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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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A KITCHEN-TABLE KINDA LOVE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement.

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though he chalks it up to his mind playing tricks on him.

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred, in its normalcy. everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket haphazardly draped over the couch, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

(why is the kitchen light still on?)

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin underneath them — blinking once, then twice.

yep — it’s still there. that soft fluorescent glow, a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with.

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you.

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile.

do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft sprouts in his chest, almost otherworldly, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something like a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so, so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach. satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring.

but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a breath, laced with exasperation. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften. the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…”

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

for a moment, all you do is lean into his touch. a yawn tumbles from your lips, as you lift yourself up, snuggling closer still. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question.

a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform, arms sneaking around his thin waist to bring him closer. he strokes the back of your head, softly.

satoru’s chest rumbles, as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into him, into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees. lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little, trying to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “… but i fell asleep.”

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder, followed by a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light, and then there’s something else. something far more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you. “of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, pulling you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought that he’s a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel kinda giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t. having someone to worry for you is a luxury, he’s realized. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away, ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him, tilting your head like a sleepy puppy. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he tries not to. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. “oh,” you breathe. “okay. that’s good.”

one second. then two.

satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip, a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table. satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you.

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out.

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but…

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love.

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react.

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting.

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet.

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most.

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek, thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression.

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly.

satoru looks at you for a second.

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection.

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down.

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open.

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier.

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

#i NEED to hold his waist btw idk if i made that clear. i need it like i need air to breathe. like why is it so tiny if not to be held by me #had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader

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sapphicjackal · 1 month

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Bingyuan Remarried Empress au

Remarried Empress au

When Yue Qingyuan was 7, he was kidnapped by enemies and sold to slavers. He spent 5 years as a slave before he was rescued by a passing noble who had loyalty to his family. He was forced to leave behind the close friend whom he loved with all his heart, his Xiao Jiu. He promised that once he was old enough, he would return and buy off Jiu’s price so that he could bring Jiu home with him. He told his Xiao Jiu to wait for him.

Yue Qingyuan returned when he was 18 only to find that the manor his Xiao Jiu had worked for had been burned down.

This broke his heart, and he mourned for the boy who held all of his love.

Yue Qingyuan chose to marry the 3rd son of the prominent Shen family despite it not being the most favorable match possible, because the third son, Shen Yuan, looked similar to his Xiao Jiu. It was still a good family, and Shen Yuan had trained extensively in the four arts along with strategy and ruling, not to mention he had talent with cultivation, he made a fine option for a future Empress.

Shen Yuan was a warm and friendly man with a kind heart. He put on a cold and impenetrable facade when in front of outsiders, but it couldn’t hide his good nature. Whenever they were alone together, Shen Yuan’s facade would fall and he would let Yue Qingyuan see his genuine self. Yue Qingyuan found himself falling in love with Shen Yuan, who made it all too easy to love him, even when he kept you at a distance.

Shen Yuan was younger than him by a few years, so they courted until he was of age. Then they wed, crowning Shen Yuan as the Empress of the Cang Qiong Empire.

Shen Yuan was a competent and righteous ruler, but he rarely let his cold facade down after being crowned. He felt he needed to embody being a good Empress, so he kept his emotions under a cool mask.

Their marriage worked for 5 years, then, Yue Qingyuan ran into a runaway slave during a hunting trip. It was his Xiao Jiu. The boy that he promised his heart to that he searched for and couldn’t find.

He brought Xiao Jiu home with him at last, falling in love with him all over again at first sight. His Xiao Jiu was prickly and mean, but he forgave Yue Qingyuan when the man told him that he returned to Qiu Manor the day that he turned 18 but found it burned down. Jiu forgives his Qi-ge, and is happy to reunite after their bitter years apart.

What he doesn’t like is that his Qi-ge went and married a replacement. Someone who looked similar to him and was so clearly meant to be a way to replace Shen Jiu after Yue Qingyuan couldn’t find him.

Shen Jiu was suspicious of their similarities so he asked for a blood test to be done on him and Shen Yuan. It was a close match and so they found out that Shen Jiu is the lost first son and heir to the Shen family, one who was similarly kidnapped as Yue Qingyuan had been, only he had been younger and never managed to escape.

Shen Yuan was at first happy that his Er-ge had been found, but that quickly changed when Shen Jiu started making his life hell and trying to steal his husband. Now that Shen Jiu had legitimacy as an heir to a noble house, and a higher position than Shen Yuan himself within the household, he was technically a better candidate for marriage. He had none of Shen Yuan’s education and training, but he was a ruthless schemer and strategist.

Shen Yuan began losing favor over Shen Jiu, even among their own family. All he had ever done was make himself into the perfect Empress, and now years of his efforts were being spat upon.

Tensions are high when foreign diplomats come to negotiate a treaty between the 2 realms. The Demon Realm and Human Realm have had a tentative peace since the current Empress wed the Demonic Emperor 20 years ago. Their marriage almost resulted in a war when the King of Hua Huan tried to say that the Demonic Emperor had kidnapped one of his wards, but the Empress went into hiding and snuck into the Demonic Realms, already pregnant with the heir. They married and now there has been an uneasy peace between the realms.

The Demons now seek to solidify the unofficial peace with an actual peace treaty, and they send diplomats to make it happen.

Luo Binghe and Zhuzhi-Lang are the ones that are sent. Luo Binghe is secretly the crown prince of the Demonic Empire, and Zhuzhi-Lang is his cousin. They came under false pretenses and therefore have to keep their identities under wraps.

Luo Binghe can’t claim the throne as Emperor until he marries the spouse who will be his Empress. His Father has pressured him to seek out a marriage so that Tianlang-Jun can finally retire and go travel with his wife instead of ruling. Finding a bride is a secondary goal to establishing a solid peace treaty to aid in securing his oncoming rule.

Luo Binghe has the ability to transform into a small black dog, something that he uses for reconnaissance. During his wanderings as a dog, he runs into Shen Yuan crying in a garden late at night. Shen Yuan is taken by the adorable dog, and he ends up confessing his woes. Talking about how he tried so hard to be Empress but he was only ever a replacement for his brother and now his own Husband has turned against him.

Yue Qingyuan made Shen Yuan fall in love with him. The man courted him for years and made sweet promises. They wed each other and it was the happiest day of Shen Yuan’s life. All for what? All so that Yue Qingyuan could look at him while seeing his older brother.

Has Shen Yuan not been a benevolent and effective Empress?

Has Shen Yuan not been a caring and dutiful spouse?

Has Shen Yuan not dedicated himself to his tasks and risen to the occasion each and every time?

But Shen Yuan will never be enough because he will never be Shen Jiu.

Shen Yuan can’t fight back the bitter tears and painful confessions. His brother has been turning everyone against him and nobody else can see it. If he tries to say anything they would only say that he was being jealous and paranoid. Everyone knows that Shen Yuan was just the placeholder, it was obvious for everyone to see.

Yue Qingyuan acted like nothing was wrong, so caught up in his Xiao Jiu’s orbit. He acted like he hadn't forsaken his promises and spat in Shen Yuan’s face. Like he wasn’t the one to court Shen Yuan for 4 years and marry him after his 18th birthday. Yue Qingyuan promised him love, promised forever, promised fidelity.

He made all those promises to the shadow of Xiao Jiu and forsake them the moment the true object of his affections arrived.

Luo Binghe couldn’t believe that anyone could be so foolish as to break such a beautiful heart. How could someone not want to marry Shen Yuan and have him forever? Especially for such a spiteful wretch like Shen Jiu?

Luo Binghe wouldn’t let this opportunity go. One man’s loss is another man’s gain. Shen Yuan was a wonderful Empress for ungrateful humans, and would make an equally wonderful Empress to demons who would appreciate him. Luo Binghe would never let this treasure go.

The next day, Binghe wrote a note before placing it in a pouch with an attached necklace. He transformed into his dog form and maneuvered the pouch around his neck before trotting off to find his future wife. He found Shen Yuan in the same place, crying in his private garden. Binghe boofs and runs up to the tearful man, nugging himself against the man’s legs in comfort.

Shen Yuan let out a beautiful bell-like laugh that rang through the garden and enchanted Luo Binghe. “Oh? Has my cute little friend returned?” cooed Shen Yuan with a bright smile as he scooped up Binghe and placed the dog into his lap. Shen Yuan buried his face into the soft and fluffy fur of Binghe’s body, pulling back when he felt something odd.

Shen Yuan saw that there was a satchel hanging around the dog's neck. “What’s this?” Shen Yuan questioned, opening the satchel to find a message written inside.

‘To whomever has stolen Bingpup’s heart:

This one is the owner of that mischievous dog. This one hopes he has caused no troubles for you. Bingpup seemed enamored with whatever person he met. and this one has never known a better judge of character than my loyal dog. This one is interested in getting to know such a person that Bingpup has deemed worthy.

-Ice’

Shen Yuan looked down from the note back to the dog in his lap who sat patiently and sweetly. “You like me so much your owner found it odd?” Shen Yuan remarked, utterly charmed. Most people were warded away by the cold front that Shen Yuan employs as Empress, but this adorable dog seems to feel different.

Each day, Shen Yuan would come to his garden to meet with Bingpup and exchange letters with his owner. Shen Yuan found someone he could be somewhat genuine with, and he softened through their interactions. This secret friendship became the highlight of his days which only grew darker with the shadow his older brother cast over his life.

Eventually, Binghe reveals himself to be the one sending the letters and offers a marriage proposal to Shen Yuan. He also reveals himself to be Bingpup after an injury. Shen Yuan finds himself accepting, because he knows that divorce is coming his way and he honestly doesn’t feel like fighting for a man who he knows was only using him.

Yue Qingyuan eventually requests a divorce, and Shen Yuan accepts while asking permission to remarry. With Shen Yuan’s marriage to the crown prince, Binghe will ascend to being Emperor with Shen Yuan by his side as Empress.

They all go their separate ways, better for their parting. Both brothers are competent Empresses to their respective realms, and are happy with their spouses. Neither of the brothers care for each other, but there is no outright hatred. Shen Jiu undeniably pushed his brother out of the marriage, but he never attempted to outright kill or harm Shen Yuan, he mostly just sabotaged his standing.

Yue Qingyuan slid an envelope across the table. “I’m requesting a divorce. We can remarry after a year with you as the second Husband so you do not use your place.” he says.

Shen Yuan gives him a cold look. “I accept your divorce and ask to remarry.” The Empress states unflinchingly.

Yue Qingyuan gave him a wounded look, “Would that make A-Yuan happy?” he asked.

Shen Yuan sneered at his soon to be ex-husband and future brother-in-law, “Do you care?” he scoffed, before nodding. “Yes, Emperor Yue. It would make this one happy to remarry.”

Yue Qingyuan flinched and smiled painfully. “Very well, A-Yuan. You have my permission to remarry. I wish you the best.” he says.

Shen Yuan walked away with his head held high, going to the rooms of his soon-to-be Husband. Luo Binghe welcomed him with a smile, taking Shen Yuan into his arms. “A-Yuan? Did it go well?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the crown of Shen Yuan’s head.

Shen Yuan melted into the embrace of his intended, thawing from the cold facade he must wear among others. “Shameless.” he scolds halfheartedly, “The Emperor approved.”

Luo Binghe smiled widely, boyishly charming with his joyful expression. “A-Yuan shall be my Empress, my one and only.” he swears.

Shen Yuan has been promised these things before and been thrown away without a second thought, however…

He can’t help but believe Luo Binghe’s words.

79 aren’t outright malicious, but they do care about their happiness and seek it at the cost of others. Shen Jiu is far more aware and scheming than Rashta, he is intentionally weakening Shen Yuan’s position so Yue Qingyuan can marry him and make him Empress. Shen Jiu is in no way naive, and he is extremely competent. He won’t actually make for a bad Empress because he will claw his way into proficiency and make sure that he is capable.

Disclaimer: I actually read the Remarried Empress novel and manwha like 2 years ago, so this was based off memory + me altering things for SVSSS. It isn’t a 1:1 au of Remarried Empress, but it is definitely inspired by it.

Everyone does get their own happy ending even if it takes bad blood to get there.

79 and Bingqiu are happy. SY will never be friends with his brother or ex-husband but he doesn’t care about them because he's busy living his own life. Likewise, Yue Qingyuan doesn’t regret divorcing Shen Yuan because he’s now married to the love of his life.

I did consider making this omegaverse or mpreg, however I don’t think that Shen Jiu needs to get pregnant for Yue Qingyuan to choose him over Shen Yuan. He’d choose Shen Jiu just because he asked. There is nothing he wouldn’t deny his Xiao Jiu. He did hold some affection for Shen Yuan and thought he loved him, but really he only loved the parts of him that reminded him of Shen Jiu. They were more like friends than lovers during their marriage and things had mostly cooled by the time they actually wed.

I did consider writing his as a fic, however one of my weakest points when it comes to writing is writing politics. I dislike politics irl and have very little understanding so it makes it hard to write. I wouldn’t actually be able to do this concept justice because I’m not great with writing what it requires. Maybe I’ll come back to it later, but for now here it is.

#svsss #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #bingyuan #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #qijiu #mxtx #mxtx svsss #I’m tired of looking at this au so yall can have it

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gamerwoman3d · 8 months

Text

A Land Before Time

🔞 An MK1 x Reader 🔞

▸ includes: Liu Kang [mk1 versions] F! Reader◂

Author's Note: This was based on a sex dream that I had, that I feel @genesiswrld SHOULD have had, because Liu Kang is hot but Bi-Han is my squishy. Not saying the dream was wasted on me, just that it was misplaced 😆

Female anatomy used.

Imagine for a moment that this New Era is real, and the existence that you're currently living is also real, and contains the New Era inside it as a game - but you find a technical way through the use of coding and quantum tech, to enter Liu Kang's New Era, “cool world” style, as something of a god/goddess.

Because you live in our shared reality, the one in which the game was created, you can in fact “code” the New Era into anything you like, within reason. But you have to get past the guardian. Liu Kang and Geras are gods there. But here, they are just characters, with Geras also partially functioning as a type of uncrackable password manager/encryption software. You can give your own self all sorts of powers to take into the New Era; but you can't change the core game unless you can get past Geras and Liu Kang.

You would either need their permission, or you'd have to force/brute force them to comply.

You can literally step from our world into the New Era and live there, immortal, with godlike power. And you do that. You use the code and give yourself the boosts you think you'll need to defend yourself if necessary.

Because you have the capacity to travel to any physical point in the timeline, as well as any temporal point in the timeline, you choose something you think will be easy to start. A time with fewer enemies, a time that you wanted to see in your own world, once.

🔞 Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞

When you first stepped through the portal into the New Era, the pristine sands beneath your feet were deliciously toasty. You could not help but to remove your footwear and sink your toes into the sand. The air here is pure, and filled with the strange buzz of unseen insects in the distance. The soft swirl of sand in the hourglass before you quieted. Without the hiss of sand, an absence of familiar noises from your past life became distinct; no motorcars, no hum of electronics, no trace of people, and a distinct lack of birdsong.

If you peer into the reflection of the hourglass over Liu Kang’s shoulder, you can see glimpses of early six-limbed proto-vaternians being gently guided into evolution in a neighboring realm. Liu loses his concentration on the sands as he sees you. Nothing devastating happens in the universe in that instance; there is simply a pause in the work.

Liu Kang knows immediately that you are not supposed to be here, standing before him and the hourglass.

He knows because he has not yet created humans.

Outside of the very meticulously kept garden that surrounds the hourglass, dinosaurs still rule this earth. Even birds have yet to grace the planet.

“How are you here? Or perhaps I should ask, are you truly here? Is it possible that even gods can still have dreams, or hallucinations?”

You tell him you are from a timeline before his own. You are older than his entire universe, older than Kronika, than Geras, older than the hourglass. And while you yourself did not create his universe, you were alive at the time it was conceived[1].

You tell him you shared a planet with, and walked among, the beings that created his universe. His universe is based on what your people knew of their own universe. Your feedback may or may not have influenced these creators; but you have some access to their same power of creation, and have come to use the hourglass to enhance his universe for yourself.

You came prepared to fight if necessary. Liu Kang would be very particular over who has access to the hourglass.

You may even fight a few rounds if you're curious to test your code enhancements - at least until he understands that you do have the power to control parts of his universe already, and the power to defeat him if he made it necessary. Through the encounter, he learns that you aren't lying about being from an even older timeline responsible for creating the hourglass.

But whatever it is that you want to change about the New Era, he likely won't let you without a fresh fight. And another fresh fight, and another, for every single little change you think you could want.

“We don't have to fight. We can compromise.”

For Liu Kang, it has been a lonesome existence, living out the creation of the new era in solitude. Geras can offer Liu Kang company in much the same way as an AI Assistant bot can offer a human company. But you know the depths of loneliness must be unbearable for a creator who is utterly alone in the universe across all of time. You know this, because even in your own world, the mythologies of all creator gods often began with the creation of people.

Even the gods of your own reality were so unbearably lonesome that they, in myth, created all of your ancestors, either for companionship or worship.

Your offer of company is accepted graciously, the moment he understands that you won't be withholding your companionship to exchange for the powers of the hourglass. But to settle conflicts over what happens in the hourglass, you both have an idea.

Gambling, games, and wagers. But instead of betting on who will win a physical fight between you both, you gamble on which of you can bring the other the most pleasure.

You're both seated in the zen garden, where the tropical heat has warmed the sand. Sheets of some soft fabrics are laid out in a manner similar to beach towels, allowing you both to walk and sit without burning your thighs or disturbing much of the sand.

He has a very smug “I know I've already won” look on his face the moment you suggested a contest based on sexual pleasure instead of kombat. You might think billions of years of being pent up would give you an advantage over him, but it doesn't; your customized form in this new era was generated anew when you stepped through the portal into his era. This particular body has yet to experience such pleasure at all, and will react, on a neurochemical level, at its most basic “code,” reacting the same as it would if falling in love for the first time. It will, in a nutshell, intoxicate you with want and pleasure, as if you yourself had never experienced it before.

But you didn't realize this. Your overconfidence proved your ignorance.

“You decide the winner. I trust your judgment will be fair. Or at least I don't trust my own judgment call to be unbiased,” you say.

Liu Kang smiles.

“A designated judge will be unnecessary,” he says, "I am certain we will both agree on who has won the challenge.”

He looks off in the distance before continuing.

“I would appreciate it though if we could choose some less intimate positions, at least at first. I'm still not over the grief of losing my dearest friend, and my beloved. I'm not sure how I might react, looking into the face of another, knowing I shall never have these moments with her. It isn't that I don't realize the finality of her destruction; but giving this kind of pleasure to another is a turning point that I may never be ready for.”

You slide closer to him and caress his shoulder, enough for him to feel your inner warmth.

“Grief is made of the same stuff as love. It's just the love-stuff that's leftover with nowhere to go,” you say.

He lays his head on your shoulder, pulls your hand to his cheek and tilts his face into it. Peace painted across the features of his face as he melted into your touch. His relaxation left you with an indescribable euphoria that deepened with each breath.

“Thank you for saying so. I feel more comfortable now, knowing that you understand,” he says.

“And I'm glad you said something. I like it when you tell me what you want. We can do this however you like. After all, this is a kontest for providing pleasure; not receiving it,” you said.

“Buy you will be receiving it,” he gloated, “and I shall be providing as much as you can possibly stand.”

“Ooh,” you teased, “Promises, promises! Hah, I like it. I feel good about you taking the lead, if you would?”

“Of course,” he said.

As he smiled up at the heavens, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. His eyes squeezed hard enough that the apples of his cheeks warped around the outline of his eyes. He took a deep breath that sounded as if he swallowed an antagonistic laugh.

“You aren't allowed to hate me when I show you how easy this is,” he said.

He turned his body towards yours, guided your body into facing away. You removed just enough clothing to feel his touch, to not hinder him from penetrating you if he chose. The fabric that you left over the top of your glistening pussy was delightfully thin and stretchy enough to move to the side in a pinch.

You spread yourself face down across the sheets of fabric. The warm sand below the soft fabric gave way, cushioned your ribs, and pressed its warmth up into your breasts.

He crawled on top. His weight on you pressed you slightly deeper into the fabric-covered sand. The heat and weight of his muscular legs across the backs of your thighs alone was enough to make you crave completion. But then, his clothed erection pressed against the cleft of your pussy until your slit pinched around the thin fabric. He slotted himself into the fold of fabric and held you there, wedged between the hot sand and his heated, immovable body. You squirmed into him, only to discover that you couldn't move if you wanted to, with your legs pinned to the sand.

You turned your face to the side to look over your shoulder at him. He wore a smug expression as he looked down at you.

You could feel your clit throbbing against… the hot sand? or his shaft. You could not tell. Both were equally firm and toasty.

He was hard. Slotted against the fabric, he nudged his erection firmly against you, the head nestling between your folds to swipe against your clit. His breath deepend, you could feel the air from his nostrils against your neck, just below the ear.

Against your back, you could feel his chest expand and cinch with each breath. You were caught in heat, trapped between his muscles and the sand. You liked this, being at his mercy. He rested his chin on your shoulder and huffed, resting his entire weight on you as he hunched. The cock knocking repeatedly against your throbbing clit had you squirming, whining, whimpering as you held your squeals of pleasure in. He ran one hot palm along your side. He caressed and groped your glute before freeing his cock from its cage of fabric. He hooked a finger around the strip of stretchy fabric above your mound and slipped it to the side.

The bare cockhead slipped between the fabric and your clit. Liu Kang let the fabric snap back into place, catching against the bottom of his shaft. Your pleasure built up as he rolled his hips and frotted against you, fucking the gap between your panties and your clit.

You balled your fists, grabbing handfuls of sand through the fabric sheets. He repositioned slightly so that you could feel the wet swiping of his heated cockhead against your clit more intensely. Your fingers came undone from the fabric and all ten digits splayed out in a fan shape as your quiet whimpers suddenly broke into a muffled outcry of pleasure.

His hands found yours. He covered the tops of your hands with his palms and threaded his fingers between yours, gripping each hand with interlaced fingers. You felt the tips of his fingers curl past the webbing between your digits to press against the insides of your palms. He pressed your hands, and his, to the sand, to pin them where he wanted them - where you could push back into him, but not escape. Not that you'd want to.

Your skin tingled anywhere he touched it, and the skin where the pads of his fingers glanced against the inside of your palm, threaded along the webbing of your fingers, was exceptionally sensitive in a way that made you feel safe, loved, cared for deeply, and connected.

The warm weight of his body on yours made you feel safe, while the cock massaged between your pussy lips. His thrusts massaged them open without penetration until you could feel every fiber of yourself unwinding, melting into the sand.

You looked back at him, only to see that he was still gazing at the side of your face, waiting for you to open your eye. His smug, slight smile never left his visage. He squeezed your hands with a pleasant pressure, as if he were wringing them out. You realized in that moment that you were swollen inside, and quivering at the entrance.

Then he stops moving, intentionally. You feel him, all over you, weighing you down, trapping you in the imprint of fabric in the hot sand. You feel your heavy, puffy cunt lips throbbing against his stationary cockhead. You're sensitive as fuck. Even your heartbeat rocks your clit against his cock too much.

He breathes. He breathes out through his nose, his gentle panting breath trickles underneath your ear, down your neck. His chin follows, as he rests it in the crook of your neck with his jaw at your shoulder. His skin just feels like skin, yet you're electrified by it. You're so sensitive in your new form. He could stay like this all day. You cannot. He knows. You know he knows.

You know because when you look at him, his unchanging, stoic “I told you so” smirk is so purposefully calm, that you could consider it antagonistic. Even just this look he gave you had you dripping wet for him, to say nothing of the thick smooth, hot cockhead nestled against your clit, or the warm shaft that your heavy, fevered wet pussy lips spread themselves over. You give a defeated cry of pleasure and gave in. You tap out against the sand, to tell him he's already won, and he responds by firming up his grip on your hands and moving in for the kill. He devours your neck as he nudges your clit around and fucks you, alternating between the two activities until you cum beneath him.

Your orgasm does not slow him down. He slips his cockhead against the fluttering entrance of your cunt and pauses, as if testing something, as if something changed. The slick hole winks against him and he sinks inside to stay.

“You're so creamy after you've cum,” he purred.

His cock feels amazing, warm and firm and deep, exploring inside you. He pressed it past a spot inside you where the pressure feels so good that you feel you might die unless it, that spot in particular, is beat to hell. He pressed past it, but drew back, stroking slower and deliberate against this inner spot. You felt a sudden dying urge to feel him hammer his cock into this weak spot inside you. The change in your whimpers gave you away.

“This little spot right here is particularly velvety,” he said, “it's just gooey… no. Buttery. Right here.”

He let his cockhead glide against the spot in several slow deliberate strokes for emphasis. You groaned brokenly into the sand and bucked back into him. You had chills. You had goosebumps even on the hot sand. He held and pinned your elbows to your sides. Your nipples stood erect beneath you, the tips ground into the fabric as you bucked backward into him. He paused, held you down, let you rock and buck until the fit of passion washed over you, and you could still yourself. He didn't shush you. He just pulled back until his cockhead hovered a hair away from that sweet spot and he waited for you to collect yourself. You caught your shuddering breath, but couldn't look at him without feeling like you might cum again. You looked, and groaned deep. He acknowledged your desperation.

“I'm going to start fucking that velvety, buttery spot now,” he whispered toward your ear, “I do not know when I'll stop.

Scream if you need to. I've yet to create a single person that could hear you.”

His cock pinpointed that part within you that most yearned for it the instant he buried it in you. He pressed himself against it and wrung you out. You felt it as your own cum for him seeped out, dribbled down onto the fabric and soaked through the fabric into the sand.

Every stroke is devastating. You're loud as fuck and no one else can hear it. The skies open up and it rains on the two of you, mostly upon his back. Judging by his gentle moans, the rain itself seems to give him pleasure as the droplets hiss against his back, only to turn into steam. You could swear that you're causing it, that this rain is your rain. Suddenly you are cumming because it is raining, and it is raining because you have cum. When your palms tremble, he re-interlaces his fingers with yours to squeeze your hands in his, wringing you out, wringing out your anxiety, wringing out your pleasure, and possibly wringing out the very act of rain itself from the sky above. You couldn’t explain it, but somehow you knew.

You became the rain. And the rain became you. The rain became a goddess, and the goddess was you. The wetter he made you, the more the world flooded. He had no intention of going easy, but you found yourself clenching, squeezing, sucking him in, working yourself against his body as he worked you apart with his.

“That's it,” he huffed, “now, you're getting it.”

His breath grew ragged.

He said, “Rain.”

You nodded, not fully understanding.

“Rain on me,” he said.

Your eyes widened. He knew. You knew he knew. Rain pummeled your bodies in a deluge as you felt, not just the tension of your body snap, but the tension of your sudden ascent to godhood burst into creation, almost as a miniature version of the big bang. Untold energies from deep within your soul burst forth and spread out in all directions, spreading your power throughout all the realms, both giving you power over all the rains in the entire universe, and giving the entire universe the gift of your rains.

But you couldn't focus on the sensation of becoming a god, as Liu Kang fucked another blinding orgasm from you. This time, his composure cracked, and he came screaming with you in tandem, hot against you, his inner flame temporarily quenched by the deluge of your pleasure. The two of you thrashed against each other with abandon, riding out your pleasure together, before collapsing boneless into the soaked fabric atop the muddying sands.

The rains subsided gradually as the two of you caught your breath. You moved to roll over, and Liu rolled off of you onto his rain-soaked back. He closed his eyes and let the pitter-patter of the rain wash over his body, cooling him, turning to steam in the air around you both. You rolled onto your back beside him, then onto your side to drape yourself around him.

“Wow,” you said between heavy breaths.

“...Yeah,” he replied, still panting.

When you caught enough of your breath to speak full sentences, you could only think to ask one question.

“Did you just make me a fucking rain goddess?” You asked.

He nodded and laughed.

“You didn't think I'd let the first hot sex in my new era be mediocre,” he said.

“Holy fuck though,” you said.

‘Literally?” he teased.

“Okay yeah literally, but I'm starting to think I won that one,” you said.

He just closed his eyes and smiled.

“Okay wise guy, who won?”

He bit his lip and jerked his thumbs towards his chest, gesturing to himself.

“Ugh. You're impossible. Round two!” You demanded.

“You're losing this one too,” he said.

He rolled on top of you and peppered you with kisses. He promised you a second round, and a third - if you survived the second.

But first he needed to check progress in the hourglass. You peered into it with him and saw proto-vaternians in their pre-paleolithic era. A group of them surrounded a cairn, upon which sat a strange skull decorated with stones and feathers. You asked Liu Kang what it was; he told you it was a representation of you. You were the very first art, the very first goddess. You were the first to collect worship and be created in such a manner. You arrived in the new era just in time. The ancestors of the Vaternians had just created and worshiped their first god, which happened now to be you.

Had it not been for your intervention, Liu Kang would have been forced to grant this worship to the one you knew as Rain.

[To be continued.]

[Need more MK1 smut? Check the pin 📌]

[Need more Liu Kang smut? Check the Choose Your Own Adventure, below!]

#mortal kombat #liu kang mk1 #liu kang imagine #liu kang x reader #liu kang fanfic #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #liu kang x you #liu kang x y/n #no beta we die like outworld empresses

195 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 6 months

Text

Chapter Eight: War

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.9)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: Finding yourself living within a bubble of bliss, you and Lucifer lose yourselves in one another- lost in a dream before becoming rudely awakened by the Angels at your doorstep. Bloodied, bruised and falling once more, will Lucifer be there for you in time?

Warnings: 4493 words, depictions of blood, gore, death, injury and trauma. Intense swearing and emotional angst.

A/N: *hides* I am sorry for the wait, school hard, people = difficult.... yeah... one more chapter after this big one- hope you enjoy my latest cooking lol.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

You and Lucifer had been lost in the bubble you created for yourselves between the bedroom and your office. It felt blissful- surreal even as you shared laughs, wines and time with one another. Your legs still felt sore from the nights before, you nod your head towards the various guards arming the halls as they salute back towards you. When you completed your walk of shame towards your bedroom in search of clothing after slipping away from Lucifer's greedy hands, you were surprised to see the joyous faces that praised and cheered for your relationship with the King.

They appeared desperate in some ways, you remember having to hold yourself in a supply closet after a particular conversation with the head baker. The poor man sobbed into your arms, smiling bright and sharp as you patted his head. He then fell to his knees as you looked around desperately for help yet the guards remained stagnant as you swore to see their shoulders even jumping up and down with silent laughter. The baker prayed up at you, pleading for you to stay- whispering the tragedies he had to witness while whipping egg-whites.

“Love- do you know where my coat is?” Lucifer shouts from the wardrobe room, catching you in your thoughts as he rips through various shelves and drawers yet all you hear is a muffled shout from across the private wing alongside the crashing and slamming of objects in the room that has you darting over, spear raised as you roar- readying for attack.

Facing you swifty, Lucifer grasps your spear in surprising strength, forcing you to let go of it with a remorseful smile as he sets it on a nearby table and wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back. You do not hold on to him at first, hands shaking with adrenaline as your eyes chase to every corner of the room- still worried you were missing someone. Lucifer slides his hands up your back, pulling at your upper arms to hug him just as you rest your head on top of his. “Even if there was a vengeful demon in my dresser, know that I am taking no chance of losing you again,” the blonde speaks, eyes stone cold as he glares into a dark corner, becoming wrapped up in thoughts of what if?

“Sir-Lucifer! I-” you begin to protest, arms falling just as he holds you tighter, head shaking against your chest as your hands ball up into fists against his sides.

“You will not do anything- please. Even though you are technically immortal from my blood, I have to give you more of it every few centuries and even IF you were to pass again… you would not likely remember who I am… who any of us are here. You would return to my brother in your newest reincarnation, memories blurred and returning to your role as peacekeeper in his realm,” Lucifer speaks, voice firm in hope that you understand the gravity of the possibility.

You contemplate his words, never having thought of such consequences. You nod once before he lets go and you open a gateway to your house, Lucifer tilts his head to the side, curious as to the place he sees through your portal yet it closes before he can ask questions. The infamous white coat draped in your arms, freshly washed and pressed as you help him into it, leaving a kiss to his cheek as you both make your way towards the hall.

Various staff members smile widely at you when walking by, guards bow to your entrance as you command them to hold their actions just as Lucifer links your arm in his own, forcing you to skip down the hall along with him as you start to laugh at the childish actions. Once entering the study hall, you retract your touch as Lucifer turns back around, curious as to why you have stopped. Making a sharp turn down another hall, you click open a grad set of oak doors that creak to greet you.

Clapping your hands together, hundreds of fireflies hurry themselves towards the ceiling- illuminating the space as you spin with a satisfied hum. Mahogany shelves line behind a grand desk that sits on a taller platform than your own. The chair demands a demanding presence without a body filling its seat, memories of you refusing to look up towards this very desk has you looking back over your shoulder as Lucifer leans against the doorframe with a lazy smile across his face. “Sometime it has been since I have been in this room…” he sarcastically comments, watching as a spider crawls its way across the floor and into a windowsill filled with cobwebs as your cringe in thought to all the eyes of the creature staring back at you.

Shaking your head, disrupting a shiver, you make your way up to the desk, leaning on its surface as your hands trail over the various letters you had sent capturing your adventures and battles before taking up a full-time position at the palace. You hum out, picking up a letter with dried black blood, flipping it over and ushering out the note as it reads, “Best of Mornings, Queen Lilith and Company. I write to you today as an update from the front lines of outer rings. The civil war is soon to be under control once again as discussions have progressed with the deadly sins, I report that from now on I will no longer be talking to Lust after a… personal encounter. Flipping the page, there is a list of necessary equipment to be sent towards the western front that I will be maintaining come morning. To address your earlier concerns, I have endured minor injuries in the fight yet I cannot speak for the hundreds of my fellow brothers and sisters that have become ill in recent time- I cannot urge enough for supplies to come at the earliest moment. Sincerely, General Peacekeeper: your entrusted confidant, historian, and ally.”

Your finger glides over your panicked writing, you remember writing this note while swords and bullets crashed over your head while knee deep in the trenches. Dead-man's land was littered with corpses, the scent vile- burning your nose with its decay as you readied the line for yet another charge as you powered up your shadows in the turning of nightfall. You fail to notice as Lucifer has taken a seat at his desk, his legs spread as he pats his thigh, motioning for you to take a seat as you both continue reading through yet another distant lifetime.

One of his warm palms rests on your thigh, sneaking its way upwards as your breath hitches, swinging yourself to point him a glare. You both freeze as the door slams open and a dozen staff members present themselves to you, wide-eyed and seemingly in a frenzy. Taking a stand quickly, you jump down the stairs and listen to the hurried sentences they all speak out at once- barley picking up any of the words except for three that continue to get repeated, “Charlie, Speech, War.”

Shit. You whisper underneath your breath, your battle armor settling against your skin in an instant, clashing against your spear as you swing it to rest on your back. Lucifer stumbles to a stand, running around the desk yet you fall to the floor and into the cracks between the wood in a blink, travelling through the shadows towards the Hotel as the King grips out his hair- cursing himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He is unable to help without a summoning or sacrifice and there you went towards the face of certain death without a second glance at the chance to protect others. Fuck, why do you have to be the better person, Lucifer continues to curse himself as the staff look between one another- the newest recruits confused as to why the royal is seemingly doing nothing but walking around in circles and dinging a hole into the rug.

Lucifer’s head snaps towards the window as he sets the spider and its webs ablaze, looking down to watch as you gallop away on your horse as a few members of the royal guard quickly rush over to join you, calling and begging after their newly appointed ruler to return. The crest on their shields haunts Lucifer's eyes, the apple taunting as he forces his gaze away, turning to look at the portrait of Lilith looming over his shoulder. He feels her shadow over his form, judging his actions, eyes falling to the various memories scattered around the room in spite.

Her mouth opens, taunting him in voices of uncertainty, of you never returning, of him losing the dream once more- of being alone. He falls to his knees, shouting for the room to be cleared as the staff stumble out the door, closing it with a slam as Lucifer recounts his first visions of you.

He was young, cheeks full and rosy as Lucifer celebrated with the seven deadly sins, they boasted and roared about their domains- unknowing that in the morning light they would all fall under his rule. It was that night, in the confinements of his room, the warmth of a sleeping Lilith resting in his arms that he closed his eyes and listened to himself breathe evenly in and out.

His vision was a picture of pure darkness, he never was able to sleep yet lightning coursed through his veins. Smoke rose from his feet, caressing his ankles with their cold touch finding their way between the threads of fabric in his clothing. It was comforting their search only to shower as they drove back into an emerged hand. You smiled. Shadows covering your face, your hands sparkling like the reflections of the night sky on your skin. Your clothing blew in the breeze as the symbol of his brother burned brightly from the centre of your chest- illuminating your presence and sealing yourself in his eternal memories.

He stalked up closer to you, skin begging to feel your shadows once more. You tilted your head curiously, listening to the small voices that called out from the background. You spoke in a featherlight tone, voice without a dip or waver- you were as young as he was at the time. Still finding your inner voice as you asked, “I do not feel a dream in you, perhaps I may supply you one, dreamless?”

Lucifer nods, feeling as you place a hand to his cheek and murmur a transfusion spell. A few of your shadows drift from the depths of your being, rising from your hands to your fingertips- coating them like gloves as you lift up your other hand to touch his heart. A sudden burning feeling fires inside of you, as you curse out, eyes firing wide in confusion as you drop to your knees, falling over in pain.

The symbol on your chest burns, glowing brightly as you grip at it- shadows dispersing and leaving you nude as an echoing voice slices through your skin repeatedly as Lucifer watches from the sidelines. Your screams haunt as black blood hides your skin and disappears into the depths without a trace. He is sent drifting back towards Hell the next moment afterwards, his presence seemingly known as he sits upright in his bed. Lilith still sounds asleep beside him as he breathes heavily, drenched in sweat as he forces himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

Lucifer did not see you for many lifetimes since they and to say the incredible shock he was in when your features matched the person he stared down upon at the foot of his throne was an understatement. He kept himself distant from then, unknowing of what cruel jokes were being played on him once more- he had already fallen, he had bled for freedom, he had killed for morals. He watched you on the brink of death, pleading out as the voice shunned you for not learning and to start again, he saw himself in the endless reflections of you in that dream.

Lucifer felt himself being pulled out of his thoughts, that familiar burn of lightning coursing through his veins as he stood, the ground shaking as he cracked his neck, his power steadily growing as his wings spread, shimmering in the moonlight that casted upon his darkened eyes. The ground split the gardens, glass could be heard crashing as horns sprouted from the top of his head. He smelled blood, he burned in the sum of every being in hell's pain- but when he felt yours, saw your vision in his eyes. His memories took him back to that night, to seeing you kneeling before him, to see your skin touching his own, and he shot off into the sky, breaking through the roof of the estate with vengeance on his mind. We both will dream once more, I promise.

You screamed out to the field, the ground parting as the hotel's walls shook. Sir Pretentious jumped, slithering to hide behind Angel Dust who looked around in confusion, still shooting at the hoards of angels threatening their very being. You swung your spear between your hands on horseback, countless heads rolled and were swallowed by the earth as their blood cooled your face.

Moving to stand on the back of your hose, you yelled out a command as they came to a sudden halt, jumping their back legs and flying you up into the air- the earth rising with your very beginning as you through your spear into the heart of a maskless figure, they grasped at the rod gouging their chest, trying to pull it out yet you twisted, listening to their screams with unforeseen pleasure before ripping their heart out and pointing it towards Adam himself.

Rage brewed in his eyes, his mask glitching as he dived towards you. Taking a step back his guitar swings right past you yet each string snaps broken by the point of your spear. Cursing out you tease, dodging each of his fists with glamour before summoning the rock you fight upon to split. Waving goodbye as he falls for a few seconds in shock before racing back up towards you.

Adam goes to slam his guitar into your backside, his laugh mechanical. “You worthless whore, turning your back to me just like you did to that King of yours, worthless-” you blink in the next instance and appear on the rooftop of the hotel where Alastor already waits. Taking a light stab at the man, he hisses out, growing in size rapidly yet you blink with indifference. Feeling as the breeze picks up and the fluttering of angel wings can be heard from above.

You summon your shadows as tower over Adam's form as Alastor tackles him to the ground. You watch as the men share cuts and sharp words, red and gold mixing in a glorious cocktail as another swarm of Angels force your vision away as you fend them off. You laugh out, hearing as they each cry out in pain, falling onto the various spokes atop the hotel- their wings discarded in a never ending pile of flesh and bones.

You hear the faint crackle of a radio, turning to peer down once more as Alastor exited the fight, you watched as the shadow barrier fell, whatever deal he had made with the Dreamer was far superior than whatever magic you were given upon creation and with what little you knew about Lucifer's blood pouring in through your veins you tackled Adam to the floor. Spear horizontal as your bodies become flush against one another. You felt as he began to claw through your white uniform- staining it red as you continued to force more and more pressure against his throat.

The blood loss had you stagger, the cry of a vengeful Vaggie and Charlie lighting you ablaze as you dropped your weapon in an instant and made a move towards the both. Not feeling as you became impaled by Adams guitar as you fell towards the pit you created upon entry. Charlie roars alive, Razzle and Dazzle falling to the floor as an Angel sweeps across their necks, she is heartbroken over their loss yet is lost at the thought of you gone again. Her wings flap, her arms overextending in a fight to save you.

She watches as your eyes close, pain rising in her chest as she realises your early acceptance of death like an old friend. Vaggie catches her, pulling her towards the crowd where they battle Lute. Charlie begs for her to save you yet Vaggie shakes her head, dragging the Princess away, heart breaking at her sobs and pleas before a blade is thrown in her face as she is staggering in a battle against the angel lieutenant.

You hear your own spear begging thrown through the air- Adams cackle firing alongside it as it pierces through your shoulder. You slam against the bottom of the bit, head a blur in the darkness surrounds you, chilling your being to the very bone as your pain burns. Please, no please no, PLEASE… you beg to yourself. Desperate to not find yourself not back in the dreamland, you feel joyed to have sacrificed, the glory courses through you- healing your wounds in a golden light yet the pain burns through. Cutting through your skull as it pierces out the top of your head.

You beg for its release, you scream as you pull the blade out of your shoulder before slumping back to the ground. You do not know if your eyes are opened or closed in this pit, you swear to see stars emerging as bile rising in your throat as you choke on it. A black gloved hand emerged, you can identify the warmth that it displays as you shakily put your hand towards it as they pull you into their arms.

Air screams past your ears, you feel yourself rising, light hitting your face as your eyes remain closed. “Is this what heaven feels like,” you murmur to yourself quietly. The body chuckles at you, a kiss pressed to your forehead as the shouts of battle scream louder and louder, beginning your back from the past to the present- gripping at their shoulders for a semblance of stability before they cast open in shock.

White is all you see, red eyes staring at the wound- watching as it heals from their touch as they force you into their hip and fly higher towards the hotel's roof once more. “Not the compliment I was expecting love, but I’ll take it,” Lucifer teases, setting you down on the rooftop before shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. Your mind is still running laps yet your body happily turns to kiss the man as he hums out in approval while rolling up his sleeves.

Pulling away with a wink, your cheeks dust pink as he observes you removing the wrinkles from the clothing. He quickly turns, sensing an Angel approaching as he rips their head off their shoulders in one swift movement. The head rolls to between you two as he playful kicks it away and stands in front of you once more with a darkened look. His breath becomes laboured, his hand curled up into bloodied fists as veins in his neck bulge with restraint to his words as he takes in your state once more, “I told you, I am NOT losing you, not again- not ever.”

You blink twice at his sudden change, your mind finally clearing, “I-I’m sorry.” You watch as he shakes his head, head tilted down, golden curls now falling upon his forehead as your hand twitches to clear them. The deep tone he uses goes right between your legs as you curse out, not right now for fucks sake.

He pulls you into his arms, the world stilling for just a moment. “Let us fight together this time and for the last time.” you nod into his embrace before letting go, a gleaming spear presented before you as he takes your hand, leading you back up into the skies before crashing into an unsuspecting Adam. You both toss the man in the air between one another, sharing jabs and teases with sharp blades and teeth.

Yet Adam knows better as he dives away from this battle to start another as you both follow hot on his trail. His fists connect around Charlie's throat, she screams out, losing oxygen rapidly as he swings her legs helplessly. Your breath gets caught in your throat determination set in your eyes as Lucifer's fist collides with Adams mask, topping it aside as you dive to catch the Princess in her arms. Tears fanning both of your faces. “Are you alright?” you ask her, seeing images of her mother in her place within your arms. Speaking of the unhealed trauma that lingers.

She nods rapidly, “yeah…” and clears her throat, “I-I alright.” You bend down, allowing her to wobble to a stand as Vaggie rushes over, the both of them holding each other in a loving embrace as you turn your head towards Lucifer's fight as an offering of privacy. Chuckling out as he stands tall in pride, Adam looming threateningly over. He calls over his shoulder, taking a quick glimpse and smile towards his daughter and future daughter-in-law. “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, sweetie.”

“Okay what the fuck is this family reunion shit, I’m here for a fight! How many of you fucks do I still have to fuck up!” Adam shouts, spitting out a broken tooth in your direction with a smirk. Such a well spoken man, you think to yourself- rolling your eyes as Lucifer's gaze snaps back and hardens with this display as he stalks up to face the first man. “Oh, I’m the only one that matters, see you messed with my man/woman and my daughter and now I am going to FUCK YOU.”

Did I hear that right? You think to yourself, eyebrow raising alongside your spear as you stalk closer to them both, eyeing up Lucifer from behind Adam- asking to take the stab. “Its fuck you up dad,” Charlie whispers from the sidelines. “Wait what did I say-” he gets caught up by the golden blood spewing across his face as you seek vengeance in the man's shoulder as he did so to you. Adam swings around, claws sharpened as he begins to take a swing at you.

Stumbling back as Lucifer steps in front to take the shot, he transforms at the last second and shapeshifts into a series of animals as your heart jumps, seeing the familiar snake slithering its way up the first man’s arm.

You take a step abc, sitting beside the couple as you all watch the battle commence. “So this is what you have been up to since eden? I must say- you really let yourself go buddy,” Lucifer stabs, floating through the air without a seeming care in the world. He tosses a smile towards you as you blow a kiss, watching as he catches it in one hand and catches Adams fist in the other, twisting his arm, shattering the bone as he swears out in pain.

The boys share a series of words and punches, you watch as Adam becomes procedurally more aggravated and his gaze falls upon you. Sitting upright in an instance, you shove the girls aside as the Hotel breaks in two, falling again, you could almost laugh yet by the glare in which Lucifer picks you up into his arms once more silences you deeply.

“YOU COME AT ME AND MY FAMILY? DON’T FORGET YOU ARE IN MY HOUSE- BITCH” The King of Hell commands, his voice damming every soul in sight to the ground as they grip at their heads- ears bleeding. You steady yourself at his hip, unknowing of the earlier horns that have sprouted at the top of your head. You swear to see in red as he takes a glance towards Charlie. Fists curling, Lucifer demands to do this alone, his eyes unrelenting as he passes you towards Husk.

Bones crackle and break like a roaring fire as Lucifer chuckles out darkly upon seeing the utter destruction to his features. Placing a hand on his back, he turns back at you, gaze softening as he looks to be a guilty child. You shake your head, pressing his head into your stomach as he grips the back of your thighs, breathing out as you run your fingers through his hair.

Adam stands, pointing a finger sharply in your face. You feel as Lucifer tries to pry himself away yet you only sharpen your control over his head. Still feeling the hot fire of his horns warming your skin, you know he would not stop. “I STARTED EVERYTHING ON EARTH, AND EVERYONE ONE OF YOU FUCKS CAME FROM THESE FUCKING NUTS!” You quirk a brow towards him as Lucifer shakes his head, murmuring, “don’t bother to correct him.” ‘

You smile, feeling as his shoulders untense and allow him to stand upright, his arms now wrapped around your torso as he pulls you into his chest, watching as Niffty eagerly stabs the angel over and over again. You do not wince at the violence, throwing her a thumbs up as she stabs him an extra few times just for you before throwing her head back in laughter, skipping away towards Angel Dust who welcomes them into a hug.

Lute screams out, hands reaching towards his corpse just as you place a foot to her back, keeping her face to the dirt as Lucifer moves to stand in front of the woman as you raise her head to face the King with a knowing smirk. He clears his throat, standing tall, fire re-growing at the horns as you shake your head, I just got rid of that…

“Now take your little friends, AND GO HOME!” Lucifer commands, looking at you for approval as you mouth please. “Please,” he tacks on more quietly, offering you a hand, you both watch as Heaven's portal closes. Sighing out in relief, you eye the troops and the damage as you start to have your shadows access the damage. “Anyone for pancakes?” Lucifer asks, hearing your stomach grumble with a smile. You blush, turning to hide your face in his shirt as he rubs your back. Charlie jumps up and down, pointing widely to the sight as Vaggie nods her head and smiles in acknowledgement.

“Pancakes sound good…” you murmur out, “and then back to work…” you finish your sentence with.

“And then back to work afterwards,” Lucifer repeats with a knowing smile before he leads everyone through a portal towards the dining hall of the estate.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

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tethered-heartstrings · 1 year

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I know that was a joke post but now I am genuinely curious what Hannibal would want (and be allowed) to have as his last meal.

let me start off by saying this started one place and took a huge turn (sorry) but... this got me thinking. my assumption is he was tried in maryland. maryland abolished the death penalty in 2013, but if he was tried under federal and not state, death penalty is still technically on the table in all 50 states.

unlike other states, maryland does not offer a special last meal to those about to be executed, and they are offered whatever is on the menu at the prison they are residing. i don't think that if he was charged federally it would have necessarily changed his food situation.

given that hannibal was held at bshci, he probably would have had whatever they were serving that day. we saw in s2 with will that it wasn't anything particularly exciting. canned/processed/boxed food. the more gourmet meals he got while imprisoned were definitely due to a special deal he had with alana. it's not directly specified in the show to my knowledge, but pretty sure he got special privileges for helping her and margot. but also if it means hearing him complain less, all the better.

that being said, there is a chance alana would break the maryland tradition and actually offer him a special meal. most requests deny alcohol or tobacco, but again, we're humoring a special meal.

now for the fun part. obviously hannibal wouldn't be given human meat. some inmates in other states asked not only for a meal but to share the meal with someone. and i think hannibal would definitely request to have a last meal with will since the last meal they had together (at least on screen) was the meal before mizumono.

and i think it would be well within the realm for hannibal to want to recreate this meal, maybe even going so far as to ask to make it himself. +/- if alana would allow for that, maybe if everything was precut and he wasn't near anything sharp. if he wanted will to share the meal with him, i'd be curious to see what will would do. he'd know hannibal was on death row, it'd be all over the news, jack would tell him, etc. and i think he would seek out the result of hannibal's trial if he was not sitting in the room as he was sentenced. knowing he indirectly put him there, and i'd place bets on him opening that hand written letter asking for his company one last time and he'd go to see hannibal and share that meal with him. to dine one last time together.

and i wonder how each of them would see it. will never answering if he wanted a sacrifice, yet one now sat across from him. how during the mizumono meal, will said "that'd make this our last supper" to which hannibal responds "of this life" which now truly is the last meal of this life, of hannibal's life. maybe for will, too, in a way. for how good could food taste or sate knowing your conjoined, blurred half is about to die, and that nagging guilt in your chest that it's your fault. and the question of if they could survive separation. and maybe the question was more up in the air when it was possibly hannibal who had to live without him, but now will is faced with the reality that he has to live without hannibal. and in some alternate life it would have been easier to stay with his wife and never see hannibal, but knowing he was alive was enough, and he'd no longer have that crutch.

but hannibal seeing it as almost a redo for before the slaughter in his kitchen. going back to a moment they had some peace, even if brief, life as he knew it was brief now. but still, someone he loved, the only person he loved, sitting across from him eating and drinking wine together. maybe in silence, i don't know. smiles would be exchanged; hannibal's genuinely happy and will's a bit sad. to be so fully and deeply and intimately seen. now there was no running away together anymore. will would leave and hannibal could only hope will would go to his execution.

and i think will would go. i don't know if it would be a "want" situation, but a "need". to see hannibal lecter taken down almost so effortlessly. the unkillable finally killed. the man he couldn't shoot the two times he had a gun in his face, the man he dropped his gun for and let himself be gutted and held by, the man he pulled a knife on and still couldn't take down. ultimately, in a way, will took him down. hannibal surrendered because will rejected him. will didn't need a weapon, he just needed words and a closed off heart. and within minutes, it'd be over.

but what happens after? the remains of inmates not claimed by family get kept in the prison cemetery. hannibal has no family to claim him, will is the closest to family he has. but what if will claims him, then what? will doesn't know what hannibal's final wishes are; to be cremated, buried? maybe he does know without hannibal having to explicitly say. to eat you like the sacrificial lamb you are.

my guess is a body executed via lethal injection (chosen method for maryland) would not be safe to eat. sodium thiopental is a barbituate like the one used for animal euthanasia, but it isn't the part of the "cocktail" that actually causes death. i know animals euthanized (with a different barbituate) and eaten can kill the animal that eats them, so there is a chance eating hannibal could do the same thing. consuming potassium chloride (the deadly part of the injection) in large quantities can cause a lot of side effects/health detriments and in theory, eating enough can cause cardiac failure, but i don't know the oral bioavailabity in comparison to iv.

as romantic as it seems, i don't think will would eat hannibal knowing it could kill him, and tbh, i don't see hannibal wanting will to knowing his death might be imminent. even if it meant being together in the afterlife, that wasn't how will was going to die. like yeah "death only by my hand" but it's not the same. maybe part of will's punishment is having to stay alive without him. i do think hannibal might if the roles were reversed, though.

if will ended up giving hannibal a graveplot (probably unmarked so it doesn't end up desecrated), or even sprinkling his ashes somewhere, i know will would visit him again. maybe not for awhile, maybe denial or anger, but he would go back. i know hannibal said he could never go back to lithuania, so maybe will takes him there and buries him next to mischa so they can be together, finally and forever. maybe he doesn't take him home, knowing how much hannibal stayed away when he was alive. there are a lot of things will could do, tbh.

#will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #hannigram #hannigram meta #murder husbands #the curious clown #anonymous #did i accidentally write a mini fic or something jfc #sorry anon...#but i technically answered your question...??#i think will might eat hannibal if he died or was killed outside of prison post fall #but not after imprisonment. bc i think their dynamic is inherently different and they didn't get the same kind of closure as twotl offered #this was such a clusterfuck of just data and info and emotions and meta(?) mixed into it

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twopoppies · 2 months

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Hi! So I was actually at Morriña festival a few days ago and wanted to ask your opinion on the theory that Harry was there, then saw that you already posted a bit about it. So here’s my take. I’m actually still on the fence about it, but leaning towards “within the realm of possibility”.

My arguments in favour:

• Louis was very funny and cheeky with fans for most of the show, but for some specific lines he got significantly more serious. What stuck out to me personally was “love you cannot hide” in The Greatest, the entirety of Saturdays, the second verse of We Made It. His gaze seems to be much more focused and pointed, not moving at all, and with it being during these specific lyrics… I am ready to clown lol.

• In the beginning of We Made It (and maybe more times, this is just what I recorded) he pointed twice somewhere high - too high for fan signs, but lower than he usually points for emphatic value. And I think that he pointed in the general direction of the projector tower, which, as I’ll explain later, is the likeliest place for Harry to be if he was there.

• There was technically a place for Harry to hide at, despite the open layout of the festival. You can see the scheme at the festival’s insta page here https://www.instagram.com/p/C9zvd7ni6MF/?igsh=MWdkMWhkZDZqb2NsYQ== and the building you initially posted about was indeed just a warehouse with toilets. I was inside, although a little drunk already, but I only remember very high ceilings and windows to let in natural light, so I am 99% sure that there is no proper second floor. Other buildings on the site are too small, so instead my best bet is the projector tower in front of the stage. I saw some people say that there was someone in the side of the stage, but I couldn’t notice anything, and I had an excellent view of that side, plus Louis didn’t look that far to his left.

• After the show Louis posted a picture of himself from the back, and the tower is well within his range of aforementioned medium-high pointing.

• Harry’s most recent bike pictures - they were backdated exactly to July 26. I don’t have nearly as many experience as you, but to me such backdated pap pictures have come to mean that Harry was actually in a different place that day.

My arguments against:

• Based on what I could observe from my spot, Louis’ gaze doesn’t seem to (always) land on a plausible spot for Harry to hide in. Sometimes it goes a little too far to the left from the projector tower (even on the picture he posted he seems to be looking more to his left), and there are no other suitable buildings in that direction. Unless we consider industrial buildings beyond the festival grounds, but this seems ridiculous to me. I doubt that Harry could’ve come to a random Galician cement company and be like “Oh, my secret boyfriend is performing in front of here tonight, can I please hand around your cement mixing tower or whatnot for half the night?”

• I only notices a lot of the aforementioned things a good while after the show, when I heard that Harry was supposedly there and began rewatching my footage to prove or disprove that. So I may be cherrypicking facts to fit what I would really like to be true. Except for the Saturdays thing, though; he was genuinely so emotional during it, and his demeanour shifted so suddenly when he started it, that I noticed this even in the moment.

So here’s what I can say, what’s your opinion?

And an unrelated fact for your interest: the majority of the crowd, or at least those who camped and ended up at the barricade, were larries (I was at the barricade too btw… best night of my life). During Back To You Louis didn’t sing the “I love … “ line at all, but we all screamed “I love him” and he nodded and smiled at us.

Lots of love and best wishes :)

Hi, sweetheart. You comment about the cement mixing tower made me laugh. 🤣🤣🤣

First of all, I’m so glad you were there and got to be at the barricade, and had such a good show.

Second, I do think the photos of Harry in London were likely from any day but the day they dropped, based on his clothing (and that there was no particular reason for him to be papped in London that day)

Third, I don’t think it’s impossible that he was at the festival, and your comments about why and where, make more sense than anything I’ve seen yet. We’ll never know for sure, but I’d love to believe he was able to be there.

#festival Louis #harry in Spain #morrina festival #fan reports

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thesinningblog · 1 year

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Content Warning: Timestop, perv butler what's new, no gendered terms used for the reader, technically non-con from Barbatos' pov

Set in Nightbringer, with the MC still pretending to be a demon.

Okay, okay, okay, I know Barbatos doesn't have the ability to stop or freeze time (as far as we know, he has the ability to peer into the past and the future as well as picking a reality to become the main one out of multitudes of realities) but imagine the possibilities if he could, hnn. Timestop seggs, baby!

Just imagine it's just a normal day and you're in the castle, helping around since you are technically considered a demon and working under Diavolo.

You're making tea peacefully when suddenly your knees buckles up and you feel heat pooling in your abdomen. You feel your cheeks become warm, immediately knowing who it is but having to pretend like you know nothing since you aren't supposed to know about Barbatos' powers.

So you act all oblivious, looking around in confusion and muttering, "What... was that?"

You think Barbatos was just feeling a bit handsy with you today and he'd do nothing more apart from a few strokes here and there so you go to pour tea when you suddenly feel overwhelming pleasure from your crotch, making you momentarily wonder how long the butler had been playing with your genitals to make you feel this good.

How this timestop works is that when time is frozen in place and Barbatos plays with your genitals or your holes within that frozen realm of time for a certain amount of time, the moment he unfreezes the time then you'll immediately feel the full force of pleasure felt within that certain amount of time he'd been pleasuring you. Example if he was thrusting balls deep within you for approximately an entire day and then continued time, all that pleasure and orgasm accumulated the entire day he'd been thrusting inside you would just hit you all at once the moment time resumes and would most likely instantly turning your mind into mush.

But anyway, Barbatos seems like the guy to tease you a lot so he probably wouldn't go in immediately. He'd make you hot and bothered first, making you feel vulnerable to the sensations that you supposedly don't understand why was happening before finally dicking you down.

Your knees give out underneath you, spilling the teapot and its contents down on the floor but you were preoccupied grabbing in between your legs as you tried to stop yourself from moaning out loud but that obviously failed because the pleasure was just too much and from the stinging sensation you could feel down there, it seems that Barbatos had already penetrated and made you orgasm multiple times.

By the end of it, you've just collapsed on the ground with your face down and your bottom up. There's cum leaking out of your hole and your crotch sore from being played with for who knows how long. You're too fucked out of your mind, unable to think of anything else but the pleasure frying your brain.

Meanwhile, Barbatos is smiling behind the doorway as he fixes his tie and brushes his clothes. Hell, he might 'accidentally' stumble upon your debauched form so he could 'worry' over you and 'take care' of you.

#obey me nightbringer #obey me smut #obey me mc #obey me barbatos #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #we need more timestop seggs tropes

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moodymisty · 11 months

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death and reader but death is in his reaper form? Just some fluffy protective stuff. Love your work! :)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: By the gods this request made me borderline feral. I LOVE big monsters having soft spots for their little humans. Also Death's reaper form is super... cool looking. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Summary: When Death reverts to his Reaper form when something goes to attack you, you then realize that you're stuck with this form until he manages to calm down.

Relationships: Death/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Monster/human fluff, Time to nuzzle the Reaper

Word Count: 1918

Death looks over at you; The pale, sickly green glow of the various torches illuminating your skin, and sighs.

He regrets bringing you here, with every fiber of his being. The Realm of the Dead isn't for humans, it isn't for anything alive. Hell, even he isn't technically supposed to be here. He just holds the door, throws souls through. Figuratively speaking.

But humans and their ever all-encompassing curiosity will always seem to work against their better judgement. Your, better judgement.

Death looks back over, and notices you now staring at an old pot.

A burial urn, most likely. Why you find it so fascinating he could never guess. When you bend over to pick up a gold coin off the ground just in front of it is when he decides to interject- and stop you before you can pop the lid on some angry spirit and make this realm just a bit worse off.

"I never took you for a thief,"

He says, coming closer and grasping your wrist gently. The coin stays between your fingers as you look up at him.

"I wasn't taking it, I just wanted to see what was on it." Death squeezes your wrist in a way that forces you to relinquish the coin, and it drops into his other palm. He lets it fall to the floor and it bounces three times, each with a quieter tink.

"To these souls, that is stealing. Now quit touching every single thing in sight. We have a tomb to find." Hand dropping from your wrist, Death turns from you and begins walking away, having stopped you from whatever potentially dangerous thing you'd been fiddling with.

He still regrets taking you here even as you grasp his fingers, so you can attempt to keep up; Or slow his gait down.

But Death admits within his own mind, he doesn't dislike the company. Dust and Despair don't exactly provide the most interesting commentary, and your positive attitude is not unpleasant change to the dread and nihilism he's used to facing throughout the realms. He wouldn't be so apposed to you joining him, if this place wasn't constantly seeking to rend your soul from your body at every possible moment.

"For someone who's all 'I don't care what anyone thinks',"

You make a mocking tone of his voice when you refer to him, and Death glances down at you from the corner of his eye with a fair amount of disapproval. "You sure do love being all rules when I'm around."

Death does it to keep you safe, though he always finds his tongue tied whenever he tries to say that out loud. The only time he has, it came out as him being annoyed you always get into trouble, and he'd hated the way it made your face fall slightly. He'd spend the next while being softer to you just to make up for that slip up.

You let go of his hand, speeding up your pace just slightly in order to take a look around before the Horsemen has a chance to stop you from doing so.

"Back here."

You're not far away from him at all, maybe ten paces or so, looking over your shoulder. Your hand brushes against the wall as you curiously look at something you have no idea what to call.

"I'm barely away from you. Can I not look at anything?"

Humans and their encompassing curiosity, and their stubbornness.

You step closer to look at whatever has caught your interest, before you suddenly hear something.

Death reacts to it faster than you possibly can, instantly pulling Harvester off his back and forming it into it's long, single bladed form, and rushing towards you. You don't quite register what's happening as it passes by so quick, but you still step back to as he nearly slams right into you.

Once his body is blocking yours and whatever is coming has been cut off from making it's presumed way towards you, he moves forward to try and run his scythe right through it.

When you catch sight of it from around Death's arm, it's easy to see that it's a Lich, as he'd once called them. You scramble backwards out of the fray, wisely staying close to Death, but not enough so that you'll get hit by the back swing of a weapon. You know Death himself would never slip up that way, but you doubt the undead resident has the same overall care about your well-being. If anything, it seems to want to kill you outright, if the way it tries to swerve around Death towards you is any indication.

But the Reaper continues fighting with the Lich, slicing his blade through it's ghostly mockery of flesh. He makes sure to keep himself firmly inbetween you and it, knocking it onto the floor and sending the end of his scythe directly through it's chest. It lets out a ghasty wail as it struggles and grips the weapon to free itself from Death's pin, and you scurry backwards as it attempts to move again.

Perhaps you stirred something in your retreat, or maybe it was there the entire time and only now had decided to strike, but in his tunnel focus on the main threat Death hadn't noticed in his tunnel focus that there was a second and Lich, coming from behind you just as you hear Harvester get torn from the first Lich's chest and it's wail sharply ends as it's finally destroyed.

You yell for him when you turn around and see it, tripping over your own feet as the Lich comes right for you; Since Death had taken his brother's pistol back awhile ago, you have not a thing to defend yourself from it.

An arm instinctively raises up to protect yourself, but instead of getting hit, you see the glint of a massive reaper's scythe split the massive lich in twain. It lasts nowhere near as long as the previous one, and is torn asunder in moments. It barely had time to react, let alone try and attack you.

However, it feels that Harvester- or maybe the hands holding it- seem different than usual.

Following the trail up the pole you reach Death holding it; Or more accurately, The Reaper.

He yanks the curved blade of the scythe out from the creature's chest cavity, letting flop to the ground without so much as a whimper. It fades to dust with little fanfare shortly after. The blade however is still clean, not coated with blood like whenever he's fighting demons or angels.

You glance upwards towards his face, seeing the hood obscuring it all under a haze of void black. You can just barely see the outline of his face with what little hazy green torchlight is around.

It seems in his sudden fury over your being almost harmed or at worst killed he'd toppled over the edge, shedding the form you're most used to and becoming, this.

His head jerks around in fast, rapid motions, looking around for any other threats; As Harvester remains firmly lodged in his grip. You look around as well and when you don't spot a thing, you turn your focus to the Reaper.

"Hey... Death,"

This form seems to not have any sort of real mouth to speak with, the pallid skull lacking the ability to do so. He still looks at you with interest, watching as you speak with an almost uncomfortable amount of intensity.

"I'm fine, and there's nothing else to kill, so there isn't anything to worry about now."

You hesitantly reach for one of his hands, his fingers long and thin wrapped around the scythe's pole. The Reaper doesn't stop you, and you hear the shifting of fabric and clinking of metal as he watches you. But before you can touch his hand he moves to hoist Harvester onto his back, freeing them.

Those long, talon-like fingers reach for you and it takes a good bit of effort not to flinch away, and they brush over your body and even your hair; Slowly, and soft as if enjoying the sensation. Every time you think he's going to stop and pull away, he only shifts and continues to do what you only describe as petting. You can't think of a word that fits better, but also doesn't sound as demeaning.

It's odd, however. You never would've thought this version of Death would be so, touchy feely.

As if you weren't already confused enough, you hear an odd rattling noise come from him as you watch. If you had to describe it, you would use words like pleased rumble, or perhaps even purr.

He gets closer to you while he does it, the frayed edges of his long robe brushing against your skin and clothes. Both of his bony hands cup your jaw at one point, a bit rough but clearly trying to be gentle- and you look up at him in awe of the tenderness this creature, this other part of his soul, is showing you.

This is only the second time you've seen his Reaper form; The first had been when you were safely far out of the way of any conflict. He had regressed back to normal quickly denying you more than a few short glimpses, wherein now he seems quite firmly stuck.

You know that it's Death in there, so any fear you have stays firmly lodged in your throat before you swallow it down.

"You, did a good job back there. But I think the more talkative Death might want to come back now."

More talkative might be a bit of a hopeful statement. It is Death you are talking about.

The Reaper lets out an odd noise and one of his thumbs brushes over your lip, pulling it slightly wonky. You don't know if it's the sound of his breathing or bones beneath his cloak shifting, as you hear a soft rattling sound as he watches you.

You know this being is dangerous, but knowing that it's simply another part of Death manages to quell some of the fear in you.

When you move to take a step backwards the Reaper's grip quickly tightens and he makes a noise, covering any minute amount of space you might've moved. Then even more, and you can't help but gasp as his hooded face quickly dives in-

And begins nuzzling the side of your face.

Your hands grip handfuls of his tattered cloak, squeaking at the cold feeling of his bone and hood against your cheek.

Is this even really Death? The amount of outward affection in this motion alone makes you wonder. Perhaps him being in this form makes him more unabashed, almost more primal in some sort of way. It's not as if you're going to complain, hearing that odd purr-like noise rumble against your skin.

"Alright, since it doesn't seem like normal Death is gonna be back for a bit, can I at least sit down?"

The Reaper makes a noise almost like a hum, which you can neither discern if it's positive or negative. Either way, when you actually move to attempt to sit, the Reaper tightens his grip again. So you aren't going anywhere it seems, and must accept your fate as The Reaper's newfound comfort plushie as you lean your head back against his own pale skull.

Death will certainly love to hear about this when he's back to normal, for sure.

#darksiders x reader #darksiders death x reader #darksiders death x you #Darksiders/Reader #Darksiders Death/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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originemesis · 8 months

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"creation took 7 days; now watch me fuck it all up in one night"

canon divergent adam / abel // haz.b.in h.o.tel

21 + / mid-low activity / private

ordained and entertained by skeu ; icon templates by cinna! 💜💛 human icons by bbglucifer ;p <3 --- > xxx

side blog: vortex @gutstaken

here are some cool people 😎 : @deathinfeathers , @voxistem , @lilitophidian , @cast-you-dxwn , @2ndrib , @atomeyes + @sainticidal , @arachn0philia , @drraphaelmd, @brokendreamscreation , @hlylight , @chasingrainbcws , @danger-tits-lute , @hclluvahctel

about // playlist // active headcanon // current verses // rules [beneath]

Caard-Esque:

Blog is 21+ for content concerns and mun is 25+ (an old) and will not interact with minors on this blog. minors should technically not follow me here either ~ so, don'tttttt...do that? thanks! if i catch you, you're yeeted to the shadow realm.

Do not follow this blog if you are sensitive to the sensitive topics related to this particular genre. I tag with "content word cw" for the extra wild stuff, but that's about it. adam literally has the highest swear/slur count in the show and he's only in 3 episodes, so be aware of that.

I tend to be private/selective as i get fairly overwhelmed with too much activity. i really get into plots though, and i'll spam the dash with some silly original dick chauvinism from time to time when ive fed my inner gremlins past midnight. That said, I do get easily overwhelmed when I'm following too many people and multi muse blogs in particular can exacerbate this feeling, so if I do not follow back - I might just not be in a good place to atm or I just don't see possible interactions btw our characters. It's nothing personal! ^^

This is a mutuals only interaction blog for my sanity (anons being fine). if i can see plots happening between us, i'll likely follow. but i get overwhelmed easily so please don't take it personally if i don't follow back or follow back right away.

I am not exclusive, but I prioritize my plotted threads and may have some mains/activity based off that as far as my main verse goes. But I will never be fully exclusive and i enjoy exploring different character dynamics. Also multiship is fine, but I am not exclusively here to ship or write suggestive content. My muses have always and will always require plotting and scene chemistry for me to consider writing ship material. In the case I do reblog shippy prompts still feel free to send in ofc! I'll see if I can make it work or not.

If I don't get a follow back within a week or two, if blogs i follow go inactive for up to 6-7 weeks, or if there's just no attempt on either of our ends to connect for an indefinite amount of time - i'll occasionally go through my list and soft block to clean things up. if we ever want to give it a go in the future, the option is there for us to re-follow and resume! i have in the past been made to feel like I'm walking on egg shells in rpcs regarding these matters and id rather avoid it here...im just here to chill, write and leave weird surprises in dms.

I don't like the feeling of being 'collected' so...if you are interacting with multiple of my muses, I ask you have a different dynamic for mine than them. This is just an act of courtesy I also extend to my rp partners. I interact more with folks that have a special relationship with my muse, so it's needed to deep dive into more interesting topics for me. I also do not usually interact w/ other of the same muse cuz I feel like I 'absorb' how others play him and I want to keep my version separated from that. I might give it a shot some times though depending on how it's presented.

I know that Adam is a bad guy. He's insufferable and can push buttons- but I am not him and I dislike constantly feeling like I'm being barraged for his actions, especially since I consider him to be a heavily layered character that should not be shoe horned into a standard 'ok irredeemable and never allowed nice things' box. So- if you honestly hate this character please don't interact. I am here for exploring taboo topics and ways that a flawed character can make others think he's justified, betray them, make people feel COMPLICATED things... I also love torturing my muse and taking the piss out of him, so I don't need people moving in and tying to constantly put him down/ruin his current plots by being god modey or not at least asking me how we should proceed in a power dynamic, or relationships cuz you don't ship what I ship, or find my interactions with other characters 'toxic' and 'not allowed'...let me explore and enjoy what I like on my blog within reason and do talk with me on dms if you don't like how things are going with our muses and you wanna explore other routes. I love to plot and I am very reasonable.

This post/my rules and conditions are subject to change based on what I get up to on here.

#//o hi just making a trash gremlin to be rude on-#//extremely work in progress- subject to change based on canon development #hazbin hotel rp #helluva boss rp

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paragonrobits · 5 months

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i've seen some joking takes on the possibility of Hunter the Parenting being some kind of stealth prequel to Warhammer 40k and at the risk of sounding a bit like a killjoy (but I'm an old WoD fan, its sort of expected probably), I have to say that if you're actually serious about that, I have to say that if you go to the mental brain-break of trying to combine the respective and almost completely incompatible metaphysics/cosmology of all the different WoD gameline, the circumstances of Warhammer 40k happening within WoD is categorically impossible

a few reasons why:

What to know the weirdest thing? The absolute weirdest bit of WoD lore? Okay, get ready for it; space, as we know it, does not technically have an objective reality within the context of WoD. The planets are generally depicted as being spirit realms in their own right. Alien life does not exist, except as weird spirits probably born from ideas until they achieve a retroactive existence. This is related to the fact that science is not an objective facet of reality, but a specific magical paradigm enforced by the Technocracy, the assumed default antagonists of the Mage line, and that includes planets, which technically only exist in a scientific context because people think it does. (If enough people sincerely 'knew' that the planets are crystal spheres pushed by angels, that would retroactively become reality.) So that essentially means that a lot of Warhammer's basic physics, goofy and over the top as they are, can't really exist in the setting in an objective sense. (In theory you COULD, if you got all humanity to believe there's orks and elves in space, but in practice that would be a lot of work without much to show for it, and again, in 40k they just exist. Humanity's opinion on them is irrelevant. In WoD, Earth is the only functional planet for all intents and purposes.)

The Warp is... not exactly the same thing as the Umbra, or the spirit world. In fact, there's several aspects of the Warp (it as a realm of ideas and dreams/nightmares, where faith takes on a form, and so on) that are similar to aspects of the Umbra, but not in the same precise region, and a lot of them have their own existence independent from anyone's belief. Mortal life is, paradoxically, both a largely irrelevant aspect of existence to spirits and the source of what we think of as reality, but that means that not only do equivalents to the Chaos Gods not exist, they probably wouldn't be able to materialize in the 40k way. The Triat, the cosmic forces of the Wyrm and Wyld and Weaver, MIGHT be assumed to be equivalent, but no; they're bigger than the Chaos gods, and sort of in a 'thrashing cosmic force that can be read as not actually being sapient'. That last point is a bit foggy to be honest, since the Wyrm is often described as being driven mad and THAT'S why the force of balance has become malicious corruption, but they are often implied to be cosmic forces that do not and CANNOT make moral choices, but simply do what is in their nature. Tzeentch may make schemes, but he is still shaped by forces and making his decisions, in his own way; the Weaver does not, and when she strives to define all reality into absolute stasis, it is simpler her doing what she IS. But anyway the point is that the Umbra isn't really analogous to the Warp, and its the closest thing in the setting. 3. A lot of 40k's aspects are integral, inalterable parts of the setting that have their own objective reality; psykers exist and pull power from the Warp. WoD is not like this, it is weird and chaotic and a mash up of cosmologies that make no sense in full context, half the time things only exist because people think they do and at the exact same time half the spirits and spirit realms we see are KIND OF like mythologies but also not. Everything is weird and full of secrets and also the world was supposed to have been destroyed several years before the events of WoD, but a big part of the setting is that everyone is facing down one apocalypse or another. 4. If you do obvious magic that people think isn't possible (in terms of what the local paradigm concludes is impossible; time travel machines have the same effect even in places where science is a dominant paradigm because EVERYONE KNOWS TIME TRAVEL ISNT POSSIBLE), you tend to explode. Or get retconned out of reality. Not in the same way as demons being drawn by psykers, but... look, its called Paradox and it gets weird, and reality doesn't like getting bent out of shape. This also means that the kind of impossible feats and blasting attacks typical for 40k Psykers would be EVEN MORE DESTRUCTIVE to them, personally. So the kinds of thing the Emperor is known to do isn't something that could generally happen in the setting of WoD.

#hunter the parenting #World of darkness #queued

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ivoryratdoggerythethird · 5 months

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spoiler for bsd ch-114.5

so little predictions? i guess? for up coming chapters; really just random musings more than actual theories

so since nikolai is nowhere to be seen and skk have both taken their eyes off sigma for a while now, coupled with the fact that sigma Knows Too Much and is currently incapacitated and also fyodor is clearly somehow still acting within his plans here

what if nikolai is taking the chance to pull a sky casino part 2: electric boogaloo and steal sigma again so the besties can get the band back together (except my baby bram; fuck you pretty boy rat bastard)

fyodor gets bait over dazai for technically letting sigma fall into his hands again after sigma firmly took his side, and this leads to guilt and drama because of course. maybe dazai's gotta sacrifice himself fr this time without any safety net or plan

(and maybe sigma helping defeat fyodor from the inside (again, kinda) can qualify as his ADA entrance exam bc it doesn't get a ton more heroic than stopping a global terrorist, but what do i know)

i can't explain it and this isn't even super likely to happen but if this scenario does i get the feeling chuuya would have to be involved in saving sigma, or have some kind of conflict or parrallel with nikolai - or maybe it's my mersault gang bias showing lmao.

(but how cool would it be if sigma joined the ADA and nikolai joined the PM, unlikely as it is. i think he's probably gonna become a solo wandering figure who occasionally pops into the story like fitzgerald in the future, but i digress)

maybe sigma tries to appeal to nikolai's will to kill fyodor but that's really conflicting for him now because he just experienced losing him and Did Not Like That

would also love if bram somehow had a classic regaining of control moment if fyodor tried to hurt aya. would it make sense? not really? is it cliche? kinda. would it make me sob tears of blood? highly likely.

maybe he even stabs himself/fyodor and that ends the loop or like. screws with the ability somehow. i'm getting super carried away here but whatever it's within the realm of possibilities, this is bsd, asagiri doesn't know what sanity means, anything can happen. like chapter 114.5 happened what other proof do we need that this is a lawless world

#my post #the sigma show #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #fyodor dostoevsky #nikolai gogol #bsd sigma #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga #theories and predictions #bram stoker #aya koda #bsd 114.5

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beloved-belittled · 6 months

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Firstly, I wanna say that I rly rly like the way you write-it always feels super in character. Second, are you taking requests, and if so can you pleasepleasepleaseee write anything Kronika related?

A/N: I'm glad you like my writing! Yeah, one of my big things is that even though I write x readers, I like for the characters to behave as close to their canon personality as possible. It's the reason I like them after all.

Also, technically I don't accept requests. Buuuut I do like Kronika and she sorely lacks content so here you go. I hope you enjoy it.

Yandere Kronika x Reader

TW: Yandere, abduction/kidnapping, slight obsessive behavior, romantic affection

Kronika is an interesting case when it comes to her falling for someone in general, let alone her behavior becoming yandere-like. Her true, most important obsession is with The Hourglass and creating a world of perfect balance. Anything else -whether her children or her own Titan kin- comes second. So, what could draw her attention away from the allure of shaping destinies?

Reminding her of her past would be a likely way to catch her attention. Kronika wasn't always the Keeper of Time nor a Titan. Something she tries her absolute all to forget. But, it's her reason for becoming obsessed with a perfect timeline. No longer would one person or group gain absolute power or the freedom to do unto others whatever they pleased. No longer would a single being be able to use all else for their own gain. Yes, as long as she keeps experimenting with time and reality one day she'll achieve that perfect world.

And here you come along, not to throw a wrench in her plans but to aid them. Unlike the others she has enlisted to aid her who only follow for the promises of a granted wish -or even her affection- you follow her because you see merit in her vision. She's impressed, considering that you're a mortal. But she's also not stupid, and during the first dozen rounds of resets she's suspicious. What are you actually after from her? What do you truly hope to gain from her?

It's only after countless resets and you proving that you're only interested in a balanced world that Kronika gets a spark of interest in you. Yes, she may shape all destinies but she cannot get rid of that annoying “free-will”. Why is it that whether she makes you a lowly peasant of Earthrealm or a devout Chaosrealmer, you always understand her design? She's almost tempted to ask you, but it's not as though you have memories of all of your past lives… That's something she can fix though.

At some point in infinity, you begin to recall your previous lives in previous timelines. The first few times you recall a world that no longer exists, a life that you've lived yet never experienced, it happens to drive you insane. Much like it did her. You're afflicted with an extreme sense of nihilism and pessimistic thought. What was even the point if it was all going to start over again? For the first time your loyalty in her ideals falters. It takes years (less than a second in the eyes of immortals) for you to come to the conclusion you reached before. There must be balance in the realms.

Kronika is -for the first time in eons- furious at this revelation. You're still pledging loyalty even after seeing everything you love wash away? After having the hurtful knowledge of previous timelines within you? That's not how mortals operate. No, she refuses to believe that a lower being as yourself could even comprehend the majesty of her brilliant design!

However, after she calms down she realizes what an interesting specimen she has on hand. You're someone who shares her thinking and has proven to be quite competent in the past. You're also someone who could walk among the realms discreetly, unlike Cetrion who's divine presence would be noticed. Perhaps you could be quite the useful pawn.

And so, you become her reliable little helper. You stir the pot as needed and quell any threats to the perfect timeline as they appear. Kronika is quite satisfied with your performance, evident with her “experiments” lasting longer and longer between resets. For a mortal you're great. But, you could be so much more. She sees that now. You've proven yourself.

You're “invited” to Kronika's Keep, waking up there one day after eliminating a particularly annoying threat to balance. You lie there confused, having no idea where you're at nor why you're here. You get your answer soon enough as the sounds of heels on the floor approaches you. “You've done well, (Y/N).” You shiver from the sound of your name being spoken by her. “For many timelines you have served me dutifully. I believe it's time for me to reward you.” Your eyebrow raises at this revelation, but you await her next words.

“Stay here by my side, (Y/N). And let us both cultivate the fate of the realms. As someone who shares my vision, I can imagine that there is no greater gift than what I offer.” A gentle smile accompanies her final words. You give yourself a few seconds to mull over her words before making a decision.

There are two possible fates for you at this point. The first is where you accept her offer -much to Kronika's delight. She stays true to her words, letting you stay in her spire as the both of you peer down at the realms. And whenever she rewinds the timeline you're there with her, helping her in the task of shaping The Sands of Time.

Albeit, you'll likely be put in a void outside of time until there's a way for you to survive the rewinding to the beginning of the universe. To not get rewound or suffocate you'll need to be a Titan or God of some kind. Something easily done considering all Kronika has to do is kill an existing God/Titan. And that Thunder God is starting to become a real thorn in her side…

Once you get your godhood the rest of your existence is relatively sweet? You quickly fall into obsession with The Hourglass like Kronika did, but at least now the two of you aren't alone in your madness. Not only that, you get revealed a side of her thought long gone -compassion. When the two of you aren't manipulating fate you're in each other's arms. Hugging, kissing, and performing other acts of affection. There's no need to ask each other how their day's going with how often you two are together, but you do so anyway just for reassurance.

You essentially get a relationship as normal as possible with Kronika. Her yandere tendencies aren't revealed unless someone manages to hurt you. But at that point it's just self-defense, right?

Now if you refuse Kronika's offer… She shakes her head and sighs in disappointment. “Oh, (Y/N). And here I thought you were so promising.” A burst of blue energy comes from her hands and then you're frozen. Not encased in ice but rather frozen in time, your mind and body locked in the moment right when she said her last words. Kronika approaches your still frame, bringing a lithe finger to your chin.

“Such a disappointment you are, yet,” she flies over to The Hourglass while telekinetically carrying your body with her. “You still have the ability to serve the vision you've foolishly abandoned.” She pushes you towards The Hourglass, getting you close enough to be converted into its magical sands. And just as you’re about to be wiped from history, Kronika pulls you away with a look of hesitation.

Despite your shortcomings, you're the only other being she's had even a remote interest in for an eternity. Would it truly be worth it to permanently delete your existence? It's those two things that stop her from killing you. But you can't be allowed to walk punishment free. Not after you've led her on for so long, making her believe you two were kindred souls. She has the perfect little fate planned for you…

One moment you're hearing Kronika voice her disappointment and the next you're behind a giant sphere of glass. You look down and see that you're suspended several meters above a void? There's sand piled all the way up to your torso -a torso that looks distinctively different from what it should. Instead of flesh, your body seems to be made of sand similar to what you're standing in. There's an ethereal glow to your body that reminds you of something spirit-like.

“Admiring your new form I presume?” You hear Kronika's voice but you don't see her. Is she behind you? She continues speaking. “I took the liberty of turning you into something better. It'd be a waste to just kill you.” She finally walks into view, hovering to be eye-level with you as you stand in what you've come to realize is The Hourglass. “I've made you one with The Hourglass. Your soul and body is now just an extension of it.” She pets the glass of The Hourglass -an act that you can actually feel! Her palm rubbing against the pane feels so soft, and you find yourself stunned as you try to process these new “nerves” that you have.

Kronika pulls her palm away. “You can't control The Hourglass, not without my command.” She smiles before continuing. “In case you thought of manipulating time to save yourself.” That's it? You're going to be stuck here as a powerless embodiment of her fascination for an eternity? How cruel, but you suppose in your large repertoire of lifetimes there are worse fates.

#yandere mortal kombat #Yandere Kronika #kronika x reader #mortal kombat x reader #x reader #my writings

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fictionkinfessions · 2 months

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hi hi I have a question that's related to kin-stuff!!! I'm still relatively new to all this kin stuff so I have no idea if what im experiencing falls within the realm of kin or something else entirely. I recently submitted a post here about how I don't kin with any specific character from a certain media, but I still feel a wildly intense connection and/or familiarity to that world within the media. So my question is: is it possible to kin someone who doesn't exist? i.e. somebody who technically is from that world but just isn't a character within that story??? all response would be grateful !!!

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #open questions #mod party cat

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 16 days

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I want to talk about a classic phrase for a hot minute, because I think the conversation will be more complex than people give it credit for.

"I don't want to hear any excuses."

I, and many others, are used to hearing this phrase and immediately cowering. It's a phrase that says "you have disappointed me with your actions/inactions and I am unwilling to tolerate that" which is technically a value neutral boundary statement EXCEPT

"I don't want to hear any excuses" is a bit unique. It is ALWAYS said to someone who is experiencing disempowerment. Whether that disempowerment is "I need help to effectively do a thing and lack that help/accommodation but am still blamed for my perceived failure" or "i am presenting barriers to my changing behavior with the intent to make you stop asking change of me" or any number of other forms and manifestations of disempowerment, the person being told that their explanations are excuses is being told this because the other person requires change and we cannot or will not make that change.

And the thing is, sometimes we cannot because we need help to make other changes first. Sometimes we will not because we don't believe we should have to or because it would be too distressing for us in some way. And sometimes we genuinely cannot make the change at all whether we want to or had all the help in the world.

"I don't want to hear your excuses" lumps all these different versions of this conflict in together when, actually, the effective approaches to each are pretty substantially different. It locks the conflict into the dynamic of the people and disallows the possibility that explanations are anything but a speed bump that someone WON'T fuck up your undercarriage if you charge over it at 50mph.

And the underlying tension of that dynamic is that change is hard and requires discomfort which can be easily used to obscure when change is being inflicted vs self-determined, leaving people even MORE resistant to change because they no longer feel able to tell what change is reasonable or within their realm of influence in the first place and often fall back on reacting to discomfort as if it is unilaterally inflicted harm.

On the other side of that though, you have someone who has, potentially, similar emotional experiences of boundary setting who finally gets around to actually asking change of another to meet their needs, only to be constantly met by reasons that change cannot be expected to happen [yet, at all, ever, who knows] and feeling increasingly resentful of how much effort you put into meeting OTHER people's asks and wondering why "excuses are okay when it's my needs" and other painful thoughts.

And on an entirely other side you have the sort of. Compulsion we all develop to justify ourselves to others when we perceive the possibility of failure or rejection because of how absolutely fucked people in our society are when they become "rejected by the herd" so to speak. The fear we feel at the possibility puts a lie to everything we think we know aboutself-sufficiency or social trauma or interpersonal emotional conflict or anything else, because so many of us truly PANIC in that moment of possible rejection and will desperately seek any escape from that feeling of being cornered for excommunication [a feeling that is fascinatingly medicalized by a lot of older and even modern interpretations of Borderline Personality Disorder as a concept]

The one thing medicalization gets right is that the more we justify ourselves to others, and experience ourselves as needing justification for taking up space or resources, the more dysfunctional and distressing our lives become for reasons that we both do and don't have influence over.

That desperation will have us seeking to avoid looking inward at what we may actually have control or influence over in a situation where our choices may have harmed or been in conflict with another, because we cannot square the two truths that we may have fucked up in some way or missed some important context and that we are still people worthy of love and belonging. And somehow at the same time it will have us constantly seeking to control things we can't and "do better" at being worthy of love and belonging because someone has assigned us unreasonable blame and we know deep down that we don't trust our own judgement of what is and isn't "okay" enough to trust that we had the right to make the ask we did or to set the boundary we did. It's the world's most toxic and self-perpetuating catch-22 imo.

The trouble with "I don't want to hear any excuses" is that it simultaneously names [solidifies, makes real] the reality that excommunicated humans suffer and die from their excommunication and we can "earn" excommunication for reasons entirely beyond our control, while denying that a threat has been made, regardless of the speaker's intention.

I don't have the magical solution to this conflict/tension area. Lord knows humans have spent thousands of generations searching for one I'm sure. But I do think it can sometimes help just to think over this stuff from time to time and understand *why* we might feel the way we do about certain interpersonal exchanges.

It's not that doing that will suddenly make you capable of changes you weren't before. But it will allow you to at least start learning to see doorways you might have reflexively written off in the past. Clarifies what choices you may actually have available to you, and how you want to make best/preferred use of them.

The trouble with asking for change from another person is that you never actually have any control over whether or not that change happens. There are choices you can make, steps that can be taken, to influence or reinforce infrastructural access to certain change/choice you want someone to consider. But there's no control over outcome, at least not for the person making the ask. Sometimes we DO need something to change, and the fact that the person we are asking that change of may GENUINELY not be able to do it despite making every effort doesn't matter. We need it to happen. And yet every party involved in that kind of a moment seems to be encouraged to feel ashamed of that possibility. As if it means one, the other, or both of them simply didn't try hard enough.

Why are we so ashamed of how much we need each other to get by? How much trauma around need-meeting must how many of us have endured to develop the blanket of fear around how we experience change and the intractibility of amorphous human nature? Why do we deny our interdependence and fight to be islands within ourselves? When was the last time any of us was actually taught how to change for ourselves, how to resolve conflict without fear, how to communicate and negotiate around our needs?

Are there ways we can extend opportunities of shared growth and learning with each other WITHOUT holding ourselves to account for each other's outcomes? What would it actually look like to heal the fear and the stress of our current interpersonal experiences?

How many of us have actually reckoned with our specific forms of internalized trauma from the past 5 or so years of intense global resource instability, mass pandemic death and isolation, and political fear-mongering? With what it does to a living thing to carry that much stress in its body for that long, what happens to a living body-mind when it becomes sure it is about to die? Beyond the work of crisis response, what proactive, preventative work as organizers are we doing to heal the accumulation en masse of ceaseless intergenerational traumas for a future that may one day escape or become resilient to the infliction of threat against ourselves and each other?

Change was never going to be easy or comfortable, but that doesn't mean that brute forcing your way through distress during efforts to change is anything but harmful to you and the people around you. How do we learn to let our old selves die without doubting the joyous aliveness our next selves will have the opportunity to explore?

#bruh this has been a rough week

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