#sorry i’m feral and adding tags because i NEVER noticed this shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

portsidewonderland · 3 years

Text

Okay, I’ve been wanting to write this for the last three weeks, but I’m finally - finally - sitting down to do just that.

First, I’m a Rogan shipper. I’ve been a Rogan shipper for the last 20 years, but in that time, I’ve grown, I’ve experienced my own sense of love, and I’m a writer so I’d like to think I’m familiar with structure, characterization, and the like.

Second, I’m focused on the film franchise, strictly speaking. Just wanted to make sure that is clear.

Having said that, when I discuss how utterly wrong the X-Men franchise is, I’m talking about from a story standpoint. When I speak of Logan and Rogue, if that ship isn’t your jam, fine, but the points I make still stand.

Finally, spoiler alert for all of the movies.

Okay, I think we’re ready to jump in.

1. After the first movie, everyone forgot the heart of what made the first movie so special: Wolverine & Rogue

I don’t necessarily mean together. I mean, the movie focused primarily on Logan’s story and Rogue’s story. It was told through THEIR POV. This is important because, essentially, we’re asked to connect with these two characters AND WE DO.

The dialogue, the acting, and their stories (which reflect each other’s as well as stand on their own) draw us in and we are hooked.

Even the critics thought some of the best scenes are the ones Logan and Marie share together. Multiple critics discuss chemistry, how they add to the scene, etc.

Regardless of whether you ship them or not, there’s a compelling story between the two. This vulnerable, slip of a girl is the most powerful X-men out there (or one of) and this growly, fierce angry, broken man who’s been alone for so long that out of everyone he’s met and seen, THIS girl brings him to his knees.

And it’s because she isn’t scared of him.

Even after watching him beat the shit out of his opponent, even after seeing the claws threaten humans and slice through a barrel of a gun, she still thinks, I can trust him.

And when he catches her in his trailer, she STILL isn’t afraid of him. She gives him lip. She calls him out on his shit.

That’s how she manages to slide through the cracks.

And that is BEAUTIFUL.

I’m not here to talk about the performances, but Jesus Christ, I love this scene so damn much. The chemistry RADIATES. The glances, the confusion, the curiosity, and the attraction. (Sorry not sorry, it’s there on both parts, I’ll die on this hill.)

Anyway, the first movie is about how this girl brings the savage, feral Wolverine to his knees. How she gets him to STAY. How she gets him to open up.

Yes, Logan wants info on his past, but he’s staying for Marie. We all know it.

When he threatens Jean after first waking up, Jean is scared. And for good reason, obviously.

But Logan STABS Marie with his claws, and guess what? She’s still not scared of him. She’s worried about him.

This is THEIR story.

Do you really think Wolverine is going to go running around in leather for anyone but Marie? Yeah, I don’t think so. I mean, he literally STABS HIMSELF IN THE CHEST to free himself and get to her.

He PROMISES her that he’d take care of her. Do you think Wolverine bullshits? Hell no, he doesn’t.

And that’s why....

2. The whole Jean thing was just not great.

Okay, can I tell you something?

I don’t see Jean as a sympathetic character. She’s engaged to Scott and suddenly, Wolverine comes strolling in and she can’t get her shit together?

I mean, okay, I get it, let’s be real.

But Scott isn’t a bad guy. He nay be a dick, but he treats Jean well. Because we’re not in Cyclops’ or Jean’s head, we as the audience don’t see any marital/romantic issues between them. Hence, when Jean gets flustered by Wolverine to the point where she lets him goad her into reading his mind, she knows what she’s doing. She likes it. She likes Logan’s attention.

Not because she likes Logan.

(I read this fic where basically Jean tells Logan he could have been anybody, and I thought that was so perfect)

But because he’s giving her attention. He makes her feel desired.

And she leads him on.

Right there, I don’t like her, and I think that’s why a lot of Rogan shippers don’t like her is that she has no problem toying not only with Logan’s feelings, but with Scott’s.

But that’s not even the worst part of this.

At the end, when Logan asks for Marie and Jean makes her comment, she adds, “I think she’s taken with you.”

Like - why would Jean say that? Why mention it?

That’s petty ass shit right there.

To me, what she’s trying to do is align herself with Logan as adults and belittle Marie for having a little crush on him. Like it’s so juvenile.

And the worst line of this whole movie is when he says, “Tell her my heart belongs to another.”

Want to know why?

Because the writers/director haven’t SHOWN this. This line is forced here to TELL the audience that we should be shipping Jean and Wolverine. It’s sloppy writing. It tells me they think the audience are idiots.

Really, Logan?

Jean has your heart even though you completely go against Tall Dark and Feral to pick up a girl, then stay at the school with her, leave a fucking mansion to bring her back, make a promise to her, go after her after she’s kidnapped, stab yourself in the chest, fling yourself on the Statue of Liberty AND RISK YOUR FUCKING LIFE TO SAVE ROGUE’S JUST BY TOUCHING HER and you want me to believe your heart belongs to Jean????

Please, tell me, why the FUCK should I buy that?

Oh, because they’re the same age?

LOL no.

Anyway, I didn’t like Jean’s characterization because of that. Because she’s leading people on, because she needs to put down Marie’s feelings after her ordeal because of her insecurity, because of it all.

Which is why I’ll never ship them together.

Logan is at his worst when he’s around Jean.

Anyway.

And Jean is just the worst.

3. They took something meaningful and they fucked it

Logan promises to take care of Rogue. Do you know important that is for both of them as individuals and their relationship?

Rogue only goes back because of Logan. Not for anyone else. Not even Bobby. She comes back, she stays, for Logan.

Where do we see that after the second movie?

He’s so goddamned focused on Jean, on everything about her, that he barely notices that Rogue is ready to get the cure.

I’m GLAD they got a scene together. Because of their looks.

I am.

But shit.

It’s like Logan has completely forgotten all about Rogue, and I’m sorry, but after that first movie, I just can’t buy that.

I can buy that he leaves to check out his past. The dog tag scene is one of my absolute favorites. That’s perfect. Makes sense.

(Also, side note: Fic is so beautiful about this but he isn’t afraid to touch her. Like, he doesn’t HAVE to play with her hair but he does. It’s playful and flirty. It IS. He could have just said he liked her hair BUT HE HAD TO TOUCH IT. And this is HUGE for Rogue because honestly SHE’S afraid to touch and of herself but if Logan isn’t afraid, she stops being afraid - if that makes sense.)

But seriously? He’s not calling the mansion, not writing to Rogue?

I don’t believe that for one second.

This is why I will never watch The Wolverine after that first time (I refuse especially after the director said he was contemplating adding Rogue at the end and didn’t and FUCK EVERYTHING.) because he just leaves because he’s upset about fucking JEAN

I’m sorry but the Wolverine isn’t ABOUT Jean.

If that was the case, we should have had point of views between Logan and Jean in the first movie, not Rogue.

We should have SEEN their development, but we didn’t.

We’re TOLD it.

I’m sorry, but how do you want me to believe that the big bad Wolverine runs off to Japan because he’s sad about Jean? Like, so he’s just going to leave Rogue alone with all of those threats? Are you fucking kidding me?

Show them keeping in touch or SOMETHING. You can’t expect me to see such a huge transformation arc in Logan in the first movie that just gets shit on in every other movie (besides the second). Because that makes Wolverine look like a big, gigantic ASSHOLE and I get that he’s supposed to be that way, but NOT with Rogue.

Which is why Days of Future Past pisses me off as much of the rest them (I’m only discussing the Rogue Cut because I refuse to acknowledge that Bryan Singer - who gave us the first movies - regulated Rogue to such a fucking small cameo.) because Rogue was treated as garbage.

Now, I’m going to assume Logan doesn’t know about what really happened to Rogue because no one told him. But honestly? If he cares about Rogue the way I know he does, he should be asking about her every single time he and Xavier talk.

I love that Logan can sense Rogue when she steps in to help. I love that Rogue refuses to let go of Logan’s mind even in the heart of danger (@bigfrogbestfrogs has an awesome breakdown of these scenes). But I’m appalled at how Kitty is chosen before Rogue? Like, even when coming up with the idea for this movie, why not involve Rogue more?

I refuse to discuss Bobby and her together at the end.

Fuck that.

4. The timelines

Look, I’m not even going to go into the shit that is the timelines.

But honestly?

Fuck everything about that.

I get Singer wanted to retcon X3, but I don’t care.

Based on Apocalypse, the future still sucks so everything failed and then the movie LOGAN takes that shit and amplifies it.

5. LOGAN (the movie)

I’m sorry, but this movie is amazing in some ways and sucks in others.

Want to know why?

Because it takes everything about what made the first movie great and emphasized it.

Laura is too young to be a love interest, so clearly, it’s paternal, and I’m here for it.

But there are so many parallels between logan and Laura and Logan and Rogue that for Logan not to say anything or feel anything in a way tgat tells the audience he’s feeling something just boggles my mind.

Even if he carried HER picture or played with the dog tags and thought of her, something that shows the audience he remembers her, dammit, and she MEANT something to him.

But FUCK how could he NOT?

And that’s why the scene where he’s reading that comic book and he sees himself saving Rogue is so poignant.

Because his gaze lingers.

I mean, obviously I’m assuming she’s dead (which is bullshit but whatever). But still.

And then when he’s dying and Laura is holding his hands and you get that prophecy of him dying with his heart in his hand and I loved how they paired it with the Logan and Rogue song. I loved that callback.

And if the films in between them weren’t such shit, it would be enough.

But it’s not enough for me.

There was so much potential and everything got shit on and it angers me soooo much.

Anyway.

That’s me venting.

Luckily we have so many talented Rogan fic writers and that our ship has survived 20 years.

But still.

What could have been...

Shit.

#logan x marie #wolverine x rogue #Logan x rogue #Wolverine x Marie #Anna Marie #wolverine

42 notes · View notes

bao3bei4 · 3 years

Text

kpop music videos that gave their fans sexual brainworms

OR accidental fetish pop and its fringe fanbase: meditations on gendered desire

large warning here: i am someone who has been into kpop for the past 10 years. however, i have always been an extremely casual fan. i do write fic, but not rpf. if any of that makes you not want to hear me talk about kpop rpf (or you don’t want to hear about it in general), please keep moving.

anyway, obviously pop is corporate, soulless, and manufactured. but sometimes some truly bizarre shit gets past the committees and destroys a generation. these are their stories.

the video that started this is all is got7’s just right, released july 10th, 2015.

yes that’s all 7 members of got7 (one is out of frame) shrunken down for your viewing pleasure. they live in your room and tell you you’re just right.

this sheer fetish power of this video is nerfed only by how utterly sexless it is.

they’re styled like and dance like this. it’s a totally unironic sendup of the seminal work that preceded it by four years, “what makes you beautiful” by the white kpop group “one direction.” the chaste energy of the whole thing makes you legitimately wonder if the good people at jyp have just never heard of microphilia. (during a dramatic reading of this piece, here a friend interjected seriously, “i think it’s korean culture not to talk about things like this, fetishes in the workplace.”)

it’s for the best, honestly, though because the actress in the music video is lee ja in, who was 11 when the video was shot. considering that the members themselves ranged in age from 18-23 at the time, i think it’s actually very impressive that we only have to cancel one.

you receive absolutely no prizes for guessing that it’s jackson wang we’re sending to social justice prison. why’d he do this? no one asked.

at any rate, got7 fans, or “gans” (they actually call themselves igot7s which is too twee for me), have much to think about here: all 7 very small members of got7 sneaking into their room, possibly weird age play, and jackson wang eating a very large cake.

let’s see what they actually did.

twitter was actually very tame. the most charged thing i found was (unsurprisingly) from a bts fan (“ban”). i don’t actually know what it means, but i think it means something.

so, of course, i turned to the internet’s last bastion of free speech, where you can say whatever the fuck you want and receive cheers, or as the kids say, “kudos.” that is, i read fanfiction.

for those of you who don’t know your herstory, i started my journey at Asianfanfics.com, where, at the time of writing, there were 12,067 got7 stories. i want to start this by saying that i think feminism won, because someone was paying real human dollars to advertise their irene/wendy fanfiction on a banner ad, which is quite possibly a win for women for everywhere.

anyway, Asianfanfics.com’s search engine sucks ass (i kept on finding stories about different combinations of bts members worrying about their weight and being reassured by another member that were entitled “just right”), so i decided to look through all got7 stories written between july 2015 and december 2015.

but, alas, not a single got7 microphilia fic to be found.

also, some genre commentary while i’m here: i think the stories i respect the most are the “[y/n] is a ordinary girl who’s assigned to be got7’s manager! can she make them into superstars? as sparks begin to fly, can she keep it professional?” like fuck yeah that sounds like a kickass dating sim. it almost definitely already is one. i salute all the teens around the world for buying into the fantasy of dating a boy band member that they themselves sell you.

however, i don’t think i respect the “[member a] and [member b] are mafia/jocks and nerds/college students/high schoolers” concepts. in my opinion, the whole fantasy of boy band member is their personas, their hidden real personalities, their celebrity, and the show business setting. find a different intellectual property if you wanna write about school. i even respect the “yugyeom drank girl juice [not estrogen] and turned into a sexy girl” story more, because at least it knows exactly what it wants, and also because they’re all still boy band members. well, band members. shout out to yugyeom.

so, anyway, i looked elsewhere. at the time of writing, archive of our own only had 11,645 got7 stories, but it does have a better search, so it effectively has more. as an aside, i think it’s so funny, and mildly disorienting at first, that archive of our own separates the “music & bands” section from the “celebrities & real people” section. boy band members aren’t real people.

the first problem i encountered is that only 20 or so stories were written within a year of just right’s release. absolute cringe gans. don’t you care about your boys? there were zero stories tagged “vore” or “microphilia” either. stories containing the word “tiny” that were rated either “explicit” or “mature” were all normal (“normal”) size fetishization rather than, you know, just right.

however, i learned my lesson from twitter. i realized that what had happened was that watching this video had created sleeper agents, just waiting for their activation phrase. that activation phrase? bangtan boys. and yeah, lo and behold, there was one! unfortunately (fortunately?) it had nothing to do with got7, let alone just right, so i’m not going to talk about it.

basically what i learned is that this video may have actually been very normal, and my brain has just been destroyed by being too online at a young age.

however, there are plenty more videos in this genre. i present to you exo wolf, a banger from may 30th, 2013. i say banger, because in a comedic inversion, it’s actually fucking terrible.

this video is pretty self-explanatory in terms of why it might induce certain responses.

let’s get the formalities out of the way. this video, the member who’s getting cancelled is kai. he has braids in this video :/

also skating on thin ice: xiumin and chen. guys what was up with the whole exo-m thing? like, we’re gonna have a cpop subgroup, but it’s going to be part chinese members and part korean members that we’ll give a chinese name? unsurprisingly, the three exo members who have departed from the group are all chinese. they weren’t able to stand the microaggressions probably. but xiumin and chen remain uncancelled as an official chinese apology for five thousand of years of on-and-off invasions of korea. sorry guys that was kinda fucked up. our bad!

anyway, there are basically three avenues for exo fans to take: 1) humans with wolfish characters (usually wolf pack dynamics, which even wolves themselves don’t fucking use so i think all of you should shut up. the real omega here is your brain), 2) werewolves (duh), and 3) wolves with human characteristics (i.e. standard furry fare).

exo themselves let all these possibilities exist at the same time, superimposing them over each other, which is very woke and egalitarian of them. let’s see what the people decided. awoo.

Asianfanfics dot com had many stories in this vein. i feel very validated that this time i was able to correctly predict a fetish. that said, briefly returning to my earlier comment regarding alternate universes: it’s intense psychic whiplash reading about these vampires and werewolves, and going okay okay luhan is a vampire this that whatever, and then seeing the actual real performance photos the author attaches at the bottom of each chapter. bro i forgot these were actual people.... it breaks immersion so bad... i’m sorry, i just can’t believe that any of these dancing boys are having weird vampire sex with wings or whatever.

archive of our own also had many stories in this vein. and i think there are some important difference between the two sites worth talking about.

first of all, i think the higher engagement rate of archive of our own really enables some of the authors to get super bold. it makes Asianfanfics.com seem a little quaint, actually. like the wordcounts are waaay longer, for one. it’s uncommon for a story hosted on Asianfanfics.com to be more than a few thousand words long (most of them could easily be published in the new yorker), whereas some of these archive of our own people have written full length novels about if the members of exo were werewolves. i guess it’s just intensely demoralizing for the aff.com crew to get, like, three comments per story.

the second big difference is that i’m noticing more common themes between the ao3 crew’s writing. like stan intertextuality, or plagiarism, or whatever, but they seem to be implicitly engaging with each other’s characterizations, storylines, and tropes. i think it is because they probably all follow each other on twitter. (i have been active on twitter for three weeks now so i am an expert on fanfiction twitter.)

anyway, like not that i am a particularly big gan (cannot even list all the members), but these people seem to have reached a very specific consensus on how jackson wang, for instance, would react in a variety of situations that really surprises me? if i were to sit down and write a got7 story, i think the fuckboitude, the douchebaggery is a big part of his charm. not to be nationalist or anything, but for god’s sake, he’s from hong kong. but these people have him as very sensitive, lots of protective instincts. not that i understood what anyone on aff.com was doing with his character either, but they did all seem to be doing different things. “kudos” to that, i guess.

but: exo. wolf. i searched the “wolves” tag. this filtered the list down from 33459 stories to 52 stories. and the “wolves” tag was very different from the aff.com “wolf” tag. for the most part, aff.com liked stories where a member was a wolf (usually shapeshifting), feral boy, lots of y/n, lots of y/n dating a feral boy who is secretly a wolf.

ao3 really, really, really likes alpha/beta/omega stories. sorting by the most popular stories, only five on the first page weren’t a/b/o. and one of them was a cis f!baekhyun story, so i think the intended effect was communicated. anyway, let’s talk about some of the themes.

first of all, i’m disappointed. today’s bonus cancellation is of ao3 “wolves” writers. why the fuck are you drawing so heavily from european wolves?? there are wolves in asia!! you don’t need to keep giving their packs and ranks weird latin names. i will kill you. i hate italy. korea literally has a native wolf. i hate all of you!!! if you want to write caucasian wolves go watch that dumbass cw show!!!! my god.

the second theme (the first one was white supremacy) is that no one wants to be a wolf who fucks. i think that we need a sex positivity movement, or something, for omega rights. like, are all of you doing okay? you’re queering misogyny by inventing new genders to oppress. another level to “no one wants to be a wolf...” is the “who fucks” part. there are so many consent issues. and not even in like, a sexy intentional way? in a “i genuinely do not think this author understands how their writing comes off” way. unfortunately i am sensitive to untagged sexual coercion, and there was a lot of that.

at any rate, the aff.com wolves were at peace with being wolves, very self-actualized. the ao3 wolves know that every minute they spend alive on this bitch of an earth is suffering, and also sex.

the third theme is the evolution of y/n. y/n, who, in a startlingly woke move for aff.com, is almost always korean, is a girl main character stumbling into love, boy bands, and wolves (i think it’s because aff.com is oldschool kpop fandom, so therefore heavily asian itself in userbase). but y/n is not the main character in ao3 stories. she is the straight best friend. in what i think is a hilarious move, ao3 authors invert the gay best friend paradigm to give the gay main character a straight girl as best friend. she usually calls him “a gay,” she has lots of thoughts on boys, and she knows his sexuality better than he does and before he does. (sidebar: if all the men are gay, and all the women are straight...)

there’s a really fun twist to this, though, because the main character is always a self-insert in fanfiction. but where older fanfiction like aff.com was at peace with this and literalize it via y/n shenanigans, modern fic writers who haven’t finished distangling their complicated relationship with wanting to be a man who loves other men instead simply imbue their main character with their essence. a little voodoo doll sehun, with a lock of y/n hair.

this creates a deeply ambivalent relationship with gender in these stories. the main character is usually an omega, but one who resents being an omega. their body and its parts is usually described, if at all, as ostensibly intersex (except more offensively), but in practice, these discourses inscribe a trans body. (nb: i think cis writers approach this in a really fucked up fetishizing way, but i hope by this point we know that that goes without saying) it’s incredibly straightforward to read this, and see the underlying desires and fears in a heady cocktail of unfiltered writing that’s deeply confessional. you know when freud had people say whatever the fuck they wanted and figured they’d eventually free associate into releasing their subconscious into reality? yeah.

okay, and while we’re on the topic, let’s talk f(x) nu abo, released on may 4th, 2010.

this is a blitzy, maximalist, amped up dance hit that even has its own applause and cheers built in. it’s so fucking annoying, and i love it.

this song is on here because the second most popular kpop a/b/o story on ao3 is called “nu abo” except it’s about bts. that’s offensive enough in its own right. write something about f(x) (702 works). when will women win the right to have their own self-lubricating holes.

anyway, even though f(x) is probably innocent in all of this, i’m still cancelling amber liu.

for queerbaiting. who told her to look like ruby rose but hot? and for what? i’m also cancelling her for racism, but that wasn’t in this video.

moving on to a double feature: vixx voodoo doll and vixx chained up, released november 19, 2013 and november 9, 2015 respectively. this is because while voodoo doll is more formative, i think the fans who write fanfiction today got into kpop more recently, so we are casting a wide net.

anyway, voodoo doll is jam packed with weird pseudo-medical imagery, blood, vivisection, bondage, puppet shit, femdom, sharps, piercings, asphyxiation, dollification, stabbing/penetration metaphors, and a really sick and catchy dance. god that looks like the list of tags on the a/b/o wolf stories.

for this song, we’re cancelling you, for being way too into this song when you were 13.

vixx voodoo doll made me goth i guess! insert that pic of the your music saved me sign, except it saved me from getting into emo or pop punk probably.

chained up, comparatively, is much more tame. the only thing of note about it is that there are around 10 completely different chokers and choker looks the members wear in this music video. also they’re singing about being chained up, but that seemed a bit obvious.

we could argue that voodoo doll is gay while chained up is gay (derogatory); that voodoo doll is queer while chained up is gay; that chained up is a sensitive masterpiece of omega4omega sexuality. but we’re not going to.

we’re going to talk about what voodoo doll fanfiction was and was not. first, Aff.com had plenty of it. however, i was extremely disappointed to see that much of it did not hew to the spirit of vixx voodoo doll. my god, the voodoo doll becoming the one preying upon you disgusts me. the fantasy of the voodoo doll is that of absolute power. the idea that the doll itself has agency? instantly breaks the fantasy. i’m even not into voodoo dolls and i’m offended.

i also don’t think it’s part of the voodoo doll fantasy to release the doll. the only story on there that involved Y/N kidnapping vixx members like in the music video was unavailable because the author deactivated their account. come back qxeen what did you see.

i think this got off track, actually, in that i was mostly wondering why these people imprinted differently onto vixx voodoo doll than i did. like i don’t think you’re supposed to actually like straightforwardly absorb the morals and aesthetics of music videos like it’s propaganda. however, it’s more entertaining if you do. i hope ao3 doesn’t let me down.

out of the then 5932 works in the vixx fandom (the least out of every group so far, excluding f(x) because they’re women), 59 of them included the word “voodoo” somewhere. that’s 1%. i legitimately can’t tell if that’s high or not.

after some more cursory reading through the first page of popular results, my big takeaway is that people watched that video and wanted to be tortured and enslaved? but not, like, in a sexy way where the torturing is the point, the way where the point is to suffer bravely and beautifully, to endure the world’s harms like jesus on the cross, and then to fall into the arms of a beautiful boy who may or may not be the one hurting you in the first place.

there’s a certain predictability to these fantasies. like it’s not even masochism, which would be fun at least, it’s literally just like the desire to be beautiful, even as you suffer. and i do find that a little boring. (but, i mean, you can’t help being a woman!)

sidebar: on chained up. what’s interesting about chained up, is that most of the then 38 “chained up” works (likely because the video has no storyline) are about the members fucking during chained up promotions. no one’s ever actually chained up, but whatever. it’s fine. it’s fine!

anyway, here, more than ever, the nature of desire is stripped bare. i’ve written before [elsewhere in the unreleased tshirt cinematic universe] on how kpop boys are, through fandom, re-formed as white, or more strongly, i guess, blank slates. it’s really interesting to me how so much of this dynamic of projection is enabled by the fact that they’re asian men. they’re infantilized, feminized vessels; they’re seductive, but childlike, oblivious to their own charms, so nonthreatening; they have uncontrollable desires for sex, they’re scared of sex. and above all else, white women submit themselves to them, insert themselves into them. basically kpop fans tend to rework old school yellow peril and emasculation fantasies to reenact their own desires, often white, often cishet on them.

what i am saying is that there’s another thesis about forced feminization and its racialized subtext in here. obviously gender is a racialized construct to begin with, but like it’s fascinating to argue that when white women remake asian men according to their own desires, that is, into themselves, they (hopefully) unintentionally echo these old fears about the sexual order.

it illuminates, it seems, the underlying dynamic in the denigration of asian men, which is of course the fear of miscegenation. now, my breathtaking ability to make everything about me aside, miscegenation is interesting because it presents a racial synthesis, beginning to collapse and trouble the artificial designations of purity. so we make asian men into white women, and end up with an unsettling hybrid. i’m sure this has deep implications for me personally.

but i think we already knew that quite a few of these people had yellow fever, so let’s talk about the gender dialectic at play. basically, the above dynamic, of making men into women (whether literally, in body; or subjectively, in mind; or even relationally, as they are objectified into passive vessels for your desire) coexists with the ostensibly converse dynamic, in which the straight women desires to be a gay man. these aren’t necessarily in conflict: it could easily be that these are different writers writing different stories, that both are ways of expressing discontent with existing in a raced, gendered body, or even that the end product of both is the same.

it’s been a while without a picture. all of you now have the legal right to hunt and kill me for making a d&g joke.

anyway, what i want to talk about is how these two fantasies can coexist. that by making a man into yourself, you can speak on your own desire in a passive way. my normal interest is analyzing forced masc fantasies (albeit in chinese opera lol), and they bear little to no resemblance to this kind of fantasy. this kind offers plausible deniability, of course, because wanting things is embarrassing. but also the fantasy isn’t about wanting to be a man, it’s about having no choice but to be a failed one. the gender pessimism running through these stories is palpable. basically andrea long chu wants what wolf fanfiction writers know: everyone is an omega, and everyone hates it.

at any rate, this racialized dynamic is one that i wasn’t sure how to bring up throughout this piece, mainly because there is no definitive way for me to tell the race of any individual writer, beyond just like the clear and present vibes that i receive. but i think it structures a lot of the fantasies contained in this essay. (i felt more comfortable bringing up the gendered dynamic, because it was fairly trivial to find out the current gender of the person writing each story i was reading.)

obviously we should return to the specter haunting this conversation: the very much alive david eng. i think this sort of argument is familiar to readers of racial castration, especially his chapter on m. butterfly. btw sorry for mentioning that play 2 out of 3 posts on this blog. i have problems.

let’s talk about the parallel imagery between the depiction of gallimard’s final speech and the fanfiction i’ve described above. in it, gallimard makes himself into his own dream woman, dressing in yellowface and robes, the costume of puccini’s original madame butterfly. and he laments his lost love:

there is a vision of the orient that i have. of slender women in chong sams and kimonos who die for the love of unworthy foreign devils. who are born and raised to be the perfect women. who take whatever punishment we give them, and bounce back, strengthened by love, unconditionally.

in that, i see the self insert, and i see the sufferer of vixx voodoo fic. the fantasy that gallimard has about asian women is repeated, this time about asian men and a helpless identification with them. and on some level, gallimard’s women do have something very compelling to identify with: they suggest that there’s a way to endure white male violence without sacrifice, and even more potently, to enjoy it on some level.

but onward to the titular racial castration. eng argues that gallimard’s wilful ignorance of song’s true gender is a psychic castration -- song’s masculinity is diminished so that his own can be enhanced within their relationship. this, eng believes, acts out “richard fung’s contention that in western imaginary ‘asian and anus are conflated.’” this process stabilizes the relationship between the asian man and the white woman: they occupy the same place within the sexual dyad.

this is, i think, why some people are addicted to writing from the bottom’s perspective. again -- not implying that irl bottoms don’t exist or that bottoms are psychically castrated lol -- but rather that you can fantasize about this ideal asian man that you can come to embody. in kpop rpf, rather than it being between a white man and an asian man (unless someone’s started writing chad future fic), it’s between two asian men. so this transformation is performed. whiteness is always intruding and so i think eng is helpful here to making it visible again.

this essay isn’t a callout or actual cancellation or anything like that, i do wanna be clear. i guess i just like talking about fantasies, even the embarrassing ones, and where they come from. i think oftentimes in fandom spaces, we write a lot of stories off as idfic, and i think virtually every single one of the stories i referenced to write this fairly uncontroversially fall into that category. but i think calling something an “id” something or the other naturalizes the satisfaction it gives as purely instinctual and unconscious, when i do think there are deeper narratives at play. while i didn’t ever actually reference the base here (sorry), i do think it’s worth talking about how real world power shapes & maintains the superstructure, and thereby our fantasies.

anyway in conclusion, maybe i was the one with sexual brainworms the whole time.

83 notes · View notes

transmascdeanwinchester · 3 years

Note

You got any trans man dean headcanons? 👀

I don’t know when u sent this so sorry if I’m answering late!!!

Also I just have the basic bitch set of trans dean headcanons tbh but they make me go feral so I will repeat them!!

- lazurus rising when cas brought dean back he put him in the body he’s always deserved (the mirror scene lives in my head rent free baby!)

- teenage dean stealing testosterone from hospitals and pharmacies when he had the chance bc they moved around too much for him to have a stable prescription pickup plan

- John being pissed for awhile that dean’s not his “perfect little girl” like he thought but getting over it bc dean is so determined to emulate him to prove his masculinity that it just makes him a better more fierce hunter and protector so John gets over it in like a year (Dean’s always been Like That anyway,,, in the grand scheme of things it’s less Distracting to have this small ongoing conflict that John just calls him Dean and does the passive aggressive “you wanna be a man? Act like it.” bullshit you know how it goes)

- Dean knowing he’s not a girl from a young age (like probably about 6) and teaches Sam to call him Dean and that he’s his brother from the time sammy can talk (Sam doesn’t learn Dean’s name is legally Deanna until he’s starting middle school)

- Dean binding in his teens by wearing those tank tops that are like skin tight but also stretchy material? With the built in bra part? he wears two of those under all the Normal Winchester layers and it gives him the flat chest (what isn’t flattened completely gets lost under his dad’s leather jacket he wears to school every day)

- it goes without saying but Dean, age 7, cut his hair for the first time in a shitty hotel bathroom mirror by trying to copy a dude in a shaving ad in a magazine (John didn’t even notice for three days)

- Dean gets top surgery after sam goes to Stanford when he’s supposed to be on a solo hunt (he tells John he’s hunting something but really he’s recovering at Bobby’s)

- Bobby, we are not surprised, is a good father figure and shut that shit down when dean explains that he’s just gonna hole up in a motel once he gets his surgery (“Boy, do you know how fucking dirty motel linens are? I am NOT letting you die from an infection and most certainly not leaving you Alone for months defenseless”)

- Dean using makeup to make his jawline a little sharper and more square even tho the iffy food situation growing up made sure he barely has any roundness to his face to begin with

- on the flip side dean playing up his fem features to use as a distraction when he hustles pool

- dean training his voice by trying to copy the sound of his favorite singers voices (and John since he hears his voice most consistently)

- dean knocking the shit out of transphobes (the comments don’t even have to be directed at him, he hears them and it’s ON SIGHT no question)

- dean acting like a womanizer bc that’s what Men Do and it’s all just literally part of his carefully constructed hyper masculine image bc it’s so so difficult to pick up anyone when what’s under theclothes don’t match what can be seen on the surface (Cassie is the first person he sleeps with and he’s so terrified but she doesn’t care holy shit she doesn’t care?)

- Dean chooses to keep his name close to his birth name bc that’s the name his mother gave him and he doesn’t want to disrespect her by completely changing it

- On the topic of dean’s hyper masculine image he constructs it from a mix of John and from the action movies he studies religiously when he has the chance (this is what boys like this is what every man dreams of being I have to like this too-) even tho he has enough action and violence in his actual life thanks,

- Dean not being big on faith because he can’t imagine some higher power choosing to make him be born in the wrong body and make him work so hard to fix it himself like life wasn’t hard Enough

- Dean being so immensely pleased when word gets around the monster worlds about the Winchester Brothers,,, the validity of your reputation being cemented in the way you’ve carefully crafted it to be

- Dean rationalizing that it’s okay for him to spend time and energy on making sure he’s presenting masc and getting the body language and mannerisms down because it helps him be better at his jobs as protector of his family and as a hunter (men are thought of as stronger/scarier, men are taken more seriously when interviewing locals/victim’s families, more authority is afforded to men)

- dean almost shooting a man in a bar bathroom when he’s fourteen and just needed to deal with shark week stuff real quickly but this drunk decided a “teenage girlie only has one use in a men’s bathroom” but dean just knocks him out and sprints back to the motel (dean doesn’t use public bathrooms after that if he can help it)

- dean not knowing the word transgender until he finds it in a library book while he’s supposed to be researching but really he’d heard the slur and needed to be clear on why it made him feel so icky so he was looking it up in the dictionary and he’s like Oh that’s Me

- Bobby doesn’t actually meet Sam and Dean until after Dean’s cut his hair for the first time and Sammy can only say half words (most Dee, which is good enough for Dean) so one of Dean’s first impressions of Bobby is him asking John “didn’t you have a daughter?” and John just giving a tired sigh because he’s too busy with the hunt he’s here for to try and get into it but Dean butts in with “No, he’s always had two boys, I’m Dean and this is Sammy” and Bobby doesn’t comment on this little high pitched voice or question it much because he’s babysitting this kid for the next two weeks and he doesn’t want it to be a hostile two weeks (and it never becomes a problem because by the end of week one Bobby never even entertains the idea that Dean isn’t a little boy)

- After Dean gets back from Hell literally the only thing that trips Sam and Bobby up (aside from that he just resurrected lmao) is that his shoulders are more squared and he’s just built more like he should be (see previous point about cas rebuilding him as he should’ve been!)

- Dean never having much money but he still donates to queer charities when he can (makes a point of it in June especially)

- Dean hangs a trans flag in his room at the bunker (and one in the dean cave too)

- The insane validation Dean feels at being called The Rifhteous Man (also the fact that Heaven Knew he was a man all along but didn’t lift a finger to make that any easier to show the rest of the world adds to dean’s general hatred towards them tho)

That’s all I can think of right now but just!! Trans Dean!!!!

Thank u for asking friend!!!

(@bowie-boy I am tagging u bc idk if u will see this post so hope that’s okay!!!)

#shut up sammy

65 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

Alone in the Ashes {2}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: And so it begins.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I’m so sorry, you poor bastard,” Feyre breathed, after learning that Cassian now lived across the hall from her eldest sister.

He chuckled, drinking from his glass. “She doesn’t seem that bad. That guy of hers seems like a real prick, though.”

Feyre snorted. “Don’t get me started.”

Cassian opened his mouth to speak but Rhysand leaned over. “No, seriously, don’t get her started.”

Feyre nudged him in the shoulder, causing him to laugh. “Anyway, where’s Azriel? He said he’d be here by now.”

“Had to go get Mila,” Cassian said, finishing off his glass. “Unexpectedly. Just texted about a half hour ago. There was an incident, apparently. The police called this time.”

Feyre nodded, understandingly. It wasn’t the first time Azriel’s plans had changed last minute, but when he was called on, he always went to get Mila.

Rhysand waved the bartender over, calling for another beer. “Karaoke night. Added you to the list, Feyre.”

Feyre froze. “Uh, no. I’m not going up there. Not after last time.”

Cassian grinned as Rhysand said, “I thought you gave a beautiful rendition of Like a Virgin.”

“Fuck you,” she murmured, and cursed herself for smiling.

A live band played in the corner, the lead singer getting far too into it. He’d taken his shirt off and given it to a drunk girl cheering him on about thirty minutes before, and after that, Feyre just hadn’t been able to take him seriously.

“Alright, I’ve had enough sadness,” Feyre said, hopping off her bar stool and handing her tall glass to Rhysand. “Come on, Cass. We’re going to dance.”

Cassian groaned, but it was all for show, because the moment he was on the dance floor, he had his arms around Feyre’s waist and he was swinging her around.

“You should ask Rhys!” Cassian yelled into her ear above the music. “He’s a better dancer than me!”

“But this is how I get all the ladies to notice you!” Feyre yelled back, grinning from ear to ear.

Cassian laughed, and spun her in a circle.

Feyre loved to dance. She didn’t do it often, only when she went out with the boys. She used to dance with Mor, but she was always busy with school, lately, since she decided to further her education. She wanted to be a doctor. How selfish.

She had called her on the way to the bar, with Rhysand in the car with her, behind the wheel.

Stop studying and come dance with me, she had said into the phone.

Mor had laughed. It’s finals week! A few more days and I get to come home for the summer. Then, we will dance, I promise.

Until then, she had Cassian.

And every time Feyre brought Cassian out onto the dance floor, the girls gravitated toward him.

True enough, as the second the song ended and another was beginning, a tall, blonde woman with a short black dress and combat boots had come up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The second he turned to face her, Feyre hurried away.

Rhysand was laughing, watching the scene unfold. He handed Feyre her glass as she sat back on her stool.

“Works every time.”

“You’re the greatest wing man,” Rhysand agreed, pressing his bottle to his lips. “Alright, now it’s my turn.”

He set his glass on the bar top before standing up and holding out his hand. Feyre drained her glass before putting her hand in his.

He pulled her close to his body. He smelled of lavender and vanilla.

“Have you been using my soap?” she asked, leaning forward to talk into his ear.

He laughed, his breath hot against the side of her face as he said, “That depends...will you be pissed if I said yes?”

“Damn it, Rhys,” she said, unable to stop her grin as one of his hands found her waist, the other still in her hand.

They danced, and Feyre found herself loving every minute of it. Everything came so natural with Rhys. For the first time in a long time, Feyre was enjoying herself without any thought of all she had been going through.

That joy was nice, while it lasted.

Because half an hour later, Rhysand was pulled back by the shoulder and knocked to the floor by a fist that belonged to a man, all too familiar.

“What the fuck?” Feyre yelled, looking into Tamlin’s deep, green eyes.

“I knew it,” he hissed. “I fucking knew it.”

It was what he had accused her of, once more, when she was at his apartment that morning, getting the rest of her things.

You fucking Rhys, yet? He’d asked.

Feyre never answered him. She just got the box of her shit and left.

Rhysand was back on his feet, a bruise already forming on his eye bone, Cassian having come to Feyre’s side.

“Fucking whore,” Tamlin spat, then Cassian was standing in front of Feyre.

“You need to leave,” Rhysand said, as the music died down, obvious that there was a scene about to play out.

Feyre was mortified.

“Why?” Tamlin asked, turning around to face Rhysand. “This is a public space, I am just as welcome here as anyone else.”

“No,” Rhysand said, eyes narrowed. “You’re not.”

“Says the guy that was just knocked on his ass.”

Cassian took a step closer to Tamlin’s back, just as Rhysand took a step closer in front of him. “You need to leave, Tam.”

“Tam,” he repeated the old nickname. “Been a while since I heard that from you. Or Feyre, for that matter. But, I suppose she would stop calling me by my nickname the moment she started fucking you-”

Rhysand’s fist met Tamlin’s jaw, and Tamlin stumbled, catching himself before he could fall onto the floor.

Feyre’s eyes went wide as blood trickled out of the side of Tamlin’s mouth.

Tamlin started forward, but Cassian intervened, pushing Tamlin back by his shoulders. He whispered something feral into his ear, which made Tamlin stop. He looked from Feyre to Rhysand, shook his head, and walked out. Cassian looked back at the band, and said, “Where’s the music?”

They started up again and people began dancing like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Feyre’s hands were shaking, though, as she excused herself and hurried to the restroom. She locked herself inside of a stall and cried.

She was pissed.

Pissed at Tamlin, pissed at the sight of him, pissed that he came to ruin her night.

She was pissed at Rhysand, pissed that he’d punched her ex. He was better that than, better than to stoop to Tamlin’s level.

She was pissed at herself. Pissed that she cared. Pissed that it bothered her at all.

The door opened, and loud footsteps trailed to the other side of the stall door.

“Feyre.” A soft knock. “Open up.”

“Fuck off,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

“Open the door or I’ll crawl underneath and this floor is disgusting.”

Angrily, Feyre unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Rhysand was standing there, arms crossed. The bruise beneath his eye was turning a soft shade of blue. “I’m sor-”

“I’m ready to go home.”

Rhysand frowned. He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. He pulled her toward him, into his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. Okay? I got pissed. I caused a scene. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just go around hitting people,” she said, voice muffled into his shirt.

“I know,” he said.

“And I can stand up for myself without the two of you brutes causing a scene,” she said, referring to him and Cassian, who was most likely back to dancing with the tall blonde.

“I know,” he said, and leaned back, taking her face into her hands.

His eyes were full of worry, full of regret.

She understood where Tamlin was coming from, she supposed, in the fact that it would not be the craziest thing for Feyre to end up with Rhys. He was her best friend and she loved him, more than she loved most people, differently than she loved anyone else.

But they had never done anything. They had only ever been friends.

“Let’s go back out there. Drinks are on me,” he said.

“I thought they were already on you,” Feyre said, and Rhysand grinned, although it didn’t meet his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You can hit me, if you want.”

“Tempting,” Feyre mumbled, before pushing against his chest. “I’m going to poke you in your bruise when you least expect it.”

Rhysand laughed. “Feel better, do you?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, then pressed her lips to his cheek. Rhysand tensed, but it quickly faded. “Thank you for defending my honor, you savage caveman.”

Rhysand’s smile was contagious as he took her hand and led her back into the bar.

He called for the bartender and ordered a round of shots.

~~~~~

“Hungry?” Azriel asked, looking in the rear view mirror of his truck.

Mila sat in the backseat, her pink Velcro shoes kicking wildly. “Yes. I want chicken nuggets.”

Azriel chuckled. “You always want chicken nuggets.”

“Yeah,” she said, as if it were obvious, “because they’re yummy.”

“Alright,” he said, “but then we have to go home and get ready for bed. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, slowly. “When can I see Rhysie?”

Mila loved Rhysand more than anyone else. He was her man.

“Tomorrow, maybe. He’s not home tonight.”

“Is he somewhere being naughty?” she asked, giggling.

Azriel snorted. “Probably.”

He pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and parked. He unbuckled her car seat and carried her inside on his hip. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

After ordering, they sat near a window and ate chicken nuggets, french fries, and chocolate shakes.

“Is mama okay?” she asked, looking up at Azriel with big, brown eyes.

She may have only been four, but she saw far more than most people thought she did. Her mother, included.

Azriel set down the chicken nugget he was about to eat. “Yeah, babe. She just...she needs to get a little help, you know?”

Mila nodded, slowly, not quite understanding. “Help?”

“Yeah, from a doctor,” he explained, popping the chicken nugget into his mouth. “Here, know what you should try?”

Mila blinked. “What?”

He took the lid off her chocolate shake and dipped a french fry into it before putting it into his mouth.

Mila scrunched her nose. “Ewww!”

“You don’t know if it’s ewww until you try it,” he winked. “Try it and I’ll give you a dollar.”

Mila’s eyes grew wide. “A whole dollar?”

Azriel nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Fine,” she said, sassily, before dipping a french fry into her milkshake. She took a bite and thought about it for a second. “That’s yummy.”

“Told you so,” Azriel said, before dipping another french fry into her milkshake.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He stuck his tongue out at her, too.

She giggled, and continued to eat.

And once she was full, Azriel carried her back to his truck and strapped her into her car seat before taking her back to his apartment. The minute he pulled in, she was already fast asleep. She’d had a big day.

He carried her up the stairs and unlocked his apartment door. After slipping off his shoes, he carried her to the back room, the guest room, which was dominantly covered in Mila’s belongings, and laid her down. He took off her shoes and covered her with a blanket.

Mila flopped around before she opened her eyes, sleepily. With a yawn, she said, “G’night, Uncle Az.”

“Goodnight, babe,” he whispered, and kissed her forehead before clicking on a batman nightlight and cracking the door behind him.

He meandered into the living room and slumped down in his chair. He grabbed the remote but didn’t turn on the t.v.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like having Mila. He loved having his niece with him, but that wasn’t the point, that wasn’t what pissed him off.

Mila was only four, living in a world she didn’t deserve. She was tossed into a situation the moment she had been born that wasn’t fair.

He fished his phone out of his pocket to see if anyone had called, but his screen was blank. Unsure of what happened with his sister after he’d picked up Mila from the police, Azriel tossed his phone on the side table, turned on the t.v., and settled back into the comfort of his lazyboy.

Mila believed that the crack of dawn was an appropriate time to wake up.

He’d better get some sleep.

~~~~~

“Mother’s tits, Feyre, your breath smells like shit.”

Rhysand had carried her up the stairs, and she had giggled in his face the entire time. By the time they were inside of their apartment and he was dropping her on the couch, he could hardly breathe from the overwhelming scent of tequila.

“Thank you for carrying me,” she sang, reaching up for him.

Rhysand shook his head, slipping off one of her sandals, then the other. “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Says the guy that gave me the shots,” she laughed, and then Rhysand turned on a light and she groaned. “Turn it off!”

Rhysand grinned. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“No,” she said, yawning, snuggling into the couch. “This is where I’m staying tonight. Right. Fuckin. Here.”

“Let’s at least brush your teeth,” Rhysand said, laughing quietly. “And take a quick shower.”

“You just wanna see me naked,” she slurred.

Rhysand lifted a brow. “If I wanted to see you naked, I would’ve made up an excuse a long time ago. Come on.”

A lie, but she cooperated, nonetheless.

She clung to him as she stumbled down the hallway. And when she fell into the little bathroom, Rhysand flicked on a light, causing her to groan again. Rhysand, paying her whininess no mind, lifted her up onto the counter top of the vanity and turned on the sink. He grabbed her toothbrush, and put toothpaste on it, before handing it to her.

She blew a raspberry at him.

Rhysand shook his head, exasperated. “Very mature. Open up.”

“No.”

“Come on, Feyre, open up.”

“Nooooo.”

“Open your fucking mouth, Feyre,” Rhysand laughed, pulling at her bottom lip.

“Fine,” she groaned, obnoxiously, and opened her mouth, wide.

Rhysand, oh so patiently, brushed her teeth for her. “Spit,” he ordered. She did so. Then, he handed her a tiny cup full of water. “Rinse.” She did that, too.

“Better?” he asked, rinsing off her toothbrush before putting it back in the holder.

When he looked back to Feyre, she was staring at him. “You’re really fucking pretty.”

Rhysand snorted. “So I’m told.”

She took his face in her hands and squeezed his cheeks. His lips popped out as he rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna start the shower. Alright?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

Her voice had grown quiet, her hands on his face loosening. “Do you love me, Rhysand?”

Rhysand lifted a brow as Feyre’s hands trailed down his cheeks, his neck, to his chest, where they rested over his heart. “You know I do.”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” she slurred, eyes bright.

“You are a beautiful woman, Feyre,” Rhysand said, smiling fondly. “But you are not a pretty drunk.”

Feyre scowled. “Start my shower, peasant.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “Yes, my Lady.”

He turned to do just that, but she pulled him back by the neck of his shirt, until his face was only an inch from hers.

“Will you join me in the shower, Rhysie?” she crooned.

Rhysand had imagined her asking him that so many times throughout the years, but her breath did not smell like mint-coated-tequila in any of those fantasies.

“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think-”

She pressed her mouth against his, hungrily, and Rhysand froze. Her tongue slid against his, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

He pulled back, hastily, and cleared his throat. “Um….I think we should-”

Feyre leaned forward and heaved, puking violently all over Rhysand’s jeans. With nothing left to do, he sighed, gathering her hair into his hands as she cleared her stomach. “You should be happy I fucking love you, Feyre, darling.”

When she was done, her eyes were glazed over, watering, her skin pale, clammy. He waited a few minutes, holding back her hair with one hand and rubbing her knee with the other, before asking, “Done?”

Feyre groaned, eyelids growing heavy.

“Alright.” Rhysand pulled off his vomit-covered jeans and t-shirt and tossed them in the corner before taking off her tank top, tossing it in the corner, too.

“Take off your jeans, Feyre,” he ordered, gently, “unless you want to wake up smelling like shit in the morning.”

Rhysand laid a towel down on top of the mess on the floor and helped Feyre to her feet, where he unbuttoned her jeans and helped her slip them off. Her eyes were already fluttered shut as she sat back on the counter top in her bra and panties. Rhysand covered a washcloth in warm water and soap before cleaning around her mouth and down her chest, her abdomen, and her thighs - everywhere the vomit had landed. When he was done, he gathered her up into his arms, and carried her across the hall to her bedroom.

She was already sound asleep when he laid her down and tucked her in.

After shutting her door, in nothing but his boxer-briefs, Rhysand cleaned the vomit off the bathroom tile and vanity before gathering all the dirty shit and putting it into the washing machine. After taking a quick shower himself, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, face first, moaning as his bruise, where he’d been punched, made contact with his pillow.

It had been a hell of a night.

~~~~~

Nesta stared at the opposite side of the bathroom stall as Tomas thrust himself into her. She tried to fake the noises of pleasure at first, but she eventually gave up as the boredom grew.

Tomas leaned back, eventually, breathing heavily as he took in her expression. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you?”

Nesta sighed. “I’ve fucked you too many times. Now, it just feels forced and never lasts long enough.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped back, dropping his grip on her thighs.

She reached for her jeans on the dingy floor as he zipped up his pants and fled from the stall.

“Seriously?” Nesta called after him. “Quit acting like an ass.”

Her jeans were halfway up her legs when he left, leaving her alone in the restroom.

Once she was dressed, she left the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still looking good, hanging loosely behind her in curls. Her makeup was hardly smudged.

Pulling out a cigarette and her lighter, Nesta left the restroom and fell back into the loud, busy club. She pushed her way through the crowd until she was out the front door, into the parking lot.

When she got to their parking spot, Tomas’ car was gone.

“Fuck!” she yelled, looking around, exasperated, but he was already gone. “Fucking prick.”

She took a drag of her cigarette before running a hand anxiously through her hair.

It was dark.

She lived five blocks away.

It was not the best part of town.

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, but it was dead. Of course.

With a sigh, and a hope that no one jumped her, Nesta began to walk back home.

Nesta liked the dark, the quiet. She liked being alone.

The only reason she had kept Tomas around for so long was because he was convenient. He bought her whatever she wanted and was able to find the shit that was hard to find. Now, she found all that a ridiculous reason to keep him around.

She dented his pride, and he had abandoned her at two in the morning.

Nesta walked quickly, looking around her often. She finished her cigarette and tossed it in the bushes, crossing her arms across her chest.

Behind her, a black truck turned the corner, driving slowly in her direction.

Nesta’s heart began beating fast, her pace picking up, just a little bit. She didn’t want them to know she was afraid, didn’t want them to think she was vulnerable.

Hopefully, soon, they would pass her and let her carry on with her walk.

She had four blocks to go.

The truck did not speed up. In fact, as the truck got closer to her, it slowed down more.

She walked even faster, her feet starting to hurt against the pavement in her thin flip-flops. But before she could panic any further, the truck was beside her, and the window was rolling down. “Need a ride?”

She didn’t look their way. She kept her eyes forward, walking quickly, chin held high.

“Nesta!”

Her eyes shot to the road, where Cassian was looking at her with a curious expression.

Nesta stopped.

Cassian stepped on the brakes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, arms crossed. “You can’t just drive behind a woman in the middle of the night on an abandoned street!”

Cassian raised a thick eyebrow. “Well, I thought it was you from back there, but I just wanted to be sure. Stopping for a random woman would have been creepy.”

Nesta scoffed. “We don’t know each other. To you, I am a random woman.”

“True,” Cassian agreed. “But we’re neighbors and I’m friends with your sister. So. Get in.”

“No, thanks,” Nesta murmured, pulling another cigarette out of her pocket. “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Cassian said, following her, slowly, as she started to walk, again. “Get in the car. It’s not safe for you to be walking out here alone and you know it.”

“If I get in the fucking truck will you shut up and let me ride in silence?” she asked, turning to meet him, once more.

Cassian took a few seconds to debate it. “Yeah, alright.”

Nesta rolled her eyes as she went to the truck, but when she pulled on the handle, it was locked. “What the fuck?” she looked at him, annoyed.

“Cigarette stays out,” he said.

Nesta’s lips formed a straight line. “Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, mocking her tone. “This is a new truck, it won’t be smelling like shit. Put it out.”

Nesta scowled, but did as she was told before opening up the door, this time unlocked, and climbing inside.

Cassian didn’t move.

Nesta sighed. “What now?”

“Seat belt,” he said, and she swore she saw humor dancing in those damned hazel eyes.

She furiously strapped on her seat belt before grinding out, “There.”

“Good,” Cassian grinned, putting his truck in drive. “Do I want to know why you were walking down the street alone?”

“You probably do,” Nesta said, “but I won’t tell you.”

Cassian chuckled. “Fair enough.”

They rode the next few blocks in silence, Nesta staring at the dashboard, Cassian sneaking glances at her, every so often.

“I think you think it’s charming when you look at me like that, but it's not, and I prefer you cut it out,” she mumbled, as they pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex.

Cassian shook his head. “I think you think people are looking at you when they’re not.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable,” he repeated. “Nice word. What others would you use to describe me?”

He parked the car and she got out.

She was halfway up the first flight of stairs before he called from behind her, “A thank you would be nice!”

Her middle finger greeted him as he started at the stairs behind her.

“You’re welcome,” he purred.

Nesta wanted so badly to come back with a retort, to turn around and snap at him, but she didn’t. She was tired. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

All she wanted was to go to bed.

After reaching her apartment and digging her key out of her pocket, she opened the door and shut herself inside. A moment later she could hear Cassian’s door open and close behind him.

~~~~~

Elain should have been sleeping along with the rest of the city but she had too much energy.

She played her music, softly, careful not to wake her dad.

She did pushups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Did sit ups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Mountain climbers.

Looked in the mirror.

Leg extensions.

Looked in the mirror.

Flutter kicks…

She was breathing hard nearly an hour after she had begun, sweat glistening on her skin.

She stripped off her clothes and after one more glance in her bedroom mirror, she got into the shower. She let the cool water wash over her skin, let it wash away the impurities - the sweat, the stench, the thoughts she couldn’t shake.

She found her mind wandering all day, those thoughts running wild, after she had seen Graysen’s instagram.

She was so beautiful, his girlfriend. Long, auburn hair, striking blue eyes.

She was who he preferred.

Even when they were together, she was who he preferred. There was a time Graysen had loved her, she knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier when Elain got home early from work one day and saw her little blue car parked in their driveway.

Elain and Graysen were to be married in two months.

But they would not be getting married anymore.

Elain no longer warmed his bed, Elain no longer woke up next to him every morning, Elain no longer kissed him goodbye as they both left their home to go to work, to make money, to save for their future.

Graysen no longer loved her. Graysen no longer found her worthy. Graysen had grown bored with her, bored with the perfect, sweet, Elain Archeron.

The image still burned in her mind.

She had opened their front door and saw her shoes lying by the welcome mat. Noises of pleasure flooded out of the bedroom, from the bed where Elain and Graysen slept every night.

Elain would never sleep another night with Graysen in that bed again.

She and Graysen would never share anything again.

Not even the endless void that he’d created in the depths of her soul, nor the voice of insecurity, the voice that sounded a hell of a lot like his, that never left the back of her mind.

Elain hated him.

Elain loved him.

Elain hated that her love for him wouldn’t fade, hated that she still felt the pain so strongly, too strongly, as if it had just happened yesterday.

As the water grew colder, Elain sunk down into the tub and closed her eyes.

Perhaps she would sleep there tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty

@photofeesh

@mariamuses

@tswaney17

@amaranthas-whore

@awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr

@rachaels14

@hashtolanashoba

@poisonous00

@chemicha

@mynewdreamwasyou

@candid-confetti

@my-fan-side

@ifangirlninja

@sleeping-and-books

@burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls

@sannelovesreading

@halstudies

@amren-courtofdreams

@wifeofchrishemsworth

@goldr0ses

@humanexile

@booksbooksbooksworld

@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03

@emilyrose111294

@negativenesta

@argentumstella

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae

@feyrethedarklady

@starryandbooks

@gingerglides

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit

@6255igntm

@littlehoneyybee

@the-regal-warrior

@awkward-avocado-s

@aelin-rowan-whitehorn

@julemmaes

@regular-nessian-trash

@ugh-avila

@superspiritfestival

@the-dark-swan

@girlgotattitude448

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#fanfic #fanfiction #tacmc AITA #nessian #feysand #elriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #modern au

234 notes · View notes

safestsephiroth · 4 years

Text

#12: Tooth and Nail - Ebony Wae (FFXIVWrite2020)

More information on FFXIVWrite can be found here: https://sea-wolf-coast-to-coast.tumblr.com/tagged/ffxivwrite2020+prompt+list

Behemoths were, by their nature, both a rarity and an enormous threat. The necessity of eradicating the potential spawn of Bahamut was not lost on Ebony Wae, who, given the choice, would have waited for them to grow to full size so that the fight would be more fair. What was the fun in fighting what amounted to a feral teenager?

Her armor shone in the Coerthan sunlight, stark ebon-black and silver filigree sticking out amidst the snowfall. True, this one didn't directly threaten Ul'dah. But she could not trust the denizens of Ishgard to shut down such a thing before it did. A trio of attendants kept their distance - a Keeper conjurer hire-on and an Elezen archer picked up in Gridania, a Highlander pugilist from the Guild in Ul'dah.

"It's freezing," the pugilist moaned. His skin was tinged red under the harness he wore. His bare chest fared poorly matched against the Coerthan chill.

"Then run in place." Ebony's battle-chocobo towered over those of her companions. "All you need do is clean up. The bulk of the work I will do myself."

"No doubt," the archer muttered. His bow, he had sworn, was passed down through generations. Ebony suspected it was simply old and, therefore, cheap.

"I still think we should have brought more with us," the conjurer added. She had eagerly accepted Ebony's job offer and had only found out, after the contract was sealed, that they were hunting a Behemoth. The eagerness died there, and hadn't come back since.

"That will be unnecessary. The only reason I hired you lot was to create commerce, to please Nald."

"Right. Right..."

The opening of the beast's den was obvious. Ebony dismounted not far from it. Pulled a horn from her side. The merchant had told her this warhorn would summon the beast. Fighting it inside its own lair would be far more dangerous than choosing this ground.

A falling rock from the sky may well collapse a cave.

"Prepare yourselves."

The Gridanians groaned in unison, dismounting. The pugilist hopped from his bird, and blew on his hands before drawing his hora. "Finally. Let's hurry up."

"It's none of our faults you didn't bring a coat," Ebony pointed out.

"It's just my way not to."

"You've never seen snow before, have you." Ebony's voice was as dry as the Sagolii.

"...No."

"It's colder than a desert night."

"Yeah, I'd noticed."

"Coats are cheaper in Ul'dah than in Coerthas, because the demand is much higher, but with ongoing reconstruction supply is also lower proportionally, since many are shipped in from the Weaver's Guild now."

"Blow the damned horn."

"We must pray to Nald'thal first."

"Oh Gods."

"No, that's not how we start a prayer." Ebony cleared her throat. Held her right hand to an icon of Nald'thal emblazoned across her armor. "Cherished Nald, hear my call! Your beloved follower in profit and business asks: please bless us with financial gain on this venture, and ensure our dealings fall in line with Your expectations."

The conjurer opened her mouth, and was silenced with a look from Ebony, who then continued: "Beloved Thal, I ask, please grant this beast we face the death it deserves, and pass Your judgment on whether we deserve to join You now or in the future."

"That's... not any prayer I've heard..." The archer mumbled.

"SILENCE!" Ebony pointed. "I'm talking to Nald'thal!"

"Sorry, Your Highness." His eyes rolled.

"Your apology is accepted this once." Ebony cleared her throat once again. "Beloved Traders, please bless this hunt, which I carry out in Your names."

Silence fell over the Coerthan valley, as the wind died down. Clouds drifted past the sun, dimming the harsh glare across the fresh snow.

"See? Nald'thal has blessed our hunt. We cannot fail."

"Just a coincidence," the archer mumbled again. "There's no godsdamned way she can control the weather."

"Faith is our shield." Ebony pulled the oversized two-handed sword from her back. "And I am our sword. Let us begin." She hefted it over one shoulder, balancing it with one hand, and blew the horn.

An odd, echoing, rumbling cry filled the valley.

One which was matched from within the cave.

At breakneck pace, a wild-eyed Behemoth burst out of the cave, at least two tonze of pure muscle. Ebony grinned. The pugilist balked. The archer nocked an arrow.

"Shit." The conjurer stepped /well/ back, readying her wand.

Ebony sprinted, full-pace, towards the Behemoth, leaping through the air to slam her sword straight into its face. It leaped towards her in kind, the two colliding mid-air. An arcane shield formed around her the instant before the collision, and she was knocked back some ten fulms, blood fresh on her blade. The Behemoth was now one-eyed and furious.

An arrow limply connected with its mane, tangling in the fur. The lack of blood from the shot infuriated Ebony, whose rage fueled her power further. She threw her arm out, flinging an ominous ball of energy at the beast. It exploded at the Behemoth's side, the smell of scorched fur filling the air. It charged her, and the pugilist leaped forward, slamming his hora into its side. The beast roared again at the impact. It turned mid-charge, skidding to a halt through the snow, eye focusing hard on the pugilist. Ebony's sword carved a gash across its back.

"I am the threat, beast. Focus on me!"

She was hauling back for another mighty swing when it turned, sweeping its hand and knocking her aside. The weight of the impact flung her through the snow. She reveled in it.

"Twelve alive," the conjurer muttered, channeling a Cure spell. She stepped back even further before flinging it at Ebony, who was already climbing back to her feet.

"I'm not finished yet, you meaty bastard!"

The pugilist backed off as the Behemoth turned to face Ebony once more. The man was narrowly able to dodge as its tail swept at him, clouds of breath in front of his face.

Another arrow limply bounced off the Behemoth's skin.

"This is bad," the archer observed. "We should leave this to the Ishgardians."

"COWARDICE IS INTOLERABLE!" The Behemoth leaped towards Ebony, jaws wide, fangs clamping down on her sword, held before her with both arms bracing the blade. "ATTACK ITS RIBS, THEY'VE BEEN SOFTENED UP!"

A soft /whump/ as another arrow connected.

"DAMN YOU, YOU SAD EXCUSE FOR AN ARCHER!"

The pugilist's arm SLAMMED into the beast's side, and it reeled, hot breath washing over Ebony. She yanked her sword back, cutting across its mouth as it turned at the pugilist, before bringing her blade down into its neck. The beast swiped at her, claws slamming straight into her armor and knocking her back into the rocks, before falling limp, its blood spilling onto the snow. The body twitched a few times.

A slow, soothing pulse across her body. Ebony straightened herself up as the cracks in her ribs mended.

"I don't know what that armor's made of, but it's saved your life at least twice."

"The Wae Family accepts nothing less than the best." She looked between the trio. "When it comes to our armaments, at least. Good work, everyone. Now let's get this body back for the bounty."

The head adorned her bedroom wall, for a short time, before being moved to her trophy room. A mysterious decision, whose timing coincided with a private visit from a particular blonde woman.

#FFXIVwrite2020 #ebony wae #ffxiv RP #behemoth

12 notes · View notes

ot5ismyhome · 4 years

Text

Bloodbound Chapter 12 - Psychic Connection

Pietro had the best view of the harbour from the building’s terrace. He laid low, looking at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes. A car arrived at the harbour. Pietro recognised the license plate. It belonged to Stark Industries. Obadiah Stane stepped out of the car and he walked to a man who was already overlooking the task. Pietro saw that they were talking but he was far away to hear anything they said.

"Wish we were able to listen to them talk. They look like the bigshots. They may slip their identities." Thompson’s voice came through the com.

"The bald one is Obadiah Stane. He works for Tony Stark" replied Pietro.

"Privilege of attending Stark’s parties"

"Will you both shut up and concentrate on the matter in hand?" May’s voice cut them off.

Pietro again looked into the binoculars, focusing on Stane. He walked back to his car and got in. Pietro got up from his hiding spot.

“I’m going to trail him” he said as he sprinted to his car.

“Agent Maximoff, stay down” May said firmly into her com. Pietro switched it off and got in the car. As Stane drove away from the harbour, Pietro followed him at a distance.

May can’t leave her post now and at the same time she can’t let Pietro follow a risky lead alone. She swore as she dialled Natasha’s number.

…..

Steve and Natasha were getting ready for their night hunt in Steve’s office. Steve took a couple of Howard’s latest inventions and pocketed it. They got out of his office and stepped into the elevator. Natasha pressed the button and turned to look at Steve, “So, I heard you and Stark have been hunting while I was gone?” she smirked. “How was the hunt?” she asked raising her an eyebrow.

Steve stared at her with eyes wide.

“Don’t look so surprised pretty boy. Both of your auras scream you had sex.”

“I would rather jump from a plane without parachute than talk about my sex life.”

Natasha laughed. She got into the car and started the engine.

“Shit, I forgot my phone in your office” she said. After a moment she added, “Never mind.”

She set off into the night city. They searched the deserted streets for ferals. The night was silent allowing them to hear every small sound. Natasha stopped the car and stepped out. Steve followed her. They analysed the area for any lurking feral. They found a group of seven roaming few blocks away. The ferals were no match to them. They finished them off within few minutes and drove to another part of the city.

They were near Staten Island when they heard a woman scream. Natasha pressed down on the break and opened the door. She got out and ran in the direction of the scream. Steve followed her. He saw a woman was being chased by feral. He jumped in-between the feral and the woman. He stabbed the feral through its heart, turning it to dust. He turned around and saw Natasha trying to calm the woman. He walked up to them. But seeing him approach, the woman backed away scared. Steve stopped advancing and apologised. “Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.”

Once she became calm, they drove her to her apartment.

…..

Pietro followed Stane in his car. Pietro felt like Stane drove through the city aimlessly. He could not work out the destination of Stane. Suddenly, Stane stopped the car and got out. Pietro checked for his gun in his shoulder strap and got out. He maintained his distance from Stane. When Stane turned into a dark alley, Pietro took out his gun and followed him. As he stepped into the alley, he pointed his gun straight ahead. There was nothing but an empty wall. It seemed to be mocking at Pietro. The man who had walked into the alley few seconds before had vanished. Pietro was confused. Where did he go, he thought as he advanced down the alley. Suddenly hair in the back of Pietro’s neck stood up. His instinct screamed at him to leave. He turned and a figure jumped in front of him from the top of building. It was Stane.

He had a malicious glint in his eyes and his pupils shone blood red. He smiled at Pietro revealing his sharp fangs as they slowly descended. Pietro fired his gun. The bullet managed to hit Stane in his chest but it apparently had no effect on him. He staggered back a bit but still stood his ground. Pietro shot repeatedly, emptying the whole round into him.

Stane growled. “This isn’t going to stop me, boy.”

Pietro ducked in-between the gap between Stane and the wall and ran for his life. He dashed out of the alley towards his car. Stane followed him. Pietro got in his car and started it. He pressed on the gas but his car didn’t move. He turned to see Stane holding the car.

“Fuck”

Pietro turned on his electronic batch to life and dropped in his location asking for backup. He wasn’t sure anyone can help him now. Stane was too close. He ripped the door and dragged Pietro out by his neck. Pietro struggled as Stane choked him. It is too late he thought.

…..

Wanda woke up with a jerk. She looked around her. It took her sometime to realise that she was in the couch of Howard’s lab. She saw Howard and Coulson looking her concerned. They might have noticed when she woke up.

“I’m fine” she said. But her voice gave her away.

Howard sat near her and held her hand. The awkwardness was there when they started talking again but they worked it out. Now they were like before, working and joking around together. She had come to his lab to escape the loneliness of her home. Pietro was never home most of the time and it felt off without him so she spent her time in Howard’s lab chatting with him while getting her work done. Coulson came in to ask for help from Howard. While they were talking, Wanda had fell asleep on the couch. And she had woke up due the terrible dream.

Howard sat near her holding her arm. Coulson brought her some water. She accepted it with a thanks. Howard looked her, “Bad dream?”

She nodded. “It felt very real.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not much. Pietro was in danger. I freaked out and got up.”

Coulson’s phone rang cutting off Wanda. Coulson excused himself as he attended the call. Wanda was vaguely able to hear what the person on other side of line was talking. She heard her brother’s name and her ears perked up. Her mind connected the dots. Coulson hung up the phone and looked at the them.

“I have to leave. I need to attend to certain issue.”

“Wait. Is it concerning Pietro?”

“How- no”

“I heard his name. Is he in danger?”

“It’s nothing.” Coulson walked away.

“I’m coming with you” she said as she tagged along with him. Howard was confused but followed them out of the lab.

“Wanda, listen to me. This isn’t a joke. You stay here. It’s not safe for you to come along.” he said stepping into the elevator.

“What is happening?” asked Howard.

“It’s classified” said Coulson as he stepped into the elevator.

“I am sure it concerns Pietro. I want to know what this is about.” Wanda said. She slid into the elevator before it closed and Howard followed her promptly.

“Is he in danger because of Stane?”

Coulson froze but he maintained a straight face as he turned to her.

“I saw it. In my dream. He is in Staten Island” she stated before Coulson could get out the question.

The three stepped out of the elevator and ran towards the car.

“Howard, stay here.”

“No way. I’m coming with you.”

“No time for discussion. Get in the car, both of you.”

“Can we reach there in time?” Wanda asked.

“Don’t underestimate Lola” His eyes had a small sparkle as he mentioned his car.

…..

Natasha pulled the car over. She took couple bottles of beer from the cooler in the back seat.

“It’s too early in the hunt to start drinking.”

“I don’t care” she simply said. She opened the bottle and took a sip.

“Nat, you know something. Since your trip to Budapest you aren’t acting like yourself. Anything you want to tell me?”

Natasha sipped her drink. She closed her eyes and let the bitter drink wash down her throat. They sat in silence for some time. Natasha looked at Steve. She took her bag from the back seat and handed a folder to Steve.

“Tony is being framed-”

Natasha's electronic badge in her pocket beeped interrupting her. She fished it out; saw the location coordinates and an ask for backup. She noticed that she was the only one near the location.

“What do you mean?”

“Later” she said as she turned the ignition. The car came to life. She pressed down on the gas pedal and sped off down the road towards the location.

6 notes · View notes

tentoriwrites · 3 years

Text

Lunar Eclipse: Chapter One

Chapter One: The Betrayer’s Cage

AO3 Link

7490 words.

After thousands of years of playing warden, Maiev and Illidan come to know each other in a particular way. But what is the feeling between them and is it strong enough to overcome their circumstances and their fate? Who will break first if either of them breaks at all? How will Maiev fare after her time with the Betrayer? How will his time with the Warden change Illidan?

Notes:

This was inspired by a piece of art by AlexaelArtworks on Twitter and Instagram. It's amazing. 10/10. Highly encourage you to check them out!

I thought it would be interesting to approach this from the angle of Maiev once being a priestess and how that would still have lingering influence over her. I also thought it would be interesting if Illidan at least knew of her from her time in the Sisterhood with Tyrande. This explores Illidan's motives a bit in an attempt to reconcile his two seemingly incongruent lines of lore and how they wrapped things up in WoW.

This may get more spicy in the future so additional tags may be added.

Playlist

A single drop of water fell from a gap between two stone blocks in the ceiling. The room was small, wide enough for an average sized Night Elf to barely miss the walls if they reached wide. It was slightly deeper from the barred door to the back wall. A single torch crackled to the left of the door, but it did little to illuminate the dark space. A ragged breath followed the drop, almost a growl from a feral animal. Maiev’s eyes burned with anger as she stared at the hunkered form before her. Leather bound fingers curled tighter around the leather binding of her chakram handle. “You feel nothing for what you did…” She hissed under her breath before backhanding the prisoner with her free hand.

“With your narrow sense of virtue and justice you could never hope to understand…” The prisoner answered in a mocking tone even as blood trickled from his busted lip.

“Do not speak to me of justice,” she yelled losing her last bit of composure. The chakram blade flashed to his exposed neck. “You killed so many innocent lives in your pursuit of power! Then endangered us all with your recklessness!”

“Lives that would have been lost to the Legion. I did them a… service,” he answered nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as best he could.

“Or they may not have died at all,” she seethed as she pressed the blade just a bit harder into his flesh. “But do go on about how our brethren sing the praises of Illidan the Merciful.” Her voice lowered to a growl as she leaned in just a little closer, put just a bit more weight on her blade.

“Does anyone truly survive a war like that? Clearly you came out the other side unscathed, Priestess. A model of the goddess herself.” A cocky smirk quirked one side of his lips up as a small trickle of blood seeped from the wound on his neck.

“Elune forgives all for those who seek it. She’ll forgive me leaving her temple to protect her people.”

“Do you really think such things as gods exist and they care about us?” His voice drawled on sarcastically to the sound of leather clenching around leather filled the room. “If they do exist, surely they abandoned us. Why else would this have happened?”

“Perhaps because the foolish abandoned them first.”

“And yet the faithful suffered in measure with the faithless.”

“The faithful retained their original forms. That is more than I can say for the faithless.” She grabbed one of the horns at his forehead and pulled his face to meet her gaze head on.

“I really thought too highly of you, Priestess. Blinded by the radiance of your baseless faith you cannot see the darkness of this world. All you “Sisters” are alike in that…” He maintained eye contact and every part of his cockiness as he spoke.

“Do not confuse me with HER.” Maiev’s voice took a much more even tone of hate as the blade drew a long, thin cut across his neck. Deep enough to be noticeable but shallow enough not to kill him. “Tyrande isn’t coming to see you, to tell you all the pretty words you want to hear.”

“Do you think bringing HER up will give you any sort of advantage?” For the first time his façade cracked in the form of some disdain in his voice.

“No… just reminding you how alone you are. How no one thinks you a hero, a savior, or whatever it is your delusions would lead you to believe. All you have left to look forward to is me. For… a… very… long… time…” She gently tapped each side of his face. Then, with a smirk of her own she healed the wound on his neck, but still left him weak enough to remain restrained. There she left him on his knees cocky smile still on his face.

“You think to comprehend what I’ve seen. What I’ve come to know. There is nothing you can do to me worse than the Legion.”

“Perhaps not.” The cell door closed with a dull thump before a magical barrier surrounded him. “But I have far more time with you than they did.”

Days passed and ran together in darkness and quiet. The only light the faint glow from the fel-scar tattoos covering his body and the light of his eyes. It had been so long since he had anything to eat or drink and weakness was starting to dull his senses. He pulled on the blessed chains that secured his arms. They rattled dully but did not budge. His reward for his efforts a burning sensation on his skin. Though, he had to admit, the burning had lessened recently. He couldn’t be sure if that’s because he had become numb to the feeling or the blessing was weakening.

The chains on his ankles and wrists were the same. The chains on his wrists running through a massive ring anchored deep in the wall before wrapping around his ankles. The more he tried pull the more he only hurt himself. Standing was impossible. So there he kneeled, for so long her had lost any sense of time.

“I wonder why they didn’t just kill me.” He said it a loud but he didn’t expect an answer.

“The High Priestess and your brother thought it in ill taste to kill you.”

He looked up to the bars only to “see” Maiev there in no armor and apparently weaponless. The hubris to presume she could enter the cell of the Betrayer as if he were nothing more than a saber kit. He kind of like that bold confidence. Perhaps he could use it against her.

“I thought it foolish myself. But I do not lead the Kaldorei. So here we are.” She sat a wooden tray with bread and water in front of him just far enough away that he couldn’t reach it for the chains.

“Something we can agree on. No robes today? No sacred armor to mark your false righteousness, Priestess?” Illidan scoffed at her turning his head away from the sustenance his body clearly craved.

“I’ll give you a little lesson.” Maiev sat a stool down inside the cell before closing the door and the barrier came back up. “Perhaps the hardest lesson to accept as a priestess or druid is that life and death are not separate entities. One cannot exist without the other.”

“Then we agree some must die in order for others to live.” He interrupted her with an air of vindication in his voice and that same smirk on his face.

“Likewise, there are two sides to the moon. The bright side we see and the dark side we cannot.” She sat down on the stool and leaned against the bars completely ignoring his statement. “Up until now all we have ever seen, all we have ever known, is the bright side of the moon. The side that promises life and hope. But the old texts speak of a way to invoke the dark side of the goddess. A warrior cloaked in shadows and driven by vengeance. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“Because you want me to know you still prescribe to bedtime stories told to children?”

“Tyrande is the light side of the moon. The side that believes in life and hope. But someone has to be the dark side of the moon and do that which the light side cannot.”

“And that’s you. The lapdog doing the dirty work so she can keep her righteous hands clean.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he had been given poisoned food by a trusted friend. The betrayed and not the betrayer.

“As you said, no one truly survives a war the likes of which we’ve seen.”

A long silence settled between them. Illidan finally glanced at the tray but quickly looked away.

“Answer my questions truthfully and I’ll give you some food and drink.”

“We could do this for a thousand years and you’ll never understand my motives.” He scoffed and looked her in the eyes.

“I don’t give a shit about your motives. I want answers.”

“What good are answers now? Answers won’t change anything.” Defiant even now, he challenged her. “Why don’t you just kill me and tell them I starved to death?”

“Shall I give you the same mercy you gave the innocents you killed?” Maiev donned her own cocky smile. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very merciful today.” She got up only to crouch in front of him. “I have a different kind of mercy in mind.” She grabbed his dirty ponytail and yanked his head back.

“I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess.”

“Disappointed you outlived my chastity, Betrayer?” She didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. Instead she poured the water down his throat as soon as he opened his mouth again.

He only managed to swallow part of it, the rest falling down his dirt caked face and chest. He choked and coughed causing some of the water to spit back in her face.

“The bread won’t go down as easily, but I’m willing to try if you are.” She forced his head to one side.

“I’m not hungry.” He managed as defiantly as he could through continued coughing.

“Funny your stomach growling earlier would suggest otherwise. Luckily for you, I thought this might happen so I took the liberty of liquifying the bread for you. She reached to the tray for the other wooden cup.

“I won’t fall for the same trick twice…”

“I counted on that…” She smirked as she released the matted strands of hair from her hand. A balled fist struck him in the side. He gasped just enough for her to force the cup to his lips and force the contents down his throat.

After another coughing fit that left him covered in bits of bread she leaned in close and whispered an incantation he didn’t recognize. The chains around his wrists, neck and ankles felt burning hot against his skin eliciting a muffled scream.

“This is your idea of mercy?” He attempted to mock her through grit teeth.

“I never said it was a mercy for you.” She took up the tray as the bars opened for her and the barrier fell. “Until next time, Betrayer.” She kicked the stool out the opening and the bars swung shut behind her.

“I look forward to it.”

Days bled together once again until Maiev finally returned. Dim eyes met her as the blessed shackles drained more of his strength each day. No greetings were exchanged as a group of wardens came in and cleaned up the cell. Once it had a modicum of cleanliness, they left Maiev and Illidan alone with a tray of food and a stool. After a long silence Maiev forwarded an ultimatum.

“Food or a bath?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” He couldn’t hold back the indignation in his voice.

“Both it is.” She moved to take up the liquified bread.

“There will be no need for your previous tactics.” Illidan’s voice was weak but still maintained a certain level of cockiness despite it all. “Just do what you came here to do and…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed in anger, nostrils flaring. “Satyrs. The true betrayers of our people.”

“The Watchers and I cleaned up a group of them several days ago. I bathed since then…” She sounded almost impressed.

“It is a stench I will never forget. The smell of cowardice and shamelessness.” More and more disdain seeped into his voice. Despite his long imprisonment, speaking of it seemed to give him strength. Or his rage did, eyes flaring brightly to emphasize it. He pulled against his restraints in a show of his desire to be free to fight the demons he once hunted.

Maiev plunked the stool down in front of him and pressed a cup of water to his lips. “What makes you any better than a satyr? You sold yourself to demons to become stronger.”

“But I did not become one, contrary to what you may believe.” Illidan answered her only after he had drunk all the water she offered him. “I pretended to serve them only long enough to understand them. Understand how to use their own weaknesses against them.”

“What did you really accomplish in doing that? Who did you save?” Maiev’s voice was tired, there was no hiding it. It lacked all the usual bite from the previous times she had come to see him.

“If the Sundering had not happened it would have saved many more. That blood is not on my hands.”

“No… I suppose it isn’t. But we are also assuming the Highborne could have abided by not continuing their ridiculous machinations that started all of this in the first place.” She sighed outwardly as she tore a piece of bread off and offered it to him.

“It’s more than just satyrs you’ve been fighting.” He almost sounded thoughtful before taking the bread in his mouth.

“It is none of your concern.” She tried to sound more awake and sharp but it came off as forced.

“I can help you.”

“You’re not leaving this cell.”

“I can help you from this cell.” He smirked just a little bit.

“I’m not some naïve fool as to trust you.”

“Then I’ll answer one question as a show of faith.” The smirk got just a little bigger, hidden only by chewing the next piece of bread she offered him.

“Why did you take water from the Well of Eternity?”

“The Well of Eternity was the most powerful weapon we could have wielded against the Legion going forward. The power it contained would have been more than enough to help us destroy them.”

“Destroy them going forward?”

“That’s a second question for another day.” His cockiness turned grim signaling something unsettling.

Maiev sighed again, with frustration this time. “That isn’t enough for me to trust you.” She pushed his cheeks together forcing his lips to part for the last piece of bread.

He smiled as he chewed it. “Never let your guard down, do you?”

“I can no longer afford to be complacent.” She offered him one last drink before getting up.

“Heavy is the burden of the strong to protect the weak.”

“How very ignoble of you,” she mocked as she cleaned up the tray. She muttered the same incantation again before turning to leave the cell and Illidan’s pained groans behind her.

“You need a bath and you’re getting it next time whether you want it or not.”

“Does the smell offend your delicate senses, Priestess?”

“I haven’t been able to smell anything but death in weeks.”

Illidan didn’t have a comeback for that. Instead he looked thoughtful a moment through his pain. “The Well was our greatest weapon against the Legion going forward.” He repeated what he had said earlier. “You possess something those foolish Highborne do not.”

“Oh? What might that be?” She leaned lazily against the bars while she waited for him to answer.

“A noble purpose.” There was no sarcasm in his voice. No cocky attitude. Just sincerity for the first time.

Her brows furrowed harshly and she pushed off the cell bars. “There’s nothing noble in bathing in the blood of demons and traitors every day. It’s a job that needs to be done. That’s all.” With nothing left to say that day, she left him.

After she left, he shook his head. “It is not what you do, but why you do it that is noble…” He let out a long, frustrated growl accompanying a stiff tug on the chains. “I should be the one out there fighting them… not you…” One more strong, but futile, pull and every muscle in his body relaxed on a ragged breath.

It took much less time for her to return again. As promised, she came with buckets of water and other various bathing supplies. Once they were all arranged, she sat down on the stool and got to work on his hair.

“I fail to see the point in this,” he muttered as she sat behind him cutting the binding from his ponytail.

“It’s psychological.” Maiev was clinical in her response, tiredness still creeping in her voice.

“I fail to see how making me look and smell pretty will change my attitude,” he scoffed with the same damnable smirk.

“I know. I know. You cannot fathom the horrors I have seen. I am not so easily broken,” she mocked him as she worked a brush through the ends of his hair giving it a solid yank in a particularly nasty knot. “I never said it was for you.”

“I overestimated you, priestess, to have been so easily swayed by my charms.” A teasing swagger filled his voice now but it was quickly replaced by a grunt of pain.

“I am well and truly aware of your status as Azeroth’s biggest ass,” Maiev hissed as she lodged the comb in his hair and pulled with a great deal of force. His head tilted back as a result to meet her sharp gaze. “But the others will start to doubt the threat you pose if they continue to see you in this decrepit state.” The knot untangled and his head shot forward again. “You deserve no sympathy and so you shall receive none.”

“A poor excuse.” There was something in Illidan’s voice that she had never heard before and couldn’t quite place. It was cocky as ever, and yet there seemed to be something else there.

“I told you before, didn’t I? You have no one to look forward to but me.” Her subtle way of telling him no one put her up to this was not lost on him.

Silence fell between them again as she continued to work the comb through his hair until all the knots were gone. She set to work wetting and cleaning his hair next.

“Do you have a family?” Illidan finally broke the silence as she blocked the soap and water from getting in his eyes with a hand to his forehead. He went on when she didn’t answer. “Besides your Brother.”

“No.” She ran her fingers through his hair making sure all the soap was out of it.

“Yet another thing your faith denied you.”

The cynicism in his voice elicited a sigh. “It was not forbidden, clearly. But my duties kept me too busy to pursue such frivolities.”

“Duties such as washing the hair of prisoner of war?”

“The sick and injured.” He was starting to raise her ire despite all her best efforts to not let him get to her.

“Ah yes… the grace and mercy of Elune bestown upon the faithful through the hard work of her devout priestess.”

“You would mock such experience even when it benefits you?” She grasped one of his horns and gave his head a yank to one side.

“I… did not… ask for you to do this.” Defiant as ever, he gritted his teeth to speak through the pain. The pleasantly scented soap did nothing to hide the smell of searing flesh filling the cell.

She finally released him and went back to the task at hand. She braided his hair to keep it out of the way so she could wash the rest of his body. When she stood and released the shackles on his ankles he gave her a momentary, questioning look over his shoulder. “I can leave your ankles restrained and cut those filthy rags off but then you’ll get to sit here naked for the rest of your miserable existence.”

“Is that the only reason?” Cocky Illidan was back again.

Maiev started to close the shackle around his ankle again.

“I don’t think I can stand on my own.” Illidan pointed out more seriously this time. “It has been too long.”

“Then sit on the stool.” She pulled him back on to the stool with seemingly no effort at all. As she handed him a tray of food and water, he could appreciate for the first time her physique.

“You’ve been training.” He grabbed her wrist and held her fast.

“Of course I have. You didn’t think I could wield a blade so well from lifting sacred tomes, did you?” She snapped trying to yank her arm free.

He held fast to her arm and traced one of the scars with his thumb. He seemed fixated on it for some reason. “You could have healed this easily, yet you still have it and others.”

She finally wrested her arm free and rubbed her wrist with her free hand. “They are a part of my past and so a part of me. These scars are a reminder of what is required of me. A reminder of the sacrifices I made so they will not be forgotten. A reminder of what will happen if I fail.” She turned away from him after she explained this.

Illidan touched a glowing scar on his chest lightly. “You are your scars and your scars are you.” He seemed thoughtful as he said this. His hand came back to the edge of the tray he was no staring at. “Perhaps we are not so different in that regard.”

“Perhaps not.” Maiev went back to work cleaning up her prisoner. "I suggest you eat quickly." Maiev's skilled hands cut a swath down the middle of his back. She didn't seem the least bit put off negotiating around his slumped wings. In fact, she picked one up and made quick work of cleaning it. "In a hurry to be rid of me? Where is your virtue of patience?" Though he teased her, he couldn’t deny he felt the slightest bit touch starved after so much time feeling nothing but decaying clothes, burning irons, and cold darkness. "I'm in a hurry to get you locked back up again. Besides, it'll be difficult to clean everything with a tray in your lap." She was completely nonplussed as she said it, not even hesitating as her hands wiped the last diaphanous pane of a wing. "You were serious?" "Have you known me to be anything but serious?" She moved on to the other wing. In another time, he did. Back when she was a priestess. There was a time when she could even laugh. Now he wondered if she even knew how. "I had no idea you harbored such proclivities, Priestess." Illidan cocked his head to the side as a wash cloth slid across it. The wet cloth wrapped tightly across his throat. Maiev leaned in close to one ear. "Let's be clear on one point. If I wanted to have my way with you, I could have at any time. All your suggestive comments would lead one to believe you would like me to have my way with you." "Only someone denser than a moon festival cake would assume that from my comments." He sounded almost offended as he scoffed at her assertion. "Besides... you are far too refined to handle the beast inside me." "Big talk for the chained tiger." She stood and glanced down at the tray in his lap. "And coming from the man who seems hell bent on keeping his pants on."

Illidan looked down at the tray of uneaten food. He huffed out a chuckle in the face of her challenge. “I’ve underestimated you in more ways than one, Priestess.” He took his time eating and drinking while she finished washing his other wing. Staring at her every move intently in an effort to throw her off. Without saying a word, he sat the tray aside and waited for her to crumble.

“Lean back.” It was an authoritative command.

“As you wish, priestess.” He lounged back on the stool casually, invitingly.

Maiev rolled her eyes momentarily but didn’t break eye contact for a single moment. She stared directly into the burning green lights as she bent down next to him and worked off his dirty pants and underwear. Not once did she look away while she washed his waist and legs. Especially not when she finally got around to cleaning THAT. All with an expression of absolute seriousness. When it was all said and done, she got up and dumped a whole bucket of now ice-cold water all over him.

“You almost made it.” He teased with a smirk. “You almost convinced me you could keep this professional.”

“If I didn’t think you needed to cool down, I wouldn’t have a reason to do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest in triumph as the bucket dangled suspiciously over his crotch.

“A physical reaction to stimuli is hardly cause for celebration.” He picked the bucket up and sat it aside leaving no further way for her to avoid seeing him in all his glory, or lack thereof, as the case may be.

Her eyebrow quirked momentarily, but otherwise she bore no outward reaction to the sight. Instead she looked away quickly to pick up the change of clothes she brought. A strange noise behind her made her turn quickly. Illidan had managed to stand and was using his wings to maintain balance on unsteady legs. But he had his back turned to her.

“Suddenly feeling embarrassed?” It was a tease more than anything.

“You said you had no family. Not that you didn’t want one.” He was uncharacteristically serious. “One day you may have one and I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you…”

For a moment she thought he was trying to say something, trying to make her understand something more. Then she remembered this was the Betrayer and he was trying to play mind games with her. Every word carefully crafted and deliberate to get her to let her guard down. After realizing that, she started to laugh. It wasn’t the same laugh he remembered, but it was a laugh nonetheless. It sent a wave over his very being almost like happiness.

“One steamy night of passion with the Betrayer and I’ll be ruined for life? Is that what you’re getting at? The evidence would suggest you are in far more need of me than I am of you.” She threw a long tunic over his head, one that laced together at the sides to accommodate his wings.

He grabbed her wrist again when she came to the side to tie one set of laces. He looked down at the scars that riddled her arm again. “You deserve to be someone’s first thought, not enjoyed for a moment then lost to eternity.” He slowly released her arm. “I haven’t been capable of giving anyone my first thought in a very long time.”

“What are you trying to say?” She cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

“Nothing… nevermind…” He let go of her arm completely and stared straight ahead. “I grow tired of this game, Warden. And time is not on our side. Do what it is you came here to do and leave.”

Maiev was thrown by this sudden change in attitude but didn’t let it deter her from the task at hand. Without any further distractions, she was able to reclothe Illidan quickly. He kneeled down again and allowed her to clasp the shackles without a struggle. Before leaving, Maiev uttered a different incantation this time. The chains rattled violently as they changed configuration to force Illidan to stand. Chains crisscrossed his torso, arms and legs. Now chained to the wall he had to use his legs or face the burning blessings cutting into his whole body. He growled louder than usual to suppress his pain this time. It wasn’t clear if it was from his unused legs revolting or the new blessing.

This was the rhythm of Illidan’s life in the Warden’s prison. Long periods of darkness punctuated by Maiev’s succinct deliveries and reinforcing the bindings on him. More often than not, they said nothing. Every once in a while, she would be in a mood to talk about things other than extracting a confession from him.

On one such occasion, his hands were shaking from atrophy as they had been secured behind his back for some time. The bowl of soup slipped from his hands and splashed all over his face and hair. Something about the scene caused Maiev to crack just a fraction. She couldn’t help the slight smile on her face. Seeing it made Illidan smile a bit.

“Is my plight amusing to you, Warden?” There was a playfulness to his voice where there would have been harshness otherwise.

“I suppose it…” A piece of potato that had been stuck in his hair suddenly dropped back into the bowl sending more soup flying into the air. Maiev tried to hide her smile and laughter behind her hand.

“Yes, take joy in the suffering of your prisoner. You will pay for this transgression in time, Warden.” Though Illidan made a big show of the threat, it felt more than somewhat hollow.

Maiev cleared her throat and tried to put her serious mask back on. It was still smiling a just a little. “I’ll bring something to clean that up.” She left the cell and Illidan could hear laughter echoing off the stone halls just before the barrier closed.

If it had been anyone else seeing him like this, let alone laughing at him over it, he would have been mad. “It’s your fault I have grown incapable of even the most childish of tasks as feeding myself!” He would growl at them with fierce eyes. But for some reason, he was rather pleased to have seen that smile for the first time in so many years.

“I had forgotten how beautiful she is when she smiles.” He muttered a loud to him himself. “She always did rival Tyrande in her own way… To see her like this now.” He lifted his face towards the ceiling. “I had hoped to save more…” His fingers wrapped around the chains at his wrists until his knuckles turned white. He yanked at them as hard as he could, arms trembling under the force he was suddenly exerting on them. His efforts yielded no results. “I will escape this accursed prison and I will finish what I started. Complacency is no longer an option…” He brought his head down and stared at his reddened wrists.

The bars opening again did not draw his attention. He didn’t stir as Maiev started to clean the soup off his face until she reached for the tie to his blindfold. “Do not touch it.” He grabbed her wrists as he growled out the warning.

“It’s disgusting. Thousands of years with the same piece of cloth over your eyes.”

“It is for your protection.” His hands tightened around her wrists.

“Then close your eyes.” She started working the blindfold again. “I… I can’t kill you, you know. Tyrande and Malfurion would likely remove me as leader of the Watchers if I did.” The last bit felt like it had been added as an afterthought.

He heaved out a sigh as his hands slowly, hesitantly slackened. Eventually, he let out another tight breath before his shoulders relaxed. The green light that once seeped through the blindfold disappeared and she knew it was safe to proceed.

“I have seen everything more times than I can count and the one thing you can’t stand for me to see is your eyes. Is that because of the abomination you’ve become?” She removed the blindfold and tossed it aside. She ran the wash cloth over his face and into his hair gently.

“All power comes at a price. One I have paid is to see many things you could not even begin to fathom. Things that would drive weaker beings mad.”

“Are you suggesting I’m weak?” She couldn’t help but challenge him at the merest suggestion he was stronger than her.

“You would survive the visions of that I have no doubt.” He took her hand when she got too close to his eyes. “But you have already lost enough in this life. I would not presume to take more from you.”

“How very noble…” She scoffed as she turned for a new piece of cloth to put over his eyes.

“This is…”

“It was a scrap the tailor had left over. Don’t think too much of it. Silk is more durable anyways and will stand up better to the conditions in here.” She retreated after the explanation so she could hand him another bowl of soup. “Try not to wear it this time.”

He chuckled and smirked as he pondered how much of her explanation was truth and how much was a cover. He didn’t say anything though. Once he finished eating, she took everything aside and prepared to leave.

“This cell cannot hold me forever. I will escape and continue my work.” It was a declaration, gravity etched into every word.

“If that ever happens, I will hunt you down and bring you back here. As many times as it takes for you to see justice for what you have done.” Also a declaration.

“It is unwise to make promises you cannot keep.” A ghost of a smirk.

“How many times have you said you’ve underestimated me?”

Illidan’s smirk grew a fraction wider. “Thank you for the bath.”

He couldn’t deny he looked forward to her irregular visits. Especially taunting her during bath days. But she became increasingly less fun as the years wore on. He watched as her once vibrantly colored hair and bright eyes faded. A tinge of regret wheedled into the back of his mind that she had to keep fighting and caring for him. She could just as easily torture him for the information she wanted. Yet, she had not. That was the puzzle he kept coming back to over and over again. If she truly was the dark side of the moon, to Tyrande’s brilliance, surely she would not be above torture. Had she been forbidden from its use?

He had plenty of time to think about that later. It was time to focus on his mission and how to escape the prison again. One thing at a time. First the blessing, then the chains, then the magic barrier. Then… her. He surmised Maiev would be the most powerful deterrent of them all. As well she should be. Death wasn’t an option, but perhaps he could fight his way out. The sense of urgency within him grew stronger each day as he felt tendrils of darkness seep into the very earth beneath him. He started to formulate the thousandth plan, the millionth contingency, when Maiev appeared before him. She stood tall as ever, but there was no hiding the blood-soaked bandages all over her body.

“You are… injured…” He sounded genuinely surprised. It was clear she had just freshly bathed. Hair loosely tied and still dripping onto the linen shirt made the many bandages underneath even more apparent.

“It is no concern to you.”

“You wreak of demons.” He growled.

“All your friends are dead.” She replied flatly as she sat the tray down. Today he had his hands bound behind his back as he sat crossed legged on the floor. She released his hands so he could feed himself and made to retreat to her stool by the door.

“I would not starve to death in a day or two.” He grabbed her arm before she could leave and pressed his other hand to a seeping wound on her arm. Felfire danced from his fingers incinerating the bandage and cauterizing the wound.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Maiev growled painfully between clenched teeth as she wrenched her arm away. The act a painful reminder that he was dangerous and she always needed to be on guard. Her hand reached instinctively to the dagger she always wore hidden on her person. For a moment she chastised herself for being so foolish as to come here in her current state.

“An open wound is apt to fester.” Illidan’s flippant response was accompanied by a slight shrug before he started eating.

“How long has it been now?” She sighed as she stared up at the ceiling while clutching her burnt arm. “Still you refuse to answer any real questions.” Maiev tiredly let her inward thoughts spill from her lips. Feeble rays of light radiated from her palm to heal the wound.

“You would have a much better idea of that than I. There are no days or nights down here.” A casual enough response but the bitterness couldn’t be ignored.

“Several thousand years of this same song and dance has grown quite bothersome.” The bars rattled gently as she settled against them.

“Then change the cadence.” Illidan smirked up at her for the first time in centuries.

It was more attitude than the weary warden could handle. She vaulted from the stool and threw a fist into the stone wall right next to his head. The impact splintered off a piece of rock and sent it shearing into the hair that exploded from its binding. A few cut strands wafted slowly on to Illidan’s hand.

“JUST TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT! Why did you steal water from the Well and open up the possibility of them coming back?! Just what did you hope to do?!” There was a wild desperation in her voice as if the last strands of her patience, or sanity, were about to snap.

Though she had nearly hit him and screamed in his face, Illidan looked completely unfazed. But the smirk on his face drifted to something listless.

“Have you ever loved something so much you would give up everything, even your very soul, to protect it?” Illidan’s question was sincere in tone, his face a vision of seriousness.

Maiev’s eyes shifted back and forth rapidly as they searched his face for the meaning behind the question. Unable to determine it, she answered truthfully. “I would die to protect my people.”

“That’s not the same.” The chains rattled softly as he pushed a hand against her cheek. “You have given so much of yourself to everyone else are you even capable of loving as deeply as…?”

Maiev’s eyes narrowed as Illidan trailed off. She wrenched his hand away and slammed it into the wall. “You cannot hide what is already well known. And your pretty lies won’t work on me. You said it yourself centuries ago, you haven’t been able to give someone your first thought in a very long time.” She pushed herself back and slowly stepped away, never taking her eyes off him.

He just shook his head and looked back to the tray. “I also seem to remember telling you your narrow sense of virtue and justice could never hope to understand my motives.”

“I can’t even begin to understand them if you never tell me!” She roared with her whole body before grabbing the now loose hair at her temples. “All you seem to allude to is that you did it for love. I call saber shit on that.” She pulled on the hair for a moment then abruptly pulled her fingers free of the strands.

“Even though it’s been thousands of years, you still don’t seem to realize we are two sides of the same coin.” Illidan’s low voice harbored no cockiness. Only straight forward truth.

“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU!” Maiev roared with her whole body again this time punching the wall adjacent to the one Illidan was chained.

“We both gave up all the comfortable and good things in our lives to fight an endless war.” He gestured to the cell. “We sacrificed our bodies, a very piece of ourselves.” He gestured to his eyes. “We gave up on old paths to pursue ones that would better serve us in our battles ahead.” He tapped his arm where the wound he cauterized on her sat. An indication that he understood she was growing incapable of using the Light to heal herself. To say he knew she had been away from the Sisterhood too long to remember its lessons. “We both chase after an illusory dream to lengths others cannot understand. But we do so with complete conviction in ourselves.” He pulled the blindfold from his eyes of his own accord for the first time since he had been imprisoned though he kept his eyes closed to shield Maiev from the dangers that lurked in their depths. “And it would seem... we both gave up any hope of happiness in this life.”

Maiev’s hands fell heavily at her side. Her weight grew too much for her tired legs to hold. She sank slowly down with her forehead to the rock wall she had just maimed. She breathed in the stagnant air of the cell on heaving breaths.

“You wasted so much time and strength running from this truth. But the moment you stepped into the shadows you stepped closer and closer to it.” There was a soothing quality to his voice as the chains rattled gently. “But there is one crucial thing that separates us.”

Maiev twisted her head to look at him from behind a veil of hair. Her heavy breaths caused one section to move in and out in time. “I can think of plenty, but what did you have in mind, Betrayer?”

“The only person you were willing to sacrifice for your noble cause was yourself.” Illidan gave her a pressed smile as his head tilted to look at her better.

Maiev’s eyes narrowed slightly as the acknowledgement of his confession settled over her slowly. “Then you admit your sin of using the lives of innocents to further your goal?”

“I will not apologize for what I did.”

She rolled her eyes at the expected response. “Why are you suddenly so forthcoming with information?”

“Because I have been thinking about you a great deal lately, Maiev. Let me go so I can help you put an end to all of this.” Illidan reached out and brushed the hair out of her face.

For a moment the way he said her name and not some teasing title made her feel… something. But it was short lived as the voice in the back of her mind screamed danger. “Do not toy with me, Betrayer.” The dagger she kept hidden found its way to his throat. She muttered an incantation and Illidan’s body was sucked back against the wall. It sent the tray clattering leaving the remaining contents splattered on the floor. “I know… I know the only thought on your mind is how to escape this place.” She approached him on slow, purposeful steps. “And the only name in your heart is Tyrande Whisperwind.”

“It is true, I will never love someone else as much as I love Tyrande. But…” He pulled against the chains with all his strength. They seared into his flesh twisting his face in pain but he still didn’t relent.

“There are no buts with you, Betrayer. You lost the right for me to trust you millennia ago and I will not ever trust you again.” She shook her head as if she was trying to convince herself of the words. “Struggle all you want, all you’ll do is hurt yourself.” She set out about cleaning up the dishes off the floor.

“Your hair at least…” Illidan finally relented and stopped pulling again the restraints. “Let me fix it for you.”

“You?” Her eyebrow quirked up slowly. “You know how?”

“I do not profess to have the skills of Azshara’s handmaidens but I can braid hair.” He dangled the blindfold in one hand.

“The what about your eyes?” She sounded unsure, but not unwilling.

“You can bring it back to me next time.” He drew a sly smile, despite the burns on his body.

Maiev let out a long sigh. “It would do me no favors for my subordinates to see me like this.”

“As a leader you should inspire confidence. An unkempt appearance would sow doubts,” he offered encouragingly as he swayed the blindfold again. When Maiev didn’t answer or make any move he frowned and sighed. “You let yourself very open multiple times. Did I ever make a move to hurt you?”

“Yes. Just a few minutes ago.”

“That wound was bleeding far too much.” That was true at least.

Maiev sighed again and walked over to him, dagger in hand. “I will know if you try anything suspicious.” She gave a word and the chains loosened. “Can you stand?”

“So considerate. Yes, I can stand.” He gave her a coy smile.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Finally, she turned around. “You can open your eyes.”

#world of warcraft #warcraft fanfic #maiev shadowsong #illidan stormrage #enemies to lovers #slow burn #denial of feelings #angst #solitary confinement #nudity #bathing/washing #hand feeding #power dynamics #emotional hurt/comfort

2 notes · View notes

sugamoonv · 5 years

Text

Origins Pt.3

At Last

Summary: You learn how BTS came to be and what specifically they are.

Word Count: 3,785

Warnings: blood, fighting, near death experience

A.N: This is the last installment to the Origin stories. I’m sorry if you felt that it ventured a lot from the actual story but I felt as though it was necessary and gives information for later chapters. Anyways, enjoy!!!! Let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the tag list

Masterlist / Origins Pt.2 / Prologue

“You told Jimin that he could meet Namjoon?”

With a nod of his head, Taehyung was being pushed up against the wall of the barn by Hoseok. Sunlight filtered in through the cracks of the wood onto Hoseok who had his teeth bared and a feral look in his eyes.

“How fucking stupid are you?”

Taehyung was pushed deeper into the wall.

“Huh?” Hoseok gave a violent shake before slamming Taehyung back into the wall.

Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut as he flinched. “Stop acting as though I’m the only guilty party. They only found out about me and Namjoon because of you.”

“AND YOU WERE TO ERASE THEIR MINDS,” Hoseok’s face turned red with anger. “Not lead them to where the could get more information to tell Byung-Wook,” Hoseok seethed.

“Jimin wouldn’t do that.”

“And what of Jungkook? Hm? He’s a child. He’s naive and selfish but he’s loyal and that makes him dangerous. I don’t doubt for a minute that he would be the one to get us all killed.”

Hoseok kept Taehyung pinned as they stared into each other’s eyes. They could feel their powers thrumming underneath their skin, begging to lash out.

“Hoseok, enough.”

They heard an exasperated sigh as Namjoon strolled into the barn, a disinterested look on his face. Behind him were Jungkook and Jimin. Jimin looked guilty to have interrupted the disagreement while Jungkook’s face was passive.

Hoseok uncurled his fingers from the lapels of Taehyung’s jacket and stepped back. As he turned to Namjoon and saw Jimin and Jungkook, he clenched his jaw to contain the surprise that he felt. Though he figured Jungkook saw the way his eyes widened for a millisecond because the young boy was fighting a smug smirk from his face. This only angered Hoseok more.

“Namjoon-” Taehyung stepped beside Hoseok and bowed.

“Namjoon, do you really think it’s best to meet with them present?” Hoseok cut Taehyung off and sent a warning look to Namjoon. “It could be unsafe. We can’t fully trust-”

“They’ve decided to join us.” Namjoon spun to face the two men behind him. “And the consequences would be dire should they fulfill the urge to tell anyone.”

Chills ran up Jungkook’s and Jimin’s spines as Namjoon gave them a deadly look. One that was full of promise that Namjoon was more powerful than he led on and wouldn’t be afraid to use that power should anyone cross him.

Crickets and begun chirping and fireflies had lit up the grass they flew above by the time Yoongi gathered the courage to go to Jin’s room. The night sky had chilled the air enough so that the skin on Yoongi’s arm was ice cold and because of this, he gladly welcomed the warmth of the empty inn. The stairs creaked as he made his way upstairs to where the rooms were. He and the other servants were held below the first floor in the basement. Actual rooms were reserved for those paying.

“Jin, can we please talk?” Yoongi leaned into the door and kept his voice low as not to wake any other tenants. “Jin, I promise you I can explain everything. All you have to do is let me in.”

Yoongi looks up as he hears footsteps approaching and relaxes when he sees it’s a man stumbling. The smell of alcohol hits Yoongi’s nose as the man roughly walks by him, speaking to himself and swaying from wall to wall for support. The hallway feels even more silent when the drunk man finds his room, or a room, and departs into it with an unaware slam of the door.

Yoongi returns his forehead to the door. “Jin, you can’t ignore me forever.”

At the sound of dead silence, Yoongi grows antsy.

“Jin?”

Yoongi grabs the door handle and slowly twists it expecting it to be locked but finds that the door swings wide open with barely a push. Jin’s room is bare and cold. The candle lantern on the bedside table shows it hasn’t been in use yet. The sheets on the bed are perfectly smoothed. Yoongi shivers as a gust of wind blows into the room from the open window.

“Shit,” Yoongi spits as he rushes back out of the room.

“What is it exactly you want in exchange?”

Aiko looks at Jin with calculating eyes as he stands before her. She had been preparing a spell when one of her officers told her of the visitor. It took everything in her to hide her satisfaction as the man spilled of the rendezvous her enemies most trusted servant had with the poor man named Yoongi. The man had all but given her everything she needed to destroy Byung-Wook out of petty jealousy.

“To become an Amarbhagat.”

That, she was not expecting.

“Why would an innkeeper's son want to become an Amarbhagat?” Aiko leans forward in interest.

“So Yoongi doesn’t have to go to anyone else for help.”

“So for love?” A slick smile spreads across Aiko’s face before she glances at her Admiral standing to the side of the room, her face softening. “A noble reason.”

She stands from her cushioned seat and beckons to Jin, “Follow me.”

“What do you mean he’s not with you?” Yoongi pants out with a frantic gaze. He had sprinted to Lord Byung-Wook’s manor and spent the last twenty minutes searching for Namjoon.

Needless to say, Namjoon was thrown off guard when Yoongi burst into the barn, crazed with worry, interrupting his meeting with Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook.

They had been together the past few hours discussing what next to do. With Jimin and Jungkook joining their ranks and Yoongi informing him of Aiko, Namjoon finally felt ready to weaponize Aiko against Byung-Wook. This would give them all the chance to escape without anyone noticing and the aftermath of the fight would distract the Lord so he wouldn’t be able to search for them.

“I mean Jin has not been here.” Namjoon regards Yoongi with a worried gaze. “Yoongi, what did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” Yoongi gasps out. “I could tell Jin was getting suspicious so I thought he came here but I don’t know where he is.”

“Who’s Jin?”

“How many other people have you involved?”

Hoseok and Taehyung blurt out questions.

“Yoongi is the last one and Jin is Yoongi’s….” Namjoon doesn’t finish answering, unsure of what he should say. He looks to Yoongi to finish.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m afraid he’s gone and doing something stupid. I need to find him.

Jimin steps up and lays a comforting hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you find him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

At the sound of protesting, Namjoon sent a glare to the men effectively cutting them off.

Yoongi sprinted forward to the crumpled body as fast as he could. Footsteps thundered behind him as the others followed suit. Laying in the middle of the dirt road was Jin. His lips were tinted blue from the cold and he was unresponsive, even as Yoongi frantically shook him.

“Stop.” Jungkook kneeled next to Yoongi and forced his hands off of Jin. Yoongi let out a sound of discontent and fought to touch Jin again until Jimin ran up behind him and forced him to sit still.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hoseok slowed himself to a stop, slightly out of breath.

“I don’t know, his energy feels off,” Jungkook distractedly says as he looks thoroughly over Jin’s body.

“His energy? But he’s human. I would have felt if he were one of us.” Namjoon speaks up.

“Someone probably did the spell wrong when they tried to turn him.”

Yoongi looks at Taehyung as he speaks. “Can you help him?”

Taehyung’s heart nearly breaks at the desperation in Yoongi’s eyes and he nods. “As a ranking official, I have to be present whenever we turn new soldiers. I can probably help but we have to move fast.”

At this, Jungkook slides his hands under Jin’s body and hoists him up before speeding into a steady jog back to the manor. Hoseok, Jimin, and Namjoon hectically throw items to the ground to clear a space for Jungkook to put Jin. Yoongi watches on with concern, useless at the present moment and Taehyung has gone to sneaking inside the manor for supplies. He soon returns with his arms full and drops by Jin’s head.

Taehyung presses his fingers to Jin’s temple and his eyes turn white.

“What is- what is he doing?” Yoongi asks from the side.

Taehyung’s eyes flash back to their normal color. “I was going through his memories to see whatever this person did when they performed the spell. There was no one to tether Jin and that’s why it’s not working.”

Most often, soldiers who try to join a lord’s army without any connections to their family or fail to make friends amongst the trainees are turned away because the spell requires a connection to someone in the real world for it to work. Witches and Amarbhagats learned this the hard way when they noticed certain people kept dying during the spell.

When Taehyung first joined, his grandfather had joined him in initiation to be his tether. That made his death all the more painful years later. Namjoon’s mother had worked with Byung-Wook for years and so the lord had been a parental figure to Namjoon when he was turned. Resentment soon burned away the bond between them that was formed as Byung-Wook offered to be Namjoon’s tether. And then Namjoon volunteered to be a tether for Hoseok and Jimin and Jungkook had already had a bond from growing up in the same city together.

“So what? Is it too late? He was supposed to have a tether when the spell begun.” Jimin asks worriedly.

Taehyung sighs. “I have an idea but it might not work.” He looks to Yoongi, “If I could perform the spell on you with Jin as your tether, you may be able to become his tether and help him complete the transformation.”

“Taehyung, that’s never been don-”

Yoongi interrupts Namjoon before he can finish his sentence. “Yes, anything.”

Taehyung nods, preparing himself. “Okay. Jungkook, I need you to move Jin to the floor, Yoongi has to be next to him and there’s not enough space on the table.”

Jungkook picks up Jin and moves him as Taehyung gathers the ingredients and begins spreading them around the floor. “Yoongi lay next to Jin.”

Yoongi obeys Taehyung’s command. Taehyung immediately opens the bag of salt and pours a ring around the two men then carefully steps into the circle to tie Yoongi’s and Jin’s wrists together. Yoongi takes deep breaths to try and calm his frantically beating heart.

“Taehyung, are you sure you can do this?” Hoseok doubts.

“I’ve seen it be done a thousand times. We need to at least try.” Taehyung says as he leans over a small bowl, pulverizing the ingredients to a smooth mixture.

Taehyung dips his fingers into the mix then spreads it across Yoongi’s forehead, chest, lips, and palms of his hands before doing the same to Jin. Now that Yoongi’s looking at Jin, the blueness he was worried was from the cold before might have actually been remnants of the other witch's spell.

“Okay,” Taehyung takes a deep breath and kneels by Yoongi’s and Jin’s head. He leans forward to pick up Yoongi’s and Jin’s spare hands with each of his so all three men are connected. Taehyung begins chanting and Yoongi feels as though his whole body has been submerged into a frozen lake before the corners of his vision begin going blurry and then there’s a flash of white.

Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hoseok watch as Taehyung performs the spell when there’s a loud bang from the door. Another one and the door hits the wall and a collection of female soldiers are rushing in.

Jungkook is the first to run towards them and collide with them halfway across the barn. Jimin quickly follows and soon both are intensely fighting against the attacking force. Hoseok grabs the closest object to him to use as a weapon and launches himself into the fight. Namjoon glances behind him to see that Taehyung has lost some of his focus with all the sudden commotion.

Namjoon walks backward towards Taehyung, keeping his eyes on the fight. “Keep going!” his voice bites.

Outside, Namjoon can hear even more shouts as the rest of Byung-Wook’s soldiers grow aware of the invading force. There are at least a dozen unconscious soldiers littered on the ground before Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook have a chance to breathe. Their faces stone serious and sweat dripping to the floor as their eyes sweep across the room for any more threats.

“Namjoon, we have to leave. This is our only chance.” Hoseok strides forward and speaks into Namjoon’s ear.

“No. We can’t. Not until Taehyung finishes the spell.”

“We don’t know how long that could take. If we want to leave, we have to do it know.”

“He said no!” Jungkook shouts. “We’re not leaving Taehyung or them and that’s final.” Jungkook stares Hoseok down challengingly, adrenalin running through his veins, preparing him for another fight.

Hoseok stares back at Jungkook for another moment before he angrily flashes his teeth and tilts his head and walks towards the open doors. But before he can close them, a woman steps into his view and with a twist of her hand, Hoseok is on the ground screaming as the bone in his leg snaps.

Namjoon has to yell at Taehyung as his eyes snap open to the screaming and the words on his tongue come out slower. Yoongi twitches as the spell loses momentum and this draws Taehyung back and he picks up the pace.

Jungkook and Jimin quickly build up a mental shield, not wanting to be taken off guard like Hoseok. It diminishes the effectiveness of their powers being used on the offense, but it protects them from any other Amarbhagat that was quick to attack and force them into defense.

“I’ve heard you’ve been talking about me, Namjoon.” Aiko strides into the barn past the three fighting soldiers without care.

Namjoon glares at the woman and further steps in front of Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jin to protect them. At this, her attention is drawn to the three behind him and she laughs humorlessly.

“Poor boy was actually stupid enough to think he could actually be an Amarbhagat. Had no idea what he was getting himself in to.” Aiko mockingly frowns at Namjoon, “You don’t think that’s actually going to work, do you?”

“I have faith in my people.”

“That’s not faith, it’s blind love.” Aiko moves closer to Namjoon as he opens his mouth to rebut. “Did your master, Byung-Wook really not tell you the hidden secret about becoming an Amarbhagat?”

Aiko watches with satisfaction as Namjoon’s eyebrows pinch together and doubt stirs in his eyes.

“The magic used to turn you leaves you vulnerable. It amplifies your feelings. So you spend enough time with someone and your magic attaches itself onto that person. Then anything you do with that person creates a bond so powerful that if they were to die, the magic inside you would slowly eat away at you until you were just a shell of a person.”

Namjoon can feel his heart pounding in his chest and he has half a mind to turn around and stop Taehyung from finishing the spell but he knew if he did that, both Yoongi and Jin would die and Taehyung would be seriously injured.

“People weren’t meant to have soulmates, Namjoon.”

Aiko looks straight into Namjoon’s eyes and there’s something unspoken that’s being communicated between them.

She opens her mouth to say something else when there’s a sword pointed at the back of her neck and Jimin is staring down the worn metal with a deadly glare. Aiko slowly turns to Jimin, confident in her magic that she knew Jimin held no power over her, but that confidence soon turned into despair when she saw Jungkook slowly standing up.

At his feet, was her admiral, completely still, eyes shut. Bruises and blood were littered over her face from all the fighting. Jungkook swayed above her from exhaustion, blood trickling from his nose as his everything including his magic, was about to give in from overuse. But still, Jungkook had enough energy to lift his head so that he locked eyes with Aiko. The pride and power in them infuriated Aiko and with a yell, Jimin was thrown across the room.

She turned to Namjoon and Namjoon raised a fist to attack but she muttered a spell and the veins under his skin turned black, moving up his arm causing a burning sensation until he was writhing on the floor in pain. Jungkook limped towards Aiko as fast as he could, desperate to stop her from harming Taehyung and the others.

Just as she raised her hand, charging her magic to smite Taehyung’s, Yoongi’s eyes opened, completely white, and he was gasping for air. Taehyung fell back, exhausted, normal color bleeding back into his eyes. In the second it took for Aiko to realize she was too late and decide on a new course, Namjoon used her back being turned to his advantage and threw his whole weight onto her, ignoring the burning sensation beneath his skin. She was stronger than how she appeared and easily held his weight before throwing him off.

As she stood over Namjoon, fury in her eyes and unwilling for mercy, her eyes turned white as she gasped. Her body unnaturally made small twitches as she resisted the foreign magic. Namjoon watched from his space on the ground confused until he looked to his side to see Hoseok standing on one leg and holding hands and leaning on a battered Jimin. Both of their eyes were with as their magic intertwined.

Yoongi took the opportunity while Aiko was distracted to turn to Jin, who still had yet to open his eyes. He patted the man’s face a couple times and muttered his name but after that produced no results, he focused on Taehyung. Yoongi shook Taehyung’s foot and Taehyung grumbled as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

As Yoongi was trying to shake Taehyung awake, Jungkook dropped beside Yoongi, teeth gritted as his knees made harsh contact with the ground. Jungkook clenched his fist and breathed in a couple times through his nose before slamming his hands onto Jin’s chest, eyes going white. Yoongi watched mesmerized as he could feel Jungkook’s power seeping through his skin, its presence growing steadily stronger.

Blood began dripping from his nose as he used more and more of his magic to try and bring Jin back from the precipice of death. He felt as though he was going to burst from the inside out as his power grew out of control. Luckily, just as Jungkook was about to give in, Jin’s eyes slowly blinked open and a rush of color went back to his cheeks and lips. Yoongi pulled Jungkook away and Jungkook fell back, too exhausted to do anything but stare at the ceiling. Jungkook couldn’t even make out the words Yoongi was saying to him, everything had become muffled.

Jimin and Hoseok released Aiko from their grip once Namjoon moved to safety and they no longer had the strength. Aiko’s eyes returned to normal and she looked around the room to see Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin watching her warily, Taehyung and Jungkook lying on the ground, and Yoongi guarding over Jin’s body, who was still slowly waking up.

“It’s over, Aiko,” Namjoon rasped. “Listen. The fight’s over.”

She did. Instead of the previous battle cries she heard, it was mainly silence though there was occasionally the shout of an order or someone asking for medical attention.

Aiko’s body shook as she looked from Namjoon to her Admiral that still lay dead on the ground. Pain welled inside her chest.

“You’re going to regret this. One day, I’m going to take away everything you love from you just as you’ve done to me. I’m going to destroy you from the inside out.”

You breathed out slowly through your nose and your forehead rest in the palm of your hands while your elbows were on your knees. “So you...you all have superpowers?”

“No,” Namjoon is quick to correct you, “We call them gifts or abilities. Being connected to this certain type of magic allows us certain privileges.”

“Being...Amarbhagat.” You sound out the word slowly and Namjoon nods in confirmation at you pronouncing it correctly.

“Yes.”

“And then...being Amarbhagat connects you to each other.”

“Yes.” When Namjoon sees you slowly blink at the floor he continues explaining, “Our magic sort of has a mind of its own and when it meets a certain person, it sort of intertwines itself with that person’s magic, if they do have magic. If they don’t, it just makes us very attached and vulnerable to them. It’s the same connection, only it’s more one-sided magic wise.”

“So like soulmates? You and Jin and Jungkook and Jimin and Yoongi and Hoseok and Taehyung are all soulmates?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon confirms and lets out an airy laugh when you breathe out a large puff of air.

“That’s….a lot to take in.” You ignore the pang in your chest at the disappointment that they already were soulmates and you were just someone fun to play with. That’s the only possible explanation as to why they were okay with kissing you thus far.

You keep your head in your hands for another couple of moments.

“Are you okay?”

“My head kind of hurts now,” you force out a chuckle as you lift your head. “It’s been a really long day so I think I’m just gonna’ go to bed.”

You slowly stand from the couch with a tired smile. Namjoon stands with you. You lock eyes with each other and a comfortable silence builds between the both of you before you’re bowing and walking down the hallway to your room. Namjoon fights the longing in his chest as he watches your retreating figure.

Thoughts spring around his head as he sits back onto the couch. He told you about everything except for Aiko. Her warning to this day still terrified him. At first, Namjoon was afraid that she was talking about one of his members, but now that you were in his life, he knew that if she were still alive and did something to you, there would be nothing in this world to keep him from falling apart

Tags: @detectivebourbon @eshika0102 @xsmilebitesx @perfectlyfangirling @eilowyneleyne @itsapurrfectstorm @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @suck-my-bts @rosymccheese @craftypersoncheesecake@ficcion-escrita @ficcion-escrita @twilight-loveer @respectfully-yours-blog @delightfulyoongi @disfoqia @deathsasshole @mint-myg-yoongi @vljvanessa @young-yellkie @jungkookssistan @sincemalik @milady-mira @stardustjjk @recoveringflowerchild @xandraray22 @shelley-hennig14 @justapotatonow @riyahrocks @notalentforsubservience @stitchattacks @perrryyysblog @drearii @im-emo-motherfuckers @okgoogul @loserwithapen

315 notes · View notes