Hi. I'm a fic-and-imagine-writer and roleplayer from the UK and made a sideblog for my insanity about Higgs Monaghan. This is a SIDEBLOG, so no follows. This is really just a place for me to dump all of my unhinged reader/Higgs thoughts and creations without worrying about scaring my followers on my "normal" blog lmao. Writing NSFW is not only fine with me but encouraged.
Request stuff if you want! I'll write things as and when they come to me, but suggestions are always appreciated. As I write fics / imagines, I'll add them to this pinned post. I DON'T WRITE S.AMH.IGGS, AND THIS IS STRICTLY FOR HIGGS / READER, SO DON'T ASK.
Hey fellas, just a quick post to say that, after witnessing absolutely heinous bullying and general fandom bullshit, I no longer feel comfortable in the Higgs fandom and am not that likely to update here. I won't delete the blog simply because I want to leave my fics up and in a place people can read them, but I'm appalled by how some people in this space behave, and it's turned me off from producing content that has the potential to feed them.
To the wonderful people I've met here (which to be fair is most of you, at least over here in this little blog space where my following isn't that big), thank you for being fun, solid people. To the bullies and chronically online weirdos: do better.
Imagine coming across Higgs in the wild during his Porting days. Like, he's out there just doing his own thing ( before Fragile Express and him linked up ), he's making his own deliveries all by his lonesome and, at least at the beginning, he doesn't have much access to vehicles and stuff as he works independently. Means he's stopping either in safe houses built by others, or sometimes just out there in the open. What's a little on-the-job camping when you're expected to climb mountains and lug heavy cargo through snow-topped mountains?
You coming across him doing something very typical, like washing up in a lake. He sensed you ages ago ( thanks DOOMS ) but he isn't concerned. He just keeps washing his hair, rinsing it out, ridding it of dirt and wind and sweat.
"Enjoyin' the show?"
You feel guilty but relieved by his presence. You've been wandering aimlessly for a while, weaving between BT-infested areas and timefall-soaked plains. It feels good to see another person all the way out here.
"Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Didn't say I minded, sweetheart," Higgs interrupts, gathering his hair in his hands and wringing it as dry as possible before turning to look at you loftily over his shoulder. "Better tell me your name, otherwise I'm just gonna call ya perv."
A/N: I have no defence, I just think fictional sickos are hot. For reference, this chapter is gender neutral and I WILL be doing my best to leave it so for the majority of stuff I write. However, this eventually results in detailed smut, so I'll eventually default to feminine terminology in terms of the body in later instalments. Again, I'll try not to put too many instances of specified gender, but it'll help me write it at a higher quality if I do. ♥ If you'd like to be added to a taglist for this fic ( or my work in general ), just let me know!
Summary: Higgs needs some leverage in his latest plot to destroy South Knot. A live hostage he can barter with seems like a safe bargaining chip.
Warnings: Reader is captive, threat, spit, Higgs being a funky weirdo, idk this is just a preliminary chapter kind of setting up the premise so it's not too bad.
Cold. That's the first thing you register as you wake sheathed in sweat on a hard metal floor. Tiredly, you push yourself up from the ground—or you try to, before you find your movements impeded by the harsh pull of rope. It bites thick and irritating into your wrists and ankles, keeping you uncomfortably cemented to the floor.
A distant rumbling sound from above steals your attention, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as you register the slow roll of a truck. The faraway hum of voices. The cock of a gun.
Oh god… oh fuck… what the hell happened?
Your head hurts. Memory returns in slow ebbing waves. South Knot. Alarms tripped. People running around frantically like scattered ants. Something hard at the back of your skull. Everything going black.
The struggle begins, body fighting against the restraints as best it can, though it doesn't result in much; you wriggling across the floor like an unearthed worm and a whole lot of noise that could have been avoided. Eventually, you give up with a grunt of frustration, the beginnings of tears forming as you desperately scan your surroundings.
It looks like a shelter of some sort, all frigid metal and dim light. The wall closest is lined with bookcases, chock-full of material that you can't make out in the dark. With a squint, you can just about decipher the outline of a long table.
"Fuck," you utter, heart racing as you use your bare foot to pivot onto your back. The effort it requires is all but exhausting, what with your wounded state and your bound limbs, but it allows you to see the entrance to the shelter. The ramp gapes like an animal's open maw—one you want to willingly crawl into, for it scares you less than being tied up in a place you don't know. "Fuck…!"
As if in answer to your panic, you hear the familiar ping of the terminal being engaged outside. A moment later, a wide slat of light beams directly into you. It frames your body like it's a sacrifice, teary eyes squinting as the bright sky stings.
It's alleviated somewhat by a shadow as someone descends down the decline.
"Weeell, well, well. What do we have here?" The voice is low, yet coated in levity that makes it float. Almost pleasant, if not for the terrifying situation you find yourself in. "I went 'n' got myself a squirmer, huh? Lucky me."
"Why're you doing this? Please just—"
"Ah, ah," he interrupts, the vague outline of his finger wagging side to side. "Don't ruin this for me, sweetheart. I've waited real patiently to come 'n' say hi."
The stranger lights a lantern he's carrying, illuminating enough of the space around you to get a clear visual for the first time since waking—and what you see just about steals your breath.
He's menacing, standing tall and lean, the cape that flows over his shoulders spanning wide against his elbows as he holds the light between you. His face is covered by a golden mask, hood drawn over his head. You shrink beneath him, feet scraping against the floor in a vain attempt to put distance between you.
Evidently, this amuses him, a gravelly little laugh released as he steps atop the wad of rope binding your ankles together. It drags a whimper of horror from your throat, as much as you'd like to try and save face. You want more than anything to tell this bastard to eat shit, to make demands to be let go, but his visage is so haunting that it renders you mute. Terrified.
He crouches before you, the movement graceful and steady, the lantern set down on the floor to the side of your feet.
"You're probably wonderin' where you are, huh? That part's simple. You're in a shelter. My shelter. You're gonna stay here until I get what I want from the diplomats over in South Knot. When that happens? You'll be free as a bird."
Dread pools in your stomach. "A-And if it doesn't…?"
His head tilts slightly to the side. Even with his features obscured, you can feel the raise of his eyebrows. The knowing look he's shooting you.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he replies, voice airy, and yet the unspoken threat lingering behind the calm delivery makes you tense. "I wouldn't worry too much, angel. South Knot can be a little slow on the uptake, but they're generally open to collaboration. I'm persuasive, too. You're in great hands, frankly."
You can't help it. You scoff.
"What?" A low chuckle buzzes between you like electricity. "You think there's someone better suited to the job? Talk about cuttin' me deep."
"There wouldn't be a 'job' if not for you, you psycho!"
A hand reaches up to grip the side of his mask. After a moment of deliberation, he removes it, baring his true face to you.
He looks odd, in a mesmerising sort of way. Like you can't quite place him either in this realm or the next; borderline ethereal, painted eyes and tattoos contrasting with the painfully human scuff that lines his jaw. An intense focus swathes his gaze, the corners of his lips beginning to turn upwards as you take him in. He's enjoying this. Your discomfort feeds his ego.
"Wh-Why…?"
"I think that if you have somethin' to say to me, you should say it to my face. Little as I care for it."
You stare at him with a look caught between horror and rage, the circumstances you're entwined within weighing heavy on your shoulders. A plethora of emotions wage war inside you, fear and fire colliding into one potentially disastrous move.
You spit at him.
It hits his face with expert precision, his body going rigid as it does. Though you sense you've made a mistake, you can't help the feeling of pride. This man stole you away and expects you to play ball? You won't just go along with it, as little power as you may have.
You watch him as he smirks, though the inferno that's been ignited in him is undeniable. It burns hatefully at you as you look him in the face, anger giving way to gradual regret as you watch his tongue snake out and lap at the saliva dribbling close to his mouth. He makes a show of savouring it, eyes closing, before his hand snaps out and grabs your chin hard.
"I'm gonna be a man 'n' let you have that one. You're upset. Confused. Pissed off. I get it! The first time's a freebie," he hisses, face so close you can feel his hot breath against your own. "But you do that shit again? We'll see how you like the taste of lead, proposition with South Knot be damned. You fuckin' understand me?"
You detest how easily your resolve gives way to fear, but it undeniably does. There's no doubt that he'll kill you if you cause too much trouble, that much you can see in the cold look he's giving you. With round eyes and your mouth drawn into a frightened frown, you nod as hard and quickly as his grip will allow.
After a painfully long moment of glaring at you, his features relax. His hold loosens. The threat lessens, then dies altogether as he lets you go and dares to smile.
"Good." It's all but chirped, dripping with faux-pleasantry. "I think we'll get along just fine. I can be a decent host so long as you can be a decent guest, hm?"
The sob that tumbles out of your mouth is involuntary, horror and nausea battling for dominance in your gut. It results in a roiling wave of grief, shivering as you stare helplessly up at him.
"Just let me go, please let me go... I w—I won't tell anyone, I—"
"Oh, sweetheart. Shhh, shh-shh…" His gloved hand connects with your cheek tenderly, thumb sweeping over the wet slope before he pats it twice. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Higgs is gonna take real good care of ya."
Higgs' voice is hot as fuck anyway, but can you imagine it sleepy?
That low, thick raspy-qualitied purr right beside your ear as he blinks sleep from his eyes, dipping his face into the hollow of your neck and kissing it languidly as he mutters praise and greetings ( yes, in that order ).
It turns you on so much you tell him to stop. Higgs grins.
I had a shitty day with recurring illness and emetophobia today so naturally I'm thinking about Higgs being there for you when your stomach is on the fritz. Obvious warnings for mentions of vomiting and icky feelings, though there're no graphic depictions / descriptions.
I KNOW he can materialise bottles of water for you. If he can summon knives and man-made guns and a necklace and can make his mask float without it being attached to his face, he can get you the aqua, whether through teleportation or conjuring. He does it with a flourish of his wrist that makes you smile. It's cool, just like the smile he flashes you. "Small sips now, sweetheart. Don't be greedy."
He rubs your back when you can't stop yourself from throwing up anymore. The gentle weight of his palm and the gold armour that lines his fingers with the gloves he's donning tethers you to the earth as you rid yourself of contamination. You'd honestly expected him to be more harsh-- or at the very least passive, he's a busy man-- but he stays with you. Soothes you as best he can, palm drawing gentle circles over your spine as you regain your breath.
If you're the type to cry after puking, he's shushing you gently. "C'mon now, darlin', it ain't so bad. That's all the nasty outta you. You did great. Still cute as a goddamn button, too."
Higgs enjoys cuddling with you, but he settles for holding your hand when you feel nauseous. It connects you both while not irritating your fluctuating temperature and the need to breathe slowly. Sometimes you can't take any touch at all, and he responds by lying close to you, curled on his side facing you but with a little breathing room between your bodies. Above all, he doesn't want you to puke. He knows how upset it makes you.
You don't always want to eat in the aftermath. In fact, you become temporarily terrified of it. He has to coax you into a normal diet again, little by little, until you're sharing pizzas by the dozen again. "I gave you a smaller portion.", "One more bite for me, baby. I know you've got it in ya.", "Show me how good you are at swallowin'." -- all quips made to both support and draw a smile from you. It brings some colour back into your cheeks too, so it's a win-win all round!
@angelofchiralium asked: I know I have already requested aftercare stuff for Higgs buuuuuut 🙈 I’d love to hear your thoughts on Higgs with emotional aftercare, how he comforts his beloved after a super rough scene where he was particularly mean and said a lot of fucked up shit. - sincerely, your friendly neighborhood crybaby who also LOVES when Higgs is mean and sadistic
I think first and foremost that Higgs speaks more through action than words when it comes to matters of the heart. He doesn't wholly know how to express the way he feels, even with his verbose vocabulary at his disposal. That being said, you've taught him some things. At the very least, he knows what you need.
"Darlin', look at me." He takes in your tear-streaked face with an inkling of regret—something you immediately reach out to rectify with a soft touch to his hip from behind. "I'm fine," you tell him, giving him a weary little smile from over your shoulder. "Just... overstimulated."
He holds the sides of your face as if you're made of glass, stroking his thumbs gently over the slopes of your cheeks. "You sure?"
"Mhm," you say with a little nod, body humming as he pulls you into his arms and holds you close. His bare skin slick with heat and sweat. It warms you all over again, the thin blankets you sleep with kicked aside as you bask in his body instead.
"Y'know I—" He starts and then stops, very unlike him, and you have a sense of what's coming before he so much as opens his mouth to try again. "I didn't... mean, that shit I said. Y'know? I. You're not..."
Cock-drunk bitch. Dumb fucking whore. Useless little slut. You'd take anything you could get from me, huh? You're lucky you've got a tight fuckable hole. No way I'd find any use outta ya otherwise.
"I know, Higgs." Rolling over to face him, you press a light kiss to his mouth. "I know. And, I like it when you talk like that to me. It's hot. It's so fucking hot."
He hums against your lips like he's unsure, teetering on the precipice between acceptance and repentance.
And don't even get me started on how attentive he is with the bruises and possible welts he's left behind. He soothes each of them with soft strokes of his palm and laps of his lips and tongue, the wet heat of his mouth like a balm to the bright red marks. By the time he's covered the length of your body, close to an hour has passed. It's raw devotion. Adoration.
"Baby, I love ya." Spoken tenderly against a blooming bruise on your neck, thumbs drawing circles over the curve of your hips. "You're so beautiful covered in my handiwork. Look like mine."
"Good. Because I am."
You feel him smile against your skin; a real one, no pretending. "Atta-baby."
His hands travel a lot when you're close anyway but when he's in the mood? You can almost guarantee that he's either pawing at your hips or your breasts.
Even over clothes, Higgs is insatiable. He adores the curve of your chest, how soft and malleable your flesh is in his hands as he squeezes them. One of his favourite sensations on this godforsaken earth is the feeling of your nipples hardening through your shirt because of what he's doing to them; circling them slowly through fabric, pinching gently as he kisses your neck or nibbles your ear. It always makes you needy. Higgs knows this.
"All for me?" he'll tease as he presses you against the poor excuse for a kitchen counter, his imposing weight glued—still and heavy— to your back as his fingers toy with the edge of your shirt.
You flash him a look that's something between a smile and a grimace—a begrudging "you know it, prick."
Any smarts you have to spare die when he raises his gloved hands in front of you, wiggling his fingers expectantly. With a breath of anticipation, you grasp one of his gloves with your teeth and slowly pull it off, following suit with the second as he draws gentle, bare-skinned circles over the soft flesh of your waist.
Both hands now uncloaked and warm, Higgs smirks, fingers creeping slowly up the length of your belly as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your pulse point.
"Mm..." A soft hum of contentment as his fingers circle your nipples. "Been thinkin'a these babies all day."
You scoff, albeit fondly. "That's pretty pathetic."
Higgs laughs quietly before sinking his teeth into your neck hard enough to elicit a gasp. You arch in his hold, first away and then towards him, friction granted as you grind your ass into his front.
"Gotta wonder... is it more or less pathetic than you ruttin' all up in my business just for touchin' ya? Riddle me that, sweetheart."
"Sh-Shut up..." you mutter through clenched teeth, not meaning it in the slightest. His voice turns you on anyway, but with his hands on you? It damn near sends electricity down the length of your spine.
Higgs arches away from you briefly, directing you to face him before pressing you back against the counter. A sleazy grin stretches across his face before he lowers his head to your chest, taking one of your hard nipples into his mouth and sucking. A hot pulse shudders its way through you as he grazes his teeth purposefully against the sensitive bud, taking the other into his hand and squeezing.
"Fuck, Higgs... not so hard."
"You like it hard."
And as much as you'd like to double down and insist that he's wrong, the harsh pressure paired with his teeth biting down on your nipple prompts a breathy gasp, spine arching, chest thrust even closer to his face.
"Higgs," you moan, hands carding through his hair and pulling taut. The low sound he makes in his throat vibrates against your reddened areola, want pooling in your gut like molten lava. "Need you. Stop teasing me..."
"Stop teasin' you?" He lifts his head briefly to look at you, granting your breasts brief reprieve. "Never, darlin'. You love it."
His hand slides down your front as he circles his tongue around your other nipple, breaching waistband and underwear alike as his fingers dip between your folds.
"Huh, you really love it..." It's murmured thickly, as if a musing as opposed to a solid fact. "You're soaked for me, baby. Ain't no denyin' that."
His finger draws a circle over your clit, keeping rhythm with the laborious swirl of his tongue. It's all too much and not enough, a terrible aching need growing in the pit of your stomach. Hands tremble as they scratch at the back of his head, dizzying heat shrouding your brain in fog as he toys with you to his rotten little heart's content. At this point, you're sore, and yet the idea of telling him to stop fills you with deep dissatisfaction.
"God, fuck me," you whine into his ear, arching your hips in a desperate effort to rock against him. "Please just fuck me."
"Don't think I will," Higgs mocks, his smile growing against your irritated flesh. "Think I'll keep playin' with you until you cry, sweetheart. The beggin's sweet, but I'm in the mood for salt."
I'm not saying anybody's wrong or anything, it could be me, but I'm confused by how the fandom's adopted "Peter Englert" as Higgs' 'true name'? I thought the whole point of that name is that it's a pseudonym / even a stolen identity and the kicker is that it was Higgs all along.
Am I alone in thinking we, as the player, never get to know Higgs' actual birth name? Like why would he confess that after changing it in the first place, because of trauma and a radical shift in ideals no less? Or did I miss something???
Peter Englert makes reference to several people in his life in his mail, one of them being his "dying father"—which we know is a lie, based on the fact that Higgs' biological father died before he was born, and then "Daddy number 2", as Higgs refers to his uncle, was also killed by him later on. So he has no father.
He also clearly doesn't have a wife, which he also claims to have in his mail. "Sister" is a little more ambiguous ( I don't personally feel he does with how he grew up, and also his mother dying shortly after his birth, but siblings aren't just blood so. Higgs could also definitely be considered an unreliable narrator. This is more open to me ), but based on the context we have in the game, he doesn't have one.
Why would everything he said in his mail aside from his name be a lie? I get coming up with a narrative and whatever but like. Then he'd also surely use a fake name too, right? There's no need to use his real / "dead" name???
There's also the fact that "Englert" is a real physicist who researches space and also worked on the Higgs-Bosun Particle Thingy, so I see higgs using that name as a sort of cheeky "hehe, I'm so smart, the clues are right there if you're also smart"
All this to say: I'm writing a work where he has a giggle at reader's expense ( and then a more serious heart-to-heart ) for thinking they Know Him Like That and didn't want to come across like an idiot if I'd missed something obvious LMAO
I personally believe Peter Englert is his real name. It still having connections with the Higgs Boson Equation is just an homage from Kojima to keep the theme. Because it is not a new thing for Kojima to do something like that. Another clue is Coffin calling him Peter.
I really hope we get more Higgs lore in the future to confirm mine and a lot of other people's thoughts.
Peter is his real name until Kojima says otherwise...for me.
These are my personal beliefs here.
Also it's just kind of nice using it in fanfiction and oc or reader discovering it and such. :)
That's fair! I actually encourage discussion because I myself am unsure and wondering if I missed something.
I guess it is pretty Kojima to be right on the nose with character names lol, it might not be so crazy—but I'd think that other characters, particularly Heartman who has a lot to say about it as a scientist and addresses it / the Higgs Particle ( which implies that, if this real-world theory has been adopted and left unchanged in this universe, it's not so crazy to assume that the founders of it are also kept untouched. This is the case for works via the memory chips too, where they refer to irl authors / directors, so I don't think it's insane to assume Kojima left the researchers as is? ) several times in interviews, would recognise it at least? Maybe I'm just reading it too much LOL, maybe it really is just supposed to be a fun little "easter egg" for us to spot
Loving all the take both "for" and "against" the whole Peter theory, so thank you for your contribution to the discussion! I genuinely find this so interesting!
I'm not saying anybody's wrong or anything, it could be me, but I'm confused by how the fandom's adopted "Peter Englert" as Higgs' 'true name'? I thought the whole point of that name is that it's a pseudonym / even a stolen identity and the kicker is that it was Higgs all along.
Am I alone in thinking we, as the player, never get to know Higgs' actual birth name? Like why would he confess that after changing it in the first place, because of trauma and a radical shift in ideals no less? Or did I miss something???
I was thinking about this the other day and it's true... In fact, Peter Englert's name is the combination of two of the Higgs Boson actual discoverers (Peter Higgs & François Englert), so that's an obvious way to suppose that he "claimed" that name as he did with the Higgs one. I personally think that Peter Englert is not his birth name, but it's cool to see other people's thoughts of this!
RIGHT, like to me these things feel too purposeful to be coincidence. You're not telling me he was just naturally called Higgs and has a fascination in the very thing he's "named after"? Nah, he chose that name. Refers to himself very deliberately, with the whole "God Particle" thing and whatever. He's very clearly referencing the scientific theorem that exists outside of him, and Englert is just another piece of it.
That's how I see it anyway. Which I acknowledge is just my opinion, but to me it makes sense!
I'm not saying anybody's wrong or anything, it could be me, but I'm confused by how the fandom's adopted "Peter Englert" as Higgs' 'true name'? I thought the whole point of that name is that it's a pseudonym / even a stolen identity and the kicker is that it was Higgs all along.
Am I alone in thinking we, as the player, never get to know Higgs' actual birth name? Like why would he confess that after changing it in the first place, because of trauma and a radical shift in ideals no less? Or did I miss something???
Peter Englert makes reference to several people in his life in his mail, one of them being his "dying father"—which we know is a lie, based on the fact that Higgs' biological father died before he was born, and then "Daddy number 2", as Higgs refers to his uncle, was also killed by him later on. So he has no father.
He also clearly doesn't have a wife, which he also claims to have in his mail. "Sister" is a little more ambiguous ( I don't personally feel he does with how he grew up, and also his mother dying shortly after his birth, but siblings aren't just blood so. Higgs could also definitely be considered an unreliable narrator. This is more open to me ), but based on the context we have in the game, he doesn't have one.
Why would everything he said in his mail aside from his name be a lie? I get coming up with a narrative and whatever but like. Then he'd also surely use a fake name too, right? There's no need to use his real / "dead" name???
There's also the fact that "Englert" is a real physicist who researches space and also worked on the Higgs-Bosun Particle Thingy, so I see higgs using that name as a sort of cheeky "hehe, I'm so smart, the clues are right there if you're also smart"
All this to say: I'm writing a work where he has a giggle at reader's expense ( and then a more serious heart-to-heart ) for thinking they Know Him Like That and didn't want to come across like an idiot if I'd missed something obvious LMAO
I'm not saying anybody's wrong or anything, it could be me, but I'm confused by how the fandom's adopted "Peter Englert" as Higgs' 'true name'? I thought the whole point of that name is that it's a pseudonym / even a stolen identity and the kicker is that it was Higgs all along.
Am I alone in thinking we, as the player, never get to know Higgs' actual birth name? Like why would he confess that after changing it in the first place, because of trauma and a radical shift in ideals no less? Or did I miss something???
EDIT: IF YOU WANT TO COMMENT, PLEASE READ THE ADDITION I MADE VIA REBLOG FIRST AS IT MAY COVER SOMETHING! <3
I just think Higgs should spoon his partner while it rains. Maybe it turns into lazy sex, maybe it doesn't, but I know he needs to cuddle and nap while it's raining outside.
I’m working on making an audio compilation of all the lines (and noises) of Higgs’ that are really hot to me. I got so distracted bc why is he whimpering and moaning so much 🥵 idk how to post my own audio on here so, enjoy the hot pic of Higgs with some of his whimpering and moaning I put together.
