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outivv · 3 years

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Haha angst :'D,,,So The Boys knew the reader before the events of Genshin took place, and they had a crush on her, but never had the courage to tell her. Then one day she just disappears, and they don't see her until the events of Genshin start, but she doesn't even remember them, and she's become a demon, and Aether has made a contract with her. And she does have enough power to take them down, but won't unless Aether commands her to. (happy pride month btw!♡🌈)

Synopsis: one of the tall boys knew you before the events of genshin took place, and fell in love with you until then you mysteriously disappeared making a contract with aether.

Warnings: mentions of fighting, memory loss, and just angst, minor mentions of death, and spoilers for the character backgrounds, and main story for genshin impact.

Game/ fandom: genshin impact

Characters: zhongli, childe, Diluc, kaeya, and Dainsleif

Pronouns for reader: tried to use she/ her pronouns but I don’t think y/n’s gender is mentioned

Note: I’m going to say that the begging game events of this are right before the time of dilucs fathers death (I just used that for reference and it was... 6(?) years before the events of genshin?) So all the characters are like 18 (except for zhongli and Dainsleif of course.) mostly cause I wanted to try something a bit different, and so there’s a decent amount of time before they see you again after your disappearance just to add to the angst :)

A/n: *inhales* AHHHHHHHHH. This was a lot to take in, and this was my first reaction to this request. Mostly because aether being the sibling that’s working with the abyss is just... *mwah* I don’t know why, because I chose him to play as instead of lumine the first time playing, so maybe it’s because it’s different and almost a foreign concept? I don’t know and I’m not going to go into it, but I hope you like this and have a amazing pride month! 💖 (also im very sorry this turned into fics for each of the characters and I didn’t include the “you can fight them, but you won’t unless aether forces you to.” Part so I’m so sorry 🥲)

— zhongli —

Zhongli was slowly but surely falling in love with you. He’s a secure man, who takes his time with these sort of things, so it’s not a big surprise that he didn’t tell you his feelings for you for a long time.

But when you left for a commission one day, and never returned... his heart broke. He would search all of teyvat for you, practically in a fit of anger and fear. Surely you couldn’t just disappear into thin air... could you? No, someone must’ve hurt you, or you got injured... surely.

The next 6 years were the longest years of his life. He didn’t go a single day without thinking of you, and wishing he had said something about his feelings for you. Maybe that would’ve changed things...

He saw you once in the streets of liyue, after the supposed death of rex lapis. You were sent to liyue to... inspect things for the abyss order, being able to pass as a human without lumine knowing who you are. Though a man seemed to take great note of you, for he stared at you shock in his eyes like he’s seeing a ghost. You had no recollection of this man, but he seemed to know you very well.

Zhongli didn’t say anything though, being in too much shock, and being separated by the huge crowd in liyue. He wanted to get close to you and confirm that you are who he thinks you are, but he also knows he wouldn’t be seeing ghosts six years after your supposed death.

He’d try his best to get close to you, but could also tell that you didn’t recognize him. From the way you looked at him from across the crowd of people, to how when you spoke to him you acted as though he was a random stranger making casual conversation.

Zhongli has seen you fight few times, and every time your skills get better than the last. You certainly could kill him if you wanted to, thankfully you haven’t told aether about zhongli yet.

— childe —

Warning: minor cursing

Growing up with childe in snezhnaya is Botha blessing and a curse. A blessing because childe is a great person, and was a close friend. But a curse because you saw him as he was traumatized by the abyss, and grew a greed for power, and strength. He held you close to his heart though, and remained the same childe that you grew up with in snezhnaya, and he still loved you the same as before. Just never had the balls to say it.

(I want to add you being apart of the fatui in this one so... let’s go) You were on a mission with childe one day, it was in inazuma and you had wondered off a ways from where the target was to scout the area. When suddenly a portal opened up and you were transported to the abyss. Childe watched as his childhood friend went though the same thing he did. He watched as you were sucked away, and never to be seen for six years.

Childe took this pretty badly as you were the thing that was grounding him, and keeping him sane. Only for you to meet the same fate he did, except everyone thought you were dead. He searched for you for most of the six years that you were gone, hoping that even a trace of you would appear. Until he saw you while he was on a mission in Fontaine (this is the hydro region that as I’m writing this is not yet introduced I just wanted to add it to add more diversity. I don’t want it to be all mondstadt and liyue.)

Seeing you from his position high up made him skeptical for if it was you or not, especially considering how your appearance changed over the years, but after getting closer to you he knew it was you. “Y/n!” He’d shout from amongst the crowd. You whipped your head around to see a tall redhead who looked to be from snezhnaya staring at you looking like he was going to cry. You looked away wanting to avoid said redhead, and pretended to never hear him. Childe knew better though. He saw you turn to look at him.

He ran over to you, and turned you around to face him “well well well, look who it is” he started to say while holding back tears of joy as best as he could, but before he could say other word you slapped him. I mean you didn’t know who this man was?! He suddenly turned you around with his eyes all red, and puffy, and shouted your name amongst a large swarm of people?! What kind of psycho does that to someone they don’t know!

He looked back at you stunned, and grabbed the side of his face that you slapped, did you not recognize him? “What the fuck? Who are you.” You said demanding an answer. “Y/n??? It’s me childe??? We grew up together??? I mean I know I’ve changed a lot, but not that much...” the redhead said confused. “What?! Hey, I don’t know you, and I’d really appreciate it if you would leave me alone.” You said as you walked away from the man. His heart broke into a million pieces.

You felt a hand firmly grab your wrist, any tears that were threatening to fall over have now done it. “You fell into the abyss and I thought I lost you!” He said through some sobs. You felt pity for this man, you didn’t know him, and he seemed delusional. But his he know that you fell into the abyss... how’d he know your name for that matter?! “What...” you said stunned. Childe straightened his posture and said, “You fell into the abyss in inazuma and I never saw you again... well until now.” How’s he know all of that... you pondered for a moment before saying, “we need to talk. In private.” Not wanting to talk about this with a crowd surrounding you.

— Diluc and kaeya —

I grouped them together to make it a bit easier on myself plus they would have a similar experience with you (cause I made you guys childhood friends) so it just made more sense to me.

Diluc has known you for the longest time, much of his childhood was spent with you, and then kaeya came along and you spent your time with him as well. You three were close friends, and they both had some sort of feelings for you, even as a kid. Diluc never said anything though, while kaeya would be charismatic, and have a constant joking tune to his actions. Frequently causing Diluc to try and shut his teasing antics up, though Diluc was always shy and sweet to you, it was rather adorable might I say.

One day though you disappeared, and Diluc grieved for days on end. Using his position as a cavalry captain he used his power to send people looking for you all over mondstadt, and sent request to other troops of the knights that were away from mondstadt to be on a lookout for you. That was all he could to though... so he waited patiently.

While kaeya felt hollow for a long time. He had his brother, and his father too, but you were different. You more more to him. You weren’t someone he had to use a facade on to get what he wanted, and to save his own skin. He knew you would be friends with him no matter what, even if he wanted to be more than friends.

Dilucs father died a week after your disappearance, and then Kaeya revealed himself as a spy. So as you can clearly see I added this detail to add more angst, and to make your loss extra traumatic for Diluc. He was in a swirl of emotions for the longest time, and resigning from the knights he lost any connections he had to troops looking for you. He looked for you himself all over mondstadt, but to no avail. While kaeya felt a sudden urge to tell Diluc everything, as a way for clarity, he almost wished Diluc would’ve taken pity on him, and he wished that he wouldn’t have gotten his vision so he could’ve died while fighting his own brother.

Then six years later, after lumine had left mondstadt a familiar face showed up in angels share.

He was working behind the bar while kaeya was sitting at the bar talking to Diluc about meaningless things, and you showed up one day. Diluc stood there in shock dropping the glass he was holding luckily it was pretty early so no one was at the bar except for Diluc and Kaeya, so kaeya said some stupid teasing remark. You wouldn’t expect this sort of reaction from Diluc, but he couldn’t keep his composure. Kaeya looked behind him to see the person who just walked into the bar, and when he saw you quirking an eyebrow mat the man cleaning up the glass, Kaeyas eyes grew wide with fear. The familiar style of clothes you were wearing were clearly from khaenri’ah. You couldn’t have been there this whole time... could you?

“Y/n?” Kaeya said, not knowing how to react. You looked at the other man in front of you and said, “hm? How do you know I name? Who are you.” Kaeya and Diluc both looked at each other questioningly. It was the first time in a long time they had the same thought as the other ‘does she not remember us.’

“Y/n... it’s Diluc and Kaeya...” Diluc said tears welling up in his eyes. He missed you so much. Kaeya grew more and more uncomfortable noticing more and more familiar markings on your clothes. “Yeah... I don’t know you.” You said intertwining your own fingers with one another. “How can you not remember us! We’ve known each other for years and now after six years of thinking that you’re dead you just... show up?!?” Diluc said his voice loud yet stern. He started to get emotional, it was a weakness of his. His emotions didn’t show often, but in moments where they maybe shouldn’t, and he should keep them in check was when he let his emotions run loose.

Kaeya just stood there in shock, as he put together the puzzle pieces. “You... fell into the abyss didn’t you... you went to khaenri’ah. you met aether.” Kaeya said his voice stern and cold. You looked at him in shock, how did he know about aether? How did he know about the abyss. How did he know about khaenri’ah? How. Did. He. Know. “Didn’t you?” Kaeya’s voice louder, and more furious. “... yes.” You said your voice small “how do you know.” Kaeya looked up a grin on his face, and he stood up. “There’s a lot I know.”

Yes I know slightly cheesy at the end and it’s a cliffhanger and I wanted to more but that one got a little to long :’)

— Dainsleif —

Dainsleif knew you as his travel partner for the longest time, and while he wanted to tell you his feelings, for your safety he didn’t. The abyss was after him, and he didn’t want to drag you into that. Sadly you were dragged into it. The abyss took you, and used you for six years before he saw you again. For the six years you were gone he was looking for you all over teyvat in fear that you could’ve died. He didn’t give up though. He still had hope.

He saw you in mondstadt looking at some shops, to which he carefully walked over to you. “Y/n... what... what are you wearing?” He said referring to the clothes that had traditional khaenri’ah patterns on it. You looked at the blond man next to you offended and said, “excuse you? How do you know my name?”

If you’ve been to khaenri’ah they would’ve manipulated you, and you probably would’ve forgot him. He knew that. And yet he still had to try. “It’s Dainsleif... were you taken by the abyss...” he said his voice hushed so no one would hear him.

Your eyes widened and you pulled him away to have him tell you everything he knew. If things got too bad you’d have to kill him, you could do that easily. “Tell me all you know this instant.”

Dainsleif’s was the shortest and I’m so sorry about that I wasn’t quite sure what to add for him but I still hope you liked it :’) <3

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lilylilym · 3 years

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Cinematic language to help you understand why Levihan is more canon than you think

First thing first, of course the plane was Hange. And the wood parallel is deeper than just hints of canon ship

If the birb is Eren then the plane is Hange. It’s called a ✨symbol✨ and a ✨parallel✨ , a narrative device and a visual cue means for readers to reflect on

a) things that happened related to the actual object (when have we seen this before and last time we see it what happened)

b) what it could represent in terms of symbolic meaning (travel, migration, meaning mobility and freedom and civilization and means and that Levi has a good life for example)

c) how it is positioned in relationships with other object/symbol that are similar to it visually, to draw some similarities and differences in terms of narrative (plane is a machine birb, scientific birb, Levi sees plane while Mikasa hanging out w birb, what do this mean???? Thinkkkkkk)

Some folks will find value in learning comp lit, to know how to read narrative work, including cinema. AOT is visual but it is also deeply cinematic in the way Hajime Isayama draws the panel and the variety of shots he uses to depict the passive narration such as voice-over, time-lapse, flashbacks, time jump, etc.

Here’s an example of how AOT is structured by paralllels, symbols, and narrative devices through editing/cinematic techniques to tell the story. This is my favorite scene when Isayama uses a combination of cutaway and montage to use a character’s dialogue beyond the immediate moment (real time) to depict a larger theme of the story:

This scene is Levi and Kenny talking to each other in real time. There are many ways to depict a dialogue. If it is about each other, then characters are usually depict in “continuity editing” where the whole scene is about them talking to each other, shots will be opposite shots of their face, over-the-shoulder, giving audiences a feel that you are there with them in the convo, listening to them talk. But this scene “cutaway” in that it breaks up the “linear time” by showing audiences other images not realistically been seen by any character, to broaden the scope of the scene. Now you know it’s not just about the dialogue. However, cutaway usually is a thing that realistically in that scene, like cut to the tree while Kenny is still speaking, then go back to them.

In this “sequence,” what is shown is a montage of images that are not only “flashbacks” (memory of things the characters have seen/witnessed, since he couldn't have seen Kuchel) but compilation of new images that are “symbolic” to the lines Kenny is speaking. In other words, the author is drawing “parallels” from one instances to others, connecting separated people, scenes, stories, actions, decisions into one larger thing we call “theme”––Isayama’s making sure that audiences know exactly what to think by forcing separated images into one montage, and make sure you understand that this message needs to be understood beyond Kenny. So that’s the cinematic language readers should be aware that Isayama is using.

That’s why arguing events based on literal evidence is limited, because it is cannon itself that events, stories, people’s decisions and investments are meant to be interpreted and understood in juxtaposition.

Now let’s move on to juxtapositions and parallel in Levihan and Eremika:

I know people have use the wood parallel to talk about how Levihan is canon, but I think the wood is meant to show that Levihan are the adult version of Eremika, who also understand and rely on each other, but a lot more secured in their relationship and trust.

So, get this: for Eremika, Eren had to ask who he is to Mikasa (I know, dumbo) before they get the alternative living in the wood. That’s cuz their young love is shy and also full of insecurities and they are unsure of how to understand their affection for one another. The insecurity is especially pronounced when Mikasa, after having been asked that (”who am I to you”), still get so hurt when Eren said he had been hating her since they were kids. That means we can read that she took the question as “what do you want from me why are you clingy” instead of “pls tell me you like me.”

In another world, she is her fierce self who lives only for her and Eren (like she used to back then, ready to fight the whole army to keep Eren alive but now she’s a soldier for humanity) and suggested that they runaway to live in the wood. In this scenario, Mikasa’s suggestion was implied, we never saw her do it, only told in Eren’s retelling, and even so, in his words (“thats what you said, Mikasa”).

This whole scene is continuity editing with flashbacks, purely from the perspective of Mikasa. You as the reader assumes her point of view, because the images depict Eren speaking, and Eren’s words dictate most of the information. So you, as a reader, is being told to, passively that this is what happened, and that whatever decision of how they get here, has been made prior to you. In other words, while the dialogue happening about them being together is real time, the dialogue of how they decided to do so, is not. That is meant for interpretation. The author does not let you know how it happened in real time. This intended foreclosing is meant to evoke a sense of confusion, unsatisfaction (because you do not get to know how decisions are made and why), so it is safe to assume that the intended feeling is also just that--bittersweet. You know the couple get to be together, but they were not entirely at peace. This life will weight heavily on them until the day Eren dies. This scene is in chapter 138, but in story’s time, it’s meant to be continue before the timeskip.

For Levihan, in chapter 126, the conversation between Levihan was playing out in real time itself, but the whole scene is an independent moment that preceded the real event (which was continued on from chapter 125, where Hange and Levi met with Pieck and Theo).

In this scene, readers can see that the suggestion was direct, and we were in on the act as it happens. Hange thought Levi was unconscious, so they were thinking out loud. “Maybe we should just live here together, right, Levi?” We see Hange contemplating about it, said it out loud, and sad that it might just be a wild thought.

Time cut. Now they’re doing something else, before the path appears, and they turned around to wake Levi up. Levi woke up at that same moment, immediately asking about what happened before he was unconscious, not letting Hange know that he heard the whole thing. He took time to catch up with what happened, gathering information and providing information. This means he is contemplating about Hange’s proposal.

“I let him get away again.” Hange responded to this sentence with “I’m sure you want revenge, but for now...” Levi moved on, seamlessly, without a beat, “If we keep running and hiding, what will that get us?” At first it seems like a continuation of the convo--as in Levi doesn’t want to keep hiding and want to go back to battle, but Hange understood immediately that he was referring to their talk: “So you heard me talking to myself.”

Here, Hange weren’t like “omg im sorry I didn’t know u were up i would have never,” because that would suggest that the relationship between them is unconfirmed and that Hange has yet to know what Levi thinks of them (as seen in Eremika’s nature of their relationship). But they were just like, ok, so you heard. Then Levi saw that Hange was making a thing to carry him, and concluded, “I know you. You��re not able to stay out of the action.” Hange admitted, “Yeah, that’s right, I can’t.”

If you look at the scene itself, you will see a lot of opposite shots (POV of the two characters who are talking to each other), many of them are close-up (right in their face). It is a short, but continuous, linear conversation where Hange and Levi got to talk about the possibility, discussed it together, before Levi pointed out that Hange could never just sit this one out, and Hange agreed. This scene is also meant for interpretation, because even though they talked about the possibility, they didn’t go “so what do you think, I think we should” but it was Hange’s wild thought that they fully intended not to go through, and Levi’s understanding that he was not meant to truly respond, because he saw that Hange already had a plan to keep it moving. (The next scene is Levi negotiating with Theo and Pieck, so it’s safe to assume that they spent the rest of their conversation discussing strategies.)

Levihan’s scene is short, but it was meant to read in juxtaposition with Eremika’s more elaborate life in the wood in 138 -- communicating the idea that if they had run away together, they would also suffer intensely survivor’s guilt. Which, as soldiers and commanders, they simply cannot choose. So, in a way, this is to depict Levi’s theme, “no regret,” even as they never had a future to be together at peace. The fact that they can have this extremely heavy conversation means that there were peaceful moments between them that they experienced, that would allow this scene to read like a final good bye.

So, as I have rambled more than I needed to, I’mma stop here. My point was pretty simple and meant to invite folks to read AOT very generously in terms of its couple/romantic/partnership, in that just because things are not fleshed out doesn’t mean it’s not real and that readers are supposed to read between the line, thematically, across storylines to get the full picture, but sternly in the way that you need to understand narrative devices and visual cues the ways they’re meant to be read. To go back to the plane controversy (apparently some people insist that planes are planes), of course planes are planes, that’s what they first and foremost need to be. No object would be included for the symbolic meaning only - it always need to be itself first and foremost, to create a normative sense of reality before it could go imaginative and interpretive.

#snk #aot #levihan #eremika #levi ackerman #hange zöe #kenny ackerman

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garrothromeave · 3 years

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let’s talk about minecraft diaries rebirth.

and why it’s literally amazing. (warning: this will contain spoilers. lots of them. also, long post ahead.)

i think a lot of people hate mcdr because they were expecting a remake; but the point of rebirth is for jess to rewrite it. it wasn't supposed to be exactly the same.

honestly i went into mcdr with a closed mind. as an og mcd fan, i thought that this was going to suck ass and that i'd rant about how bad it was to my friends later. but actually watching it, i just... couldn't help but immediately fall in love with it.

ik im probably the only motherfucker that likes mcdr, but honestly how could i not? for one, garroth and zenix actually have personalities at the beginning. AND; the villagers? actually amazing. donna made me smile, visher made me laugh and cry, brendan was just bein as good as ever. like... i even didn't despise emmalyn with every ounce of my soul like i usually do?? the characterizations of them were GOOD, man.

and honestly, aphmau like--the way she spoke, her whole thing. it was reallyyy well done in my opinion. she was oblivious to things, but it wasn't overdone and wasn't done in a way to make her annoying. she's a very appealing character in mcdr, a main protagonist i do not mind following along with. her dynamics to the characters are really cool and all very unique. gonna cut it here so i don’t clog y’all’s feed cuz i got a lot to say :)

the early use of aphmau’s powers was actually pretty cool as well, it also really showed how clueless aphmau really was to everything going on around her. AND UH, THE FACT THAT SHE THOUGHT THAT GARROTH FELT FAMILIAR? GOLDEN. absolutely golden.

AND GENE OH BOY, the early introduction of gene? ik a lot of people are upset about it, but god DAMN i love it so much. his role in the story is very important in original, and i cannot express how much joy this brought me learning that he was actually getting the proper attention for it. and the fact that gene and aphmau were working together?? i mean ik gene was just trying to use her to get back to the "shadow abyss" (pretty pog replacement for the nether, gg) but god DAMN i loved every moment of it. i found their dynamic to be pretty fuckin funny to be honest, would absolutely love to see more of it.

i might be biased considering gene is one of my absolute favorite characters, but i honestly think that introducing gene this early on in the story was a good move. again, he's literally the right-hand man to the shadow lord. it makes you really wonder why he didn't have as much of an important role in season 1 or even 2 of the original mcd plotline. also, we get some of that good-ol-fashioned exposition with seeing early on how vylad and gene interact. vylad’s at a very strange point in the story right now; his motives are unclear, even to the side he’s ‘supposed’ to be taking (aka, a shadow knight.) another early introduction to a character is zane! this, my friends, is good. really good. i’d say that zane is the main antagonist of season 1 in the original series--and he wasn’t even introduced until like, episode 50. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but him being introduced this early on really gives the audience a better understanding of what threats are out there and what our protagonist will have to encounter in the future. in the original series, there’s not much explanation as to why lords are disappearing/dying left and right--and while yes, that was supposed to be the mystery of it, having some of that early information is a better move in terms of writing.

AND IVAN?? BEING A PART OF THE JURY OF NINE?? I COULD NOT HAVE ASKED FOR ANYTHING MORE LIKE GOD DAMN that was a very pleasant surprise i'll just say that, thank you jess :)

and no i did not loop the 4 minutes of screentime laurance got in that one episode haha who would do that i would never do that anyways

SPEAKING of laurance, im so glad jess actually wrote him in this early :) she totally could have just waited for the first time aphmau visits meteli and meets him there, but no! she put him in an early episode. i dont even care if she did it just to shut up the fans about laurance but man that made me so happy seeing him, even if it was only for a bit.

okay i kinda wanna go over the guards real fast firstly; garroth. ignoring how weird the helmet showing emotions is, i really like how garroth is portrayed. he's under a lot of pressure because the village is putting a lot of the blame on him for malik's death, and he's trying his hardest to keep things running. the fact that garroth utterly refused the to take up the position of lord and even got a little snappy about it was actually really cool to see as well. and while he doesn’t have that same “reserved, quiet, observant” feel as the original mcd version of him had, this version of garroth is absolutely awesome. he’s more direct and blunt, is significantly more sarcastic, and isn’t as stiff or as much as a pushover as he is in the original. he even has a sense of humour. also, no homo, but he’s kinda adorable. plus, the desperation that he goes through during the whole thing is just--it’s really cool to see how hard he’s trying to prove himself and help the village. my rating for mcdr garroth? 9/10. the helmet... the helmet is the main thing throwin me off, i can’t lie. next, zenix. oh BOY do i have a lot to say about this man. first of all, his and garroth’s dynamic is incredible. when i saw how the interacted with each other, my first thought was: father and son. zenix has this immaturity to him that is so fucking fun and interesting to watch, and seeing how garroth scolds him is so fuckin good man. and! seeing how he interacts with the rest of the village... honestly, if jess ever picks this story up again, i would probably cry when zenix (literally) backstabs garroth. HELL, i hope that’s something that still happens, it’d be heartbreaking to witness this character that we’ve come to love hurting his mentor, the man who took him in. he’s just a really good character all in all, and much more appealing than the original mcd zenix. ...except season 3 zenix. no zenix can be better than that one. either way, zenix is amazing written to be the comic relief and he’s just an all-out lovable character in this series. finally, dale and brian. yes i’m going to group them up because there’s not much to say regarding them, but i do want to address them. for starters, we have brian; who’s already 16 when the story starts. good on jess for doing that, because in the original aphmau watched brian be born and age INCREDIBLY quick, haha. THOUGH i do feel like there’s a slight connection lost there--one of the hardest things about brian’s betrayal in the original series in the fact that we watched him grow up in phoenix drop. we were there from the moment he was born, to the second he betrayed phoenix drop. BUT OF COURSE, this version is a lot more realistic, so it’s understandable. i just think that if it’s brian who’ll be betraying phoenix drop again (if it even goes down that same route), it won’t hit as hard unless jess really takes the time to grow the connection between brian and aphmau. as for dale; gotta admit, love it. and like, i think one of the main things about how good of a call it was to make him a drunkard from the beginning is considering how much the village is struggling. the fact that the second-in-command is literally drunk all of the time really conveys the message of, “yeah. this village needs help.” plus, he’s another good comic relief character. i loved seeing molly and dale’s relationship too, it was very funny. PLUS. we were blessed with a well scene, in which aphmau had to help villagers out of the well. i don’t know about you guys, but that was one of my favorite nods to the original series. i cannot thank jess enough for that, there was a smile on my face the entire time. another amazing thing--visher’s character. instead of just being introduced to this quirky lil merchant who only had one or two interactions with aphmau like in the first one, we got to sit there and really get a feel for someone worth remembering and worth mourning over. we had a reason to be sad over his death, it wasn’t just some npc getting blown up suddenly. this was different, and this hurt. one of the major things that i hope is to come out of this is for jess to fix the major mistakes she had when writing the first series. she’d expressed how unhappy she was with some of the decisions she made, and i’m glad that she’s getting that second chance to undo the things she didn’t like. this series also gives her a second chance to really, really dig into characters and their motives. like, gimme laurance backstory in better detail. or like, garroth and zane’s relationship from back when they were kids? or how vylad died and who killed him? etc etc. she’s already done an excellent job so far, and i can’t wait to see where this goes. that is, if she ever continues it. god, i wish there were more episodes so that i could seriously let you guys know how beautiful of a series this is. there’s so much i want to say about rebirth, but i think i’ll stop here. i might say some more shit about it later, but if there’s anything i’d want you to take away from this, it’s: give minecraft diaries rebirth a chance. there’s a lot of potential, and this is a chance for jess to really change things for the better! ... but again, that is if this ever is continued.

#aphmau #minecraft diaries #minecraft diaries rebirth #garroth #laurance #gene #zenix #vylad #rant

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

5 Anti LO Asks

1. i feel like S1, even for its mountain of faults, at least had some pretty art and a few qualities that made it not completely irredeemable, but S2 is just a hot mess. no plot progression has happened in over a year, characters have only regressed or remained stagnant (esp persephone), the story is nothing but RS trying to "clap-back" at the "haters" or using fanfic ideas, the main couple is stale, and it seems to itll have at least 100+ more eps if not more. its not even a fun read, its a chore.

2. psyche's new design kind of proves that rachel has zero understanding of how black hair works. maybe aphrodite gave her extensions, or something? but we see her with straightened (i hesitate to say permed/relaxed because her suddenly being black was clearly a wokepoints retcon) and then her braids/twists are just ... somehow the same length. smythe said no shrinkage and no logic. talk to a black woman ONCE, for the love of god, rachel.

3. for the anon: apparently rachel's original dreamcast for apollo was michael b jordan. bold of her to assume he would ever want to be cast as the insane rapist in a white-savior romance fantasy? that is BEYOND insulting.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

4. From OP: Had to remove the images but just know that they do talk about ep. 180. I have it saved in drafts so I’ll post the original when the episode come out but I’ll just describe the image for now.

Not sure is this is suppose to be ask or submit a post.

(Image of Hades telling Thanatos to get her a chair, Thanatos is shaking while Hades is angry)

Thanatos is not a fav of mind, but this interaction of fear needs to stop. When it's time to show off being a tyrant why is Thanatos constantly at the receiving end of his anger?

We have literally seen citizens disrespect this guy!

And he tells Thanatos to be grateful being a child abandon by his mother and immediately put to work as an employee so young is something to glitter for. If he recieved some apartment like Minthe or some other favor then I would backtrack, but Thanatos gets nothing, but sh*t and that's why I like his character bringing up nepotism. Grant it he did hook up with Minthe, but its not like Minthe was Hades' property. They were not together at the time and Hades was too busy having a "emotional affair" to care.

The power imbalance as boss, but also a king is already there, but Hades proceeds to always threaten him. The first time he did it. He wasn't even in the right. Instead of an investigation for the missing shades. He wrote his long time employee off as a slacker.

This interaction may be entertaining for others, but the eggshells that he has to walk on and the fact that this behavior happens even before the times of his crimes and Hades feels justified for it. Like, Thanatos how do you live like this?

And it seems like Persephone is uncomfortable with this reaction and has expressed before her dislike about this side of Hades. (Up to you on whether she should've accepted that side of him or not) but it covers my next point.

(Image of Hades telling Persephone to sit, she doesn’t look comfortable)

*Sigh* again with the little hints of power imbalance I won't bring up whats been said a thousand times so Ill get to the point. Persephone looks like a lost child commanded by her father here. Im suppose to believe that this is the manner he chooses to talk to his future queen (who is always alluded to be bada**) that he plans to wed if not now very soon? Imagine if Zeus had talked that way to Hera eyebrows would be lifted at least give a disapproving huff, Persephone. It's dialogue and mannerisms like this that constant reminds me that Persephone is a 20yr old child in comparison to the centuries old gods.

*Please note Persephone's glare to her mother and then her being back to this childlike scare when commanded. That makes this interaction towards the relationship to Hades and not just a general trial scare. (Next panel is before this one in comic)

If he made it upfront that I am strictly your lawyer and that is the dynamic we will carry this trial I would have just shrugged and accepted that he is more knowledgeable then her, but this flippy floppy cuddling Persephone to taking charge creeps me out it adds to the point. It did not feel like a mature interaction.

He comes off as this angry god who wants to protect his "cinnamon roll" in a trial! And to make things worse he is also the "judge"

And in the end of the chapter its a No emotions "I am here to defend Persephone" gig. Isn't...is that not what he should of been doing? When Persephone picked him the cliffhanger was cheaply cool and now we are doing it again?

I am at least glad that Zeus still has backbone to not Persephone glide by even for his brother. We went from "Your being to harsh on Persohone HOW DARE YOU!" to having the plot (not just Hades) have an excuse or at least have it brushed off every time Persephone's points are brought up and it's defended with emotional outbursts at that.

(Image of Hades asking Demeter why she didn’t come to him about the AOW, he’s clearly hurt)

The wording here confuses me? Tell you about what? A plan that Demeter did not know about? Or when she ran away to the underworld and Demeter did not ask for help?

Anywho, where does Hades get the nerve to speak to Demeter like this? Did you inform her of her daughter's whereabouts when she was drugged in the underworld? Or were you too fixated on your sexual urges? Oh what about the second time? Or the continuous months? Is Demeter not suppose to be a Goddess who fought along side you? "And you" is what Hades has to say to her? Hades disrespects Demeter time and time again. Not only did they argue in their youth. Hades came in drunk on Demeter's ground and even break into one of her rooms where her underage daughter lays. Constant invasion of boundaries. Just a complete lack of respect for someone you want to be your future MIL.

In the previous chapters Hades is "lumped in" everytime Poseidon and Zeus do something in his opinion, but as we see it seems like Hades has his own stories that you still don't take accountability for after that tape.

That does not even cover the added on stress of what Zeus did when he came to Demeter's garden.

I am glad she still has backbone as character because she really does not owe Hades the decency after what he did. Being a bystander or lack of action because you want to be supportive of Persephone's choices does not void distrust from Demeter. Like it's funny how he thought everything was peachy after everything.

Like seriously what is this trial?

(Any crappy flow of words and mistakes I blame mobile.)*If anything does not make sense I can answer them in notes.

5. (FP Spoilers) I don't understand what RS is doing with the trial. Like... So far it's just been Hermes and Thanatos just saying stuff about Persephone? And Thetis comes in randomly with Minthe with no prompting? There's no cross examination or order or anything. It's not really a trial it's more like a mess.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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chaotic-noceur · 3 years

Text

so what's the deal with cake?

characters: Echo, Kix, Cody, Wolffe

summary: coming out as ace to cw boys

warnings: asexual reader, probably ooc characters (im out of practice sowwy!)

a/n: yes this is late but we're ignoring that. Happy international asexuality day fwens! @ezrasarm and I decided to drag ourselves out of our own graves to put together a little something so here's part 2 of some ace hcs! [ part 1 here ]

Echo

Knows more about asexuality than you do

You stare at him unblinking as he rambles on about the history of sexuality

“Echo… is there something you want to tell me?”

He fumbles then because he’s not about to tell you that he did some digging when Rex came out to him, it's not his information to share after all

But he also doesn’t see any other reason why he’d know this much information

“Oh, I was just doing some light reading about… sexuality” is what he settles for

Honestly gets so caught up at being able to use the information he learnt that he kinda forgets what he’s supposed to do when someone comes out to him

(he looked it up after Rex told him and he had stood awkwardly, wondering what he was supposed to do)

Eventually the ‘significant other’ part of his brain kicks in and he stutters through an apology

“That’s okay! It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t need me to explain it all actually.”

He smiles sheepishly at you before going through the step by step comfort guide in his head

step 1: accept and do not invalidate

“So, you don’t mind?” “Of course not!”

step 2: establish boundaries

Echo does the only logical thing he can think of and makes a list of things you’re comfortable with and things you’re uncomfortable with

“I’m still figuring a lot of that out,” you mumble when you’re a few bullet points in

"Ah, perfect interlude for step 3," he thinks

step 3: reaffirm love

“That’s alright. You don’t have to have all the answers. We can figure it out together.” He turns his head and kisses your forehead gently

step 4: ask for cuddles cuz poor bby is touch starved

“We can still cuddle right?” He says it so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t right next to him

Instead of answering, you pull his onto the bed beside you and wrap your arms around him as you let his head come to rest above your heart

Kix

gave up on having a sex life a long time ago

Is surprised when you tell him but isn’t all that bothered by it

He’s half asleep when he stumbles out of his office, only to walk straight into you

He grips your arm to steady you as you catch yourself

Seeing the state he’s in, you have half a mind to turn around and put it off for another day

Kix being Kix though, senses something's off and furrows his eyebrows before tugging you into his office

He seats you in his chair while he perches on the edge of his desk facing you

You fidget with the edge of your shirt as you gather your thoughts

Kix waits patiently, pulling your hands into his to save your shirt play with your fingers

When you finally tell him, he smiles gently at you before pulling you into his chest

“I love you,” he says as he runs his fingers along the length of your spine. “Nothing’s going to change that. I spent years telling myself that I could never have the happy future that the nat-borns dream of, but then I met you. You made me believe that I deserved love, made me remember that there is still good in the world. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

He plants a kiss to your forehead as he finishes and you tighten your hold around him

“Thank you,” you mumble into his shoulder, relieved at his acceptance. “And I love you too,” you add as you lift your head to press a kiss to his jaw

As long as you keep coming home to each other, you’d be okay

Cody

He’s slugging through paperwork when you let yourself in

Thinks someone broke something when he sees you nervously fidgeting

(it's not the first time the idiots he called family have sent you to report a broken item. He doubts he’s seen the last of it)

Sighs and moves to find the paperwork to file for a replacement of whatever-is-apparently-broken

Starts getting concerned when you stop him, even more so when you tell him to sit down

Doesn’t even bat an eye when you tell him

“You’re… fine with it?”

Shrugs as if you just told him Obi Wan had lost his lightsaber again

He’s never valued sex as much as society deems he should so he doesn’t feel the loss

Sighs when he realises how worked up you got yourself

Takes your hands in his and kisses the inside of your wrist before he speaks

“Cyare, our relationship is more than just sex. If that’s not something you’re comfortable with, then we don’t have to do anything. I fell in love with the person inside, not the appeal of the outside.”

“Commander Cody, are you saying I’m unattractive?”

Has to immediately back pedal and starts sputtering in an attempt to string words together

You laugh and pull him up for a hug, having teased him enough and honestly relieved he isn’t bothered

You stay wrapped in each others arms, enjoying the temporary peace

“So, just to be sure, the di’kuts didn’t break anything right?”

You snort and slap him across the chest

Wolffe

Stays quiet until you finish talking, squeezing your hand reassuringly every once in a while

Is genuinely confused when you ask if he still wants to be with you

“Cyare, you stayed by my side when I lost my eye. I’m not leaving you now because of this. I meant it before when I said I love everything about you, I still mean it now.”

Asks if it’s okay to hug you and envelops you when you nod, tucking your head under his chin

Gets a little insecure because so much of his affection comes in physical forms rather than words

But once you guys have a serious chat about boundaries, he finds ways to express his love without making you uncomfortable

Nose boop and forehead kisses are his personal favourite

Reassures you that it’s okay if you don’t know all your boundaries

Eventually asks you why you were so nervous to tell him

You tell him that not everyone’s accepting of it

“Some people think that we’re broken,” you say in what he can only coin as nonchalance

Your passive tone makes Wolffe grind his teeth together

He instantly wants a list of names of ‘the people who deserve to die’

Is only half kidding about committing murder

Plo doesn’t even try to stop him

Wolffe: roping the pack into his 5 step murder plan

Plo (& Fox): i do not see

You stop them before it goes too far but its endearing to see the lengths they’ll go to for you

You reward all of them with cake when they’re next on shore leave

#arc trooper echo x reader #kix x reader #commander cody x reader #commander wolffe x reader #clone wars x reader #the clone wars #the amount of time i spent trying to tag this omg #ace!reader #kay writes

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wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc.

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh.

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again…

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole?

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone.

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…”

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart.

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t.

“I wish you were here, noona…”

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum.

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?”

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.”

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven.

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh.

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.”

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?”

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.”

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.”

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting.

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips.

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze.

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom.

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place:

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?”

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything.

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.”

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?”

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain.

This subject, however, has been a brick wall.

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—”

“(Y/N)?”

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face.

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch.

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger:

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.”

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop.

“Did you need something?”

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—”

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue:

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…”

“Then you met Jackson.”

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.”

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring.

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.”

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?”

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…”

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…”

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm.

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—”

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care.

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?”

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own.

“I’m sorry.”

You smile at his apology.

“I’m sorry too… for everything.”

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.”

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders.

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?”

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.”

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.”

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.”

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.”

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly…

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.”

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way.

“(Y/N)—”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.”

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…”

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey.

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill?

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.”

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips.

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.”

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—”

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.”

“Help is on the way—”

“How do you know that for sure?”

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows.

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.”

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison.

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment.

He needs to have hope, if nothing else.

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?”

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.”

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?”

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head.

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?”

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.”

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see:

Im Jaebeom.

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk.

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.”

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?”

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.”

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.”

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff:

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.”

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?”

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.”

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest.

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return.

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?”

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet.

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?”

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.”

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—”

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities.

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...”

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing.

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.”

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!”

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!”

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!”

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.”

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!”

“Every war has its casualties.”

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?”

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!”

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?”

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!”

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer…

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward.

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.”

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder:

“Not yet, hyung.”

“But Jinyoung—”

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.”

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party:

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.”

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.”

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?”

Jaebeom’s face darkens.

“...So there is a cure?”

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.”

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.”

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world.

“You know she doesn’t have much time—”

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead.

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.”

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far.

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!”

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn.

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch.

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph:

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.”

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something…

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.”

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?”

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave.

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why.

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?”

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.”

“He never told me that.”

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.”

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—”

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.”

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further.

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway.

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight.

“Everything okay…?”

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.”

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.”

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—”

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress.

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh:

Die.

“Shit—we need to go. Now.”

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.”

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation.

“What is it?”

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?”

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal.

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!”

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight.

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.”

“Watch your ears.” You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire.

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise.

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand.

“Mark—”

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand.

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat. You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!”

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—”

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!”

“I understand you—”

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!”

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.”

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality:

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two.

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable.

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…”

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears.

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.”

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips.

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!”

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.”

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?”

You nod.

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…”

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!”

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…”

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing.

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile.

“Thank you, Changbin…”

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…”

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.”

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head.

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.”

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.”

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer.

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…”

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.”

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question.

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?”

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…”

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.”

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.”

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—”

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!”

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…”

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.”

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—”

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...”

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips:

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else.

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse:

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand.

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—”

“Tzuyu…?”

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips.

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?”

“It seems so.”

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one.

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?”

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.”

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…”

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart.

“Everything is taken care of, right?”

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear.

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…”

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.”

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.”

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?”

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.”

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.”

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation:

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues.

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!”

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears.

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!”

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out.

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?”

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!”

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...”

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts:

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!”

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground.

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground.

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!”

“(Y/N)! Don’t!”

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white.

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms.

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!”

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips:

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out.

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so.

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?”

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.”

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.”

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent.

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?”

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest.

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.”

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that…

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human.

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.”

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.”

“Then let me be selfish with you.”

Tzuyu smiles.

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.”

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

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prfxxor · 2 years

Text

anyway. as a followup to this,

RECEIPTS FOR CHARLES’ PSYCHIC FUCKERY

i think xavier fucks with people’s minds like no other psychics -- at least in part -- is because he’s always very deliberate with the way he uses his powers since very early on.

[uncanny x-men #38] is the canon moment where humans officially “discovered” mutants among them and anti-mutant became an organized public sentiment. charles upon reading the news immediately flew all the way to DC to meet the FBI agent conducting investigation on the supposed “mutant menace.”

when getting pass the armed guards, he considered that while he could simply use mind control to order them to let him pass, it’s better if they didn’t remember the encounter altogether.

this seems a pretty small and very unremarkably reasonable thought, all things considered, but it underpins the way this man thinks and how he interacts with his ability vis-a-vis the world, namely...

he has the uncanny ability and aptitude to blend the mental/constructed world with the “real” world and make you doubt yourself

in the same issue [#38], when confronting the FBI agents, instead of making it so that the agent simply freeze or unable to push him, he made it so that the agent (in green) THOUGHT he’s pushing, but was actually not.

it’s a subtle difference, but the effect psychologically is just that much more jarring -- you’re not just being “controlled.” it’s not just an outside force imposing upon you and your body, your entirely perception of reality and of YOURSELF is challenged. after this, how can you trust ANYTHING that you do when this man is around?

[THIS POST IS TOO FUCKING LONG IM PUTTING IT UNDER CUT]

a similar trick was done in [legacy #225] when xavier single-handedly infiltrated the acolytes’ base.

at first they were surprised that he was able to bypass the security system, seemingly having the computers and weapons under his command (how could that be? “he has no telekinetic powers!” poor bennet exclaimed). but as it turns out, he’s actually controlling unuscione to do his bidding from the control room.

when questioned why her psi-shield wasn’t working, sentinel pointed out that it would’ve been... if it was turned on at all -- charles implanted the false memory of turning on the psi-shield in unuscione’s mind.

how fucking clever, chilling and mind-bending a trick is that?! for its subtlety. and it once again made it so that you can’t trust yourself.

i can go on about this whole sequence, including his encounter with random where he revealed that he’s bypassed his psi-shield by planting the hypnotic suggestions in his mind the night before in hiS DREAM-- this shows another aspect of his style of psychic warfare...

he plays the long game.

how long? it may be a minute, an hour, a day or a fortnight... but either way, he’d started before you knew it’s begun. he’s ahead of you. even just by a half step.

and then sometimes you get something like [legacy #219], where cain didn’t even know WHEN charles got into his head. in fact, he lived out a whole fucking scenario in which he killed charles for god knows how many days, weeks, or months, before the illusion was shattered.

(the way this thing went down was also just... a whole thing. i highly recommend checking it out. it’s a single issue one-shot but one of my favorite issues that’s both a master character study of charles fucking xavier, and a dissection of this troubled brotherly dynamic.)

herein lies the paradox or perhaps one of the contradictions with this character... however bizarre and out-of-touch his relationships with his fellow human beings (mutants included) seem to be, he also has a deep understanding of the human mind/psychology, which is what enables him to pull off these intricate mind tricks. and more importantly...

he watches and learns.

and we get the sense that he does this deliberately, like much of everything he does.

here is a moment i missed in my first reading: in [legacy #218], charles was facing off against claudine renko, aka miss sinister. miss sinister was one of sinister’s “hosts” and possessed similar psychic abilities. she was able to get the drop on xavier when xavier broke into her mansion. she attacked him with all sorts of mental tricks/illusions for about 1.5 page before he revealed that -- all along -- he’s got one of her psi-shield gadgets on him and used it to bypass her psychic assault.

something felt off about it but i couldn’t put my finger on it the first time reading it, until i realized... if he had the psi-shield all along, why did he let her attack his mind at all? why not have it activated the whole time and save the trouble?

a possible explanation seems to be that... he wanted to see what she’d do? he wanted to get her to show her hand and show herself -- which she did, letting on to him that she’s a host of mister sinister. and then, and only then, did he fight back and subdue her.

she should’ve learned from his previous battle with her original, mister sinister. it’s kind of a consistent thing that charles adjusts and gets better in psychic battles the longer they drag on.

in [legacy #214], he was locked in heated combat with mister sinister on the astral plane. and by all means he was losing. bad.

sinister was pulling out all the stops and weaponizing all of his past failures, regrets, angst, and humiliations against him. which all culminated in... onslaught.

what should’ve been the climax or the final blow ended up being the turning point where charles regained control and pushed sinister out of his mind and body (oh yeah sinister was trying to take over his body/mind in a ploy to resurrect himself forgot to mention that).... because it’s too obvious

...,,which.. . wt f yo mean tOo obvioSu?1!?!?

basically what i got out of this, and the totality of evidence, is that charles xavier is a tactician. once he knows what your game is/what you’re doing, he will figure out a way to counter it. whatever it takes.

whatever it takes.

[astonishing x-men (2017) #5] showed the epic battle between shadow king and charles xavier which ended in xavier’s last pre-krakoa resurrection via fantomex’s body (long story).

it’s a whole feat onto itself and i recommend people reading it, especially the 2017 annual #1 which further illustrates my point about charles’ psychic manipulation.

but the key point here is, he will throw everything at the problem -- and he never plays only one game at a time.

most importantly, he constructs a narrative. he doesn’t just make you do the thing he wants you to do, he gives you a reason as to why you’re doing it. a story. a history. an entire dollhouse that makes everything make sense... until it doesn’t.

it plays with all of your senses (possibly, but also not all the time. which ones do you rely on?), at multiple levels (it goes deeper than you thought, but by hitting the bottom you only discover how far he’s strung you along), and started way before you were ready, or even realized.

it shatters you by making you fundamentally question your relationship with reality. that’s what makes his use of psychic powers feel so intricate, elaborate, and so -- back to the central thesis of this post -- violating.

#( reference ) read comics.#( meta ) data.#long post #...anyway #read this also as my love letter to some of my favorite books lol

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ezrasarm · 3 years

Text

Before You Go

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: After a mission goes sideways you and Poe find yourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Warnings: Depictions of blood and wounds, medical inaccuracies I’m sure, lil’ bit of angst, fluff, one (1) smooch, I think it’s gender neutral... I think (let me know if I’ve missed something though!)

A/n: At long last this is my first Poe fic and I have to say it’s been incredibly fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think, I’m new to writing his character and will take all the feedback I can get! Also a massive thank you to @andriecastana AKA @im-poe-dameron for beta reading!

[Masterlist]

“Skipper- Skipper, c’mon we don’t have time for this.”

“How- what are you doing here-” You mumbled as you came to. The words didn’t hold much force with the way your loss of consciousness still hung like a heavy fog over your head, or perhaps that was the smoke spewing from the engines which had been shot down to throw you into a spin. All sensations seemed far too overwhelming but the more awareness you managed to gain, the more urgency you began to realize filled Poe’s voice as he jostled your shoulders and moved to chuck your helmet off and unstrap you from the cockpit.

“Saving your ass, now c’mon!” He exclaimed, practically dragging you out of the beached and smouldering ship. “Up we get, down we go.” He said as though you were a child, probably because in your daze that’s all you seemed to have the mental capacity of. You’d hardly managed to gain your balance before a blaster shot tore past your shoulder and in a split second Poe had taken a vice grip on your wrist and your feet had no choice but to stumble after him as he tugged you through the thicket of deep green undergrowth until you couldn’t help but match his sprint.

The most you were capable of was keeping your eyes ahead of you so as not to run face-first into a tree. Your heart was racing at the hail of blaster bolts raining down around you and in the one moment you allowed yourself to look over your shoulder to see what exactly it was you were running from you felt a sharp pain rip through your side.

“Stick with me, Skipper,” Poe called over his shoulder, a tight squeeze to your hand to urge you on as he felt your pace falter behind him. And so you did. You ran with him until all you knew was the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. Until you could hardly breathe. Until the searing pain in your side became so unbearable you could feel your legs giving way to jello beneath you.

“Poe,” You gasped out, “Poe, slow down,” You choked but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Just a little further! I think we’ve almost lost them!” He threw back at you with that same desperate optimism that always made people follow him. That made him the brilliant, impulsive, stubborn, leader he was. But this time, no matter how much you wanted to do good by him, you couldn’t.

You would have told him so but the unmistakable whir of a speeder cutting through the trees hit your ear and you knew there was no chance of either you or him out running that. So you made a quick decision, the type of thing that got you into this mess in the first place, and with the last remaining ounce of energy in your body, you threw yourself at him and used all the force you could muster to tackle him over the ledge you had been running along side and to the ground, concealed only by the projection of earth above you and the thick brush of greenery around you.

The landing was by no means graceful. You had to choke back the wail of pain when he fell on top of you. His hand which you supposed had come to brace you, pressed into the wound just below your rib cage and instead of shoving him off of you as every nerve in your body was screaming at you to do, you locked your legs around him and planted your palm over his mouth.

Your entire body tensed, back and shoulders ridged and neck strained as you listened for the speeder which had been tailing you, it’s hum growing louder and louder until it was practically on top of you, and then it stopped. It couldn’t have been two meters away from you when the trooper hopped off of it. You winced at the sound of boots crunching on the dead and dry leaves over your heads, unconsciously holding Poe a little tighter to you as you struggled to hold your breath, and just when you thought there was no way you were making it out of this alive, that there was no way the mangle of plants you had rolled yourself behind could conceal the neon orange of your flight suits, a staticky voice killed the silence–

“I’ve lost them.”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve lost them’?” Another voice emerged from the comms on the trooper.

“I mean they’re not here.” The stormtrooper spoke, throwing a leg over the speeder before turning back in the direction from which he came.

It was only when the speeder had made its way out of earshot that you let your head fall back to the ground with a long-awaited hiss of the breath you had been holding in. Your voice caught in your throat in a silent sob when Poe shifted his weight above you and it was only now, as you shoved him off of you with shaking hands, that he began to clue into the way you had stumbled behind him as you ran, the desperation in your voice when you’d told him to slow down, the reason you, someone he could rely on to follow him through anything, had just about refused to. The warm, damp sensation on his palm made sense now when he looked down at the deep crimson stain on your flight suit where it had rested.

“Shit.” He let out, looking between you and the wound on your side. “Shit, they hit you? Why didn’t you tell me?!” The panic in his voice coming out more aggravated than he had intended and making you wince.

“We were a little preoccupied!” You huffed out, gesturing in the direction you had come from as if the situation were somehow the slightest bit funny despite the pain that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.

“You were shot!” He exclaimed, mind racing for the next step, for a way out of this.

“It’s not that bad.” You lied, clearly not fooling anyone with the waiver to your breath. “Just gotta get my hands on a medkit and I’ll be good as new.” You say, trying your best to play this off as nothing despite the sinking feeling in your gut that it was considerably more than that. “You have a medkit right?” You ask, only allowing the reality of the situation to hit you when Poe’s face scrunched up and he smoothed a hand over his features.

“No. It’s back on the ship I crashed trying to keep you from getting yourself killed.” He groaned in frustration.

“One hell of a rescue mission, huh?” You grumble out.

“I don’t seem to recall you fairing much better. At least I got my landing gear down!” He exclaimed, “What the hell were you thinking, getting down that low?” And here it came, the ‘I’m your commanding officer, you’re supposed to listen to what I say’ card. The one play you couldn’t rebuttal to no matter how close to him you thought you were, or how much you thought you could get away with.

“I was thinking I had a clear shot to take out their fuel reserves in one go if I got close enough.”

“Yeah, a little too close, don’tcha think?” He throws back at you.

“Remind me how you got here again?” You quip, managing to render him speechless for at least a couple of seconds. A deep exhale escapes him, his head falling in resignation with a slight shake before he speaks again.

“Can you sit up?” He asks, tone flat, and it’s now that the remorse begins to ween its way back into your head.

“I think so-” You start but the hiss you let out when you attempt it proves otherwise and Poe is quick to shift around you and prop you up in his lap so he can help you shoulder the top of your flight suit down around your hips. The throbbing in your side doesn’t allow you much room to relish in the way his hands feel on your bare skin when he pushes your undershirt up so he can take a look at the angry wound on your waist but the warmth is welcome.

“What was that you said about it not being that bad?” He asks, trying to mask the panic rising in his chest at the depth of the wound.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you try to defend yourself but he’s already brushing off the answer.

“Yeah, well I’m gonna worry anyway, aren’t I?” He says and you’re not quite sure why that makes this hurt so much more, and not just from the way he’s balled up the sleeve of your flight suit to press into the wound and try to slow some of the bleeding. A heavy silence hangs in the air as you let his words stew before attempting to speak.

“I’m sorry about what I said- for all of this.” You say quietly, “I’m glad you came for me, I’d be dead already if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t say that-“ He tries to push the thought aside but you had hardly been conscious when he found you, you knew there was no way you would have even made it out of your ship let alone outrun those ground forces without his help.

“I should‘ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have come down here at all, I just thought…” You cut yourself off before you even have the chance to say too much, worrying your lip between your teeth as he brings a hand to cradle your head, his thumb brushing soothing patterns along your jaw line as you force your breathing into control.

“What?” He whispers and you’re not sure what it is that possesses you to finish your sentence, the gentleness to his tone or the overall circumstances but you tell him.

“...I wanted you to be proud of me, Poe,” are the shaky words that slip past your lips and to your surprise and probably his too, his face light up.

“Are you kidding me? I’m always proud of you, Skipper.” You scoff weakly at the nickname as he brushes some of the sweat dampened hair off your forehead. “I’m not kidding, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve zoned out just watching you fly. Every twist and turn you make is so natural, so graceful, it’s like the ship is an extension of your own body and it’s mesmerizing.” He explains, a hint of wonderment to his tone that causes the butterflies in your stomach to stir before the corners of his lips drop. “It also makes it all the more tragic to watch you spin out of control.” He says and the guilt hits you like a truck all over again. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” You huff out, glancing down at the place where he was still holding firm pressure to your wound, and it’s clear the humor to the comment is lost on him.

“Hey, we’re not going there!” He retorts, not sure if it's more of a comfort for you or for him at this point. “The resistance knows where we are. They’re gonna come for us.” He assures you and you see that same unwavering hope glint in his eye but there's something else there too. A slight mist making his eyes glisten and at this point you’re sure that even he knows without getting proper medical attention soon your odds are dwindling. He’s only reminded of that more when your grip tightens on his forearm.

“Poe,” The first hint of fear makes its way into your voice when you speak, your head feeling heavier in his lap, “It’s c-cold.” You stutter out, and he notices the way your teeth are chattering slightly when he shifts as gently as possible to wrap himself snuggly around you.

“It’s okay,” he lies more to himself than to you, “you’re going into shock. Just stay with me, keep talking. You’re doing so well.” He says, finding it harder and harder to keep his voice even with each word.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmur. At this point in the cheesy holos you would watch back on base the handsome protagonist would have said ‘yes, anything,’ and it would be followed by a deep heartfelt confession but Poe wasn’t like that.

“Depends on what you’re asking.” He smirks and you shake your head. You’d have shoved him in the arm playfully if it didn’t take all of your concentration just to keep your eyes open right now.

“Seriously? Even in death you won’t tell me what happened on Dagobah?”

“You’re not dying!” He protests a little harsher than intended and you bite back your fading smile when you refocus on the question you had meant to ask him.

“Why do you still call me Skipper?” You rasp out and his head tilts fondly towards you. You and he both knew you’d been promoted ages ago yet the moniker had stuck. He had never taken the time to consider if you liked it or not.

“Because you hadn’t even made it out of training in that first battle on D’Quar but you stepped up to the plate when we needed you and were the best FO I’ve ever had.” He explained. “You’ll always be my right hand man.” He said quieter this time and with the way his forehead was practically pressed to yours and the closeness he held you to him with you had to wonder if he meant it in a couple more ways than one. You think he’s about to say more but you’re distracted when your vision begins to cloud with purple spots.

“Poe,” his name is heavy on your tongue as your heart rate picks up and your grip on his arm tightens. “I can’t see. I can’t…” your words trail off as he tries to jostle you back to life.

“Skipper, stay with me.” He calls to you but his voice is distant and the words scramble in your head. “Help is almost here, I’m sure of it, just stay with me.” He tries again, clutching you close as he rocks you in his arms but you’re already gone and he’s left muttering gentle affirmations to no one but himself.

***

It was bright. Way too bright and the fluorescent lights above that you recognized as those from the base infirmary made your eyes sting as you tried your best to cling to consciousness for the second time in 24 hours.

“Finn peed on me.” Your eyes had barely fluttered open when Poe spoke.

“What?” Your throat was hoarse from disuse for several hours and you were sure your ears must have been equally decalibrated with the words you were positive you had misheard.

“On Dagobah. You asked what happened on Dagobah and Finn had to pee on me.” He clarified but your mind was still reeling.

“Wait what?!” If you weren’t awake before you certainly were now, unable to restrain the disbelieving grin rising on your lips. You weren’t sure if it was over the story he was telling you or the mere fact that you were around to hear it but the feeling of pure joy welling in your chest was overwhelming.

“I got stung by one of those crazy looking swamp monster things that live in the water there and it hurt like hell and Finn said he’d heard something about urine making the sting go away so he peed on me and we both swore we’d never speak about it again.” He sped through the story as though he couldn’t get it over with fast enough but the look on his face told you he wasn’t quite as disappointed with telling you as his words let on.

“Did- did it work?” You asked hesitantly, half horrified and half too invested not to get an answer.

“No, it actually made it about a thousand times worse. It was… the dumbest idea we’ve ever had and that’s saying something.” He said, melting at the way you had to clutch your side to keep from laughing too hard.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You shake your head softly as the corners of your lips fall, leaving only the warm look in your eye that gave Poe the confidence to give you an actual answer.

“Because for a whole four minutes I thought I had just watched you die in my arms and it turned my entire world upside down.” He whispered, shifting onto the edge of the seat he’d pulled up to the side of your bed so he could grasp your hand in his. “I had so much I still wanted to tell you and I was too busy trying to will you not to die on me to get it all out.” He said and that misty look in his eyes had returned telling you this was no joke. “I never want to feel that way again.”

“Well we’ve got time, Poe. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon-” You start to say but he’s already shifting up onto the edge of your bed to clutch both of your hands in his and you would be lying if you said the intensity in his eyes wasn’t scaring you just a bit.

“No, no I’ve gotta tell you right now or I’m never gonna have the balls to say it again.” He insists and you shift up in the bed slightly to give him your full attention. “You were right about the Dagobah mission, we never should have gone alone-”

“Well yeah I could’ve told you that-” You chuckle but he’s too focused to pay it much mind.

“-and you technically won that race that one time because I accidentally misread the track markers and cut the course short-”

“I knew about that one. BB-8 told me, and it wasn’t an accident.”

“The little traitor.” He muttered to himself, forcing the corners of your lips to quirk upwards at the corners. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t been promoted because I miss the feeling I used to get when I flew with you.” He admits rather sheepishly for his usual suave and self-assured demeanour and that's enough to render you speechless on its own but he’s not done yet. “And I’ve been in love with you since the moment you slid into that cockpit with me and only admitted after having to take full control for five minutes mid dogfight that you’d never flown outside of the sim before.”

“Well I knew I was in good hands.” You mumble, thoroughly distracted now by the realization of how close his face is hovering to yours.

“I think you’re missing the point here, Skipper.” He whispers, so close you can practically feel his gaze burning into your lips as he speaks.

“No, I’m just not entirely sure what to say.” You murmur back, the urge to close the short distance between you growing impossible to resist with each passing moment.

“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything...” He shakes his head, just about ready to pull away when you tilt your chin up to catch his lips with yours, feeling the way they curve up into a smile against your mouth as his hand comes to cradle your jaw. You’re not sure when your arms snuck around him in any attempt to hold him as close to you as possible, nor are you aware of how hard he’s working to resist the urge to melt into your touch and cause any more pain than has already been caused today. All you know is how whole you feel being in his embrace and how glad you are that you stuck around.

[Masterlist]

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?”

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off.

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades.

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had.

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?”

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time.

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground.

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel.

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted.

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did.

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.”

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition.

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment.

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since.

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun.

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo.

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly.

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself.

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost.

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time.

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time.

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together.

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place.

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand.

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward.

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine.

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone.

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto.

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected.

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider.

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling.

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away.

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins.

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams.

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina.

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat.

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance.

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there.

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again.

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him.

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot.

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat.

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped.

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!” the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese.

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now.

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!��

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it.

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back.

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope.

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back.

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another.

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said.

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and…

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison.

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again.

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose.

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know.

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine.

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest.

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name.

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo!

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

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