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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Gravity

Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

A/N: This was basically just a therapy write.

What is worth? It is neither tangible nor seeable. It doesn’t have a body or a shell. Yet, the endless chase to catch it, to hold it captive, is a never ending disease that eats away at the brain and tears apart the heart. It’s only descriptor is feeling. A judgement. Something either is or isn’t. When it's an object in question, the call for worth is passive, innocent. It’s wanted or it's not. The deterioration comes into play when the worth is applied to a person.

Kim Junmyeon was worth the world.

With a smile that could chase away a storm and a heart too good and pure for the human populace, he was truly worth more than the world. He was worth more than you deserved.

Not only was his face kind, but it was handsome. Beautiful, even. Candid photos were museum worthy masterpieces. There was a gentleness, a softness to his eyes and cheeks that contradicted the sharpness of his jaw and the strength of his body. His laugh was infectious and his mind as vast and deep as the ocean. The sum of his whole was worth so much.

But you were not worthy of such a person. You weren’t as stunning as a sunset over the mountains or as extraordinary as a new discovery. You were simply… you. Staring from afar, admiring but never touching.

You wished you could be worthy. You wished you could be special enough - good enough to be with him. Pretty enough would be something decent to settle for. But you were invisible. A person on the sidelines. Out of the spotlight. You were an admirer - not one to be admired.

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, your attention torn away from the spot where Junmyeon was standing, laughing and chatting with a few of his seniors. Kyungsoo, who sat to your left at the small table in the entertainment building’s cafe, didn’t even look up from the script he was currently reviewing. He’d only been given it the day before and was still considering if he wanted the part that was being offered to him.

Your gaze dropped to the opened yet untouched notebook lying in front of you on the somewhat sticky surface. Someone must have spilled their syprup-y coffee and didn’t do the best job at cleaning it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without moving his head, Kyungsoo looked at you over the rim of his glasses. Even though you were sure you were nothing more than a blur to his eyes at the moment, he could always see right through you. “If you keep staring at him like that, you’re going to give yourself away.”

The ultimate nightmare. The humiliation of being found out. The sweet but awkward rejection that you knew would follow. With his laugh still ringing in your ears, you forced yourself to tune Junmyeon out.

Pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, Kyungsoo straightened and closed the script. “We can go somewhere else, if that would help.”

You wanted to argue no. That you weren’t a coward. That you weren’t going to run and hide simply because you looked at him like he was the night sky while you were stuck on the ground. You used to have better control of yourself. You used to be able to hide it better. But lately, it had only gotten worse.

And you were a coward.

“Yeah. Maybe one of the practice rooms is empty.”

“There’s usually one.”

After gathering up your things, you followed Kyungsoo out of the cafe, stealing a final glance. Junmyeon didn’t so much as twitch in your direction. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t even realized that you were there in the cafe for the past half hour.

Kyungsoo settled into one corner of the worn navy blue couch while you squeezed into the other. Not speaking a word, he went back to reading the script. That was a nicety of your friendship. Comfortable silence was more than readily available when needed. He didn’t push or give unasked for advice. He was an ear to listen and a presence to take in when you didn’t want to be alone.

You stared down at the notebook in your lap where your next story ideas were supposed to be filling the pages. But nothing was coming out. Not even the vague pictures you’d had earlier this morning. The only things being called to the paper were the sentences held in the invisible tears you refused to shed. Words of wishes and frustrations swirled around inside the tiny droplets, every letter as heavy as lead. Your cruel mind kept echoing at you the conversation that had constricted the air in your lungs.

Two days ago, you’d accidentally overheard a drama staff worker jokingly say that Junmyeon and his current co-star seemed awfully close, more than merely friends. Stomach lurching, you ran to the nearest bathroom. Nothing came out but almost fifteen minutes of deliberate breathing had gone by before you emerged again. Kyungsoo was quick to dismiss the comment after barely three words from you. The effect, however, still lingered.

Despite the history of your intrusive thoughts, you wanted to believe that you could be good enough. That you were worthy of being beside someone like Junmyeon. His co-costar was stunning, even in real life. Someone who didn’t need photoshop to draw out gasps of awe and astonishment. Someone you most certainly couldn’t compete with in any race.

You weren’t asking for much. Just to be able to hold his hand, your fingers interlaced between his own. The fantasy you allowed yourself to indulge in at times wasn’t a grand gesture or a modern fairytale. You wanted simplicity. The smaller moments that could mean so much. Mundane, to some eyes.

Warm sun rays leaked through the closed blinds over the living room windows. A clock on the wall ticked away the meaningless minutes. Sometimes soft music hummed in the background, sometimes there was nothing but silence. Junmyeon would lay across the length of the couch with you wrapped around his side. His fingers would absentmindedly caress your shoulder or arm. In his other hand was a book, held open by his thumb and pinky. Your own hand drifted through his hair while he read aloud.

The two of you had dozens of endless conversations about books. About the ones you loved and the ones you hated. About deeper meanings and the reflections of life. His love of literature - from the celebrated classics to the obscure unknown - had been what initially drew you in. Everything else was what made you stay.

A muscle in your hand cramped. The peaceful scene faded from your eyes. The page was now filled with barely legible, ink-smeared words. You’d written the entire scenario out, along with your heart, without even realizing it.

In a panic, you ripped the paper from its spiral hold, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the trash can across the room. It missed.

“I doubt whatever you wrote was that bad,” Kyungsoo murmured. He read the final few lines of the script and closed it.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted bitterly. “But I shouldn’t have written it.” You described the scene to him while your eyes stayed trained on the loose thread twirling between your fingers.

He sighed. “You’re never going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re just stopping yourself.”

You scoffed. “Why would I deliberately set myself up like that? Break me the rest of the way?”

Kyungsoo stared at you, long and hard, his expression blank to those who couldn’t read the tell-tale signs that his thoughts were in overdrive. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

You sniffed, though no tears were yet forcing their way to the surface. “Most days.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t.” Your voice broke - just like your heart. The world blurred when you shook your head. “I can’t… simplify it. But-- It’s like I was this stupid lump of rock drifting aimlessly through space, content with my life. Then suddenly, I came across this brilliant star that shined so brightly and… we collided. And now I’m stuck in his orbit. But he just keeps on spinning while my whole world had changed completely. He’s… my gravity. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time to find your own orbit.”

Afraid it might crack again, your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The door creaked open and your heart leapt. Junmyeon stuck his head inside. Had he overheard everything?

“There you are! I turned away for a second and suddenly you two weren’t in the cafe anymore.”

He’d… He’d seen you? In the cafe?

“It was too loud,” Kyungsoo lied, covering up for you like he always did.

“It’s always too loud for you,” Junmyeon teased. Then his face morphed into that leader-esque expression. “We need to head to rehearsal. You’re welcome to join us,” he nodded to you.

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly in response. “I have a writer’s meeting.” No, you didn’t, but space felt like the right choice at the moment. You tried not to focus on the lack of disappointment coming from the direction of the door.

“Maybe next time.” Junmyeon slapped the side of the door. “Let’s go, Soo.”

You were actually the first one on your feet, muttering goodbyes to both of them and then walking down the hall perhaps a little too fast.

You didn’t allow your mind to think the whole way home. Every action was done in automatic mode. Only the minimal amount of awareness was used. But when the apartment door clicked behind you, when the near darkness wrapped you up, when the silence crept in and the empty couch mocked you… you broke.

Knees buckling from under you, the cold hard floor came closer and you didn’t leave that spot just inside the room as the tears and sobs crashed out in waves.

This was what you hated the most. The breakdowns that came with no excuse. They were built up by your own mind, by your intrusive thoughts. You tortured yourself with what you could never have. The attacks were random and it was only recently that you had learned to hold them in long enough until you were safe within your own walls. One time, you hadn’t made it. Kyungsoo had been there to pat your shoulder.

Kyungsoo. He was right.

That clarity was coming through as the tears dried and your breathing evened out again. You needed space. You needed to separate yourself from what wasn’t good for you and not see him. Not even have the temptation to.

This was going to hurt like hell.

The office somehow looked smaller with the bare walls. Since the day you moved in, you tried to liven it up, give it character, make it reflect the interests you loved. How were you supposed to write if this place felt like a stifling corporate desert, dry of any creativity?

Not that you ever actually wrote in this twelve by eight space. This place had been reserved for meetings and other usually boring necessities. You didn’t know the next time a budget meeting or an email check would be conducted here. You could be back in a few months and move back in as if you never left. Or someone else could take over. Only time would tell.

The box that currently had your attention was nearly full. You’d have to come back for the rest. There wasn’t much left, anyway. You took another look around to see if there was anything else you could do at the moment. The monitors were black, the tower underneath - so much smaller than the one you’d had as a kid - was powered off, and the chair that was aligned just so to your favored adjustments was pushed into the gray desk. Saying goodbye to this place really did hurt.

But you needed to do this.

And yet, you felt like you were drowning, being dragged deeper into the black water. Your lungs were screaming for relief.

“You’re really leaving?”

Your shoulders stiffened. At first, you didn’t look up at him. You weren’t sure what to say to him. Being here… it was the last place you expected him to be today. Kyungsoo would have told him, but you wouldn’t have waited around for him to appear.

“Hi, Junmyeon.” You folded up the top of the box, overlapping the pieces so it would stay shut in transport.

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I love it,” you confessed. “But I- I need to go home for a little while.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Something like that.” Definitely some version of sick.

He nodded. “Will you be gone long?” His eyes drifted over the holes in the walls leftover from the frames that used to hang in front of them.

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was…. You should go. Pushing your fingers under the box, you started to lift it to take it home.

“Do you have to go?”

The question stalled you. Confused, the box went back down on the desk. “Why are you here, Junmyeon?”

He shrugged, though it didn’t shake off the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his arms all the way to his wrists covered up by the sleeves of his shirt. Lately he had been rolling them up. You wondered what had changed today. “You’re our friend.”

Friend.

Friend. Friend. Friend.

The word rang over and over like a declaration of war. Our friend.

The smart thing to do would have been to nod, say goodbye, and leave. But - instead - you opened your mouth.

“I will always be your friend.”

That didn't make him smile like you would have thought. “So, then why do you have to leave?”

You rubbed your eyebrow, fighting within yourself. You lost.

“Have you ever had a friend so head over heels for someone that won’t even look at them twice? But they don’t care? Because as long as the person they’re looking at is happy, then they’re happy. Even if your friend is completely miserable in the process. Because they no longer care about their own self. They just keep looking at the other person, doing anything that entails that they’re still happy.” You swallowed thickly to try and keep your voice steady. By your sides, your hands were trembling at this roundabout confession. “And you want to shake them. You want to tell them to get out. Because as long as they stick around, they won’t look at one else. No one else exists. Well, this is me. Getting out.”

The frown on Junmyeon’s face deepened as he let your words sink in. “Who is it? Will you tell me?”

No. Because this was enough of an admittance. Because it was time to find your own sense of gravity.

So, without a word, you picked up the box and left the office.

Waiting for you when you came back was the scene you had written in the practice room that day, flattened out but still wrinkled as it laid on the desk.

#exo #kim junmyeon x reader #kim junmyeon #kim joonmyeon #suho #suho x reader #exo oneshot #exo drabble #exo angst #exo unrequited love #kpop

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btsficsforthehumble · 3 years

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Rapture

Pairing: reader x Yoongi

Genre: Mafia au; angst, fluff

Warnings: Injury, medical terms, blood, sexual insinuations

WC: 2.2k

A/N: This is for the ficcafe dialogue prompt event! The three italicized lines are the ones chosen from this event --- thanks to the admins for creating such a great list! I really love this scenario and am thinking about making it into a larger story if there’s interest… so let me know if you want to see more!

----

“Stop screaming, it’s just me.”

You sag with relief when you recognize Yoongi’s voice. You had woken up to the sound of a large crash, from what you assume now was caused by Yoongi navigating your dark apartment. Your relief only disappears for a second, however. If he was coming to your apartment in the middle of the night like this, something was wrong.

You scoot your butt to the edge of your bed to reach your side table tamp, pulling the string to allow soft light to illuminate the room. This allows you to see Yoongi fully, not just the dark figure he had been seconds ago.

The sight that awaits your eyes makes you take a sharp inhale. Yoongi was leaning against your dresser, hunched over slightly, still in his tactical gear from what you assume was his job tonight. What had caused your surprise though wasn’t that, but the large gash that travelled from his hip bone to right above the inside of his knee. It must have been not too deep, seeing as he was able to make his way all the way here, but was still actively bleeding --- you could see the dark metallic liquid reflecting the light, standing out against the black of his cargo pants.

You immediately jump up to grab the rather large first aid kit you keep in your bathroom. You weren’t a stranger to patching up the boys after a particularly dangerous job. Usually though, they weren’t stumbling around your apartment in the middle of the night, but calling you over to one of their apartments.

The truth was, you were no doctor --- or even nurse for that matter. You were a waitress. After you made friends with the seven boys who would frequent the small restaurant in which you worked, you learned that they were members of the local Bangtan gang. You had seen how they roughly patched each other up after they got hurt, fearing going to the hospital to where they could be linked to the various illegal activities that they participated in. So, you took it upon yourself to learn rudimentary first aid skills to help them when they were injured --- such as right now.

You pull out a bottle of alcohol, gauze, needle and surgical thread from your kit after washing your hands thoroughly. Yoongi was still putting his weight on your furniture, easing the pressure off of his injured leg. He had a grimace on his face, obviously in pain from the large gash.

You hurry over, lifting his opposite arm up and around your neck to allow you to support some of his weight. Slowly hobbling to the edge of your bed, you assist him in sitting on the mattress where he could rest while you could fix him up.

Once you have him positioned comfortably, well --- as comfortably as he could get, you sink to your knees in front of him to be able to be close enough to the wound to work on it. First, you realize you would have to cut back some of the fabric of his pants to prevent contamination and allow you to get a clear view of the full cut. Grabbing the medical scissors, you begin to but at his pants, but careful to not sacrifice his modesty too much. Honestly, you don’t think you’d be able to focus very well with him exposed anyway.

After you finish, you look up to see his face, wanting to make sure he was still comfortable and prepared to handle the pain the alcohol would surely bring. Seeing his frown turn into a knowing smile once your eyes meet, you hurry to sterilize the cut. You two didn’t need words to understand each other, same as always.

You lift the open bottle of isopropyl alcohol to hover above his thigh, and begin to carefully pour just enough to cover the wound, moving from the top to the bottom of the gash. At its contact, Yoongi lets out a hiss and grips your bedsheets in both hands. He’s felt the sting a million times, but it never fails to make him tense up in pain.

“I know. Sorry,” you give at his tense reaction.

Putting away the alcohol, you thread your needle. Checking in with him again, he gives you a tense nod. You begin stitching him up, knotting the first stitch at his hip and traveling down his thigh. At the first stitch, you feel him jump slightly from the prick.

“Stay still. The more you move, the more this is going to hurt,” you warn.

He lets out a low grunt of acknowledgement at your words. He knew you were right.

You put your full focus back into your task, wanting to make sure the stitches weren’t excessively crude. In the process, you don’t notice you getting your body shifting to be more in between his spread legs than in front of them. He notices though.

He keeps his eyes trained on you as you work. Partially to keep himself distracted from the needle going in and out of his skin, but also partially because you looked so beautiful bathed in the soft light your lamp was casting on you. He had woken you up from your sleep, so you had a case of slight bedhead and puffy eyes --- a completely unfiltered version of yourself. After looking at your furrowed brows and slight pout, obviously lost in your task, he lets his gaze drop to your body.

You were wearing a large, oversized white tee-shirt and black sleeping shorts that were smaller than anything he’d seen you in before. Not wanting to make himself think dirtily about you while you were currently in between his thighs --- he’d surely get hard and then he’d feel like a complete asshole --- he slides his gaze back up to your torso.

Wait a second… your shirt looks an awful lot like the one that he had been searching for a few weeks ago. The shirt was one of his favorites, and he was irritated when he couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Is that… is that my shirt?”

You snap your head up at his words, take a look down to remind yourself of what you were wearing, and snap your head back up again, but this time with an owlish look. Of course the one night Yoongi stumbles in your door you are wearing the t-shirt you had stolen from his room while you were over playing card games with Jungkook and Taehyung. You all were drinking, and you accidentally spilled the contents of your glass right down the front of your top. You had gotten up to steal one of the boys shirts from their rooms, but you knew Yoongi had this shirt in his drawer. It always looked so comfortable; plus, you thought it would probably have his masculine citrusy scent. You were right, on both accounts.

Now, you were embarrassed having been caught red-handed. “May... maybe?” The heat in your cheeks didn’t help your situation.

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, and you could see the faint trace of a smile on his lips.

“You know, I looked for a whole week for that shirt. And now, come to find out, it was all the way here in your thieving hands this whole time,” he gruffly says, in his special Yoongi way. But you could tell from his tone he wasn’t actually mad.

“Thought it needed a change of environment, that’s all,” you answer cheekily. You resume his stitches where you had left off.

He just shakes his head, watching you for another moment. “It looks better on you anyways.”

You blush at his words, but don’t look up from your task. At this point, you were nearly done --- your stitching had grown faster with the practice the boys kept giving you.

You tie off the last stitch, and stand up wiping the dust of the floor off your knees. You collect the used supplies, depositing them in the bathroom to deal with tomorrow. When you come back in, you find Yoongi examining your work. He said nothing, apparently satisfied.

“Come on, let me clean you up,” you suggest as you walk over to help him stand from your bed. He still has blood, now dried, in the area around his wound. He leans on you again, standing with a grunt. Hobbling once more, you go to the bathroom and sit him on the closed toilet. You make quick work of getting some sterile cotton pads wet to allow you to swipe away the blood.

You are gentle as you wipe, not wanting to upset the already angry skin any more. He watches your face as you do so, endeared at your care and concern.

Once you finish, it occurs to him that his pants still have a giant gaping hole in them --- oh, and part of his boxers too. You are quick to turn around, heading straight for the dresser Yoongi had been leaning on earlier. You have a small stash of men’s boxers for when you sleep sometimes. Luckily, Yoongi, being slim, would fit into the pairs you had on hand. Grabbing the one on top, you return to the bathroom.

He raises his brows at you, confused at your actions, but understands once you toss the boxers at him.

“Here. I don’t have pants that’ll fit, but those should work at least,” you offer.

“Thanks.”

With a nod, you turn around shutting the door behind you. Oh, he probably wants a clean shirt too --- so you do the first thing you think of, taking his shirt right off your back. You crack open the door, only enough to fit your hand with the shirt through, in offering. A beat later, you feel the tee being pulled from your loose grasp.

Yoongi feels a spark of excitement knowing you were half naked on the other side of the door, but quickly tries to shove it away. Not the time, he reminds himself.

Meanwhile, you pull out another old shirt from your drawer for yourself to wear, and go get a glass of water from the kitchen for Yoongi. You had some painkillers for him, that would hopefully allow him to sleep.

While you are placing the pills next to the glass on your bedside, you hear the door creak open. You rush over to help him walk, wrapping your arm around his waist. You head towards your bed, already set on having him sleep there while you take the couch. He looks down at you confused when he sees the direction you’re taking him, however.

Noticing, you tell him, “I was thinking you take my bed tonight. It’s better than the couch for your leg.”

Meanwhile, he had been planning on ending up on your old couch this entire time. “It’s fine, I already barged in your house for you to sew me up, I can take the couch,” he says. “I promise I’ll be okay.”

But you weren’t taking no for an answer tonight. “Min Yoongi, sit your ass down. You have a huge gash in your thigh, you’re taking the bed.”

He could tell from your tone there was no arguing. He still felt guilty. And, he realized, what he really wanted was for you to just stay with him.

With fake nonchalance, he suggests just that. “Let’s compromise. You’re bed’s big enough for two, we can both use it.”

You eye him for a few seconds, wanting to gauge what that meant. If you let your imagination run wild, that could be a loaded suggestion. You debate in your head for a second, talking yourself down. It was late, and he had never been anything but your friend. His intentions probably were completely pure; and you felt embarrassed for even thinking anything more could be going on.

You sigh, not giving him an answer right away. “Take these,” you point to the medicine, placing your hands on your hips, waiting for him to follow your order.

He dutifully does so, and looks at you expectantly. You hadn’t told him your decision.

“Scoot over.”

He quirks his lip at your command, amused at your delivery of your answer. But, he does scoot over, allowing you to slide your body underneath the sheets. You quickly reach for your lamp, and encase your room in darkness once again.

Tense from having Yoongi in your bed with you, you can’t help but toss and turn for a bit. Meanwhile, he was deathly still. This continues for several minutes, with you not being able to settle.

You flip over again, but this time Yoongi grunts, rolling on his good side, sticking an ankle between your legs and throwing an arm over your hip. You tense immediately at the unexpected, but not unwelcome, contact.

Yoongi’s breath fans across your ear. “Stop moving. You’re driving me nuts.” His voice was low and gravely from sleepiness, and was very sexy. You were glad at that moment he couldn’t see your face, because your eyes had to be the size of saucers.

And, to your surprise, not soon after you were able to fall into a deep slumber that exceeded your normal, lonely nights.

#ficscafe dpe #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi

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novantinuum · 5 years

Text

On the corrupted!Steven theory...

So, originally when I mused on this yesterday I was just playing around with random possibilities.

After combing the series for info about corruption, though, I’m mildly spooked at the increased potential for this to... perhaps be a thing? I’m not saying that this is what I for sure believe will happen- to be honest, I’m not even sure Crewniverse would go this direction at all- but just for funsies, let’s see what kind of “evidence” or “foreshadowing” exists that might support this potential story path in the context of canon.

(EDIT: 10/7/19

I honestly no longer think this creature is a worm at all whatsoever, it’s either more akin to a horned caterpillar or potentially has limbs. Either way we can see so little right now that it’s hard to tell. I’m not editing the rest of this post because I want it to exist in its original form- but do keep this in mind reading the rest! XP)

1) The design of this worm creature.

Let’s start simple. Let’s start tangible.

For future reference and simplicity, I will be henceforth be referring to this creature as... “Wormy Boi.”

So, let’s see what we’ve got here. I’m definitely not the first person to point out this fella’s pink nature, and the jarringly human-like nose they’ve got. (Compared to other corruptions, which have had distinctly non-humanoid features.) In the photo above, we also have Wormy Boi sporting glowing pink eyes, which then send out a flare of pink light/energy. So, seemingly a powerful entity.

If you watch the short segment before they sit upright, you’ll see that Wormy Boi is super, super big. They’re in the background, but BOY do they loom. The shadows cast upon them especially push that sense of size. They’ve also got a whole bunch of spikes on their back and framing their face.

So, then. What evidence could be made for this being a corrupted!Steven, as opposed to some other run-of-the-mill monster?

Steven Universe Future is a limited series, described as ‘tying up loose ends.” To me, as a viewer, it would make far more sense for the antagonists/conflicts to deal with big concepts that have already been established since there’s such a limited amount of time we have left with this world. Introducing a completely alien species in the last act of the show would feel offbeat from both a writing and a viewing perspective. Corruption- on the other hand- is something we don’t have full answers to yet.

We don’t see any gem, yes- but Steven’s gem is- of course- on his belly. If this theory were to be true, that would translate to the gem being on Wormy Boi’s underside, far out of our sight in this shot, due to how massive they are. As an addition to this, not showing the gem gives an air of mystery to this creature’s true nature- which makes it seem like there’s something surprising to discover here.

A corrupted diamond would surely be MASSIVE. Also, very powerful. The beam of pink light hints at Wormy Boi being quite a powerhouse.

The spikes on Wormy Boi’s back and around their face highly resemble rose thorns. We all know how much the Crewniverse loves their rose symbolism, and design wise, this aspect would make a lot of visual sense for a corrupted Steven. Running off of that:

The face/nose shape and the five horns on this creature’s head give off a very Steven-like silhouette.

The nose, of course. The face has a very Steven-like shape to it, overall- although noticeably more angular and sharp. The mouth is reminiscent of the Watermelon Stevens’ mouths. And as for the horns, there’s five of them positioned equidistant around their face, just as Steven’s hair is always formed from five lil’ bumps at the same positions.

Okay, moving on.

(Read more under the cut!)

2) We do not yet understand the true nature of corruption.

“I guess it’ll take more than a kiss to heal damage from the Diamonds…” -Pearl, Monster Reunion

Corruption is still- bafflingly- a huge mystery. The Gems we’ve watched the CGs bubble since season one have been healed, yes, but there are still many gaps in our understanding of it. With Steven Universe Future’s promise to address some lingering story threads, it would make sense if corruption was on the plate for further discussion. So, what DO we know?

We know it’s something the Diamonds can do. Interestingly, it doesn’t seem to require all four diamonds. Three of them together were able to cause all the damage to Earth. There’s also no statement made that more than one Diamond is required to cause effects like that.

In Legs From Here to Homeworld, Blue and Yellow Diamond weren’t actually aware the corruption was something they were capable of producing. They seemed to assume they obliterated the Gems on Earth. Corruption is then, even a mystery to them. That’s... odd, isn’t it?

Pearl states that it’s “something nearly impossible to describe.” Garnet goes further to say... “It’s sorta like... if MC Bear-Bear didn’t tear the fabric of his arm, but the fabric of his mind.”

"A sound… A song?” There’s a lot of association between corruption and music.

It causes Gems to lose touch with their usual forms, instead warping into a more outwardly "monstrous” version of themselves that appear to be “just a bundle of fight-or-flight reflexes and survival instincts.” As seen by Centipeetle in Monster Buddy and Monster Reunion, it appears as if corrupted Gems try to regenerate with their original forms if unbubbled, but are simply not in a state where they can maintain that.

As seen with Jasper in Earthlings, extreme emotional distress very much seems to speed up corruption’s effects. This is less of a stated fact and more of my read on that episode, but I believe it to be an important tidbit, especially since Garnet states that corruption’s damage is mental rather than physical, at least at its core. This can also be seen in Monster Reunion with how Centipeetle’s partial healing backfires when she remembers the trauma of being corrupted and reacts strongly.

Now, when it comes to healing corruption, Steven tries to heal Centipeetle himself, and does make some nice progress... helping her regain a hold on herself as he treats her with love and compassion and understanding... but it’s ultimately not a healing that can occur in isolation, helping her on his own. She needs more support before she can heal from this corruption to a state where she can truly be herself again.

And that eventually comes in the form of the other Diamonds. So, all four diamonds can help relieve the corruption if they help these Gems all together.

3) How could this theory potentially fit into the story anyways, you nutter?

Well, here’s the part of this post where I make some broad conjectures. I honestly am shooting fish into a barrel here because again- we know barely anything about how corruption actually happened initially, and my thoughts are very jumbled. Please forgive me.

"I don’t really know how the corruption works. It’s like they’re sick. They don’t remember who they used to be.” -Steven, Gem Hunt

So, corruption seems to be a mental ailment of Gemkind, turned manifest. It also seems to have a deep connection to a Gem’s emotions, with Centipeetle growing smaller and slightly calmer upon feeling more secure in Steven’s presence, and corruption speeding up as Jasper grew more and more emotionally overwrought and self-deriding about herself.

When it comes to the Diamonds and how they perhaps caused it originally- without fully realizing- we know that at least Blue and White have abilities focused on causing others to act in certain ways. Blue has sway over one’s emotions, and White has a knack for forcing her thoughts and self upon others. (I’m not sure how Yellow’s ability would play in here.) Mayhaps, mixed with their grief and guilt and anger, their power simply pressed all of that hurt emotion onto all the Gems on Earth in one whole fail swoop...? Tearing their minds in the process of it all?

The question I still have, though- is whether a single diamond could produce effects like this. And whether a diamond could turn that ability on themself.

Could Steven accidentally corrupt himself? Why might that happen?

Well, let’s look at our boy here.

He’s got a wide circle of support at this time in canon, but notably, he’s notorious for bottling up his emotion and not letting others in to help him- instead dropping everything to help them with their problems. Just to name a few examples (a few):

The Test. He feels betrayed and hurt at the Gems for a moment about the way they’re babying him with the rigged test, but instead of admitting the hurt he feels about the scenario, bottles that up to help them feel more like good guardians.

Joy Ride. He opens up to the Cool Kids about deep, incredibly troubling stuff that’s long been on his mind, but he’s never once talked about it with his family.

Mindful Education. The perils of bottling one’s emotions is literally the whole plot of the episode. The kid has a full out sobbing breakdown while he’s plunging to his death. Connie gets through to him a little here, but later episodes show that the resolution we see here is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Steven’s internal issues.

Storm in the Room. Externally, Steven tries so hard to put on a guise of content and positivity, but once alone in Rose’s room feels safe enough to let the full brunt of his emotional trauma come out in an almost explosive manner. Geeze, get this kid some hugs.

Gemcation. Steven actually fails bitterly on putting on his customary smile in this episode, simply because the weight of his problems have become such an impossible burden to him. When the other Gems are trying to help him open up, he isn’t immediately responsive to their efforts.

What’s Your Problem? Amethyst spends the whole episode trying to cheer Steven up and find out how he’s doing, and instead Steven downplays his own feelings on the matter and ends up helping her sort out her own emotional issues.

So to sum: Many an Emotional Issue, a chronic tendency to avoid outwardly addressing said issues in favor of helping everyone else instead... and to avoid accepting other people’s help.

Even if he’s surrounded by all these people who love him, the fact of the matter is that Steven still feels as if he has to face his own inner demons alone.

Now, let’s look at the lil’ teasing synopsis that was given for Steven Universe Future:

“After saving the universe, Steven is still at it, tying up every loose end. But as he runs out of other people’s problems to solve, he’ll finally have to face his own.”

Blatantly sounds like we’re gonna finally get some addressing of Steven’s emotional state, now doesn’t it?

4) A concept on what could, theoretically happen

“Maybe… it IS a guy in a monster costume. I don’t mean literally, silly! What I mean is... there might be a conscious Gem still inside there, somewhere. What if the monster is turning back and forth into its original form? If it is, it might not be as corrupted as we think! There might still be a chance to save it!” -Steven, Gem Hunt

Suppose Steven- by some as-of-yet unknown means- ends up accidentally corrupting himself. His sorry emotional state only further amplifies the effects of this corruption, and makes it really hard to retain control. Wormy Boi as a form could be like... all his inner demons made manifest, a metaphoric mirror into his current mental state. But- as he is half-human- he’s not entirely unaware of what’s happening. Perhaps... as the quote above could be sneaky foreshadowing for... how he’s turning back and forth between this corrupted form and his normal form.

He likely wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this, doesn’t want everyone to visibly know the sheer depth of how much he’s hurting. But just like the corrupted Gems were only able to be helped in community, with the support of the CGs and the Diamonds in preparing the fountain, Steven can’t fix this on his own.

He can no longer face the dark alone.

At some point, everyone has to take a brave step. Reach out. Accept help.

Steven’s helped so many people, and surely he deserves that same love and care in return, too.

And perhaps, when he’s eventually healed from this- and has gotten the opportunity to be open with his family and friends about the hurt he’s facing- he’ll be left with “corruption scars” as well. I think it’s an important thing to address, that no one goes through experiences like these without lingering effects. Stuff stays with you. Healing is not always linear. But life is a continuous journey, and with the support of people who love you surrounding, you too can make a change... can continue to live to the fullest at every moment possible.

I think the above would be a lovely moral for Steven Universe to tackle in its last run of episodes, no matter how they approach it- daft corruption theory or not.

Now, in the end- a reiteration. This is just a wild theory. I’m not trying to be any authoritative voice saying that this is for sure what will happen, because in reality I have no idea what Crewniverse is cooking. However, I do think it’s fun speculation, and I am kinda spooked at how well things fit.

Whatever happens, I’m sure it will make me weep like a baby, though. Hoh boy. Grant me sanity in these coming months as we wait for answers.

#su #steven universe #su future #steven universe future #su theory #corrupted steven theory #my post stuff #long post #the mighty 500 #1K #2K #3K #4K #5K

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kiriluvbot · 3 years

Text

pros of shipping rare pairs: you have to make your own content, creative freedom, less ship wars

cons: you have to make your own content

so here i am, making my own content. also, manga spoilers ahead.

—

seroroki, post war arc, in the hospital

—

nothing felt real.

not the uncomfortable plastic seat beneath him, not the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, not the ticking clock on the wall. most certainly not the school uniform clinging almost too tightly to his skin.

he was aware of every loose string of thread, of the sickly scent of sterilizer in the air, of the voices humming in tune with the lights. a door slammed to his left and he flinched.

“we can’t reach them, i don't know what’s going on—“

the battle against all for one and shigaraki ended only a few days ago, but it felt like no time at all and all the time in the world had passed. the number one hero, endeavor, had nearly been killed. half of hanta’s classmates were in hospital beds, unconscious or barely able to speak.

“endeavor, he—he’s down!”

the world had been turned upside down. hero society as everyone knew it was falling apart of the seams. heroes were dead. civilians. classmates. dead. cities were flattened, disintegrated or on fire. the very earth seemed to be crumbling.

“that—that thing. it’s coming this way. we have to move. sero—“

hanta sero wanted to be a hero. hanta wanted to be a hero dammit, but when the time came, what could he do? what could his quirk do? he was not strong enough, not fast enough, not smart enough. he applied to the best hero school in the world and trained until he felt like he was going to die and it was not enough.

the whole thing had felt like some terrible nightmare. the worst nightmare, worst case scenario, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. not as shigaraki during a whole city to dust, not as giantomachia flattened an entire forest, not as endeavor was knocked clear out of the sky. not as their friends lay on the ground dead or dying, not as civilians cried out for help under rubble, not as the bad guys slipped away like they were in no hurry at all.

“just—be careful out there, hanta. please.”

“sero, bub, come on.”

“come back to me in one piece. okay, shoto? promise me.”

a hand rests gently on sero’s shoulder. it makes him jump, immediately turning to search for the source. sero finds it’s just smiling kirishima, red hair down and framing his tired eyes. his heart races as another door shuts a little too hard.

“is it time?” sero’s voice sounds dry and foreign to himself.

“yeah,” kirishima replies. “let’s go see todoroki.”

the name alone is nearly enough to send sero buckling to the floor.

“shoto—where is he? why can’t i see him?”

“you need to calm down, kid. we’ve got everything under control.”

“tell me he’s going to be okay. tell me!”

sero is hardly aware of his own footsteps as a nurse leads them through a maze of blinding white halls. he’s numb and hyper aware all at the same time and it’s awful.

as soon as they’d gotten word that todoroki was awake, a small group consisting of sero, kirishima, satou, momo, and jirou left immediately to go see him. no word on bakugo yet, or midoriya. the three idiots dived head first into the worst of the battle. sero hadn’t known until hours later. he briefly recalls the dull look in kirishima’s eyes, how he merely clammed up and went silent. sero hadn't reacted quite the same. he only remembers falling to his knees, begging for answers.

not much comes to mind after that.

sero wishes now that he could see todoroki alone, that he could scoop him up and run away to some imaginary land where villains and heroes didn’t exist. where they could be safe.

he also considers turning tail and running back to his dorm and never leaving again. sero wasn’t sure how he could stand seeing todoroki in whatever state he was in—

“i am touya todoroki, the eldest son of endeavor.”

the flames, the smell of burnt—

the nurse leading them says, “his voice isn’t completely back yet, but he’s awake and doing well. just be careful, please.”

then the door opens. kirishima leads the way and sero finds he’s okay with that, because he’s quickly realizing that he’s not at all prepared. not even close.

shoto todoroki is leaned up on his bed, wrapped almost entirely in bandages. his baby blue hospital gown is too big for him; it dips off one shoulder. nearly his entire face is bandaged, his right arm, his chest too, it seems. what skin can be seen is dull, but his eyes are not. they shine with unshed tears that sero can see even from this distance.

“todoroki,” kirishima starts. “so glad to see you, man.”

the others chime in, smiling softly and hiding their hands behind their back, keeping a vice like grip on their self control. sero finds, for the first time ever, he can’t say a damn thing.

todoroki opens his mouth. the sound that comes out is horrible and broken, but he rasps out a simple hey, guys.

“you’re gonna need a full time translator,” kirishima jokes, and sero’s lip quirks despite the heaviness in the air.

and after a while, one by one, this little group dissipates. kirishima and sero are left, and then kirishima goes, too. his hand finds sero’s shoulder once more, and he shoots a see you later at todoroki before exiting.

and then it’s just them. sero and todoroki.

just like it’d been before this whole shit show started.

legs tangled, fingers entwined, promises made, confessions unsaid.

“hanta—“ that voice comes out again, raspy and shattered. “i—“

“you came back to us in one piece,” sero says, interrupting. “please don’t start to apologize.”

what he doesn’t say is: i didn't tell you before we left—i didn’t tell you because i was scared. and for a bit i thought i’d never see you again. for a bit i thought i was going to die. i thought you were going to—

sero sits on the bed, todoroki’s legs just barely a ghost behind him. this lighting makes him look paler than usual, makes his scar stand out, makes his hair look like fresh—

stop.

todoroki doesn’t even know where to start. he was sure he was going to die on the battlefield. he was sure he was going to die in dabi’s—no, touya’s arms. he was sure his brother was going to kill him.

when todoroki woke, all he could remember was the sheer terror he felt on that hill, his supposedly dead brother right in front of him, dancing like a mad man, laughing hysterically. it was like everything had been ripped out from underneath todoroki. he had become very unsure of everything he knew about himself, about his father, about his whole family at that moment. even more unsure than he’d been previously.

as much as todoroki wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that dabi was nothing but a meddling lunatic, the sensible part of him knew it was true.

endeavor may be number one hero but he had not succeeded at a single thing except making a monster out of his first born. the rest, well—you know how the story goes.

the truth made todoroki feel tainted, stained. it made him feel contaimniated and heavy and like maybe—maybe he should’ve let dabi finish the job. maybe, by killing shoto, touya would finally be free of whatever he had weighing on him. get rid of the thing that replaced him.

it had been on todoroki’s mind since he woke up. the truth would rage through the world like wildfire. endeavor would be scorned. shoto would forever been stuck in the shadow of his failures. he’d never be free—never—

sero grabs his hand.

sero watches as todoroki grimaces, turns his face away. he watches as todoroki starts to guard himself, starts to clam up—

todoroki pulls his hand free.

“sho—“

“you should go,” todoroki hisses. even as he speaks them, he regrets every word. it all comes out wrong and harsh, rough around the edges.

what he doesn’t say is: you’re too good for me, hanta. why can’t you see that? why can’t you see i’ll only ever weigh you down? my family’s a disaster, i’m a mess, and you’re—you’re you.

there’s a pause. the air is heavy. sero’s hand is cold. he watches as todoroki avoids his gaze, as more tears well in his eyes. nothing feels real.

“you—what?”

“hanta,” todoroki whispers. “go. please.”

and it’s like the world is ending, all over again. if he hadn’t been sitting, sero might have collapsed at the knees again. he wonders briefly if his ears need to get checked, if he heard him correctly, if the world really is ending.

and to make it so much worse, todoroki says, “you deserve better, dammit.” his voice barely raises a single octave. “don't want you getting dragged down because of me. ‘cause of my family.”

he says me like it’s poison on his tongue.

todoroki pulls into himself completely, pulling entirely out of sero’s orbit, leaving the room icy and feeling nearly empty. sero isn’t sure exactly what he’s feeling, but he knows it must be something close to anger. his brows knit together as he tries to keep a tight leash on his emotions, but sometimes even hanta sero loses control.

sero stands so fast his vision blurs for half a second. todoroki looks meek and small beneath him, hands clamped together, eyes dull and face wrapped up. sero’s heart beats all the way down to his toes, the room closing in on him slowly. it’s iciness seeps into his bones, fear and anger and confusion simmering in his veins.

“you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think i’m gonna let you shove me away so easily,” sero cuts out, ignoring the bewildered look on todoroki’s face. “i know you’re hurting, shoto. and i know you're strong, but you don’t have to do this on your own.” sero unclenches his fists but god, his chest feels tight. “we’re just kids, dammit! you don’t have to carry all this weight, just let me help you. let me be here for you!”

“hanta—“

“i’m here because i—“ you know, sho, i really— “because i care about you.”

the room seemed to shrink in that very short time period, sero’s chest heaving with all the things he didn’t say, all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do. he’d spent nearly every single day in the past year-ish by todoroki’s side, training, laughing, sharing manga. he’d grown close to someone who seemed so untouchable when he first met him. sero got to be there as todoroki brought down his own walls, came out of his own shell, became someone todoroki himself could be proud of.

and now this idiot wanted to push sero away? because he deserves better? because todoroki didn’t want sero to see the ugly truth of his family history? because todoroki thought he himself was too much for sero?

“just trying to protect you,” todoroki mutters, not daring to look away from sero’s face. not yet. “i’ll only—“

“don’t—“ sero snaps. “don’t say it. you know it’s not true. you know it isn’t.”

todoroki finally breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to his hands. his shoulders heave as he takes a shaky breath. if he could just get it into hanta’s thick skull that he hung the stars, that he was a god send, an angel on earth, that todoroki was unworthy and undeserving of someone like him—

todoroki doesn’t have time to reel in the tears as they start to fall. slowly at first, then all at once like the dam had finally broken. sero is at his side in an instant, like todoroki hadn’t just told him to leave, like todoroki didn't just try to make it obvious he’s undeserving of someone as kind and caring as sero. and here sero is, further proving that point as he sits carefully on the bed and gently takes todoroki’s face in his hands, fingers ghosting over bandages. the touch is searing and unbearable and not enough all at once.

“‘m sorry,” todoroki chokes out. “sorry, sorry. hanta—“

sero lifts todoroki’s face ever so slowly, and todoroki finally sees the redness of his dark eyes, the bottom lashes clumped together from a cry that might have happened just before he got here. todoroki can’t seem to get a handle on his own tears, can’t seem to reel in his uneven breathing, can’t seem to stamp out the shaking nerves dancing up his arms. grief rages inside him, grief and guilty and that same achy breaky loneliness todoroki hadn’t felt in so many months.

“please, shoto,” sero whispers, so close todoroki can’t even breathe. “everything is a mess right now but please. let me stay by your side. don't—“ his throat catches, “—don't shut me out, okay?”

“someday you’re gonna realize you don’t have to carry the weight of the universe all on your own, todoroki.”

“sero—“

sunset colors begin to pour in through cracked curtains, washing them in gentle warmth. sero’s gaze doesn’t waver, his touch doesn’t disappear. he’s light and he’s holy—pure and too kind. todoroki wraps hesitant hands around sero’s wrists, trying his hardest to reign in his tears. he lets their foreheads press together slowly, carefully.

promises are made, confessions stay unspoken. todoroki doesn’t let go, not again, not ever.

—

#seroroki #sero hanta #todoroki shoto #todosero #postwararc #my hero academia #mha #bnha #rarepair #angst #seroroki angst #keepingupwiththetodorokis #mha manga #mangaspoilers

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 35

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: once again i am veryyyyyy late but i rly don’t wanna let go of this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The static sound of silence and the full view of darkness was what she woke up to. She wasn’t sure when she had lost conscience but at the moment the only thing she could see was the flickering light of a single lamp dangling overhead. Sometimes breaking through the silence, the irritating and yet somber noise of single drops of waters hitting the ground would make themselves heard leaving Y/N to feel like she was in imminent danger. As she tried to move, she noticed her ankle was tied to a shackle bolted to the ground which grounded her in the reality she had found herself in. However, instead of screaming or wondering what to do her first instinct was to lay her freed hands on top of her textile covered stomach trying to almost feel for the wellness of life growing inside her.

Taking a deep breathe, she looked around, trying to understand where she was yet the low light room didn’t give much. However, the existence of a staircase a few inches away from her led her to believe she found herself in a lower floor than regular, maybe some sort of basement. Wherever it was, it was quite clear to the young handmaid it was a hard enough place to escape. The sheer chilliness of the room made her scared enough for her own safety, wondering what plans Mr. Williams had for her and if she would ever return to her life. What she’d give to return to the life she had known, in that sheltered, clueless mindset everyone believed she have.

She sighed, biting onto her lip so she wouldn’t start crying. Her mind kept rushing, rushing too fast even with the events and stories told to her by the same man who now held her captive. She wondered what all of these years were, they surely weren’t truthful yet unlike lies they were palpable, palpable years of being placed right under everyone, hearing whispers of several other high society people pitying the orphan taken under a powerful’s family’s wing. What good was it to train someone to be submissive for the rest of her life for her safety? It was useless as she was standing idly at the feet of the same man who had brought her mother’s demise.

All those thoughts did no little to help to tears remain in their ducts and soon, a few of those were rolling down her cheeks hitting the ground along. Along with this, one of her hairpins fell to the ground, the sound removing her from her pitying state. She grabbed it from the floor, looking at the details through the veil of her teary eyes. It was a rather sharp hairpin, she herself had noticed that prior when the hairstylist had stuck it into her hair, lightly scratching her scalp.

Her eyes moved from the sharp edges to the shackle around her ankle and the key hole just a bit centred in the metal. Shaking like a leaf, she inserted the hairpin into the keyhole, shimmying it enough to cause the lock to give in, freeing her in the process. She found herself dumbfounded with it before quickly getting on her feet and climbing up the stairs to the door. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed it down, however, the door proved to be locked. She sighed, looking around the room for any exits but there were no windows or any other doors. There was a drawer unit and her most hopeful self hoped there would be maybe a pair of spare keys.

Her hands rushed through the drawers which were mostly empty except the very last drawer where a small razor phone was. She looked around, ensuring her safety before she grabbed the phone with shaky hands, sighing in relief once she noticed one small bar on signal. Y/N quickly pressed the number on the phone, bringing her nails to her mouth as she waited and waited for the recipient to pick up but nothing came out of it.

- Please pick up ... I really need your help, I ... - she interrupted herself as she heard steps from above her. Quickly, she stuffed the phone back on drawer, rushing over to the chain which she shackled on her ankle again.

The door opened rather fast, beams and beams of light streaming through the badly light room which hurt her eyes. Two voices were distinct and her eyes were glued to the door as Mr. Williams walked in with a smug look, however, it wasn’t him that made her heart beat a bit faster, it was Sebastian coming from behind. His pristine ironed suit was completely wrinkled, his tie loose enough to dangle around his neck, heavily wrinkled forehead, a very far cry from the put together man he normally was.

- You have a visit, birdie. - he stopped Sebastian from taking any steps further towards her. Ignoring her, Mr. Williams turned to face the mob boss, taking a particular pleasure in seeing him in agony over his own actions. - Told you she was safe. All it takes is just a signature and you can give her a happy ending.

- No, before I sign anything you gotta assure me that once you have that document she can go. - Sebastian wasn’t stupid. If there was a spark of his father that lingered in this psyche it was a very analytical and rational thinking, troubleshooting if you’d like to call it. For all he knew, he would sign those papers and Williams would do whatever he pleased with Y/N. The mob boss just couldn’t risk it with her. No, her safety came first. - She leaves, I sign it.

- Why should I believe you won’t just back away once she leaves?

- You’ll just have to trust me.

- You better not play me. Even if she’s out of this room, I have my own ways of making sure she doesn’t leave. - he threw the key towards Sebastian who strutted towards Y/N. Her gown was severely messed, almost a symbol of what he had done to her. It was his fault she was all over this mess, he could’ve protected her, he promised her he would protect her and here she was, shackled to the ground. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his skull as he uncuffed her, hands still shaking.

- You’re gonna run. Okay, angel? You’re gonna run, run as far and fast as you can and you won’t look back, okay? - Y/N’s eyes didn’t seem as worried as he would expect, instead they held this creased look as her hand moved to cup the side of his face, the other hand pushing a piece of his hair away from his forehead.

- What about you? - her eyes quickly moved from Williams to Sebastian.

- Angel, it’ll be okay. You gotta run, okay? Run. - he helped her onto her feet, expecting her to start running the moment she was up. Instead, she stood a few seconds immobile looking at him as her mind told her something bad was coming. She could just feel it, nevertheless the push on her back by Sebastian caused her to start running up the stairs. If only she could get to Dan or Mr. Forrest, they surely could help Sebastian.

Sebastian watched her leave, his heartbeat calming down as he realised she was safe. It didn’t matter what else would happen, she was safe and that was all that matter. Maybe Williams was right, maybe this wasn’t the life for him, a life with her sounded better, a life with her just sounded ... simpler, easier. Just him and her somewhere in a small town starting a family. With that thought in mind, he has handed the document and a black pen, his eyes wondering to the line asking for his signature. It almost seemed to mock him, mock him for not being able to keep a dynasty and her safe. With his gaze away from the paper, he quickly signed it, handing it over to the despicable man.

Mr. Williams smirked out of delight, eyes turning upwards to the door, giving one of his men the sort of look that led some doubt into his mind. This quickly got confirmed as the door was firmly locked, the darkness barely lit by the lamp on the ceiling involving the two of them.

- You probably don’t remember her mother, you were too young but god ... does she resemble her, those beautiful eyes, exactly the same. Sometimes the universe does give you a second shoot. Maybe I couldn’t be with the mother but I guess the daughter will do just fine. - he raised his arm towards the now ex mob boss, pointing his gun at him. - After all why should I only control one family when I could control two?

- YOU FUCKING BASTARD! - before he could make any moves towards him, a shot burst through his leg, weakening his stance sending him against the floor.

- Did you seriously think I would let you go on and marry her? Get her family support and gain your position back? I didn't peg you for a gullible one but I guess I was wrong. - he chuckled taking another shot to the same leg. - I will take such pleasure in raising your kid. I will raise your child to know just how weak you were, how you never rose up to the challenge. You will cease to exist, gone, just like things should be.

His mother used to talk to him about death when he was younger, how people just shouldn’t fear it and that when it comes everything is white. Sebastian had to disagree as once another bullet hit him, this time close to his stomach, he didn’t see white, no, he saw her. He saw her, the very first time he saw her on the floor, he saw her eyes peaking from the covers whenever she would sleep near him, her touch, and her laughter. In that moment all he wished was for her to be somehow outside the house, to be safe, far away from all of this. Maybe it was this hope, this conviction that kept him pulling on the single thread belonging to his life. He really hoped she was safe.

- Drop it. - a feminine voice boomed through the room. Mr. Williams furrowed his eyebrows turning around to a scenario he never expected to experience. Y/N had her arms forward, holding one of his guns and point it at it. - I said, drop it.

- Well, well ... - he lowered down sightly, placing the weapon on the floor before putting his hands up. - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna kill me?

- Shut up. - her hands were far from being stiff, shaking with the fear of the situation she was standing in but still firmly holding her revolver.

- What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna shot me? For who? Him? Listen to me, Y/N, you and I are the same. We work hard and those above us mistreat us. Join me child, you will have the power you deserve. You won’t serve anyone else, no more hand me downs, no more screaming.

- I will not join you, you’re not powerful, you’re a coward. You’ll never be anything other than a coward even if you become the head of the family. You’re a coward, only cowards murder innocent, only cowards are so insecure in their own skin they would crave power. - she lowered her weapon. - I will not be the one to kill you.

- Well, isn’t th ... - he was interrupted by a gun shot echoing through the room sending him onto his knees leaving only a very weak Sebastian holding the same revolver he had placed on the ground.

- She won’t but I will. - she had never seen this side of him. He sounded cruel, cold yet she couldn’t blame it, what she could do was be worried about him as he held a weapon with one hand and the other hand held onto his gashing wound. - I will kill you, slowly, painfully. Before you’re dead, I will make sure all your stupid bastards are dead, all your men are dead, and I will have you front and centre to their deaths.

- Y/N .. - the man winced in pain from the gunshot, eyes looking up to the handmaid who had took a few steps back.

- Don’t you fucking say her name! - he shot him once more, no sign of mercy in his actions.

- Sebastian. - she called out to him, effectively gaining his attention. There were no words exchanged, she just looked at him, her lip trembling ... disappointment even.

There are moments in your life when you can chose to be the villain or the hero of your story. You can either live being the villain or others can tell your story and keep it on. Sebastian looked at her, from her eyes to her hands laying on top of her stomach. No, he wouldn’t be the villain, he wouldn’t be his father. He lowered his weapon, cuffing the man he most despised where he had just had the woman he loved captive.

Once that was done, whatever was left of the adrenaline keeping his wounds from hurting ran out and the pain overtook his muscles, sending him against the ground. Y/N rushed from her standing position, lowering herself to catch him before his head hit the ground. She pulled him over her lap, pushing his hair away from his face.

- C’mon, you have to get up. - she spoke softly but he could hear the underlying anxiousness. - You have to get up, we have to get out of here, okay? Just you and me.

- No, angel. - he reached to his pocket, her music box still there, and he placed it softly on her hand. - I don’t think I can. You can, you can go, take the next plane out of this place, go to France ...

- No. - she threw the box away. - You have to get up, you will get up, you’ll come with me to France. Just us, no one else.

- You deserve everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

- You are my dream.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34 @everything-is-awesomesauce @dreams-in-blxck @krismeunicornbaobei @buckysteveloki-me

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan #mobster! sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan

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seraphym100 · 3 years

Text

100 Days of Writing

[Day 5] Worldbuilding

The prompt we were offered today by @the-wip-project was to describe a worldbuilding detail in our WIP that we really liked.

I’ve been writing fanfiction only for the past few years. I hadn’t written for decades and fic was what got me writing again. I haven’t moved away from it yet.

So I thought I’d write a bit about that. Specifically, what writing fan fiction is like versus writing original fiction.

The amazing thing about fanfiction is that the world has already been built. Depending on the fandom, there might be centuries of history, an entire planet, countries and cities, races, and political systems. Dragon Age, for example, has all those and religious beliefs, human rights abuses and champions, several wars, a rebellion, I mean, it just goes on and on. For me to come up with a world even half as rich would take years and years.

Another thing that’s already in place when it comes to fanfiction is the plot. Again, depending on the fandom, there could be a huge, winding plot full of endless loose threads to explore (and exploit), or it could be a loose, overarching plot with lots of room to make up things that happened ‘behind the scenes’. But like the worldbuilding, it’s not something we have to come up with from scratch. We can add things, insert things, expand things, all of which is easier than building the scaffolding of the plot and making sure it works well and there are no holes or draggy bits.

If you don’t write fanfiction, I can hear the question forming in your brain even as you read this:

So… if the world exists, is already populated, and there’s a plot.. what’s the point of writing fanfiction?

I live and breathe analogies, so humour me, if you will. If you’ve ever been tasked with entertaining a group of children outside, you will likely be familiar with their amazing ability to have fun with next to nothing. I worked as a nanny a few times in my teens and 20s, and then became a parent much later, and kids have this incredible capacity to bring life and stories to a backyard littered with a few foam noodles, a three-wheeled skateboard, and a broken dump truck.

For a while. But if they see the same backyard day after day, eventually their enthusiasm wanes and you need to switch it up. Or sometimes, the kids have never actually played outside before… they’ve grown up in daycares and are overscheduled with lessons and activities and have no idea what to do when faced with an empty backyard or a bare field.

This is when a smart caregiver will take the kids to a playground filled with equipment or a water park. Then the bored kids and the clueless kids have two things going for them: there are structures to explore and interact with, and they have examples of possibilities from the other kids already playing there. They give each other ideas and they build on them and it’s really fun to see how pirate battles and alien invasions and touching ‘playing house’ narratives are spun out between kids who have never met before, but who are drawn together by the cool shit they’re playing on and their ideas.

The kids are writers. The empty backyard and bare field is original fiction and the playground and water park is fanfiction. Most kids can handle both the bare field and the playground equally adeptly, but one brings something to their play that the other doesn’t. We don’t ask ‘what’s the point’ when kids are playing in a playground. We don’t think their play is somehow limited or ‘lazy’ because it’s utilizing an environment or structure that already existed! In the same way, writing a story that uses an existing world and developed characters is still deeply creative writing.

Just like kids can adapt structures to their play - such as inventing games to play with the foam noodles - they can expend the application of existing structures to accommodate their imaginations. A swing becomes the launch pad for a rocket. A slide is now the preferred way to get from the bedroom to the kitchen. In the same way, a writer can invent a world made up of things they find in their heads, and they can adapt and extend existing worlds to accommodate their own stories.

It’s kind of fucking brilliant, in my opinion.

But… if the world already exists, and it’s already populated… and you know what happens… what exactly are you writing?

I get it, I do. I don’t know any fanfiction writers in real life, so I’ve had to try to explain it a few times and the question is genuine.

And the answer is, just about anything we want to. We invent our own original characters and then make them play with the canon (established) characters. We take a scene from the movie, or book, or game and we change a detail that gives the whole scene a new meaning. Or we take something the original content mentions in passing and we go to town on it and develop it to our heart’s content. Did you think those two characters deserved more than a chance meeting when their shopping carts ran into each other? Then write a whole story on how they helped each other deal with the mess, how they teased each other about the contents of their carts, how they stared at each other for a minute and a half because neither of them were ready to walk away until finally one blurts out ‘do you wanna get coffee’ and then they become best friends for life.

Should those two not have broken up? Write the characters working through their problems and staying together. Was the ending absolutely fucked up in that movie? Of course it was. You can do better. So do it and share it with all the other people who feel the same way you did about that ending. Oh, holy hell did you see what that writer did with this character and their OC? What if they… yas, Royal, you go!

I still feel like it’s lazy, tho. Like, are you really developing as a writer if most of the imagining has already been done?

This took me longer to understand. But the short answer is that yes, absolutely you are developing as a writer. I can say this so confidently because worldbuilding, plot-developing, and character invention are still just some aspects of what good writing is all about.

Being able to move within and build upon a world, recognizing opportunities within a plot for expansion and development, and character development are also important. And many writers who have ample skill with the first things actually struggle because they’re weak in the next few things. They spend a lot of time constructing a whole world and peopling it, but the rest of the story is cobbled together.

Fanfiction hones certain skills extremely well. In order to write a fic that resonates with other fans of the same fandom, you have to write the existing characters consistently. Which means you have to know this character so well that you can introduce new people and new scenarios and the character can grow and develop while still retaining the voice and features that make up who they are. Most fans like their fic to be at least somewhat canon-compliant (following the original plot, lore, etc.). So you have to be able to identify which scenes or plot devices in the original lend themselves to your story idea and the characters you’re writing. And anytime you’re doing these things, you’re practising your writing skills, and that is never wasted.

#100daysofwriting #fanfiction #writing #lord have mercy i don’t write a ‘bit’ about anything do i

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

The Tower

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

So given how this AU is *so close* to being finished, I’m gonna go a little off schedule for these last couple stories. Hence, this one being posted this week instead of next. Might we be able to finally get rid of those menacing strings in this entry? Well...not exactly. There seems to be a side effect. And before they can figure out a way around it, all hell breaks loose. Enjoy ;)

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One | Season Two

Previous Season Three stories: Torn Apart | Tales to Tell | Threads | Twice Bitten, Never Shy | Two of Souls

Taglist (finally): @bupine @violet--majesty @ari-trash

“It’s going to be fine,” Chase muttered, bouncing nervously in place. “It’s allll going to be fine. It’s going to work out.”

Are you alright, Chase? JJ asked, giving him a look of concern. Do you not like elevators?

Chase laughed. “It’s not the elevator that worries me, it’s what’s waiting on the floor once we get there.” It was also the fact that Jackie was holding onto his arm tightly, head resting on his shoulder. Clingy as usual. But hopefully, that wouldn’t last long. Because right now, they were going to try to destroy the strings.

The magicians had proposed it the day before. They thought that using magical fire or electricity would be able to get rid of them for good. After a short talk, all the boys had agreed to try. Hopefully, once the strings were gone, Jackie and Marvin would...well, not go back to normal. They knew that was impossible now. But they’d be friendly, at least. In the best-case scenario.

The elevator dinged, and Chase and Jameson stepped out into a long hallway. This was the sanctuary’s very top floor, reserved for any magical testing that might go wrong. Apparently it was heavily protected. It didn’t look like much. Just like all the other halls, it seemed like something you’d find in a hotel. But then Chase noticed all the doors were made of metal. Ah.

Jack and Schneep were some ways down the hall, waiting outside a door, sitting on a bench against the opposite wall. The moment Jack saw Chase and JJ approaching with Jackie, he stood up and waved. “Hey!”

“Yeah, I see you, Jack.” Chase waved back. “Can’t miss you.” They quickly closed the distance. “Are things—ow!” He looked down. “Schneep did you just whap me with that thing?!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Schneep twirled his white cane like a baton, causing everyone to back up. “I was just confirming you were here.”

“I—don’t you, like, sense souls or something?”

“Chase, please. I still cannot see you.”

JJ chuckled a little, the sound muffled. Is everything ready?

“Yeah, all the magicians are getting ready.” Jack pointed at the door, which was labelled ‘Dangerous Reaction Room 7.’ “When they’re ready, you and I are supposed to go in, while Schneep and Chase keep an eye on Jackie out here, to make sure nothing happens with him while we get rid of the, uh...S-T-R-I-N-G-S.”

“He can spell, Jack, he is not an idiot,” Schneep said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think he’s listening,” Chase muttered. He tried to pull his arm away from Jackie’s grip, but he held on tighter, making Chase grit his teeth to ignore the uncomfortable closeness. “Do you two really need to go in the room? I mean, look at that sign. It says ‘dangerous’ on it.”

“Yeah, well, JJ’s shields will be really helpful,” Jack said. “But you’re right about me. They want me to tell them if anything happens with the soul bits that are part of the...well, you-know-whats. And I was like ‘Don’t you have instruments or something for that?’ and they were like ‘Yeah but we’re not going to risk something happening to them’ and I said ‘But you’re okay with something happening to me...a living person’ and they said ‘You’ll be fiiiiiine.’” Jack sighed. “Anyway, I’m not gonna argue. It’s too much effort. And anyway, I want to see those green bastards gone.”

Before the discussion could continue, a voice came through the door. “We’re ready!” Yvonne shouted. “Come on in!”

“Well, good luck, bro, both of you,” Chase said.

“Yes, break a leg,” Schneep added. “Or do not. Actually, please do not break anything.”

JJ gave another muffled giggle, and Jack smiled. “Thanks, guys. We’ll see you soon.” He reached over and pulled open the door, and the two of them disappeared into the room. When the door shut behind them, it briefly glowed with a yellow light, then returned to normal metal.

The room beyond the door was entirely bare, its walls, ceiling, and floor reinforced with metal. Waist-high metal walls made a circle in the center of the room. Griffin, Delyth, and Yvonne were all gathered around that circle, with Griffin holding a pair of boxes. In the center, the strings were lying in a bowl-like shape built into the floor. They were trying to wriggle up the sides, but were evidently having trouble grasping the slick metal, and kept falling back down. JJ gave Jack a look. This isn’t a very encouraging room.

“Yeah, I know, it’s like...I get this is for safety and all, but it just feels like things are about to blow up.” Jack closed the door behind him, sealing the room. “You guys just...have a place like this?”

“Yes, of course.” Griffin walked over to the two of them, taking something out of the first box and holding it out. “Here, please put on these goggles, in case of shrapnel.”

That is even less encouraging, JJ signed, but took the offered goggles and put them on. Jack did so as well. This whole thing felt less like getting ready to cast a spell and more like the start of a dangerous scientific experiment. One where things could explode.

Delyth was busy reading something on her phone, lips moving silently. “Are we uh...are we ready?” Jack asked.

“Sorry, just reviewing.” Delyth shut off her phone and put it away. “Fire and lightning aren’t my specialties; it’s been a while.”

“You sure you should be casting it, then?” Yvonne muttered.

“Yes, of course. I’m still a highly skilled agent, and if I must say so myself, probably the most powerful magician in the sanctuary at this moment.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. You want to continue with that horn-tooting, or should we get started?” Yvonne pulled her own goggles down over her eyes.

“I say we should start now,” Griffin said. “Eventually those strings are going to climb their way out of the target zone.”

The five of them gathered around the circle. Jameson, wary, half-held up his hands, weak circular shields flickering in between all of them and the strings, ready to snap into greater strength the moment they needed to. “Alright, I’m about to start casting,” Delyth announced. “We’ll start out with a slow burn, and hopefully that’ll be enough. If not, I’ll increase the severity until they’re gone. Ready?” Everyone nodded. “Good.”

Delyth reached forward, muttering a spell under her breath. Above the circle, directly over the strings, a small, pale purple fireball appeared. It started off the size of a golf ball, but as Delyth slowly lowered the gently burning flame into the circle, it grew to baseball size, then to about the size of a basketball. Below the heat, the strings started skittering frantically, like a cornered animal. They tried to climb the walls, but once again fell back.

When the ball of flame hit the bottom of the bowl, it burst, filling the entirety of the area in a liquid way. In the fire, the strings became panicked, twisting and tripping over themselves in any attempt to get away from the flames. They were unsuccessful. But apparently, so was the fire. The strings were not burning, though they certainly acted like they were. Jack closed his eye to look at the strings in his soul vision, but saw no change there, either.

“Nothing’s happening,” Yvonne said cautiously.

“Indeed.” Griffin nodded. “Delyth?”

“On it.” Delyth clenched her fist, and the flames filling the bowl disappeared. “These next spells are going to be a bit more...pyrotechnic.”

“Oh shit.” Yvonne took a few steps back. Jameson, agreeing with the sentiment, strengthened the shields just a bit.

Delyth raised her hand, then brought it down with a fierce shout of a spell word. A fireball slammed down into the bowl, exploding at the bottom with a loud bang! Purple flames licked at the sides of the walls, and the strings thrashed frantically, some of them clustering together. Delyth repeated the spell one, two, three more times, making everyone cover their ears. The fire inside grew, but the strings were still intact. Now starting to look frustrated, Delyth started chanting. Fireworks of hot purple magic exploded repeatedly in the bowl, causing ear-splitting snap! snap! snap!s every time they blew, giving off smoke.

But the strings were still there.

“Keep it up!” Griffin shouted over the noise. “It’s possible that we’re doing damage, just slowly!”

“Right!” Delyth took a deep breath, wiped her forehead, then raised her hand and sent another fireball down into the bowl, this one sending spears of fire into every direction. The bowl was now full of searing purple flames, yet the strings remained. And so, Delyth started another spell.

A bolt of purple lightning crashed into the bowl, adding yet more flames in addition to smaller branches of electricity that remained, crackling, connecting between the walls. And she did it again. And then sent more fireworks. And another fireball. And another electric spell.

Outside the room, Schneep and Chase remained sitting on the bench, Jackie now in between them. When the first bang! echoed from the room, the two of them jumped in unison. “What was that?” Schneep hissed.

“A spell, probably,” Chase said. “Uh...sounded like a big one. Do you think it worked?”

There was the second bang! Schneep flinched, then muttered, “Apparently not.”

“Right.” Chase looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers. “I guess we won’t know until they come out if it worked.”

“I suppose not.”

Chase sighed. He really, really hoped this worked. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to normal afterwards, but it would be better. Things would be...what was Jackie doing?

He paused in his hand-wringing to give this situation a better look. Jackie was rocking on the bench, forward and backwards, gripping the fabric of his pants in white-knuckled fists. Chase blinked, and stared. Jackie’s expression...it was pained. Every time one of the bang!s went off, he flinched, not out of surprise, but as if he’d been physically struck. “Uh...Jackie? Are you okay?”

Jackie didn’t respond. His mouth opened just a bit, letting out a small groan. Schneep stiffened, turning towards Chase. “Is everything okay?”

Chase didn’t get a chance to answer. “No,” Jackie whispered. “No, no, no, this—this isn’t okay.” He gasped as more loud noises came from the room, then suddenly doubled over, both hands shooting upward to press against his chest. “This—! This—! Isn’t okay!” He cried.

“Jackie!” Chase and Schneep shot to their feet in unison, Schneep backing up and holding his cane defensively, Chase standing in front of Jackie and crouching down again so he could be level with his face. “What’s wrong?!”

“Hurts. Hurts.” Jackie was shaking, all the color drained from his face. “It hurts! It hurts!” He lunged forward, grabbing Chase’s shirt and burying his face in it. “Make it stop!”

“I—I’m sorry, I can’t,” Chase said, at a loss for words. “I...Schneep, can you go—”

“No!” Jackie choked the word out from behind a sob. “Schneep, don’t leave.”

Both Chase and Schneep froze. That was...the first time Jackie had actually acknowledged any of them by name. Anyone other than Chase. “I...okay, I will not leave,” Schneep said slowly. “What should I do?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie shook his head. “I don’t know, I just—just stop it! Make it stop!”

“We—we can’t, Jackie.” Chase instinctively wrapped Jackie in a hug, holding him tight as he continued to rock back and forth, crying into Chase’s bandanna. “What’s wrong? What does it feel like?”

“I—I’m dying,” Jackie rasped. “I-I’m dying again. Chase, I don’t want to die again.” He let out another sob. “I—I’m being torn into pieces. Please, someone. Just stop this! Please!”

Schneep suddenly stepped up next to Chase. “Jackie, I am going to take your pulse, okay?” His voice was surprisingly gentle, and Jackie nodded, letting him press his fingers against the pulse in his neck. “Okay, okay. And your temperature. You need to back up a bit so I can feel your forehead.” Jackie did so, trembling a bit as Schneep put a hand on his forehead. “Scheiße,” Schneep hissed.

“Oh no, it’s in German, that’s not good,” Chase said. “What’s wrong?”

“He is burning up.” Schneep hurried over to the room’s door, hand trailing across the wall to find the doorknob. “And I think I mean that literally.” He grabbed the handle and turned it. Only to be met with resistance. Locked. His face drained of color. “Hey!” He started banging on the door. “Open it! Stop the whole thing, for god’s sake!”

“I’m going to die again,” Jackie said quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t want to die again. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“You weren’t in hell, Jackie,” Chase said, trying to sound reassuring. “A-and it’s going to be fine.”

“Hell,” Jackie insisted. “Hell hell hell. Awful things...happening. Bits of my brain swirling around. So...angry. So much hate. It ate at me. Us. There were two of us, a-and we were just one, and I wasn’t sure—who am I? Chase, who am I? Chase, I don’t know.”

“You’re Jackie,” Chase emphasized. “Jackie Parker. The guy who decided to be a superhero because you thought you needed to. The guy who offered to let Marvin move in after he decided to sell his house. The guy who would babysit Lily and Moira when Stacy and I were too busy. A good guy. That’s who you are.”

Jackie was quiet for a moment. And then, softly, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Before Chase could answer, a loud crashing noise came from the room beyond the door. Jackie screamed, and fell forward off the bench, only held up by Chase still holding him. “Stop stop stop stop stop stop!” He shrieked, writhing and seizing. His temperature continued to rise, and Chase could feel the heat radiating from his entire body, like standing near a fire that was getting increasingly larger.

“Scheiß drauf!” Schneep kicked at the door under the handle one more time, then dropped his cane and reached to the side, grabbing his scissors from out of nowhere. He made a downward slashing motion, suddenly causing a membrane of yellow magic to appear over the door. It lasted for only a second before Schneep cut through it, leaving it in tatters. Then Schneep stepped forward and disappeared, teleporting straight into the room.

There was a lightshow of lightning happening in the center of the room. Jameson had his shields raised against any possible threats, and everyone except Delyth had backed up to around the edges of the room. In contrast, Delyth was stubbornly staying her ground next to the circle, hurling spell after spell at the strings, voice starting to crack and rasp as she shouted the spell words.

“Stop it! Shut it all down!” Schneep yelled.

Delyth looked over at him. “I’m making progress!”

“That is the problem!” Schneep ran at her, hands outstretched, and managed to grab her arm before she sent it down to cast again. “Stop it!”

Delyth shook him off, readying herself for another spell. But before she could cast it, the blue shield in front of her suddenly slammed into her stomach, knocking her to the ground. Immediately, the lightning fizzled out, and any fire slowly died into pale purple embers that soon stopped glowing. Jameson lowered his hands, and glanced back at Delyth. Sorry, he signed, circling his fist on his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked. “Why’d we have to stop?”

“Something is wrong with Jackie,” Schneep explained hurriedly. “I-I think we are hurting him.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and he ran out of the room. Jameson followed shortly thereafter, and then Schneep. The magicians stayed in the room. Yvonne walked over to help Delyth up, and Griffin approached the circle in the middle, taking the lid off the second box he was holding so he could put the strings inside.

While the magicians cleaned up, the boys gathered around Chase and Jackie. “What’s wrong?” Jack asked. “What’s happening?!”

Chase looked up at him, not answering. Jackie had calmed down considerably once the spellcasting had stopped, and was now shaking and gasping for air, face pale and hair damp with sweat. He continued to hold onto Chase, who luckily didn’t seem to mind as much as he might have in other circumstances. Glancing upward, his eyes darted around the people surrounding him. “...Jack?” he whispered. “Schneep?” Then he looked at JJ, and frowned, confused. “Who’re you?”

“I...” Jack was temporarily at a loss for words. With this spellcasting, they’d been fully prepared for Jackie to lose it and start fighting to get to the strings, but this? They hadn’t even considered this. He seemed...normal. “This is Jameson, Jackie. He, uh...he’s a friend. But he can’t talk.” JJ waved, looking understandably nervous.

“Are you okay, Jackie?” Schneep asked urgently. “How do you feel?”

“...bad,” Jackie said after a while.

Chase laughed a bit. There were tears in his eyes, but he wasn’t sure what emotion was causing them.

“Where am I...? H-how did I get here?” Jackie looked around some more. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“It’s a long story, Jackie,” Jack said. “We need to know if you’re okay, that’s all you need to focus on for now.” He paused, then closed his eye to activate soul vision. Usually, he’d see a mess of red and blue light in Jackie’s chest when he did this, but this time it was...different. The red and blue were neatly separated out, forming a circle that was roughly three-quarters red and one-quarter blue. But it wasn’t going to stay that way. He could see the edges where the colors met starting to swirl and shift already. “I don’t think we have much time,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Jackie, what do you remember?” Schneep asked. “Can you tell us? Quickly?”

“I-I...that depends on what you mean by remember.” Jackie shut his eyes tight. “I...there was...it was horrible. I-I saw—there were these—horrible, horrible things. Awful things, ha-happening to people. You guys were there. But I don’t know. I-I don’t know if they were all real or just my thoughts. Maybe both, but I...” He bit back a sob. “...I don’t know which were which. And just...so much...hating. I was so...felt so...much...hate.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Chase murmured. “You’re going to be alright. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Jackie, I have a question,” Schneep said. “Do you remember...did you and Marvin do some sort of spell? In your apartment?”

“Spell...” Jackie’s eyes suddenly shot open. He reached up and grabbed something around his neck. That amulet. That broken amulet, one of the pair that Anti always wore. “That spell! That—I didn’t—I didn’t—I didn’t want—”

“What? Did you not want to do the spell?” Schneep asked.

Jackie shook his head. “I did, at first. But then—he lied to me—”

“Marvin?”

“Yes, he didn’t tell me everything, I—I didn’t want that, I tried to stop it—” He suddenly froze. “Oh my god.” Reaching up, he covered his mouth with a hand as tears started to swell in his eyes. “Oh my god, I killed him.”

“What?” Chase asked, shocked.

“It was an accident! I just wanted to stop it! We got in a fight, I-I had a knife, I—he wasn’t supposed to die! I didn’t want to kill him!” His breathing sped into hyperventilating as he started rocking back and forth. “It was an accident! I—if he didn’t move—if I’d just been more careful—he wasn’t supposed to die! I wasn’t supposed to kill him!” The last sentence was ripped from his throat in a scream, and Jackie doubled over, curling over his knees and covering his head with his arms.

“Jackie, Jackie, it’s fine, we believe you!” Chase bent over as well, trying to keep his head level with his. “It wasn’t your fault, and we know that. It’s fine. You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, Jackie was frozen in that position. “Hey, it’s okay.” Chase patted his back, and at that, Jackie moved, leaning into him. “It’s okay.”

“...Chase.” Jack’s voice was low and warning, but Chase didn’t hear him.

“It’s all over now,” Chase said reassuringly, giving Jackie a hug and straightening, pulling him into a kneeling position. After a moment, Jackie responded, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s alright. It’s...” Chase paused. “You’re uh...squeezing pretty tight there. Could you loosen up a bit, bro?” Jackie didn’t answer. In fact, he started to squeeze tighter. “Jackie, I—I really don’t like this.” Chase started to squirm. “Jackie?”

Jameson finally stepped in, quickly pulling Jackie away from Chase. He didn’t seem to mind much, eyes now looking a bit glazed. His head turned around absentmindedly, not really looking for anything. “Where are we?” He asked. “Where’s the rest of me? It’s close...we think.”

Chase quickly backed away, scrambling to his feet. Looking shaken, he walked all the way until his back was pressed against the hall wall. “What...what happened?” He asked quietly.

“It’s weird,” Jack said. “His soul...the two colors were separated, but they were starting to mix together again. Then he started talking about—about killing someone...and it all just snapped back to being all jumbled up.”

“Marvin,” Schneep muttered. “He was talking about how he accidentally killed Marvin. During the transference spell, it sounded like. They fought, and it...must have...” He turned around, burying his face in his hands. It was hard to imagine. And he didn’t want to imagine it at all.

“Yeah, that would cause some problems in the spell.”

The boys jumped in unison at the sound of the voice, and looked over to see the magicians had left the room. Yvonne, noticing them all staring at her, continued, “I mean, I don’t think it’s ever happened before. If it has, it was probably a long time ago. Long enough that all records of it are gone now. But I imagine the spell would want to keep going—black magic like that almost has a will and drive of its own—but without both of the participants, it couldn’t, so it just messed their souls up.”

“God...” Jack breathed.

That must have been terrible, JJ signed sadly.

“I imagine so,” Griffin said gravely. “But I’m afraid I must ask...do we want to continue with the spellcasting?” He held up the box. “We were actually making some headway there near the end.”

“Are you crazy?!” Chase, though still a bit rattled, was put together enough to whirl on the magicians. “We almost killed Jackie!”

“There was no guarantee that was going to happen,” Delyth said calmly. “The chance that he would have survived is equal to the chance that he would not have.”

“You know, I think he would not have,” Schneep stated flatly. “I may not be a doctor anymore, I may be blind, even, but I can still fucking recognize when someone is having a crisis.”

“And the point of this is to get rid of the strings, not Jackie and Marvin,” Chase added, folding his arms. “That is the last thing we want.”

“It might not have killed him,” Delyth repeated. “And besides, while these strings exist, they’re both a high threat—”

“Are you fucking insane?!” Jack shouted. “Are you asking us to kill our friends?!”

“No!” Delyth shook her head furiously. “Alright, what if we took this in short bursts? That took a lot of my magic, anyway. We’ve damaged them slightly, if we keep this up—”

There’s still a chance they’ll die once the strings are gone, JJ interrupted. I understand you’re concerned about what might happen, but this isn’t the way.

“Yeah, Mae, I knew you were strict, didn’t realize you were heartless,” Yvonne emphasized.

Delyth took a step back, shocked. “I didn’t mean—I...I’m sorry. I didn’t want to come off that way.”

“Don’t do it again,” Chase said in a surly tone.

“But what do we do now?” Jack asked quietly.

“That is not clear,” Schneep said. “But one thing is. We cannot destroy the strings.”

“Then...what can we do?” Chase whispered.

Nobody had an answer for that.

— — — — — — —

The sudden pain in his chest was fading. Still, he could only lie on the ground for a few moments, panting and shaking. What was that? Why had that suddenly happened?

...where was he?

Marvin sat up, looking around. This...looked like some random street. The buildings were tall but run-down, and there were no cars or pedestrians in sight. He must have collapsed right onto the sidewalk.

...how did he get here?

He reached up to his face, and felt a mask covering half of it. What? He pulled it off. This...looked like his mask, except snapped in half, with the white ceramic stained blue. Hadn’t he seen this? Or...had he just imagined it?

Attempting to stand up, Marvin winced, falling back down to a sitting position. His feet really hurt. He could remember walking...so much walking. For days, it seemed like. And his stomach was turning in on itself. He hadn’t eaten anything in...in...he couldn’t remember.

“Hello?” He called. “Is...is anyone there? Um...help?”

He tried to recall the last thing he remembered. And immediately regretted it, as all he could find were visions of people suffering, horrible, gruesome sights. Were those real? Or were they just thoughts he’d had? Shaking his head to physically ward off the images, he tried to remember something else. He had been...angry. Full of rage so hot it was like it was physically burning him. But everything was disconnected, broken, shattered. Held together by tenuous strings. His mind was in pieces. He’d been pulled apart.

Suddenly cold despite the sun overhead, Marvin wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing his eyes to hold in tears. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he muttered. “It’s fine, it’s...” He let out a sob, and started rocking back and forth. That helped. Tapping his arm with his fist helped, too. What was happening? Why was it happening to him?

What...

He...

There...

Feel...

Marvin shook his head, climbing to his feet and holding the half-mask close to his chest. He was coming apart again. Bits of him were...they were...mixing up. Again. He couldn’t...think...

What else did he remember? What...we...I...you...? Us...? He didn’t feel...whole.

“No, no, no, no.” Jackie pressed a hand against his head. Jackie? No, he was Marvin. Or...was he someone other than both of those? No, he was Marvin. Marvin Marvin Marvin...

He didn’t feel whole. Why? Because...he was broken...?

His hand brushed against his neck. There were...stitches...strings...there. Stitches. Strings. Strings. Strings. Strings.

The rest of him. The rest of them.

He could feel it. He couldn’t feel it for a while there, but something had changed. Now he sensed where they were, clear as day, easy as following a sound.

Turning in that direction, he slid the mask back over his face, and smiled. Now he knew. Now he would be brought back together. He headed straight in that direction, any pain and discomfort instantly forgotten. He had to find the rest of him.

— — — — — — —

The whole group had quickly dispersed after aborting the spellcasting. Griffin and Delyth had disappeared to wherever they usually spent their time, Jack, JJ, and Chase had retreated to their rooms with Jackie in tow, and Schneep had gone down to the basement to do some more training. But not long after, he found he wasn’t in the mood. He just...kept thinking about what they were supposed to do next. Maybe if they put the strings somewhere else, somewhere far away? But where would even be far enough? Eventually, he left, taking the elevator back up.

The doors dinged open much sooner than he expected. That might have been surprising, if he hadn’t sensed the presence of someone on the other side. “Oh! Hey, it’s you.” Yvonne’s voice. “You mind? I can wait for the next lift.”

“No no, is fine.” Schneep stepped to the side, feeling her brush past him.

“Thanks.” The elevator doors shut, and he heard the sound of Yvonne pressing a button.

“We are on the same floor, yes?” He asked. “Are you not going to your room?”

“What? No, I am, I just pressed it again. Y’know...cause I wanted to press the button.” Yvonne giggled a bit. “Huh. Didn’t realize that could be confusing if you couldn’t see what was happening.”

“I did not either, until just now.” It had been months since he returned to the waking world with his sight missing, and he was still learning new things.

“Hey, actually, can I ask you a question?” Yvonne said.

“Go ahead.”

“How’d you manage to get through the protective spell around the reaction room? That’s supposed to prevent anyone from barging in and interrupting everything, but you just teleported right in.”

Schneep frowned. “Well, I just...when the door would not open, I thought there must have been some sort of magic protection. And I was right. So I...I did not think about it too much, actually, I just grabbed my scissors and cut right through, then jumped inside.”

“Huh.” Yvonne paused. “Are these scissors of yours...magic?”

“I am not sure, actually.” Schneep reached forward and grabbed them, pulling them out of a pocket in thin air. “They seem very normal to me, what about you?” He snipped them a few times for emphasis.

“Yeah, they look pretty normal.” Yvonne paused. “In uder’m magima,” she muttered. There was a cool breeze, and then she said, “Nope, I couldn’t pick anything up. They’re just regular-ass scissors. Guess that must be part of your magic, then. To cut straight through wards? Hey, do you mind if I call you some time? We can go on a trip to some of the most protected ABIM storages.”

“Ha ha,” Schneep said. “I suppose that—” He suddenly stopped.

“What? Something wrong?”

“We stopped moving,” he said. “But the doors are not opening.”

“...oh. I hadn’t noticed. That’s—oh my god!”

“What?!”

“The lights went out,” Yvonne said in a hushed voice. “Is there a power outage? That...shouldn’t happen.”

“Why? Are the lights magic?”

“No, but I don’t think sanctuaries would be prone to blackouts.” She banged on the elevator doors, then pressed several different buttons. “Ugh. This is taking too long. Can you teleport us out?”

Schneep raised an eyebrow. “I could, technically. But I should warn you first, teleportation is not a pleasant experience.”

“Hey, I’ve tried it...once. Twice. Anyway, it was fine for me then.”

“You cannot do it again?”

“Nah, can’t remember the spell.” He could practically hear Yvonne shrugging.

Schneep sighed. “Alright. I will do all the work, then.” He held out a hand, and Yvonne quickly grabbed it. Making sure he had a firm grip on her, he thought about where to jump. He had no idea where they were in the building, and he could only really imagine the basement, his room, and the ground floor. That last one would probably be the most convenient. They could just take the stairs. Debatably, his room would also be helpful, but he didn’t want to bring someone into there without asking Jack if he could, since they shared the space. “And going now.” So he jumped.

Instantly, they were back on the ground floor. And instantly, Yvonne yanked her hand away. “H-holy shit,” she breathed. “Holy—” She stumbled away, bracing herself against the wall and taking several deep breaths. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I did warn you,” Schneep pointed out.

“That is not normal teleportation. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not normal.” Yvonne paused. “Wait...do you hear that?”

They both fell silent. Some ways away, there was the sound of crashing and shouting...some sort of fight. In unison, they ran towards the sound.

Rounding a corner, they ran right into a magical battlefield. The ground was broken up, with purple crystals protruding from the floor and stabbing the air. The wallpaper was singed with purple flames, and a couple of the doors had been knocked off their hinges. The moment Schneep rounded the corner, he ran into a long, blue string, which immediately wrapped around his torso and pulled him down with a yelp.

“You two!” Delyth was holding her own against her opponent, eyes glowing pale purple. “What are you doing here?!”

“Mae!” Yvonne gasped. “What—”

“It’s Marvin,” Schneep said through gritted teeth. “Isn’t it?”

“Maaarvin?” That voice identified him shortly before he came into sight, stepping out of one of the rooms with broken doors. His broken mask was firmly on his face, set above a wild grin. “Is that who we are?” Blue strings of magic danced in the air around him.

“Oh fuck.” Yvonne took a step back, raising her hands instinctively. On the ground beside her, Schneep was struggling with his scissors and the thread entangling him.

“Get out of here!” Delyth demanded, thrusting her hand forward to conjure a purple crystalline shield, deflecting the wave of blue strings that flew at her. “I’ll take care of this!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mae, you’re running out of juice!” Yvonne protested. “Look at how faint that shield is!”

“You need to get to the strings! That’s what he’s—” She was cut off as one of the strings wormed its way under the shield and wrapped around her ankles, yanking her upwards.

“Mae!” Yvonne reacted instinctively, hurling a ball of pale blue magic at Marvin, knocking him to the ground and making him drop Delyth. “Oh, sorry!”

Marvin got to his feet, swaying for a moment. He glanced upwards towards the ceiling, and grinned even wider. “We’re really close,” he muttered. A ball of wriggling blue thread spawned in his hand, and he threw it upwards. Once it hit the ceiling, the strings spread out in a fan, digging into the plaster and causing white dust to fall down onto Marvin below.

“Oh no you don’t!” Yvonne swung her hand, sending a wave of magic at the strings and knocking them to the ground. Frowning, Marvin turned his attention to her. More strings appeared in the air, slithering in a way that seemed distinctly hostile.

Schneep finally managed to cut through the string wrapping him up, and he scrambled to his feet. “I can make sure the strings are secure,” he said. “You two hold him back.”

“Got it.” Yvonne raised a shield, then reached down and helped pull Delyth to her feet. “We can handle this.”

Schneep nodded, and jumped away, just before Marvin lunged forward at the two magicians.

His jump took him to the floor directly above him, though he fell a few inches onto the floor. Not bad, for being entirely unsure where he was going. But it sounded like he hadn’t escaped the chaos on this floor, either.

“Got him!” The scene he’d stepped into had Jack, Chase, and JJ struggling with Jackie. Jack had managed to grab Jackie, wrapping his arms around him in an effort to hold him back from...going somewhere. “Guys, can you—”

“Let go!” Jackie twisted around, and suddenly there was a flash of red light. Jack cried out and staggered backwards, suddenly bleeding from a cut across his cheek. Immediately, Jackie started to run again, only to run into a wall of blue light as Jameson created several shields around him, trapping him in.

“What is going on?!” Schneep asked.

“Oh Schneep! Jackie just went crazy all of a sudden.” Chase hurried over to Schneep’s side. “It was weird, he was talking about ‘the rest of him’ again.”

“The rest of me!” Jackie whaled. He started pounding on the shields—no, not pounding on them, stabbing them. With bits of red light, long and sharp and almost shaped like a knife. “I need to get to them! I need to—”

Jameson flinched, and one of the shields abruptly shattered. Jackie wasted no time, dashing forward, right past Schneep and Chase, and running up to a closed door. With another flash of red magic, the door was cut right in half, wood folding to the ground, and Jackie disappeared inside.

“No!” Jack cried. He and the other three hurried forward, into a dimly-lit room filled with coppery boxes. Jackie was quickly knocking them aside, until he found one the size of a shoebox. Grinning maniacally, he pried at the lid, but it wouldn’t open. “Stop him!” Jack shouted.

Chase dived forward, tackling Jackie to the ground. He shrieked, but managed to keep hold of the shoebox. “No!” Jackie yelled.

“Give me that!” Chase reached for the shoebox, but Jackie held it away from him. Of course, the other three quickly stepped in to help, with Schneep managing to grab the box, Jack prying at Jackie’s hands, and Chase and JJ holding him down. Jackie shouted, struggling and twisting, and soon the whole situation devolved into a wrestling match on the floor of the room. It only lasted for a few minutes before one wrong kick knocked down a nearby stack of boxes, which came crashing down onto the four of them, momentarily stunning them all.

Unfortunately, Jackie recovered the quickest. He pried the box away from the others and scrambled backwards. “You don’t understand,” he hissed. “We need it. We need to be whole. And we will have it! We will—!” Suddenly, he stopped. And looked down. And then, out of nowhere, he laughed. Raising one hand, sharp blades of red light appeared in the air.

Jameson immediately tried to shield the others, but it turned out, that wasn’t what Jackie was planning. The blades plunged downward into the floor around him in a neat circle, slicing right through. And then the floor gave way, and Jackie fell through the new hole onto the floor below.

In the room beneath, Marvin had been locked in a fight with Yvonne and Delyth. Well, mostly Yvonne, as Delyth’s magic was quickly draining. Shades of blue magic traded blows, blasts pushing back strings and strings wriggling through shields. Then the ceiling was cut through, and Jackie landed on the floor behind Marvin, who immediately froze and spun around. His face split into a wide grin.

“Bell, they have the container!” Delyth shouted, pointing at the coppery box in Jackie’s arms.

“On it!” A pale blue wall sprang up in between Jackie and Marvin, stopping Marvin just before he was able to pull Jackie to his feet. “Now what?”

Jackie got to his feet, looking at the wall of magic. And he laughed. He raised one hand and swiftly brought it down, cutting through the air. An arc of red light ran right into the blue wall...and it instantly shattered. Yvonne gasped, stumbling back. A trail of blood started to leak from her nose.

Marvin grabbed Jackie by the hand, and they both smiled the exact same smile. Then he spun around and sent a wave of blue strings at the magicians. Delyth tried to conjure another shield, but it was much too weak, and the strings cut right through and pinned both of the magicians to the walls.

“No!”

Something flashed in the faint light, and Marvin cried out, stumbling back. He’d been stabbed. A pair of scissors was sticking out of the back of his shoulder.

Schneep had dropped through the hole Jackie had made. Now, he stood behind Jackie and Marvin, expression twisted with anger and his eyes glowing turquoise light. There was a second pair of scissors in his hand, and he lunged. Marvin sent out another wave of strings, but Schneep disappeared, reappearing on the other side. Jackie whirled around and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from using the scissors he was holding. Except that now Schneep had a third pair in his other hand, which he opened wide and slashed, hitting Jackie’s other arm, the one holding the coppery box. Jackie yelped, and dropped it, only for the box to be caught in a net of blue strings and pulled over to Marvin, who picked it up.

Jackie and Marvin looked at each other. “Getting out,” they said in unison.

Marvin sent a few more strings Schneep’s way, who disappeared and reappeared behind the pair. But shortly after doing so, Jackie made a slashing motion, and an arc of red light hit Schneep in the chest. He cried out, falling backwards from the force of it. The moment he hit the floor, Jackie and Marvin grabbed each other’s hands and ran, right out the room and down the hall.

“They’re heading to the front!” Delyth shouted.

Jack, Chase, and Jameson, hearing the shout, ran for the front entrance, though it was far away. Schneep climbed to his feet and jumped, beating them there. But it was too late. By the time the group arrived there, Jackie and Marvin were nowhere in sight.

For a moment, all they could do was stand there, staring at the empty lobby in shock. Then Chase fell to his knees, Jameson collapsed on the nearest chair, and Schneep dropped his scissors. “They got away...” Jack breathed. “They...we have to go after them.”

Schneep nodded. “Yes. We have to, now.” He buttoned up his coat. “We cannot waste any time. Jameson, could you track them?”

“Wh...am I super out of it, or did you not have a coat just a minute ago?” Chase asked. “Where’d you get that?”

“I, ah...don’t...know.” Schneep blinked, running his hands over the black coat he was wearing. “But I recognize this feel. It is my black one, yes?”

“Yeah, but...how’d you get it?”

“And I’d like to know how you got like two other pairs of scissors.” Yvonne and Delyth appeared in the lobby entrance, both breathing hard from running and still with blue string wrapped around their limbs. “Like...seriously, where did those come from?” Yvonne tried for a laugh. It failed.

“Look, I think we have more important things to think about,” Schneep said irritably. “Jamie, can you track them?”

Jameson nodded. “He said yes,” Jack told Schneep.

“Good. We have to do it now, or—”

“Whoa, no way any of you are going out there now,” Delyth interrupted.

“What?!” Chase got to his feet and whirled on her. “Did you see how fast they broke in here?! Do you want to know what the two of them could do with those strings?!”

“It’ll probably take them a while to get the container open,” Delyth said calmly. “It’s designed to be unable to open without the proper authorization. Right now, we can’t just go barging in there, we have to have a plan.”

“Barging in there is a plan,” Jack protested. “We can’t let—”

“No.” Delyth’s voice was firm, unshakable. “Somehow, Marvin got right through our wards. Facing an opponent like that—two opponents like that without a plan? I can think of little more foolhardy.”

“I’ll tell you what’s more foolhardy,” Chase said coldly. “Letting those two have time to open the box, get together, and form Anti again.” He laughed hysterically, grabbing his hair and pulling at it. “That’s what they want to do! You’ve heard them! They’re all ‘we need to be whole,’ and ‘whole’ is Anti! That motherfucker! We can’t—can’t let that happen! We just got rid of him! We were going to fix everything!”

Delyth, please, Jameson signed. I understand your caution. It will be dangerous. But time is of the essence. We need to go NOW if we want to have any chance to prevent this. Chase pointed out how easily and swiftly they broke in and found those strings, they won’t have trouble with the box they’re in.

Jack translated all this, and added, “Plus, you haven’t seen Anti like we have. We...we still haven’t told you everything he’s done.” He swallowed nervously, eyes shadowed for one moment. “There were things that were just too...too hard to talk about. A-and he might have a grudge against you, too, if he reforms. We can’t let...any...anything ha-happen.”

Delyth looked thoughtful for a moment. But then she shook her head. “We can’t risk it. Besides, we have to look at the wards. Figure out why Marvin attacked now.”

“It has to do with us trying to destroy the strings, I am sure,” Schneep mumbled.

“If this Anti reforms, we can protect you—”

“That is not the point!” Chase shrieked. “We had to go through hell to get Jackie and Marvin separate again! We might not be able to do it a second time! We have to go now!”

“Mae,” Yvonne said softly. “I think you’re right.”

“You do?” Delyth said, clearly surprised.

“I mean, yeah, we’re not in any shape to fight right now. Especially you and me.” Yvonne touched her bloody nose. “I think we should go get cleaned up in the clinic. These guys can rest in their rooms. Once we’re all good, we can discuss what to do next.” She looked over at the four others, making significant eye contact with all of them. “In fact, we should go now. It’s on this floor. And you guys should definitely go upstairs while we do this. We might be a while.”

Delyth sighed, thankfully not catching on. “Alright. Let’s go. I know you four are anxious, so we’ll be quick, we promise.”

The boys were silent, but they all nodded in unison as the two magicians retreated back into the halls. They remained silent as they listened to the retreating footsteps until they could no longer be heard.

Schneep whirled around. “Jamie? You really can track them?”

Yes, definitely, Jameson said. I’ve been practicing while in this hotel, finding random things. He held his hand out, eyes scrunching up in concentration. A spinning blue disc formed on the tips of his fingers.

“Should we get weapons?” Jack asked.

“I’d like my gun,” Chase said.

“One moment.” Schneep reached to the side, hand disappearing into a pocket. When he pulled it back out, he held Chase’s gun. “Here you are.” He tossed it in Chase’s general direction.

“Whoa!” Chase leaned heavily to the side in order to catch it. “Your aim’s still as bad as ever, I see.”

Schneep chuckled. “Jack? Do you need anything?”

“Um...no, not now. Maybe I’ll reconsider later.” Jack looked over at Jameson. “Alright, let it go, JJ.”

Nodding, Jameson flung out his arm like he was throwing a frisbee. The tracking disc spun off, disappearing quickly through the front entrance. The four of them ran after it, with not a single ounce of hesitation between them all.

No more waiting. They needed to finish this now.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #brigid writes fanfiction #the stitched septics #stitchedstories

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murasaki-murasame · 3 years

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Thoughts on Higurashi Sotsu Ep13

The true mystery of this show is trying to figure out how to even talk about each episode without just repeating myself or talking about other parts of the franchise, lmao.

Anyway, thoughts under the cut. Plus probably spoilers for both Umineko and Ciconia.

I’m not even sure where to begin talking about the fundamental issues this show has at this point, lol. It’s easy to just say that Sotsu on it’s own is bad, but I feel like it’s highlighting the fact that right from day one there were problems with the show’s structure and it’s intentions that have just become more and more of an issue as time’s gone on.

At the very least, I think that it was a huge mistake for them to have the gun cliffhanger happen midway through Gou, and to then spend so much time on backstory stuff and answer arcs. That just cast a negative shadow over all of those arcs because everyone was just impatient to get back to the cliffhanger. At this point I think they shouldn’t have even had Nekodamashi be in Gou to begin with. If they transitioned straight from Tataridamashi to Satokowashi then you could keep the general cliffhanger of revealing that Satoko’s the culprit without making people so impatient to go back to it and see what happens afterward.

But there’s also the issues like how Satokowashi revealed everything we needed to know about the howdunnit of the mystery, or how the whole gimmick of reusing the same scenarios as the VN in order to play both sides and make it technically accessible to new fans really wrote them into a corner and forced them to spend more time on the answer arcs than they needed to.

If we at least assume that the whole story ends in this arc, I think you easily could have condensed it all into one 2-cour season if they’d just committed to aiming this at old fans.

I guess there’s still a chance we’ll get some sort of continuation, but at this point I feel like the only way to get that much more content is if it ends up mostly retreading Satokowashi from a different perspective, which might actually drive me insane, lol.

In general it just feels like we’re already at the climax of the story one way or another, and there’s not many ways to keep it going for much longer without it seeming super forced. Like, Eua and Hanyuu are having their big confrontation with each other, and now Rika and Satoko are both on the same page, so they’re going to basically be stuck in a stalemate until one of them gives up. There isn’t really any mystery left to answer aside from giving more info about what’s going on between Eua and Hanyuu, so I’d rather they just cut to the chase and not drag this out.

We also know from TV listings that a different show is going to taking over Sotsu’s time slot next season, so unless it changes time slot for some reason, we’d probably have to wait until at least January to get a continuation, and I just dunno if that’d even be worth it.

I’ve already gone over my general ideas for how I think this will end, but I still think it’s entirely possible to wrap things up in just two more episodes. At the very least, if we get another full cour out of this then that’d probably just end up only having a few more episodes of actually new content, so my point still stands, lol.

I don’t think this episode did much to change my mind about where this is going, but it did at least clarify a couple of things. Like how Eua explicitly calls Hanyuu a ‘part of her’, which means that I’m probably right about my interpretation of them being two halves of the same being. There’s still a lot of different ways they could explain it, but at this point it’d basically still just boil down to the same idea of them being two parts of the same person.

It’s also more clear now that Rika more or less didn’t really know about Satoko being the culprit until the last minute, and was starting to get flashbacks to the end of Tataridamashi. I’m not entirely sure how to feel about that. It’s kinda hard to believe that Rika wasn’t at least suspecting Satoko by that point, but I do like the implication that Rika wasn’t fully dead when Satoko arrived, since that at least feels like pay-off for Satoko being so cocky and openly monologuing about how evil she is when she thinks Rika’s dead and can’t hear her.

I guess this episode also shows that there wasn’t anything particularly special going on with how Takano decided to confess to Rika in this one specific loop, which is also kinda underwhelming. Basically it seems like it just boils down to her feeling guilty about all of the stuff she remembers doing, but it’s still kinda weird that she didn’t confess to her in any previous loops. One of the weird issues with Gou/Sotsu’s storytelling is that Rika seemingly put no real effort into trying to investigate Takano even though she remembered her being the culprit, and I think that could have been really easily resolved if there was a scene like this in Onidamashi where Takano confesses her sins to Rika and leaves the village, since that would at least give a reason for her to not try and investigate them, and to assume that somebody else is behind these new loops. They could have even just had that happen off-screen and only be shown in Oniakashi if they didn’t want to spoil new fans. It just seems like a really easy change to make that would have made Rika’s passivity and hopelessness in this series way more understandable.

I think we’re also meant to assume that Satoko reacting to the box in this episode was just her faking it, since there’s no real indication that her conscience has returned or anything. But I’m not really sure why Satoko would go out of her way to fake that, when the trap box hadn’t even come up in that timeline. Maybe it would have made more sense if we saw her inner thoughts in that scene, but it kinda feels like they had to come up with some sort of scenario where Satoko would accidentally display knowledge that only a looper would know. Compared to how she’s been almost overpowered and hyper-competent in this series compared to Rika, it has a weird vibe of her being stupid because the plot demands it, lol. Either way it just seems kinda weird and contrived.

We also ended this episode on the gun cliffhanger again, which I saw coming, but it still kinda stings, lol. Hopefully the payoff is worth it. Realistically I think Satoko will just immediately shoot Rika, and we’ll cut to them having a proper confrontation in the meta world. With how they compared it to the ‘miracle’ scene with Takano in Matsuribayashi, it’s possible that they’ll somehow stop Satoko from shooting her, but I dunno. The stuff Hanyuu said about how this ‘isn’t the world that Rika fought for’ makes me think we’re probably not gonna stick with this loop for very long anyway, so I’d rather they just cut to the chase and get to the part where the two of them fight it out in the fragment world once and for all. Which at least seems to be what that one part of the OP is teasing at.

On that note, the only other mysterious part of the OP [and the key visual] left is the older club members in new outfits, which still feels like a bit of a loose thread, but it’s entirely possible that it doesn’t really mean much. For one thing, it could be as simple as it being related to an epilogue scene back in the Matsuribayashi timeline where they’re in different outfits to the ones we saw them wear last time we saw them. Either way I don’t really think the other club members are going to be super relevant to how this all ends, so one way or another whatever that stuff is related to could still just come up in the next two episodes.

Basically the question is just how exactly the big conflicts are gonna get resolved, and what note we’ll end things on. Which also ties into the larger question of whether or not this is genuinely meant to tie into Umineko [and maybe Ciconia] like they’re indicating, or if that’s some kind of elaborate troll.

I know i’m biased, but I think all the Umineko and Ciconia stuff is totally sincere, and Ryukishi really is using this as a way to start tying the wider WTC-verse together in a more concrete way, so that’s what I’m basing my theories off of.

With that in mind, I still think this will end with Rika and Satoko officially abandoning their humanity and becoming witches together, with the sword maybe being an in-universe plot device to depict that process. And with the reveal that Eua and Hanyuu are for all intents and purposes two parts of the same person, I feel like their side of things will probably end with them merging together in a way that creates Featherine, which would at least explain why Featherine’s personality is more mild than Eua’s, and also why Bernkastel is her miko, and why Featherine’s whole name is a giant pun about Hanyuu. It’d also fit with the whole religious motif that Hanyuu has going on if she basically ‘sacrifices’ herself to neutralize Eua. It’s at least the closest I think we’ll get to seeing Eua be ‘defeated’.

And on that note, I don’t really think this will end with anyone like Eua or Satoko being used as a villain who everyone else defeats so they can go back to their happy ending, since that’s the exact sort of thing that Ryuukishi regrets doing originally, and is why we’ve gotten so many redemption arcs for people in Gou/Sotsu. So I think at most we’ll see Eua get turned into Featherine so she’s less actively hostile towards everyone else, but I think this will ultimately end with Rika and Satoko reconciling and mending their relationship.

Over on the Matsuribayashi timeline side of things, I feel like this is gonna end up paralleling Nekodamashi a bit, and we’ll find out that Satoko ended up planning to kill herself in the Saiguden, but Rika and the club will show up at the last minute and she’ll choose not to. Then we’ll probably see her and Rika talk things out properly, and maybe Satoko will find out that Satoshi woke up from his coma or whatever, and that way they’ll all still get their happy ending, while also simultaneously we can still have Rika and Satoko split off their witch selves into separate entities that become the Bern and Lambda we know in Umineko.

It’s possible they’ll do something with the idea of Satoko losing her game and being sent to a world without Rika, but that also might just not happen at all. So who knows.

If they really lean into the idea of this directly setting up for Umineko, then it’d be neat if we also see Satoko and Rika meet Ikuko in the future of the Matsuribayashi timeline.

There’s also the Ciconia teases to think about, but they seem to be going in the direction of Ciconia taking place before all this even happened, so I think that’ll be kept kinda nebulous and unexplored until Ciconia itself finishes. Ryukishi might announce a release date for phase 2 after Sotsu ends, but I think it’s way too early for anything like an anime adaptation of it. I’d rather they wait until at least after it’s finished before they do something like that.

On the other hand, Umineko’s been over for like ten years, so it’d be much easier to do something like a remake for it after this. I have a lot of thoughts about how that might go if they do that, but I’m gonna wait until Sotsu ends and then make a separate post about it.

Anyway I guess now I just have to wait and see what happens next week, lol.

#murasaki rambles #higurashi #higurashi sotsu

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mulderist · 4 years

Text

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 3

Arlington National Cemetery One week later 9:17 am

Leaves rustled in the trees overhead as the honor guard reloaded and repositioned their rifles. The sharp bang, like a hit on a snare drum, echoed through the eerie calm of the cemetery. I could feel it happening again. Everytime I thought I was past this nonsense it kept coming back. I wanted to close my eyes but it would have brought me back to the mud and rain of Wake Island. When you’ve been knee deep in death you never forget it. I could still smell the humid air, the burnt powder, the smoke.

I closed my eyes for a moment and balled my fist tighter as images clear as photographs flashed before me. Three years ago, I donned the dress blues and watched a soldier from my company laid to rest. It felt like I was having a heart attack as I listened to the twenty-one guns and the cries of his grieving widow. Fingers pressed hard creating a thick new line in my palm and my flashback dissolved.

Each shot up to this point was torture. My salute wavered with the final pop and I felt the elephant on my chest move aside, allowing me to breathe a little. A bead of sweat broke free from under my hatband and took a slow slide down my temple. The back of my neck prickled. I swallowed hard and moved to parade rest as the honor guard queued up and left the gravesite. My fingers slowly loosened their curl and I felt the circulation return to the tips. Once the ringing in my ears stopped I was able to appreciate the sound of silence.

It was a small group of mourners, mainly fellow Marines from Spender’s company and a few officers from the precinct. He had no wife, no kids, not sure if his mother was still alive. Seems that the only family representative was his father. Jeffrey had the distinction of a military funeral at Arlington due to his rank and heroics at Guadalcanal. At the drop of a hat he would tell the story about surviving hand-to-hand combat and rescuing a senior officer during a nighttime raid. I’m sure each time he retold it, that fish got a little bigger. At any rate, he’s now buried amongst other honorable men. His father was able to cut through any red tape like a hot knife through butter to make it happen. And almost as if on cue I spied the old man in his expensive dark striped suit accepting condolences. I recognized him through the smoke cloud that hung around like a bad party guest. I suppose he could feel my eyes on him because he headed my direction. He gestured to another older gentleman, who I assumed was his driver, and continued his approach. It was the first time I was able to truly observe him. He had all the obvious characteristics of old D.C. politics; dower demeanor, rigid walk, air of superiority.

“Sir, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said flatly as he approached. The scent of Morleys invaded my nose.

“Thank you, mister -?” He asked while offering a perfunctory handshake.

“Mulder,” I replied as I shook his hand then tugged at my uniform jacket.

“Ah yes,” he practically hissed, “You were Jeffrey’s partner in the vice unit. Keeping the city safe from crime and debauchery.” The cigarette smoking man took one more drag then let the stick hang on his lower lip. “My son had great potential. To be killed in the line of duty is a tragedy.”

I didn’t know what type of condolence to offer. I wasn’t great friends with his son in the first place, it was a professional relationship and not much more.

“The precinct lost a good detective,” I finally managed to say. Jesus, that felt bitter on my tongue. I licked my lips, hoping this conversation would soon be over; my pleasantries were skating on thin ice. The Smoking Man stubbed out his cigarette and rattled off something about his resources that could aid in our murder investigation. Apparently he and the commissioner were old chums and justice would be swift. Then he took the cue and left. I stole a deep breath and watched him head towards his driver then enter a large black Cadillac that was parked at the base of the knoll.

My feet hit the pathway just as I heard my name being called from over my shoulder. I paused and turned to see Captain Skinner walking my direction.

“Just had a conversation with Spender’s old man.” I said.

“Is that so?” He questioned as he removed his glasses.

“Turns out he has the district police in his pocket so my services might not be needed with this investigation,” I said sarcastically.

“Did he know your connection to the case?”

“He knows I was Spender’s partner, but not that I was at the scene.”

Skinner squared his jaw then continued to walk past me away from the thinning crowd. I followed.

“I’m awaiting the final report from the coroner. They found something of interest on the autopsy.”

“A different cause of death? Figured the gunshots were obvious,” I said.

“There was additional bloodwork. I’m not certain what the M.E. was looking for, which is why I want the final report.” He stopped and faced me. “Mulder, I don’t typically recommend this course of police action however this is a unique situation.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to use whatever channels you have available. Legal or -- otherwise. Use the boys in forensics to your advantage. See if you can get that report and keep this ‘eyes only.”

I raised an eyebrow at the request. It’s not everyday your boss asks you to operate in the gray. Then it clicked.

“You want to keep this hush-hush.”

“I want to keep the reputation of this precinct and my vice unit intact,” he replied cryptically. I could only nod and watch as he slowly left for his car. I took an opposite path. There was a humming in my head that I wanted to knock loose with a stroll.

Flanked by rows of white crosses on green hills I continued along the pathway and suddenly saw a familiar flash of red. She was standing at a simple headstone, adjusting a small arrangement of flowers. Out of respect I waited until she stepped away onto the path before I approached.

“Excuse me,” I called from behind with a casual wave of my hand. When she looked over her shoulder I knew it was her.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” I began but clammed up when I saw those pools of blue. In that instant, that split second, it’s like I forgot the damn English language. My feet kept moving and I tried to say something.

“It’s no bother,” she said, thankfully.

“Are you by chance a nurse at Washington General?” I finally sputtered as we stopped walking. She nodded then thought for a moment, her arms hugged her petite frame.

“You look familiar,” she said with a delicately pointed finger, “Have we met before?”

“We have,” I replied. She cautiously moved closer to size me up. She surveyed my uniform and I felt like I was back in the barracks.

“You were the -- detective, right? -- who worked on a last name basis?”

“That’s my calling card. The name’s Mulder,” I said, “Remind me yours?”

“Dana Scully,” she said with a hint of a polite smile.

Scully. There it was. The stray thread was pulled and unraveled the memory of her name, each and every letter. She continued,

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Almost back to my pitching prime.” I replied as I gave it a roll. I had to watch myself with this one. Memory like a steel trap. Her head tilted curiously to the side.

“You clean up nice.” There was a quick flush to her cheeks as she took a small step back, wishing that remark stayed to herself. I smiled and now it was my turn to shift gears.

“I saw you laying down some flowers.” I said, curiosity getting my proverbial cat. Her lips pressed together.

“My father,” she said, “He is - was - a captain in the Navy. It was six years ago; Midway. I like to keep his flowers fresh if I can.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied with the only thing I could muster. Her statement was simple but knocked the wind out of my sails. Scully dipped her head and nodded. She then asked,

“Do you have someone here?”

“I’ve got a couple guys from my company, though I don’t visit too often. But today was my partner.”

“Oh,” she said softly, “It’s a funny state of the world when you can have a conversation about who you lost as easy as asking ‘how’s the weather.’”

For a moment I had nothing to say. A thousand scenarios ran through my head. I wanted to know more, I wanted to know everything about her. There was a natural beauty of course but something about her mind reeled me in. I cleared my throat. This chat was on the verge of getting cozy but seemed out of place in the current setting.

“May I walk you to your car?”

“Thank you but I’ll be fine. My sister is waiting for me. Besides, we only just met.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.”

Playing coy, I liked that.

“Well then, good day Miss Scully.”

“Good day Mr. Mulder.” She shook my hand and lingered for a moment. “If you’re ever in Georgetown look me up. Hopefully we can meet again.”

“I sincerely hope so,” I said. She turned heel and left me on the path. The curve of her pencil skirt, a flutter of the hem, the lines of her smart blouse made the goodbye feel less permanent. I listened to a breeze sweep through the tree line then I backtracked to where I was parked.

I needed to get out of this uniform.

-------

Hegal Place Alexandria, VA

My apartment felt stale. I forced open a window to let in some fresh air. In the wardrobe hung one clean, pressed dress shirt along with my police dress blues. Of course the only shirt remaining was the one I wore the night Spender was killed. The good thing about an old jaded dry cleaner is you get quality work and little questions. I sipped my coffee and remembered I might have a vacation shirt stashed away in a drawer. As I donned the new shirt I heard the phone ring. I was waiting for a call from the boys in forensics who were a little too eager to give me a hand.

“Mulder? It’s Frohike.”

“What have you found?”

“As you know, Langley and I were able to fish out a casing from the bathroom stall door, the back wall and a sneaky little devil in the bar. Turns out these paired nicely with the one lodged in Spender’s abdomen.”

“Who’d the weapon belong to?”

“Carlo Lodi.” Frohike asked. I scanned through the mugshot portfolio in my head. There he was. A hulking brute nicknamed The Titan who was quick with a fist and a trigger.

“Yeah. He’s one of Vincenti’s favorite enforcers.”

“We’ve seen his handiwork before,” Frohike continued, “He leaves a real pretty signature, although he’s usually a little more precise. Execution style seems to be his forté.”

“That’s what I thought when I was at the scene. I still don’t know if he intended to take me out as well.”

“Just like you to get in the way, Mulder.” There was a chuckle in the other end of the phone.

“Hey Frohike, has the final report come in from the M.E.?”

“Ah, funny you should mention that. I have a preliminary copy and it shows that there was heroin in his system.”

“Shit,” I stated after a pause.

“What is it?”

“It means Krycek was right.”

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #mulder pov #historical au

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obeymestudentcouncil · 4 years

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I heard there was a shortage of Diavolo requests, lets fix that shall we? We've all seen that scenario post about MC sassing Diavolo so much that he reminds her that he could easily kill them only to be surprised and turned on when MC says "I know". So how about: "I'm gonna strangle you.”“Is that a promise?”

I hope you don’t mind that I used a female reader for this one. I will admit this went way more self indulgent than I expected.

This branches off from canon story at around 15-10, when they are on the way to Diavolo’s to try to talk to him about Belphie, right before the reality shift. I have Reader/MC going ahead of the group to speak to Diavolo in private.TW for choking

The door to Diavolo’s office clicked behind you. It had taken some convincing, but you’d gotten them to agree to let you try talking to Diavolo first, as a somewhat neutral third party. It had been decided you would come here first, the others following shortly after. You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Lord Diavolo, sir…”

He held up a hand to stop you, leaning back against the edge of his desk. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told you at Purgatory hall: This is a Devildom matter, and quite frankly, none of your business.”

You stood straighter. “And I beg to differ. After all, it was my world he was wanting to destroy, and as one of two human exchange students here, that does make it in part my concern. Also, I wanted to speak to you on Lucifer’s behalf as well. His solution was the best he could come up with that both upheld his oath to you and protected his family. That’s a hard thing to reconcile when the two are at cross purposes.”

“I recognize that; otherwise instead of house arrest, Lucifer would be in chains in the dungeon with Belphegor. What he did is treason as well, regardless of the reasons.”

You shook your head. “Lucifer intended on keeping Belphegor there until he changed his mind. He-”

Diavolo cut your next words off, his eyes narrowing. “And might I remind you that you were working with Belphegor to release him. For that alone, I should be holding you complicit.”

A thread of fear worked its way through you as you realized you could be on thin ice too. “Granted, though he was deceiving me as to who he was and why he was trapped there. But, Belphegor did not try to harm me in the time we were together. How do you know he hasn’t changed his mind?”

“You were together for a scant few hours. WIth Beelzebub there the whole time. He didn’t have the opportunity to harm you.” He pushed off the desk, standing in front of you at his full height. “I’ve let you say your piece but it doesn’t change matter.”

You tipped your head back, ignoring the fact that his presence always lit a spark of want when he stood over you like this. “Please, just let them talk to him.”

Irritation creased his forehead, the steady thrum of his power that you’d always noticed faintly rising in prominence. “The answer is no. He’s accused of treason, what he might feel now doesn’t change his previous actions.”

“But they’ve all been apart for so long. This started from heartache, you have the power to keep it from ending in more-” You winced, taking a step back as you were buffeted by the force of his power forcing the shift to his demon form. If possible he was even larger than a moment ago.

You could see his knuckles paling from the pressure of how hard he clenched his fists to maintain control. “Enough, human. I’ve humored your plea but this matter is not your concern, human representative or no. Remember you are also guilty in this situation. If you continue to argue, I will strangle you to silence you.”

Damn your mouth, but you couldn’t stop the tiny “Is that a promise?” that slipped out. Your eyes widened as you realized you said it out loud and that no matter how quietly you said it, the way his head snapped back you knew he’d heard you. You didn’t even have a chance to react before your back hit the door with a thud, Diavolo’s hand loosely around your throat. Absently, you saw his other hand in the corner of your vision and heard the soft snap of the lock sliding into place. A soft whimper escaped you, but the fear you knew you should be feeling was tempered with desire.

Swallowing thickly, the motion only barely hindered by his hand, you closed your eyes, not wanting to see the expression on his face as he bent closer to you. His hand tightened the slightest bit, wringing a needy gasp from your lips, making your thighs squeeze tight against themselves. His voice was low when he spoke, lips just barely brushing against your ear. “I’d ask if that was some sort of joke, but I already know the answer. Don’t think to seduce me in hopes of using it as a bargaining chip. This doesn’t change my answer, Little One.” He nipped sharply at your neck once, just above where his fingers were curled around it.

Pulling back, his eyes caught and held yours. The intensity of his gaze and the knowledge of what was on the table made your pulse race, thumping hard against his hand. “Understood, sir.”

He released your neck, swooping down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You opened your mouth almost immediately, allowing his tongue to explore, twining your own tongue with it. A hand trailed up your thigh and under your skirt, moving across your belly, tugging your panties down your legs until they fell the rest of the way where you could step out of them. Guiding you to put your arms around his shoulders, he lifted you lightly by your waist, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as he stepped forward, pinning your body against the door. He kissed you again, taking your wrists in his hand, raising your arms until they were pressed to the door over your head. One large hand was all it took to keep them in place, his other hand working it’s way between you, fingers tracing over your folds before slipping inside you. You bucked your hips against him, the moan you let out lost in the press of your lips to his.

You got brave, nipping at his lips when he pulled back for a moment earning you a growl and a second finger entering you. Whining, you ground your hips against his hand impatiently. Diavolo chuckled, removing his fingers, the back of his hand brushing against your core as he worked the top of his pants down to free his cock. He guided himself to your entrance, already the head pressing into you stretching you more than your impatience had allowed him to prepare you for. One hand still pinning your hands, the other hand shifted to your waist, pulling you down onto his length. He stilled as he fully seated himself in you, allowing your body a moment to adjust to him before he pulled out again, sliding back in again.

After the first careful thrusts, he hooked his free arm under your knee, shifting the angle at the same time he snapped his hips in a hard thrust, rattling the door on its hinges. You groaned, your walls tightening around him as he started ramming into you. As hard as he was gripping your thigh you were sure there’d be a set of bruises come morning but you couldn’t be bothered to care. His mouth roved over you, pressing kisses over your jaw, neck and upper chest, interspersing the kisses with love bites soothed over with his tongue. You could feel each thrust grinding his pelvis against your clit, driving your closer and closer to the edge with each passing second. As your walls started twitching around him Diavolo let go of your hands, instead lightly gripping your throat again, just enough to make your already elevated pulse race against his palm. You screamed as you came, the intensity of it making stars sparkle in your vision. You almost didn’t feel him slam into you once more, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep within you.

When he let go of your neck you dropped your forehead on his shoulder, panting as you came down from your high. It took you a minute to register that he was still hard and still gently thrusting into you. He picked up the pace again, and you groaned, your body already spent and overtaxed from the first round. “Please…too sensitive.” You felt him still, gently set your feet on the floor as he pulled out of you. Once you had your feet under you, you felt his hand on your shoulder, pressing down in an unspoken request. You looked up at him as you obeyed, sinking to your knees. You turned your focus from his face to his cock, still hard and wanting before your face.

You ran your hand along him, learning the shape and heft of his length before starting to stroke him. Meanwhile, you started curling your tongue around the head, kissing and licking at the tip before finally taking him in your mouth. You bobbed your head, rolling your tongue along the bottom of his shaft with each pass, your hand taking care of what you couldn’t comfortably take. Getting braver you sank as far as you could, feeling him nudge against the back of your throat before you pulled back again. His hand idly wove through your hair, nails scraping lightly over your scalp as you serviced him. You hummed, enjoying the way the vibrations made him twitch on your tongue. A warning tug on your hair pulled you back, and you sat back on your heels, his hand covering yours, continuing to stroke him. Realizing what he wanted, you opened your mouth just as the first wave of his orgasm hit, his seed spilling from your lips until you moved where you could catch it in your mouth. When his hand fell away from yours you smirked up at him, making a show of closing your mouth and licking the remnants off your lips before swallowing. The sight obviously affected him, his softening cock twitching as he growled softly. He tucked himself away before helping you to your feet.

You turned to retrieve your panties, slipping them back on before doing what you could to straighten your clothing out. Turning back to him, you weren’t surprised to see his normal form back in place, though it did make you laugh. “That must come in handy.”

He shrugged, tipping his head towards the door. “I do believe the others arrived a short while ago. They’d likely be concerned to find us locked in here for much longer.” He motioned for you to lead the way.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #citrus #my fics #my writings #drabble requests

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ajoy3fanfics · 3 years

Text

101 Ways to shut Granger up 2/?

Find it on AO3!

Fifth Year - Summer

For a long time, it wasn’t more than a few fantasies. Innocent, by most standards. A heated kiss, enough to keep her tongue occupied, always throwing her off-kilter. The times he dared to think about something more, he wouldn’t last. He needed it to be that way. He felt ashamed of thinking of a mudblood the way he did. Felt ashamed for thinking of a classmate who despised him panting into his mouth.

But as time wore on, the nights seemed longer, lonelier. Draco’s thoughts would race back at the manor, picking apart conversations, the expectations thrust on his shoulders. How many times did he toss and turn under the covers, lost in his own head? The only thing that seemed to take it away was her. Desperate.

It was easier to deny his attraction at Hogwarts. It was rational to have her fill his mind back at school. She was at the top of their class. Always contributing, voicing her opinions. Best friends with Potter, who naturally caught attention, she was forced into the limelight with him. It made sense that she clouded his thoughts and judgment when they were so near each other.

It was different now. He had spent his summer back home at the manor, far from the influence of Hermione. And still, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Was she spending the summer at the Burrow? Cuddled up with Weasley, unsupervised from all the chaos in that shack? Was Weasley making moves while Draco took tea with his mother's friends?

During the day he whipped up more scenarios than he could count, thinking of all the ways she could wind up at his doorstep, find her way to his bed. At night, alone with his thoughts, he would slide his hand under the covers, beneath the band of his briefs. He imagined the jerky movements of his hands belonged to her, and the thought alone was enough to have him moaning into his green silk pillows.

~.~

Once he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have her, there was no turning back. The first time he had felt ashamed, guilty. He imagined it rough, fast-paced. An explosion of hatred and sexual tension, all colliding between her thighs.

But it didn’t stay that way.

Draco became greedy. Became hungry to know what sounds she would make, how she would arch her back. Would she come with a scream or a gasp?

What would it be like if he moved his hands to her shoulders, slim and tanned? He would take his time, let his fingers run over her collarbone, stoke their way down lower, lower. He would tease her, play with the hem of her sweater before he slowly bunched it up, gathered the material in his hands, and lifted it over her head. Her curls would fall around her, wild. He liked them that way, missed seeing them so unruly. He would thread his fingers through those curls, knot a handful at the back of her head, exposing her neck. What he wouldn’t give to lick down that long column, taste the sweat on her skin, gently pulling the white straps of her bra down her arms.

The more he looked at Granger, the more certain he was about her proportions. Large, but not overly so. He had imagined them so much he could practically feel their weight in his hands. He was sure they were firm, positive that once he freed her breasts he would uncover pink, perky nipples.

He hadn’t even had a real taste, but he was addicted.

~.~

Summer felt fragile. It was wrapped in sunshine, sweets, and select company, but it felt like rot underneath. Draco knew the pressure was building; something was going to happen, he just wasn’t sure what. He waited for it every day, like a winding coil that would inevitably snap. It made him tense, anxious.

Draco tried to get out, stay active. The lush landscape of the property was easy to get lost in, easy to appreciate. When his new cleansweep arrived, he flew high above the grounds, testing its speed and precision, but it quickly lost its appeal. It was lonesome to fly alone. Isolated. Mostly, he spent his days tucked away in the library, lost in a mountain of books, finding company between the pages.

As he would sink into the leather seats, an old book in his hands, he wondered what Hermione would think of his library. If she would be impressed by the range of books, the ancient texts that were not even found at Hogwarts.

Most of all, he wondered what she was doing with her days.

~.~

When Crabbe and Goyle owled for a visit, Draco had put it off for as long as possible. Draco was hesitant to name them friends, and despite their long history of summertime get-togethers, he always dreaded it. At school, Crabbe and Goyle acted as his lackeys- clung to his side because it made them feel powerful, important. It was nice to have an entourage, but that didn’t mean he wanted to vacation with them either.

He had told his mother as much, but she simply remarked that it was rude to refuse a visit. When Draco tried to plead his case, reminding her that they were twists, she smiled sweetly.

“Mr. Crabbe and Mr.Goyle are old friends. It would be unseemly to snub their sons.”

Draco groaned, “That’s how I ended up stuck with them in the first place, mother.”

“We all make sacrifices for the greater good, dear.”

The two traveled together, as they usually did. Draco wondered if one could survive without the other. They showed up bright and early, eager to share their arsenal of gossip. Draco had led them to the outside sitting area, counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable for them to leave.

“You heard that Potter keeps talking about him?” Goyle asked. “The loon keeps telling people he’s alive!”

Crabbe laughed, large cheeks puffing. “I’d like to see him get ahold of Potter, teach him a lesson or two!”

Draco nodded, half-listening to what the two said. It was his default mode when it came to the duo.

“Don’t know how he can show his face at school. Making such a damn spectacle! I’d drop out if I was him. ” Crabbe said, stuffing a cracker in his mouth.

“Granger wouldn’t let him.” Goyle offered. “Probably give him a spanking if he missed a class.” He laughed like he said something witty. Draco felt his muscles tense, felt the sneer snap into place.

“Don’t talk about such vile things.” He leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms.

“Come on now,” Goyle leaned back, crossing his arms as well. “Everyone knows Granger and Potter are together. Even Skeeter picked up on that.”

The rest of the visit passed by in a blur as Draco categorized all the new reasons he hated Harry Potter.

~.~

Draco had it on very good authority that Saint Potter was being questioned for use of unauthorized magic. It wasn’t enough to break every rule in school, but apparently the boy who lived thought he was above the rules outside of the stone walls. Serves him right, after all the fuss he made at the end of the last term.

He who must not be named back, indeed.

Potter had not made it a secret that he thought a certain dark wizard was back from the dead. Draco was sure that it was another stunt, positive that Potter wanted the spotlight yet again. He was making up stories- had to be.

Still, when he had returned home to the manor, he had reluctantly asked his mother if the whispers were true. She leveled him with a cold look and reminded him that well-bred gentlemen do not repeat rumors.

~.~

The letter came at breakfast announcing that he was a prefect. His father gave only the smallest acknowledgment of the achievement, hardly looking up from his paper as Draco read the news out loud.

It was expected that he would be a prefect. Never was a question, really; It would be unacceptable if there was any other outcome. His father reminded him once again how embarrassing it was to lose first place to that mudblood Granger. He took a sip of his tea as he mentioned that head boy was the next rank.

Draco nodded, taking a small bite of his toast, a long silence following.

“Any word on who your female counterpart will be?” His father asked,

“Pansy,” Draco answered. “She owled yesterday.”

“Hmm.” Luscious gracefully folded his paper, placing it down on the long table, finally giving Draco his full attention. “Curious that you did not receive news first. Hm?”

“Yes father.”

“Probably Dumbledore trying to make an example of the Malfoy name.” He spat, “Trying to show the wizarding world that the Malfoys can wait.”

Draco swallowed, unsure what to say. “Sounds like something the old bag would do. I’m sure Potter’s letter was the first to go out.”

Lucious smiled. “Thanks to Potter’s little stunt, he will not be made a prefect. He’s lucky to find himself still enrolled.”

Finally, some justice in the universe. “Serves him right. Can’t imagine how he took that blow.”

“To be a fly on the wall.” Lucious picked up his teacup again but paused before he brought the china to lips. “Who else would be in the running?”

Draco thought for a moment, sifting through the possible Gryffindors. “Dean, maybe. Possibly Longbottom.”

“No doubt Ms.Granger will be a prefect herself, will she not?”

“I’d think so. If anyone likes a rule more than her, I don’t fancy meeting them.” He sneered as if trying to imagine someone more uptight than Granger. “I’m sure she’ll be taking house points away in her sleep.”

It felt natural to talk about her, easy. Talking about Hermione made the conversation flow in a way it had not all morning. It was not lost on Lucious.

“Well, you must put her to shame then, eh? Be the strictest prefect in the history of the school. Now is not a time to have loose morals. The school is already overrun with mudbloods. Even the half-bloods seem less… civilized… than before.”

“Yes, father.” He nodded, excusing himself shortly after.

He spent the rest of the afternoon picturing what it would be like to be a prefect with Granger. There would be meetings- long, tedious meetings. They would patrol at the same times, maybe even have the same rounds. He would be subjected to hearing her take points and lecture all year long. The witch was hard to handle in the best of times. Now that she was to be given a small amount of power, he could only imagine what she would be like. How would he ever get her to shut up and get a moment's peace?

As he envisioned running into her on rounds, the two of them alone, he managed to think up a few ways.

~.~

The next few days were spent in his room, imagination running wild. He dreamed up scenarios that would never happen, never be. Things that were against the very rules they were tasked to enforce.

But what if he caught her in the halls one night? Found her alone, after curfew. Maybe she was checking up on the first years, making sure they were not stepping out of line. He’d find her in the dimly lit corridor, the torchlight glowing on her olive skin.

“I’ll have to dock house points.” He’d say.

She’d look at him defiantly, chocolate eyes burning into his. “You’re not allowed to take house points from another prefect, Malfoy.” She’d say.

He’d lean in, lips grazing her ear as he would whisper, “Maybe we can work something out?”

Merlin, he hoped they could work something out.

~.~

Draco had pinned his silver prefect badge to his robes bright and early, combed his hair back, and checked his reflection three times before he was satisfied. It was decidedly not to look good for her. That would be absurd.

Stepping foot on the train again felt like a relief. He had never considered Hogwarts home- the manor had always treated him well- but the atmosphere felt less charged, a little more normal.

Potter was finally getting the cold shoulder from the student body. It seemed like the crowd parted for him at the platform, everyone eager to put a wide berth between themselves and the person who called Voldermort by name.

On the plus side, he caught his first glimpse of Granger in several months. It was quick, fleeting. At first, he only saw the back of her as she boarded the train, chestnut curls pinned back. Sweet.

He had only passed her once after that, brushing shoulders as they moved in opposite directions down the aisle. Her brown eyes roamed his face quickly, and she nodded in acknowledgment as she squeezed to the side. He felt the knot in his stomach ease for the first time since he left.

It was immediately replaced by a feeling of repulsion when he saw Weasley patrolling, a shiny silver badge pinned like his. Draco's mood was instantly soured.

~.~

Umbridge seemed to see right through Potter. It felt like a victory to finally have a teacher hold him accountable. Snape never hid his opinions on Potter, but he never delivered a punishment quiet as Umbridge did.

She seemed to have a distaste for Granger too. Hermione seems less worried about herself, and more focused on Saint Potter. Every time Draco managed to steal a look her way, her brow was furrowed, her lip between her teeth again.

On the one hand, he felt validated to have Umbridge on his side. On the other, he hated to see the way it affected the witch at his side.

“You have to tell someone Harry.” He heard her whisper. Afraid, almost. If Hermione Granger could be afraid.

He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. She was probably being over-cautious, over dramatic. She tended to be that way when it came to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. But she kept looking at Potter with those pleading eyes, ripping his hand out of her grasp as he shoved his sleeves down.

Fear was a shade he didn’t like on her.

~.~

He couldn't even say she was as much of a know it all as she had been. She still was the first person to be called on and had an answer and opinion for everything, but it was less obnoxious than before. But then she would say something that would set off the duo at her sides, light the ignition to fire. She didn’t dominate the conversation, but sparked it. Weasley would get loud, Potter would draw attention. And she would be in the middle of it- meditating, trying not to laugh, placing her hand on their shoulders.

She was laughing now, seated by her friends in the great hall. What could be so amusing that she would throw her head back like that? Cover her face with her hands, almost embarrassed. It wasn't exaggerated or loud, wasn’t done in a way that would draw attention. It was private, shared with the people who surrounded her, but still, he saw it, experienced it all. She smiled as she moved her palms up, running her fingers through the mountains of curls, and Draco found it hard to stop staring. She was so open, so expressive. She hit Weasley on the arm playfully, and the dolt smiled lopsidedly. The way he grinned at her made it clear that there was something there, something he wanted between the two. Potter looked on with an amused expression as he sipped his tea. Draco felt anger boil inside of him. Since when did Weasley have anything interesting to say? Since when was Granger that funny? Since when did she laugh that way? He wished she would stop. Wished he could pluck her out of the small cocoon she was in, wipe the smile right off her face, make her stop laughing at Weasley that way-

Kiss Granger to shut her up. Kiss Granger to make her fucking stop.

It was less about shutting her up. More about getting Weasley's hands off her.

Maybe he could do those things. Storm over to the Gryffindor table, lift her from her seat, and pull her away from them. Leave Weasley behind, face burning red as his idiotic hair. Drag her down the hall, into an empty room. Dark, hardly lit. Just bright enough to see her chest heaving, lips parted-

Brown eyes caught blue, startled him out of his thoughts. He scowled, trying to mask his surprise, then quickly turned to Pansy. He leaned down, cutting the witch off mid-sentence, and kissed her breathless. It was wrong to do, to use Pansy the way he was. Still, as Draco angled his potion, he cut his eyes towards the Gryffindor table, just to confirm. She had turned away, a pretty blush on her cheeks. As he dipped lower to kiss Pansy, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would taste.

~.~

If there was ever a mystery that Draco Malfoy would never unravel, it was why Granger gave Weasley a second of her time.

And why, for the love of Merlin, did she look like she was about to cry every time a witch in a short skirt caught his eye?

~.~

She looked tired, stressed. He feels it, too. Umbridge has pinned a shiny new badge on him, just as she pins tedious new decrees to the cobblestone walls. It was fun, at first, being a part of the inquisitorial squad. Fun to be given power. Validating, to be recognized for his merits, while Saint Potter was seen for what he was.

Bittersweet to see it taking such a toll on her. Not that he would admit it in a thousand years. Not even under the influence of veritaserum would he tell a soul that he worried about Hermione Granger in his free time.

~.~

Draco Malfoy was decidedly not stalking Hermione Granger. And if he was, so was everyone else who walked to potions, then to the great hall, followed by the library. And after that, straight to the Gryffindor staircase. So it couldn't just be him alone.

His new badge and position in the inquisitorial squad allowed him to follow her, all in the interest of fact-finding. Umbridge was interested in knowing their whereabouts, discovering what, specifically, Potter and his group were up to. She saw betrayal around every corner, lurking in every shadow. Draco was more than happy to keep tabs on Hermione. All in the name of fact-finding, of course.

The things he uncovered were probably of little use to Umbridge, unfortunately. Draco discovered that while she would drink tea, if coffee was offered she reached for that first. She would only nibble at her meals- Draco honestly worried if she was eating enough. Some nights he had half a mind to march over to her dinner table and stick a roll down her throat. Why did no one else seem to notice how she pushed the food around her plate?

She was studious, everyone knew that. But as Draco watched her, he didn’t see a witch entrenched in her studies, troubled over her work. In fact, it didn’t look like work at all. Hermione Granger was in love with learning. It filled Draco with an uncomfortable pleasure to watch such an intimate act.

Granger, for all her smarts, did not seem that observant about her surroundings. Even though he was not following her, he would admit that their schedules coincide very often, but she seemed to take no notice of it.

~.~

The more he watched, the more sure he was that Skeeter was full of shit. It didn’t seem like Hermione had any romantic feelings towards Potter, though she did spend a considerable amount of time attached to his hip. In fact, he was fairly certain he had seen her playing wingman for the bastard.

For his part, Potter did not seem interested either. They were friendly, but not in a flirtatious way.

That wasn’t the case for Weasley.

At times, it was clear he didn’t care about her worth a fig. But whenever McLaggen came her way, the red-headed oaf looked at Hermione like he wanted to possess her. It was a fucking pissing war that Granger seemed content to let him win.

~.~

He began to notice the small things. When she concentrated, her brows furrowed together. She would wrinkle there first if she kept up the habit.

She would gather her curls, less bushy than they were last year, and tie them back into a high bun. Defined spirals would slip out as she stood on tiptoes to get a better look in the cauldron. He knew by now that when her hair was back, she meant business. When her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, she became snappy. Weasley and Potter would give her a wide berth, seemingly knowing this inside information as well. Despite the fact that their obvious body language screamed for her to stay away, she would look over her shoulder, nagging them endlessly.

“You’re stirring the wrong way.”

“Did you add one cup or two?”

“Ron, it is not supposed to bubble like that!”

Endless, constant corrections. It drove Draco crazy.

“Enough Granger. Just let them fail already.” He said finally. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. It was a thought that crept past his lips without thinking- one he needed to rectify. Putting on his best smirk, he added, “Besides, from the looks of it, you might not even be giving them the right information. Sure you’re not trying to off them, Granger?”

She pursed her lips together and breathed through her nose, trying to control her anger. He could practically seem her fuming. As she opened her mouth, ready to pour out a tirade of annoyances and insults, the urge to push her came over him. He didn’t see her as worked up anymore. Fuck, part of him wanted her to punch him the way she had years ago. The flush on her cheeks was so tempting.

In that moment, he wanted to crowd her against the potions table, her frame so much smaller than his. In his mind, she would smile as she gripped his belt buckle, tugging it off with practiced ease as she fell to the floor. She would look so damned pretty on her knees.

“Let it go, Mione.” Weasley tugged at her elbow, drawing her attention away. “He’s not worth it.”

~.~

It seemed like every time Cho Chang was around, Granger was pulling Weasley away. Draco bit his tongue as he marched towards the pair, shouting that educational decree 24 bans student groups. When Granger quickly retorted that two students hardly constituted a group, Draco replied that her hair alone ought to count for at least 3 students and to quickly go their separate ways.

~.~

The song “Weasley is our King” was written largely by Draco, and he was quite proud of it, if anyone cared to ask. The Slytherins sang it in the stands, his teammates chanted it on their broomsticks.

It was great to see Weasley so nervous. When it came to the already distasteful Weasleys, Ron was the worst. Always backing up Potter, constantly flying around Hermione like a gnat. Truly, the git had nothing going for him. His looks were below average, much like his I.Q. Draco knew that if it wasn’t for the fact that Hermione was such a pushover for her friends, Weasley would have had to repeat a year- several times.

And then he had the nerve to snub her. Had the nerve to let his short temper get the best of him and blow up on her.

If a little song riled him up, all the better.

~.~

He lost the match, but Potter still let loose. Such an ugly display of name-calling. He wished Umbridge hadn’t interrupted. He would have loved to break those round glasses and blacken his eyes. Especially because Hermione was screaming, trying to put some sense into him. It infuriated him. Why was it always him? Always Potter? She was forever by his side.

Notice me, not him- Notice me- notice me.

Umbridge banned the Gryffindors from playing. Draco smiled, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

~.~

Was there a reason Granger kept leaving clothes about the castle? It seemed like every other day he saw Granger chasing an elf with some hats or mittens for S.P.E.W.

Dobby had made his way back to the castle. He heard a rumor that it was hard for the elf to find work, and was glad to be in the kitchens, happy to be back with Potter.

He had spent his entire life in the service of the Malfoy family. Dobby could have sought him out as easily as he did Potter. Draco realized that Dobby must not want to.

Maybe Granger was right; maybe the elves were unhappy, wanted their freedom. Perhaps, at the manor, Dobby had been treated unfairly.

More than unfairly. Wrong.

Before he left the castle, Draco made a pitstop in the kitchens. Inside the emerald green package, a soft jumper, shorts, and several pairs of socks were carefully wrapped. The bright red bow red Dobby’s name.

~.~

Christmas at the manor was typically a grand affair. Anything put on by Narcissa Malfoy usually was. Witches and wizards would travel from all over to attend the annual Malfoy parties. They were known to be the social events of the season, and for young, unwed witches and wizards, a perfect matchmaking opportunity. The large evergreen tree was enchanted to twirl, the lights and sparkle from the ornaments making a pretty picture. The gifts under the tree were large in size, large in quantity. Everything seemed like a normal Christmas party, appearance-wise.

Inside, it was tense. It was hushed conversations, heavily veiled hints. There was a constant refill of champagne, a constant need for it . His father smiled, but he could tell he was on edge. And his mother, ever the gracious hostess, she flitted from one group to another, checking in, hearing it all. Draco simply sat back, letting the ebb and flow of conversation wash over him.

“Did you hear about Weasley?” A large wizard had said, leaning against the wall nearest Draco. He was talking to a pretty witch, dark hair pinned high on her head.

“No, do tell.” She leaned forward, hungry for the news.

“Attacked, they say. Right at the department of mysteries. It’s all very hush-hush.”

“Any day now.” He heard the witch whisper excitedly. The wizard murmured his agreement.

They were on the precipice; of what, he had no idea. He wished they would have the decency to give details if they would bother to talk so openly.

Mr.Weasley was attacked, that much he knew. As much as he detested the red-headed clan, he couldn’t help but imagine his own father in danger. He got the sense it wasn’t as far fetched as it might seem.

“Draco, dear.” His mother approached him, a gentle smile plastered on her face. “I believe Pansy is waiting for you to dance with her.”

“Must I?” He frowned. He was in no mood to dance.

“If you find her good enough to kiss in the hallways, I’m sure you’ll find her suitable enough to take a turn on the dance floor with.”

Draco's blue eyes grew large. He had no idea how his mother had heard about that. She held out her hand, forcing Draco to stand. “I have eyes everywhere, my darling.”

Pansy would not leave him alone for the rest of the night. She chatted happily, asked his opinion on her dress, her shoes. They talked about their classes, about their classmates, other things he held little interest in.

She was a fine friend, but that was all. She was pretty, wellbred. Funny, at the right times, kept up with her marks. Their families knew each other well, and her inheritance was sizable. She was everything he should be looking for in a partner, but none of it seemed appealing. He knew that Pansy was hoping for more- he certainly wasn’t helping the situation with his recent actions. But the thought of being attached to Pansy, or any variant of a suitable woman left him feeling sick. Granger's name clawed at the back of his mind, threatening to take over, to spill out.

He gripped Pansy tighter, wishing that the waist he was holding was Granger’s. Wished that he could pull her body in close, sway to the rhythm of the songs. Wished he could sweep her curls to the side so that he could whisper in her ear how badly he wanted her.

More than that, he wished there was a world in which he could dance with Hermione.

~.~

He was happy to see her on the train. Happy to be near her again. She, on the other hand, looked miserable as she walked down the aisles, dutifully inspecting her assigned compartments.

He wondered what had her so fatigued.

~.~

She was dangerous. Having feelings for her was dangerous.

It was an infatuation, that was all.

That's all it could be.

He tried to remind himself of that as he followed her through the halls.

~.~

Draco was called to the headmaster's office in the dead of night. In his gut, he knew. Whatever had been building was finally reaching its arc.

He had never been to Dumbledore's office. He had heard rumors, but never looked at the inside for himself. As the knot in his stomach tightened, the curious part of him wondered what it would be like to have an audience with the headmaster alone. Though he was loathe to admit it, Dumbledore was an intimidating wizard.

He was surprised to find Snape in the headmaster's chair, waiting for him.

“Snape?” he questioned. “What are you doing here? I thought-”

“Yes.” His professor drawled. “Professor Dumbledore requested your presence. He asked, however, that I deliver the message to you.”

Draco stood in front of the chair, legs locked into place. “What message?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange has broken out of Azkaban. Your aunt is on the loose.”

~.~

#dramione fanfic #dramione fandom #dramione fic #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #draco smut #light angst #Dracos side #Harry Potter #harry potter fan fiction #hermione granger #hermione #hermione draco #draco

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jojo-reader-hell · 4 years

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So I guess my inbox ate some requests... so if yours is missing I deeply apologize. This is for my bestest buddy who has been helping me throughout this whole thing, she loves Guido Mista a whole lot and we owe her our lives for requesting such sweet yet sad scenarios ❤️

“I hate to break it to you, but there is no way in hell you are going to wear that when we get off the plane.”

“Huh?! Why not?”

Where do you start? It’s cotton. It’s a crop top. And he hasn’t worn it in almost three years. You waste no time in informing him of his poor choice in outerwear, only for the gunslinger to scrunch his nose and scratch his head in an almost comical fashion.

Well… Almost comical. The situation at hand was far too serious to take chances.

It’s amazing that Mista has been there for every step of the planning, paid for his share of the tickets, picked the activities he wanted to do, saw you buy the necessities you needed for the trip, yet he still did not understand that a cashmere crop top and tiger stripe designer jeans were not appropriate for two weeks in Reykjavik. He… He did understand the name of the country was ICELAND, right?? Didn’t he?? Did you really need to have this conversation with him four whole days before you set off to leave?

“Do you not read any of the warnings on the tours?!” you growled, “It’s literally 1.5 C with the potential to dip into the negatives! You cannot be wandering around like that.”

His laugh sounded both careless and filled with anxiety. Full of a challenge. You knew Mista rarely changed his wardrobe around. Mondays through Saturdays: crop top jeans boots, crop top jeans boots. Sundays he wore a suit to church. Oh... Don’t forget his hat that he insisted was hand wash only (when have you seen him hand wash it?? Never...). Well traveled folks you’d been conversing with about this exciting trip all said the same thing: anything except wool kills in Iceland. Don't leave home without thermals. Get a good waterproof coat. Wear a hat. Invest in a good pair of nonslip boots with wool socks. Mista MAYBE had two of those requirements, you didn’t know how well his designer boots would actually hold up on sidewalks that were more sheets of ice than they were concrete but evidently you were about to find out.

“Keep digging in that closet.” you commanded, tossing his clothes to the side with a flourish.

“This doesn’t work?” he asked, genuinely perplexed as he still held fast onto the shirt.

“No. Keep looking.”

Reluctantly the shirt was tossed to the side and he continued to dig in his closet.

“You know, when we step out of the airport it’s gonna be cold as shit in your crop top.” You told him.

“Psh, I doubt it’s gonna be that bad.” He scoffs, scratching the dark happy trail of curls on his stomach.

“No Mista, I’m serious. Going from the airport right to the Blue Lagoon isn’t going to be a cakewalk. You’ll be freezing after you shower all of the silica off and I want you to be bundled up. We still have to take the shuttle back home and then walk to our air bnb-…”

As if on cue, Mista shakes his head, laughing and trying to get you to lighten up as you rant and rave about the long walk to the air bnb, the fact that he’s never left Italy to go anywhere in his life, and especially the fact that Icelandic cold is a type of cold he can never imagine.

“Brrr...” he makes a big show of shivering in his piles of clothes as you throw yet another cut up cropped shirt at him. “If it’s so cold, I’m not gonna leave the room. We should just stay in... and get under the covers... maybe try to keep each other warm with our body heat-...”

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna sleep outside.” You grumble, “Keep looking!”

Now it was coming to the dregs of the closet, the clothes that have been there the longest and have seen the light of day only a few times in their short life. It was still the same batch of tops, cropped and totally inappropriate for the occasion, and even though you stepped in to look, it seemed like you would have to make a trip to the store to buy him a couple shirts after all.

Until you pulled out a nice little number: a green button up that you’d certainly never seen before.

“Hey!” You call out to Mista. “How about this one?”

Immediately he looks up, his usual unreadable facade softens as he wanders over.

“Woah!” Mista seems starstruck, smiling wide as he lifts the shirt, “This is an old one!”

“Shame you don’t wear them anymore.” You respond, “Look! It’s perfect for layering, I bet if you put it on now you’d still have room for your thermals…”

You trail off when you see him pull out another item from his closet: a purple beanie, well worn and loved from the state of it. Mista trembles, biting a plump lower lip and rubbing the fabric between his thumb and pointer fingers.

“Baby?”

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong…?”

For a moment he looked so soulful, lost, his eyes doing that odd thing where they seemed to darken, and yet the light catches a glitter, the bitterness of tears?

“Lotta memories in this shirt.” He mumbled, so softly you almost don’t hear him.

He doesn’t need prodding, you know from years of experience that Mista will tell you in his own time, and he doesn’t hesitate for a moment before the memories come spilling out of his mouth.

You see that bloodstain there? He went to prison with that shirt the first night they arrested him. They set the bail too high to afford, Mista often times didn’t have enough for food let alone bail on murder charges. Even though he had friends of all walks of life, none of them came to help when he was sitting there heart hammering in his chest. That little rip there? An officer’s ring got caught on a loose thread when they yanked away the belongings on his person. Did they use them for circumstantial evidence or something like that? Mista didn’t know, he was never well versed in law and didn’t bother to understand it even after Buccellati got him narrowly out of that one. The stories and the pain continue rapid fire, one after the other as his face begins to contort in sadness. The happiness and excitement at the prospect of finally leaving Italy on an honest to god vacation was diminished. Instead the pain returned, and it wasn’t long until you had him cradled in your arms, kissing his cheeks and not at all minding the cactus like scrape of his stubble.

All you focused on was his sadness, his hurt, because despite his ruthless demeanor and typical goofball tendencies Guido Mista was surprisingly still broken. He never talked about anything more than a few tantalizing tidbits about his past. Everyone always assumed your lover was easy going, albeit somewhat of a slob who only played at wearing fancy clothes.

They never really understood the real man underneath his well crafted facade.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure vento aureo #guido mista x reader #guido mista #jjba va #jjba #jjba x reader

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takerfoxx · 3 years

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Blood Island, Chapter 5

A gift given freely is not free. Only pay the price you know in advance.

Nuriel left the basket where it lay on the steps. Morning had brought both hunger and thirst in great quantities, but she was not so desperate as to trust the red-eyed monster’s benevolence.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting from the deck of the ship, but she was surprised by how little she found. At a cursory glance one might be forgiven for not realizing that a war had taken place at all. Here and there she found a dark feather stuck in the timbers or a dark stain of blood, but there were no mangled corpses, no shattered bones or shredded organs. Nuriel made her way to the rail and peeked over. Even the sand looked like it had been cleaned and swept.

Interesting.

Holding her aching stomach with one hand, Nuriel then turned her attention to the place that had started the whole mess. The captain’s quarters were no longer shut tight like she had left them. Rather, one door was lying ajar.

Nuriel considered leaving it like that. The last time she had poked around that place had proven to be a very bad idea. For all she knew a straggler of that flesh-hungry flock had taken up shelter in there.

But then, just leaving it there could be just as dangerous. Besides, given what a thorough job those snarling creatures had done chasing them off, she truly doubted any were left.

With a sigh, she limped her way over.

The musky scent of the bird’s nest hit her before she even reached the door. Nuriel wrinkled her nose and frowned. Yes, the stench was still there, but not nearly as bad as it had been the other day. In fact, it smelled much weaker. Huh.

Nuriel edged the loose door open with her foot and peeked inside. A moment later she opened it all the way.

The nest was gone. She hadn’t really gotten much of a good look at it the day before due to having all of her attention taken up by a face full of awful, but she did remember a disgusting mess of twigs, bones, and broken furniture, all of it streaked with droppings.

But now it was all gone. The mess had been cleared out, the destroyed furniture removed, and even the droppings had been cleared away, leaving a wide open space. It wasn’t exactly homey, but it wasn’t a nightmare either.

So, during what fitful moments of sleep she had managed to capture, her supposed “friend” had not only snuck a breakfast into the hold for her to find, but also thoroughly cleaned the place up, removing all trace that the birds had ever been there at all.

That scared her even more than the thought of sharing the island with a host of monsters.

All of the other monsters she had encountered were just monsters of the normal kind. They were dangerous and pitiless and hungry and spiteful, but in the end they were just animals, and if she managed to learn their habits then she could probably coexist quite peacefully with them, assuming that she didn’t upset anything like those birds again. But the red-eyed monster was completely different. It was intelligent. It had thoughts and feelings like a person. It had somehow wiped out an entire flock of flesh-eaters in a matter of minutes and cleaned up the evidence. It was leaving her notes. It was leaving her gifts. There was someone else on the island, and they knew that she was there. They had fixated on her.

There was nothing in the world more dangerous than the attention of another person.

Indifference was safe. To be ignored was to be given a chance. But to have a being of power pay attention to her was the worst possible scenario, especially when it was someone that she didn’t know anything about. Were they even a person at all? It was clear that they were probably something more than human.

Nuriel had never had much to do with the unseen world beyond her own. Oh, she was certain that it existed in one form or another, but so long as it was content to ignore her then she was going to extend the same courtesy. And if God was how the priests and reverends described him, then she was quite certain that he was more occupied with the comings and goings of kings, popes, and heroes to pay much attention to a lonesome girl scraping a living at the bottom of the barrel.

But that strategy was predicated on mutual disinterest. If there were gods, devils, ghosts, angels, fairies, and the rest of their otherworldly kin out there, then she was going to respect their privacy and stay out of their way.

But now she had attracted the attention of this one.

This wasn’t good.

…

Nuriel threw the whole basket of fruit over the side of the ship.

It was a rash decision, but she wasn’t going to accept the gift of some unknown devil. After all, wasn’t that what all the stories warned of, about not taking gifts of food from fairies, spirits, and other principalities? Just taking a single bite could cost Nuriel her soul!

However, as she stood panting at the port staring down at where all the fruit lay in the sand below, Nuriel came to realize two unfortunate drawbacks from her hastiness.

First, the monster would likely return, and it would see how its gift had been rejected.

Second, she was still famished. She had eaten nothing other than a few coconuts and those fruits taken from the monkeys, and in that time she had done a great deal of walking, running, and being terrified for her life. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, then it wouldn’t matter if she angered the red-eyed monster or not.

Nuriel closed her eyes and mentally counted down from ten. Then she did it again. She couldn’t afford to panic. Now was her most dangerous hour, and what she did next could save or damn her. She needed a plan.

Nuriel looked over to the captain’s quarters again. She hadn’t taken more than a cursory glance before, just enough to confirm that it had been cleaned out. Maybe something had been left behind, something she could use.

Keeping the doors wide open, Nuriel went back inside. The furniture was all gone, though given the sort of condition it had been in, that was probably for the best. The bunk was still set in the wall, sans mattress. And the windows were all smashed in, no doubt by the birds themselves to allow for access, which pretty much eliminated the room as a viable place for her to live unless she managed to find a way to board them up.

Regardless, there didn’t seem to be anything of value left. Seeing how she had yet to see any corpses, the surviving members of the crew had probably already taken everything that would be of use and abandoned the ship, probably only to meet some other fate deeper inland.

Or maybe they were still out there. Maybe she wasn’t alone on the island after all.

Nuriel wasn’t sure how she felt about that. After all, having actual grown men about would increase her chances of survival, sure, but that was presuming that they took her in no questions asked. Plus, a bunch of sailors marooned on a deadly island would no doubt be quick to find use for a young girl that had suddenly shown up in their midst, use that wasn’t all that preferable to what the monsters would do to her.

As the thought sent shivers down her spine, Nuriel found herself hoping that they were dead.

Of course, it was still possible that this was the red-eyed monster’s ship. Maybe after it had been run aground, it had found no further use for the crew and ate them. Now that was a cheery thought.

Sighing, Nuriel turned toward the door.

Then she paused. There was something there, something she had missed during her cursory scan.

It was a small wayfarer’s chest, only a foot in length and a third of that in height. It was old, its edges cracked and faded and metal bolts black with corrosion. But it was on one piece.

Nuriel swallowed. Another “gift,” one that required her to manually open it to see what was inside. Anything could pop out at her, like a serpent or some kind of explosive. She carefully cracked the lid open and looked inside.

Then the breath caught in her throat.

It was a sailor’s chest, filled with any number of useful tools. There was a small bronze spyglass, a compass, a large hunting knife, a small mallet, several spools of flax thread, a ticking pocket watch, and a small glass flask filled with something orange.

This was a far greater gift than the fruit had been. In here was just about everything she needed to survive.

But should she take it? She wasn’t sure. The fruit was one thing. Everyone agreed that food offered by otherworldly beings was not to be touched. This, however, was clearly of all human make, and had probably been left in the ship by the crew. More than likely her red-eyed friend had simply left it for her to find when it had cleared out the captain’s quarters. That ought to be all right, wouldn’t it?

Nuriel bit her lip. Her hands were shaking. Yes. Yes, this at least she should make use of. She would be foolish not to. After all, they were merely tools. And her soul would do her no good if she were dead.

That decided, Nuriel pillaged the chest.

…

The lagoon was unoccupied, save for the local herons wading around in the shallows. They stared at Nuriel as she stumbled over but didn’t retreat. That was fine. So long as they didn’t follow their nastier cousins’ example and start stabbing at her with those big, long beaks of theirs, then they were going to get along just fine.

As Nuriel stepped into the water, she noticed several quick movements beneath the surface. Fish. There was fish in the lagoon. That was what drew the herons. Now, there was a useful bit of information. Man did not live on fruit alone, or however the phrase went.

But that was something to be left for later. Nuriel headed for the falls, cupped her hands, thrust them beneath the curtain, and drank.

She was so thirsty that she expected to just drink and drink until her stomach burst at the seams, but the moment her throat was wetted, nausea twisted up from within her, doubling her over as she heaved.

There was little in her stomach to hurl back out, but by God it was going to try anyway, so Nuriel could do little more than remain bent over, her head partially in the waterfall’s spray, heaving nothing into the lagoon. She kept going and going until something spicy and disgusting came up. She spat it out and finally managed to straighten up.

The waterfall was splashing over her shoulder, splattering her face and soaking her hair. That was good. It hid the mess her face was. She sniffled, stepped out from the falls, and wiped away her blotchy eyes and stuffy nose.

Then she noticed the herons standing around, staring at her. Nuriel scowled at them. The hell were they looking at?

At least the sick feeling had left her. Sighing, Nuriel held her hands out and tried again.

Once her thirst had been quenched, she waded out from the lagoon and sat down on a rock in the shade of the willow trees.

Well, she had fresh water at least, and she had cleaned up a little. But she still needed food, oh she needed food. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, an ever-growing hole that demanded to be filled.

She…she could still go back and gather the fruits she had thrown out. They probably were safe, and it would do her no good to let them go to waste just to make a point.

No! That was how they got you! She had to remain strong! Besides, the island was probably full of food. She just needed to go find it.

As Nuriel sat there musing, she heard something chirp.

It sounded like a bird…and yet it didn’t. There was a bit of a growl to it, like the squeak of a rat. And it was near.

Nuriel leapt to her feet, only to instantly regret it when the cuts in her stomach flared up. Wincing, she pushed the pain away and looked.

There was a…thing nearby. It was about the size of a turkey but it looked more like a lizard, standing on two long, skinny legs in the sand, with a stiff tail that stuck of its back and two tiny arms clutched tight to its chest. Its neck was long and curving, and its head small and elongated, with tiny sharp teeth protruding from its grey snout. That being said, its body wasn’t scaly like most of the monsters she had seen, but was covered with a thin coat of fuzzy down of grey striped with black, with a red crest around the head.

The chirper seemed to be part lizard and part bird, combining aspects of both the lizardlike animals she had seen and the vicious birds that had attacked her. And Nuriel, who now deeply mistrusted anything with feathers, didn’t care for it at all.

The chirper gazed up at her, its large, yellow eyes wide and curious. It chirped again and hopped forward, its tiny claws kicking up sand.

Nuriel picked up a rock and threw it.

The chirper immediately scampered away, but stopped once it was out of throwing range. It turned to stare at her again.

What’s it thinking? Nuriel wondered. Was it simply curious about this strange, fleshy new animal? Or was it wondering if she was good to eat?

Nuriel didn’t feel like waiting to find out.

She charged, yelling and waving her hands about like a madwoman.

This finally seemed to convince the bird/lizard that the odd pink stranger wasn’t worth investigating, and it ran off.

Nuriel warily eyed it as it fled across the beach. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until it had left completely, and even then she didn’t trust it to not start shadowing her steps, waiting for the opportunity to dart it and see how she tasted.

Then, to her horror, she heard another chirp, one that hadn’t come from the chirper. This was followed by another, and then another, and then another.

A whole flock of the things came running across the beach to greet their comrade. Nuriel hastily bolted behind a large tree, silently praying that the one she had driven off wouldn’t inform the others that something soft and potentially tasty was mucking about.

Trembling, she peeked out. There had to be at least twenty of the little squeaking things. Maybe even thirty. Forty? It was hard to tell, more kept running out of the shadows. They were all gathered in a loose circle, chittering and squeaking at one another, some of them bouncing up and down while others frantically bobbed their heads. They were clearly communicating…something.

And that something was probably news of an easy meal, a strange, hairless monkey with soft pink skin.

Nuriel slid St. George from his sheath.

However, the chirpers didn’t look toward her. Rather, they were moving away from Nuriel’s hiding spot, back toward the Carmilla’s Fancy. Well, good! Let them! If they wanted the boat, they were more than welcome to it! Let them deal with the red-eyed monster!

Run. Now. While they’re distracted.

It would be the smart thing. Nothing was ever gained by following potential danger, only from moving away from it. She had gotten a lucky break. She would be a fool to waste it.

Forget it, girl, Father’s husky voice growled. Let it be.

Nodding, Nuriel stood up and started to move away from the boat. She could find some other means of shelter.

Then she stopped. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder, to where the chirpers were excitedly rushing after…something.

Something that she kind of wanted to know about.

Damn your curiosity, girl! It’ll get you killed!

True, true. But still…

Don’t do it, Nuriel. Just go.

Nuriel did not go. In fact she found herself turning back around. From she started moving the opposite direction that she ought to be going, back towards the boat, back to see what the chirpers were up to.

Suit yourself, girl. But don’t come crying to me when you show up here in Hell.

Nuriel followed the tiny, birdlike tracks in the sand and the sound of the chirps. It didn’t take long to catch up to the flock. The chirpers had all gathered beneath the Carmilla’s Fancy and were fast at work.

However, as she drew near Nuriel came to realize that they had no interest in the ship itself. Rather, the reason for their excitement was what lay below, in the sand.

The basket of fruit Nuriel had hurled over the side was still there, and the chirpers were busy dislodging all the fruit from the depressions they had made in the sand. Once they had gotten all the pieces loose, they pushed against them with their long hands, rolling them across the beach. Each piece of fruit had anywhere from three to six chirpers working together to move them along.

Well now. That was…strange.

Nuriel started to relax a little. Maybe the chirpers were fruit eaters? If so, then she had nothing to worry about.

Maybe.

Still, why were they pushing the fruit along instead of cutting them open and eating them where they found them? Maybe they had a nest nearby, with little baby chirpers to feed?

Now even more curious, Nuriel continued to follow the flock, maintaining a healthy distance while keeping them in sight. They led on a winding path of sand, one that wound between several hills that looked to be a high tide away from becoming islands, until they were moving around the cliffs.

As they rounded a corner, Nuriel came into another bit of good luck. The cliffs opened into a large grassy alcove, one that contained several gnarled trees that bore the same lumpy red fruit that the red-eyed monster had included in her fruit basket.

Nuriel almost wept with joy. A reliable food source, one that wasn’t guarded by territorial monkeys! All right, maybe she wasn’t doomed after all.

Unfortunately, there were other creatures about. She saw several other chirpers emerge from the grass, all of them pushing more of the red fruits along.

Hmmm, that could be a problem. If they fed on fruit, then they might object to her taking a few pieces for herself. Still, seeing how they weren’t sticking around to feast, it could be that they just visited the grove to grab a few choice pieces and bring them back to their nest. Maybe she could snatch a few bits when they were done.

The new fruit-pushing chirpers joined the ones she had been following, and they continue on, a bizarre procession of bird/lizard creatures, just rolling large pieces of fruit across a beach. If her life wasn’t still in mortal danger Nuriel might have found the sight hilarious.

The fruit grove was a lucky find, but Nuriel continued to shadow the flock. Maybe if she found out where the nest was, she could make sure to avoid it.

The flock rounded another corner of the cliff, and suddenly Nuriel found herself looking at a slope, one that led all the way back to the top.

And the chirpers continued on, now pushing the fruit up the slope.

Well. Damn. The cliff wasn’t nearly as high around here, and the slope wasn’t exactly all that steep, but the chirpers were still very small, and some of the fruits were larger than they were. Still they endeavored on, taking it slow and working together to get all the pieces up the slope. It was the damnedest thing Nuriel had ever seen, and there were now a lot of competition for that title.

As the chirpers finally neared the top, Nuriel caught sight of a tree with many low-hanging branches at the top of the cliffs, near the edge that overlooked the sea. She hurried over to the rough wall on the side of the slope and climbed up.

Here, the top of the cliff was covered with what looked like a divided field, one made up of two kinds of grass. One was shorter and greener, while the other was tall, dry, and yellow. The shorter green grass took up about two thirds of the field, while the tall yellow grass held the rest, pressing up against the jungle about half a mile off.

Nuriel hurried over to the tree and climbed up about a third of the length. Pulling out her new spyglass, she took a gander at her surroundings.

There was a herd of animals in the green part of the field, great, humped beasts with greenish-yellow skin and long faces with humped noses. They were big, easily over three times the size of a fully grown horse. Yet they didn’t seem to be aggressive. They were lowing about, lazily grazing. A pair of calves bounded around the adults, hoarsely crying out and chasing each other around. Each one was large enough to Nuriel to ride on.

As for the chirpers, they were almost swallowed up even by the shorter grass, though Nuriel could still track their movements by where the fruit rustled as they were pushed forward. Nuriel watched as the chirpers continued to move their bounty forward, heading toward the tall grass.

And then, right at the edge where the two grasses met, they just…stopped.

The fruit was all pushed together into a pile, one that rose up over the top of the grass. It looked almost like an offering.

The chirpers swarmed over the fruit, and for a moment Nuriel thought that they were finally going to feast. But no, none of them actually bit into the fruit. Instead they scratched at them with the tiny claws on their hands and feet, making them bleed. Red, yellow, green, and clear juice dribbled down the sides of the pile.

And then the chirpers simply vanished, darting away from the pile of wounded fruit to disappear into the grass.

Nuriel still had no idea what was going on, but now she was fascinated. Something was definitely up, and she had to know what it was.

Keeping absolutely still, Nuriel remained sitting in the crux of the tree’s branches, keeping an eye on the pile of fruit. It was then that she noticed that the herd of grazing animals were keeping a healthy distance between themselves and the tall yellow grass.

Except two.

The two calves were heading over to the pile of fruit, no doubt following the smell of the juice. The adults hadn’t noticed that their young had wandered off, and continued their contented grazing.

Nuriel felt a chill sweep down her spine. She was starting to put things together in her head. The pile of fruit wasn’t intended to feed the chirpers’ young, nor was it an offering.

It was bait.

The calves had reached the pile. They nudged the fruit with their snouts, their fat, red tongues coming out to lick the juice. One of them took an investigative bite. Finding it good, they began to eat.

Nuriel climbed a little higher to get a better look. Something was happening. She couldn’t see anything in the tall yellow grass, but she was certain that there was something in it.

Then she saw it. Movement. The tall yellow grass was swaying back and forth. Could it be the wind? No. There was only a gentle breeze, and it was blowing in from the coast, and the tall yellow grass wasn’t bending with it.

Heedless of their peril, the two calves continued to feast.

Suddenly one of the adult beasts lowed loudly in alarm. One of the calves raised its head to blink stupidly at its herd.

Another one of the beasts bellowed, and three of them broke off from the rest of the herd, rushing over to the calves, who continued to just stare at them. But Nuriel wasn’t focused on them. She was watching the tall yellow grass.

Despite this, when the attack came, it came so suddenly that Nuriel almost dropped out of the tree in surprise.

A high-pitched shriek filled the air. The calves leapt in response, but it was too late. Something hit them, something that was the same dry yellow as the tall grass.

Nuriel watched in morbid fascination as the predators swarmed over the two poor calves. It was hard to figure out how many of them there were, or what they even looked like, but they weren’t chirpers, that much was for certain. They darted in and out, striking again and again, until the calves’ greenish-yellow skin became streaked with red, their hides bleeding as readily as the fruit had.

The charging adults came to a stop. The calves screamed for help, but their parents didn’t answer. They could already tell that it was too late.

One of the calves tried to push itself out of the attack only to succumb to its wounds. With one final scream it collapsed. As it did, one of the predators climbed onto its back, and Nuriel was finally able to get a good look.

It was yet another bird monster, though this one had more in common with the chirpers than it did with the actual birds that had attacked her the previous night: same bullet-shaped body, same stiff tail, same S-curved neck, same nimble claws instead of wings, and same long head ending in a toothy alligator snout rather than a beak. However, it was much, much bigger, standing nearly the same height as a fully grown man, and longer than two horses from snout to the tip of its tail. And proportion-wise, it was much thicker than the chirpers: more heavily muscled legs, longer claws, bigger neck, and bigger head. Its body was covered in a short coat of pale yellow feathers with black stripes, and though she couldn’t really make out its eyes even with the spyglass, they seemed to have a distinctly golden hue.

But there was something else special about it, something she could just barely make out. Nuriel focused the spyglass on the creature’s feet, which were digging into the fallen calf’s back. They also bent forward like a chicken’s, though obvious were much more densely muscled. But while the tips of the toes ended in sharp, dragonlike claws as expected, each foot had a special claw on the middle toe, one that was much larger than the others, curving up like a scythe.

As Nuriel watched, the creature leaned forward to grip with its hands, and it began scraping its feet across the calf’s back, its scythe-claws slicing through the hide like a butcher’s knife.

Nuriel swallowed. Butchers. Yes, that was a good name for it.

Both of the calves had mercifully expired, and the butchers set to work, methodically slicing off chunks of meat and gulping them down. Now that the killing had ended and the feeding began, Nuriel was able to get a better count of the things. There seemed to be around six…no, eight. There was eight. Five of them were about the same size as the one she had seen perched on the calf’s back, but three others were much smaller, probably young juveniles.

Despite the savagery of the kill, there did seem to be an odd orderliness about how they fed. The adults went first, slicing off great bloody chunks and gulping them down. But before the carcasses were even done, they moved back, allowing the juveniles to move in. They weren’t as precise as the adults with their slicing, but they made up for it with enthusiasm. Somehow two of them ended up with their jaws clamped down on either side of the same strip of meat, and rather than let go, they began to fight over it, tugging back fiercely while trying to jerk it free. Irritated, one of the adults walked over and swatted one of the fighting juveniles, making it release its end.

Further down the field, the adult grass-eaters looked on as their young were devoured. Then they slowly turned to walk back to the herd, writing the two calves off for their foolishness.

The butchers fed well but fed quickly, filling their bellies. When it seemed as if they had all eaten their fill, three of the adults moved forward. It was then that Nuriel noted that these three were different from the others, in that each of their snouts had a bright red dot on the end, and the pattern of black stripes was more wavy. They each cut off several slices of meat and lifted them with their mouths, but they didn’t eat them. Their prizes now carefully held, the whole pack left, disappearing quickly into the tall yellow grass, leaving the bloody carcasses behind.

When they were gone, the chirpers reappeared.

They seemed to come out of nowhere, swarming over the bloody bones, feasting on what bits of flesh that the butchers had left behind. As they did, Nuriel came to understand the full significance of what she had just seen.

Even with their numbers, the chirpers were obviously too small and weak to take down one of the larger animals. But somewhere and somehow, they had learned to get around that, to use the fruit to lure dumber animals away from the herd and nearer to the butchers’ hunting grounds, and in return the butchers would leave them the scraps. How such a relationship had formed, and how the chirpers had even learned to do such a thing, Nuriel couldn’t begin to guess, but she applauded the tiny creatures for their ingenuity.

As for herself, Nuriel’s own curiosity had taught her two very important things. First, the location of a fruit grove, one where she could harvest food on her own.

The second was even more important: stay well away from long grass.

At any rate, Nuriel had seen enough, and with the chirpers busy with their own feast, the grove was unattended. She quietly slipped down from the branches of the tree and headed back down the slope. As she ran, an idea was starting to form in her head, an idea given to her by the chirpers. They were tiny, defenseless creatures in a world of monsters several times their height, and yet they had learned to use what they had available to gain an advantage with no risk to themselves.

Maybe she could do the same.

…

The sun was finally setting. Nuriel had survived another day.

And not only had she survived, she now had a mission. She was going to catch her “friend” in the act.

She was positioned on top of a small, sheer-sided hill that sat upon one of the many tiny islands that dotted the main island’s outskirts. The top of the hill was covered with thick grass, and she was lying on her side, watching the Carmilla’s Fancy through her new spyglass.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her belly was still healing, and lying flat upon it hurt too much, hence why she was on her side instead, which still ached whenever she shifted her weight. Thankfully the night was warm and the sky clear. If it were to start raining again then she might as well just throw herself into the possession of the red-eyed monster.

The Carmilla’s Fancy sat empty and abandoned. Nuriel had no idea how long it would take for the red-eyed monster to return, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be back. She just had to remain alert and be ready when it arrived.

Nuriel checked the clifftops. She caught sight of a couple of those dome-headed assholes knocking their heads together like territorial mountain goats, but not much else. Presumably most of the monsters lived further in.

The night insects had already started to sing. Good. If they stopped, it was a sure indicator that her visitor had arrived.

Then, somewhere far off but not far off enough for her comfort, the Dragon roared.

Nuriel winced. Of all of the island’s mysteries, that was one that she hoped to never uncover. Let it reign over its realm however it saw fit. She was content to stay on the outskirts, well away from its jaws.

It was getting darker, but the sun had not fully set. Nuriel shifted her weight, carefully scratched her stomach in between the cuts, and settled herself down.

Time passed. The sun dipped lower.

Nuriel yawned. Damn it. Her sleep the previous night had been anything but complete, and now that she was lying still on soft grass, it was really catching up to her.

She shook her head. No, she couldn’t afford to doze off. She needed to stay awake and aware.

But the night was so warm, and the grass so soft…

Blinking, she reached up and gave her ravaged ear a squeeze.

The sharp pain surged through her, chasing away any thought of sleep. She winced, but hey, it had done the trick.

Then the insects stopped singing.

Nuriel held her breath. She looked this way and that, and then hurriedly snapped her spyglass back into focus.

The deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy was still empty.

Nuriel licked her dry lips. Come on, where was it? It was near. She could practically feel it. Every hair on her body was on edge, her skin prickled with goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

She checked the cliffs in hopes of seeing it climb down. No, nothing. The only thing moving were the leaves of whatever plants were tough enough to take root in the crevices along the stone wall.

The beaches were also empty. There was…wait! Something was moving, something big was striding across the sands near the lagoon and…no, wait, damn it. It was just a heron.

Nuriel’s face twisted up with frustration. Where the hell was it? It had to be close. It was the right place, the right time of night, the right everything! Wasn’t it at least curious to see if she had left a note in return?

Then, as she swept her gaze over the brig’s deck for what felt like the hundredth time, she heard a feminine sigh of exasperation, coming from directly behind her.

Nuriel gasped and spun around. This proved to be a poor decision, as the sudden movement sent lances of pain across her stomach, causing her to double over. She pushed it from her mind and forced herself to look.

There was nothing there.

The sound of Nuriel’s heartbeat pounded away loudly in her ears. She had heard it, hadn’t she? She was sure of it! It had been right behind her?

But now there was nothing there at all.

As Nuriel surveyed the beach, she then heard what sounded very much like a young girl’s giggle, coming from somewhere close by.

Nuriel came very close to pissing her own trousers.

Where was it? It was near, It had to be! It was near, and…

…it knew where she was.

Nuriel suddenly felt very exposed. Not that the Santa Camarilla would have provided much in the way of shelter should the red-eyed monster decide to come for her, but it had to be better than where she was!

Nuriel slowly sat up straight and listened. The insects still weren’t singing, nor were there any animals calling out. It was still there.

Somewhere.

Lifting her spyglass back to her eye, she frantically searched the shadows, looking for any glint of red.

Then her spyglass slipped through her fingers as she clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

There was someone standing on the deck of the ship.

It was again too dark for her to make out any features, but there was undoubtedly a woman there, over by the remains of the mast. Nuriel snatched up her spyglass, but her fingers were shaking so badly that it fumbled in her grasp and fell back into the grass. Mentally cursing, she grabbed it with both hands and brought it up to her eye.

The deck was empty again. There was no one there.

Nuriel let out a moan of despair. No, no, no, no! It had been right there! She had been looking right at it! Where did it go?

It knew you were there. You only saw it because it let you.

As Nuriel frantically searched every square foot of her surroundings, she felt her gut twist and sour. Despite all of her careful preparations, she had been found out, and easily at that.

She ought to run. She ought to run…where? She was exposed, out in the open, and if it wanted to run her down it could do so effortlessly. Hell, it probably had been standing right behind her! That was that sigh and laugh were all about. It had found her quite easily and thought that her attempts to expose it were amusing! And it somehow then crossed the distance between the hill and the ship in mere seconds just so she could see it!

Even if she did run, where would she go? If she went too far, she risked running into the various night predators that roamed the island. The birds could find her again. Maybe even ghosts. After everything that had happened, she would not be surprised to find that the island truly was haunted! Hell, the red-eyed monster probably was some kind of dead, maybe the soul of one of the long-dead natives, or perhaps someone from the Santa Camarilla. That would explain why it was hanging around the ship!

Tears welled up in her eyes. Sniffing, she wiped them away with the back of her wrist. She hated feeling trapped. Being all alone on an island of monsters was one thing, but being trapped was so much worse. She would have rather that she had drowned.

You’re alive, reprimanded the memory of Papa’s voice.

Yes, but-

So stop your whimpering. You’re in trouble, but you’re alive. Every problem has a solution. Figure this one out.

Nodding, she let out a long, shaky breath. Papa was right. Nothing good would come from sitting around crying. Even if she couldn’t flee, she still had to act. She had to do something!

Unfortunately, the only real something was to return to the ship.

But she couldn’t! The red-eyed monster might still be there! It could be waiting for her!

Then, as Nuriel sat torn between possibly walking right into the devil’s lair and complete inaction, the night came back to life.

The insects began to sing again, filling the silence with their song. One of the domeheads showed up on the top of the cliff and started chuffing and grunting as it clawed at the ground for some reason. Night birds called to each other from across the jungle.

Nuriel slowly breathed out. That was as good an indication as any that the red-eyed monster was gone. Not a perfect one, true, but it was as good as she was going to get.

One hand holding onto her spyglass and the other clutching Saint George, Nuriel stood up.

…

If sitting alone on the top of that grassy hill had left Nuriel feeling exposed, then climbing back onto the deck of the Carmilla’s Fancy left her feeling outright naked. Already she had been attacked by that fucking bird, besieged by its friends, and had been visited by ghostly apparition that could apparently cross great distances within the blink of an eye and silence the night with its mere presence.

She pulled herself up from the branch onto the ship, only to wince in regret when it sent a flash of pain across the cuts in her stomach. She shook her head to clear it and tried again, this time more carefully.

The deck just seemed so much unsettling at night. The sky was clear, so there was plenty of moonlight shining down, but that just made the shadows from the masts reach longer. It reminded her of monoliths in a cemetery, monuments to the dead.

Nuriel glanced around. Well, nothing was jumping out at her, which was a welcome change. Still, she kept her steps light as she crossed the deck to inspect the place.

She didn’t have to look long.

Another basket of fruit was waiting for her; the same basket in fact, recovered from where she had thrown it. And from the look of things it had been filled with the same kind of fruit as before, and in the same quantities.

What was more, there was a note lying on top of it.

Nuriel was shaking as she picked it up and held it to the moonlight.

Nice try! it read in the same elegant hand as before. Next to it was a drawing of a girl’s face, one with long dark hair. One eye was winking and her tongue was playfully sticking out of one side of her mouth.

Below it in one corner of the paper was a rough sketch of a boat sitting in a bunch of tree limbs. Across from it in the other corner was a hump, on which a figure was lying on its side, pointing a spyglass at the boat.

The sketches were rough and obviously done quickly, but the fact remained that they had been done, while she had been watching the ship and entirely without her knowledge! The red-eyed monster had taken note of her spying, written out an amusing response complete with illustrations, retrieved the basket where it lay, filled it with fruit, and put both the basket and the note in place, all with her only catching the quickest of glances of it, and that had probably been intentional!

She had no chance of winning against such a foe. This wasn’t like the monkeys or the monsters that inhabited the island, which when all was said and done they were still only animals. This was a demon. Monsters she could handle, but what could one do against a demon?

Sweet Christ, what was she going to do?

#blood island #my writing #original writing #pirates #vampires #dinosaurs

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livesincerely · 3 years

Note

I’m very sorry for all of the asks Madam Sincerely, but I’ve just recently gone on a binge of all of your fics, and I don’t think there’s any more questions on the ask game, so can I ask here: Do you have any ideas on future works that you haven’t started writing yet? If so, can we hear some? I was scrolling back through your tumblr to cheer myself up yesterday (my country’s gone back into lockdown) and saw you mentioned a few ideas, like the one in the SubDavey ask? Sorry, just curious <3

No need to be sorry, the asks are lovely! I’m sorry to hear that things have shut down where you are, I’m sure that’s incredibly difficult. Sending all the positivity your way 💕💜✨⭐️💕💜

The Domestic au is the QUEEN of inspiring random story ideas and dangling plot threads. There’s several floating around in the domestic au/ideas for later tags but if I was going to narrow it down to a handful of ideas that have a good chance of existing in the near-ish future, then I’d say 1) the Jack and Davey preparing for college fic 2) the Davey picking Race & Charlie up from the elementary school because Jack’s sick fic 3) the Race and Charlie needing a cuddle pile fic and 4) the bedsharing fic where Jack is struggling under the pressure of fighting for custody and needs some comfort.

I’m just in the mood for some stuff set in the high school/college era of that au, probably because ‘it’s beginning to look a lot like...’ has got me in the mindset. All of these would be one shots, just showing more landmarks in the boys’ history since ‘it’s so easy (too easy) to love you’ sort of just drops you right into the ocean as far as circumstances lol. And also, there’s a lot of family building that goes on before Jack and Davey get together that I’m very interested in exploring! I think Race describes it as ‘eight years of waiting for Jack and Davey to get their shit together?’ Yeah. So definitely lots of domestic au in the upcoming year.

I’ve talked the tiniest bit about ‘there’s you and me (and everyone else)’ and ‘a few letters off’ but after doing the first bits & bobs for each of them, I got distracted by other projects as I so often do, 😅 so I’ll talk about them here. Actually, I’m not even sure if these had working title ideas last time I mentioned them here, it’s been that long lol.

Anyway, these two fics are very similar, but just different enough to need separate fics. The first is a modern, high school au that features different examples of Jack and Davey being the accidental co-parents of their friend group while obliviously pining for each other. I’m thinking it will be individual scenes tied together by the theme; I’ll put the original idea post here and the bits & bobs here. Besides what I already talked about, I also think I want to include a scene where Albert and Crutchie are going on a first date (a pairing that is absolutely inspired by @agentsnickers, you’ve converted me) and they both separately approach Jack and Davey for advice on what to do/wear/etc. Like, a total ‘our-kids-on-their-first-date-get-the-camera’ type thing, plus Jack being an overprotective older brother and giving Charlie a curfew because he’s ridiculous.

“Be home by nine,” Jack says, a little surly. “Nine?” Davey asks, incredulous “They’re seventeen not seven. Eleven o’clock.” “I’m supposed to trust Albert with my baby brother at eleven o’clock?” Jack asks, scowling. “That’s just asking for trouble.” He says trouble in the sort of ominous tone other people reserve for imminent nuclear meltdown or battlefield heart surgery. “What do you think Albert’s gonna do, stick his hand down Crutchie’s pants the moment they walk out the door?” Davey says with a scoff. “It’s Albert.” “Ten-thirty,” Jack eventually offers. Davey nods, then looks back at Albert and Crutchie, who have been following this exchange like a tennis match and are both now a little pink in the face, and shrugs, trying to convey something like ‘pick your battles’. “Great!” Crutchie squeaks out, sounding absolutely mortified. “Great, ten-thirty it is, oh my god, Albert let’s go before theykeeptalking—“

Oh! And I want Davey to full name someone in the ultimate you-fucked-up-and-mom-is-pissed move. I even went and made full names for everyone just to be prepared 😊

Then, ‘a few letters off’ is the Jack-and-Davey’s-friends’-perspectives-on-the-nonsense-that-is-Javid fic. I’ve basically finished the Buttons scene, but I’m also hoping to include one each from the povs of Katherine, Crutchie, Racetrack, Spot, and Albert at minimum.

I’m thinking:

Katherine - catching Jack painting/drawing Davey while Jack tries to cover and deny

Spot - The aftermath of him and Jack getting into a fight with the DeLancey’s and him watching Davey fluttered worriedly around Jack, scolding him for being a reckless but still dabbing carefully at his injuries.

Racetrack - comes home to find Jack and Davey watching a movie, except that Jack’s fallen asleep halfway through, head in Davey’s lap, and Davey is adamant that Race doesn’t wake him.

Crutchie - watching Javid eating lunch together and noting how totally domestic it is: stealing food from each other’s plates, Jack gives Davey his extra fruit cup then swipes his milk carton and Davey doesn’t even say anything because it’s so routine, and how they’re able to move in and around each other effortlessly while eating and holding two separate conversations.

Albert - watching Jack and Davey flirt/bicker from the backseat on the drive to school.

And then some sort of culminating/getting together scene at the end.

There’s the infamous quarantine fic, which I waxed poetically about for all of two seconds and then never expanded on. (Here and here) The reason I haven’t done anything with it yet is because it will be a multi-chapter and between tie fic, take a shot fic, and now the domestic au holiday fic, I’m really at my limit for multi chapters at the mo’. But I do still want to do something with this once I finish tie fic and DAUHF, as take a shot knows no bounds and cannot be quantified by earthly means.

Then, as for the idea I mentioned in the sub!Davey post.... I think I’m going to be able to repurpose the general scenario/concept I was imagining for the final, E rated chapter of Tie Fic, so I don’t think the original idea will ever make it to a final cut. (I won’t say never because anything’s possible lol) But, I’m happy to put the bit I have here! Things don’t quite get E rated in this excerpt, but they’re definitely a solid M. This would’ve been an addition to the Tease series and I think this has been sitting in my drafts for almost as long as the letterman fic, and it hasn’t been edited in at least two years, so yeah 😅

00000

“I really wanted to work on my thesis proposal, that’s why I was in the library most of the day,” Davey says suddenly, pushing Jack down against the couch and straddling him, his voice light and conversational. “It was nice of you to check on me so often, though I’m sorry I wasn’t very good company. I was trying to stay focused, you know how it is.”

Davey looks at Jack expectantly, making it clear that he’s waiting for a response. Jack stares up at him, his expression equal parts confused, transfixed, and aroused. He swallows heavily, then nods.

“But I did warn you, didn’t I?” Davey continues, bracing himself with a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders, rolling their hips together as he presses closer. “That I had a lot of work to do? That this paper is really important to me and that I wanted to get a head start? That I really needed to focus and didn’t want to be distracted? I distinctly remember warning you about all of that.”

He nuzzles down the curve of Jack’s jaw, then nips at his neck. “But you didn’t listen,” he says against Jack’s pulse point. Davey smooths his hands down Jack’s chest, then back up to his throat, tugging at his collar. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt.

“In fact, one could argue that you did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do,” Davey says, working his way slowly through the buttons on Jack’s shirt. “Trailing your fingers across my arm, rubbing a thumb across the nape of my neck, sneaking a hand up my shirt… I would call all of that distracting, wouldn’t you?” He finishes unbuttoning Jack’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, admiring his muscular chest.

Davey glances up sharply. “Answer me, Jack.”

Jack blinks himself out of his daze. “I-uh, what did you ask me?”

Davey leans forward. They’re so close that he can feel the warmth of Jack’s breath against his face. “I asked you,” he starts, wrapping his arms loosely around Jack’s neck, “whether you thought constantly caressing someone while they were trying to work would distract them.”

It takes Jack a long moment to respond. “Yeah.”

One of Davey’s hands trails up the back of Jack’s neck. “You agree that doing something like that would be impossibly flustering?” Davey asks in that same, unaffected voice—as if clarifying a statement for a news article—threading his fingers through Jack’s hair. “That it would thoroughly divert that person’s focus? That it would leave them feeling unbalanced, frustrated, and downright agitated?

He leans impossibly closer, so close that the barest tilt of his head would press their lips together. “That it would drive them so crazy that all they could think about was how desperately they needed to be fucked,” Davey growls out, and his voice low and rough.

“Christ, Davey,” Jack groans, his pupils blown wide. He leans up to kiss him, but Davey anticipates this and tugs sharply on his hair, holding him in place. “So, we’re in agreement?” Davey continues in his casual voice, letting go of the dark strands and pulling away slightly, ignoring Jack’s groan of disappointment, “that all of those actions would, in fact, be extremely distracting.”

He trails his hands lovingly across Jack’s shoulders and down his chest, his movements unhurried. He licks a hot stripe up Jack’s neck, then sucks hard at a spot just under his jaw.

“Considering both of these facts, I can only conclude that you were distracting me on purpose.” Davey presses a line of kisses along Jack’s collar bone, delighting in the moan that tears its way out of Jack’s throat. He scratches lightly at the tanned skin of Jack’s chest, then sucks a bruise just above his collarbone.

“Were you doing it on purpose, Jack?” he asks, then before Jack can answer, rolls his hips hard and slow against Jack’s, grinding their erections together. Jack’s hands spasm, then tighten, clenching hard against Davey’s sides. Davey continues his ministrations, circling his hips against Jack’s, teasing him with the friction. Then, just as Jack seems to catch on to Davey’s rhythm and starts to move with him, Davey stills. “Were you teasing me on purpose?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his throat working furiously. “I-yeah.”

David hums in acknowledgment, then continues his slow perusal of his boyfriend’s chest. He nibbles lightly across his sternum, then draws the flat of his tongue across one of one Jack’s nipples. Jack arches into him but Davey pushes him back, using his leverage to hold Jack down against the couch cushions. He sits up, admiring the mess he’s made of Jack’s neck and torso.

Jack stares up at him, chest heaving, waiting for Davey’s next move.

....

Davey runs his hands down Jack’s stomach and between his hips, fingers brushing gently against the front of Jack’s jeans.

Jack lets out a guttural noise. “God, Davey, let me—“ he starts, one hand slipping back to kneed at Davey’s ass, the other inching towards Davey’s fly.

“No,” Davey says firmly, moving Jack’s hands back to his waist. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

00000

That’s all that comes to mind at the moment! Oh, and the Brooklyn Davey AU idea, but I got a different ask about that, so I’ll just link it. (Here)

@saysflora

#*editor's note #*ask #ideas for later #*the writing desk #this was a lot but hopefully it was interesting!#thank you for the ask #blessings and good vibes on your house

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madbucker · 4 years

Text

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Eventual Daryl Dixon x female reader.

IV.

Season 1.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: Y/N follows Rick to Atlanta. They find a group willing to help them.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death, mentions of domestic abuse. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 3.6k.

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! Had this in my drafts for a few days. I hope you like it! ♥

Gif’s not mine.

“Morgan…” You couldn’t find the right words to express how grateful you were. You looked at Morgan and Duane with conflict showing in your eyes: you were happy and hopeful that you were going to find your sister in Atlanta, but you couldn’t ignore the anguish, the heartbreak of leaving them. Every second counted, and waiting a few more days could lower your chances of finding her alive, but those two had saved your life. What if leaving them lowered their chances of making it to safety? Even if you weren’t suited for survival, having someone else around could make a difference.

“Go, this is your chance. We’ll meet again, soon.” Morgan took over as if he knew how much you were feeling at the moment, embracing you not only with his arms but with his words.

Yeah, we’ll meet again, you thought. Your mind softened for a couple of seconds when you felt another set of arms hugging you tight from your side. You had only known them for a couple of weeks, but that was a lot when the world was the way it was. Weeks felt like a lifetime for you, and so it did for the men that had taken you in.

Men, because Duane was far from being a boy. It was sad, he deserved to live the rest of his childhood like you did, or like his father did. He had to, forcefully, become brave, strong, and even cold sometimes.

“We’ll meet again in Atlanta, or somewhere else, I don’t know, but we will.” You said as they let go of you. All you could do after that was forcing yourself to smile reassuringly.

“Now go and help Rick find his family too.”

“You can't leave me here... Not like this. You can't, man. It's not human. Come on, don't do this!”

Merle’s voice was faint as you ran down the stairs with everyone else. Their names were blurry in your head, the adrenaline making you forget about everything but the fact that your life was hanging by a thread.

But Merle, oh, you would never forget his name.

He was the type of person you were afraid to run into, back when you were alone. You were glad Rick was there to put him in his place, even though that hadn’t shut him up.

Finding other survivors had its downside, you guessed, but not all of it was bad.

They told you that they had a camp, that they had people. The blonde woman’s younger sister was one of them, and they said they had children, too. Maybe it was too good to be true, but since Atlanta was overrun by walkers, then that was the best you had.

Walkers, that’s what they’d named them: because that’s all they did, they were the empty carcasses of what used to be a beautifully complex human being. They just walked, and bit, and killed.

You feared your sister was one of those, roaming around the city. That thought hadn’t left your mind since you first realized how bad things had gotten there. What if she had gone to Atlanta, seeking shelter, but found her death instead? You knew you had to get out of the situation you were in before you made any decisions. The camp didn’t seem like a bad idea, you could stay there temporarily and visit the city a few more times until you found her. Maybe even bring back supplies to thank everyone for letting you stay. That was if you made it, survival was still something new, something you had to train for.

Safety in numbers felt like your best shot.

You didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings until you got inside the loading dock, your eyes were fixed in what was in front of you. A walker could’ve gotten you from your sides and you wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. You were lucky enough to get to safety.

So was T-Dog, who at last second caught up with you, right before you heard Rick banging on the door.

You sat next to the two women, hugging yourself with your trembling arms. You were agitated and couldn’t catch enough air to say what you knew everyone else wanted to say.

“Hey, T-Dog,” you moaned once you could stabilize your breath, “where’s Merle?” you almost barked the asshole’s name. He looked down to his knees.

“I dropped the damn key,” he growled, angry and ashamed.

“Well, shit.” You whispered, making sure nobody heard. Merle had it coming, that was clear, but T-Dog didn’t have to carry with the guilt of leaving a man to die just because he happened to be… the way he was.

“Best not to dwell on it. Merle got left behind. Nobody's gonna be sad he didn't come back... except, maybe, Daryl.” One of the men commented. You lifted your head and locked your eyes with his, your heart starting to beat faster once again. If for some reason Merle had someone who cared for him, then they had to love him. That was a difficult man, the one you had met back there… It must've taken a huge amount of patience and devotion to want him around for more than a few hours.

If he actually had someone who cared for him, you were completely fucked.

“Daryl?” you hesitated to ask, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“His brother.”

The scenario was so beautiful it was truly unbelievable. You were stepping out of the dock when Rick’s drowned cry caught your attention. Looking forward, you saw a kid running to hug him, followed by a woman. You quickly figured out Rick had found his family, making your heart flutter. In the shithole you were in, you figured those things were a sight to be seen, something that didn’t happen every day, so you let yourself enjoy the view.

You knew Rick’s son was young, even younger than Duane, but seeing him there made you realize how fragile he was.

Innocent, scared, too little to live through those times. And for a second, you forgot that a few hours before you thought you had no purpose left. Not finding your sister, seeing how one of the biggest cities in the country had fallen… you had started to think that there was no use in trying so hard to survive when you had nobody left.

But there he was, Carl, and there were more kids in the camp. Maybe you could do more than just survive. Trying to help them live their lives with as little worry and concern as possible was better than giving up.

“Why on earth did you leave the apartment?!” A loud, high pitched scream echoed through the camp, and it didn’t take long for you to spot her, running to you.

Her. Mayra. Your sister.

When her body slammed into yours, you fell backward as you hugged her tight, trying not to let her go, as if she could slip away from your arms at any moment. You stayed on the ground trying to take in every detail you could. Her shaky breath, the way her hair felt on your skin, how her fingers were uncomfortably pressed between the ground and your shoulder blades. Her small cries as she tried to find the exact words to say.

“I was looking for you!”, at that point, you were sobbing, not even thinking about the people whose eyes wandered from Rick to you two.

“And I was about to go back home looking for you!” She cried, steadying her breath before standing back up. You followed her actions, your sight never leaving hers.

You weren’t sure how long it had been since it all started. Weeks, for sure. Months, too, although sometimes it felt like decades.

Suddenly, her eyes widened and she scanned her surroundings, fear creeping in her. She put both of her hands on your shoulders and lightly shook her head, still searching for something, you couldn’t guess what.

“Did he die?” She questioned firmly. You didn’t answer, had someone else gone to Atlanta that hadn’t made it? Someone who died before you found the group? She couldn’t be talking about…

The entire world fell on top of you. You had just discovered your sister was alive and had also just found out you left someone she cared about behind. “Did Merle fucking die?!”

The fire warmed your legs and the frog legs tasted so, so good. You hadn’t eaten anything freshly cooked in such a long time, it felt unreal. You were focused on your food and on Rick’s story, it was the first time you heard him talk in-depth about what had happened. He seemed happy, and the bags under his eyes were more subtle. His entire demeanor had changed.

“They found me…” your sister’s voice interrupted your trail of thoughts. You had a conversation pending; one that the both of you decided to ignore so you could enjoy the feeling of being back together, “... the Dixons, I mean. Merle didn’t want me around, Daryl didn’t either, but he was too kind to let it show. Thank God we found the group, like, a couple of days after I joined them.” Her eyes were lost in the flames as she spoke. She knew it hadn’t been your fault, there was no way you would leave him on purpose. “But I was about to die, Y/N. I felt the walker’s teeth on my skin, it tore the fabric on my shoulder. I just accepted it, didn’t fight back, didn’t try to escape.” She looked at you, and you realized that nothing meant shit anymore… life at that moment was constantly being on the verge of dying and knowing that the people you loved could die at any moment, too. Nothing could ever go back to what it used to be. “And, then, a freaking arrow went through the walker’s head. Clean, just like that, and it fell on top of me. I had never seen death in first person, you know. I had lost my friends after a dozen of those creeps came out of nowhere, but I didn’t see them die, I just heard the screams.”

She was your little sister, you hated to hear her that way, so hopeless and surrendering to death.

“You’re safe now, these people know how to fight-” you stared, but she stopped you before you could finish.

“I know. But one of the men who saved my ass isn’t safe. Yes, he’s not the kindest, nicest, or most selfless man, but I owe him.” You knew that feeling too well. You owed Morgan and Duane, you owed Rick, and Glenn, and so many people. None of them had behaved the way Merle did, but not only Mayra owed him, you did too.

Nodding, you sighed and looked at her in the eyes, reassuring her you would do something to get him back, anything you could.

“Hey, Ed, you want to rethink that log?” Shane’s loud demand made you jump slightly. Your sister nudged you on your side with her elbow and signaled you to look at Ed. She had been suspicious about him and you both had talked about it a few hours back

“It’s cold, man.”

“Then join us or put it out, we don’t want to be seen…” you spoke, managing to sound as nice as you could. You didn’t want to start anything, but you knew how dangerous it could get. You had to avoid loud sounds and bright lights. But Ed, as expected, ignored you.

“Yeah, the cold doesn’t change the rules, does it? Keep our fires low, just embers so we can't be seen from a distance, right?” Shane continued.

“I said it's cold. You should mind your own business for once.” Ed’s answer has was harsh, you could tell he would be hard to deal with, but not everything could be perfect in such a numerous and diverse group. Everyone had different stories to tell, some of them were more tragic than others.

Shane got up and walked steadfastly towards Ed and his family’s fire, “Hey, Ed... Are you sure you want to have this conversation, man?”

“Go on. Pull the damn thing out. Go on!” Ed bossed and his wife pulled the log out of the fire almost immediately, not questioning his husband’s command. It was sad and frustrating, but knowing that stepping in could cause the wife and the little girl to get hurt forced you to stay in your place. Shane seemed to be handling the situation. He was like some sort of leader in the camp, and he had been around those people for so much longer than you, he knew what to do. At least that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to find comfort.

You saw how Shane spoke to Ed’s wife and their daughter, but you couldn’t hear what he said as the group had started a conversation to fill in the silence.

“Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind.” The man -whose name you learned was Dale- questioned, deciding to talk about the elephant in the room.

“I'll tell him. I dropped the key. It's on me.” T-Dog’s shameful tone showed up once again.

“I cuffed him. That makes it mine.” Rick followed. It couldn’t turn into a competition of who was brave enough, who was the most selfless, or who was willing to sacrifice themselves.

“We were all there, it’s not a competition, any of us could’ve done something-” You intervened, hoping you could bring into the conversation the fact that you were planning on going back, but Glenn interrupted you:

“I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy.” You hated it, but if Daryl was as bigoted as his brother, then Glenn was right.

“I did what I did. Hell if I'm gonna hide from him.” T-Dog stated, completely convinced of facing the consequences.

“And we keep on making a competition out of this. We all should be there and say whatever we have to say.” You said in a determined tone. You were all responsible, one way or another.

“Look, Y/N… maybe I can tell him?” Mayra whispered as the rest kept on debating who should speak up.

“I don’t know how it could help…” You said back. Yes, Mayra knew him better than you, but she hadn’t been involved, she didn’t have to.

She opened her mouth to protest, but T-Dog’s words captured your interest instantly:

“My point... Dixon's alive and he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us.”

When the fire was out and everyone got into their tents, including your sister, you still sat on the same log as before. The scenario felt strange, almost unknown to you: outside at night, under the cloudy night sky, and still not unsafe. It had been so long since you felt immortal and undefeatable, just like any other girl your age felt... like nothing could happen to you, not ever. You missed it. But beautiful as that night was, the imminent danger thickened the air.

You felt your eyes growing heavier each second. You were ready to go to sleep, so you got up and started to walk to the tent you and Mayra would share, but the sight of someone on the roof of Dale’s RV made you stop on your tracks.

Shane was keeping watch, and you wondered if he did it each night, or how had they arranged the shifts. He looked tired and the look on his face was anything but friendly.

“Hey, want to switch?” You asked approaching the stairs and climbing up, not waiting for an answer. Once you got off the stairs, your eyes wandered through the trees and landed up in the sky. If he kept watch every night, then you knew why. The view wasn’t mesmerizing, you had seen more beautiful countless times before, but the air up there was lighter, and the breeze, soothing.

“Sorry ‘bout Ed today.” Shane ignored your question. You sat down next to the chair he was sitting in.

“Don’t be, he’ll pay for what he’s doing to his family someday. Soon, I hope.” You looked up and realized his eyes were lost somewhere in the horizon. He looked tired, and if you read more into it: defeated. “Go to sleep, I’ll stay. I want to.”

It came as a surprise to you: that was all he needed to hear. He didn’t protest, he got up, handed you the shotgun and left. You didn’t know if he would be able to get some sleep, at least he could try to.

But what you did know was that you weren’t suddenly concerned about the sleeping schedule of a man you had just met. You were desperately in need of being alone. Being around so many people was something you had only dreamt about, at least for the last weeks, and although you felt the luckiest you had ever felt, the safety you had found allowed you to put your feet back on the ground.

Everything had happened so fast. You almost died, and more than once. You met people, they saved you, you left one of them to die, you found out Mayra was alive and safe, Rick’s family was with her… and you still had to figure out how to break the news to Merle’s brother.

You were going back to the city, too, as if everything that had happened wasn’t enough. You’d do it for your sister, and for the men who saved her, as questionable as they were.

And suddenly, it clicked.

The bag. The guns.

You had to remind Rick. It could save the group from an attack from walkers, or from other people. That way you knew somebody else would go back with you and you would actually have a shot of coming back alive, even if they despised Merle.

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up.”

You had just finished hanging some of your clothes to dry when an unbothered and loud voice caught everyone’s attention. From their wide eyes, you could tell who had just gotten back. Merle’s brother, Daryl, sounded, moved, and acted just like him. It wasn’t just the accent, but his words, how his presence made everyone uncomfortable… you could tell they were expecting him to snap as soon as he found out. Behind him, Shane and Rick looked and nodded to each other. You approached them, determined to be a part of it even if hell broke loose.

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there.” Rick got to the point with no rambling.

“We locked the door, he’s safe from walkers.” You dared to look at him in the eyes, but regretting it as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Hold on. Let me process this. You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!”

“Yeah.” Rick stepped in front of you, and without skipping a beat, Daryl attacked Rick, who shoved him off.

You took a few steps back and spotted your sister, who was just getting out of the RV. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open as soon as she realized what was happening: Daryl, Shane, T-Dog and Rick were yelling at each other. She stood in her place, everyone in the camp knew well not to intervene. Shane had Daryl on a chokehold as Rick explained to him that he wanted to have a calm discussion, which seemed to force Daryl to give in. Shane let go of him.

“What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others.” Rick kept going. At that point, you guessed nothing could actually calm Dixon, he was still breathing heavily.

“It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it.” T-Dog cut in.

“You couldn't pick it up?” Daryl snarled.

“Well, I dropped it in a drain.”

“If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't.”

“Hey, I told you, the door’s chained with a padlock. There’s no way walkers could get to him.” You repeated, trying your best to be concise and get to the point: Merle was still out there.

“And who the fuck are you?” Daryl took a few steps forward and stared at you in the eyes. You weren’t scared, but it did take you by surprise. You stumbled back and raised your hands, putting them in between you.

“She’s my sister, Daryl!” Mayra’s shaky voice made him turn around. You couldn’t see his face, but hers was filled with heartbreak. She felt she had failed him, as if she had broken an unspoken promise. Daryl faced you again.

“Funny, huh? How I saved your sister but you left my brother to rot.” He growled. His voice low and irritated.

Your eyes jumped from Mayra to him. You straightened your body and took a deep breath. He was right. You felt miserable, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Mayra, you knew you would have to do something as soon as she told you her story.

“I know, that’s why I’m going back there. With or without you.”

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