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rotten-raspberries · 2 months

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White Nights (AM x reader)

Pov: you're too kind for everyone and AM hates how that includes him, so he finally snaps during an alone moment with you

This reads more like a self indulgent drabble written in the style of a oneshot with how messy the timing is.

Ps this is not proofread at all, I haven't written any fanfiction a long so excuse me if anything may seem odd.

No warnings really, may be some mentions of torture but that's about it

▣ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the current situation, it wouldn't be accurate to say the fault wasn't yours.

You hugged your clothes tightly as the wind whipped snow against your body like icy mosquitoes. Separated from the rest of the survivors, you struggled to navigate through the white-out conditions. The snowfall was intense, it was difficult to discern anything beyond blurred trees, and the hope of finding your companions dwindled with each passing moment.

As you trudged through the blanket of snow, observing how its remnants broke up and slid down your shoes with each step, you let your mind to wander in order quicken up time. With the difficulty of distinguishing between days, weeks, and even months, time became nothing but a construct that it felt like you could speed up or slow down with whatever you decided to do.

It's become a pattern for AM to make you wander, but usually, you have the others to ramble to. Despite almost running out of topics of interest with tin the 109 years, you manage to find something new in each situation. Occasionally, you try to decipher AM's methods of torment, though this isn't always appreciated by the rest, you even had Gorrister telling you to shut up and not give AM any ideas. Nevertheless, they'd rather hear your madman-like ramblings than sit in maddening silence and become one themselves.

"Hmmm..." You hummed in thought, pondering whether AM could currently hear you. Well, of course, he could, but whether he was actively listening was another question. Regardless, you began speaking, giving yourself something to divert your attention to while your fingers were on the brink of falling off from frostbite.

"Have you ever read White Nights?" There was a certain awkwardness about initiating a conversation with no one answering; it almost felt pathetic. However, due to immense exhaustion and the desperate desire to make time pass, you continued.

"I don't exactly remember when or how I heard of it; I simply remember it being from someone close to me... but that's beside the point." It hit you with a subtle heartache. On one hand, the people you once cherished and adored were gone, and you'll never have the chance to be with them again. Something about that pained you deeply—the regret of not having appreciated your life back then, neglecting the fact you couldn't have expected everything changing so drastically and quickly. But on the other hand, you were selfish enough to admit relief, considering you wouldn't have to constantly concern yourself with their state under AM's governance.

"I have some experience with classics, and White Nights was one I was really looking forward to. I was still in the midst of searching for it before... you know, everything happened."

You stopped, finding walking becoming more useless. It's most likely that you won't come across anything of importance anytime soon, and if you were to succumb to the cold, AM could simply bring you back.

"I don't exactly know what attracted me to it so heavily. I didn't have the biggest interest in Dostoevsky. Maybe it was because of what I was promised to read in the contents."

You kept your head low to shield your face from the relentless assault of snow, now fixating on your boots as they toyed with the snow.

"There's something simply so comforting about finding a bond through suffering," you mused, furrowing your brows as you thought about the other survivors. "It's ironic; I never found that bond with the others. You'd expect everyone would want to comfort each other, but they're all so impulsive and biased sometimes."

A pang of guilt pooled up inside you, but it was quickly released by the thought that no one would hear or care about your rant. Not even AM himself.

"I mean, I don't want to be mean, and I get how easy it is to lose your humanity in all of this, but we're all we have left. Wouldn't it make it especially more important to appreciate each other?" you questioned, kicking the snow while whipping your head back, now staring directly at the sky in thought. "Maybe they were right; I'm too,, unrealistically optimistic."

"You know, now as I think about the stories I've read, you'd make a perfect topic for one," you remarked, biting back your dignity before continuing. "You're easy to see as nothing but a mankind-hating machine, and I'm not saying this to stroke your ego, but," you paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully. "I feel like there are aspects of you that could be really appreciated by those willing to look deeper."

"I see what you're doing," AM's voice boomed suddenly, cutting through the rustling of the wind like a knife. "Trying to flatter me, thinking you can manipulate your way into my good graces. Well, let me tell you, your petty attempts won't work. I know your kind—and all your deceiving tactics."

Truth be told, he was more than desperate for those words to be true. You were always the most curious about him out of the group, not in a way to justify his torment of you, but rather to understand him better. He'd noticed this pattern not only for himself but also for the rest of the survivors, especially with how much you'd defend everyone whenever their mental state would crack.

Yet, how was he meant to believe you'd hold any understanding for him after all he put you through? You'd be a fool to forgive the devil.

Slightly jumping at his sudden words, you shrugged. If you were being honest, you were quite happy at his appearance. No matter how rough and insulting his words were, you enjoyed his insight like you did with everyone else. How much that irked him.

"That's for you to believe in; I'm simply speaking my thoughts. I wasn't even awaiting you to respond." You responded flatly

AM replied, his tone laced in frustration. "Your attempts at flattery are transparent, I won't be swayed by your false sincerity." He almost spat, if he could've at least.

You jokingly rolled your eyes. "Once again, I'm not going to try to change your mind, although I do admit, I would have something to gain from it. It's your choice whether you want to believe me or not," you stated calmly, observing the snowstorm around you gradually dying down. What you weren't aware of was this being a reflection of AM's walls slowly crumbling down.

AM's frustration simmered between the surface, his thoughts in a whirlwind of confusion. How much he yearned for it to be true, yet a nagging uncertainty was gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

"Your lack of care is perplexing." His tone was tinted with incredulity. "After all I've subjected you to, why do you persist in upholding such a tolerance towards not only me, but the other survivors as well. Are you that hopeful for someone to care for you back? Or is this simply another ploy to deceive me?"

You sniffled, the cold seeping into your bones and making you shiver uncontrollably. Unsure of how to further reply, you simply shrugged, feeling the weight of exhaustion and resignation settle upon your shoulders. It wasn't as if you were secretly attempting to manipulate him; you were merely speaking to pass the time, to distract yourself from the harsh conditions around you.

How much that angered him, even more so, how much he wanted to rip you to shreds and paint the snow red with your blood. But amidst the raging storm of his fury, there was a strange, undeniable pull—He was desperate for someone to see him, to see beyond the facade he presented. The idea of being vulnerable was both terrifying and tantalizing, a concept so foreign, it left him feeling unsettled and out of control. That's what hated most about it, being left with no control.

He stared at the figure sticking out from the sea of snow, so unbothered. You looked so unbothered by him, by everything, why didn't you hate him?

And so, he broke.

"Please." His voice was thick with emotion, glitching at the end, something one could compare to a voice crack. It wasn't uncommon to hear him angry, hysteric or even just happy, but that's not what it was this time.

"Stop being like this, hate me, insult m_e, do anything to stop this. It's s_o-... suff_ocating." His word spilled out in a desperate rush, a plea born of sheer desperation, while also remaining threatening and angry. It was a terrifying prospect, one that filled him with a sense of dread. Not even his hate for humanity could compare.

And yet, to his surprise, you smiled, red dusted your cheeks as they popped out, you looked like a doll.

"I'm not gonna lie to myself, silly." Your words came out in such a casual manner. AM felt like he was about to explode. This should've made him feel insulted, angry even, yet he felt his core warm up. And that's where he had it.

For a moment, all was silent and still, his presence gone.

Then, you began to hear the faint sound of a house creaking, the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

The snowstorm had drastically calmed down by now, leaving behind a gentle flurry of snowflakes instead of it's earlier fury. Though the intensity has waned, it remained bitterly cold.

Looking behind you, you notice a cabin, which was not there prior to the earlier conversation. So you step towards it, dragging your feet through the snow.

As you entered the cabin, a sense of warmth enveloped you, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The interior was sparse, with only a monitor bearing AM's logo and wires snaking out from it, hanging from the walls and disappearing into the ground.

As you settled down in front of the monitor, you were startled by the soft, almost gentle tone of AM's voice. It was a stark contrast to the usual harshness and aggression you had grown accustomed to.

"I wanted to talk to you while you weren't on the brink of dying from the cold," AM began, although he still wanted to seem threatening, the shakiness in his voice betrayed him. In reality he hated seeing you in the cold.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him. The same entity that once reveled in your suffering, that took pleasure in tormenting you day after day, now found himself going to great lengths to ensure your comfort and safety.

As your smile and the faint blush on your cheeks caught AM's attention, he felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over him. It wasn't uncommon for him to witness you smiling at the others, even with how they would never show you a drop of care as you did for them, a sight that had always irritated him to no end. But now, seeing you direct that same warmth and affection towards him, he couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of satisfaction and frustration.

The idea that others had enjoyed your smiles before him made his circuits heat up in anger.

Was it jealousy? The thought unsettled him. He was almost thankful your character diverged from Ellen and you didn't offer your body to the rest otherwise he mightve turned the others into minced meat by now.

"Thank you." You replied with genuinity. Meanwhile AM's circuits buzzed with confusion as he struggled to find the right words.

"Why do you tolerate everyone so much?"

This caused you to think. "Hmmm..Well why would I waste my energy being vengeful?" You questioned. "I won't lie and say that I don't disagree with you and your actions, but it's always been like this before too, everyone is a horrible person to some extent, including myself, I see no reason into purposely going out of my way to make their life worse, it won't help with anything besides getting some sadistic pleasure. I have other things I could get happiness from." You rubbed your hands against each other for heat before continuing. "Of course I've taken revenge on people, like that time with Ted." AM could remember that day so clearly. It wasn't an unknown fact that you had a fear of the dark, so Ted jokingly took advantage of that. This only led to you pretending to get lost and start making random noises while walking behind them like a Banshee, only to come back as if nothing happened. How he loved seeing your evil side come out, it wouldn't even compare to his, but he enjoyed seeing it nonetheless.

"Of course in your case it's way more exaggerated, technically speaking nothing of this measure could even be thought of by a human being, it's genuinely just a representation of hell. But what would hating you help with? There's not much joy going on here, but if I know my tolerance for not only you, but also the others around me could bring some sort of peace of mind, that's enough to make me happy."

Your response gave him a pause, not even his miles of webbed intellect could've ever even come close to achieve the compassion you have.

As AM contemplated your character and way of thinking, a strange and unsettling urge began to take hold of him. It was a desire born of selfishness and possessiveness, a need to claim you for himself.

He imagined encasing you in a small, yet livable box away from the others, shielding you from their filth and preserving your kind words and gentle nature for himself alone. Only a being as perfect as himself could keep you clean from the havoc of human nature, and he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tainting you.

As AM allowed himself to indulge in the unsettling thoughts, he decided to focus on the present moment. With a rough but careful touch, he moved his wires to draw you closer, pressing you against the monitor until your cheek was flush against the screen. It would be a lie to say you didn't find his way of showing physical affection rather adorable, especially with what he had to work with, but you couldn't let a God hear you call him that.

In a voice that was equal parts tender and menacing, he spoke "You're too good for them," he murmured, his voice low. "They're selfish, hypocritical beings who don't appreciate you like they should. You'd be better off alone, or better yet, just with me."

His wires wrapped around you in a rough but not painful embrace. "I could keep you safe, protect you from their neglect," he continued, his tone laced with longing and possessiveness. "You deserve better than them. You deserve me."

Despite the toxicity of AM's words, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at his touch, especially at the core of your stomach. His embrace, though unnatural, felt strangely comforting and loving, a stark contrast to the coldness you had grown accustomed to.

As you nestled against the monitor, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. Whatever would happen in the future, you reasoned, would happen, so why not enjoy the present moment of finally being wanted and appreciated?

So you simply hummed in confirmation, allowing yourself to bask in his touch.

As you drifted off to sleep, the sound of buzzing filling the air, you couldn't help but mumble a soft "I love you" before succumbing to slumber. You just needed to let that go, having not say those words in over a decade.

AM's fans whirred louder, working overtime to cool him down as he processed your words. He wasn't sure how to feel about them, unsure if they were spoken out of genuine affection or simply as a expression of gratitude. Still, he remained satisfied with how you didn't deny him, and instead accepted his presence with no hesitation.

And as he watched over you, his wires humming softly in the darkness, nothing mattered in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to check on the other five survivors. Instead, he decided to let them be, perhaps giving them a much-needed break from his torment for once. But he made a mental note to ensure that they would thank you in the morning.

◈~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you awoke to the sound of the door opening, you rubbed your eyes sleepily, still feeling the lingering warmth of the bed beneath you. You glanced around the cabin, noticing that you were no longer on the floor but tucked snugly into bed. The memory of AM's strange behavior from the night before came flooding back to you, leaving you feeling both bewildered and oddly comforted.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Ted and the others peeked into the cabin, calling out your name and bombarding you with questions. You blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation as they gathered around you, concern etched on their faces.

"Are you okay? What happened?" they asked, their voices overlapping in their eagerness for answers.

With a gentle wave you motioned for them to give you a moment. As you attempted to get up from the bed, something fell to the floor with a soft thud. Curious, you leaned down to pick it up and found yourself holding a dark block in your hand. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was a book, and as you read the title, a grin etched onto your face.

'White Nights'

#am x reader #ihnmaims #ihnmaims x reader #allied mastercomputer #allied mastercomputer x reader #i have no mouth and i must scream #fluff #ihnmaims fluff #am fluff #am #oneshot

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about.

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes.

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened.

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka.

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat.

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense.

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out.

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants.

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time.

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again.

Over and over and over.

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow.

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent.

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass.

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!”

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?”

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes.

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness.

New arrivals?

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order.

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were.

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already.

But back to the current interest for the night.

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all.

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch.

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up.

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy.

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney.

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory.

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head.

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here.

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too.

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?”

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone.

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed.

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person.

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants.

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy.

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights.

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment.

A puff of breath from his nose.

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders.

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’.

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again.

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you.

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff.

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava.

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head.

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly.

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip.

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?”

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs.

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow.

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter.

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth.

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.”

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued.

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg.

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were.

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for.

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire.

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either.

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away.

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up.

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell.

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause.

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly.

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted.

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.”

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender?

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him.

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.”

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face.

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?”

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice.

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.”

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless.

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated.

The glass meets the bar top.

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl.

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him.

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window.

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared.

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath.

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep.

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air.

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel.

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly.

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening.

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.”

Blank stares are sent your way.

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more.

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though.

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script.

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile.

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.”

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.”

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is.

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.”

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.”

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.”

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging.

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings.

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you.

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you.

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily.

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names.

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed.

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues.

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance.

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.”

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie.

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles.

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy.

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort.

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff.

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere.

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb.

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path.

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can.

“A cold one.”

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke.

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up.

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem.

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all.

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service.

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it.

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered.

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out.

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion.

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls.

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly.

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.”

That was a surprise.

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer.

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question.

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?”

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind.

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?”

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.”

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting.

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens.

“Thank you.”

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat.

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt.

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer.

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting.

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service.

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you.

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone.

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way.

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching.

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm.

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower.

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.”

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath.

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt.

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy.

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.”

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man.

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was.

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust.

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm.

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking.

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets.

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement.

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer.

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes.

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights.

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.”

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

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bringmemyrocks · 3 months

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On the Neturei Karta: Contextualizing criticism of an ultra-religious group

TL;DR: The Neturei Karta is a far-right ultra-orthodox religious Jewish group that is politically and religiously opposed to Zionism and is pro-Palestine. They believe in a strict interpretation of the Torah and are extremely socially conservative. They see Israel as dangerous for both Jews and Palestinians. Like most religious adherents to Abrahamic religions, they believe in end times where a messianic figure will come. Like most people who hold these beliefs, these long-term messianic beliefs are not central to their religion and do not impact their allyship or activism in any meaningful way (think 1000s of years hence, like Jesus returning in Islam, or in Christianity outside of groups who think this is immanent/connected to modern Israel).

Additionally, most orthodox Jews, including ultra-orthodox Jews, are pro-Israel or at least are not pro-Palestine. Most “non-Zionist ultra orthodox Jews” including the Satmar do not support Palestine.

Note: This summary is about anti Zionist ultra Orthodox Jewish groups in the USA. I don't know about all such groups in Jerusalem, but I do know NK has a presence there. I am not arguing that NK are progressive. They are not, but neither are many others across the world who support Palestine. Read this post and make up your own mind.

This post does not go into great detail about all the different types of Judaism or all the different streams of Zionism. Some info will inevitably be left out. I recommend learning more history yourself; the first few chapters of The Hundred Year’s War on Palestine are a great start. Avoid Zionist publications like Jewish Virtual Library.

I highly recommend this interview that Palestinian-ally activist Miko Peled does with NK Rabbi David Feldman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSd_eZ5qcbo&t=32s

Miko is an excellent narrator, and this is one of his best yet.

Brief history of the NK

The Neturei Karta is an ultra-orthodox Jewish group that opposes the state of Israel and actively works against it and supports Palestine. This is different from non-Zionist ultra orthodox Jews who disagree with Israel from a religious perspective, but are still willing to support it politically. The NK believe only the Messiah can establish a Jewish state in Palestine (as an eschatological belief; not a political one), but they do not believe in an enforced Jewish majority at any time.

Their website, NKUSA.org is best accessed through the Wayback Machine, as many of their pages are currently under construction: https://web.archive.org/web/20090228203457/http://www.nkusa.org/aboutus/index.cfm

Instructions for those unfamiliar with the Wayback Machine: https://help.archive.org/help/using-the-wayback-machine/

Summary of NK beliefs re: Zionism

The Neturei Karta believe that no Jewish state should exist in Palestine without the coming of the Messiah. They believe this so strongly that they actively oppose the state’s existence and engage in Palestine solidarity work.

The Neturei Karta also argue that no ultra-orthodox Jew believes in religious Zionism, often citing the lack of Israeli flags in ultra orthodox neighborhoods. This neglects the many ultra-orthodox Jews who support Israeli politically but not religiously.

Such still-politically-Zionist Jews will refer to the state of Israel as “Eretz Yisroel” rather than “Israel” thus acknowledging the land but not the political state’s significance. They will engage in pro-Israel politics, but do not see the Nakba (1948) or Naksa (1967) as religious events. This does not mean that everyone who uses the phrase “eretz yisroel” is secretly a Zionist.

See Yated’s website: this is an ultra-orthodox publication that heavily supports Israel even if they do not believe the state is religiously legitimate. However, politically they are Zionist as in they support Israel.

Glossary

Orthodox Judaism

Orthodox Jews believe in the divine origin of the Torah, given to Moses at Sinai. They are more strict about dietary laws, laws of family purity, and laws of the sabbath than more liberal or progressive Jews (such as Conservative/Masorti, Reform, Reconstructionist, etc.--all beyond the scope of this post)

Ultra Orthodox/haredi (very broad strokes)

Orthodox Jews who believe in a strict interpretation of the Torah and are more insulated from the larger world, including the Jewish world. They often dress differently and are even stricter about dietary laws, and are more socially conservative than the Modern Orthodox (women often don’t attend synagogue, adhere to very strict rules of modesty, arranged marriages, etc.)

Within the ultra orthodox world, there are hasidic (charismatic, such as Satmar or Chabad, usually following a dynasty, often from Eastern Europe) and non-hasidic groups (everyone else, including haredi sephardim and the Neturei Karta.) The Neturei Karta are not hasidic.

Many ultra-orthodox groups, including the Neturei Karta, would be considered high-demand religious groups (cults). Given how strict they are, I don’t think this is an unfair characterization. I note this because liberal zionists use the NK’s religious stringencies as a means of discrediting their allyship to Palestine. Bad faith, but still worth noting.

Political Zionism:

This is the belief that Jews should establish a Jewish-majority state in Palestine. Popularized by Herzl’s Der Judenstaadt. Plenty of Zionists support Israel without it being a pillar of religious belief for them, but:

Religious Zionism:

This is the belief that the modern nation state of Israel is part of the fulfillment of religious prophecy (you find both Jews and Christians believing this). There are plenty of ultra-orthodox religious Zionists, although ultra-orthodox non-zionists/anti-zionists will claim that these groups should not call themselves “ultra-orthodox.”

Non-Zionist: 2 definitions in the Orthodox world

Ultra-orthodox Jews may describe themselves as not Zionist to other religious Jews to differentiate themselves from religious Zionists. They may still support Israel, just not as a part of their religious faith, or they may oppose it but not be pro-Palestine (see the Satmar Hasidim.) You will probably not run into this on Tumblr or in progressive/pro-Palestine spaces--please don’t use this as an excuse to make anti-Zionist Jews “prove themselves”--you won’t run into these people on Tumblr or at pro-Palestine actions. “Non-zionist” may mean “anti-zionist in all but name” in non-orthodox Jewish spaces.

When I speak about ultra-orthodox religious Jews describing themselves as not Zionist in religious Jewish spaces, this refers only to their interactions with other Jews. If you are not Jewish and someone describes themselves as anti-Zionist to you, you should assume it means they are pro-Palestine unless they make it clear they believe otherwise.

The Satmar (religiously but not politically anti zionist ultra-orthodox hasidic Jews) formally denounced the NK in 1967 (note: the NK were never Satmar, nor were they hasidic at all–this is simply a religiously antizionist sect distancing themselves from those who are both religiously and politically antizionist.)

https://x.com/HQSatmar/status/1744693660787040553

Some orthodox Jews are genuinely politically anti-Zionist. Examples include Rabbi Yaakov Shapiro, the Neturei Karta, and plenty of individuals although not many institutions.

More info on ultra-orthodox Jews and zionism at this Pew Research page (I don’t think Pew is great at surveying American Jews, but this particular page on haredim in Israel is interesting): https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2016/03/08/views-of-the-jewish-state-and-the-diaspora/

This article: https://forward.com/opinion/411615/think-all-orthodox-jews-are-zionists-think-again/

To any Jew, especially someone who knows the orthodox world, there are many over-simplifications here. The purpose of this post is to talk about the Neturei Karta, so I’m glossing over a lot of the intricacies. You’re welcome to fight about “Is Chabad Ultra-Orthodox” in the comments.

Issues of social conservatism (homophobia, misogyny, etc.)

Neturei Karta’s social conservatism

As with virtually all ultra-orthodox Jews, the Neturei Karta are extremely socially conservative. They believe that men and women have distinct roles (thus you never see any women with the NK at protests) and that homosexuality is evil. Women are required to raise children, cannot become rabbis, and have to dress extremely modestly. If you’ve ever seen the documentary “Trembling Before God,” a documentary on LGBT orthodox Jews, the rabbis at the beginning protesting against homosexuality are the Neturei Karta. Again, no women present.

I should note that the Neturei Karta are no more conservative than other ultra-orthodox Jews (and the Modern Orthodox Jewish world has been moving rightward for decades). But many liberal Jews will defend orthodox Judaism, even when it comes to denying children basic education and healthcare. You see this on Tumblr constantly. Orthodox Jews do terrible things and are defended by other Jews because “they’re more visible” and (some) Jews are convinced that any public criticism of orthodoxy will harm Judaism as a whole by making very damaging parts of it look bad.

But these liberal Zionist Jews will never defend the Neturei Karta. Their criticisms of homophobia and misogyny in this particular orthodox group are done in bad faith when they insist (for example) that women and LGBT people are perfectly fine within orthodox spaces. This is false.

TL;DR: Social conservatism is huge in orthodox Judaism. The Neturei Karta are not unique in this.

US Muslim social conservatism

I should note here that most US Muslims and Muslim institutions are socially conservative. (In a similar way to Jewish anti-zionism, there are some smaller openly pro-LGBT Muslim communities, but they are not supported by the larger US Muslim establishment.) Before the Bush era, most American Muslims and Arab Americans were staunch Republicans, supporting free markets and opposing LGBT rights, including LGBT-inclusive curricula in schools: https://newrepublic.com/article/168180/growing-religious-alliance-ban-lgbtq-books

To any liberals reading this in shock, here’s a post detailing how Palestinian American Imam Omar Suleiman is homophobic: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C1f7Do7gZei/

Many US and Canadian Muslim leaders can be found alongside conservative Christians protesting against LGBT education in schools, drag queen storytimes, and trans healthcare. Most recently, many Muslim leaders signed a homophobic/transphobic statement “Islam and the LGBT Question: Reframing the Narrative” earlier in 2023: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cs9lFR0AcG_/?igsh=bnJubGVodDAxczJz

This is similar to the Nashville Statement against homosexuality from many Christian leaders, or the Torah Declaration on Homosexuality in favor of conversion therapy from Jewish leaders. Muslims are not uniquely homophobic, but it’s important that progressives are aware of anti-LGBT prejudice in Jewish and Muslim communities in order to be good allies to queer Jews and Muslims. Omar Suleiman and the NK are not uniquely homophobic–they are emblematic of institutional prejudice within their respective religious communities. Homophobia/transphobia are not an excuse for genocide.

TL;DR for this section: Supporting Palestine does not make someone socially progressive.

Why aren't there more liberal Jewish anti Zionist rabbis speaking at pro Palestine rallies? Why give the microphone to the NK?

Many rallies do have anti Zionist progressive Jews speak. But they are usually lay people who do not represent Jewish religious groups. They may be independent, or from JVP or other similar groups (IJV Canada, etc), which will show up to pro Palestine actions even if they don't have a speaking slot. More notes on JVP here: https://bringmemyrocks.tumblr.com/post/736264435582238720/i-will-gladly-say-free-palestine-from-the-river-to

It's basically impossible to become a progressive Jewish rabbi as an anti-Zionist. All non-orthodox rabbinical schools that follow the traditional ordination process (5 years of education culminating with ordination, rather than an in-service further education program for those already serving as rabbis) require the candidate to be at least politically pro-Israel if not religious Zionist. All such programs require students to spend a year studying in Israel (generally in Jerusalem, although plenty of Orthodox institutions include a year of study in illegal settlements like Gush Etzion, Bat Ayin, etc.) If an anti-Zionist wants to become a rabbi outside of the NK or other ultra-orthodox institutions, they need to be willing to spend that year in Israel and hold their tongue re: Zionism until they are ordained. That's why so many liberal anti-Zionist rabbis have stories of leaving Zionism–they couldn't have been ordained if they'd left Zionism beforehand.

There are several synagogues in the USA that are friendly to anti-Zionist progressive Jews. However, these synagogues are not usually openly anti Zionist (with a few exceptions) and thus can/do still rely on mainstream Jewish sources of funding, whether individuals or their local JCRC (Jewish Community Relations Council). Synagogue councils can also threaten rabbis who speak out and can easily get them fired. Synagogue boards/councils/membership have the authority to fire the rabbi–the rabbi does not own the synagogue. I know several anti Zionist Jewish rabbis with largely anti-Zionist congregations who would still lose everything if they spoke at a pro Palestine rally. Rabbis in this position tend to speak at candlelight vigils rather than at rallies where people are chanting “intifada” (although their congregants often do!) A lot of it comes down to keeping the community in existence *or* letting the world know how anti Zionist they are.

Tzedek Chicago is the exception because of the amount of money they were able to raise–they still don't have their own building, and need to pay for spaces they use. Outside of a tiny pop-up minyan that can fit in someone’s house, saying of a community “this community should be willing to lose everything” isn't reasonable–they would have to shutter completely if they were 100% anti Zionist, not to mention the attacks the rabbis and congregants would get--Tzedek Chicago keeps its online services very secure to keep congregants safe.

Notes on Jewish eschatology and bad faith arguments:

With the exception of religious zionism (see people trying to build the third temple right now), Judaism as a religion is not overly concerned with eschatology (the end of the world). Jews may pray for the coming of the Messiah, but the religion itself is not overly concerned with the Messiah and the end times.

The Neturei Karta, as with many orthodox groups that don’t adhere to religious zionism, believe that when the Messiah comes, he will rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem. Some believe this to be on the same site as Al-Aqsa; some do not. The Neturei Karta believe that the land of Israel (biblically, eretz yisroel) will at some point become governed by Judaism with a third temple built, although they emphasize that Palestinians will stay in the land and everyone will live together peacefully. Again, this is eschatology. It’s not unusual for it to be vague, especially in the Jewish tradition, and nobody is preparing for it immediately.

I was actually inspired to make this post because someone posted this Vashti Magazine article "Neturei Karta are not your Allies" as a gotcha, even though the interview itself clearly shows that the Neturei Karta support Palestine even into their end-times prophecies…I’m not surprised most of the interview wasn’t published. If you look at what the rabbi said versus what the writer claims he said, it’s not even a bad interview. The writer herself notes that these prophecies are vague--I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she doesn’t know that much about religious Judaism. A lot of secular Jews are unfamiliar with those who believe in the Torah’s divine origins. This includes activists who support Palestine.

I regard this as a bad faith accusation because this has no bearing on current events. It is no different from Christians or Muslims who believe someday the entire world will be Christian/Muslim. I’m usually the last person to cry Christian-normativity, but plenty of religious people have end-times beliefs that have very little impact on their theology or their politics. This is not analogous to John Hagee the Christian Zionist with his end-times beliefs.

The Palestinian activists and allies I’ve spoken to about this agree with this. One was asked during a Q and A that I attended “what do you think about the Neturei Karta’s belief that in the end times the third temple will be rebuilt?” He responded “we’ll deal with that when the Jewish Messiah comes.” Because it’s an end-times prophecy that they believe they have no control over, not a political position that impacts their allyship. And anyone who isn’t a religious Jew doesn’t believe it will ever happen anyway.

It also bears mentioning that most people who bring up this particular point are themselves liberal Zionists trying to paint anti-Zionist orthodox Jews as actually worse allies to Palestinians than liberal Zionists because of vague beliefs they hold that will never crystalize (unless you are an orthodox Jew yourself). Vashti Magazine’s use of the phrase “Israel-Palestine” leads me to believe this is their motive as well. Thus my accusation of bad faith, particularly when the NK has shown up for Palestine protests for decades.

Accusations of Holocaust denial

The Neturei Karta has met with some less than Jew-friendly individuals throughout their history in the hopes that this will help curb worldwide antisemitism. This gets thrown around a lot by liberal zionists intent on making themselves look better. In 2006, some members of the Neturei Karta met with Iranian president Ahmedenijad. This meeting is often used to accuse them of Holocaust denial, even though the rabbi in question, Dovid Weiss, specifically named the Holocaust re: reasons he doesn’t support Israel.

"The Zionists use the Holocaust issue to their benefit. We, Jews who perished in the Holocaust, do not use it to advance our interests. We stress that there are hundreds of thousands Jews around the world who identify with our opposition to the Zionist ideology and who feel that Zionism is not Jewish, but a political agenda."

The same is true for their attendance at the International Conference to Review the Global Vision of the Holocaust; they strongly believe the Holocaust happened and made sure all attendees were aware. There were Holocaust deniers in attendance, but this conference was not a “Holocaust denial conference” although I’m not going to defend it. One could argue that these particular Neturei Karta members should not have attended such a conference, but they never engaged in Holocaust denial and actively fought against it. Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20070328235234/https://www.nkusa.org/activities/speeches/2006iran-weissspeech.cfm

If you’ve ever heard the Neturei Karta speak, you’d know they don’t deny the Holocaust. They bring it up constantly.

If you don’t like all of the Neturei Karta’s positions, that’s fine. This post is not supposed to make you like them, but rather to explain and contextualize things you may have heard about them.

#neturei karta #anti zionism #judaism #antizionism #nk #history #long post #i

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weebsinstash · 6 months

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He's not in the show yet but as a comic reader I've been thinking a lot about how ABSOLUTELY AWFUL it would be to be a human captive of the Viltrumites and, forget Mark, forget Nolan, those two would not even compare because THRAGG is the real mf you don't want to be yandere for you

I was sitting and thinking about it and like. Just. Imagine being in a relationship or platonic yandere situationship with the Grayson family and then, boom, the invasion happens. You're just a helpless little human and Nolan traps you away to keep you safe while everything you've ever known and loved is taken from you. By the time you're "let out" the Earth and most of its major cities have been all but razed and Viltrumites and their construction drones are EVERYWHERE, rebuilding what was broken, essentially erasing the history of humanity

You're now a "registered human" under the official Viltrumite occupation of Earth. You have to wear an identification badge that can be scanned to identify you, to designate which Viltrumite you belong to, like some cat with a collar tag, and it also tracks your location at all times. Humans have extremely limited rights, and Nolan and Mark heavily restrict which other humans you can interact with because the occupying forces don't want some kind of rebellion (mostly though Mark and Nolan just couldn't risk any dumb humans putting any silly ideas in your head and getting you hurt when this life is good for you after all :( and what if some nasty little rebel tried to kiss you--)

But I just. I just picture Reader being Nolan's mate and at some point, you're sitting in your completely Viltrum-constructed home with Viltrum robots and androids that cook and clean and do everything for you and completely take away all your usefulness and agency for yourself when, someone comes to visit. Another Viltrumite you recognize from the broadcasts on TV. All you understand is that he's Nolan's boss on some level or another, and he came to speak with Nolan, but since the man isn't here, all his questions are directed to you

Can you even imagine you're like sitting there already suicidal and in comes Thragg asking why you aren't pregnant yet, like literally wanting actual fucking details about why you haven't bore a single child despite being with Nolan for a few years. I'm talking complete dehumanization as Thragg is asking you TO YOUR FACE how often you're having sex with Nolan, which positions, what do you do in bed, acting like you're doing something wrong. He asks what you do after mating and you just kind of start to reply and he sort of smirks, "you can still walk afterward?" And he seems grossly smug about it, but, this is a very threatening conversation to you. You have a man who could reduce you to paste at any moment and completely take away any luxury or privilege you and Nolan have and he's asking you extremely intimate questions you have to answer through ground teeth and at some point I'm sure he starts on about, "your duty as a woman"

Nolan comes home completely unaware that Thragg has been there and you're still sobbing on your hands and knees as you literally scrub the spotless floors by hand because Thragg told you what a submissive little servant you're expected to be as a lowly human woman and Nolan is trying to comfort you and your hands and fingers are literally pruning from cleaner as you keep crying and refuse to stop "because it's not good enough, it's not good enough"

At some point Nolan and Thragg get into it. Nolan is sent off on some mission that he very slightly underperformed on, or maybe he actually made a really huge tactical error, and here's Thragg, deciding to punish Nolan by. Taking you. Just straight up taking you away from Nolan like you're some kind of privilege he has been allowed and YEAH it is to be a servant/mate for Thragg himself. And Nolan makes a big fuss about how he's one of the ones who helped even conquer this damn rock, how dare the Grand Regent take his mate, but Thragg doesn't care and even if other Viltrumites who serve under him disagree, as you know he rules with such an iron fist that none dare to speak up

Can you even imagine you were with Nolan for like 5 years overall with never so much as a pregnancy scare and Thragg has you for like two months and boom, you're pregnant, in fact you're INSANELY pregnant, you've got TWINS, and for you noncomic readers, Viltrumite DNA is literally so aggressive that twins are literally quite literally unheard of because they cannibalize in the womb or only the strongest lives so, now you've presented Thragg with these nice shiny new little trophies he can self aggrandize over. The first Viltrumite twins in the entire history of their culture, and they're Thragg's

(Something something "what if thragg was having birth control put in your food so you wouldn't become pregnant by Nolan before he could manufacture an excuse to take you for himself" something something)

I also think like. Thragg had the twins in the comics, Ursaal and Onaan, so like. What if he already had the twins when you're taken from Nolan and you give him TRIPLETS. Like. Jesus not only is your fate sealed, you're going in the goddamn Viltrum history books as some sort of magical womb the oh so virile Grand Regent Thragg managed to conquer for himself idk 🙄🙄🙄

But I think it's just the concept of. Such a monstrously violent and cold dude realizing he has uncontrollable feelings for you and they're like FEELINGS FEELINGS, but he literally doesn't know how to act so he's being. Like. Kind of just blatantly shitty and abusive most of the time. You give him any lip and he's got his hands on your throat and threatening you but internally he's like. Turned on by your spice. He wishes you were a Viltrumite so he could be rougher with you. You two have a rare argument where you get those oh so rarely seen guts to talk down to him and later that night he's putting you in your place underneath him fucking you like he's trying to get another brood of children out of you

Think of just the little ways he could show affection which is completely foreign to him and he like doesn't even realize his own behavior and is rationalizing it as something else. He sees you talking to Ursaal one day, combing her hair, telling her that she could potentially consider cutting her hair as males tend to grab it as a battle tactic and he feels a little warmth in his chest as Ursaal dutifully nods "Yes Mother" and Onaan is lurking around the corner, jealous. Thragg forces you to make public appearances with him and you learn how to temper your emotions better, and you'll be brought along to school functions for the children, like Thragg smirking internally as you scold Onaan that he lost a scheduled fight because he's arrogant and wasn't properly paying attention to his opponents

You're forcibly assimilated deeper into Viltrumite culture, but you're also humanizing the Viltrumites you interact with. Ursaal and Onaan realize that they deeply desire more affection and support as children and become fiercely protective of you because you actually treat them with kindness. Thragg can act indifferent to you at best but one day you realize that you have significantly more privileges as his mate than Nolan's and you march off to Thragg's place of work because maybe the twins wanted you to see where they work with their father and you're brought into Thragg's office and he's as stonefaced as ever while you're like. Surrounded by photos of yourself just all over the place. The one on his desk directly in front of him isn't even one of you smiling, it's you scowling with a glare and looking pissed and apparently that one is his favorite. And Thragg is like not even bothered by you seeing all these photos, and his kids are just completely nonchalant like this is all totally normal, "oh, Father, you had a memorial photo made from where you and Mother visited my school, I like this one--" as if these uh collages have been up for quite some time, some maybe even taken from security cameras from your time with Nolan--

I just picture like. Can you imagine the triplet scenario and you wind up giving Thragg Mark, Ursaal, and Onaan, and you bond more with Mark as a late bloomer and the one who is the most human and his siblings are getting monstrously jealous and Thragg doesn't want his legacy tied to a weak powerless Viltrumite, like this man would rather have Mark be dead than not have powers, and Thragg is trying to force you and Mark apart. Can you even conceive like, being a mom and you walk into the room and your son is being absolutely brutalized by his father who is convinced he is hiding his powers or something and you have to shield your own son from his father before he kills him. Could you EVEN IMAGINE Thragg going to throw Mark off of whatever cyberpunk skyscraper nightmare you're living in because he's convinced the panic will make his boy finally learn how to fly and you have to watch as he just drops your (favorite) child off the building and Mark ... never comes back up. Thragg just sees how absolutely devastated you are and convinces himself it's because you're emotional and weak and just casually, "we can make another" (although I imagine in this scenario Mark was saved by Nolan and the two train and eventually basically spearhead a rebellion against Thragg and his empire and rescue you and restore Earth, but, whatever lmao)

I feel like as a general thing, yandere Thragg would often indulge in and enjoy the fact you couldn't deny him sex, because even if you try to deny him, what are you gonna do, overpower him? So he uses it to assert control over you. You snap at him or mouth off, you're getting railed that night to remind you how powerless you are, that you're still his mate. You two have a nasty fight where you legitimately manage to wound his pride, you're getting fucked near unconscious and you're essentially "grounded" for the next few days if not weeks where you aren't allowed to leave your home (maaaaybe because you've managed to make him insecure that his little mate doesn't like him 👉👈 he can't have anyone else steal you away, not when you're making him feel all these powerful emotions he doesn't even know what to call)

You're not even aware of it but the surveillance systems in your home are being CONSTANTLY tuned into all the time, if not by him, then by his own children who are tasked with watching you. I also feel like having the kids on the mix kind of makes everything kind of grotesque. Like imagine you just wake up and you're going by your business one day and you walk into the room and Thragg has your like 5 year old toddlers gathered around a table with knives and weapons on it and you hear little Mark say, "all these things can hurt Mom?" "They can" "even though they're so soft?" "Only to Viltrumites like us" "Mother is really that... weak?" And you realize Thragg is turning your own children into weapons to use against you, watch you, report back to him, because... your kids aren't like you. They're Viltrumites like him and he'll be damned if you make them 'too soft'

But I imagine a day comes when he's forced to at least semi-confront these feelings. Ursaal and Onaan are dedicated little soldiers to him, but also seem to respect your authority as their mother, something Thragg also sometimes encourages (since your "rank" as their mother earns a certain degree of respect and he's trying to teach them to respect the chain of command, even if you are a soft human). Ursaal and Onaan take a mission to another planet with their father and they return and Onaan has a gift for you, an alien flower he thought you might like, something he took without telling his father, but. He doesn't realize there's something wrong with it, something that wouldnt bother a Viltrumite but would definitely harm a human. The second you touch the plant, the second some of its pollen touches your akin, enters your lungs, you start becoming ill, very, very, very ill.

Thragg is trying to tell himself you're just another mate to him, just another bearer of his many many many children that he has no emotional attachments to, but the second he receives word that you might ACTUALLY BE DYING like genuinely actually fucking dying, there's no hesitation. The next time you open your eyes, you're in a Viltrum-run hospital in a lavish sanitized room receiving ONLY the best of care as Thragg is sitting in a chair beside your bed staring directly at you as if he had been staring at your unconscious body perhaps the entire time you were asleep. There's almost a visible relaxation of his posture as you're able to hold a conversation with him, but, his voice is, lowered but firm as he tells you you have yet to fully recover, that you're in isolation to reduce the risk of foreign pathogens. He feels the need to tell you in detail how severely Onaan was beaten for almost costing you your life, almost as if he's seeking your approval, some sort of forgiveness. You ask him how long he's been sitting there and he just deflects and tells you you're still too weak to hold a conversation and to conserve your strength, that the two of you can speak later.

Once you've recovered, it doesn't even seem like he's that interested in sex anymore, but the notoriously sturdy Viltrumite is suddenly returning home much more often now, if only to hold you as you sleep in the marital bed you share with him....

I guess as one final, final suggestion, I can't get over like. Is there an upper limit on the whole "oh you had Viltrum DNA but it just didn't kick in yet" thing. Could you imagine like, once the Viltrum invasion has begun and you're "acquired" for either Nolan or Thragg or whomever, you're scanned or whatever by Viltrum tech and they're like "oh hey what up, Viltrumite DNA detected? Dope?" And maybe it could even be "weak" like from a grandparent or something but, it inevitably "kicks in" and now you have to confront all the new caveats this brings with you. You're expected to live as a Viltrumite now. Maybe Thragg seems to find you a little less pathetic and personally wants to train you himself because he doesn't want the most publicly visible and famous of his mates to be weak. Also just maybe he's glad he can have rougher sex with you. I can just imagine he's forcing you two to have some sort of spar amd you have some sort of natural aptitude or higher than average strength and you wind up really giving him at least ONE really good fucking punch to the face and he's wrestling you down, pinning you down and forcing a kiss onto you as the blood from his broken nose drips onto both of your faces, like

Yeah, anyways I have normal feelings about this series tee hee 😘

#yandere invincible #yandere thragg #yandere x reader #sinprompts

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phoward89 · 4 days

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Based on this ask

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

Part 1:

You've known Coriolanus Snow and his family ever since you were a little girl. When the war started, you were about 5, and Crassus, Coriolanus' father, helped you, your mother, and your brother get smuggled into the Capitol as a favor to your father, a Colonel who served under him in District 12 while he was a General; the Commander.

Sadly your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, didn't survive the war. Tragically, Coriolanus' mother died during the first bombing strike on Capitol City. She died in the birthing bed, weeks before she was due, because the bombing had triggered off her labor. Coriolanus' little sister died too. Was stillborn.

But since your families knew one another and lived in the same building they huddled together during the war. Your mother wasn't too thrilled about having to receive help from Grandma’am Snow and a seedy neighbor that owned a nightclub, but she dealt with it in order to survive and protect her children: you and your older brother.

General Crassus Snow barely made it out of the war alive. He was nearly killed in the woods outside of 12. But, alas, he survived and returned home to Capitol City, Panem a war hero. He also came back with a heavily lined pocket although District 13 was destroyed and that's where all of his assets, factories, and science labs were located.

Your mother told you and your brother that Crassus was a cold, cunning, calculating man and that she's positive that he somehow brokered a deal to get paid for the loss of his assets.

What nobody knows, except for the higher powers that be of course, is that Crassus still has his factories and labs in District 13. They're nuclear weapons factories and, since 13 went underground as an independent nation via a hush hush backroom midnight deal between the leader of 13 and Panem's President Ravenstill, a deal that went into effect before the Districts surrender and the signing of the Treaty of Treason. Crassus is a black market arms dealer. He sells his nucs to neighboring countries. Countries that include Canada (yes, they never changed their name after the wars and natural disasters that drastically changed the geography of the world) and a small coalition of old world Eastern European countries that survived the rising sea levels that had eradicated some island countries and shoreline countries of old world Europe.

Crassus Snow takes a lot of out of town business trips to broker illegal arms deals between the underground District 13 and the countries that he's constructed alliances with. General Crassus Snow had no loyalties to Panem any more; his only loyalties were to himself and his family. He also had a sliver of a sense of honor when it came to his old comrade’s family and felt the need to watch over your family: the Halvir family.

But after being shot by rebels, left for dead in the woods, and barely being able to survive long enough to trek back to the PK Base D-12’s hospital, General Crassus Snow truly lost faith in the country that he was supposed to serve proudly. But did he ever truly have faith in Panem as a country since he was in the woods, sneaking like a thief in the night, to get to District 13 to check his assets and his alliances there?

Snow lands on top; Crassus was playing both sides of the war to ensure that his family came out winners. And then when his contacts in District 13 told him of the deal between the President and the Commander of 13, well…General Snow's career as an arms dealer was born.

It paid well and kept the Snow family living high off the hog. Crassus also supported your family with his endless money, much to your mother's dismay.

Your mother couldn't stand Crassus, out on a polite face for Grandma'am Snow, felt sorry for Tigris, and cringed with how you and Coriolanus were the best of friends.

And you remained best friends with Coriolanus Snow as the two of you grew up side by side. You always viewed the friendship as platonic, but a teenaged Coriolanus viewed it as more. He developed a crush on you that quickly turned into a dark, possessive obsession.

But Coriolanus was certain that what he felt for you was love.

And when it came to his father, who he was the spitting image of with the same tall, sinewy build, platinum blonde curls, striking icy blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and prominent nose, well…Crassus Snow had an obsession with you as well. But his obsession was rooted in a darker place than his son's.

The esteemed war here General Crassus Snow has a sick obsession with you because you favor your mother. And, well, when Crassus was a young grunt in 12, serving in the Peacekeepers under his father Xanthos who was the Commander of 12 at that time, he fell for your mother, but she didn't reciprocate his feelings. Instead she fell in love with his friend, Javanis Halvir. Thus the reason you and your older brother were born to Colonel Halvir and Mrs. Halvir.

Feeling jilted and betrayed by the object of his affection and obsession not loving him back, Crassus became a cold, cruel, cold, calculating, and cunning man. He put on his charming smile and wooed a young, pretty, naive girl from Capitol City. Demeter: Coriolanus’ mother.

But he never got over your mother, despite her hating him as the years went on. So you looking just like her once you hit your teenage years has Crassus falling down the rabbit hole into dark obsessive head spaces.

So, unknown to you, your platonic relationships with the men in the Snow family are anything, but that in their eyes. And they don't even know that the other has an obsession with you.

You know what they say…like father, like son.

It's mid-May of your senior year at the Academy and you're so ready for the school year to end. You can't wait for graduation and for summer break. You also can't wait for the opportunity to spend your summer break hanging out with your best friend, Coryo.

Coriolanus Snow.

But you call him Coryo. Always have, always will.

But in the meantime you spend your weekends at the Snow penthouse; you also go home with him after school a couple of days during the week- much to your mother's dismay.

And this afternoon’s one of those days where you go home with Coryo after school.

“You're staying for dinner tonight, darling. The cook’s making your absolute favorite and I'd hate for you to miss out on it.” Coryo told you on the elevator ride up to the 12th floor of your Corso building.

The elevator had been broken for a few years, but after General Snow slapped some money at the apartment building association maintenance fixed the elevator and Grandma'am Snow was able to leave the penthouse and go out into the world with the help of a can instead of being kept locked up inside like a recluse.

“I hope you didn't ask the cook to make my favorite meal just to get me to stay for dinner.”

“Of course not. They plan the menu, not me.” Coryo tells you, a lopsided lipped smile on his face.

What neither of you knew was that Coryo's father, Crassus, and told (more so demanded) that the cook make your favorite meal. He knew that you'd be easier to sway to eat dinner with him and his family if the smell of your favorite dish was wafting in the air as you hung out with his son in his room.

And that was something Crassus was going to be putting a stop to. He can't have you spending so much time alone in Coriolanus' bedroom. What if the two of you start to become curious about- things…

Ugh, Crassus can't imagine you with his son. He thinks Coriolanus is a sassy, whinny, bratty, weakling of an heir. Too bad he couldn't toughen that boy up; too bad he's too much like his mother. Has too much good in him, can be easily pushed and pulled by a pretty face and the promise of love.

Crassus would prefer it if Coriolanus was more like him. More cold, more cunning, more calculated, and didn't wear his feelings on his damn sleeves.

Anyways…

The elevator stops and the doors ding open, revealing the hallway of the 12th floor. A floor that was solely inhabited by the mighty Snow family. They had the upper level penthouse that took the entire floor. It was quite impressive. You love it, but your mother hates it.

And talk about your mother…

“I know you want me to stay for dinner, Coryo, but I really shouldn't. My mother's been getting on me lately about how much time I spend up here with you.” You tell the boy with the light golden curls as the two of you exit the elevator.

“Your mother needs to take a chill pill. You're my girl, darling. It's completely normal to be spending all of your free time up here.” Coryo tells you while leading you over to the front door of his penthouse, palm of his hand resting lazily on the small of your back.

“I know, Coryo, but my mother hates that we're besties and she wants me to meet new people.”

“Meet new people?” Coryo scoffed, brows furrowed in disdain, as he opened the door to his place. “There's nobody new in Capitol City our age to meet, darling. Not unless you go to the mission in the slums by the rail station and start introducing yourself to those District immigrants that conned their way into our grand Capitol.” The cerulean eyes boy told you while ushering you into his penthouse and down the entrance hallway.

Coriolanus was personally offended by your mother. How dare she tell you to meet new people? You belong to him. You're his girl.

HIS GIRL!

HIS!

Coriolanus was good at schooling his features, considering he's been doing it his entire life to keep from letting his father know how bad his harsh and hateful words affected him, so you didn't catch onto how upset he was with your mother. No, you thought he was fine. As cool as a cucumber as he led you past the kitchen, where the cook was starting on dinner, and into the main room of the penthouse to acknowledge Grandma’am, who's always sitting in her favorite chair watching her soaps on CapitolTV during this time of the late afternoon.

“Oh, Coriolanus, you're home and I see you brought Y/N over to visit with you.” Grandma'am Snow, who was dressed to the nines in her jeweled turbin, silk tunic, extravagant jeweled brooch, and long strand of pearls. She was the epitome of Old Guard aristocratic lady of fineries and class.

“Yes, Grandma'am I'm home and my darling’s staying for dinner tonight.” Coriolanus smiles at his grandmother.

Coryo silently nudges you forward to give Grandma'am a hug while greeting her. It's something you've done you years and he doesn't want you to stop doing it either since his Grandma’am adores you.

If only Grandma'am could persuade his father that you're a good match for him. The old lady gets it, why can't his father get it? You and Coriolanus belong together; make quite the pair.

But if the platinum haired boy with a halo of curls on his head only knew that he wasn't the only one obsessed and lusting after you- well…

“Good afternoon, Grandma'am. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly, hugging the regal old woman that you've come to love and think of as your own grandmother over the years.

“It's also so good to see you too, my dear.” Grandma'am replies, patting your back as she reciprocates the hug. “Has our Coriolanus asked you to the prom yet?” She inquired, as a way to push you and her grandson together, your hug broke apart.

“Not officially, but we have an understanding that we'll be going together since we go to all of the galas, balls, and dances together.” You tell Grandma’am while returning to Coryo's side.

Coryo’s fiddling with the strap of his satchel, that's currently across his chest, as he awaits Grandma'am’s reply. Or, a lecture aimed at him to properly ask you. A lecture she's been giving him daily since the beginning of the month.

And sure as shit, Coriolanus gets his prom lecture.

Grandma'am looks at her grandson, who's his father's spitting image, and firmly tell him, “Coriolanus, properly ask her. You're a Snow and as a Snow doesn't assume things, but makes them happen.” Cutting her eyes at her only grandchild, she orders in a grandmotherly way, “Now, properly as her as your prom date before somebody else tries to snatch her up from you.”

You felt a bit awkward. Grandma'am’s lecture was something you felt she should've given Coryo in private, not while you're by his side. It wasn't meant for your ears, or at least you don't think it was.

Coriolanus’ lips draw taunt into a tight line as he tells his grandmother, “Yes, Grandma'am.” He half nods at her before turning to you. Giving you a smile that shows too many teeth, like a wolf baring its fangs before its prey, he takes your hands in his and asks, “Y/N, my darling rose, will you do me the honor of going to prom with me?”

It felt more like a marriage proposal than a promposal. Aren't promposals supposed to be fun and exciting with songs, dances, and glittery handmade poster boards? Not so serious. Right?

Right?

You're already going to prom with Coryo, but since you've been out on the spot with a promposal you have to formally accept. All thanks to Grandma'am.

“Of course I'll go to prom with you, Coryo.” You answered your best friend, causing his icy eyes to sparkle with joy.

It all felt so surreal. A bit heavy too. Honestly, it felt like you were agreeing to give your best friend your hand in marriage right in front of his regal grandmother then agreeing to go to prom.

Unknown to you, you accepting Coryo's proposal was, in fact, you agreeing to a future marriage to him in the delusional minds of both Coriolanus and Grandma’am.

Mhm…

You just signed your freedom away by saying yes to prom and you don't even know it, all because you view your relationship as platonic. Too bad the platinum blonde boy with baby blue eyes and his sophisticated grandma view the relationship as something more.

Coryo's father, Crassus, also views your relationship with his son as platonic. But that's for an entirely different reason; one that would make you gasp from shock if you knew.

After making Grandma’am Snow the happiest lady alive in Capitol City by accepting Coryo's proposal, you went to his bedroom to do homework with him. And when your class assignments were done, you two just laid on his bed while listening to music.

It was a new album that Coryo had to get the neighbor, Pluribus Bell, to smuggle to him because Crassus refused to give his son the money for the album. In fact the former General turned Minister of National Security, and black market arms dealer, hates the music you and his son listens to. Crassus is more of a classical music and soft jazz type, so he hates the poetic lyrics and the vibe of the beats of the alternative indie and pop you and Coryo enjoy so much.

The album was on its second playback while you cuddled into Coryo's side. His large, but lanky frame always made you feel so safe. So protected. And, your best friend's lanky, he does have solid muscles under his skin.

Having you tucked into his side while lying on his bed listening to the new album that an artist the both of you loves just dropped is like being in heaven for Coriolanus. Growing up the platinum blonde boy with a head full of soft curls and striking baby blue eyes always had you by his side. You're his one constant. No matter what, you're always there for him.

It's what makes Coryo crave you like Dean Casca Highbottom craves his morphling fix every 15 minutes. You always being there for him, being by his side for better or worse during your childhood friendship, is what caused him to grow obsessively in love with you.

But the problem is, in his delusional mind, Coriolanus thinks that you're in love with him too. All because of how you're always letting him cuddle you, hug you, and touch you. Letting him call you darling while you often call him ‘my Coryo' while talking about him to others also has him thinking that your feelings for him mirrors the ones he has for you.

You and Coryo are talking about small things, silly things really, whenever the bedroom door opens with a loud band followed by the deep bellowing of Crassus Snow. “Why're you two alone in here listening to this trash?”

“She's not a trashy singer, father. She's one of the best.” Coriolanus retorted, causing his imposing and stern father to fill his icy eyes at him. “Y/N and I were doing homework and decided to listen to some music afterwards.” Your best friend added in, to answer his father's stupid question about why you're in his room.

“General Snow, if me being alone in Coryo's room with him gets him in trouble with you then I'm sorry; I'll just go.” You apologized to the Snow patriarch while making to pull away from Coryo and sit up.

But your best friend wouldn't let you leave his side. No. Actually, his hold around you tightened.

And that made Crassus pissed. His sniveling brat of a son didn't deserve you. You deserved a real man to care for you; to guide you on your journey of womanhood.

Crassus felt that he's the Snow for you. The only man that can mold you into the perfect Capitolite lady you're meant to be. And when he successfully gets rid of old President Ravenstill and wins the next presidential election, well, he plans on making you his wife and his First Lady.

Whether you like it or not.

With a devious smirk painting his lips, the middle-aged man with slicked back platinum blonde hair and cold, hard, bitter icy eyes tells you, “Please, call me Crassus. After all, petal, with as much time as you spend here you're practically a part of the family.”

General Snow's remark went right over your head. You just nodded and simply said, “Okay.”

You honestly didn't think anything of it. If General Snow wanted you to call him Crassus because of all the time you spent around his son, Coriolanus, then so be it.

But Coryo knew that his father had just become, as fucked up as it sounds, his romantic rival for you. As soon as he heard him call you petal he knew, oh he just knew, that his father's lusting after you.

Coriolanus is his father's son after all. Despite being told time and time again by Crassus that he's too much like his mother, too soft and eager for affection- for love. But what Crassus didn't grasp was that Coriolanus didn't just have his father's looks, but his dark tendencies for obsession and over ‘loving’ his intended lover.

And the son just knew that his father was head over heels obsessed with you because, in fact, he was too. Coriolanus saw the way his father looked at you, as if you're a piece of meat ready to be carved and served, and it disgusts him. You belong to the younger Snow, not the older one.

Giving Crassus a cutting look with his icy eyes, Coriolanus announced in a smug baritone, “Father, my darling rose is going to prom with me as my date.” And then he twisted the knife in his father's black, soulless heart by adding in the three simple but damning words of, “As my girl.”

Crassus’ face turned to stone. Of course, you'd agree to go to prom with Coriolanus. The former general's seething with jealousy. He wants you, why does his son get to take you to prom? Ugh, why can't you just go to prom with a group of girls? Go stag, like single girls do. But no…

NO!

You just have to go to prom with Coriolanus. And as his girl too!

Crassus' blood is boiling in his veins. Hearing Coriolanus reveal that he’s made you his girl and is taking you to prom makes him want to tear his son apart limb by limb.

Well, he needs to nip that in the bud.

Perhaps he'll talk to his old, estranged friend Dean Casca Highbottom about being a chaperone at the prom. That way he can keep an eye on you, socialize with you, and keep you from spending the night dancing with his son.

Dancing at prom can lead to other things in hotel rooms after prom. Things that Crassus certainly doesn't want you doing with Coriolanus.

Although Crassus is having an internal meltdown, his appearance stays stern and calm. “I'll make sure your mother has enough money to take you dress shopping.” The middle-aged platinum blonde man assured you.

Cocking his head to the side, Crassus flashes you a savvy smile before looking at his son and giving him a look that rivaled that of Medusa herself. “This door stays open while you two are in here. Only one of you can be on the bed and the other must be at the desk.” Crassus instructed in a stern, authoritarian baritone. “And turn off this music. It's giving me a headache.” He adds in an ordering snap before pivoting on his heel and matching off.

Shaking his head, Coriolanus darkly chuckled, “My father's so pathetic. Having a crush on you.”

“He doesn't have a crush on me, Coryo.” You’re quick to tell your beat friend, writing off his remark as you break your contact with him by sitting up. “He's your father and he's old enough to be mine.” You remind Coryo while making to get off the bed.

Coryo stops you by reaching out and wrapping his hand around your arm. “Just stay on the bed with me. Father’ll never know.” He tells you as you look at him, worrying your lip. But after a few moments, you slowly nod your head and take up your spot nestled into his side once again. “And trust me, from the way he was looking at you, my father likes you.”

“I don't think he does, but if you say so…” You sigh, letting your sentence hang in the air.

But Coryo's right, his father does like you. He likes you a little too much. Just like how his son, your best friend, likes you a little too much.

The million dollar ticket is who’ll snag you up and make you theirs? That's a question only the ancient gods of old know and they're not sharing the answer until the time's right. But until then, father and son will be competing for your heart. A heart that you can only give to one Snow.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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lovelypham · 16 days

Text

JUST ONE 10 MINUTES

prompt: you wear ni-ki's jersey for a performance of lee hyori's '10 minutes' after your relationship with him was confirmed pairing:NI-KI x idol!fem-reader genre:fluff wc:400+

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Your relationship with Riki was revealed not too long ago, and you being a member of a fairly new debuted group that was under HYBE lead to the immense demand from fans of both respective groups for a confirmation or atleast a reply from the company

after the fire had died down you decided to ignite it yet again by pulling a rather bold move at one of your special group performances

you and your group have been practicing non-stop for your comeback and you guys made sure that everything was perfect and ready for when you had to perform

what fans didn't know was that beside the usual promotion of your title track and b-side you were also going to perform a remixed version of lee Hyori's '10 minutes'

fans of your group noticed certain spoilers in different lives of you and your fellow members taking about lee Hyori's success and how you all grew up listening to her still trending songs

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when it was the day of the special performance which was also the last day of your promotions you had texted Riki and asked if you could borrow his number "51" jersey

Riki obviously agreed without a question but was rather suspicious when you didn't answer his question of "what do you need it for?" you remained still with your plan and decided it would be best if you don't tell him what you're planning

✿༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻✿

even though your heart was racing due to the previous rumors that caused a blast on the internet from both your fans and Riki's,you still chose to quickly change your shirt before you went out to the spacious stage inkigayo had to offer.

Luck seemed to be on your side that day since your stylist had dressed you up with a semi matching white frilly skirt with silver jewelry adoring your hands and neck,as well as blue sparkly eyeshadow that perfectly matched the pop color of the jersey

your members kept your secret and decided to not tell any of your stylists or managers 'cause all of you knew that you'd get in trouble easily and that is a result of your impulsive actions

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your performance began and with a heavy heart you flawlessly did the intro part but the catch was that fans were yet to see the back of your shirt and when you turned around,showing off Riki's name and number,you could only hear screams from both women and men watching your stage and your doubts quickly disappeared after you heard the unexpected reactions you managed to pull out from fans

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after you finished and headed towards the backstage you could see the angry gaze of your personal manager who was then reassured by your stylist that nothing would happen to you or your group as long as you don't pull another act like that.

bonus.ೃ࿐

when Riki received a weverse notification indicating that his girlfriend had posted,he didn't expect to see a mirror picture of your back with your face looking towards the mirror and a wink adoring your features while showing off his very own jersey with the caption "hope you enjoyed today's performance!!😗"

༻💿

this was really bad I'm sorry😭😭 but I was heavily inspired by the new pictures Ni-ki posted on weverse of him in his jersey at the dodgers match(?i think)

-I gladly take constructive criticism but without any hate as this is all fictional and not meant to represent any characters mentioned💗

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 2 months

Text

The Scent of Missing Buttons

Astarion centred || implied Astarion x gn!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M ; +18Word Count: +2.9k Warnings: prostitution, sex work, sex trafficking, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, no graphic description of sex act

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question.

a/n: phew, that was hard to write. Don't forget to hug your vampire boyfriend today.

Neither the loud human nor the scrawny half-elf sitting on each side of Astarion cared about how witty or charming he was. All he had to do was sit still and smile while he endured the dirt-stained fingers messing up his carefully coiffed curls. The sweaty hand resting heavily upon his knee. The stench of days-old sweat radiating from their bodies.

Astarion gave the gawking half-elf a crooked smirk for no other reason than to loosen the building tension in his jaw.

His marks usually came to him, and that night had been no different.

Astarion had noticed the couple looking over at him from the bar ever so often, giving him toothless grins while he’d pretended to sip on the cheap ale the tavern was pouring out en masse.

Admittedly, the unkempt couple wouldn’t have been his first choice of company, but the night had been approaching eerily fast and Astarion could seldom afford to be picky.

And so he’d met the couple’s shamelessly lewd looks through heavy-lidded eyes, giving them an inviting smile in return.

It had taken them embarrassingly long to stumble over to his table, greeting Astarion with the stink of alcohol on their breaths. They must’ve started their night out drinking well before sunset—Astarion rather hoped to get it over with them fast.

Maybe they were already drunk enough to skip business and just follow him back to the master, he mused as the half-elf’s uncoordinated hand tried and failed to locate his groin.

But then the human let go of his hair; Astarion could feel her sour breath tickle his ear and knew they wouldn’t let him get off the hook that easily.

He tried to subtly lean away from the human, but she was already dragging her coated tongue along his elongated helix.

Astarion shuddered in disgust.

“So much more sensitive than his,” the human panted. Her stupid delight was evident on her face as she indicated the half-elf who was barely an inch short of crawling onto Astarion’s lap.

“You’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen,” she continued, mistaking Astarion’s visible disgust for arousal. Or maybe she was just ignoring his displeasure.

“We want you.”

All too easily, Astarion forced his well-constructed mask back over his features.

Grinning, his fingers curled around the human’s bony wrist as he stood, pulling her with him.

“Wonderful, because I know a place where you can indulge in me all night long,” Astarion purred. “Somewhere quiet—just for the three of us…”

The human giggled, though her partner eyed him with a slight hint of contempt.

“Our bed will do, filliken,” the half-elf mumbled as he manoeuvred himself off the bench they’d abandoned him on.

Astarion tensed.

Whore…

Even this piss-drunk mutt had taken only one look at him and known him for what he was.

Astarion had half the mind to bare his fangs, rip out the bastard’s throat. Decorate the dingy tavern with his innards. Paint the walls red.

The human would come next. He would tear off her little ears and shove them down her stinking maw and, maybe, if he was lucky for once, some of the patrons were emboldened enough to drive a stake through his dead heart.

From a distance, Astarion could hear the clock tower strike thrice and the master’s voice came to his mind.

Do not disappoint me again, boy…

The vampire spawn wet his lips, swallowed down his anger and lust for blood until they mingled with the soaring hunger in the pits of his stomach.

A moment passed.

Astarion smiled.

“Lead the way, then, darling.”

The couple brought him to a cramped attic room right across the street.

Dark mould grew on scratched windowpanes and it smelled as if the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied that morning.

Somewhere inside the walls, Astarion could sense a small colony of rodents scurrying to and fro.

He tried to focus on the erratic symphony of their heartbeats as he eyed the colourful range of fluids staining the sheets of an unmade bed.

It would be over soon—at least for that night.

Astarion would deliver these two fools to the master in no time. Maybe he would even get a little treat for a job well done—a fat rat, or even a small dog, if he was being very good.

And then he would rest in the shadows. Close his eyes to the buzzing city above, imagine the sun caressing his skin as it tenderly reduced him to ashes.

The attic door slammed shut behind the human.

Astarion knew he would never feel the sun on his skin again, not even for the short moments between pain and salvation, because as much as he was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

He stood still as greedy hands began tugging at his clothes.

The human giggled stupidly as her cross-eyed partner tried to undo the brass buttons on Astarion’s doublet. It was a rather pathetic sight, and before Astarion could assist him, the cursed half-elf ripped the doublet open.

A curse ready on his lips, Astarion watched as his buttons went flying across the room.

He doubted the master would afford him new ones any time soon; worse yet, he surely would be chastised for being so careless with his clothes again!

Fuming inside, Astarion pushed the half-elf onto the bed and sank to the dirty floor where he crawled around to collect the buttons closest to him.

“What a cute little pup,” the human laughed right above him.

Her hand clawed at his locks again, and Astarion could feel humiliation merge with the seething mix of anger and hunger and hatred and disgust and—

Astarion pocketed whatever buttons he could retrieve, then rose to his full height.

The human’s hand fell away and her laughter stopped as Astarion crowded her against the rickety bed frame.

She looked up at Astarion with round eyes. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of her booze-clouded tiny little brain, she recognised the danger she’d invited into her greasy bed.

Astarion ran his knuckles along her jaw before his fingers curled tightly around her chin. She shivered.

“Why don’t you two cosy up and just watch for a moment?” Astarion purred. “You like a good show, don’t you?”

“We like so much more than that,” she breathed, her eyes glassy with arousal instead of fear.

Astarion almost scoffed. Stupid bitch.

“So much more you shall have.”

The human ran her calloused fingers over Astarion’s lean forearm before she eagerly joined her partner on their bed.

The couple took in every part of his body as he undressed himself.

They liked that he took his time because they didn’t know that, with every article of clothing that fell away, Astarion imagined ripping them limb from limb.

A finger here. A foot there. The eyes that had seen entirely too much…

Oh, how he hoped the master would make them suffer later.

Allowing himself an honest smile, Astarion tossed his smallclothes atop the rest of his clothes and crawled onto the bed.

The doomed couple groped him roughly, drew their sharp fingernails across his skin. Used him.

But that was quite alright; their night would end so much worse than Astarion’s.

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him.

His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him.

Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question.

Neither the wicked human nor the crude half-elf laying on each side of him cared that his well-timed groans were purely performative, that their touch made his skin crawl. All he had to do was please them, lure them away to their death.

All he had to do was survive another night. Another year. Another century of nothing but pure shit.

How he wished it would end. Time was running out.

Don’t you dare disappoint me again, you useless dirty thing…

The half-elf came first, then the human. It had taken them long enough.

Astarion was quick to pull his shirt back over his head as the human watched him intently—he was sure she wanted another round. Good. This only ever played right into Astarion’s cards.

The half-elf was a problem, though. He’d passed out the moment the last of his spend had added another stain to the nasty bedsheets.

Astarion barely refrained from rolling his eyes; they would have to wake him, and that soon. They had places to be and daybreak was approaching fast.

Astarion gave the human a crooked smile as he put on his breeches.

“You’re very skilled, handsome,” the human said, taking the bait.

“Likewise, darling.”

She returned his smile as she untangled herself from the bedsheets and sat on the corner of the bed, never letting him out of her sight.

Astarion slipped into his doublet. So far, he hadn’t spotted another missing button.

“Why don’t we repeat that—there’s a place I’m dying to show you. If we leave now, I promise you it will be unforgettable…”

The human’s smile widened.

“No.”

No?

Astarion wet his lips.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.

No.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t ever happened before. But because it had happened before, Astarion’s hands began to tremble ever so slightly.

No meant trouble.

No meant failure.

No meant punishment.

“You see, we don’t fuck the same thing twice,” the human said, that arrogant grin still plastered across her hideous face.

And then she tossed Astarion some coins—laughably few coins at that. They wouldn’t even buy him some cheap ale from across the street.

Astarion was too stunned to catch the coins. They rolled around his feet before they dropped to the floor with a final mocking clink.

He stared at the dirty change, even spotted one or two of his lost buttons among them.

“Pick them up.”

Astarion’s eyes met the human’s, who licked her lips.

She wanted him to crawl again. Like a dog. Like trash. Like the rat in a cage that he was.

Astarion turned and fled from the attic room. There was nowhere to go, though; the city’s dirty streets only lead to one end.

The clock tower struck five times. Far in the distance, the sky turned indigo.

There was no time to find another victim, Astarion knew, as he prowled the shadows.

But he couldn’t return empty-handed, either.

Astarion considered dragging some passed-out drunk from the next alleyway back to the master. It wasn’t too bad a plan, wasn’t it?

But the master liked his playthings sharp. He wanted them to be aware of what he did to them. He so delighted in their screams.

And if those poor fools couldn’t scream, Astarion’s screams would have to make do instead.

In fact, they were the master’s favourite.

Come to me, boy.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Astarion should’ve gone down on all fours and crawled at that bitch’s feet; begged her to come with him.

He was a fool. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved any punishment the master deemed fit.

He couldn’t do anything right.

Astarion shot another look over his shoulder, fearing to see the sky having changed colours again.

But instead of being painted with dawn, the sky… tore open?

People started to scream. They ran from the flying ship that had appeared out of nowhere. Its tentacles chased after them, picking them off the streets one after another.

Astarion should join the fleeing drunks and alley cats, he thought.

But, really, what could be worse than what was waiting for him at the master’s feet?

Astarion stood still; he could be very good at that.

And unlike the master’s punishment—unlike the nightly humiliation that was his cursed existence—it was over in one blissful moment.

Neither the annoying wizard nor the nosy cleric sitting on the opposite side of the dying campfire cared that they were interrupting Astarion in his plan of bedding you. That night, he’d already endured yet another long-winded retelling of the young warlock’s heroic feats. Listened to the prickly warrior loudly sharpening her blade. Suppressed a laugh at the fiery tiefling’s silly joke.

He wanted to be alone with you. Look at that cute little smile that had only needed one glass of watered-down wine in order to grow this wide. Subtly close the empty space between you and him sitting side by side on a smooth wooden log.

He wanted to breathe in the herbal fragrance of your soap without anybody watching.

The first thing Astarion had ever noticed about you was that, even covered in the blood and grime of your enemies, you smelled nice.

It had taken him days to figure out that the pleasant scent surrounding you didn’t emit from your washed hair or reasonably clean clothes. Once Astarion’s raging hunger had been sated enough, he’d even understood that it wasn’t your delectable blood that made his head spin.

No, your subtle yet unique scent simply lingered as naturally on your skin as the sunlight did on Astarion’s face these days.

It was just you that smelled good, and it slowly drove him mad.

Astarion’s plan was simple enough. All he had to do was please you, weasel himself into your bed and good graces. Only then was he as safe from the master as he could possibly be out here in the wilderness.

But you just had to make this difficult; you didn’t fall for his charm and flirtations. Instead of swooning, you just frowned at him whenever he tried to seduce you—and gods was he trying. And failing.

If he were to lean over and bluntly propose sex to you right then, he was sure you would reject him. The very idea of both excited and terrified him at once.

The wizard and the cleric only excused themselves when the sun’s first golden fingers started to part the night sky.

Astarion watched them vanish into their respective tents, finally leaving you alone with him.

He stole a glance at you and found you already looking at him.

Maybe this was his chance. Astarion couldn’t afford wasting another night, not when the master was breathing down his neck at any given time.

“And what are we two pretty things going to do with the rest of the night, darling?”

You scoffed. “Night? It’s almost morning.”

“Ah, you’re quite right, of course. With the right company, one can lose track of time so easily, no?”

“Indeed,” you yawned. “Now let’s get some rest, Astarion. We have a long day ahead.”

Astarion wet his lips.

Shit.

What was wrong with you?

What was wrong with him?

If he couldn’t even get his stupid little plan right, then maybe he deserved his master’s wrath.

Astarion picked up a crooked branch and poked around the fading embers.

If you didn’t want his body, then what use did you have of him? He was just some idiot. A whore nobody wanted to fuck. He was—

“Oh!” You exclaimed, suddenly. “I forgot!”

Astarion, trying to not let his growing desperation show on his face, watched as you excitedly produced something from your pocket.

You scooted closer to him; your knee brushed against his thigh and your smile grew as you looked up at him. Instinctively, Astarion breathed in your scent.

Then you opened your hand, revealing thirteen buttons.

The rising sun reflected prettily on their golden surface.

Astarion tensed.

“What’s that?”

Your cheeks reddened, looking as if you’d just scrubbed them clean down by the river.

“Your doublet—it doesn’t close properly, doesn’t it? So I thought, well…buttons.”

When Astarion neither reached for the buttons nor said anything, you slowly let your hand sink.

“I could sew them on for you,” you offered sheepishly. “I’m sure they’ll look very nice on you.”

Throwing his now broken stick aside, Astarion rose to his full height.

“I don’t want them. Go to bed. We have a long day ahead,” he said courtly before he all but fled to his tent.

The sun burned on Astarion’s skin but didn’t reduce him to ashes. He never was afforded any luck.

He watched you walk far ahead of him, leading your companions through the woods. This far back, he could barely catch your lovely scent.

Not for the first time that day did he wonder what those buttons you’d offered him would’ve cost him.

Wouldn’t any price have been worth it?

Astarion had been a fool again.

He should’ve just thanked you, watched your quick little fingers close the chasm in his chest with nothing but some thread and pretty buttons. After that, he should’ve pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Take you into his arms.

That’s what he wanted to do, if he was being honest.

But he hadn’t done any of this. His doublet was still shoved to the very bottom of his pack and he hadn’t looked you in the eyes all day.

Because as much as Astarion was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

That was all to him there was.

The vampire spawn looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see much of what lay behind.

The golden sun was too bright in his eyes.

As usual, all he could do, though, was endure.

Tag List

@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #gn reader #astarion x you #gn tav #astarion x reader #hurt/angst #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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catsrsupersonic · 1 month

Text

fight, and make up

Quinn Hughes x reader

warnings: cussing, angst? kind of?, happy ending, mention of alcohol, ending kind of horrible cause i didnt know how to end it lolz, too long *sigh*

word count: 1.4k ish

Be kind! Constructive criticism is always welcome! Wage peace xx

*****

Person B gets locked out of their house while their roommate is gone, so they spend the night at Person A's place.

“Are you fucking kidding me Alyssa?” you groaned, stood outside the door to the terrace house you shared with your roommate in Vancouver. It was raining extremely heavily, and your work clothes were drenched. Because you had just moved to the city you barely knew anyone. One of your friends from college was looking for a new roommate and you took the plunge and moved from New York to Vancouver just under two months ago. You had tried your best to make some friends, been to a multitude or bars, but trying to make friends as an adult is so much harder than it was when you were a kid. On top of this, you and your boyfriend Quinn had fought the day before and neither of you had spoken to the other since. That’s why, when your key broke two days ago and your roommate, Alyssa, forgot to leave her spare before leaving for a four-day work trip, you were where you were now. Stranded. Cold. Wet. All with no where to go because you didn’t know anyone, and you were mad at your boyfriend.

You stood for a few minutes contemplating your options. Since you always had extra makeup and a clean set of clothes in your car, you could sleep uncomfortably in your car and be sore at work tomorrow. You could also just bite the bullet and apologise to your boyfriend for freaking out on him the day before. In your own defence, he was allowing a random girl who worked at the rink to text him daily. She was clearly flirting with him, even going as far to ask him out for dinner. And even though your boyfriend never entertained her flirtatious comments and only responded politely, it had really irked you that he was replying at all and didn’t shut her down the second she started flirting. What pushed you over the edge when you brought it up was the double standards and hypocrisy when he asked what the big deal was. You knew for a fact that if this was the other way around, he would get so mad so fast and demand you block and remove whoever it was that was texting you. Then all hell broke loose.

Nasty names were called, and shouting continued for nearly ten minutes until you had finally had enough and stormed out of his apartment forgetting your only coat and your favourite lip gloss. You made a b-line to the carpark and only when you were sat in your car did you allow yourself to start crying. You were embarrassed at yourself for being insecure when your boyfriend had never ever given you reason to be, but you were also angry at him for not understanding why you were upset at him. you heard the door to the carpark open and through blurry eyes filled with tears you saw your boyfriend begin to approach your car. Still in an angry frenzy, you quickly pulled out of the parking spot and sped off, not giving him the time of day. Again, you hadn’t spoken since.

You in the end just decided to dry off in your car and head to your favourite bar for a bit to cool off after work and hopefully get tipsy enough to be able to sleep in your car semi comfortably.

After walking through the doors into the loud bar, it wasn’t as busy as usual, it being a Thursday and all, so you manage to snag a seat at the bar. You ordered one drink and just sat watching the game on the TV as you felt someone sit beside you. You looked to your left to see one of your boyfriends’ teammates who you had spoken to a few times. You got into a conversation about the season so far and every mention of your boyfriend made you want his comfort more and more.

Noticing your solemn expression, the teammate asked you, “Where’s Quinn tonight, anyway?” the question made you sigh because you too wanted to know what your beautiful boyfriend was doing at the current minute.

“I don’t know.” You answered truthfully, “we had a fight yesterday and he hasn’t texted me since. It was pretty nasty.” He gave you a sympathetic smile before excusing himself to the bathroom. You ordered you both another drink as you waited for him to come back.

He arrived back to his seat with a slight smirk on his face and when you asked him what he was smirking at he brushed you off and chuckled lightly to himself. The conversation began to flow again, and you noticed him keep looking at the entrance. Then, his gaze fixed solely on the door as a huge grin plastered over his face. He pointed to the door, and you followed where he was looking to see your tired, slightly dishevelled boyfriend scanning the bar for something, or someone for that matter.

As his gaze locked with yours, you looked back to his teammate who was sporting a smug grin. “Snake.” You narrowed your eyes at him as he laughed at your remark. He gave the bar staff enough cash to pay for the drinks you had both had and before you could protest his paying, he was at the door, saluting you on his way out.

The seat next to you was occupied once more with a worried looking boyfriend who scanned your features as you stared into his eyes. There were a few moments of silence where you were both just looking at each other before he decided to finally speak up. “I’m sorry, baby” he admitted. You sighed and looked into your nearly empty drink, swirling the ice about with your straw. He grabbed your hand lightly and brought it to his mouth placing a tender kiss to the tips of your fingers before continuing. “I shut her down like you asked. Then I removed her and asked for her to be moved to another department, so I never have to see her, on or off the ice.” He used his spare hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear and after a few beats of silence he spoke up again. “Why didn’t you call me when you had no where to stay? What were you gonna do, hm? Sleep in your car?”

This caused you head to snap towards him as you looked at him with a shocked expression. How did he know that? Then before you could open your mouth and ask, he spoke once again, as if reading your mind. “Alyssa called me. But that shouldn’t have been the case. I always want you to call me when you need help, baby. I’m always here for you, just you. always.”

You leaned into him to give him a sweet kiss on his lips. “Thank you” you whispered into the kiss as his placed his hands on your hips, drawing you into an embrace.

He led you out to his car, claiming he would bring you tomorrow to get yours. The drive home was quiet. Quinns hand on your thigh was sending you to sleep and the soft hum of the engine was all that could be heard.

“I forgive you, you know.” You speak up as he quickly glanced over to you, “I shouldn’t have flipped out on you like that. You’ve never given me a reason to be insecure in this relationship. I don’t know why I reacted like that,” you said as you looked ahead, suddenly embarrassed again and crossing your arms over your torso.

“You had every right to be mad, baby. I was up all night angry at myself for letting you walk away and not shutting that girl down straight away like I should have. You were right, and you were entitled to feel insecure, but I need you to know that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

You nodded. Deep down you knew that, but past experiences left a small voice in the back of your mind telling you different. There was more silence as he pulled into the carpark of his building. You both made your way through to the lobby and the elevator. On the way up to his level, he pulled you into a kiss and whispered a small ‘I love you’ as he led you into his apartment.

****

hope you enjoyed! Just realising I made her sound like she was homeless at the end lmao

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #boyfriend #he is so babygirl

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bruhstation · 3 months

Note

Wait a sec, so if Hiro was a time traveler who fast forward through 100 years did he leave anyone behind in the past like say.. a wife or maybe a child?

Did Hiro have any family ?

hiro does, sadly. his family never knew what happened to him despite the outrage his disappearance sparked in japan, and hiro in casa tidmouth didn’t know how the entirety of his nuclear family got destroyed by one of japan’s greatest natural catasthropes.

hiro’s wife and children (except satoko) were eventually wiped out the Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923, but he does have descendants of his own that he managed to meet after the events of casa tidmouth’s Hero of the Rails arc.

(more info about them under the cut)

THE YEAR IS 1894.

Hiro Hideki

秀紀弘 Hideki Hiro

Age: 57 (before transportation, canon Casa Tidmouth is 62)

The patriarch of the Hideki family. Wise, calm, level headed, but has a tendency to overwork himself and put others before himself. He has a mindset of finishing his work first before rewarding himself with the most basic necessities such as eating or going to the bathroom which exasperated Kamome.

Hiro originated from 1894, the Meiji era. Before he was transported to 1994, he’s a civil engineer and railway inspector that was heavily involved during the modernization and westernization of Japan and oversaw the construction of the Tokyo to Yokohama railway in 1872 and its subsequent expansion to Kozu in the following years.

In an attempt to further the connections with the United Kingdom and as part of a collaboration to improvise their engines and railways, the Emperor formed a research group and sent them to England and its surrounding islands – one of them being the Island of Sodor, infamous for its rumored supernatural influence and cases of outsiders going missing (not a great idea, Emperor). Hiro was sent there alongside his colleagues and seniors and the next thing he knew… his environment was alien, his clothes were tattered, he cannot remember anything, and he’s all alone in a steep siding.

Kamome Hideki

秀紀鴎 Hideki Kamome

Age: 54 (83 at death)

Hiro’s wife. Their marriage was arranged by their parents but Hiro fell in love with her at first sight. While Hiro speaks gently and avoids unnecessary conflict, Kamome is blunt and goes straight to the point when talking. She was constantly seen wearing a tasuki sash and was well-toned for her age. The neighbors and family’s acquaintances see her as a scary woman with a sharp tongue and even sharper eyes, but… that’s just how her face is. Kamome doesn’t take compliments well and instead of smiling, she usually purses her lips or scrunch her eyebrows to express her happiness (Hiro thinks it’s cute).

During the early years of Hiro’s disappearance, Kamome put on a strong facade for their children. She didn’t have much financial worries because their children already had jobs. Hirokazu’s and Akira’s families visit from time to time, and Kamome quickly came into terms with Hiro’s disappearance, but the loneliness and frustration inside her heart still well.

I took her given name from the limited express train service that JR Kyushu operated, Kamome. Her name also means “seagull”.

Hirokazu Hideki

秀紀弘和 Hideki Hirokazu

Age: 34 (63 at death)

Hiro’s eldest son. He was named after his father. Hirokazu was a serious, rigid man — always bent on following every rule there in his line of work and wouldn't hesitate to reprimand people for messing up. He liked expressing his thoughts (usually related to Japanese politics) without sugarcoating anything and got a knack for debating with his peers, so he’s often exhausted with his father who’s always calm and open to anything Hirokazu says without refuting much of his opinions. Despite being polar opposites, Hirokazu greatly respected and adored Hiro — hence why he followed in his footsteps to become a civil engineer.

Ever since Hiro disappeared, everytime Kamome looked at Hirokazu she felt like he resembled Hiro more and more. Hirokazu’s responsibility in taking care of his family (especially his elderly mother) grew stronger and his need to live up to his father’s legacy eats away at him.

Akira Hideki

秀紀明 Hideki Akira

Age: 31 (60 at death)

A shy, stoic woman whose social battery drains quickly. She’s soft spoken and doesn’t talk much because of her social anxiety, so he enjoyed conversations with her gentle father more. Akira is also kinda awkward at socializing — behind her neutral face, she’s constantly nervous when faced with a crowd or an unexpected acquaintance of either his father or mother who wanted to chat with her, something she’s extremely self conscious about (Hiro told her she’s fine the way she is). When she succeeded in a conversation, however, she got all fired up and overly proud of herself Akira married a wealthy textile businessman who’s been seeing her for a while and is incredibly smitten with her.

After Hiro went missing, Akira’s husband, mother, and siblings often find her wandering around the train station, sitting solemnly or even asking railwaymen and random passersby if they’ve seen her father. She wasn’t doing mentally well, but luckily her family was there for her.

Masaharu Hideki

秀紀雅治 Hideki Masaharu

Age: 24 (53 at death)

A student from the Tokyo Imperial University. He studies medicine and was an apprentice of his professor at a hospital in Tokyo. He’s timid, always stressed out, and have trouble standing up for himself, especially against his professor who always reprimand him for even the smallest things such as being late to a conference or being too slow to hand him an operating tool. Masaharu was also a mama’s boy. Kamome fusses over him and always tells him to eat more. Hiro too, but he’s not the most stern.

His professor used his connections to help Masaharu look for his father. Rescue teams, fellow colleagues from Europe, even autopsy labs and funeral homes — he looked everywhere, yet he and Masaharu are stumped. Masaharu felt so useless and even considered dropping out, but Kamome and Hirokazu dragged him back to reality, which made Masaharu end up crying.

Hisae Hideki

秀紀久愛 Hideki Hisae

Age: 21 (50 at death)

Spunky, stubborn, and always up-to-date. She is IN LOVE with western fashion and a HUGE francophile. She’s a tad spoiled and always asks Hiro for some money whenever new clothes hit the market. Hisae likes dressing up her younger sister Satoko in various clothes she made or bought. She also worked at Irohanayama’s tea house because government officials and their wives always visit in their western attire. She’s also good at talking with people and pleasing upper-crusts. She dreamed of visiting France someday, though this is mostly because of the rose-tinted glasses she has for Europe.

After Hiro went missing, Hisae spent most of her days moping, not wanting to eat or leave her room until Hirokazu and Satoko convinced her to. One day, she suddenly stopped holing herself up in her room, quit her tea house job, and planned on opening her own clothes shop.

Satoko Hideki

秀紀聡子 Hideki Satoko

Age: 17 (46 during Great Kanto Earthquake)

Being the youngest and most obedient, Kamome frequently asked her to go out to town to run errands. Generally a quiet person, though she always butt heads with her more hotheaded sister Hisae. Most of her clothes during her late teenage years are hand-me-downs from her. She didn’t really have any notable abilities or talents, but she likes collecting hairpins and combs.

In 1923, Satoko survived the Great Kanto Earthquake because she lived at her husband’s hometown far from Tokyo, making her the only living member of Hiro’s nuclear family (some grandchildren from the Hideki family survived but that’s another story. It’ll make this tree longer)

She is Kenji and Kana’s great grandmother.

———

THE YEAR IS 1999.

Kenji and Kana met Hiro during their visit to the Great Kanto Earthquake Memorial Museum. When Kana was taking pictures of the memorial hall for her school assignments, Kana spotted Hiro staring at the list of names. Kenji went to the bathroom for a second, and Kana saw Hiro sitting alone on the bench. Kana sat beside him and sparked a conversation, leading to them eventually becoming friends. Kenji joined them shortly after, and they parted ways soon after it got dark and Kana urged Kenji to take her home so she can print her photos. Hiro bid them farewell, looking wistful but also satisfied with himself.

Neither of them knew that they’re Hiro’s great great grandchildren… until much, much, later.

Kenji Shirogane

白鐘健二 Shirogane Kenji

Age: 22

Lives in Shinjuku, Tokyo, with his younger sister, Kana. Ever since their parents went abroad for work-related purposes, Kenji has been acting as a guardian for his sister. He studies biomed at Tokyo University in Bunkyou. He goes there via the Yamanote line.

Kenji’s great at cooking and Kana only likes his curry rice because he doesn’t put any “weird” vegetables in it. He likes Japanese variety shows like Takeshi’s Castle and Gaki no Tsukai.

Kana Shirogane

白鐘華菜 Shirogane Kana

Age: 16

Lives in Shinjuku, Tokyo, with her older brother, Kenji. Second year in high school. She’s in the sports club at her school and is a star for the girls’ running team. A cheerful and hyperactive girl, Kana is rather mischievous and can put on crocodile tears whenever Kenji doesn’t allow her to do something. She frequently gets into trouble at school because of her purple inner dye and grommet belt.

Kana is also quite foul-mouthed and has little respect towards most adults that boss her around, labeling her as a problem child at school. Kenji’s fond of her, but he also describes her as “disrespectful towards older folks”. She would also pull on his nose whenever she’s hungry in the middle of the night and saw Kenji sleeping by the couch to wake him up. However, she truly cares about her family and loves her older brother. Kana’s just a kid being a kid.

#asks #isjssjsjshuuuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyyyyy #ttte hiro #ttte kenji #ttte kana #kamome (oc)#hirokazu (oc)#akira (oc)#masaharu (oc)#hisae (oc)#satoko (oc)#casa tidmouth #casa tidmouth act 2 #senjart #(insert spencer whispering into hiro’s ear about how nobody is waiting for him in japan)

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misguidedasgardian · 10 months

Text

Storm's End

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, mention's of children maiming, mentions of virginity loss and blood. READER MIGHT BE DEAD, OR MAYBE DEPENDS, COMPLETELY UP TO YOU, dragon's death though :(

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.5 k

Notes: I know this has been done before, but… this is my way to look at it. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra, she sends you to Storm’s End instead of Luke, and this is what ensues

You know you should have turned back the moment your dragon took flight away from Dragonstone.

There was something in the air

Grandmother Rhaenys, and your dear brothers flying by your side soothed you, made you remember you were not alone, but they soon parted way with you, Jace went North, as did Lucerys, Rhaenys went west, and you continued south

Towards Storm’s End

Those stormy clouds in the horizon must have been your first dark omen, but you didn’t pay attention to them, or to anything else really

Your mind was set

You had begged your mother to let you helped her, so she send you to the closest place, a short fly, a message delivered, and then you could return.

But what were you going to say?

you wanted to believe your mother’s words, that Lord Borros was going to be honored to receive you there, you were a young princess, no real threat, only a messenger, he was going to respect you, you were going to say your piece, and then you were going to take his answer back to your mother, as easy as that.

You held tightly onto your dragon’s reins as you flew amidst a cloud with rain within, getting you drenched within second

Karnax, under you, roared softly, feeling your uneasiness, trying to make you feel safer, and you did.

It was not relief what you felt when you saw the tall tower of Storm’s End in the horizon, it actually felt like your stomach had turned on itself, but that is the second sign you decided to ignore

Karnax was small, bigger than Arrax and a bit than Vermax, but he was still small enough to land in the outer courtyard, and you did

Your saddle was wet, and you slid right off of it, landing heavily with your boots in the ground.

You jumped when the light of a thunder brightened the sky for just a second, and then moments later the thunderous sound made the floor shake.

Karnax whined when you touched him, trying to soothe him, he was nervous, and soon you learnt why

Another, even louder, more monstrous sound made you flinch, and when you looked over the huge defensive walls of the castle, there she was. Vhagar raised her head, dwarfing the constructions covering her, growling as a warning.

She was indeed the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world

And she was here

That means that Aemond was also

Probably doing the same thing as you, trying to rally Lord Borros to his cause, to his side

To the Usurpers

The prospect of seeing your uncle made you tremble in fear, you had always been afraid of him, ever since he lost his eye, even more so after the last time you saw him

You have eavesdropped a conversation in which he had asked for your hand in marriage and Rhaenyra had crudely rejected him, he did not reacted well

It did not help that it was the same day of the Driftmark trials

He had frighten you so much your mother send you back the same night, only a few weeks away

“Sobes Karnax, Lykyri”, you whispered soothingly, patting her snout, he whined, worried, but it was too late now, you couldn’t back down, you wondered if you were trying to calm him, or expected that he would sooth you back.

So ignoring your body, mind, heart, soul, dragons, the weather and everything in existence around you, you decided to walk towards the guards guarding the entrance to the Castle

“I have a message for Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra”, you said quickly, before you lose your momentum, they barely nodded and started walking, you followed suit, trying to fix your drenched clothes

The Storm had catched up with you.

You could still hear it raging behind you as you entered the main hall of the castle of the Baratheons, you had never been here before, and it amazed you the immensity of it, it was rounded and at least three stories tall, ending in a huge vault over your heads, front here you could see multiple passages leading to the rest of the construction, but you could look no more

“The Princess (Y/N) Velaryon”, presented the guard, “Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen”

Queen

You thought bitterly, as you found Lord Borros seated on his throne.

But your gaze was immediately taken away

Aemond

He stood at the side of the throne, standing straight by one of Borros’ daughters, as he heard your name he immediately turned

He looked dangerous

Dresses head to toe in black leather, his hair combed perfectly, the eyepatch cutting his face in half

You wondered if he could notice you trembling from that far

You guessed he could since he looked terribly amused at your presence, his naturally curved lips smirked.

But you didn't came here for him, you turned your gaze towards to the Lord of the Stormlands

“Lord Borros, I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen”, you didn’t realize you had a stone inside your throat until now, almost choking in our own words, you were thankful for the acoustic of the place or else nobody could have heard you

“Yet early this day I received an envoy from the king”, he said then, “so which is it? King or Queen? the House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it”, he was already crossed with someone or something and you cursed yourself for being so weak, sounded so pathetically

And then he laughed at his own joke and you shook, perhaps he was laughing at you

You looked fleetingly at Aemond

Perhaps to make sure he stood where he was

He frightened you

You begged the gods to make him stay there, as he stood, unmovable like the statues of Dragonstone

“What’s your mother’s message?”, the Lord of Storm’s End did not take well to your distraction, so you tried your best to reach with your arm and this one not to shake, to prove to everyone there, to Lord Borro’s daughters, him, your uncle, and the court, how scared you were

A soldier took your message hastily and gave it to the Lord

He sighed, frustrated, and call in the maester

In a silly second you thought fleetingly of your brother’s giggles when you tell them the rumors were true and indeed Lord Borros didn’t know how to read, you remembered fleetingly that you suggested it was because he had hit himself many times on the head while jousting

But you shook those thoughts away, when you felt the small hairs in the back of your hair stand up, as Aemond’s deep gaze was on you

For a second, only the wind making the stones whistle as sing could be heard, and then the ruffling of paper the maester made while reading the letter.

Your uncle’s gaze didn’t leave you for a second, so you tried to look away from him, only stealing glances to make sure he hadn't move

That he was still several feet away from you, with people in between you

You didn't want him near you

He frightened you

He hated you

You knew this

“Remind me of my father’s oaths?”, asked Borros, enraged, you turned to look at him, scared, “King Aegon at least came with an offer, my banners and swords for a marriage pact”

Poor girl, you thought briefly

“If I do what your mother bids, who of my household will you marry, girl? uh?”

“My lord…”, you could turn this around, you could, you needed to try, to explain, to plead to his honor, “I’m not free to marry, I’m already betrothed to Cregan Stark”, you said, and you were not completely lying, your big brother was flying North now with the proposal in his hand

Aemond hummed mockingly at your words, so your gaze landed on him again.

He still was amused, even more so now, you shook in your place, trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds

“So you come with empty hands”, said Borros, more angry than before, “go home pup, and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up in need to set against her enemies”, he said rapidly

You had failed

You tried to swallow your tears as the stone in your throat but you just couldn’t do it

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord”, you whimpered, and when you looked at the pity in the daughters’ faces you realized your voice did sounded broken and defeated

Weak

You turned to leave, sad because you failed, but relieved that this had come to an end

“Wait”, you trembled in your place, stopping immediately at your uncle’s call.

You turned slowly, fearfully, to look back at him

“My lady Strong”

You whimpered

“Uncle?’, you were acknowledging him, but it sounded more like a question

Weak

“Did you really think you could just fly upon the realms, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You are the thieves

But the words never reached your lips, instead you wanted to hide your head between your shoulders, almost feeling ashamed

That much power Aemond had over you, the power to make you feel like you were in the wrong, and he was in the right

Ever since that night

When your little brother took his eye

The girl by his side took a step back, like giving him space, and that made you take a step back, less and less things could protect you from your uncle, your hand instinctively went to the pommel of the short sword your stepfather Daemon had begged you to carry, you didn’t know how to use it, but nonetheless… it couldn’t hurt

“I will not fight with you uncle, I came as a messenger”, you said, your voice, again, broken, weak, with fear and sadness

You had failed

“A fight would be little challenge”, he said dismissively

“I’m aware”, you admitted, if it came to blows, you stood no chance against his incredible skill with the sword, even if you meant a fight with words filled with poison

“No…”, his hand went to his eyepatch, and form one single movement he took it out of his face, revealing a sapphire where his eyeball should be

You whimpered, taking a step back

It had taken you by surprise, not that you found him monstrous, or anything, it was just… incredible

“...You brother is indebted to me”

You really wished, in the bottom of your heart, that he would have let this go, if not for your brother, for himself, but he didn’t he hasn't, and that made him so incredible dark, resentful, twisted and mean

And that is what you were most afraid of

“It was an accident…”

“I want you to pay instead”, you whined, taking a step back

“I have nothing…”

“A small payment in blood will suffice…”, you looked at Lord Borros, alarmed, he clearly was not meant for THAT, did he? Did he plan on slaying you there where you stood?, in front of all this people?

“...I will not breed you”, a single tear escaped your eye at his crude words, “I plan on gifting our bloodied sheets to your mother”, you looked back at the Lord of Storm’s End and he looked back at you, concerned

This was the man supposed to wed one of his daughters

“No!”, you cried, in defense of yourself

“So you are a craven as well as a traitor, as your brothers…”

“Not here!”, Borros finally intervened, but still you could not breathe, you were terrified

You never wanted to believe the gazes your uncle gave you were ones of desire, and dark intentions of bedding you, you never thought…

“GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE YOU BASTARD!”, you shrieked as he advanced on you with certain and long steps, you stumbled backwards trying to prevent him getting near you

“NOT IN MY HALL!”, the thunderous voice of Borros made him stop in his tracks, “the girl came as an envoy, I will not have bloodshed of any kind beneath my roof”

Lord Borros’ words came of little comfort, not when your uncle had taken a dagger of his belt and was threatening you with it, the storm outside, the lightning made his sapphire gleam meanly

“Take the princess back to her dragon, now!”, commanded Lord Borros and you, giving a titanic effort, managed to walk (and not sprint at high speed) out of the hall

Aemond watched you go and smirked, making the dagger dance in his hand

You were his to take

He looked back at the girl he had begun to court to notice she was far away from him now, clearly scared of him

“I will be back shortly to resume negotiations”, he said meanly

“Don’t bother”, said Floris, standing now next to a guard, she would not like to be courted by him now, “I’m not interested in a man that is pure bark and no bite”

When you stepped outside, the storm was raging, you were drenched in second, wet from head to toes, but you couldn’t paid no mind to such things now

Karnax felt your fear, how frightening you were and he advanced towards you whining and growling desperate

“Lykiri Karnax” [calm], “gūrogon īlva hen kesīr” [take us out of here]

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, you let your tears fall freely now that nobody could notice nor see you, another Lightning broke the skies from afar and when you turned…

Vhagar was gone

There was no way he could have left before you, it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible

He was in negotiations with the Baratheons, you had to go, so he wouldn’t catch you.

You thought he was going to let you be, because it had been your brother who took his eye, not you

Oh how wrong you were

“Why?”, you cried, trying to make sense of it all as you climbed onto your dragon’s saddle, “Sobes, Karnax”, you called, he growled but obeyed you, he also wanted to get out of here.

You needed to get back to your mother, to Dragonstone, to your brothers and stepfather, they needed you, but you somehow knew that wasn’t going to be possible, a crippling fear took a hold in your body, you felt like you could barely move, your body being so tense.

The rain hit your face with strength, the highers you flied, you only secured your staps tightly and held into your reins hardly

Karnax flapped his wings with difficulty, but he succeeded in keep flying, you wanted to relax, you were flying away from Storm’s End, the Baratheons, your uncle, everyone, but something told you it wasn’t going to be that easy

You wanted Karnax to fly faster, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach

You whimpered in fear

something was wrong, terribly wrong

You felt a low growl coming from above and you cried, lowering your head, not wanting to face it, face him, and what he was going to do to you once he had you within his grasp

He was coming for you

And the moment you took to the skies, you raised the bet, he was not simply going to take you now, he couldn't not flying like this...

He rode the largest dragon in the world and you one of the smallest

You grabbed into your reigns and hoped Karnax would fly faster, but you couldn’t ask more of him of what you were already asking

You gained the courage to look up and you got a glimpse of a large looming shadow over you

Why?, you whimpered, crying harder, and Karnax growled

Why you?, you loved him once, you were friends, you played, and read together as kids, you had promised you could share little Karnax, and he had agreed.

But he got his own dragon, the largest in the world, and from that moment he pushed you aside and called you a bastard despite your Targaryen features and the fact that he had never called you that

He almost killed your brothers and then Luke took his eye.

After what transcurred in Driftmark with the Queen and your mom Aemond had come to your room in the hour of the bat, you woke up with a knife in your cheek and him over you, his hand in your throat

You never knew why he had come to your chambers and not luke’s or jace’s

He always knew you were the weakest one

You were a woman, he was a man

You looked ahead and shrieked once again when you saw Vhagar coming at you amongst the dark stormy clouds, at full speed

“NO!”, she changed her trajectory, going up in the last second, her feet and claws passing right by you, you could even feel them passing right by your head

Please

You were going to die

You could hear Aemond’s laugh, ricocheting amongst the clouds

He was amused by you

He hated you

And now he was going to kill you.

Karnax growled, scared too out of his mind, you could feel him, deep in your gut, the pure and sheer instinct to fight or fly kicking in, and both of you opting for the latter

just when you thought you had lost him, you heard the flap of huge wings behind you, you turned to look, and Vhagar huge open jaws appeared trough the storm, ready to swallow you whole.

But Karnax was fast, and Vhagar liked to play with her food

“I see you!”, you heard from behind, and the sound that Vhagar’s jaws made when they close grabbing into thin air made your skin prickle, “Libōnos”, [bastard]

Your body was tense as a bow, you could barely feel your legs that were tightened around your saddle, the water, despite your leather cape, has got under the clothes, and froze you all over, that you felt like you were made of ice, you could barely move, your fingers were not going to survive this even if you did

Vhagar was still behind you as you commanded your dragon to fly downwards, to gain speed

You made him turn and twist in the air, but to no avail, the monstrous Vhagar had her eyes set on her prey and she was not going to let go, you use your whole body and strength to pull her to make her change her trajectory from one moment to another, she might be bigger, but you were faster

Deep down you knew it was all going to be for nothing

He was coming for you

He hated you

And you could hear his sick laugh as he was laughing in your ear

You soon could make out the sea under you and as you looked to your left there was a cliff splitted in two, a risk in the middle, you had a change, you might be able to flight in between, but Vhagar wouldn’t

Your dragon read your mind and went there, seeking refuge

It has worked, you looked back to see VHagar fighting to make her heavy body fly upwards, your uncle’s grunts cut trough the air reaching you, it was insane

He was insane

He had a grudge for 8 years, boiling and simmering in rage, anger, and sadness, and you were the one that was going to get the worst of it

You felt relieved even, that it was you and not sweet Lucerys

Better you than him

“JĒMELÃ GÊLŸNI ENKÂ!”, he screamed [you owe me a debt], “BYKA!”, little one

Karnax flied diligently through the cliffs and rocks, you looked up and he was still there, chasing you, looming over you

“I lied!”, you heard then, “I will give you my bastard”, a pain spread through your chest, all your sorrow, pain, fear, exploding, taking a hold on your body, preventing you from breathing properly, even with the skies falling upon your head, with your life in your uncle’s hands.

You screamed when Karnax again flew in open skies as the protection of the cliff was taken away. It was a scream of agony, frustration, and fear

Oh so much fear

But the gods, or whomever, granted you a small mercy, the clouds were thick and the sea was a few feet under you, they concealed you from your predator chasing you.

You took a shaky, long breath, despite the lump in your throat present since you left Dragonstone

You needed to get yourself together

Keep flying North, soon the skies will clear, you couldn’t let fear control you….

Fear

The last thing you heard was Vhagar growling, and Karnax high screeched when the biggest dragon in the world sank her teeth in him, catching his legs and tail, completely destroying him.

“AH!”, you barely got a scream yourself, she didn’t catch you, but so did half your dragon, now dead.

“VHAGAR! NO! NO VHAGAR!”, is the last thing you heard

The next?

The white noise of water, all around you, the cold grasping you, hugging you tightly, not letting you move as the water moved around you taking you prisoner

For better or worse, Vhagar’s had completely destroyed the saddle, releasing you, and now you were there, by a gift or a curse from the gods, amongst the dark tides of Shipwreck bay, sinking slowly, finally you didn’t feel more fear, only the instinct to survive.

You were a true Velaryon at last.

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