream is a bit... In progress. Starscream is difficult to talk to without without judgement, especially since he looks down on Megatron because of his background and personality. Megatron tries to make Starscream as belonging and comfortable as possible, since he knows that Starscream originally never wanted to join the decepticons, and was only with them since the Autobots left him and his two brothers behind. Their relationship is very slowly improving.

Relationship with Shockwave: His relationship with Shockwave is strong, not as strong as with Soundwave, but he considers Shockwave one of his best friends. He feels bad for him at times since he was given such a harsh punishment on Cybertron, and wishes he could help. He's usually there to provide comfort if necessary, and sometimes there to keep him on track (he gets carried away with projects and experiments) if necessary.

Relationship with Knockout: He and Knockout get along well, he looks up to Knockout, especially how he managed to get to good in the field of medicine when he was originally in the lower class like Megatron. Megatron respects him and trusts him as the Decepticon's medic. He also trusts Knockout's assistants, Breakdown (Knockout's partner :D), and Thundercracker.

Extra: His relationship with Tarn: Tarn was a gladiator at the same time as Megatron was, and Tarn was dangerously harsh on him. Tarn despises Megatron, and wishes to overthrow him because he feels like Megatron isn't doing anything and he's too cowardly and pathetic. Tarn believes in the decepticon cause, but believes the only way to succeed is though harsh and horrific violence towards autobots and their allies. He's separated himself from Megatron's group of decepticons, and created a group with other decepticons unhappy with Megatron's leadership.

[0lshadyl0]

Hey there! Can I request some Male!Boa Hancock x Reader headcanons? 💘

well dear, I really want to make this request, especially because a male Boa Hancock is my ideal yandere, but here I would need to know if the reader is a man or a woman, because there are certain differences in his behavior depending on the gender, even So, I'll leave some details that only applies to a Male Boa Hancock.

Even so, what Boa Hancock would do as a woman, she would also do as a man, gender does not change her way of acting or preferences much, here you can read what I have written about her if you are interested in reading it

Yandere Male Boa Hancock headcanons

• In this case, I am more sure that he would have a more violent hatred towards men, because of the abuse that he went through, but above all, because of his sisters, he lives with the humiliation of being the only man of the three and not Having been able to protect them is something that torments him every day, even if several years have passed and his sisters repeat to him every day that it was not his fault, he thinks otherwise.

• So he probably kills men for the sheer pleasure of it, to show everyone that he is superior to all other men.

• He has a love hate relationship with his effeminate appearance, on the one hand, being a proud member of Amazon Lily despite being a man, his feminine features are a symbol of pride, but surely due to the sexual and psychological abuse inflicted on him for both men and women, he feels a kind of repulsion at his own delicate features. 'Maybe, if I didn't look so feminine, so many men wouldn't have abused me' would be a constant thought in his head.

• Because I am 100% sure that is one of the reasons why he was abused a little more than other male slaves, it will have saved him from some physical torture or amputations, but at what cost?

• He has an even more overprotective instinct than his female version, let's say it's testosterone, so his obsession with his s/o lies a lot in making sure that person never goes through what he and his sisters went through, even more so if his beloved is a woman

• He will want to mark his partner so that everyone knows that it belongs to him, something like a tattoo that when everyone sees it, they understand that it belongs to Boa

• Even so, I believe that he will have a clear preference for the target of his obsession to be much stronger than him in some field, whether physical or psychological, because subconsciously he still looks for someone to protect him because he has not yet recovered from his traumas (aren't there therapists in One Piece?)

• Of course, if the person he is obsessed with is a man, everything will start in a love hate relationship, he will be violent, imposing and aggressive, will he hurt him?, joder, of course he will.

• Since he feels even more contempt for men than his female version, believe me, he will use sex, (rather rape), as a method of punishment until she finally falls in love with him, and then he will regret having hurt his beloved the same way the celestial dragons hurt him when he was a slave

[oggirlboss]

༺ ♰ ༻ toxic levi headcanons ༺ ♰ ༻

pairing[s]: toxic!levi ackerman x afab!reader

warning[s]: possessiveness, age gap, power imbalance, sexism, and spousal abuse.

note: levi ackerman is my favorite little person ever. i want to hurt deeply right now, so i wrote (and found) some of these headcanons to satiate my need for pain. i know these are supposed to be red flags but all i see is a bountiful field of green. the art belongs to goodruedead on twitter [i do not respect x's pronouns].

word count: 0.3k

•       levi would consider you to be lesser/weaker than himself in the relationship and he doesn't hesitate to say it.

•       he's one of those leaders that think qualified women are more of a threat to men trying to advance in rank than other men. he thinks that a lot of women get their positions only because of their gender and not because of their hard work.

•       levi would hit you if you pestered him too much on a stressful work day, which is terrible, but to make it worse, he wouldn't hit you as hard as he would if a guy had done the same thing. he thinks that women are too "soft and fragile" to handle corporal punishments.

•       even if he hit you accidentally, he wouldn't apologize but he'd feel a little bad about it. maybe if he felt wrong enough he'd bring you some of his tea, but he wouldn't want to waste his good tea on you. you're getting the cheap shit.

•       levi will not share any of his favorite tea with you, ever. it's expensive and he doesn't want anyone else to drink it.

•       he can find fault in everything you do, and sometimes it feels like he's babysitting you instead of dating you.

•       if you mess up during an expedition, he calls you into his office to yell at you and if you start crying he'll scoff at you and tell you to leave.

•       levi is extremely emotionally unavailable, and he would not be good at comforting you.

•       he'd be possessive and controlling to the point where it's exhausting to be around him.

•       he outright refuses to show any vulnerability and gets pissed when you try to open up to him, but at the same time, he invades your privacy and will force you to tell him things.

•       he loves to call you out on your bullshit in training, but he would rather just suffer through problems with you in your personal relationship because he wants to avoid confrontation. he'd refuse to acknowledge that anything is wrong even if it started to eat away at you.

•       he is adamant that you sleep next to him every night to make sure you don't leave him.

•       levi would only speak to you, or give you attention when he wants it. if you need his attention, you won't even be able to fight for the scraps of his affection. you only matter to him when he wants you. he'll also neglect and gaslight you about it further along into your relationship.

•       he'd use your insecurities (weight, acne, body shape, etc.) against you in arguments.

•       if you're younger than him, he'll hold it against you and anytime you try to help him or give advice, he'll say you're too young to understand.

•       he would get angry if you were too high maintenance or clingy. he needs a lot of personal space, and if you can't give him that he will separate from you.

•       since he's sexually frustrated, he'll sleep around with a lot of other women and blame it on you. he'll say it is your fault because you aren't enough and can't give him what he wants.

[miquellaluciscaelum]

"Pure and radiant, he wields love to shrive clean the hearts of men. There is nothing more terrifying".

I warn you! It gotta be long, very long. And it's of course mostly my personal opinion, speculations, theories, ideas about my fav character in this game!

If you are ready, let's go!

A rather interesting and ambiguous set of phrases, especially in combination with the visuals.

I'd like to think about what these phrases mean for Miquella in the context of his character. In the fandom, Miquella is actually a pretty unique character. The main reason is how contradictory people's opinions about him are. He is perhaps one of those about whom we know the least, but at the same time people usually attribute some things and qualities to him with such conviction, as if we have his entire biography laid out on the table instead of a set of very ambiguous descriptions of items that often don't even have a direct relationship to him or they aren't reliably verified belonging to him.

First of all, objectively, Miquella is perhaps one of the most sinless characters in the world of the Elden ring. He is not a warrior who killed for the Golden order. He is not a person who has been proven to have organized and committed a conspiracy to kill another person who is a killer's relative by the way. He did not curse the whole region with rot and slow decay. He wasn't engaged in some super vile heretical practices, wanting to gain at least some power. He didn't even burn Minor Erdtree, do you understand? Hi, Rykard! And most importantly, he was not voluntarily associated with any outer god, who bring mostly destruction on Lands between, at least as far as we know.

We know for certain about Miquella that:

1. The main goal for him was to cure his sister from the curse. He was ready to renounce the Golden Order in trying to seek answers elsewhere, in other branches of magic and faith. It costs a lot. Considering than the closer time came to the Shattering, the more rigid and radical the rules of the Order became under the rule of Radagon. Blasphemy, and this is blasphemy, was punished very severely. Radagon was literally at war with his own son because he had renounced the Golden Order. Hi, Rykard again! And it was Miquella who rejected the Golden order and its practices in order to save his sister, and later most likely completely refused from faith, realizing how much the order was rotten from the inside, from its roots literally.

2. Miquella is a genius. Most likely, he is the smartest of all the demigods and people living in Lands between. His inventions in the fields of magic, engineering, and botany are either rare or legendary items in the game. Prosthetics, armor, needles, lilies, spells. The pure gold needle alone is capable of suppressing the influence of outer gods such as Goddess of Rot and God of Frenzied flame, this actually calls into question their power in the lands between. In this way, this confirms Malenia's words about the most fearsome Empyrean. And indirectly it can make it clear where Miquella's curse came from. Here I agree with @miquella-everywhere that the most likely candidate is Greater Will, which probably saw in Miquella the same threat as in Marika. Anyone who can overcome the influence of at least one god can potentially overcome them all.

3. Miquella is known for hosting all those abandoned, rejected and forgotten by the Golden order. Omens, crystalians, demi-humans, albinaurics, tarnished, assassins, wandering merchants. From his face or under the name of his alter ego Saint Trina, he helped and saved more creatures and people than we know for sure anyone else did. The fact that this content was cut from the game at the final stage of production does not mean that it does not exist.

4. He has a reliably good relationship with most of his family members. He and Malenia feel like two parts of the same soul. He should also have a fairly close and warm relationship with Godwyn, it is shown through the statue in his Haligtree and the description of the sword Golden Epitaph. For a while, he must have had a good relationship with his father, with whom they learned the wisdom of the Golden order together. There is also reason to believe that he had a good relationship with some part of the Carian family. Considering the swords of Miquella's knights, made according to the Carian pattern, and knight Loretta, who guarded Elphael in the end.

5. Miquella definitely has special abilities. Whether it's the properties of his blood, or the traits of his character.

Speaking about this property of endearing people to themselves, I think it is logical to assume that until proven otherwise, that:

- first of all, his role as a CHARISMATIC LEADER. Understand that when his curse revealed, he objectively could not become a warrior like all the other members of his family. He was most likely trained to become a ruler, sage or adviser, commonly a politician. This is charisma training, the ability to win people over, the ability to lead people, the ability to convince and achieve your goals. This does not mean that he is a liar or a manipulator, it means that he is a good person in bad conditions, who uses the tools available to him, can sometimes make gray borderline decisions, but at the same time do it for a better future. In an environment where his curse puts him below everyone else and the military career ladder, the faster way to the top, is inaccessible to him, he has to struggle with acquiring some kind of position even more. In the end before and during the Shattering, by the way, he ruled the entire fucking city with his sister, speaking of charisma and leader characters.

- secondly, the possibility of a special persuasion arose from some kind of natural magnetism exists, perhaps even uncontrolled by Miquella himself. We could all have noticed some insect-like features that Miquella has, wings, cocoons, etc. It is quite possible that there are some special pheromones that soften people's reactions to him and cause instinctive affection, like butterflies have, for example. I.e. partially it may be uncontrollable.

- thirdly, this "gift of persuasion" can be completely hereditary, i.e. it could have come from Marika herself. She still somehow forced the last giant to obey her and guard Forge of the Giants.

That is, his so-called manipulation could be partly uncontrollable, and partly caused by his upbringing and the initial limitations of his position due to the curse, which he absolutely needs to overcome because otherwise he will not have enough knowledge or resources to cure Malenia or himself. Can you blame him for using the tools available to him and perhaps even using his innocent appearance to achieve his goals more easily? I wouldn't. (Honestly, if in the end his darker and more ominous side will be revealed to us, and the guess that he bewitched people will become the truth, I won't start love him less🤣, but now all of these are still just speculations) Moreover, it is not mentioned anywhere that he compeled and controlled people on some cosmic scale, deprived them of their will and forced them to madly love him and follow his ideas. He didn't want to put himself on a pedestal, create a new order, or become an almighty god. If he has the kind of potential that you believe he has, if he is one huge reference to Griffith as you believe, he probably could, but it literally contradicts his whole character, goals and motivation.

But what I absolutely deny and hate is the version that it was Miquella who bewitched Mogh in order to use him for his own purposes and achieve a breakthrough in breaking his curse earlier. I think this is absolutely a piece of SHIT and smacks of VICTIMBLAMING. All Miquella got from his kidnapping was a cursed body; an abandoned and slowly degrading sister, whom he was actually trying to save; a dying rotting tree, he tried to grow with so much effort; and he, who fell under the influence of an outer god, the thing he tried to avoid himself and from which he is still trying to save Malenia. Moreover, we know literally NOTHING about what Mogh did to Miquella while he was with him and in what condition. And believe me, you don't want to know what they write about this in fanfiction and what boarders it sometimes goes beyond. I can't imagine any way in which Miquella could have planned something like this.

Returning to the set of phrases at the beginning of the trailer.

"Pure and radiant, he wields love to shrive clean the hearts of men. There is nothing more terrifying".

Two interpretations.

One based on his "special influence on people." Then it can literally be said here that he is able to change people's consciousness and worldview for the better or for the worse. To free people's hearts from evil and evil thoughts, perhaps any thoughts in principle. This means that he has great power. Whether he uses it or not is another matter. This interpretation echoes Malenia's words and seems to be the most obvious and quite ominous.

However, when I watched the trailer over and over again and this moment in particular, I realized something. The words about a pure innocent soul and strength contrast very strongly with the visual. He is literally so disgusting and repulsive compared to the image of Miquella that they create in our heads that it becomes strange.

And then I thought, what if there is another meaning?

What if it means that such a pure innocent soul has great potential to make the world a better place, to make people living there better. But the higher you fly, the more painful to fall. The more hope you have, the more terrible to experience the defeat. What if this literally means:

Such a pure innocent soul with enough love in her to purify people's hearts. That makes the end of these aspirations even more terrifying.

And they show us Miquella's bloodied, emaciated hand from the cocoon. All his desires: save his sister, save his brother, save himself, make the world a better place for the abandoned and rejected, let life and abundance flourish, ended here. In the hands of a pervert and his perverted god, in a stinking bloody swamp, buried deep underground without a single ray of sun, deep in a dream that has no end, abandoned and left alone. The road to hell has been paved with truly good intentions.

Fuck, I'm crying. Let me save my boy😭

I really don't understand how you can compare Miquella to Griffith when it's literally the same type of character that Miyazaki uses in every bloody game he creates. If you want to call it a rebirth of the world, let it be. Gwyndolin, Lothric, Kuro, Miquella. A boy cursed or weak from birth, different from generally accepted norms, with great responsibility and duty on his shoulders, a defender of ideals in spirit and a fighter against fate in fact, with problems in the family and a legacy more burdensome than beneficial, but most often with loving brothers and sisters and a strong warrior behind his back, master in magic or science, cold-blooded, but very naive at heart. Unwilling to give in to fate, gods, and the world that always expects something from them. Unwilling to surrender to death. These are very similar stories and there is no place in them for what you are looking for. I just hope that there will be no place for a bad ending in the new story either. 😭

Thank you for listening to my Ted talk about some cute soulsborn femboy✨. I even cried at the end. Hope you didn't get bored in the process. Trailer touched me on many soul layers.