#i like puppet violence! its very amusing!

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Battle

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Continuation from last chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse, you and the others fly to Cairo to confront Apocalypse and his soldiers in an attempt to rescue Xavier.

Warnings: Apocalypse being a leg breaking, hero strangling jerk. Characters fighting for their lives, but bookended with fluff from Peter x Reader pairing.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp, @wintwrsoldiwr, @tommy-braccoli, @amourtentiaa

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

———————————

You’d at least gotten to clean up somewhat. Earlier as Hank and the new woman you’d just met, Moira, had worked on readying the jet, you’d found some bit of helpful supplies. Clean rags to wipe off the blood, and bandages that’d you’d hurriedly applied to your shallow claw wounds.

All the remnants of your restraints were gone, and your old, torn clothes you’d just tossed in favor of the thin jumpsuit and lightly armored black flight suit over the top of it. You all wore these suits, commandeered with this experimental jet now rumbling beneath you as you shot off to Cairo together.

There was silence for a good while, after some initial nervous chatter and joking from the others. It would have been too easy to fill this quiet with any of the myriad of questions still rushing through your brain, but you really had just listened and little more when they’d filled you in earlier with the gist of what they’d learned.

All that really mattered was that the Professor was being held captive by a seemingly omnipotent mutant. One that had now declared war on all and recruited his own powerful soldiers. This was a rescue mission, with likely all your lives at stake.

You leaned your head back, wondering if anyone else would really even know or care what had happened to you if you never came back from this.

The escape from Stryker’s lab had been life threatening as well of course, but it was so different when it’d just been one thing after another. Events unfolding too quickly to really develop any sense of dread, it’d been all adrenaline and luck really.

But even in a jet like this, flying all the way to Egypt was more than just a skip and a jump. It was well enough time to dwell on your own inexperience and shortcomings, to wonder if this was the last time you’d ever do anything at all.

“Hey,” Peter’s voice was quiet, just to you, as you glanced over, having been mired only in your own thoughts until that moment.

He was sitting beside you, both of you strapped in these jump seats that ran along both sides of the jet. Vaguely you realized the others had started talking once more as well then. Maybe that was why he felt more comfortable speaking to you again now.

He hadn’t addressed you directly since you’d reunited with the others. Though you wouldn’t blame him if he was just as nervous as you were deep down. But from his self deprecating jokes in front of your friends earlier, about still living at home with his mother, he would at least seem better at hiding fear if he did have any.

“Hey,” You answered back reflexively, looking at him fully again.

“So uh....” He was chewing a piece of gum, as if some part of him still had to stay in motion in order to remain comfortable. “That car, that was pretty sweet. That yours or what?”

Honestly it took you a very long, awkward pause before you could piece together any idea of what he was referring to. But being that you’d only known him since literally just earlier today, there wasn’t anything else he could possibly mean. “The yellow convertible?” You questioned anyway, not really surprised by much of anything now.

“Yeah, I mean, I take the road if there is one. I saw you guys on the way to the house,” He answered, still offering a little explanation regardless. “Looked like you knew what you were doing though.” There was a more sheepish grin emerging. “I was going to stop and say hey I guess. But then I saw the, you know, fireball coming out the house and all, had to go see what that was about. Save everybody or whatever...” He trailed off after a bit, maybe realizing that you were just letting him ramble.

It reminded you of how you’d acted with him during the whole lab fiasco. He seemed the more confident one down there, while you got easily flustered. You really wondered if having your friends here now was making the difference. As if he was more unsure of himself when there was a potential audience to hear what you might say back to him.

It was interesting, getting to put more of those pieces together, or at least starting to be able to when it came to him. For putting on the display of an extrovert, and if you could finally admit it, even him being an outright flirt, you felt more and more sure that that was only skin deep really. That was just the outer layer he protected himself with.

“It was one of the Professor’s cars,” You smiled genuinely, probably the first one since they’d told you where you were going in this jet and why. “We were on our way back from the mall.”

That warmth from you seemed to ease him back into his normal tone, maybe a slight relief in him that you didn’t find it off putting that he’d already taken notice of you before you even knew he was anywhere around.

“Oh, mallrat, huh?” He quipped, “I can picture that.”

He was teasing, but you gave it right back. “There is no way you can tell me that you don’t end up in music stores wherever you live, like a lot.” You hadn’t forgotten his band t-shirt after all. You thought you’d seen him putting away headphones at some point too. “And that leather jacket and pants you had? Come on, that didn’t come from some bargain clothes rack.”

You might have had him for just a moment there. Just a flicker of surprise in his eyes to know you really had paid him that much attention, before he retorted, “Hey, what’s the point of a fast car if it has no style, right?”

“Says the guy who most people can’t even see until he slows down.” But you were purposeful to make clear in your tone that that wasn’t an insult at all, just continuing a little more bravely afterward, “Though their loss I guess.”

There was no mistake then, he really did pause. You could feel the slightest bit of heat in your face again, but you were not about to take that back. Not when you didn’t even know what was really awaiting you all at the end of this flight.

And you were still the next one to speak, that resolve remaining. “If we make it out of this, maybe you can come with me back over there to our mall. Help me pick out some new stuff.” You tried not to make it sound funny, but on some cosmic level it still was. “Seeing as how my room and everything I owned was incinerated and all.”

“Deal.” He said immediately. Only a little afterward seeming to realize that maybe he sounded a bit too eager. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “I mean, I’m pretty good at Ms. Pac Man too. They have an arcade, right?”

“Yes.” You answered, trying not to look too amused, and going along with him to help him feel more comfortable. “I can’t say I’m actually any good, but they do have a Flash Gordon pinball machine I always play. And a couple of air hockey tables. That’s my go-to.” No question with his speed that he would likely annihilate you on both. But the idea of being in a much simpler, safer place like that with him some day was a pleasant one right now.

“Oh yeah. I can show you a thing or two.” He was clearly back in his element then, looking smug once more.

“I’m sure you will.” You could only wonder if the god complex mutant and his lackeys you were now off to go challenge would have any idea that in the back of your mind you’d now be dreaming of a simple date in an arcade as extra motivation to get back home in one piece.

———————————

It wasn’t long before things had started spiraling in quick succession again. You’d all arrived in Cairo to find it essentially destroyed, save for what this fake god had already erected in monument to himself. A huge pyramid in the style of the ancient Egyptians, one he’d taken Xavier hostage inside.

It hadn’t been clear though how much of the destruction was done by this mutant, and how much had actually been at Magneto’s hands as it was with more shock that you’d found him in the middle of this as well. Now serving this apocalyptic mutant.

You knew enough about Magneto to both fear and respect him. Even though his history with the Professor went back so many years, Erik Lehnsherr as he was actually named was always more on the side of peace through violence. While Xavier preached ideals of tolerance and education for regular humans to one day accept mutant kind, Magneto thought them incapable of such, and had no qualms on preemptive strikes against non mutants as well as eye for an eye type vengeance.

But even for Magneto this seemed surprising. He would really just give Xavier up this way? As you’d gotten closer, Jean had sensed that Apocalypse (what you were now calling the new enemy in your own mind) intended to take over the Professor’s body, possessing him permanently to gain access to his mind control powers and become basically omniscient. He’d be unstoppable with everyone as his puppets then. Free will would cease to exist.

“You guys help Nightcrawler get into the pyramid!” Raven called back to all of you as the jet was landing. “Get Charles and I’ll take care of Erik.”

You’d snapped back to attention at the orders, and you saw that Peter was suddenly at her side.

He looked so focused all at once, “I can get you in there,” He told her, referring to the debris field of broken buildings and all else now churning, stuck in a huge magnetic orb with Magneto at its center. When she didn’t look sure, he continued quickly. “I came here for him, let me help you.”

Raven nodded to Peter then in agreement, knowing there was no time for more back and forth. “The rest of you, get Charles on this plane and get him out of here!”

You too knew what was at stake, there was no reason to argue, even if there still must have been concern on your face. You didn’t understand Peter’s change and sudden fixation on Magneto.

But it was only Kurt that spoke up immediately, yelling back to Raven and Peter, “We’re not leaving without you!”

Peter looked back at that, “Don’t worry.” In fact, you realized he was looking directly to you for one moment. “We’ll catch up.”

———————————

While Peter had sped Raven out of sight to try and reason with Magneto, Moira had stayed with the jet and Hank had come with you, Scott, Jean, and Kurt.

But as you all ran along the rubble, trying to make your way to the pyramid, it hadn’t been but moments until you encountered Apocalypse’s other soldiers, mutants set on stopping you all from interfering by any means necessary.

A tall, blonde man with wings made out of metal, a ninja seeming woman with a pinkish purple energy she could wield from her hand like a blade even while also carrying a katana, and a girl nearer your own age with stark white hair and seemingly the most power out of the three as she’d flown right towards you throwing lightning bolts from her hands.

You’d had no choice but to split up. Which you were sure was what they’d wanted even as you’d chosen to try and take the white haired girl’s attention. You didn’t really want to find out what would happen if one of those bolts struck you directly, but you could guess you had the best chance of anyone to maybe absorb some of it in your energy form.

You’d immediately powered up, glowing white as she’d chased you around the sky, both of you darting and flying in some kind of bizarre dog fight.

Your heart had been racing though, no amount of training at the mansion could actually prepare you for dueling with someone who actually wished to harm you. Everything to this point had just been about learning to control your powers, maybe even firing an energy blast at a dummy or paper target or two. But you’d never tried to hurt anyone. Not on purpose.

“Why are you helping him!?” You yelled out to her, swerving again as she tried to get close enough to you to land a hit. You generated an orb of light energy from one hand, letting it destabilize before you threw it towards her. It collapsed into itself, exploding to make a shockwave through the air that pushed her back again.

“He’s going to make it so we never have to hide what we are again!” She growled back in frustration, steadying herself in the air before her eyes hazed over into solid white.

You doubted that could be good, and of course it wasn’t as she raised her arms, a tornado like blast of wind then trying to knock you from the sky. You were able to shield yourself somewhat with your force fields, but the barrage of debris and wreckage that came with the winds made it too difficult to keep track of her as she did nearly land a direct lightning strike then.

“You’re wrong!” You yelled back, even as you felt numb and disoriented briefly, like the electricity surge was messing with your own energy. “He’s just using all of you! He only wants slaves, nothing more! And you’re just going to hand us all to him!”

She didn’t answer back after that, but you knew it wasn’t as if you could change anyone’s mind for them. She’d have to live with her own choices, just as you’d have to live with yours.

After a good while of this tit for tat though, you were really trying to take her out of the sky at last, knowing you needed to find and help the others as this had already been going on for far too long. You started trying to get her in the chest with white energy beam after energy beam shooting from your hands. She was fast, but you were able to at least get her in one shoulder at last as she spun with the force, losing altitude quickly with the hit.

Even as she fell, you could see her already correcting course though, trying to take aim at you again as she glared upwards.

But you didn’t get to see what happened next. A three fingered hand grasped your left arm suddenly from thin air, and then you were collapsing onto the floor of the jet you’d come here in.

“Gotcha, time to go!” Kurt spoke quickly as you looked to him in surprise, that strange burning smell hanging in the air briefly that always accompanied his teleporting. It was as instant a feeling as moving with Peter, but thankfully without the subsequent vertigo as you stood quickly, powering down, even as you were already looking around for the speedster.

With relief you did see Jean cradling the Professor’s head as they sat on the floor, Xavier unconscious but still breathing. But you did not see Peter or Raven.

Moira and Hank were already firing up the jet engines and you grabbed hold to the wall as you felt the craft quickly rising. “What about Peter and Raven?” You called out over the noise of the turbines spooling up faster and faster.

“We’ll have to trust them to figure it out, we’ve got to get Charles out of here now!” Hank answered back, leaving no room for debate.

You felt an unease building in your stomach, but it was true that if Apocalypse got Xavier, that Peter, Raven, or anyone else would then no longer matter anyway. At least for now you could hope Peter would just take Raven and run somewhere far from here. Xavier and Jean could use their psychic abilities to find them later and you could reunite.

But a hard thud above you left you all looking upward as the jet rattled.

“What the hell was that!?” Moira called out.

As soon as you saw that pinkish energy blade emerging through the jet’s hull, you had already powered up again, glowing and ready to shield the others as best you could. Apocalypse’s soldiers were proving too difficult to shake.

Yet Jean had other plans, “Everyone, grab onto Kurt!” She yelled.

You didn’t know what altitude you were already at, but you knew it wasn’t a survivable one for the jet itself if it was ditched now. Yet a fight in this close of quarters with all your powers would likely end in the same result. So her choice wasn’t as irrational as it first seemed.

You reached one hand quickly back, firmly grabbing onto Kurt’s shoulder, even as you kept your other hand raised towards where the metal winged mutant and the blade wielding woman were now trying to force their way in through the breach they’d created in the hull.

“I’ve never done it with this many people!” Kurt warned as you all held to him.

“Get us out of here!” Jean commanded, her desperation bringing out a forcefulness you hadn’t yet seen from her.

But Kurt was still straining, the sound of his opening whatever portal he used clearly heard but not bringing you anywhere as he tried several times.

The man with the metal wings jumped down into the cockpit, now just feet away as you realized what you had to do.

“Go without me!” You screamed over the rush of wind now coming through the hull breach. You let go of Kurt, making direct eye contact with Jean.

You could get out on your own. At least you were going to try. It was the only way. Kurt wasn’t able to take you all.

You felt that Jean was listening, that she heard your thoughts and that as difficult as it was, she agreed just as quickly. It was the only way.

“Do it!” She urged Kurt even through the horrified look he gave you both.

“I’m taking it down.” You also heard her voice say in your head almost simultaneously. That briefest warning to ready yourself before she willed the controls to throw the plane into a nosedive and cause Apocalypse’s soldiers to lose their footing.

The last you saw of your other friends was still their shocked and frightened expressions as they disappeared from right in front of you. But this was your only chance as well, propelling yourself as fast you could, right through the fading cloud of gas they left behind and past the now tumbling winged mutant as all your focus went to that small square of sunlight that they’d cut into the hull.

It was your one window of survival. For just the briefest moment, you felt him try to grab hold of your leg as you flew past him. But you kicked him with the other leg as hard as you could manage, breaking free into the open air as the jet plummeted on without you.

Out the corner of your eye you saw the woman had remained on the outside of the jet, but jumped free from it as well. You lost sight of her as you both fell, focusing only on trying to slow your descent to a survivable speed. It was one thing to levitate yourself up from a neutral position, and wholly another to try and control your energy field around yourself enough to reverse the terminal velocity transferred to you from being within a crashing plane.

The ground still came too fast, too hard. You blacked out on impact, laying alone in the dirt as your light energy faded, receding back inside you.

————————————

An unknown time later, something jolted you awake. You could hear screaming as you opened your eyes. You were laying on your side. Everything hurt and you could taste blood in your mouth.

But you were already forcing yourself back up as you swallowed. Disoriented as you were, you still recognized that voice. It was Peter. He was hurt.

You were looking all around you, and it didn’t take long to see the source and reason for the screams.

Not far from you at all, Apocalypse stood in a clearing from all the rubble. Peter right beside him, half crumpled to the ground. One of Peter’s feet was encased in the earth, trapping him there like an animal in a snare. His other leg was clearly broken, twisted at a grossly unnatural angle.

You felt a foreign rage beginning to burn up inside you, but before you could even physically react you saw the woman with the katana again. Nowhere in your mind did you take any time to consider how she would look so clean and uninjured having just come from the same circumstances as you of barely escaping the crashing jet.

All you saw was her walking towards her master, sword at the ready to finish Peter.

“Stop, (Y/N)!”

Charles screaming inside your head was the only thing that kept you from revealing yourself at that moment.

“It’s Raven! I’m telling you, it’s Raven!” Even Charles was struggling to break through your flaring emotions, as he repeated himself desperately. “He’ll kill you, (Y/N)! Stay in place, I beg you!”

The Professor had never spoken to you in such a way before. You gripped onto the broken wall in front of you, still only just obscured from their view as you saw Apocalypse grab Peter by the hair, jerking the young man’s head back roughly to expose his throat to the woman.

“It’s Raven, please trust her!” Charles did not let go. You could feel him actually starting to control you even, something he had absolutely never done before, though your emotions were exploding like they also never had. He didn’t want you to make a life ending mistake.

“(Y/N), please.” He called again and you realized you were being held in place, unable to move out any further. You were forced to only watch as the woman raised her blade, Peter wincing in fear and pain beneath her as she swung it.

But it was only Apocalypse’s throat that ripped open. Yet even in your surprise, any sense of victory was still non existent. No blood poured from the wound, and it healed completely within moments as he only grabbed his supposed traitor by the neck, holding her up immediately.

Raven’s feet hung in the air while she choked, her blue skin and true appearance quickly returning as she could no longer control her disguise as Apocalypse strangled her.

And it was only then that you felt Xavier letting go of you, in his own shock as Apocalypse tried to bait him out.

“Charles! Come! Rescue your weaklings!” Apocalypse challenged aloud, still dangling the now helpless Raven while Peter stayed trapped at their feet. “Give your life for theirs!”

He was going to kill her right in front of you. You powered up, knowing there was no other choice. You had to-

“No. I’m still connected to him. Let me get in his head, (Y/N), then you can go to them.” The professor spoke quickly, yet with a touch of new resolve.

“Charles! Will you do nothing?” The false god continued to bellow.

This time you listened without being forced to. You did see Apocalypse pause as if Xavier was indeed making contact. It was still an agonizing wait, but when he finally let go of Raven, you allowed yourself some shred of hope. You’d never seen anyone be able to overpower the Professor mentally, once he was fully in.

But that hope was also short lived as just moments later Apocalypse raised his hand abruptly. At will he dissolved the outer wall of a nearby building. You could see Scott and Hank then exposed, themselves just as surprised and staring out. But you knew it could only mean that Apocalypse had used Xavier’s connection against him just that quickly to root out his hiding place.

This could be the end then. You resigned yourself that the only choice was to die fighting if that is what it had to be. But you weren’t as alone as you thought.

As Apocalypse had left Peter and Raven behind, now striding confidently to his prize, two massive steel beams suddenly shot into his path. They buried themselves into the ground, crossing into an X to block him.

You looked back into the sky, glad in this single moment that you had been right about at least one thing. Magneto wouldn’t give Xavier up in the end. Not without bloodshed anyway.

“You betray me?” Apocalypse asked, already turning to deal with Erik instead.

“No. I betrayed them.” Magneto unleashed hell then, every bit of metal he could pull shooting towards Apocalypse in an unending assault as the other raised a shield that incinerated each and every piece as it hit. But doing so clearly taxed him, allowing the perfect moment for the rest of you to join the battlefield.

You got to Peter almost simultaneously as Hank got to Raven. You and Beast were clearly in the same mindset of getting the injured out of the immediate firefight before you would join in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, the Professor froze me,” You spoke in quick apology to Peter, using a small energy blast to break up the earth that had been hardened around his trapped foot. Once cracked, you broke the rest of it free just with your fingers.

He was obviously surprised, grateful, and maybe even confused all at once as you gently lifted him with the help of your powers. You wrapped his arm around your shoulders, trying to mind his broken leg as you helped support him while gliding over to a safer spot some distance away.

“Stay here.” You spoke, sitting him down so his back was against a mostly still standing wall to shelter them.

Hank was sitting Raven down in the same manner beside him as Peter suddenly spoke up to you. “Wait.”

You were still crouched in front of him, you’d been about to stand back up when his hand went around the back of your neck and pulled you in closer.

Before you could register anything else, you felt his lips press against yours. It was a bit harsh, desperate even, and then it was over just as fast as you pulled back in surprise.

“In case we don’t ever get to make it to that arcade,” he responded to your shocked expression that was still evident even in your energy form like this.

You took a breath, now was not the time for verbalizing any of this. But you wanted to show you agreed with the sentiment. You leaned back in, kissing him yourself for one longer moment, one hand gently cupping the side of his face before you stood back up. He allowed the contact readily and you could only wonder what it felt like to him when you were enveloped in light like this.

Hank and Raven just gave you both the most confused of looks, but nothing was said as you and Beast had then rushed back off to throw yourselves into the fight.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x y/n #quicksilver x you #quicksilver #x men #marvel #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #xmen #x men fanfiction #peter maximoff x oc #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff x reader #xmen apocalypse #pietro maximoff x oc

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. vii

→ one | two | three | four | five | six

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part seven / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 4,732

☾vii. part vii: start of something new

Waking up in a warm, quiet room 199 floors from the ground at Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi sat up in her bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

She had slept more soundly than she had in a while, between Meteor City and the watching eyes of the Mafia. 

But maybe it was the faint, earthy scent that Kite had left behind, or perhaps it was the fact that Sayomi was now free to live on her own in one of the most populated cities in the world. She decided it was the latter this time around.

A good night’s sleep had proved to resolve the conflicting thoughts in her head, as Sayomi settled that Kite was a good friend, and would never be anything more.

In this way, she was able to accept the reality that there had never been anything more than friendly interactions between them, and it would stay that way.

In all honesty, she needed a teacher if she was going to make a life out of fighting at Heaven’s Arena. And judging by the immense aura Kite had surrounding him even while he was resting, she knew he outclassed her in nen abilities.

As of now her nen acted as her last line of defense, still being rather inconsistent and hard to control. Though she had improved a great deal with her independent training in Meteor City, she still had a lot to learn about the potentials of her abilities. 

Stretching out her limbs and rising from bed, Sayomi got ready for the day ahead of her.

☾vii.

Kite and his student were waiting for Sayomi on the 60th floor, as Stick Dinner had his 60s match later today.

The three would train in the gym on this floor as they waited for Stick’s match to come around. It was rather empty because the 60th floor was merely a transitioning floor where contestants would come and go.

Kite started his two students off with a basic nen introduction, explaining the four major principles: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu. 

Sayomi had already learned all about nen and its history back when she was around 4 years old alongside Illumi. Kite was aware of this as well but needed to explain the basics to Stick.

A long lecture and one Water Divination Test later, and Stick was now educated of his nen abilities and excited to learn more.

They had now moved onto attempting to recognize Stick’s hatsu, which would become his own personal nen ability. 

Sayomi’s own hatsu was already established, being her hypnotic spell and corpse control. And because she had only truly used it while fighting for her life in Meteor City, she still had significant difficulties with using her power.

Kite was also aware of Sayomi’s hatsu from the days he’d used to visit Kukuroo Mountain. He remembered Sayomi demonstrating her power on weak intruders and aggressive animals, their deceased corpses moving like puppets at her command.

Though he’d never say it out loud, it was quite terrifying.

For this exact reason, Kite had apologetically said Sayomi should wait until she was free to use nen in the 200s battles to train her hatsu. It was just too dangerous to practice for the purpose of training.

Therefore, instead of practicing her hatsu like Stick, Sayomi was put to work training her ren. She would have to maintain it for an hour today, and Kite mentioned she would eventually progress to longer durations of time.

Sayomi’s ren was intense, she had to stay 10 feet away from anyone else to make sure she didn’t affect them. Her body was surrounded in a malicious, deep purple shroud of energy, contrasting with Kite’s pure white aura.

☾vii.

Half an hour had passed with Kite’s training, said man working with Stick to strengthen his hatsu while Sayomi stood concentrated on maintaining her ren.

As of now, she was still fine, just rather bored with the method of training.

She opted to watch the on-going fights on the monitor above her instead of staring at the wall in front of her. However, this proved to be even worse, as the contestants she watched were all terribly amateur. 

Sighing when she saw a contestant trip over his own feet on the monitor, she had caught Kite’s attention. “Not tired yet?”

Sayomi looked to Kite with a guilt-ridden expression. “Ah, not yet, but that’s not why I… nevermind. Sorry!”

Kite let out a rather short laugh at her frantic apology, walking just outside her ren aura to stand in front of her.

“No need to apologize. This exercise is meant to be a drag, it trains not only strengthening your nen, but also patience and putting mind over body. Looks like…  you have about 20 minutes left, keep it up!”

Sayomi smiled weakly at Kite’s attempt at encouragement. He was a blunt person by nature so to anyone else his words probably came across as sarcastic, but Sayomi recognized his sincerity. 

She thanked him with a short smile.

Around the 50 minute mark, Sayomi was finally breaking out a sweat, her arms and legs had actually been burning for a while now, but she’d been holding in any signs of weakness.

She was getting a little dizzy now, putting more force into her legs in order to stay upright and not swaying along with the room in front of her.

“Annnd time. Sayomi your hour’s up.”

Sayomi’s ren faded as she fell back to lean against the wall for support. 

Damn, I must be out of shape or something. 

Kite stepped over to where Sayomi stood trying to catch her breath. “Not as easy as you thought?”

She looked up with a sneer. “I’m just getting started, gimme a week and I’ll pass you up.”

Kite’s eyes were now filled with amusement. Having sent Stick off to standby for his match, he took a seat in front of Sayomi, motioning for her to do the same.

Sayomi sat cross-legged with her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed as she attempted to regenerate her aura.

“What’s your record anyway?”

Kite looked across at the exhausted girl. “About a day.”

“A DAY?!” Sayomi’s eyes flew open at Kite’s response, clearly having underestimated her instructor.

He only nodded in return, wishing to change the subject off of himself. “If I may ask... what exactly is the eldest daughter of the Zoldyck family doing at a place like Heaven’s Arena?”

There was the question. She was surprised he hadn’t asked her earlier.

To lie or not to lie… 

“My parents sent me here as a test of strength. I’m not allowed back until I reach the very top.” Sayomi lied through her teeth, not wanting to tell Kite about her banishment.

That should convince him.

“The very top? Ah, so they wish for you to become a floor master. I see... well with the right training, you can surely get to that point perhaps within a few years?” Kite looked at Sayomi expectantly.

A few years? What the hell even is a ‘floor master’? 

With a measly lie, Sayomi had screwed herself over. She had originally intended in making a few million jenny by cruising through the 100s and getting her own room. But with this whole floor master thing, she could already sense that her future at Heaven’s Arena would become much more complex.

The title does sound pretty cool though… maybe I’ll just go along with the flow for now.

“Right! Haha… they want me to become a floor master. So you think you’ll be able to help me get there?”

Kite looked deep in thought. Did I say something wrong? 

Meeting Sayomi’s eyes once again, he spoke. “On second thought Sayomi… I’ve made a promise to train Stick Dinner, and with the danger of your nen abilities, I don’t think I can do you any good as an instructor.”

She was about to take back her words and say becoming a floor master was unnecessary, but he cut her off.

“However, I just realized something that I should’ve thought of before. I’m not sure how you’d get along, but there is someone with more experience than me at Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi looked up, interested in his proposal.

Noticing her apparent interest, Kite continued, “I happen to owe him a favor as well, because I’ve been staying in his room on the 200th floor with Stick. He’s… a rather interesting person, and he finds enjoyment in fighting powerful individuals. But nevermind his personality, I think you would benefit greatly from his experience both with nen and Heaven’s Arena, more than I could ever do for you.”

Kite examined Sayomi’s expression, it seemed to be a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity.

“I’m not proposing you make a decision right away, as he’ll actually be absent for some time… but I recommend you consider it as a possibility.”

In her mind, Sayomi was unsure of what to think about this mysterious acquaintance of Kite, but in her heart and soul, there was an undeniable hunger for more power and more recognition. If she were to become a floor master, her name would surely spread throughout Yorknew City and perhaps even reach her parents. 

“When will he return?”

Kite smiled at her sign of interest in his offer. He knew she would be able to handle his colleague’s eccentric personality, and from there she would only have room to grow even stronger.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. He’s a very spontaneous man, and the last time I saw him he mentioned traveling around the world to find his next rival.”

Sayomi thought about her current options. 

“I understand… training my nen would most likely require the death of victims, which you would never allow, but without improving my nen I would seemingly get destroyed in the 200s matches. Right?”

Kite took a moment to consider her words. “Yes, more or less.”

Sayomi nodded in return. “So then supposedly… this acquaintance of yours would be willing to train my nen even if it would mean others will die?”

“Precisely.” Kite grimaced at her blunt deduction of his words.

Sayomi threw her arms back, resting her hands behind her head. “Well alright then! Until this friend of yours gets back I guess I’ll just see how far I can get without using my nen.”

“Acquaintance. But yes, I suppose fighting without your nen until he gets back would be a good use of time.” 

☾vii.

Sayomi and Kite headed to the stands of the arena after wrapping up their conversation. Kite’s student was up for the next match, leaving the two childhood friends to watch amongst the crowd.

Stick’s match went smoothly, he had outsmarted his opponent by anticipating each of his attacks, and in the end all he had left was to tire him out enough to land the finishing blow.

He was now qualified to continue on to the 70s, while Sayomi’s fight would be the next day.

☾vii.

Kite stood leaning against the back wall of the 60th floor arena, his eyes focused on the light-footed girl currently playing around with her opponent in the ring. 

He felt almost a sense of pride, watching the little Zoldyck girl who had used to be too shy as to even raise her voice, now dancing around in the illuminated arena full of confidence.

She was taking her time with the unworthy opponent who stood across from her. Under normal circumstances, Kite would have been infuriated with Sayomi’s disrespectful actions, but this time it was much different.

Her opponent had spent the final minutes before their match catcalling and spilling other obscene words towards Sayomi. Kite had moved to step in between the two contestants, ready to punch the man’s teeth in, but Sayomi had given him a look so full of malice he knew to hold back.

She was waiting to absolutely ruin her opponent in the ring.

So when he saw Sayomi taking her sweet time and making a fool out of the man who’d previously disrespected her, Kite only smirked in satisfaction from a distance.

Sayomi you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you… all this anger and hatred coursing through your aura. 

In the arena, Sayomi brought a swift heel down on her opponent's hand. An attack that was worth no points but only for the purpose of causing pain.

Pain… who hurt you Sayomi? What ever happened to the girl who’d cried when she accidentally swatted a butterfly?

Kite experienced a flurry of conflicting emotions as he watched Sayomi torture and eventually knock down her opponent. 

He was worried about her emotional health, knowing for sure now that she had experienced something so tragic and crucial it’d turned her pure aura a 180 degree turn into bloodlust and malice.

However, he was glad to know one thing was for sure. 

She would definitely survive and benefit from his unstable colleague’s training, for now he realized they were so similar it was almost as if they were the same person. 

Or perhaps two halves of a whole.

☾vii.

1 year later

It was the weekend and Sayomi was currently on an off day in between fights.

In the year that had passed with her progressing through Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi was now a single fight away from the 200s.

Admiring the view from Kite’s old room on the 199th floor, she smiled to herself. 200s at last.

The truth was that Sayomi had a room of her own now, being well into the 100s. However she’d already been so accustomed to using Kite’s room that she’d convinced him into switching rooms with her.

Now that all three of them had rooms of their own, the borrowed room on the 200th floor was empty once again, waiting for the return of its owner.

Sayomi had just finished combat training with Kite and Stick, still unable to use her nen because of the possible consequences. 

As she gazed longer out the window in front of her, she started to see her reflection cast in the clear glass, and soon it was all she saw.

Who am I?

Staring back at her, the reflection she saw in the window was much different than she’d expected. Her violet eyes were dull, emotionless, and the passion that had once lit up her soul was now gone, replaced with a worn out ghost of who she used to be.

This was all it took to make Sayomi forget about all she had done to make it to where she was now. This, being her reminiscent thoughts about the family that had ditched her.

She may have declared to herself millions of times that she was indeed her own person now, but the lingering desire to be loved once again forced her start over every single time.

She needed someone to rely on, though she’d never admit it. It was her constant overthinking that she would only become a burden to those who cared about her that stopped her from seeking support in others. Her family had left her insecure and broken, desperate for someone else’s attention.

Let’s see… If Illumi and I are turning 19 this year, that means… Killua will be 9. 

9 years old, huh… 

I wonder if he still looks like me? God, if I were with him I think I’d spend every last jenny just to see that smile one more time.

...I hope you’re hanging in there Killua. 

Just wait a little bit longer, and I promise I’ll come save you.

Forgive me I just need more time to be able to face everyone again.

☾vii.

Watching the sunset over Yorknew City from his new room on the 199th floor, Kite was currently typing back a response to a rather unclear message he’d received from his traveling colleague.

No matter how many times he’d read it, he just couldn’t decipher the exact reason or message behind the text he had received. 

Staring at it with a skeptical expression, he read it once more:

Isn’t it quite amusing how fate plays out sometimes? 

I’ve arrived in the city and can’t wait to meet this student of yours, as it seems I’ve already partially met her without even realizing it. 

I can’t wait to start training with her. ♥️

Kite let out an exasperated sigh.

What does he mean by ‘I’ve already partially met her’? I swear he’s always so ambiguous with his words. 

Damn, what an exhausting guy.

☾vii.

Today was the day of Sayomi’s fight that would determine whether she’d advance into the 200s. That meant it was also the last day Sayomi would fight without her nen and weapons.

However, her day was about to get much more eventful than a promotion into the 200s. 

Kite’s acquaintance had arrived in the city the other day, and after a short visit to a friend, he would make it back to Heaven’s Arena later today to meet his new student.

Kite had no knowledge about this part, as all he was told was that he had arrived in the city.

Back in the 199th floor arena, Sayomi had arrived early, taking her time to stretch and enjoy the time left before her final fistfight.

Kite stood alongside Sayomi in the mostly empty waiting room, it would be his last day with his childhood friend, at least without an excuse to spend time with her.

Once she was in the 200s, Kite wouldn’t be able to do much for her, as he had his own student to manage.

He stared sympathetically at the little Zoldyck girl from his childhood. She had grown into a relentless fighter, leaving no time to enjoy living her life during her prime years.

All he could now was hope that his assumptions about his colleague were right, in that he would not only provide Sayomi with the right training, but also fun and other things kids of her age should be doing.

Sayomi finished her preparations well before the scheduled time of the fight, leaving the two with time to talk and reminisce about the old days.  

They’d also talked briefly about Sayomi’s new instructor. Kite explained how he’d finally arrived in the city the other day, coming back from seeking out the most powerful assassins and hunters to challenge in fights to the death.

Sayomi was delighted at this, getting a feeling that this mysterious instructor would put up a solid fight against her while they trained. “You said he was on the 200th floor, right? Has he not been able to defeat a floormaster yet?”

Kite raised his eyebrows at her question. “Ah… no, not yet. But I believe that’s because he’s constantly sidetracked with trying to find his ‘perfect rival’.” 

Sayomi bit the inside of her cheek, confused. “Hmm but if he’s back now… does that mean he found someone worthy on his trip?”

Kite nodded at this. “Yes, I believe so. It’s either he’s satisfied with the amount of people he’s massacred, or he’s found a formidable opponent he knows he can come back and fight at a later time.”

“I see… he sounds… rather interesting.” Sayomi was actually a bit excited, it’d been a while since she was to face someone of such a high reputation.

Beside her, Kite had taken notice of the slight change in Sayomi’s aura. It seems I predicted correctly, she’ll get along just fine.

☾vii.

“Our next fight decides who moves on to the 200th floor. We have Ichihiro versus Sayomi! At this time, choose your side and place your bets!”

Under the spotlights, Sayomi stood with her hands resting behind her head. Her eyes remained closed, she seemed to be taking the last minutes to relax.

“The bets are in! Looks like today’s match is in favor of Sayomi Zoldyck!”

Ichihiro let out a scoff, mocking his opponent who, in his eyes, seemed overconfident to the point where she didn’t even need to look at him. “Are you nice and relaxed over there, girl? I’ll tell you now you’re gonna regret facing me.”

Sayomi disregarded her opponent's words. In reality, she was worried, and anyone who could see her aura could notice this as well. 

Kite turned his head at Sayomi’s restlessness. What is she so tense for?

Sayomi tightened her grip around her other hand. Inside her head, she tried to calm the exhilaration that stemmed as a result of her final match without weapons. She couldn’t wait to finally stand on the 200th floor.

In other words, Sayomi wasn’t afraid, or intimidated by her opponent. She was worried for him.

God damn… if I don’t calm down I might accidentally kill the guy. 

The adrenaline rushing through her was threatening to spike over, which would cause her to lose control and flip her assassin switch on.

Relax, Sayomi.

“Fighters ready? Following the 100s rules there will be no time limit and fighters will fight until a TKO by 10 points or a KO.”

Sayomi opened her eyes, moving to stand upright as she stared at her opponent.

“The winner will move onto the 200th floor. Fight!”

Ichihiro held back from making the first move. He had reviewed Sayomi’s last fight and seen her strategy of using her opponent’s force against them. 

Sayomi raised an eyebrow at his lack of movement.

Not gonna move, huh? So you think you’re smart.

She took off with steps faster than the average eye could see.

I guess I’ll just have to come to you then.

With a flexible left leg, Sayomi lifted her heel above her opponent's head, slamming it straight into the side of the unexpecting man’s face with a roundhouse kick.

Ichihiro stumbled to the side gasping, spitting out blood from his now split gums.

He raised his head ready to curse out the teen, but all he saw was white.

Sayomi had met the man’s face with a solid left foot, sending him backwards onto the ground with a cry of pain.

Ichihiro was clutching his bloody face now, unable to recover in time for yet another left swing kick, this time to the side.

From far back against the wall, Kite watched with a surprised expression on his face.

She’s holding back quite a bit. Only using her left leg…

A few more solid kicks to the ribs and Sayomi halted her movements as if on command. Turning to the baffled referee, she asked, “TKO by 10 points right?”

“Ah, r-right.” 

Shaking out of his apparent shock at the one-sidedness of the match, the referee raised a flag. “Winner by TKO. Sayomi Zoldyck!”

The crowd cheered as they could now collect their money from the bets they’d made.

With a small wave to Kite at the back of the stands, Sayomi exited the arena with light steps.

She was proud of herself for restraining her bloodlust.

☾vii.

That night Sayomi treated Stick and Kite to dinner on Heaven’s Arena’s 200th floor diner. 

It was a congratulatory dinner, as Sayomi would now be moving on to training her nen, but it was also one of sentimental feelings. The group of three had become close friends within the year they’d spent together training at Heaven’s Arena.

So although no one addressed the fact that the group of three was to become a group of two after today, everyone shared a bit of the sorrow in their hearts as the evening soon came to an end.

The three parted ways around 9, Kite wishing the best to Sayomi on the 200th floor. It wasn’t like they’d never see each other again, they were only a floor apart after all.

However, without the excuse of training or a coincidental passing by, the childhood friends knew that they most likely wouldn’t be seeing each other for a while. 

☾vii.

Sayomi let out a heavy sigh as she walked alone down the hallway of doors to her room.

Releasing her hair from its taught ponytail, Sayomi ran a lazy hand down her face. 

Can a day get any longer? All I wanna do now is take a nice, warm shower… and then sleep in till noon.

Arriving in front of her door at last, Sayomi reached into her pockets for her room key. Sliding the key into the lock, she frowned when she found the door to be unlocked.

Strange… I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten to lock the door before. Maybe because I was too excited?

Sayomi shrugged, speculating she’d probably forgotten to lock the door out of the rush to get ready in the morning.

Swinging the door open without another thought, Sayomi moved to take a step further into her room when a cold chill ran down her spine.

What��� is… this devilish aura?

She was on full alert now, awakening her own aura to try and ward off her intruder.

In the darkness of her room, she could make out a faint silhouette surrounded by the deep purple, murderous aura she’d felt earlier.

“Who… are you? What are you doing in my room?” Though she’d sworn her voice was steady, there was a hint of uncertainty as the intruder’s aura became more intense.

The intruder turned to face Sayomi in the darkness. “Hm? Ah, you’ve finally returned… I’ve been most awaiting your presence, Sayomi Zoldyck.”

The man took exaggeratingly slow steps towards her, and Sayomi noticed he walked almost completely on his toes. Almost like he was walking across a tightrope.

She squinted through the darkness, perplexed at the stranger knowing her name. Her mind screamed at her to fight, run, do something, but her feet remained frozen in place as the man’s figure slowly illuminated with the dim lights of the hallway.

The man was considerably tall, though he was also wearing heels, an interesting feat. His brilliant red hair was styled as if he’d been caught in a windstorm, framing an all too pale face with distinct face paint decorating either cheek: a star on the left and a teardrop on the right.

In a way, he was handsome.

This crossed Sayomi’s mind as well, however she’d mentally slapped herself as she was brought back into the reality of the situation. 

“How do you know my name?” Sayomi was on guard, ready to either attack or run on a moment’s notice.

The man only laughed, his pale lips turning upwards in a wide smile as he looked Sayomi over from head to toe.

“Oh darling, you mean you haven’t caught on to the situation yet?”

A step closer and the man’s full frame was now in front of Sayomi to see in all his glory. Broad shoulders, chiseled, toned biceps, a tiny waist, and proportions to die for.

Get a grip, he just broke into your room.

In her flustered state, both from confusion and the rather attractive man towering over her, Sayomi suddenly felt as though she’d forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened and closed without sound, concentrated entirely on the man in front of her.

Sayomi’s frazzled state seemed to add on to man’s already overflowing confidence as he let out another brief laugh before crossing his arms. 

“It seems as though Kite has yet to tell you anything about my arrival.” He frowned before continuing, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out all about me in no time, I’m your new trainer after all.”

Sayomi eyes widened at his words. Of course, Kite said he was arriving soon, I totally forgot!

“Ah… well in that case… nice to meet you?”

Her new trainer smirked at her hesitation. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be so visually appealing, darling. It seems Kite decided to keep your beauty from me for as long as he could, that sly bastard.”

Sayomi felt her face heat up in a mad blush. No one had ever called her such things, as she was accustomed to words like vicious or murderous. 

Sayomi failed to get the words out of her mouth once again, effectively fazed by the man’s comments.

Said man ran a slender hand through his hair, laughing once again at his undeniable effect on the young assassin.

Reaching out ever so slowly, he grazed his knuckles over the left side of Sayomi’s face, who in turn became even further flustered at the sudden skinship. 

“You, my dear, are going to be quite the pleasure to work with.”

☾vii.

a/n: guess who? 

taglist open:))

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x oc #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #kuroro #kuroro lucilfer #hisoka #hisoka x oc #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka morrow x reader #hxh #hxh au #hxh imagines #hxh x reader #hxh oc #zoldyck family #killua zoldyck #silva zoldyck #illumi zoldyck #killlua #hxh hisoka #hxh chrollo #hxh killua #hxh illumi #illumi #gon #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter au

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 5600

Summary:  Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.

If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning? 

Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and  alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.

In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.

Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.

But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!

Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.

You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.

Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.

You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.

Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.

Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.

You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.

But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.

And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.

Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.

Y/N Y/L/N Rogers’ whore Bet she’ll get The highest score For sucking dick Having fucked her ass Let’s hope she’ll soon Be eating grass

Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.

You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.

Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.

As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.

Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.

What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?

Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.

All you saw was the words.

Rogers’s whore

Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?

The highest score for sucking dick

Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?

Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.

Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!

Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.

You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.

When did you start crying so hard?

When did the trembling in your limbs begin?

What the fuck was happening?

What-how--why-but-

Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.

Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.

It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.

Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.

You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.

Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?

You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.

The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.

It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.

Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.

You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.

Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.

You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.

It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.

Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.

It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-

Stop that!

Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?

Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.

Yep, that sounded pretty good.

With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.

The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.

You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.

“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.

Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.

Fuck.

He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!

Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.

“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”

“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”

“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”

Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.

At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.

You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.

Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?

And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.

Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.

And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.

In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.

You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.

Yet.

It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.

“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”

A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.

“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“

“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”

Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.

You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.

“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”

Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”

Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?

You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.

“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”

“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.

“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”

You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.

You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.

Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?

“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”

You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.

“K. Thanks… Sam.”

“Any time.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.

You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.

You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.

You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.

You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.

Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.

So did the third shot of vodka.

You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.

You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰ 

Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.

His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.

His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.

Four days.

Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.

Calls.

Texts.

Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.

His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.

He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”

Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.

Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.

And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.

Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.

It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.

In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.

Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.

And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.

Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.

However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.

She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.

Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.

Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.

That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.

She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”

“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.

Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”

“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.

Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!

Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-

“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.

“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”

Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.

He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.

But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.

“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”

Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.

Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?

A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.

No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.

“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”

Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.

“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”

Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.

At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.

Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.

Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.

“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.

“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.

“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“

The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”

The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.

“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”

At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.

He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.

But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.

Four days from that terrible incident.

Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.

That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.

…right?

Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.

No received text or e-mail.

No incoming call.

Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.

The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.

Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #professor steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #college au #professor au #modern au #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #mcu #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #au #captain america au #attached #anika ann

[physicalturian]

Why don’t you listen to me? Law x GN! Reader - Part 5

Spoilers for : Punk Hazard and Dressrosa arcs [No gender used for the reader, no physical description, everyone is +18] Words : 4547 Archive of our own Blood, exhaustion, fighting, violence, despair If you feel like I should put more warnings, send me a DM or an ask!

… Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Considering I was responsible for Luffy, when I saw him take off with everyone else after the plan was detailed on the shore, I had to take off with him too. I had to use my power more than I thought I would with how fast he was, but managed to keep up. When we reached a restaurant, I stayed out of the way even more so when they annoyed the man I knew was from the Marine, they did not seem aware of who they had angered but I was not going to stress them out and ignored it.

 However, when Zoro started running after some stolen good, I couldn’t stay out of it and had to catch up before he got lost. He was one of the strongest of the team and would do great damage in time but I did not know what to do. Stay by Luffy and make sure he’d follow the plan or follow Zoro?

By the time I made my decision and turned towards where Luffy was, he was nowhere to be found. “Fuck. Ten seconds of inattention and I’ve already lost him.” I looked around, desperately trying to see where they had gone. I did not even have a map of the place, the only one I had seen was Bepo’s badly done one that Law showed us on the ship. Even if the map was ‘good’ in theory, my memory wasn’t. Sighing, I walked out of the restaurant, making sure to pay for what had be consumed by the loud pirates and samurais. “There better be gold at the end of this stupid suicidal-mission because they cost more than they’re worth.” I mumbled to myself as I walked down the streets, dolls, puppets, and plushies were walking the same street I was.

 Those usually inanimate objects made a huge part of the population, it was a strange sight but there was probably something grimmer behind all of this. Their eyes looked almost… human. A shudder ran down my spine, I had to pride my eyes away from them to avoid being suspicious. “It looks like a huge amusement park, there should be a map somewhere, right?” I stopped by some sort of souvenir shop and asked if they had maps, the seller stared at me in awe, then back at something under the counter. When he looked back at me, he smiled and nodded, handing me the map.

 I was going to take it when his wooden hand gripped mine and brought me down closer to him, “It’s you! The King- I heard that the King wants to see you but…” He trailed off, his eyes gazing around in panic.

“Who’s the King? How does he know who I am?” I asked, snatching the map from his hand.

“King Joker, but it’s only a rumor… he says whoever finds you has to bring you to him, there’s bounty on your head,” then out of nowhere a knife was pulled from under the counter and planted in my arm, I grabbed the man/doll by the arm and threw him across the room before running out of the shop, the knife hit the ground and I scrambled to get it as I made my escape.

 I made a short detour to run by a stand outside and grabbed a black drape to cover my head better than the cap Robin had given me. I thought I was the only one of the whole crew who wasn’t known, but for some reason Joker wanted something with me. But I was not going to let him catch me. For a second I thought, maybe Law was right and I should have stayed on the ship, then I got back to my senses and ignored that thought.

 I was teleporting from places to places, to get off those streets and was now on the rooftop of a high building. “Right, maybe I overreacted. Maybe I could have just walked out of the shop, and play it off…” I pondered out loud, “But I didn’t, it’s alright though, I’ve got the map, I have-“ I looked at my right arm and saw the blood trickling down the stab wound that turned partially into a cut as I had pulled back from the puppet.

 “And I have a stab wound, nice. I’ll just,” using the drape, I cut a part of it with the knife and wrapped it tightly around the wound. I was no doctor, maybe it was a bad thing to do but I did not care. At least blood wasn’t dripping on the ground anymore, which means they couldn’t follow me.

 The building was not a high enough vantage point, so I opened the map and looked at it; Green Bits was across a long bridge that I could see from where I was, but it was very far away. Tucking the map away, I sighed and started making my way to the bridge. I had to pause every time to recharge, I was expecting to use my power a lot more than I used to but not for such things. I thought I’d be helping people out not running around like an idiot, but things never went as expected. I couldn’t begin to imagine Law’s face when I’d tell him I lost Luffy. He’d probably beat my ass then beat his, but, all in due time.

 I had this strange feeling in my guts at each of my jump. The closer I was getting to the bridge, the heavier the air seemed to be. The fact of the matter was that if anything was happening there, I couldn’t be of much help considering the lack of items around me. I had not taken any weapon with me, except the knife the seller had used one me. It wasn’t the sharpest but it would do the damage. The plan was to trade off Caesar to the Marines at Green Bits but anything could wrong from there one. If I knew something from experience it was to never trust Marines nor pirates, all were crooked and while one of them claimed to be working for the government, the latter was corrupted to the core. I had yet to come across a truthful Marine.

 Except that one guy that helped Law when he was younger, but once again… he was a spy among the pirates and I don’t know how I felt about that. I don’t know how I’d feel if one of my crewmates was actually a Marine. Maybe thinking the Marine would enroll a spy was giving our crew too much credits, we weren’t war criminals or anything… I think…

 I was brought back to reality when I heard a loud crash. Looking ahead of me, I saw the bars on each side of the bridge get cut off, then four big animals jump of the water to loom over the two miniscule forms on the ground.

 I hurried, recognizing Law’s fighting, he wasn’t meant to turn it into a fight just yet. He wasn’t meant to fight with Joker just yet, the plan wasn’t going as expected and I could see it from the desperate attempt to keep the Warlord at bay. Once I was close enough, I managed to get out of the large cut the blonde made, the fishes were cut in pieces and fell into the water with a loud plop. I looked from afar, needing the gauge if I could help, if help was even needed.

 Law was running head on onto the man in front of him, he wasn’t thinking straight, he wasn’t running he was rushing. The grin on the Warlord’s face did not put me at ease, and soon enough he blocked Law’s attack. A huge explosion ensued, I was left speechless, staring at where my Captain used to be. For second my stomach did a flip at the thought of him dead, then I saw him running away from the rubble and sighed in relief. He must have seen me since his eyes widened and he screamed my name, telling me to get out of here. I yelled back, telling him I’d teleport him but he told me to go, now.

 “What’s the matter Law, I thought you wanted to kill me?” Said the Joker. It made Law pause, and so did I, I watched. I observed how it’d end up, although I believed in Law, I could still very much notice he was at the limit of his capacity. He was out of breath, exhausted and clearly unable to continue. And yet he did, he tried to attack the blonde with the metal debris, only for him to slash them in pieces. I was going to sneakily grab him and get him away when he desperately went for another strike, I could see the bubble around him grow as he summoned his power.

 I was just as surprised as the Warlord, I did not know how he could continue to go past his limits over and over again, but I could easily tell it wasn’t good.  He exchanged places of Joker with a huge piece of metal and struck down with his sword, but once again he was blocked by the strings.

 Grinning, the tall blonde man sneered, noticing that Law’s power was at its limit. I was surprised to hear he had faced a lot in the little time we were apart, a meteorite from one of the marine, rescued Sanji when they fought the first time? What was going here, how long had he been fighting? I couldn’t think more, they kept exchanging hits, only in vain. Law’s attacks were all blocked, and when he was catching his breath, the maniac shot him down with string bullets which sounded ridiculous but that thought only lasted half a second before I saw my Captain on the ground.

 “Law! Let me-“ I cried out, but he raised his fist.

“Get out! Leave, it’s not safe!” My heart clenched at his attempt of fighting back once again, he tried to summon Room but it didn’t work, I looked away, fearing the worst but a phone rang. I turned around and look as Joker picked up his den den mushi and talked casually on the phone. There was another attempt from Law but he got taken down just as easily as before. When the call was done, he strutted towards Law, his walk more threatening than his outfit.

 He started explained how annoyed he was with this little plan of ours and mentioned that if he didn’t trust the Straw Hat, perhaps as friends even but that was left unsaid, then he couldn’t have planned something this big. When he mentioned me, I was startled and looked at him in shock, he was staring right back at me but Law ignored it and said he trusted the will of D. That was the words too many, Joker turned into a full berserk mode and raised his fist and was about to strike down Law.

 Seeing his state, I didn’t think, I reacted out of instinct and teleported closer to finally reach the blonde’s man back and try to hold his arm. He laughed manically and made cuts on my skin, making me let go of his arm but I was still holding tight onto him. It hurt a lot, but the adrenaline made me ignore it for now as I gripped his other shoulder tight.

 “Let him go! You fucking psychopath, you’re not fit for a King, you’re not fit for a Leader- You’re barely a man as it is!!” I rambled as I grabbed the knife from my back and was about to shove it in his throat when he laughed some more in response and took if away from my hand forcefully. I say forcefully but it scared me, the ease with which he used his power to open my hand.

“You talk too much, I should finish you just like I’m about to finish him.” He raised his arm once more, but this time made sure I couldn’t move mine.

 He did not hesitate a second more and started hitting Law over and over again, blood spurting around, grunts of pain following each strike. I wanted to throw up from the sight but did not let go of the Warlord. I couldn’t teleport away; I was gripping him tightly but if I let go there was no chance to find Law again. “You’re insistent, can’t you see he’s already dead?” Joker spat as he kicked Law into the air and followed the strings to get closer and closer, kicking my Captain further away at each kick.

 “Fuck off, I don’t care if I have to strangle you myself-“ His laugh interrupted me, but it quickly turned into the deadliest expression. I couldn’t see it full well from my place on his back but he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Guess I’ll kill you both, the traitor’s bastard and you.” He scoffed and gripped one of my wounded arms, lifting me off his back with ease before slamming me into the ground. I let out a painful groan and swore the best I could, this was not ending here.

The air got knocked out of my lungs, I had a hard time breathing but I tried hard to roll onto my stomach to look at the still ongoing fight.

 The Warlord was stepping closer to Law’s body that was lying on the ground, motionless. The ground under him was crushed, I couldn’t imagine the pain he must be in. Slowly, Joker raised a gun and aimed it at Law.

A screech ripped out of my throat, I tried to teleport closer to him but I couldn’t. For some reason I couldn’t, I was fucking helpless. “Don’t! He’s-“ I coughed some dryness, maybe even blood, and placed my hands on the ground to steady myself. The Marine was there, I couldn’t stay here, but I couldn’t leave him there either. The so called ‘King’ ignored my attempt and cocked the gun. I could hear Luffy’s voice somewhere, he did not know what was happening but he tried hard to get any sort of information.

 “You’ve pushed it too far, kid.” Joker said as he aimed the gun well, before shooting one bullet. My breath hitched inside my throat, then I cried out Law’s name in utter horror. He couldn’t be dead, right? One bullet was alright, the King doesn’t look like he’s a good shot- but two other gunshots rang. I looked at the scene in horror before collapsing on the floor, my arms too weak to carry my weight anymore. I covered my mouth to muffled the sound of my sobbing but couldn’t tear away from the scene displaying in front of me. “Law…” I gasped, pushing myself up to go up to him. “Don’t … die” my voice was weak; I could barely hear it.

 He couldn’t hear it either, people were talking, arguing. A Marine stepped up in front of Doflamingo and was about to strike down Law when Zoro stopped it with his sword. I was silently thanking him with all my heart. After managing to stand up, I tried to take a step but fell to my knees. How hard have I been slammed into the ground? I’ve taken worse beatings, now is not the moment to be fragile. I scolded myself, pushing way over my limits and getting up once more. This time I was able to take a few steps but had to hold onto a nearby wall when the Admiral used his power and the pressure was back. I looked around; I couldn’t see Law on the floor anymore.

 My heart was already beating fast in my chest, I felt it hammer against my ribs, I was exhausted from so little and scared, scared for Law’s life and mine too. Perhaps Law’s more than mine. I heard Doflamingo’s voice in the air and saw him floating, thanks to his strings, along the Admiral. The King was carrying Law like a grocery bag, I wanted to get up there and beat him up but I had no energy. I felt pure hatred towards the man, and except for being the worst kind of scum all he did was beat up my Captain... for now. I hated being so emotional and tried to force myself to calm down, but my hands were shaking.

 I think the blonde said something that must have angered the Marines or maybe were they working together? Whichever it was, they started shooting at Zoro and Kin’emon; I was going to sneak away and hide when one of the civilians grabbed me by the arms and lifted me off the ground, “It’s the one!! It’s exactly like the picture- The king said we should-“ I mustered all my strength and got rid of them before teleporting myself to the roof on top of them, I barely made it through and was hanging on the edge. I had to bring myself up and doing so made it hurt everywhere. My throat was sore, my breath shallow and my arms wounded all over. But I made it and was now sitting securely on the rooftop.

 “Fuck this, I knew it’d end bad…” I huffed, rolling up my sleeves to look at the multiples cuts on both my arms. It was more sore than painful, kind of like a cat’s scratches but when I touched it hurt a lot more. Hitting my head against the chimney I was resting against, I groaned. “I fucking knew it’d end up bad, but I promised everyone I’d look over him…” I’m a failure, I scoffed dryly, my hands gripping my thighs tight. I was trying so hard to keep the tears in but I was alone, I was horrified, I didn’t know what to do. “Always making stupid promises… if you can’t even keep them, what’s the point?” I wondered rhetorically, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks silently.

 Hearing footsteps echo nearby I stood up quickly and jumped on another roof. I have to stay on the move, I can’t relax, I need to find the others. Wiping the tears away, I tried to hype myself up, even though I did not believe the words that left my mouth, I kept repeating them over and over again, “Maybe he’s still alive, maybe I can still save him, maybe he’s still alive…” But what if he’s dead? If he’s dead, I get over it. I’ll have to, the fighting is not over. Should I finish what he started? I’m not strong enough for that… I could become strong enough, I could come back later and finish Doflamingo. The thought made me giggle nervously, who was I kidding? If I came out of this alive, I wouldn’t come back here, I would never ask the Heart Pirates to follow me.

 I cared too much about them to force them to join me- Stop thinking that like that, Law is alive, get to him in time and he’ll be fine! He won’t be fine though he’s on the verge of dying- but that’s okay, he’ll come through he went through worse right? I let out a frustrated groan at the mix of thoughts in my mind, I did not know if I should be realistic or optimistic so I kept moving towards the castle. I had seen both the Admiral and Joker make their way towards that building, chances were that Law should be there too.

 After a while, the castle was finally in my reach. I was weary, drained and bloodied up, I no longer had the drape around my knife wound. When Doflamingo use his strings on me, he made sure to cut that too and now I had and open wound and tons of cuts all over my arms. Still, it seemed to be taking care of itself enough since no blood was dripping which was the bare minimum I was hoping for.

 Stopping at one spot in the shadow, I looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone. It reminded me of Punk Hazard which immediately threw me off, I was very bad at sneaking around on Punk Hazard, maybe I was just as bad here. Out of the blue, I remembered something, Law’s vivre card. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I tried to find it amongst other things in it, soon enough I found it and looked at it, it was halfway gone but very slowly gaining back some of its life. A nervous breath of relief escaped my lips as I stared at the blank paper in front of me.

 I felt relieved but couldn’t waste more time, tucking it away, I kept my back against the wall and peeked inside the room through the window. I could see someone sitting on the ground by the door as the man from earlier, the Admiral, stepped in and seemed to be talking calmly to Joker. They weren’t paying attention to anything else, but the blond had a victorious grin on his face. But perhaps was his face always adorned with such expression? Since I couldn’t hear them, I looked around some more and realized that someone was sitting on one of the four seats in the middle of the room, at the heart-shaped one… it was Law.

 He was handcuffed to the seat, his head hanging low, beaten, bleeding, knocked out. I hated that a part of me thought he was still handsome like that, but the most logical part was anxious, how long could he stay alive in that state? I’m sure those handcuffs weren’t simple one either, they were made for fruit user. I was startled when Doflamingo tried to kick the Admiral, and moved to rest against the wall once more, I would rather not get caught.

 After a moment, I looked back and there were more people inside the room. Law seemed to be awake and from what gathered, they were interrogating him. When he didn’t answer, the girl in the maid dress slapped in head, I felt my fingers tingle at the thought someone laying a hand on him when he was in that state, but gripped the wall tighter. I saw something move the back and realized Luffy was there with two other people, one of them being a doll soldier. Relief coursed through my body at the thought of not being alone if I was discovered, not that I was aiming to be.

 My legs were starting to get weak from staying on the tip of my toes, on the edge of the wall. It wasn’t made to be walked on, but I was trying my best to stay balanced. I was careful not to look down, I was very high above the ground; One wrong move and I could fall down, which almost happened when Doflamingo slammed opened the window to overlook the city. He was mad, he was angry, he was more than infuriated. And I love it. I don’t know what had happened to make him mad like that but I was living for it, perhaps the plan was still ongoing and things weren’t as bad as I thought they were.

 Things kept happening, one after another, I had no opportunity to get off my spot until a large man with a missing leg jumped out of nowhere and ‘heroically’ cut Doflamingo’s head off. But it was useless, it wasn’t the real him, and yet I took that opportunity and leaped back inside, the thumping of my feet on the ground made Law turn his face towards me. When our eyes met, I felt all the frustration that had built up since then melt away and I stood there, holding onto the edge of the window. “You’re alive-“ I was interrupted when Luffy came crashing in with a woman in his arms, “Torao!! You’re alive!!” he screamed.

 That was supposed to be my line, but yeah sure go off, I guess. Luckily, they had the key to the handcuffs but the adrenaline and their over enthusiasm made it hard for it to fit the keyhole. And they said so, I was going to suggest I’d do it but Doflamingo’s double came back and everything went to shit. I heard him mention a birdcage, a grin spreading on his face, which was a huge contrast to the horrified look that painted Law’s face. The soldier raised his sword once more, but the Warlord was faster and was quick to get behind him and raise his foot, ready to kill.

 I threw myself over Law’s seat and pushed it to the ground as Luffy threw himself on the man, I heard his name being screamed by the Straw-Hat Captain and learned it was Kyros. While Luffy was fighting with the blonde maniac, I scrambled to my senses a tried to find the key to Law’s cuffs. Stress was getting the best of me as my hands were shaking, it didn’t stop me from patting the ground to see if it was around. I stopped when I heard Law say my name, his voice gruffy and filled with worry.

“I’m trying, I’ll find it, I swear I’m trying-“ Why was my voice so uneven? Why was I getting so emotional, it was just a key, I had to take a breath and calm down… But it was mixed with elation from knowing Law was alive too, and I had a hard time getting myself under control.

He said my name again, but even though I heard it, I didn’t really hear it. I overheard it, I was too focused on the blood pumping in my ears and my hands on the moving ground.

 “Look at me!” He said a bit louder this time, I looked up and met his gaze with panic. “You have to go, you can’t stay here, Joker he-“ Law bit back his words and gulped, it almost looked like he was getting emotional but I think it was his exhaustion that was getting the best of him.

“The birdcage, I know what it does. You have to go back to the Sunny-“

“I’m not leaving you behind,” I grabbed his hands, avoiding the cuffs knowing full well its effects. “I promised Bepo, I don’t care if I’m not part of the crew. I just…” His eyes were fixed on my arms, horror in his eyes. I pulled my hands from his and kept searching around the room, continuing in a lower tone, “I need you alive, that’s all.”

 Before I could find the key, the ground started moving once more. It was guiding us towards the open part of the castle, towards the edge, towards a big fall. “Fuck-“ I tried to reach out for something, anything to grab to avoid falling, in vain. We were all free falling, Violet was screaming, Luffy was falling head first, Kyros and Riku were scared shitless too, but Law could not see what was under him. As much as he tried to keep his composure, there was terror in his eyes and I couldn’t help him. I was useless.

[Part 6]

#trafalgar law #one piece trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece #fanfiction #writing #reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #AO3 #physicalturian #ao3 writier #writings #why don't you listen to me #wdyltm

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Hi! Can i just say that i absolutely love your writing and your vibe as a whole? 🥺💞 If i may, I’d like to request a fic where the reader is a very well known socialite, but she gets very bored of her life and wants something different. She suddenly meets J in some sort of situation and becomes infatuated with him & his lifestyle. You must be busy with other requests & your personal life, so if anything, i just want you to know that i love your writing! 💘

 Sweet anon!!! AKADJSBAJSND 😭💖 I’m SO sorry this has taken me so long to get to and I hope you see it!! This was a really fun one and I had a great time writing it so I really hope you like it 💕

 Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, first time meeting Joker

Word count: 1,954

Warnings: tension, light violence

Something Different

Another boring party with boring people in a boring place. How many more of these must you endure?

Ah the fabulous life of the daughter of Dr. Thomas Elliot, famous Gotham City surgeon and longtime family friend of the Wayne family. Being born to one of Gotham’s founding families, she lives a life of luxury. Chauffeurs, butlers, ritzy charity events, fashion shows, brand promos, intense boredom. You were certainly grateful for the fact that finances were never something you had to worry about, but at the same time, money imprisoned you. It controlled your every move like a puppet master. Stand like this, wear that, speak this way, don’t forget to smile. And don’t even think about having your own dreams. You had access to all of the means in the world to do whatever you want, right? Wrong. If it’ll tarnish the family reputation on any way, its not gonna happen. Ever. And you’d be surprised at what they consider “tarnishing.” Learning to drive, going to school, coloring your hair, going on dates, having a job, getting ice cream with friends. What friends? You never got to experience these things. Things that were normal. Now you were in your late twenties and the life of the average young adult was completely foreign to you. Its been ten years now. Since you started to hate this life.

You were attending yet another fundraiser at Bruce’s place. What was it for this time? Friends of the Gotham Railway? Society for the Performing Arts? Gotham Heights Country Club’s new golf course? District Attorney Harvey Dent. Didn’t he just get elected? Okay then. It really doesn’t matter anyway. They’re all the same. Gourmet hors d’oeuvres, expensive champagne, some phony inspirational speech, bland conversation, smile through how much your feet hurt in these heels, send a check tomorrow. The predictability you lived your life by was astonishing. When were you finally going to get to do something different?

You lifted another glass of champagne from the tray drifting past you and took a heavy sip. Can’t get to drunk though, what would the media say? You were tempted to do it on purpose, just to mix things up for once. The sound of rough whirring broke you out of your melancholic trance and you turned to see a helicopter landing on the roof top balcony outside. The man himself arriving ever so fashionably late. Linking arms with three women you could only assume to be models, how classy. And here comes the motivational speech. I believe in Harvey Dent, a safer Gotham, optimism, face of our bright future, blah blah blah. Now everybody claps. Just wonderful. Back to our mindless mingling.

The evening continued on like they all do. This time you were stuck trying not to stare at the speck of food stuck in Mr. Kane’s teeth while he droned on about the new hotel, they planned to open it across from the opera house. Would it be uncouth to express to him how little you care about any of that? When you were seconds away from excusing yourself for a bogus trip to the ladies’ room, a loud boom rang out from the entryway. You spun around and your body froze at the sound of his voice.

“Goood evening, ladies and gentle-men.”

It felt like ice was running through your veins when you saw him. Purple suit, shotgun over his shoulder, unkempt green hair, painted face. His face. Covered in white with black swallowing his eyes, bright red over his mouth and crawling up his cheeks in a wicked grin. On the news they called him The Joker.

“We are… tonight’s entertainment! I only have one question… Where. Is. Har-vey Dent?”

He was so tall, walking with a slight slouch but had an air of confidence like you’d never seen. Like he knew just how much attention his presence attracted. No, attention it demanded. Like he knew you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He made it look effortless. Almost like he was bored by it. He tossed food into his mouth, chewing noisily while he spoke. Then he stopped and turned to walk toward the crowd, pointing his shotgun toward the people in front of him before moving on down the line. Your feet grew cold when you realized he was heading in your direction. He tossed champagne out of a glass before mockingly tossing his head back to let the last drop hit his tongue. You couldn’t move a muscle as he leaned in and muttered questions at the people standing nearby. He kept coming. Your heart pounded, climbing into your throat as he got closer.

Then you could see it. It was scars. The red smile stretching across his face, it was painted over scars. Someone had cut through the corners of his mouth on both sides, leaving behind a twisted, permanent, grin. It made your stomach drop. He said something to Mr. Kane, but you couldn’t hear it, only the blood rushing in your ears. He got so close. You swore you could feel the heat from his body, smell something sharp like acetone.

“You remind me of my father.”

Then he suddenly grabbed Mr. Kane by his collar and growled, “I hated my father.”

“Ok, stop.”

Mr. Kane was shoved into you while Joker turned to face the voice coming from behind him. Rachel Dawes, Bruce’s friend for as long as you could remember.

“Well, hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey’s squeeze-ah. Hm?... and you are beautiful.”

He circled her like a wild dog stalking prey, practically licking his chops. Relishing the feeling of cornering his victim. Waving a knife blade at her.

“You look nervous. Is it the scars?... Wanna know how I got ‘em?”

Then he reached forward and gripped her by the back of her neck and her face. You felt your cheeks abruptly grow warmer. He pulled her closer to him, holding her there, not letting her look away. A thought suddenly cut through you mind like the knife in his hand. You wondered if the leather of his gloves felt warm or cool on her skin. Your heart fluttered and a shiver ran down your back. Why were you thinking about that? He intruded without warning and started threatening people, but here you were wanting to know what it was like to be that close to him. You found yourself wishing you were her, just to know what it was like, him touching you.

You hung on to his every word. He had a wife once, who told him he worried to much, that he should smile more, she gambled, got in deep with the sharks. They carved her face, had no money for surgery, she couldn’t take it, he just wanted to see her smile again, he didn’t care about the scars, he stuck a razor in his mouth and did that to himself. He… he did that to himself?

“And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side... Now I’m always smiling.”

You blinked and the next thing you knew, punches were being thrown and men in clown masks were falling to the floor. Batman. The masked vigilante everyone was talking about. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming out of the shadows to beat up the bad guys. Reality struck you in that moment. This was real. This was happening. The word surreal doesn’t quite cover it. You wanted something different. Well, this was different. Instead of fear you started to feel something else rising up from inside of you, tingling up your back. Excitement.

A punch from a clown masked man landed square on Batman’s jaw, sending him to his knee and giving Joker the opportunity to start kicking him in the stomach. All you could do was watch, spellbound by the violence occurring before your eyes, wide with anticipation. It almost happened too fast for you to see. He really had nothing holding him back. He couldn’t care less about what people thought of him. Showing up in face paint and a purple suit with a posse of men disguised as scary clowns, commanding even more attention than Bruce. He basked in it, not caring one bit what they thought, only that he left an impression. He did. Especially on you.

You blinked again and he had Rachel. He stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her chest to keep her from running, his other hand waving a handgun in the air. He wasn’t going to drop the gun, not unless Batman took his mask off, show us all who he really was. Then the window behind him shattered with a shot from the gun and he dangled Rachel by her arm out into the open air. Your chest felt tight, as helpless as everyone else watching and unable to do anything about it. But you still couldn’t shake the thrill you felt buzzing in your arms and legs, fogging your mind.

“Let her go,” Batman’s hoarse voice demanded.

Joker squinted his eyes and grinned with ironic amusement as he answered, “Very poor choice of words.”

He let go. His laugh reached down to your bones and held on, pulling you toward him while Batman dove out the window after Rachel. You didn’t know what you were doing but you couldn’t stop yourself. Your feet kept carrying you closer. People all around you started rushing for the exit, running from the taunting men in clown masks like the crowd at a Halloween fun house. Except this was real.

You kept your eyes forward, getting within a few feet of him when he turned and saw you. A chill washed over you, both icy cold and burning hot at the same time when his eyes traveled up and down your body where you stopped in your tracks. Your skin felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, there,” he purred.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. You just stared at him. Then he started to saunter toward you, slowly closing the gap that separated you, and you almost couldn’t breathe.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a sideways grin. “Aren’t you a pretty little flower, hm?”

Your heart fluttered and your lungs pulled in a sudden gasp of air, that sharp smell filling up your senses. He was right in front of you now. He was right in front of you and you could undeniably feel the heat radiating off of him. Your heart pumped faster, the adrenaline in your veins saturating every tissue. That tingling in your spine came rushing back as his tongue flashed out of his mouth to run along his lip.

“Can I, uh, help you with something, little flower?”

The last sounds of panicked voices faded, and it was completely silent. You were alone. With him. Fear tried to wrestle for a place in the front of your mind, to pull you away, to make you run back toward the door, but the allure you felt was too pervading. You remained still, trying to steady your breath while the gaze from his black-rimmed eyes seemed to swallow you up. Sirens started to echo in the distance.

Then your voice found its way out of your mouth, “I… I just wanted to… um, to get closer.”

His eyebrows shot up and his grin widened as a low hum rumbled in his chest. Your brittle nerves nearly shattered when he lifted his hand and gently took hold of your chin, lifting it and stepping forward to press his chest against yours. “Mmm, this close enough?”

His gloves, they felt cool on your skin.

Taglist!

@youmaycallmebrian​ @heavymetalnarwhal​ @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos​ @into-crazy​ @killingjokee​ @astheworlddturns​

#ledger joker fic #ledger joker x reader #joker x you #Heath Ledger Joker #the dark knight #tdk joker #joker fanfiction #one shot #anon request

[purgatoriorpg]

PERFIDIA.   ⟡   MOON SOO-HYUK.   ⟡   26,  M.

TW: domestic violence and abuse.

POWER HAS NEVER BEEN MORE MALLEABLE OR MERCURIAL THAN IN YOUR HANDS—A DANGEROUS GAME OF VOLATILE AMUSEMENT. You and your sister came into this world like Fibonacci spirals intertwined, the heirs to one of the largest chaebols in South Korea. Renowned as one of the five great pillars that transformed the nation into one of the world’s largest economies, your family’s empire spans legions of subsidiaries. You were like modern royalty made godlike and enviable for the lives you led—extravagant, exemplary, idyllic. The picture of the quintessential nuclear family with your father the model of business domination and success and your mother the beautiful, benevolent philanthropist icon. You were never as susceptible to the lie as your sister was; you were the older brother, the only thing standing between her and anyone who would dare to hurt her. Even your own blood. The millions of dollars your family poured into their flawless deception turned you cynical and indifferent. Money and power went hand in hand with media play and corruption. All the luxury in the world couldn’t have made your family a more perfect figment of society’s imagination. And if it was to be deceit and propaganda, subterfuge and artifice, you would learn to speak the language like your native tongue.

DYNAMICS.

FALLACIA.   ⟡   IT WILL ALWAYS BE US UNTIL THE END.

From the very beginning, it was you and her. You had no need for anyone else, and it’s a fortunate thing you were born together, seven minutes and twenty-three seconds apart. Alone, you might never have made it. You fight the same way you defend each other, with a savageness that comes from knowing the other as well as you know your own mind. The twin heirs of one of Korea’s greatest chaebols, you stoked the wildfires of fame and notoriety with your reckless, borderline criminal exploits. There was never any evidence, of course. Nothing they could pin to your shimmering, untouchable name. But the collateral damage you trailed in your wake—careers, lives, fortunes—was immeasurable. Since the moment you were born, you have been inseparable. Your identities irrevocably intertwined without end or beginning. Where she is fixated upon past and present, you see beyond into a future where your interminable lives will eventually diverge. It isn’t sustainable, to be a half of a whole, forever. Your sister has never terrified you, but the thought of this reckoning dawning between you strikes terror down to your marrow. 

INVIDIA.   ⟡   LAST YEAR I ABSTAINED; THIS YEAR I DEVOUR.

There is no such thing as loyalty and honesty in a world of puppets and puppeteers. You have played so many parts, both real and imagined, that sometimes even you forget what you are beneath it all. In spite of yourself, you like INVIDIA. You admire them. Their lethal determination, the fascinating darkness that lurks just beneath the surface of him. You’ve always loved a good riddle. You’ve spent hours poring over ciphers, decoding the unsolved mysteries of the world—in this respect, INVIDIA is no different. A puzzle to be cracked wide open. An ally in the lion’s den, perhaps even the lion itself. Neither of you have any delusions about the friendship between you—you are useful to each other. You intrigue each other. Some day, you will help him bury a body that needs to be disappeared, and he will help you bury yours.

IRA.   ⟡   MY HEART IS YOURS IF YOU HAVE THE STOMACH TO TAKE IT.

Between you and the depths of your heart, you know there will never be space or sunlight around you for any other love to grow as long as you have your sister. The revolving door to your life and bed is a reliable one, meaningless encounters ended in mutual agreement, or dragged kicking and screaming to its short-lived conclusion. There has never been anyone you would dare her wrath and ruin for. Not until you met IRA. You see it now, more clear-sighted than you have been for the two decades and more you have been alive. You have been drifting through life half-awake, languid and paralysed by your own inertia. She awoke you, sent fire sparking through you, electrifying you. Coup de foudre. She makes you realise the meaning that can exist in life, the burning, consuming purpose, if you want it badly enough. You touch her and feel your fingertips come away with ashes, relishing every second of the flames licking at your palms. It feels almost forbidden, sacrilegious. Part of you knows you don’t deserve it—the other knows you can never have it.

CLOSED.   ⟡   FC: WOO DO HWAN

#perfidia. #c. #a. #original rp #skeleton rp #mystery rp #lsrp #lsrpg #domestic abuse tw

[majoraop]

Another contribution for the One Piece Bingo organized by @op-pirate-fleet: a short story from Doflamingo’s point of view based on the “heroic gesture” prompt of my card. If you’ll enjoy this fanfic or find anything to fix please comment! ^^

The Untangled Puppeteer Donquixote Doflamingo didn’t like heroes nor believed in good endings.   Life wasn’t fair. When someone won, someone else lost (a loved one, freedom, a place to belong—the list could go on and on), and the ending that felt “perfect” to some might be unsatisfying to others.   Doflamingo smirked even if his head still hurt as the result of his opponent's “heroism”. Usually, people root for the protagonist—the “hero” of a story—and the people of Dressrosa had rooted for that stupid monkey. They had even called him their “saviour”. How naïve of them! They were not safe nor free when they still had to pay a gold tribute to those other monkeys sitting on their opulent thrones. But they will fall too, one day.   Soon.   Dressrosa's people had got excited for the fighting more than they ever had for the half-hearted colosseum skirmishes. They had wanted to see the "good guys" prevail against the "bad guys". In the end, while some betrayed him (as usual), some others remained faithful. Maybe, his “family” had a real meaning after all. Doflamingo smiled. He could claim that victory at least.   That Monkey D Luffy was interesting. While acting like a “hero”, he didn't consider himself one. He was different from most people: not after revenge like he and Law, but just a crazy free bullet that had only seen him as an obstacle to overcome. Sure, he had fought for Viola’s niece and the other people once he had discovered his plan, but Doflamingo couldn’t blame him: even if he had had his own rightfully reasons, he had still literally caged him and his friends. He had never seen someone fighting so fiercely to get his freedom back. Voices told the truth: Monkey D Luffy wanted to become the freest person in the world.   The Pirate King.   Doflamingo wasn’t surprised he hadn’t become a revolutionary instead. The Revolutionary Army fought for freedom, but its members were not free; they were too bond to their “liberty” ideal to pursue it for themselves. Pirates, instead, weren’t bound to responsibilities. Yet, that brat’s answer to his provocation (what’s the point of acting like a hero?) had still surprised him. If you cannot save everyone, why even bother? What good will bring an imperfect justice? His brother had acted upon “justice” too, but still a flawed one: he had “saved” a single child leaving the rest back with him.   Maybe, it wasn’t a matter of justice but hope. However, Doflamingo had learned as a child that there couldn't be real hope in an unjust world where the winners—the “heroes”—decided what “justice” was for everyone else. Doflamingo's bitter laughter startled the guards, and he savoured the worried glances they threw at him. So-called “heroic gestures” were just the result of egoism: a “good” one for some, but still egoism.   In the end, it’s just a matter of point of views.   Doflamingo wondered if Monkey D Luffy, too, had felt angry, lost, or lonely as a child. Sometimes, he might have feared for his life or someone else's (nobody wants to remain alone). He must have cried—all children do—even if some only cry in secret, when nobody can see them, and people end up thinking they are fearless monsters (Doflamingo still remembered the fire, the screams, his angry tears).   Why didn’t you understand, Roci?   He imagined his brother smiling light-heartedly, joking, making plans for the future together with Law.   Without me, your older brother.   He had loved Roci so much he had killed him to forgive him. For breaking free of his cage without permission. For putting his morals as a marine—as if they weren’t assassins too, and of the worst kind!—over love for his family. For leaving him behind. Doflamingo felt irritated with Rocinante for even giving up his goal—stopping him—to stay together with Law.   Someone so similar to me, not the less.   Law knowing that made it slightly more tolerable, but in the end, he too became free from his past.   But I won’t let it go.   Victims turned into executioners had condemned him and his brother when they were just innocent children. He could not accept such injustice—such “justice” of the masses—and had fought back with his Conqueror's Haki. After that, he had tried to protect his family: he had helped Roci surviving in the streets, brought food to their ill mother. He had tried everything, unlike their inept father.   Why wasting time asking for help from the same people who abandoned us in this hell?   His disgustingly good-hearted, foolish father! He had betrayed all of them to follow his impossible ideals, so he had killed him. He had done it for Roci, too. To save him from a terrible life. But it had been useless: the Celestial Dragons had never admitted them back to Mary Geoise, and his brother had run away.   His brother lost, Doflamingo still cared for his found family. He had mourned the death of Monet and then Vergo. He even felt remorse when they died for him, but that had been necessary in his ultimate goal to destroy the world: a world full of hate and discriminations, of prejudices and ignorance. People called him “Heavenly Demon”, and yet he had accepted in his family individuals no one wanted around. He did feel superior to the others, but he knew that they were all humans in the end, no matter how some still called themselves “gods”. No matter how he played along and claimed to be one too sometimes: it was just a game, an act. Doflamingo knew very well that his Conqueror's Haki wasn’t proof of some no-existing "birthrights". He deemed himself worthy of reigning over others only because he had earned that for himself.   Despite all of that and his unshakable will to survive, though, he had lost. Now, he had no right to choose how to die anymore nor decide what “justice” was; winners did that. Yet, he still had his curiosity. What would the Riku family do from now on? Did they expect peace on Dressrosa? He laughed again, amused this time. He could see hordes of pirates invading it since the very day he had fallen. What would Law do? He hadn’t killed him in the end, so maybe he felt empty, his revenge unfulfilled? Or did he find something or someone else filling the void in his existence?   And what about me?   Despite lying chained on the cold floor of a cell, he didn’t feel so bad. Had his (spare) glasses shattering at the end of the fight been a catharsis? At least, he deserved punishment this time around. He could live with that. It felt strange to think that his confrontation with that crazy monkey might have been the best thing ever happening to him. Even if in a way he had not predicted, that event had broken the spiral of deceiving and violence that had entangled him ever since he was a child.   For the moment, at least.   He still had plans, cards to play. Maybe, one day he would also find hope again—no, better leave such useless things to guys like Fujitora (apparently, the Marine admiral had become a fan of Monkey D Luffy). He would rather keep his prudent stance, the protection of his glasses up again against that shitty world: he didn’t care if, from the outside, that may look like a last desperate tentative to keep control over his life.   Probably, one day I’ll take them off myself.   As much as he didn’t believe in heroes, to see the world unfiltered and not through rose-coloured glasses would be a heroic gesture by itself.   How ironic!   In any case, he believed that his role hadn’t ended yet. Maybe, his defeat had been a necessary step before a new beginning. He would find a way to free himself and the remaining members of his family. He would probably find new people worth his attention and time, too. He would be even more careful from now on (he would still ignore the remorse that sometimes bit him). He was still alive, meaning that he had a second chance. At worst, he would even help the revolutionaries if that meant finally seeing the World Nobles’ demise. He knew firsthand the pain they caused to people, so he may connect with the revolutionaries—or maybe not. Not on a deep level, at least. He liked to have people around but couldn’t let his guard down, ever. Unlike his stupid father, though, he wouldn't waste his potential and hide away from his fate. He would take things into his own hands.   Not like a hero, but like a man.   Even if nobody ever really treated him like a human being. So, why should he act like one? Abused for being a (fallen) Celestial Dragon or supported as a king by his new family, there was no middle ground. His found family had recognised his worth but eventually used him as much as he used them. Probably, only that crazy monkey had ever treated him as equal. Despite fighting Monkey D Luffy had made him relive his past trauma with parallels worth of a well-written story, it had also made him somewhat free.   I can’t believe this just crossed my mind.   Was that a “side effect” of his opponent’s “heroism”? After all, Doflamingo had been the one making the cage, but he had still been at the centre of it, caged himself, as he pulled strings and controlled others.   But now, my threads have been cut.   He could start anew.

#opbingo2020 #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #onepiece #one piece #opfanfic #opfanfiction #majoraop #long post #(Probably Doflamingo is a bit out of character here since I tend to mix my own headcanons with canon stuff. ^^’ ) #(Sorry for not using the read more feature but that would count as a link and posts with links often don't appear in searches and tags...) #queued

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 18/?

Part 17

CW for: -Canon-typical violence, body horror and gore  -Some characters talk about the not so great mental state they were in, including suicide ideation.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

XVIII

"Nah. I convinced them I'm not suicidal, mostly because, you know, I'm not? Anyways, they're letting me go this weekend. I'll call you when I'm settled, we'll have a sleepover that doesn't involve eye gouging, how about that?" Melanie smirks in his direction, and Gerry rolls his eyes.

"That's my preferred kind of sleepover."

"You have very low standards," Tim mutters in the background.

"I mean yeah." Melanie shrugs. "He's dating Jon."

"I'll take offense to that," Georgie laughs, closing the door to the room behind her after coming in.

Gerry lets his head fall back against the glass, closing his eyes to feel the rattle of the car as the tube makes its way through London's entrails. Melanie's looking well enough, her injuries healing at a slow, human pace that Gerry can't help but to be hopeful about.

"So you don't feel the need to go back?" Tim asks, leaning against the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. It may be a bit risky to bring an avatar whose powers manifest as fire into a place with so much oxygen and defenseless people, but Tim looks calm for once, no hint of orange in the depths of his dark eyes. "When I left, I started feeling the withdrawal right away. Not like... at first it wasn't pain, I just 'wanted' to come back."

"Nope!" Melanie grins, popping the 'p' with such satisfaction that Gerry can't help but to chuckle along with Georgie. "The only place I want to go to is home."

"Aren't you lucky," Tim says a bit sullenly, but when Gerry looks over he's got the slightest hint of a smile on his face, albeit a sad one.

Tim is sitting two seats away, but Gerry can still feel both the heat -the burns on his skin throbbing in ghost pain- and the conflict emanating from him. Maybe this is why Jon used to feel so comfortable around him, Tim wears his heart on his sleeve and there's no guessing at what he's feeling, regardless of if that feeling holds something good in store for you or not.

"What is it?" Gerry asks after a few more seconds. He doesn't turn to look at Tim, but they both know his words are aimed at him.

Tim's voice, when it comes, holds all the fragility of diamond, hard and sharp and waiting for something to hit at just the right angle to crumble to dust. "Do you- I wonder if this would work on Martin."

Gerry snorts, his tentative good mood wiped away like so much dust under the rain. "Are you asking me?"

"You care," Tim says. It's not a question, and Gerry doesn't bother denying it. Thinking about Martin feels eerily like waiting outside of a locked room, kept barely alive by a voice not done justice by the magnetic tape in a recorder, hoping, praying that the coffin will open, that he will come back, for someone else if not for him.

He keeps hoping the story will end the same, but he knows better than to dare think he'll be lucky twice.

"I don't know that breaking Martin from the Eye is our biggest concern anymore." Gerry sighs. "He told Jon no when he offered."

"...So? Are you just going to leave it like that?" Out the corner of his eye, he sees Tim scowl something fierce. "Jon said the fucking same, are you two just going to sit there and make eyes at each other while he turns?"

"We're trying, alright?! Jon's running himself ragged trying to Know enough that Martin doesn't have to depend on Lukas anymore, and I can keep telling Martin he's more important than the Extinction, but he's too damn stubborn-"

"He said you broke into his flat just to make him talk-"

"Well, you live with him. If you can't bring him back, why-"

"Oh, shut up!" Tim groans, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his head back to look at the roof "Shut up, for real. You're pissing me off, and we're underground, you're going to make me blow up half the city."

Gerry rolls his eyes, a resigned huff escaping his lips. "Sometimes I wish I'd convinced you to stay behind when we went to get the Dark Sun. I don't know what Lukas did to him, but I doubt he would've done it I'd you'd been here."

"You know what? I do, too." Tim remains focused on the roof of the car, his fingers tapping against his arm in an incessant rhythm that leaves melted indentations on his skin. "I should've stayed where it mattered."

They don't say much after that. What else could they add? He can deny it until he's blue in the face, but they both know Manuela Dominguez burned because Tim still holds Jon dear, whether he likes it or not.

Still, Tim's words weigh heavy in his mind as they climb up the steps to the street and start the short trek to the Institute. It's- he's right. Whatever they promised Martin, this has gone too far. Martin might be ready to sacrifice it out of some misplaced lack of self worth, but nothing is worth his life, not even saving the world. And if he has to break into Martin's office and convince him of it, well... it won't be the first time, at least.

He starts on the stairs up towards the Institute's upper floors, only to stop when he notices Tim is no longer following. When he turns around, Gerry finds him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face turned towards the door and his eyes overtaken by the bright orange of the Desolation.

"...Are you okay?" Gerry asks, arching an eyebrow.

Tim scowls at whatever it is he's looking at, but lifts a hand to stop him when Gerry makes to walk back down. "You going to see Jon?"

"Martin, actually," Gerry admits. Tim nods.

"Fine. You do that. I'll be down at the Archives." He gestures to the stairs going down instead.

It is a bit odd, but there's something else tugging at his mind right now. Something feels off today crawling under his skin like a many legged being. He wonders for a moment if this is the Spider pulling at him, before he resolves that one way or another it won't do to dwell on it. He feeds the Mother of Puppets either by fearing the manipulation or by fighting against it; the best he can do is be prepared for whatever it is he's being pushed into.

"-ou are. I was starting to fear you'd gotten cold feet." Gerry freezes before turning the corner to enter the corridor that takes to Martin's office. Lukas' voice is light and amused enough that Gerry wants to rearrange his face, mostly because he knows there's only one person in the Institute Lukas really talks to.

"I haven't," Martin says, and he sounds like a gray afternoon given a voice.

"Wonderful! I'd hate for you to give up after so much hard work, when we're already at the finish line. We can go down, then."

Martin doesn't answer, not even when Lukas lets out a satisfied chuckle. Gerry leans around the corner as soon as the familiar static of the Lonely starts ringing in his ears, and he's just in time to see the last of Martin's back disappear into a wall of fog.

The finish line.

Gerry frowns; the Eye won't volunteer any information about what Lukas is talking about, not even when he tries to Look, but if this means that he's done with whatever he was pushing Martin into, then this can't be good. Should he go look for Jon? Would the Eye let him know where they-

"You're looking real unhappy there, dear." Helen's voice doesn't really make him jump as much as merely draws him out of his reverie. "Did you lose something?"

"Someone." Gerry huffs.

"The pessimism... you've been hanging with Jon too much, I'd say."

"If you happen to know where they're going-"

"They're real funny," Helen chuckles. It makes Gerry a bit dizzy, but he merely lays a hand on the wall to steady himself. "They kept saying they needed a map, like there aren't better ways to get to places."

Gerry freezes, the implications of the Distortion's words deafening in his mind.

"Helen?" he asks almost shakily. If he can reach Martin and ask Helen to get the others- "Is it a door that they needed?"

Helen merely stands there before him, her smile curling into itself and her door partly opened behind her.

Gertrude would eat him alive for being so stupid, so selfish, Gerry thinks with a bitter sort of amusement. What gives him the right to stop Martin from saving the world, just because of anything he or Jon may or may not feel?

Probably nothing, but maybe it's high time he tries being self-centered for once, he decides before he walks into the Distortion's corridors.

-----------------------------------

It had taken him a few blocks to place the feeling, but when he finally did Tim found it laughably easy to put a name to it.

At first it feels like a prickle at his nape, the feeling of being watched, and he ignores it because it's far from an uncommon occurrence at the Institute. It's only when he feels the urge to hasten his pace that it clicks in his mind, even when it doesn't feel quite the same as when he first caught sight of Jon ducking behind a corner on his way home.

The Hunt is insidious, playing at your most basic instincts as it chases you to where you'll be easier to strike down. Now that he's recognized it, Tim finds it all too easy to shake it off. Instead the Desolation sparks to life inside his chest, aching for a good fight, for destruction, for the delicious sorrow that lays promised by the bond between the two hunters.

It's a bit funny how they don't notice when he flips the tables, coming back through the Institute's front doors just in time to see the back of the old man disappearing into the alley behind the institute; how very Hunt-like, to underestimate the 'prey'.

They head straight for the door that leads down to the Archives, and Tim feels the burning in his chest grow hotter.

Daisy wasn't lying when she said they were opportunistic, but she failed to mention just how fatally uninformed they were. He still feels the sequels from yesterday, and Jon was trying not to hurt him. Even if they reached him, what chance do they hope to have against the Archivist on his home turf?

He waits until their steps have faded down the stairs, before pushing the door open again and slipping in himself, and he wonders if maybe in another life he wouldn't have shared a patron with them, with how fervently he tracked the Stranger, and how easily he falls into the role of the hunter now.

Jon did kill the thing that took Sasha, and he's not too fond of owing favors.

-----------------------------------

Dying is not so terrible, Daisy thinks. Or maybe it's Basira -as always- that makes it tolerable.

It's cold by the entrance to the tunnel, but the cot itself is warm enough that Daisy doesn't shiver -she doesn't think she has the strength for it- in Basira's arms.

She doesn't smell the scent of tears or despair, and it only hurts a little. She wasn't expecting Basira to cry, or be devastated. In fact, she was counting on it. One of the things she fell in love with was Basira's stability, always a safe port to come home to in the middle of the storm that is Daisy's rage.

She's looking down at her on her lap, lightly brushing Daisy's hair off her face. All the hair was brushed away long ago but still Basira runs her fingers softly over her cheekbones, her forehead, her closed eyelids, and it feels like drifting off to sleep on a sunny windowsill.

It's far too peaceful an end, for all the pain she's caused.

"Basira-" she starts, only to stop a second after, her eyes shooting open at the sound of running feet and hurried breathing, the cloying scent of fear like a shot of adrenaline straight into her expiring heart.

"Jon?" Basira asks, her body tensing under Daisy's in preparation for- for what? "What's going on?"

Daisy chokes back a strained laugh. Of course something else would happen now that Basira has finally run out of excuses to let her die.

"I'm- I- Daisy?" Jon's voice is shaky, and the scent of fear intensifies. It makes her want to howl that she's not only unable to assuage his distress, but that she's a part of it now. "What is- the Hunt-"

"Jon, what do you want?!" Basira snaps.

Jon flinches. "Martin, I- he left me- I don't think he's coming back." There's a tape recorder in his hand, and what makes Daisy sit up on the cot is that he looks like he sounded in the Buried, lost and trapped and all devoid of hope.

"Where's Gerry?" she asks. "He's good at finding Martin. Bringing him back."

"That's- I don't know," Jon says shakily. "I'm- I tried to See him, but- I think he's inside Helen? I don't know- he doesn't feel like he's in danger, but-"

"And can't you See Martin?" Basira arches an eyebrow. "If you can See inside the Distortion-"

"I'm- I can't usually do that." Jon huffs almost angrily. "I can sort of See inside Helen because Gerry's in there, like-"

"Like you're looking through him?" Daisy supplies, when he seems to be out of words. Much to her despair, she feels reenergized already, like the mere idea of a goal is enough to fuel the embers of the Hunt inside her. She can feel Basira's eyes on the side of her face, and she knows she's already plotting, scheming some way to keep her around longer.

"Exactly, yes." Jon nods. "And only barely enough to feel that he doesn't think he's in danger. But when I try to See Martin, it's- it's like- like two mirrors in front of each other. I know it doesn't make any sense, but-"

"Nevermind that." Basira climbs to her feet in a smooth move "We can find him."

Daisy doesn't miss the use of the plural, nor the way her glowing green eyes fix on her with that look she knows all too well. It's a look that beckons her to follow, a siren call she has little to no hope of refusing. She heaves a sigh before she stands from the cot as well, smacking Jon on the shoulder.

"Couldn't wait until I was buried to drag me out again, could you?" she asks.

Jon gives her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry."

Daisy shrugs. She'll stick around just for a few more hours, just for them.

"Let's find those two."

-----------------------------------

There's a body below the institute.

This is, of course, not the first time this has happened, Martin thinks, and the thought almost feels amusing. The handle of the knife Peter placed in his hand after the whole explanation about the Panopticon feels almost vulgar in its suggestion that violence is the only way to save the world.

"I must admit, he's not at all as surprised as I expected he'd be." says a voice that Martin still hears in his nightmares from time to time. When he turns around, Elias is standing across Peter, the two of them framing the door like guardian statues. He looks immaculate, his suit clean and freshly pressed, his tie perfectly knotted at his throat. Martin arches an eyebrow, wondering if he factored in enough time for grooming when breaking out from jail, and Elias chuckles. "Speaks wonders of your job I suppose."

"A natural, I told you. Now Martin, if you'd move along please?" Peter says without taking his eyes off Elias. The smirk on his face speaks of familiarity, the kind of look you give someone that you know will be incensed by it. "I didn't count on us having an audience, but I guess I should've known."

"Can't a man watch his own death?" Elias' lips curve upwards like the edge of the blade in Martin's hand. "Also, you must admit it's much more.... poetic, this way, Peter."

"I'll concede on that." Peter turns towards Martin again. "What's keeping you?"

"This is you, isn't it?" It's not that big of a leap, the Panopticon, Jonah Magnus, and the Eye's biggest servant. Elias' widening grin is answer enough. "Will the others survive?"

"I'm surprised you care." Peter says, and Martin rolls his eyes.

"I-"

"He doesn't. But he knows he should. Again, impressive." Elias shrugs, and for all that Martin stands over his body with a knife, he couldn't look less bothered. "But in the interest of truth-"

"Oh, you care about that now?" Peter cackles in the background.

"The answer is, I'm not sure." Elias raises his voice a little. "But making an educated guess, most of the ones you used to care about should fare just fine. Tim and Melanie are well out of my reach. Your new allegiance should protect you from the worst of it, like the Hunt should miss Tonner, if she wasn't so keen on starving herself. I'm not sure about the Detective, ever the rogue variant, but thanks to our patron's little present, Jon is powerful enough that he should survive as well-"

"Don't call him that," Martin mutters quietly to himself. He doubts Elias is listening, anyways; he's much too fond of his own voice.

"-egular workers of the Institute will be affected of course, though there is no telling just how grave the damage will be. But I know you don't care about that, and you know that too, don't you Martin?"

He's... really irritating, Martin decides.

"I do." Whether he means he does care or he merely knows he doesn't, Martin isn't too sure himself.

"Always very self-aware, yes." Elias has the gall to nod like a proud mentor, and Martin rolls his eyes. "I would say then that the only variable to factor in is whether or not you want to kill me."

"I really do." And for so many reasons, too.

"Then go ahead, Martin." Peter steps forward, and Martin sees Elias watching him from the back like a snake about to strike. It's actually pretty funny, that they're both so sure they've cornered the other. "Kill him, and help me save the world."

"I don't think I will, actually." Martin shrugs, tossing the knife aside with a careless flick. The delight he feels at Peter's confused frown is muted, but it's definitely there.

"I- what?" Peter stutters. Elias' grin grows even sharper behind him. "Martin, this is not the time for games, the world is at stake here, and-"

"See, that's where you messed up. All those details that didn't add up, the insistence that I was some sort of- of world savior? Far too grand for me." Elias breaks down in cackles, and Martin covers his flinching by crossing his arms over his chest. "It really wasn't that hard to see through all the bull you were trying to serve me."

"Serve- Martin, I never lied to you. The Extinction is coming and-"

"I don't doubt it." He waves the matter away. "But this is not about the Extinction, is it? It's just whatever pases for a game between you two, using people as your betting chips, and I don't want any part in it. I'm out."

"But you said-"

"What you wanted to hear, mostly." Martin shrugs again; the feeling of perverse delight growing more and more alive in his chest. Who knew that pettiness was an emotion just as effective against the Lonely?

"You projected too hard on dear Martin, it seems," Elias says after his laughter has subsided. Peter looks fit to boil, his pale face sporting ugly red blotches as he rounds up on Elias.

"This is your doing," he says. Elias' carefully knotted tie crumples in Peter's clenched fist. "How-"

"It wasn't him." Martin interrupts again, feeling more tangible by the second out of sheer indignation. "It was me, always me. I came to you because Jon was dead and it seemed like the most useful thing I could do for the others was letting you do your thing. I thought it would even be a good way to get killed, but you lost any hold you might've had the moment Jon woke up." It's almost cathartic to let everything out after so much lying. It certainly is rewarding to watch Peter's face lose more and more color with each word. "Suddenly I had a reason again, and it was very easy to pretend I was going along with your schemes, if it meant keeping him safe. You had me for a while when you started dropping hints about the Extinction, but it was just too much, you know? I'm not exactly a- a 'chosen one', or a hero, but it was the best way to figure out what your end game was."

"But- I can feel the Lonely around you, it's-"

"Sure, it's there. Always has been, maybe. But if this is the final test, then- then I guess failed." The silence that blankets over the Panopticon after his words is so dense Martin can almost taste it. He wonders if the other two can hear the frantic beating of his heart.

"You- no." Peter shakes his head. "This- you have no idea what you've done, you've doomed-"

"I did warn you, Peter." Elias speaks, sweet and cloying like festering rot. "Now, sore loser is a terrible look on you, so get on with it."

"Get on with what?" Martin scowls, trying to ignore the shiver that bleeds down his spine when Elias' amused smile turns towards him. "I thought he couldn't use the Panopticon."

"That ship has sailed, I'm afraid." Elias shakes his head, tutting under his breath. "Really, one way or another you shouldn't have anything to fear, Martin. If your allegiance to the Lonely's strong enough, you should be able to walk right back out. If it's not... then you just have to hope Jon's allegiance to you is strong enough."

"I'm- what?" Martin frowns. Why would Elias want Jon to go get him from- oh. Oh, crap, how could he have been so stupid?! He steps back, when a tendril of fog begins to wrap itself around his ankle. "Wait, I-"

"I'll do it." Martin feels his blood freeze in his veins, when he whips around and finds Gerry standing by the entrance to the Panopticon, his hand wrapped around the knife Martin discarded just a few minutes ago.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Peter asks, his hand still extended towards Martin, but the fog momentarily at ease. Martin takes a few more steps back, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order because this is not good. Gerry shouldn't be here, he can handle the Lonely, but he can't leave Gerry alone with these two-

"If you want him dead so badly, I'll kill him, and use the damned thing for you." Gerry steps towards the body with knife in hand, and Martin has a split second to appreciate that Elias no longer seems so amused, even getting closer to the body himself. "Let Martin go."

"You don't have any bonds with the Lonely." Peter arches an eyebrow, but he's starting to lower his hand. Fuck, this- this isn't good.

"Does that really matter? I could hardly be more marked by the Eye. I'll use it for you, just let Martin-"

"Are you crazy?" Martin snaps, whipping around to face him again. "Get out of here, I-"

"Peter." Elias hisses in the background, and Peter grunts.

"As much as it'd please me to use the Eye's own gifts against it-" Peter starts, every word sounding like a forced pleasantry. The edges of Martin's vision blur with thick, white fog that pulls at his core almost as much as his mind reels from it. "-I am a man of my word."

"What- wait-" Gerry takes a step towards him, reaching a hand to grab at Martin's shoulder.

"Say, Gerard," Elias' voice cuts in, loud and laced with static as he steps between Gerry and his body. "Have you ever wondered how your father died?"

Gerry's face goes contorts in pain as the memories are forced in, and Martin flinches in sympathy.

"Go away!" Martin snaps, before whipping around to face Elias. "Cut it out, I'll go in-"

"The marks, Martin-" Gerry grunts. "Stay-"

"You were sleeping while she butchered his body. A spirited woman, your mother, but not the finest planner-"

Gerry shakes his head like trying to shake the foreign thoughts loose, a thin stream of ink running down his philtrum, staining his lips black.

"Like you'd fucking know- Martin? Martin, look at me!" He orders, like Martin isn't already doing so, like he isn't actively trying to give in to the pull of the Lonely -if he goes, they'll leave him alone, they have no other reason to keep him-

"She did love him, you know? Or she loved his devotion for her at least. It's quite funny, actually. Good old Eric fought so hard to break free of our patron, and he never once stopped to wonder if he wasn't running into something worse. His end was quite gruesome, even for one of Gertrude's assistants." Elias' eyes gleam with dark amusement when they meet Martin's, and the threat in them is clear. "He thought her steps sounded different that afternoon, but he was only starting to get used to getting by on his remaining senses, and she'd been so gentle and caring to him lately-"

"Stop..." Gerry snarls "I don't care, I never knew him, you can't-"

"Oh, but you could have. If he hadn't been so arrogant, if he hadn't tried to plan so much smarter than he was. You should be careful which of your parents' footsteps you want to follow, though I suppose both trails are marked in blood."

"Elias, stop!" Martin shuts his eyes tight to not see Gerry's pained expression, focusing on the cold, slimy feeling of the fog that resides within his core, but he can't- the Lonely's refusing to come to his call, and Martin wants to scream, because when Gerry warned him so many months ago that he'd ruin his plan, Martin wasn't expecting it to be by making himcare so much for him. "Peter, just- do it already!"

The man's face is veiled in satisfaction, and Martin has no doubt that he too knows Martin won't survive the Lonely like this, and the act is as much a fulfillment of the wager with Elias as it is his revenge for Martin unraveling his plans.

"Martin!" Gerry throws himself forward, and Martin feels his hand pass straight through his front.

The last hint of color he sees before the grey takes it away is that heart-wrenching mix of green and blue.

-----------------------------------

Martin's trail is a soft green against the dirty stone floor of the tunnels. Not as easy to follow as Daisy's, and mingled with a sickly grey one that smells of salt and absence.

"These tunnels don't make sense," she grunts after taking a left turn for the sixth time in a row.

"They change." Jon sniffles behind her, his footsteps light and hurried in contrast with Daisy's heavier, determined ones. "I feel a sort of- a pull, towards the center. I'm guessing that's where Martin is?"

Basira doesn't respond, sure, Jon could've come down here himself, but then Daisy would've given up, would've died in her arms without the interruption, without the goal.

"Do you feel Gerry?" Daisy asks. There's a light growl to her voice that wasn't there before, and it makes Basira stop a little. "Is he alright?"

"He's- I think he found Martin. It's like the two mirrors thing, whenever I try to See any of them." Jon wipes a hand across his brow, letting out a soft, sheepish chuckle. "I'm- I feel blind."

"We're being followed," Daisy says calmly, and Basira spins around on her heel. The Hunt doesn't manifest with light, there is no eerie glow to her warm brown eyes, but Basira sees her fingers curled in the shape of claws, and the stiff line of her back just as clearly, the blood simmering under her skin, not yet boiling but very much threatening to. "Are you going to come out, or will you keep hiding like rats?"

Basira's gun is on her hand in an instant, and she pulls Jon behind her, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the familiarity of falling into step with Daisy.

"Must admit- I'd been hopin' you'd be dead by now." She doesn't know the old man that comes from behind the corner they just turned, but she can guess who it is just by the distortion to his features, his too-wide grin full of too-sharp teeth, his eyes that reflect the light of their torches in the way no human could. "We wanted to have Jonny boy for ourselves for a bit."

"We got a few statements we'd like to give." And if that's Trevor Herbert, then this must be Julia Montauk, of course.

"You didn't dare go against Daisy and me last time," Jon pipes in from behind Basira, and she contemplates turning around and strangling him herself, because of course Jon will hear danger ask for him by name and be a smartass about it. "Now there's three of us. Doesn't sound too smart."

"But see, we're well out of your dear Archives now, Jon dear." Julia takes a step to the side that Daisy mimics, keeping herself between the groups. "And your guard dog here looks like a famished mutt. I like our chances, actually."

"Brought this on yourself, really." The old hunter cracks his neck, running a red tongue over his teeth. "We'd have let you live, you were going around stopping rituals even, but you just had to go and take that page out."

Basira feels more than she sees Jon's patience dwindling. There's static in the air sure, but there's something in her connection to the Eye that reacts to him getting ready for a fight.

"Easy, Jon," she mutters, her gun trained on the old man's forehead.

"We're wasting time. I need-"

"Go, just follow your call," says Daisy, without moving an inch from where she's facing the other woman down. Basira can See the blood rising hotter and angrier inside her, and Daisy's almost back to looking like herself, the light back in her eyes, the steel in her spine, the slightest hint of a smirk as she stares Julia down. "We'll take care of this."

Jon hesitates for a moment; Basira can see the struggle in his eyes, going from Daisy to the hunters to her-

"Just go!" Basira snaps. "You know what's going on here, go find out what's happening there!"

And well, maybe it is underhanded, to use his worry for those two against him, but if it gets him to leave...

"I'll come back," Jon says hurriedly.

Basira nods. "Or I'll find you. Go!"

He rushes down the tunnel; Basira wonders, daring a look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of his awkward race around a corner, is this the last she sees of Jonathan Sims?

"That's cute!" Julia snarls, calling her back to attention. The faint orange glow behind her is easy to miss, but Basira recognizes it easily enough. "You're getting very high and mighty there."

"This one is not even a full avatar," Trevor gestures at Basira with a chuckle, and it feels both relieving and insulting. "You can't take the two of us alone, not in your state."

"I don't know. What was it you said a moment ago?" Tim speaks from behind them, causing the two hunters to whip around to face him. His eyes glow like two angry embers; Basira remembers this Tim not from the night before the Unknowing, but from the warehouse up North. "I like our chances."

-----------------------------------

The pull at his chest is not foreign to Jon, though it feels as different as day and night from the one he followed to find Gerry when the hunters came the first time.

It's something built into him from the moment he opened his eyes as the Archivist, something that ties him to the Archives, to whatever it is that lays at the middle of this labyrinth, and Jon despises it.

Still he follows it, heading to whatever fate awaits him willingly, for them.

The chamber he finds himself in is enormous, the walls made up entirely of cells with thick bars covered in rust. At the center, stands a tower made up of blackened stone, the very top domed in clouded glass, and the Beholding drops a word in his mind with all the ceremony of an artist revealing their Magnum Opus.

The Panopticon.

"So good you could join us, Jonathan." Elias's voice hits him like a hammer to the chest, and only then does Jon notice him standing at the base of the turret, his arms crossed behind his back and smiling beatifically in his direction. "Was it hard, finding the place?"

"Not- not too much." Jon steps closer carefully. He still can't See Martin or Gerry, but Elias being here -how did he get out of jail? Was he ever really trapped there?- is not a great signal.

"Because I called you." Elias nods. "I thought you might want to pick up what you lost."

Shit.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

"W-"

"As much as I'd enjoy a chat, I'd advise against dallying. He was in a bit of a state when he went in. Not too suited to survive in there, even after all these months." Elias takes a step aside, clearing the way to the stone stairs that curl up around the body of the tower. "Good luck, Jonathan. I'll be seeing-"

Whatever he was going to say next, Jon doesn't care to know. He rushes past him, climbing the stairs as quickly and as carefully as he can, keeping away from the edge because he wouldn't put it past himself to simply trip and snap his neck.

The interior of the turret is mostly empty, but his eyes pick up on three details immediately. The first is the dessicated body sitting at the center of the eye carved on the stone floor. He Knows who he is, and who the man outside isn't, but right at this moment, he couldn't care less.

The second thing he notices is the door to the Lonely, like a tear on dark fabric leaking out a soft silvery light and heavy wisps of fog that drift down to the floor.

Gerry's crumbled next to the body like a puppet whose strings were cut off. His arm stretched out towards the rift, and he's bleeding, a puddle of acrid-smelling ink under his head.

Jon rushes to his side, falling to his knees beside him and turning his head as carefully as he can.

"Gerr- I- can you hear me?" he asks, his heart beating so hard he's worried it'll punch a hole right through his chest. Gerry's eyes are wide and glassy and Beholding green, and his papery white lips move around words Jon cannot hear, but he's alive, and that means they have a shot still.

"I need- Gerry, I- you have to wake up now. I'm-" This is- he's so bad at this. How do you call a person back? I'm sorry but I love you, please don't go? "I need you, please."

-----------------------------------

"Told ya!" The old man smirks, his sharp teeth painted red with the blood flowing from his nose after Tim's headbutt. His claw-like nails sink into the flesh of Basira's neck, and the whirlpool of activity in the tunnel comes to a screeching halt. "This one is not quite done yet. Let's see if she bleeds like a monster or like a human."

If one thinks about it objectively, Tim's cockiness wasn't necessarily unjustified. He merely failed to factor in the part where he technically doesn't want to blow up the entirety of London to get rid of two hunters, or turn Daisy and Basira into a pile of ashes.

"That's enough," Daisy growls, loosening her grip around Julia's neck. The woman slashes at her face as soon as she's free, the knife leaving an angry red gash across her cheekbone and nose.

It makes something hot an angry burn at his chest, that even with all this power, he's still useless to stop this.

"How sweet." Julia shoves her off, climbing to her feet with a slight limp in her step. Tim feels a dark pang of pride at the angry red burn on the side of her face. "You're not the monsters we wanted, but it's okay, we don't discriminate. Let's see that throat, old man."

"Basira?" Daisy calls out. She's still on her knees, still watching her own blood drip down to the dirty floor of the tunnels.

"Yes?" Basira asks, then chokes a little when Trevor presses his nails a bit harder.

"Will you find me?" Daisy's starting to shake, and Tim takes a step back even as the Desolation in him beckons him forward, because the sheer amount of sorrow and rage coming from her is intoxicating.

Another wave of loss, of suffering hits him just as hard. Tim darts a glance at her, but there's nothing in Basira's face that betrays the pain simmering inside her.

"Anywhere."

Daisy's form splits open.

It's like watching a flower blossom in a timelapse video, or a moth emerge from its cocoon. The creature that comes out is long-limbed and sharp-fanged, and its fur shimmers with a faint coat of blood as it leaves behind the useless skin of Daisy Tonner. They watch it in stunned silence as it raises to its full height, its hunched back grazing against the roof of the tunnel, a cavernous growl squeezing out from between jaws where the hide is stretched too thin, pierced here and there by sharp yellowed fangs, its eyes like two pinpricks of light at the end of a cavernous tunnel fixed on the hunters before it.

"...Fuck," Julia mutters. Tim is inclined to agree.

Then the thing that was Daisy takes a step towards her, and the room explodes in activity again. Basira is shoved to the side as Trevor rushes to step between them, and it's all Tim can do to throw himself over her, as two and then three beasts slam each other against the walls of the tunnel, raining down dirt and debris that digs into Tim's waxy flesh.

It feels like hours before the howling fades away, before the tearing of flesh under claws and fangs leaves behind a silence so haunting it very nearly drowns the roar of the Desolation inside him.

"G- get off," Basira orders, pushing a hand against his chest. Tim scrambles to his feet and offers a hand that she ignores, her eyes focused on the soggy skins left behind in crumpled lumps by the beasts. "I- shit."

"Eloquent." She's looking down one of the tunnels, the one that reeks of hatred and pain, and Tim knows very well the sort of debate brewing in her mind. "Are you going after them?"

"Are you?" she snaps, whipping around to face him. Her face is carefully blank, and Tim doesn't point out the red rims of her eyes, or the pain emanating from her in waves. It doesn't take a genius to understand she's pinning her own hesitation on him. He doesn't know much about Basira, but he might understand that it's easier for her to handle weak people than to be weak herself.

Is he going after them?

He could probably find them, following the claw marks and the rage. If they make it far enough from anyone that could get caught in the crossfire-

"Why were you down here?" he asks, though he thinks he might know the answer already. Jon is many things, but he wouldn't abandon them so easily.

"Jon was still holding on to you when they found you, you know?" Sasha -no, not her, not anymore- had said, and Tim had believed her immediately, just as he believes it now.

"Martin and- they're missing. We think they're at the center of this- this mess." Basira's voice is almost frail as she continues to look down the corridor the monsters disappeared in.

"Can you find them?"

"Yes." The word comes immediately, mournful and without hesitation.

"Well- let's- let's get to it. Somehow I doubt Daisy needs us that much right now."

-----------------------------------

"You're making a right mess of me," he says. He's standing next to the table, watching the proceedings with something that almost feels like interest. "I thought you had more experience at this."

"I was feeling experimental." She shrugs. Her arms are covered in blood to the elbow, and her chest and face are also splattered red. "I felt like it had to be special."

"Very romantic," he says dryly. "What's going to happen to Gerry?"

"Gerard will be fine." She enunciates the name clearly and firmly. They never did settle that argument, but she pretty much just won, he guesses. "He's got the potential."

"He's two years old."

"He's my son." She saws angrily, until the bone finally breaks. "You brought this on yourself, you know?What were you thinking, pulling your eyes out?"

"I suppose I did. I thought you'd be happy that I was free." He shrugs again, before extending a translucent hand to push a lock of blood-soaked blonde hair behind her ear. It passes right through. "It's nice to see you again."

She pauses on her work, her eyes -he always did love that perfect mix of green and blue- fixed on the carnage dripping down to the kitchen floor.

"You knew how I was," she says finally. "I never hid that from you."

"You didn't."

That's not an apology. It's not an excuse. It's not enough for this man who sees himself dead on a table and asks about his son first, why do they both look so satisfied with it?!

The saw is heavy in his hand, and slippery with the blood that stinks the whole room of iron. Gerry tries to drop it, tries to step back, this is not him, up to his elbows in the blood of the one he loves-

"Gerry?" Jon's voice washes over him like cool water over a burn; Gerry thinks he might cry, when he blinks away the image of his parents and Jon is there, looking down at him in concern. "I'm- you're- how do you feel?"

"Like shit." Gerry lets out a dry cackle that's just this side of hysterical, before the gravity of the situation catches up to him, and he sits up so abruptly Jon has to throw himself back to avoid getting head-butted. "Fuck. Jon, we- Martin-"

"I know, I- Elias told me." Jon bites at his bottom lip. "I'm- it looks like we're completing the card after all."

"...Looks like it," Gerry says. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but there's no other way to go about it. Jon's not going to leave Martin in the Lonely, and Gerry's not going to ask him to. He climbs to his feet with a groan -he definitely bruised something- and Jon follows suit. "I'm- I don't know how well it'll go, Jon. You were able to use me as an anchor in the Dark, but I don't know if you can just- just pull Martin out. The person has to want to come back, usually."

"Let's find out." Jon takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the rift to the Lonely for a moment. He looks over his shoulder at him, and there's an odd intensity to his eyes, not the eerie power of the Archivist, but merely the one befitting a man in love. "Are you ready?"

"I- what?" Gerry blinks a couple times, before his own words come back to him from so long ago, whispered against Jon's lips with more devotion than any prayer he's ever uttered, the threat of an apocalypse looming over their heads and in his heart the firm intention of walking into the Dark for this man. "Oh."

"...I don't mean to force you to-" the little yelp Jon gives when he leans in to kiss him might just be enough to turn him immune to the Lonely, Gerry thinks.

"Let's go get your Martin back, then."

#vit writes #illicio #jongerrymartin #jgm

[mitsuhidethesnek]

Time to liveblog Ikepri!

There will be complaining so I won’t tag the characters when I’m complaining lol. Also, this will reflect my blatant bias for scary boys plus Leon. I’m not into softies or tsuns. This is just me airing out MY opinions, so please feel free to disagree and have your own thoughts. I knew I should have started this liveblog earlier. I’m already 4 chapters into Chev’s route. Character first impressions under the cut. Just prologue content.

Prologue thoughts - I like that she owns a bookstore. IkeVamp also had an MC after my own heart, travel journalist. - Yves and Chevalier both lay it on so thick with the insults. Everyone is unworthy to Yves, but it’s his overcompensation from the start. For Chevalier, everyone is just literally inferior because apparently he’s worked so hard to be so ruthlessly superior.

- Eight princes have gathered, one of them will be chosen to be king. Except only our three starter pokemon want to be king, and more than half of them have asked you to be less formal with them lol.

- pfft. Everyone calling Sariel out for kidnapping me. Sariel is like “how dare you accuse me? MC is here of her own free will, right, MC?” and only LEON actually asks my opinion. But he also tries to persuade me by pointing out the icing on top of the ordeal lol.

- I like that Sariel was impressed with me the moment I slapped a drunk. A man who appreciates violence “for a good cause.” I mean, a solid reason to choose me.

- Okay, it is furthermore not about eight different princes vying for power. It’s really just two factions. Team Chevalier and Team Leon. plus Yves kind of

- Prologue Chapter 8 is where Leon starts being nice to you wants to know your thoughts. uwu

- This MC asks questions multiple times. She asked “why her?” for Belle multiple times. It’s extra self-deprecating, which I’m not into, but I guess it’s humble. She doesn’t understand that just being a commoner is enough. It could be anyone. And it just one unlucky standout moment she was chosen for. Leon gives a good reason though. We need someone common who understands what it’s like to be human, because all the royals are a bunch of beasts.

- I love that Belle is a title. Such a good trope. Like how Alice is a title in Ikerev

- I wonder if our translation enthusiasts are complaining. Probably. >> The English localization seems really on the nose with some lines. ><

Individual character thoughts

Rio

- I was expecting puppy immaculate sub. I wasn’t expecting literally obsessed with you. But the fact that he makes Sariel nervous and is too much for Sariel is HILARIOUS. Terrifying levels of enthusiasm. I approve.

- Unfortunately Rio is exactly the type of man I have often had to discourage. It is never just harmless flirting! >< Girl, he gonna keep trying even once you’re married.

Sariel

- Sariel has some sexy lines, but it is 100% creepy since we don’t know each other. - I figured he was my type. Sadistic. Devil-type. The way they do it is he says some pretty unnatural things that imply violence and madness. Disciplinarian. He’s extra and kind of unbelievable and way too handsy in a way that makes him come off shady, but I’m here for the sadistic disciplinarian ride.

-I was looking forward to the contrast between Sariel and Rio, someone who makes you serve and someone else who loves to serve, so I’m here for that contrast. Yves

- No, I don’t appreciate you insulting me every second. He seems like a dainty tsun, so not really my type off the bat.

- However, something tells me his story might be surprisingly moving and relatable? Kind of like Ikevamp Mozart or Ikerev Jonah. Very prim condescending characters who reveal relatable insecurities and standards. Characters that reveal more in their routes than as NPCs.

Luke

- I’m not into big kind guys, but he’s honestly a breath of fresh air. I like that he’s not an active flirt, but what he says is just extra friendly so it comes off flirty. He’s the tallest and is compared to a bear. He doesn’t want to be king. So he seems like someone who will just be nice. I like that he’s super not into the drama and tries to get away from it and discourages it.

Jin

- He’s not my type either. He’s the eldest brother, so he has this knowing air about him all the time like nothing surprises him. But he’s just an observer and commenter so far, doesn’t really interfere. He’s more cool like IkeRev Ray, not an uptight brother-mom figure.

Licht

- Not my type either. Reminds me of IkeRev Harr and Luke. Just really quiet at first so it’s hard to say. He might be the most normal though of all the brothers. Similar to Luke, where he wants to stay out of the drama, but much more taciturn and grumpy about it.

Nokto

- He’s my type. Constantly trying to get in your pants. But he’s coming off kind of cheesy and just nonstop horny to me. Idk, I like seductive enticing dialogue, and I lose interest when it goes past coaxing to full on pushing.

Clavis

- I was REALLY hype for Clavis. Constantly amused character. Turns out, he’s not just this puppeteer in the background. He’s a full on meddler, which I’m still into. He likes starting chaos for its own sake.

- I wonder if he’s different in other routes, but so far having started Chev’s route, I don’t like that he’s mostly here to cause chaos in all matters relating to Chev, instead of being about causing mischief in general. And I don’t like that he’s more of a prankster. I was hoping for sophisticated knowing trickster.

Chevalier

- He lays his superiority complex on SUPER thick. The payoff is supposed to be good when he goes from being utterly unimpressed with you to being obsessed with you. But it’s super disheartening to have characters that make me feel like an idiot. And it’s just how he treats everyone, not just me, but he lays it on thickest at me.

- I literally only like this dude because he’s got that regal IkeSen Kenshin gaze and black fur-lined cape. My brain goes stupid for the regal fur boa, and I like that it’s black against his white color scheme because it suggests that he is the sinister brutal white of winter. So I’m here for all those metaphors.

- But he’s really extreme in how his character revolves around basically two thoughts: Love is worthless. Everyone has a use, and I don’t care about anything but the use of things.

Leon

- saved Leon for last because he’s too easily my favorite!! I’m glad I started Chev’s route because there’s no way I would have touched anyone else if I had started with Leon.

- He’s the best parts of Ikesen Masamune and Nobunaga and Ikevamp Napoleon and Leo! 

- I’m a sucker for the one character who actually cares about what I think and values it even when I underrate my own opinion. ;~;

- He’s the domestic faction in contrast to Chev the foreign faction. so already Chev is about conquest, and Leon is about doing a good job as King taking care of the people. Leon radiates power and can apply it at will, but mostly he asks first, and it’s so nice. Best of both worlds! Power and compassion!

- In a lot of his dialogue, the way he appeals to you is: “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything that you’re not ready for. But if you do, it will be fun and life-changing. What do you say? Will you put your trust in me?” He never makes me feel bad for choosing what makes me feel safe or better. And he makes the danger option sound good because he acknowledges the danger and shifts your focus to the benefits, and you know you’ll be protected if you stay by him.

In summary...

I’m here for Leon.

I’m hopeful that Chevalier, Nokto, Sariel and Rio will scratch my itch for their tropes.

Luke and Yves surprised me. I’m open.

Lost interest in Clavis.

No interest in Jin and Licht so far.

#ikepri #just a ramble

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 3)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader (platonic)

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: descriptions of violence, cursing, more angst and fluff. (You guys know the drill)

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do?

A/N: I am so excited for you guys to read this chapter! I worked really hard on it and i hope yall enjoy! feedback is greatly appreciated!

The stories told are all we know Exchanged in truth and word The photographs are quilted paths From places we've outgrown

It wasn’t the thunder outside that woke you up. It was never the thunder. If anything thunder was soothing to you, even if you were only eight years old. But it was the creak of your bedroom door that roped you in consciousness. The timid voice of your brother moving softly through the space.

“Y/N?”

“What is it Dean?”

“The thunder. It’s too loud.” The small four year old whimpered, jumping slightly when another round rattled the house.

“You wanna sleep in her with me?” You mumbled sleepily, getting your response when you heard small feet quickly move across the carpet before he dove under the covers besides you.

“Why aren’t you scared of it too?”

“Because Im not scared of anything.” Sighing you rolled over, trying to fall back into the middle of the dream you were having.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Now go to sleep.”

. . . That didn’t happen, because not five minutes later you heard Dean speak up again.

“I can’t sleep. The rains too loud.”

Letting out a groan you rolled over once more, flinging the covers off of you as you slid out of bed. “Come on.” You held out a hand, waiting for Dean to take it.

“Where are we going?”

“On an adventure, what else?”

There was a pause before you felt him latch onto your hand, and then he was sliding out of bed besides you, looking up at you with his big green eyes.

“We gotta be quiet though, okay?”

“Okay.”

You navigated the darkened hallway with ease, Deans hand still gripping yours as you descended the stairs. A flash of lightning lit up the living room as you entered.

“What if we get caught?” Dean whispered, looking back up at you through the dark as the two of you entered the kitchen.

“We won’t. You wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because were ninjas.” You smiled, suddenly hoisting your little brother up onto the tabletop. His small legs kicking lazily over the edge as he watched you.

“We are?”

We carry with the friends we make The hearts we mend and break I see it in another way All lives that we have changed

“Uh-huh.” Nodding, you slightly you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes and reached across the counter for the dented pie tin. Only one slice of apple remained- but that was more than enough. Grabbing that along with two forks you moved back to Dean and pulled out a chair, using it as somewhat of a stool to help you climb up onto the table.

“Do ninjas eat apple pie?”

“I think so. Why wouldn’t they?” You shrugged, lightly tapping your fork against his as you split the piece with your brother. His eyes lit up once again and before you knew it his cheeks were full of apple filling.

Good. Your plan had worked. He wasn’t thinking about the thunder storm anymore.

“Next time can we be cowboys though?” Dean spoke through a mouthful of crust. “I like cowboys better.”

“Sure, as long as I get to be your sidekick.”

“Deal.”

You held out your free hand, pinkie extended. “Pinkie promise?”

“I pinkie promise.” It took him a moment as he juggled with the fork and then his small pinkie wrapped around yours.

“What do you two think you’re doing?”

The sudden and new voice was followed by a click as the light above the table switched on, both of your heads whipping around in surprise.

“Hi, Mama.”

Sure enough standing in the doorway to the kitchen was a very pregnant Mary Winchester, her golden curls falling over her shoulders like a waterfall, her arms crossed.

“I believe it’s past both of your bedtimes the last time I checked?” She mused, her soft and familiar smile crossing over her features as she stepped into the room.

“The thunderstorm was scaring Dean-“

“So she took me on an adventure! Don’t tell Dad!” Dean suddenly blurted, his words slightly muffled by the amount of dessert in his mouth. His eyes widening when he realized how loud he had been.

You watched your mothers eyes narrow before she raised an eyebrow. “Hmm- I won’t tell him. . . As long as you share some of your findings with me.”

You paused to share a look with Dean before he nodded. “I guess we can allow that.”

With that you passed over your fork to your mother, the woman slowly sinking down into the chair you had pulled out earlier. “Now, what type of adventure was it tonight? Pirates? Knights?”

“It’s a secret.”

“A secret? Oh well you can trust me. I’m good at keeping secrets.” Mary whispered back, her elbows on the table as she leaned forward, taking a bite of pie as she did.

Dean was quiet for a moment before he leaned forward. “Ninjas.”

“Ninjas? Oh well that is exciting.” She nodded, the same soft smile from earlier still on her lips. The three of you sat in the kitchen until there was nothing but crumbs in the pie tin and then she was ruffling the hair on both of your heads.

“I think it’s time my little ninjas went off to bed now, isn’t that right?”

You slowly nodded before sliding back onto the floor, the cool tile making your toes curl as you helped Dean down. “Can I sleep in Y/Ns room tonight? The thunders still too loud.”

“As long as it’s okay with your sister.”

You gave him a small nod as you rounded the table, standing on your tiptoes to place a kiss on your mothers cheek. “Goodnight, mama.”

“Goodnight you two.”

Mary’s smile came back as she watched you extended your hand to Dean, his own quickly moving to latch onto your again. “C’mon Dean. Let’s go to bed.” She shifted in her seat so she could rest her forearm on the back of the chair, the two of you darting off silently to the stairs and off to bed. . .

I must go alone Cause I need you there So my memory of home is full

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The force in which you awoke from your sleep was enough to make the chains tethering you to the wall rattle, your head slightly snapping back to collide with the cold metal, the impact making you wince.

“Fuck.” You gave a tired groan as you rolled your shoulders- well at least as best you could. A yawn came shortly after as you allowed your head to rest against the wall. Just a dream. . . Or memory. Dream memory? Was that a thing?

You let out a sigh as you felt your heartbeat slowly begin to find its steady rhythm again, eyes shifting tiredly to the bindings on your wrists and the length of chain that shackled them to the wall. That shackled you to the wall.

Shoot. You forgot about getting yourself thrown in here. . . Then again you did have a hobby for getting on the bad side of your keeper.It was like timeout. . .a very uncomfortable timeout.

Shifting as much as your bindings would allow you tried to get more comfortable. Your butt was numb from sitting in the same position for so long, but there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. You let yourself sink back into your previous position, your arms having lost all feeling awhile ago from hanging for so long.

It wasn’t the first time you had gotten yourself thrown in the cell, and if anything; at this point you were just doing it for the sheer amusement. You had to get your entertainment from somewhere . . . Even if that did mean annoying the hell out of some demons.

The silence that had surrounded you was suddenly broken though when the massive door to the old train car rolled open, light splitting through the darkness as the wheels squealed in their tracks revealing a shadowy mass.

At this point anyone else probably would have screamed and cried or pissed their pants. . . But this was practically just another Tuesday night for you, so you grinned.

“Manah. I thought you were never gonna come visit me. You really shouldn’t leave a gal waiting.”

“And I was hoping by this point in your career you would have known better than to disobey orders.” She tutted, deep red eyes locking onto you tightly.

Career. You huffed with a roll of your eyes. That’s not exactly what you would call it.

The demon in front of you was known by most as Aka-Manah. Birthed from zoroastrian legend she had a knack for controlling others, using them like puppets- like she had been doing to you since what felt like forever. She was the same one that snatched you away from your family, along with a pair of particularly nasty hell hounds. You had the scars to prove it.

Not trying to take my time away Replace the old with new My prison with my reasons right Till I come back to you

You called her the Puppeteer because that’s exactly what she was. She snatched people up from their families and made them do her dirty work. Usually it was children, they were easier to work with. Manah liked to stay in the dark, keep her hands clean. Her acolytes as she called them (you being one of them) were her fighters, her killers. . . And because of it you had so much blood on your hands. innocents and guilty alike.  She pulled the strings and you did the dance. You still had your own thoughts and control of your own mind, but it was your body she used. Her finely tuned weapon capable of cutting down anything she wanted gone.

Manah towered above you, tall and long limbed, in a black dress that dropped off her hips and hung loose around her calves, her straight red hair shifted slightly in the breeze coming from outside as she moved to pull at the silk gloves around her hands. She seemed annoyed. . . Angry even. After years you knew how to read her.

A smirk crossed your lips as you tilted your head slightly. “Aw, are my baby brothers causing you and your demons trouble again?” You knew you hit your mark when her jaw clenched. Of course you knew your brothers were still out there, whispers of the famed Winchester brothers passed through thin lips often around here. Manah wasn’t fond of them, they killed so many of her demons that she often took it out on you. This was gonna be one of those times.

Your words got you a harsh slap across the cheek before she knelt down in front of you, your cheeks squeezed between her thumb and forefinger. “You best hold your tongue. I got a job for you.”

“What kind of job? Because like I’ve said a thousand times over you vile skank; I’m done doing your dirty work.”

She squeezed harder much to your irritation. “Oh you know that’s not true. You, my darling Y/N, are my swift and terrible sword. . . And you are far from done.” Using her free hand she fished into the pocket of her dress, producing a thin silver chain, a rams head charm hanging from the center.

Your face fell along with your shoulders as you shook your head. “No. Please don’t.”

Manah ignored you, snapping the necklace around your neck. It was her way of controlling you, as long as the necklace stayed on she held power over your body. You couldn’t take it off yourself, the magic it was laced with prevented it.

“Now, it’s time we got those pesky siblings of yours off the playing field, don’t you think? You’ve constantly asked me to allow you to go back to you family, well here’s your chance darling.”

That’s all it took for you to realize what she was doing. She was sending you after your brothers, and Manah didn’t take prisoners.

Now I must go alone Cause I need you there So my memory of home is full

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[buffyversefanfiction]

Twisted Tristan’s Tormented Christmas

Fandoms: Buffy the vampire slayer, Angel, Buffy Dark Horse comics, Buffyverse and A Christmas Carol.

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse.

15 years +, Mild to Strong Violence, Sexual References. F/F, F/M, M/M, Other +

“Have yourself a merry little…” The voice on the television began to sing with a campy Christmas cheer before the song was abruptly ended by Tristan switching off the television in the living room of the apartment, he shared with Faith above their bar Rogue’s. “Christmas is cancelled this year; we are drinking straight through to New Year’s.” A drunken Tristan declared, while wearing just a pair of tight white boxer briefs as he held a half empty bottle of whisky in his hands, before crashing on to the nearby couch. This year had been especially difficult for Tristan Summers, who had went from being a vampire who was possessed by a demon, to being killed, only to come back to life and find himself sucked into a twisted dimension where he and his parents Buffy and Angel worked together to kill the shadow demon that had once possessed him. Being back from the dead should have been reason enough for Tristan to celebrate Christmas, however, despite many pleas from both of his infamous parents he continued to decline, even going as far as convincing Faith to head to Los Angels for Christmas so he would not have anybody to remind him come the day. The earliest Christmases that Tristan could remember with his adoptive parents seemed like a perfect Christmas looking back which were probably heavily influenced by nostalgia and how much he missed them. Heck, even his Christmases spent with vampires Dante and Drusilla were fun for him, of course they were all crazy and there’d usually be humans on the table instead of turkey but it still felt like a family holiday, a deeply disturbed family, but family nonetheless and after so many losses, heartbreaks, and betrayals, Tristan was done with it all, especially Christmas. After everything him, Buffy, and Angel had gone through to get to a place where their relationship was somewhat healthy, or at least healthier than Tristan trying to kill his biological parents, he did feel guilty for rejecting both of their invitations but he just did not feel ready to open himself up to another form of family, especially not on Christmas Day.

As the hours passed, Tristan waited until his bottle of whisky was completely empty before passing out drunk on the couch where he sat but sleep was not something he would get much of on the night of December 22nd as he suddenly found himself being awakened by his old high school friend Mandi Jenkins, startling him to his core, considering Mandi was killed by Drusilla not too long ago. “Mandi,” Tristan mumbled as he rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what stood before him. “How is this possible? Your dead…I saw your body myself after Dru killed you.” “I believe the correct answer would be it’s the magic of Christmas, believe it or not that kind of thing really does exist but to be fair in a world filled with vampires, witches, slayers and sons of slayers is it really that far of a stretch that Christmas really is that special after all.” Mandi replied to her old friend. “Clearly, I am dreaming once again.” Tristan realized, as he stood up from his couch. “There’s only so many twisted dream scenarios one unhinged slayer can handle before he becomes completely and utterly tormented like…” “Drusilla…you were going to say Drusilla, right?” Mandi interrupted the slayer’s son, instantly noticing his guilt over mention the name of her killer to her so casually. “It’s okay Drusilla killed me, biggest surprise was it was not you who killed me…and I use the term loosely considering I am not actually Mandi.” “Are you the first? Please tell me you’re the first and not the shadow demon because I am getting sick of going up against the shadow demon.” Tristan complained. “I am the ghost of Christmas past.” Mandi revealed to him, only to be met by laughs of disbelief from Tristan. “Are we really doing this?” Tristan asked in between laughs.

Exactly one blink later and before his very eyes he was now standing next to Mandi on the snow covered grass of his family home in Riverborn looking into the dining room window to see his adoptive parents playing games, talking and laughing with each other and a six year old version of himself. “They loved Christmas so much, my dad used to dress up as Santa, I guess like most dads did but he really committed to the role either that or I was a really dumb kid because I was shocked when I found it was him.” Tristan admitted to Mandi, with tears in his eyes as he watched a beautiful Christmas memory before his very eyes. “Do you remember how our parents used to meet up on Christmas night and it would be like this big mash up of Christmas? And how you used to spend New Year’s with me every year?” “I know I look like Mandi, but I am not actually her remember,” The ghost of Christmas past reminded him. “I can see why Christmas is so difficult when it serves as a reminder of all you’ve lost but not all of which you have lost is bad…” “What does that mean?” Tristan wondered, before realizing. “Dante and Drusilla…I loved them like family too and the whole time they were the ones who killed my real family, first my parents, then you, well Mandi…” “I know how much Mandi Jenkins meant to you which is why I chose to take this form and I know the guilt you feel for not only her death but your parents’ too but all of that was out of your control.” Mandi of Christmas past explained to the son of the slayer. “Maybe not…but killing Mandi’s boyfriend was definitely all me, killing all those slayers, and all those innocents, that is all on me without any excuses and that is something I can never make up for.” Tristan admitted, never forgetting the horrors he had committed with his own hands. “I could feed you the line and play the role of a person endorsing your shit by saying you were manipulated by two vampires, one whom you were in love with, but the truth is you chose that path and you killed all of those innocents and that is something you should have to live with for the rest of your life without a doubt!” Mandi made clear to Tristan. “However, that does not mean you should resign yourself to the shadows, if you truly want to redeem yourself and be the better person then you need to learn the true differences between the past you, your present and what your future may look like.”

It was December 23rd the eve before Christmas eve and Tristan had all but regulated his experiences the night before as nothing more than a drunken dream as he pulled himself together, showered, washed, and put on some clothes before opening up his and Faith’s bar Rogues which they opened during the day despite the fact most of their customers couldn’t step out in the day, however, one particularly loyal customer only showed up during the day, Miss Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, a former vengeance demon from an alternate world who had found herself annoyingly human and in New York City. “So, you spend a thousand years give or take with the best gig a girl can ask for…minus all the bloody bunnies and then boom some shadow demon gives you an offer you cannot refuse although in hindsight I probably should have…” A drunk Anya Jenkins slurred while drinking her bottle of beer, sat on a stool, at the bar counter, within Rogues bar, which was empty barring her and her bartender Tristan Summers, who stood behind the counter, looking far from amused by his company. “Only to be beat by two humans and the worst part of it all is not only does the world suck a lot more than I hoped for but this world’s version of my boss tells me I have no choice but to stay human because this world’s me was given too many chances…” “You have told me this story every time you come in here in the afternoon, always drunk before the sunsets, forcing me to get you a taxi so you do not wind up some vamp’s dinner…” Tristan complained to her. “You need to get over it already and find yourself some kind of life you do not totally hate living.” “Oh, I am very sorry if my life’s problems bore you!” Anya said with great sarcasm. “It was you lot who did this to me…it’s only fair you have to wallow in my misery with me.” “Hey, do not get uppity with me because you were bested by a broken key and a halfwit.” Tristan mocked the former vengeance demon, and by doing so also mocked Dawn and her boyfriend Xander. “You are almost as bad as Sid for the complaining, but the guy is a freaking puppet who cannot drink…real problems, unlike yours!” “Remind me again why I keep choosing to come back here to a bar which service is severely lacking?” Anya asked, while digging at Tristan at the same time. “Because this is the only place stupid enough to let you have a tab!” Tristan replied. “Which was definitely more Faith’s idea than mine considering I know for a fact you are never going to find a way of paying us back nor do you want to look.” “You make an excellent point,” Anya responded before finishing her beer and placing the empty bottle onto the bar counter. “Where is your fellow slayer anyway?” “Spending Christmas in Los Angeles with everyone including the two humans who brought you down to your knees.” Tristan informed her, all too happily. “If I knew you were this much fun during the holidays I would have told her to take you with them although considering you’re an alternate world version of the girl Xander almost married I do not think Dawn would be too happy…saying that I am not too sure if I care about her not being happy.” “So, you turned down being somewhere for Christmas so you could serve me alcohol all through the holiday and yet I’m the one who needs to get a life?” Anya said blatantly, as she stood up from the barstool and began walking towards the bar door, ready to leave Tristan alone to think about her latest insult.

Later that very same night after he was finished closing up Rogues, the only male slayer Tristan went straight to bed, avoiding any drinks in an attempt to avoid further dreams about Christmas past, but alas the ghost of Christmas past and had come and gone and it was now time for the ghost of Christmas present and who better to represent it than Drusilla, a vampire that Tristan had a lot of history with, history which continued to troubled him right up to this very day, and possibly in the future too. “My boy still looks like an angel when he sleeps but the things, he’s done makes his daddy angel weep and weep.” Drusilla tormented Tristan, as the male slayer awoke from his sleep to find her stood above his bed within his bedroom. “Considering you were not invited into this home this has got to be another dream,” Tristan reassured himself, as he climbed out of bed and stood up on the floor, ready to face the vampire who made him into the monster he once was. “So, are we still on the theme of Christmas or is this just another dream with you in it?” “Yes, I do seem to haunt your dreams on the regular…tell me what is worse for you? The dreams in which I am killing everybody you loved which serve more like flashbacks than dreams, or is it the dreams in which you’re happy, we’re happy, Dante, and Mandi too?” Drusilla, the ghost of Christmas present, questioned the man who once loved her like a mother, knowing the turmoil her mere presence caused him. “I cannot believe I am saying this,” Tristan admitted to both himself and the ghost of Christmas present, eager to avoid anymore talk of his troubling past. “Please tell me this is another Christmas dream…” “Yes,” Drusilla said after a sinister cackle, the Christmas ghost playing their part of the deranged vampire a little to well, before the two found themselves standing outside the front doors of the Hyperion Hotel, within the garden, looking through the front doors to see Tristan’s father Angel reluctantly decorating a large tree within the reception area of the hotel, under close super vision by the all-powerful witch Willow. “Hate to break it to you Dru but if this is what you have to show me then your seriously lacking in the sinister department these days…or this Christmas ghost version of you is way too much Christmas and not enough Halloween.” Tristan scorned Drusilla, as he continued to watch his father Angel decorate a tree with Willow, looking further to find Faith and Spike knocking back drinks at the counter of the reception area, while behind the reception area Giles, his mother’s watcher, was heavy into what looked like a game of scrabble with Dawn and Xander, the watcher looking justifiably frustrated by what Tristan assumed was the others lack of verbal intellect in comparison to Giles. As Tristan continued to search through the festive scenery before his very eyes, taking Drusilla’s silence as a hint to continue examining what lay before him, after a few more moments he found his mother Buffy Summers sat on the stairs playing dolls with her six year old niece, and his cousin, Joyce Harris, and for some reason that he did not want to admit to himself he began to feel a gut in his stomach, jealous not of Joyce or her child play, but broken by the sign of Buffy being motherly to a child, a child that was not him, a child that would never be him. “You are right in thinking she will never be like that with you, for you a neither a child, or remotely innocent…the days of that ever being likely for you are well and truly over.” Drusilla told him. “You are never too old to be somebody’s son but are you too far gone to allow anyone to love you like that?” “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tristan questioned the vampire, confused by her often-cryptic ways of putting a sentence together. But before the son of the slayer could get any answers from the ghost of Christmas present he found himself waking back up in his bed in his bedroom, only this time there was no sign of Drusilla to be found.

It was now December 24th, officially the eve before Christmas, and it felt to Tristan like this particular Christmas was on steroids, as Christmases tended to feel like during times people were far from feeling the festive spirit, and it seemed to Mr. Summers that he could not turn on a television, stream a song, or listen to the radio, without the message of Christmas being shoved down his throat, but as he opened up his bar for another day to night shift, he began to look forward to the distraction of Anya Jenkins, knowing she would be the last person to feel the festive cheer, or at least that is what he thought. As Anya strolled into Rogue’s dressed as a literal elf, holding a hot, sexy, and barely dressed, male Santa in her arms looking happier than she had ever looked before, Tristan could not believe his eyes, believing instantly some sinister magic was to blame for this ungodly sight before him. “I thought you hated elves why the hell are you dressed up like one?” Tristan asked Anya, as she sat down at the bar with her festive suitor. “It’s bunnies, it’s always been bunnies, bloody bunnies!” Anya corrected the male slayer, unnerved by mentioning the creatures she feared the most. “So, you hate Easter but not Christmas then?” Tristan wondered, before turning to examine the sexy Santa, failing to not notice his amazingly chiseled and seemingly oiled hairless chest. “Or do you just have a kink for Santa’s…which judging by this one makes a whole lot of sense.” “I like money, and lots of it, and I got myself as an elf at some shopping mall…can you believe shopping malls are still a thing on this world? In my world we enslaved all designers forcing them to make their designs exclusive to us which definitely wound up backfiring when they started stitching terribly and we got all angry and killed them all.” Anya revealed to Tristan, with a sense of fondness. “Now those were the days…” “Did you just say this world…as in you’re from another planet or something? Because that is super cool, everyone meets vampires and demons these days, but I never hear stories about aliens.” A clearly confused sexy Santa asked Anya, all too excited by the potential of her being an alien. “I knew by Xander that dumb was your type but at least this one’s hot.” Tristan told Anya, mocking both Xander and the sexy Santa without care. “Well aliens are from another planet and I am from another universe so yes, I’m technically an alien to this world anyways.” Anya replied to Tristan, before going on to say. “Also, I am not the Anya who almost married that lump I am the Anya that has only had the misfortune to meet him once.” “So, Santa what do you want to drink?” Tristan asked the man, eager to change from the topic of aliens. “Oh, I do not drink, I respect what goes into my body.” The sexy Santa, instantly losing all appeal to both Anya and Tristan within that one instant. “I’m cool with the whole not drinking thing but respecting your body? Is that really a thing when there is literally a fast-food joint on every corner? I mean I am all for self-love and stuff but keep your greens and I will keep my fats.” Tristan responded to the man dressed as Santa. “Tristan your bitterness over no Christmas date is starting to show, maybe you should hitch a ride to L.A. before it’s too late and spend Christmas with that god-awful family of yours.” Anya suggested to the male slayer. “I’d gladly tend to the bar for you…if I’m payed Christmas wages of course.” “No thank you,” Tristan scoffed, not willing to trust Anya, nor willing to go anywhere, especially not on Christmas. “I mean I know this place is just a dive bar and everything, but I would not trust you to take care of my stakes never mind my bar, and everything’s a stake if it’s wooden and you get creative…”

After spending his day shift watching Anya making out with the sexy Santa she brought to Rogues, and the night shift serving demon after demon, creature after creature, and the odd human who were very odd indeed, Tristan shut down the bar for another night before putting himself to bed once again, falling into a deep sleep, hoping the future was further away than what it would be…as before long he found himself awakening on the cold hard ground of his own grave. “Well this is definitely a little too much melancholy for even me…” He mumbled to himself as he stood up from the ground and walked off his grave, looking around the San Francisco cemetery, confused by how he got there. “Down here big guy!” Sid instructed the slayer, forcing Tristan to look below to find the living puppet stood in front of him. “In case you’ve not quite caught up on all of this, yet I am your ghost of Christmas future.” “I figured that much but why take to me to where Buffy buried me before the whole coming back to life via some powers that be meddling?” Tristan replied to the puppet man, made of wood. “Well where else were they going to stick your lifeless body the next time around?” Sid answered him. “They never got round to getting rid of the grave, not that they needed too considering you wound up back in it before long.” “What did I die of a severe lack of Christmas cheer?” Tristan joked, unaffected so far by this spiritual visit. “Or maybe a vampire staked me with a candy cane, the amount I’ve staked seems kind of poetic actually…” “Nope, after you went back to the bad way of life much to no-one’s surprise your mum Buffy stepped up and killed you…if memory serves right you were stabbed to death with way too many wounds for it not to be a little…you know…fun for her.” Sid revealed to the slayer. “But after all the work they put in saving you just for you to go back to being a bastard who would blame her…” “So, I go back evil? I wouldn’t do that…not after everything…” Tristan dismissed his claims, all while fearing Sid was telling the truth. “Yep, that’s what you thought too but after continuously pushing away the parents, then Faith, and even Anya got sick of you…well after all that you had nobody and before long you were back budding it up with Drusilla acting as if you did not know she and Dante killed your parents…or maybe you just really did not care anymore.” Sid continued to explain to a stunned Tristan. “I mean how are you supposed to be human when you haven’t bonded with any since you started playing with monsters.” “That’s not true!” Tristan snapped at the ghost of Christmas future. “I care about Faith she has never given up on me, and I care about Buffy and Angel, I mean sure the parents thing is a little complicated but I do care about them…and I cared about Mandi, Lucas, and the parents that raised me.” “If you really care about all these people, the ones who aren’t dead yet then why are you treating them like they are already gone?” Sid asked Tristan, already knowing the slayer’s answer. “Because you fear one day you might end up caring too much and losing them which will happen as nobody lives forever, thing is…if you don’t care, lose, get hurt, and let your heart break, then you’re not really human as much as it sucks, we got to feel the bad as well as the good because nothing is more dangerous than becoming numb to it all.” Tristan wanted to argue back with the man trapped within the dummy, wanting to prove him wrong, but Sid’s words were wiser than Tristan would like to admit, and even if he was not a fan of Christmas itself he was certainly a fan of those who did care about it, those who wanted to spend it with him and before long he started to realize that he had made a huge mistake by trying to skip Christmas….

As Tristan woke up in his bed within his room on Christmas Day, he was immediately met with guilt as he realized he had missed out on a chance to bond with his friends, his family, and potential loved ones. He was not suddenly a fan of Christmas itself, that would take some time, but he began to remember its message and how important it was for people, how important it once was for him, and as he climbed out of his bed, rising onto his feet, and walked over to his window to see the back alleyway, in between his building and several others, was covered in snow, as snow continued to fall from the sky, and for a moment, just a moment, he even considered opening that window and yelling Merry Christmas. Instead, he chose to get changed and then call up those who would answer to him, so he could wish them a Merry Christmas and admit to his regrets of not being with them on this special occasion but after he had got changed, and walked into the living room of his apartment, he quickly realized he had no calls to make as his living room was decked to the halls with Christmas decorations, including a fully decorated tree, as his mother Buffy Summers, his father Angel, his aunt Dawn, her man Xander, and their daughter Joyce, stood beside his friend Faith, the vampire Spike, his mother’s best friend Willow and the retired watcher Giles…all of them ready to spend Christmas with him whether he wanted to or not…but luckily for him he was more than ready to celebrate Christmas with them all.

Have a truly twisted Christmas that only torments you in the more joyous ways and a happy new year, a year which will hopefully be less chaotic than 2020, keep slaying slayerettes.

#Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #buffy #buffyverse #angeltheseries #buffyfandom #angelfandom #buffydarkhorsecomics #fanfiction #fanfic #buffyfanfic #angelfanfiction #christmas fanfiction #christmasfanficspecial #buffychristmasfanfic #angelchristmasfanfic #gayfanfiction #lgbtfanfic #lgbtthemes #lgbtcharacters #buffychristmas #angelchristmas #buffy summers #angel #faith lehane #spike #willow rosenberg #xander harris #dawn summers #rupert giles

[reynesofcastamere]

Meteor Stream

(A/N: *siiiiiiiiiiigh* I have no self-control, apparently. Warnings for excessive violence, gore and intrusive thoughts. Set a couple of months before ‘Fragile Stars’ and ‘Fractured Comet’. Unbeta’d.) “Hallway is clear.” “Not clear! Not clear!” Calm assessment turns to frightened screams, the sizzle of burning flesh, and a rapid symphony of blaster fire. Maul’s sabrestaff returns to his hand after finishing its’ deadly arc, now putting the weapon to use to deflect and return incoming shots. The faceless drones of the Emperor still believe they have the advantage, even now. Foolish. His squadron shoots them in the back the moment the blast doors open, leaving the corridor littered with their corpses.

He steps over them without a second thought. “Report.” “Long-range communications are jammed and we’ve managed to sabotage or lock down the exits. The outside reinforcements are going to bleed when they show up.” Saxon sounds immensely pleased, even if he’s not in proper beskar’gam at the moment. Maul’s orders had been clear: Standard mercenary gear only. If Imperial intelligence manages to salvage anything out of what they leave behind, it would be that one of the surviving, treacherous Jedi had lead a group of the galaxy’s bottom-feeding muscle in some pitiful attempt at revenge for their Order. Much as the fiction chafes at him, it is useful. “Sliced into their short-range too. Been hearing some interesting chatter.” There is a gleeful edge to Saxon’s tone that immediately makes him suspicious, especially when Kast elbows her comrade sharply in the side. “Is it relevant to the mission?”  “Uh, not strictly speaking, but-”

“Then I do not care. Complete your objectives and keep communications to a minimum.” Maul states curtly, waiting only for their affirmatives before he stalks off. They do not have a great wealth of time to waste. There are plans for certain...experimental prototypes stored here that will prove quite useful, once acquired and modified to his standards. Yet this facility is merely the secondary target, a loud and violent distraction to leech obstacles and security away from the true prize. If his operatives succeed, he will have a backdoor into all Imperial communications for this sector. Information is where true power lies, my apprentice. Not in crude metal or munitions. One of his Master’s many useful lessons, even if the memory of Sidious’s voice has him gritting his teeth. Focus. There are more stormtroopers headed his way, but he also feels something...else. Slightly more distant. Familiar. White-armoured humans pour out into the hallway, taking up position and firing. Two of them are rotated like puppets on a turntable, shooting their comrades and sowing chaos in the ranks as he darts forward, deflection turning to lethal crimson arcs that send severed limbs and heads flying; This is what he was meant to do; Sabrestaff in hand, the Dark Side flowing through him with every pulse of his twin hearts, controlling the intricate flow of violence, discord, and death. His final target whimpers as Maul reaches inside with the Force and crushes his single, rapid-beating organ. Blazing eyes close for a moment in the aftermath, but then-His head jolts up as if catching a scent, lids snapping open and pupils dilating. Tano. She is here, he can feel it. Getting closer with every breath. Rage and hunger war with each other. On one hand, her potential interference infuriates him, on the other...Oh, the thought of her fully unleashed in combat and fighting for her very life stirs his desire to a fever pitch. Mine. No! He is not an animal to be led by such base urges. But at the very least, he does need to intercept her before his people do. It does not take long. Maul seals the door behind him as he enters what appears to be the mess hall. The name is certainly appropriate now, with tables and benches scattered all over the floor and corpses haphazardly strewn across them like broken dolls. He has arrived just in time to watch the tail end of her combat, deactivating his sabrestaff and placing it on his belt. She remains a thing of beauty in motion, arching and twisting through the air, utilizing gravity whenever possible to increase the momentum and power of her strikes. When the last trooper falls, she turns towards him, tense and wary for a moment before recognition sets in and she powers down her weapons. They stand, silent as he removes the hood and mask that have kept his more...prominent features concealed. The sight of her gaze skimming over his form and her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips decides his actions for him. Maul prowls forward, grasping her upper arms once close enough and backing her into the nearest wall. His fingertips glide upwards then, over her shoulders and the lovely column of her neck to cup her face between his hands. Before he can bend his head to kiss her, she’s holstered her ‘sabres and has jumped up into it, legs wrapping around his hips as their mouths meet. He growls into the contact, which is neither shy nor restrained. Her tongue is absolutely wicked when he allows it entry, and he reciprocates her passion with a near-vengeance. Nothing exists outside this moment but the heated press and slide of their lips and tongues, the shuddered inhales and muffled groans. Even with her armour, Ahsoka’s body is remarkably pliant, curving and fitting against him perfectly. He could have her, like this. Hear her scream as they rut together in the midst of carnage. She might not even mind- “We’ve got company. Evac is scheduled in 10 klicks. You have the plans?” Kast’s crisp voice interrupts his...idle musings and extinguishes most of his desire in one fell swoop. He withdraws just enough to give the woman in his arms a questioning look, and feels some relief when she nods. Maul had suspected that the Rebellion might want said schematics for similar reasons, especially if only one agent had been sent to handle the job. “Yes. Be advised that I will not be coming alone.” He is not letting her out of his sight until they can finish this properly, even if business must come first.

“Ah. You found your cuyan. I’ll pass the word along.” Kast responds, entirely unruffled by this development as he glowers. “You are not in the habit of making assumptions, Kast. I would suggest you do not start one now.” Maul’s tone carries a subtle hint of warning as he slips both hood and mask back on. He and Ahsoka had already disentangled themselves and were on the move, with her re-opening the door so that they could exit the mess hall more quickly. “There’s only one darjetii you keep tripping over, Mand’alor. Saxon was trying to tell you about the other intruder with lightsabres the buycise [buckets] were wetting themselves about. Kast out.” Was the dry, almost bored response before she cut off. He can feel a tic developing in his left eye while his companion is trying desperately not to laugh. Bane save him from nosy Mando’ade. “She does have a point.” Ahsoka remarks, still clearly amused. “Unless there’s someone else who’s been assigned to pester you lately?” He knows full well just what she is implying even in jest, and it briefly makes him see red. She is deliberately tempting him with the sly curve of her mouth and the sudden sway in her hips. If they were not in such a hurry, he would- No. Focus. “No.” Maul nearly spits out, but has no opportunity to continue as they become occupied with clearing a path to the pick-up point. They just make it, leaping inside the ship seconds before the docking ramp folds up and closes. Flush with victory and high on adrenaline, he presses her up against a stack of crates, practically devouring her mouth once he’d removed the barriers to that particular goal. One set of her fingers digs into his nape, a low moan vibrating in his chest when she matches his ferocity. “HA! Pay up!” He is going to kill Saxon, usefulness be damned. The full force of that thought is imprinted into his glare, watching his second-in-command wither and turn pale. “Er...I mean, welcome back, Lord Maul.” “Interesting way to debrief. The holocam footage should be illuminating for new recruits.” Kast remarks, expression placid as ever. He has the absolute worst Nihlus-damned luck and his inferiors should be thankful that he cannot punish them for flagrant insubordination while occupied with an armful of irritatingly-compassionate Togruta.  Ahsoka smiles, apparently content despite current circumstances, and he feels something lurch within his chest. Perhaps...He can be lenient, if the situation is allowed to improve. Soon. (A/N: *looks back up at fic* How in the HELLS did this start off with Maul’s Murder Hallway II: Stormtrooper Edition and end with teenage romcom shenanigans? I can’t even...Ah, well. Also introducing Rook Kast Has All Of The Chill, Gar Saxon Has None, And They Both Ship It. Neither Ahsoka or Maul have had their ‘Oh no’ moment yet at this point in the timeline, buuuut I’ve already written the result of Maul sort of having that revelation. Ahsoka’s will be arriving. Eventually. If I don’t keep getting sidetracked. Cheers!)

#maulsoka #no smut just quality makeouts UST and a lot of murder #and amused mandos

[tiaragqueen]

In His Sights

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Jung Hoseok x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,8k

✂ Trigger Warning: Violence, obsessive tendencies, possessive behaviors, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“And I like the way you hurt inside; always waiting for the worst to get me by. And I like the way you hurt. After all you’ve done, look what I’ve become.” - Hurt [Get Scared]

           Jung Hoseok was a cheerful man.

          There wasn’t any day passed when he wasn’t smiling, or screaming in pure excitement. Sure, there were moments where he acted all mischievous and the like, but most of the time he was joyful.

          Almost as if he had no worries.

          This trait was what attracted you to him in the first place. Not only that, but he was also optimistic. He lent you a shoulder to cry on, giving you a piece of wise advice and listened to your problems without any judgments. At the end of your ranting and cries, he always cracked a joke or pull some harmless pranks on to your other friends. Anything to make sure you didn't go to sleep sad.

           He was so caring. The perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.

           Of course, that doesn’t mean he never experienced anger. He had, though, just like any other humans in this world. But it was rare, and the probability was small either. His friends could count on with one hand the times where he was truly mad, or at least, the small signs. Because despite his expressive nature, he possessed enormous self-control. The reason had to be very painful; severe enough to actually ignite his ire.

          And an angry Hoseok was an intimidating Hoseok.

         You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to erase the gory image from your brain. But it was a pointless attempt because how could you forget something that happened right in front of your eyes? And the fact that the culprit was none other than your lover himself, Jung Hoseok, made it all the more indelible.

          You had never expected your sweet, ‘sunshine’ of a man to be capable of such violent act. The man that claimed to be hope; your hope.

          Little did he know that your hope had long gone down the drain the moment he took a whip from the closet.

          Then again, love blinds people from any logic. Even the most affectionate ones.

          You had been bounded in this chair for God knows how long. Your muscles were stiff, and the rope chafed your sensitive skin. It might be bleeding, who knows. But you knew that it was nothing compared to what your brother suffered right now.

          Hoseok cracked his whip against your brother’s raw back. Another scream followed shortly; a heartrending wail that pierced through the night sky. You winced, a waterfall of tears streamed down your flushing cheeks. No matter how many times you’d heard it, you could never get used to that grievous sound. Nor could you bring yourself to stop crying when your brother was laying on his stomach – chained in the bed you shared with Hoseok – bare-chested and full of injuries.

          It all happened too fast; one minute you were heading to the kitchen to prepare some food for him, and the next you woke up in your dark room with a terrible headache.

          Hoseok put down the whip at last – you'd lost count on how many times he used that on to your dear sibling – and slowly turned to face you. You squirmed in your seat, trying to free yourself but to no avail. Hoseok was advancing towards you, and you had never begged him to leave you alone so loud in your life. His stride was slow and deliberate; meant to intimidate you and consume your entire being with an unadulterated fear.

          And he succeeded. Of course, he did. You had never seen this side before, and now you wished you could rewind the time.

          The tremor in your body was palpable, bringing forth cold sweats that poured from the pores. They trickled down to his palm that settled itself under your chin, dragging your face close to his. His minty breath – something that you used to love – felt like a freezing wind during winter. It brushed against your wet cheeks as if wanting to freeze the tears midway.

          He was close. Too close. You felt almost claustrophobic with the proximity. It was like being stuck in an elevator - with your enemy - for hours. Except you didn't know how long you'd been staying here. All you knew was that it was night, and Hoseok still wearing his work clothes. A red checkered shirt with its buttons opened, revealing his dark tank top underneath, black pants, and white snickers. It was an outfit that you had chosen yourself because he could be clingy and wanted to know your preferences in male clothing.

          Even though he already knew it, unbeknownst to you.

          “Who do you love the most?”

          Ah, there it was. The dreaded question. The first yet portentous inquiry he’d spoken after hours of intense torture and unremitting pain.

          It was unfair how he could easily ask that without thinking about the dilemma that weighted your mind. You loved Hoseok – you truly did – but he had become such an overwhelming figure in your life. Always hovering over you whilst shooting a cautious look to your friends as if they would steal you away from him. You had reassured him countless times before, that you were loyal to him and would never leave him for anyone. But Hoseok still retained his wary and overprotective traits because deep inside, he feared that you would change your mind and choose somebody else instead.

          Women are fickle creatures, after all. And it’s only natural for a man to protect his mate.

          “I...”

          What would you say? It’s not like you could choose who to love between a sibling or a lover. Both of them were kind to you, instilling warmth and love into your otherwise dull life. There was no bad blood; no family feud like those in dramas. They were supportive of your relationship with Hoseok, naively believing the mask of a doting and devoted boyfriend. And you, too, had fallen victim to it.

          The cliché quote said ‘nobody’s perfect’. And yet, you were still beguiled by that so-called perfection.

          But why? Why did he do this to him, to you? What could he possibly gain from this? Some kind of sick amusement? Satisfaction? Validation?

          “Why...? Why are you doing this?” you sobbed, peering up through your wet lashes to look at his unusually hollow eyes. It scared you because they used to glitter with mirth. And now, it almost seemed as if you were looking to a doll. “Answer me, goddammit-!”

          A hand clasped your mouth, preventing you from fully expressing your desperation and curses. You wanted to bite his palm for rudely cutting you off, but the fear of punishment forced you to stay put. Hoseok leaned forward, almost closing the suffocating space between the two of you. It could’ve been romantic had he didn’t look so cold yet empty.

          “You want to know why?”

          His voice was eerily calm despite the mocking tone. It terrified you; to see him act so cool because you couldn’t predict when and how he would lose his temper. You used to have this naïve thought that he might be one of those ‘violent and rampaging’ type, and while the former could be proved as accurate, the latter was clearly debatable.

          With his hand still attached to your mouth, you merely nodded in response.

          “It’s because you want to leave me.”

          Your eyes widened, both from shock and rage. How dare he accused you of something you hadn’t done. Hoseok might not be what you had thought about, but you never planned on leaving him. Unless-

          “You think I’m accusing you.” It was scary how he knew you so well until he could correctly predict what you were thinking about. You supposed that you should be flattered with the fact that he had taken the time to understand you – your flaws and all – but this just proved to you of how deep his love was.

          How long he had been watching you without your knowledge.

          “I’m right, aren’t I?” He narrowed his eyes, and you suddenly felt very small. Like a frightened deer in front of a fierce yet calculating cheetah because he could – and would – chase you to the end of the earth if necessary. “You have been meeting with your brother under the excuse of meeting your old friend. Oh, what was their name again? Seojoon?”

          You gulped silently.

          “There has never been a friend named Seojoon in your life, but I applaud you for your intricate lie in coming up with their background. Very believable, indeed. I almost fell for it.” He huffed out a derisive chuckle. “But you see, you can only keep up a lie for so long until it comes back to bite at you. And you have been found guilty.”

          He continued, “I’m not stupid enough to let you go outside without my supervision, [Name]. Especially when you met the one person that should be the most supportive of us.”

          Of course. Of course. How could you think that for one fucking second, you were free? That you could finally do anything and meet anyone you want? No, because the moment you accepted his confession, was when you gave him the reign to own you. To possess you as if you were some kind of a doll. A puppet to be controlled.

          How fucking stupid could you be, [Name]?!

          “But, no. Instead, he backstabbed me – us – by spouting out nonsense about how I’m not good enough for you and that I’m too possessive. Bullshit!” You flinched when he suddenly slammed his other hand against the table. “Your brother’s a fucking hypocrite, [Name]! How can you be so blind?! He’s trying to ruin our relationship!”

          Hoseok finally released his palm before he could risk suffocating you any further and paced around the room in frustration. “And I can’t let that happen. No, no, no. I won’t.” He dashed towards you with surprising speed and grabbed your face. “You belong to me, remember? Forever and ever. We’re gonna marry someday and then we move out to another country or something. Far away from here, because this place’s not safe anymore.”

          A manic smile slowly contorted his face when he noticed your trembling body. “Aw, why are you shaking? Are you scared?” he cooed, and you didn’t know whether he was taunting you or not. All you cared about was how you could burn this memory forever. “Don't worry, I’ll never hurt my darling. These are just the proofs of my love. ‘Cause we can’t have anyone to destroy something that we’ve built for so long, can we?”

          Another tear slipped from your eyelids at the implication. Hoseok wiped them away with a stroke and smiled softly. You sobbed harder, chest constricted at the bitter nostalgia. The sight in front of you reminded you so much of his usual behavior.

          The times where you were blissfully oblivious to his violent side. The times where he took you out on a spontaneous date and whisper some cheesy things reserved for your ears only. The times where he wasn't so crazy with you. Maybe he had, though. You just didn't know it. Yet. But you did now.

          Where did all those beautiful memories go?

          “I love you, [Name].”

#yandere hoseok #yandere jung hoseok #yandere j-hope #yandere bangtan seonyeondan #yandere bts #yandere au #yandere kpop #yandere bts au #yandere hoseok x reader #yandere jung hoseok x reader #yandere j-hope x reader #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #yandere bts one shot #yandere bts story #kpop yandere #kpop yandere au #yandere kpop au #Yandere kpop one-shot #Yandere kpop imagine #Kpop yandere one-shot #kpop yandere story #Kpop yandere imagine

[pellicano-sanguino]

Now that Kurenai Yuzuru's taidan is drawing closer, I wanted to write something short about some of the roles she's done that I have fond memories of.

These are mostly from Reon's era, since most of my Hoshigumi shows are from that time. I need to see more shows from Kurenai's own top star run.

Mercutio from Romeo&Juliette 2010

This was the first zuka show I saw, and still my favourite show to this day. I could go into all the details about how I love this musical, but now I'm just going to mention the casting. It was perfect. Everyone got a role that fit their acting style perfectly. Kurenai was a natural Mercutio, the best one I've ever seen. She nailed Merkku's immaturity, playfulness and – most importantly in my opinion – his recklessness.

Memorable scenes are Mercutio's song number when he tempts his Montague buddies to go with him to crash the Capulet's party, him and the boys bullying Nurse, confronting Romeo after hearing the news about his wedding (I was quite shocked to see Mercutio threaten Romeo with honor violence, claiming he's going to slit his throat if he won't give up Juliette) and the fight scene followed by Mercutio's death including a final song of ”goodbye friends and PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES!”

I admit, I don't usually care for it when zuka gives a dying character one final song that they sing in weak, slow voice, milking the tragedy for all the drama its worth. It often fails to be sad and just feels cheesy and soap operaish. But I found the song of dying Mercutio very touching, when I saw the scene for the first time I cried real tears. Despite the language barrier, Kurenai managed to reach to me with her voice and her acting and make me shed tears for Mercutio's death.

Sid from Officer and Gentleman

Officer and Gentleman isn't the kind of movie I'd thought would get a zuka adaptation and yet it exists. Zuka is very clearly targeted for women and this movie is more for the male audience. I know it has a romance and is therefore regarded as a love story but in my opinion this flick is more like a coming-of-age story about the character growth the male lead goes through (also, it oozes toxic masculinity, a thing more common in films for men). Anyway, the zuka version is actually a pretty good show. Ouki Kaname totally steals every scene she's in. But today I'm here to talk about Kurenai.

Kurenai is probably best known for her talent in comedy. Sometimes I've heard people say that's the only kind of shows she should do and that always made me sad, because Kurenai isn't a one trick pony trapped to do only one character type. I have been very impressed at her talent in playing sensitive men. Many otokoyaku roles rely on strong and cool male image, but Kurenai sometimes gets roles that let her show emotions, the men she plays are allowed to be vulnerable. Sid is one of these. Sid is young and a bit naive and makes stupid decisions, but when he thinks he's done a mistake, he is ready to take responsibility of it. The scene where he goes to propose Lynette breaks my heart every time. That look on his face when he finds out he's been lied to, it just hits me right in the feels. There is something so naturally charming and lovable in Kurenai that seeing her characters get hurt makes me feel awful. Like, no, don't do this to her!

Karenin from Anna Karenina

I have not read this book, but its one of my mother's favourites, so we watched this show together and she pointed me all the things that she thought zuka had adapted well and the parts that they had changed. She was especially impressed with Kurenai's Karenin. According to my mother, the character of Karenin is often done quite poorly in other adaptations of the book, he is often portrayed as just a onesided, simple man who's a little dumb and doesn't have much depth of character. Much like Sid, Kurenai's Karenin is allowed to show his emotions and not be just a boring, stoic figure who reacts to his wife's affair with mild disinterest. There is kindness in Karenin, it's not always easy to see, but it's there. He lost his own parents and a brother that was dear to him, and because he remembers how horrible it is to be alone and lose your family, he adopts Anna's and Vronsky's child, not wanting her to be left alone.

Antonio from Tale of Coimbra

I have opinions concerning this show. Namely, I think it misses a golden opportunity to put the zuka trope of reunion of lovers in the afterlife to proper use. Big part of the Coimbra legend are the coffins of Pedro and Inez being placed so that when they rise in Doomsday, the first thing they see is each others' faces. And zuka just had to go and twist the story so that Inez doesn't die (and they don't even get a happy ending despite that! Poor Pedro, he just can't win.). Also, very, very disappointed at the lack of Corpse Queen and tearing out assassin-Makaze's heart with a line ”You broke my heart, therefore you have none!”

Ahem. Sorry about the rant. Anyway, Kurenai is in this musical. He plays a guy named Antonio, who is...   umm... I think a pirate or a robber or something along those lines. The group of robbers/pirates gets made into scapegoats for Inez's murder, and Pedro, Pimenta, assassin-Makaze and some soldiers mercilessly slaughter them all. Kurenai's role gets very little stage time, but I wanted to mention this role, because I was very impressed with her stage swordplay skills. I don't know if I should credit the director for this, or if Kurenai did some research of her own, but her legwork is strong and sometimes I can even identify the poses she makes as part of real swordplay moves.

Warrior seeking to fight with Reon, from Takarazuka Floral Dance Scrolls

This is my favourite nihonmono revue. The music, the dancing and the costumes are all great. In one of the numbers Kurenai plays a warrior who doesn't get along with another warrior, played by Reon. I don't know what their beef is about, Kurenai just hates Reon's guts and sends ninjas to ambush him when he's spending time flirting with local ladies. Reon being Reon, he defeats all the ninjas and makes a daring escape with courtesan-Nene. They are heading towards a river, intending to ride a boat to safety, but by the riverside Kurenai confronts them. Holding his sword he opens his arms like inviting Reon for a hug. Come at me bro! And so they fight, doing the samurai slash thing where time freezes after they've struck at each other and then the one who lost slowly falls. The one who falls is Kurenai, and Reon and Nene proceed to their romantic boatride.

This number has left an impression on me, because I think the nihonmono look suits Kurenai really well. She made a very handsome and cool-looking warrior.

Shibata Rihito from Mei-chan's Butler

Takarazuka and shoujo manga have walked hand in hand since the days of BeruBara Boom and even before, inspiring each other. Every now and then zuka does a show based on a manga. This one, unfortunately, is based on a manga I have never read and therefore I had no idea what was going on during most of this musical. But I still found it rather entertaining (the prop work sure was something different, with weird video projections, shadow theater and parachuting puppets). I admit, the many colourful side characters steal the show from Kurenai quite often, being wilder and weirder than her character is. I will have to give special mention to Makaze's evil butler, I love it when Makaze plays villains. But at the end, this is Kurenai's show. She was a very dashing butler.  

Memorable scenes include a weird, artsy, dream-like interpretive dance scene where the shadow theater is put to good use for * symbolism *.

 Because I haven't read the manga, I have no idea what is going on here. My bet is on drugs.

Also among the memorable scenes is the fencing. I still think Kurenai is pretty good with a sword.

I need to come up with name for this trope, where the opponents lock their swords for a while to glare at each other and chat.

Bourguignon from Second Fortuitous Meeting

Many zuka comedies are wasted on me because so many of the jokes are language based and I still don't understand much Japanese. But this one I liked very much. Admittedly, I got to read a translation once, so this time I got the jokes, but even ignoring the spoken jokes, it's just a really fun show. Every character was fantastic, Kurenai's role as a manservant forced to fake being his own master included. Her talent in comedy is very strong, she masters small things like the tone of her voice, the expressions of her face and simple bodylanguage and makes her character absolutely hilarious. I have noticed  that one character pair zuka shows tend to have is pairing a cool and serious master with a sassy, loud, no-filter-between-brains-and-mouth servant, who works as a comedic relief softening the seriousness of their master. In a show like Second Fortuitous Meeting, where everyone is sassy, loud and has no filter between brains and mouth, Kurenai needs to tone her comedy up quite a bit so that Bourguignon will appear even funnier than his master.

Most memorable scene is Bourguignon sitting down in protest like a misbehaving infant when Dorante demands they leave.

This show got a sequel. It was just as fun as the first one, even though this time I had no translation and so had very little clue what was going on. Something involving a pumpkin thief.

Beniko and Reon's father from REON!!

Otokoyaku in drag for comedy reasons is quite a common thing in zuka, and usually I find it as amusing as real men in drag (in other words, not very). But I adore Beniko. The reason why her comedy works is that the joke isn't just putting otokoyaku in drag, Beniko is a carefully designed sketch character. Her costume, her curls that she constantly keeps shoving back over her shoulders, the way she speaks (this has to be some sort of dialect, I swear), she is just incredibly funny. I don't think I can properly explain why I find her so amusing, after all I don't even understand what she says. There's just something about Beniko that always makes me smile.

There was also a number where Reon sang about her family. Makaze and Kurenai played her parents. Makaze made a very charming Japanese beauty in her apron (I usually don't like it when they make her wear dresses, but here she looked so natural it suited her well). She had to bend her knees a little to appear shorter than Kurenai. Kurenai as Reon's father was weird looking, with thick eyebrows that made him look like a comic character. But he was a very sweet father, eagerly making faces and shaking a rattle at baby Reon, and smiling even when the fighting kids accidentally poured a tea kettle on him. I've always felt that Makaze and Kurenai had great chemistry together and seeing them play a married couple was adorable.

Gemini from Etoile de Takarazuka

Again, putting otokoyaku in drag isn't fun if you don't give her character. Well, in this revue Kurenai had to put her skills to the test by switching between two characters several times during the same number. The split-personality Gemini suffered from manic-depressive behavious. 

The female side was happy and giddy and optimistic (”Everybody loves me, I'm so pretty, and so witty, I'm so gay!”)

...and the male half was gloomy and depressed and had no self-esteem (”Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms...”). 

I have to respect her for managing these quick switches between otokoyaku and onnayaku, cheerful and gloomy, the changing between characters was done smoothly.

Also, I want that dress...   suit...   costume...   thing...   I want that dresssuitcostumething. I would wear it to every dance ball ever.

Frederic de Marmont from Napoleon

This show had a ton of characters, many of them quite colourful ones, and unfortunately Marmont was often left as only the observer of things happening around him (well, the story is being told by him, so it kinda fits). Nevertheless I think Kurenai was very handsome in the uniform, and I think Marmont got some important scenes. He knew Napoleon from the military school and there's a song number where he voices concern for his friend's endless thirst for more victories. In the end, he is the one who decides to surrender Paris, understanding that it's madness to keep fighting and lose more lives when losing the battle can no longer be avoided.

The part I remember Kurenai most in this show is actually from the minirevue. She dances a rather romantic dance with Makaze. I will say it again, these two had great chemistry together.

Philippe from Sun King

I know there are probably only like a handful of fans who like this show besides me, but I loved it. I've always been a sucker for French imported musicals in zuka. This show is another example of good casting, everyone gets a character that no one else would have done as well as they have. Kurenai, being the best there is at comedy, gets the comedic relief character Philippe the gay-tailed pheasant, who also shows to the audience how the royals and nobles lived in a fantasy bubble completely separated from real life. She gets three songs and she sings them well. I haven't mentioned it before now, but I really like Kurenai's voice. It's a very recognisable, charming, unique voice. I also have to show respect at how easily and naturally she wears the gaudiest costumes. This show has some really ridiculous costume designs for the nobles to show how separate they are from common folks, but Kurenai wears hers with pride. I can almost picture her looking at a costume desing and being like ”Wow that is the ugliest thing I've ever seen, when can I try it on?”

Percy Blakeney from Scarlet Pimpernel

When Reon and Nene graduated, my star also left Hoshigumi and I followed her to a new home troupe, so I haven't seen that many Hoshigumi shows after Reon's era. But when I saw that they were going to make Scarlett Pimpernel, I had to get it. I had seen Kurenai perform Percy as a shinko role and I thought she was brilliant even then.

Of course I was going to use screenshots of the fencing scene. What else did you expect?

Once when I was sick and couldn't even read books, just rest, I borrowed some audio books from the library. This is how I was introduced to Scarlet Pimpernel. I liked the audio book a lot, especially the menacing, raspy voice they gave to Chauvelin. I was delighted to discover one of the first stories to use the idea of a masked hero. Men who like Batman are not allowed to make fun of me for liking Scarlet Pimpernel.

Scarlet Pimpernel is such an entertaining story and Percy is such a charming hero, saving innocents and having fun while doing it. I like Kiriya Hiromu's Percy a lot too, but Kurenai's is my favourite. She really gets into the character and makes a very lovely Percy. Having to wear disguises in this show, she once again shows her ability to fit into all deliciously awful outfits (like the suits they wear to the party held by the prince of Wales). But even out of disguises, I've got to admit Percy's got style. I also obviously adored the sword dance in the mini revue. Kurenai's Percy brings a smile to my face whenever he's on screen. This is probably the role I will remember her most from.

I will miss Kurenai terribly. Whatever she decides to do after leaving Takarazuka, I wish her good luck and happiness as thanks for all the times she brought me lauhter, tears and joy.

#takarazuka #hoshigumi #kurenai yuzuru

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 1

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre:  Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Author's Notes: First installment of an actual chaptered fic in this fandom. Hopefully there will be more in the future.   Warnings: Future chapters will raise the rating to M/E.

Crossposted to AO3

How did I get to this point?  That is an excellent question.  One would expect the so-called Hero of Tython to have a far more heroic introduction.  Jump in to save the day.  Say something suave or clever.  Jyana Kai, the “famous” Jedi Battlemaster who was reported to have killed the Sith Emperor would be able to jump into the fray and defeat anything.

Sure, you would think that.

Instead I was standing underneath a domed barrier with SIS Agent Theron Shan, just waiting.  My bruises had bruises; my mental defenses were on high guard.  He didn’t look too much better but calling down Archiban Frodrick “Doc” Kimble, the most humble doctor I’ve ever known, from the orbital station was out of the question.  

He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me.  “Okay.  We should wait until they’re good and close.”   

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had.  It wasn’t much.  I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again.  Not the greatest circumstances, but still.”  I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me.  It wasn’t my fellow Jedi and closest friend Kira Carsen though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile.  “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”  

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own.  Soon though, I could feel them.  His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me.  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze.  Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade.  Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizeable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi.  I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one.  At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco.  The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me.  As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made.  The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens?  If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities.  But why?  Because of riots?  Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed.  Were we even better?  The Republic should be better than this.  Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse.  He approached the soldier and knelt.  “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.”  He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him.  I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies.  “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it!  Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings.  Something still felt off.  This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air.  “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through a woman sauntering onto the platform.  With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path.  Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.”  Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master.  “No...”  I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.”   Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron.  Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up.  The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger.  It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer.  “Now, how do you wish to die?  In combat or on your knees?”

Lana Beniko, Sith Lord and Director of Sith Intelligence, raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.”  Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove.  Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air.  He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground.  I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath. 

Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto.  The Emperor controlled puppet smirked.  “This has nothing to do with your friends.  This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

So how did I get to this point?  I guess I could start from the beginning…

At some point in my early life, I was brought to Hasshimut to take up training to be a Jedi.  I have no recollection of much before this point, no memory of a mother or a father.  The Jedi didn’t see a need to enlighten me and eventually I never truly thought to ask.  Perhaps that was a mistake looking back.

But I digress.  While that may be the beginning of my story, it is not the beginning of this particular story.

Approximately a year or so ago I became more than what was called the Hero of Tython.  I was now the Battlemaster, a reward for helping bring together both Empire and Republic to defeat Revan and to attempt to stop Vitiate from regaining power.  The latter failed however, and a team had been put together to continue trying to find out where he’d gone. 

 “I’ll get the shuttle started,” Kira stated and walked towards the shuttles at the edge of the camp.

Not a second later, I felt another hand brush mine, startling me out of my thoughts and I turned around.  “Theron?”

Theron Shan smiled a bit awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Jedi Battlemaster, huh?”

I shuffled my feet and looked down.  “Yeah, that surprised me too.”

“I suppose we’re both going to be pretty busy.”

“Guess so…” I looked back over the ridge across the lush green jungle moonscape of Yavin IV.  I took a deep breath as the wind blew through my hair.

“So Jy… I guess this is...”

I spun quickly and grabbed his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.  He startled, but then opened his mouth and met my tongue with his own. He wrapped his arms around me, one of his hands lowering to my waist, palm spread out slightly as one of his fingers slightly hooked underneath my belt.  A flash of memory of this morning where a very similar kiss led into a shuttle caused my cheeks to heat up slightly.  Slowly easing myself out of the thought, on how much I wanted to get lost in his arms again, I lowered my hands to rest on his chest and pulled out of the kiss, both of us breathless.  I attempted to play it cool as I said, “Don’t be a stranger, Agent Shan.”

He smiled softly and his eyes seemed to twinkle as he leaned his head against mine.  He traced his fingers against my cheek and whispered softly, “I won’t.”

I slowly opened my eyes and wondered when I’d drifted off.  The pilot chair wasn’t the most comfortable place to nap, but I supposed I was tired.  Pinching the bridge of my nose I leaned back in the seat and sorted through my thoughts.  The Defender was quiet as it usually was when I opted to take the night shift.  No bickering over space or Doc being a bit confused why he was suddenly thinking of all his old ex-girlfriends.  I usually used this time to meditate.

Or accidentally fall asleep and dream about...

It’d been months without a holo.  Just a small message about actually having caf with his mother.  That’s progress though, so I don’t begrudge him that.  It’s not like I’d entirely made a lot of time to reach out either, so I couldn’t pin it all on him.  Flying from planet to planet, seeing where I can lend my hand with the war effort or even some of the little things like Master Orgus reminded me, didn’t always lend me a lot of time to go to Carrick Station or Coruscant just to see what a good-looking SIS Agent was up to.

The planet I was in orbit of wasn’t extremely remarkable, though that was from the eyes of someone who had been staring at it for the last five days.  It was an unnamed Jovian type gas giant, swirling with green and teal colors of gas.  It had two ringed belts, one full of asteroids and the other vibrant and as colorful as the world surrounding it.  The two rings intersected in an X shape. 

There has been a mine there within the asteroid belt, though it had been long abandoned many years ago.  There were some fairly rare minerals that had been mined from within the asteroids and within the gas giant itself.  There were numerous reports of a space whale like creature called Purrgils that frequented this system as well.  Those creatures were apparently fairly notorious for knocking spacers out of hyperspace so I had to fly carefully in this region.  I vaguely recalled images of them, which reminded me of something I used to dream of as a child.  The dreams didn’t make them out to be a menace, but no one ever said spacers told accurate tales.

The Council wanted me to send a few probes within the system to assess its strategic worth.  An odd task for the Jedi Battlemaster I thought.  I’m a Jedi, not a Scientist.  I solved problems easier with a lightsaber.  But I could sense there was definitely more within this system than just a simple mineral assessment.  Though this seemed it would have been better to just send an actual expert in this field.  Everything I found I just forwarded to Barsen’thor Sheridan to show to her scientist companion, Tharan Cedrix.

I thought I caught a blip of a lifesign flying into the gas giant when suddenly, a holo comm started breaking through.  Staticky at first, I fiddled with the settings.

“--repeat: Repubic call sign Aurek Nen—hey! Finally!”

It felt like time stopped.  I was walking through a desolated world: buildings, ground, even the sun all washed out in shades of brown and grey.  My own bright white clothing, faded with the terrain.  As soon as the vision hit, it was over, and I heard Theron’s voice trying to get my attention.

Snapping out of it, I took a quick breath and quickly responded, “Theron. Are you all right?”

His voice came across frantic.  “That would be a negative, Master Jedi! I’m in Imperial space, over Ziost.  Tried to slip in, help out my ground team, but I used the wrong set of clearance codes and shields are low!”

I furrowed my brow slightly but tried to keep mostly calm. “Focus on getting yourself to safety, then we’ll talk. “

“No, you really need to hear what I have to say. I was getting reports: demented soldiers; slave and civilian populations under fire. Had suspicions of what it meant, but I wasn’t sure.”  My heart sunk even lower as he continued speaking.  “I sent a team in dark to investigate, maybe handle it, but it’s all gone out of control now. I think it’s him. The Emperor.”

“I’m supposed to be the first one you contact when it comes to him, not your last resort,” I snapped.

“I should have said something—I know.”

I closed my eyes briefly to try to settle my own racing heartbeat.

He continued, “Sending through the right set of clearance codes along with the coordinates to meet my-- “ There was a loud explosion and he lost balance as his ship rattled.  “I’m hit! Going to try to land this thing! Don’t come looking for me, I’ll—”

“Theron? Theron, come in!”  I frantically tried to get the signal back.  When that didn’t work, I just mashed the buttons on console and the Defender quickly jumped into hyperspace.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #theron shan #female jedi knight/hero of tython #oc: jyana kai #otp: come what may #fic: countdown #ziost #swtor: rise of the emperor #swtor #fanfic #i told yall it was coming soon #here it is #hopefully i can be consistent with publishing #maybe

[demethinkstoomuch]

Learning To Read, Pt 6: F is for Faerghus

Chapters: 6/26 (7/26 on AO3) Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

C is for Commendation

D is for Dining

F is for Faerghus

The woman who called herself Cornelia Arnim considered this whole affair to be something of a fiasco, even if the potential for instability from the regency council was immense . But the council was giving her a headache. It was just a cold room full of sycophantic pigs snorting the air at the smell of fresh slop. They weren’t terribly interesting as puppets or tools, the newly-minted regent and his collection of cronies. They couldn’t even recognize that they were pigs, and wasn’t that just sad? None of them were grand noblemen; the room didn’t have a Fraldarius or a Gautier, or even just an equal in terms of clout. Also, at least one of them — one of the regent’s drinking buddies (which described about 2/3rds of the room), a minor noble who’d run in Rufus’ circle since his own academy days — seemed unaware of the fact that she was not there for his personal amusement.

But she smiled sweetly at him from across the table, and tried to think of how best to use him. Cornelia Arnim’s body had its advantages as a lure, at least, even if the fish weren’t the ones she was hoping for. If she needed to get anyone that way, it’d be the man himself. She’d been planning that the Agarthans would have owned Faerghus by now, using the dear ickle prince’s secret stepmother, wise and noble, stepping into the limelight for the first time. Obviously not the real thing, she was much too whiny and sentimental, depressing and depressed — and this was Cornelia’s opinion as the woman who had had to lure in Patricia. It had been stunningly easy, which had made the plan seem viable. Patricia had wanted so terribly to see her little girl again; she’d offered that wish for Cornelia to use however she liked. They’d spoken with other nobles, ones who were so wildly ambitious that they dreamt of freezing time so their precious kingdom would always be theirs. Ones so hungry they wanted to devour the land. They’d promised Patrcia she’d get what she really wanted, if she was only willing to take a little risk.

The plan had been, obviously, that Patricia would never see her little girl again. Or anyone else, for that matter. The attack from the nobles’ henchmen went off without a hitch. They’d even kept the prince alive, if only just, which would have made things easier. (Now, she wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted. He might have to be neutralized somehow, was the thing.) But after they’d walked Patricia away from the carnage and killed her in secret, that was where things went wrong. Because those moronic soldiers showed up, some detached battalion catching up a little too late. Their absurd vengeance culture rearing its head like a bunch of sharks smelling blood in the water. That pathetic Gustave had arrived too early. They hadn’t had time to get their Patricia ready for her miraculous survival, and so, Patricia simply had not survived in any form. All they had to show for it was the slaughter of an entire town and a sizable power vacuum currently being stuffed with hot air. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, there was some quality chaos and a lot of raw material, but it was second place. But there were advantages.

Such as the scene playing out before her right now — once you tossed out the more worthless parts, like 90% of the animals littering this room. One of the more studious members of the council — it paid for anyone important to have at his command some little man with nervous energy, bookish disposition, and the patience for paperwork, and Rufus for the time being had this one — was explaining a situation. The son of a minor nobleman had been, according to contacts with official church messengers sent to observe and aid while the kingdom was in this transitional stage, found to be involved as a conspirator in the Tragedy. This was, and about half the room knew it, not remotely true.

“Your Highness,” asked the obligatory bookish man to the regent, “What would you like to do concerning Lord Lonato’s son?”

“...They say he was involved in the king, my brother’s, murder, do they?” asked Rufus, lifting his head from his hand, and sitting back upright in his chair. He was popular with women for a reason, besides his loose spending — the Blaiddyd men bred tall and prone to tapering appealingly from strong shoulder to toned waist, and Rufus had kept himself in that same shape as he’d entered into his early 40s — his face was lined slightly, marked at his eyes and the corners of his mouth with the careless smiles of an adult life lived with abandon. His hair was warmer than his brother’s or nephew’s, not cool blond that had darkened from an infant ice-white, but a vividly red-gold color that blazed thick and sunny all throughout his life. 

“That’s as they report,” answered the man. “They are, of course, offering themselves as aid in the matter of capturing him, while we’re so short-handed.”

“Let them, then. I’m sure their information is accurate.” Rufus brought his chin back down onto his hand. Of course, Cristophe Gaspard had nothing to do with any of this. About half the room knew it, and some of them were so faint of heart they looked shocked or appalled. What precious little cowards. Cornelia made a note about them for later. 

“My lord,” said one, tentatively. “Lord Lonato was once a knight in your service, was he not? As his lord...” 

The other half of the room, the half that didn’t know, looked righteous, and one of them answered first in defense of his lord.

“If Lord Lonato allowed his son to contemplate such monstrosity, then he has betrayed both his lord the archduke and his lord the king; what he ought to do is take revenge into his own hands!”

“I intend to. But not concerning Christophe.” Rufus looked only like he was shoving away a boring chore. As it was: this would let the church think they were busy with something, that was all. “We have more significant action that must be taken than to concern ourselves with him.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Kleinman has a report, Your Highness. It appears emissaries from Duscur’s council of aldermen have come to him seeking peace terms.”

“He should have sent them on to me, not a report.” Rufus glowered. “I am regent.”

“He already knows your answer though, right?” said one man with too much of a smile. He chuckled. “He’s the one dishing out the punishment. You can’t possibly go and fight yourself.”

“I can!” Rufus snarled, pounding the table with his fist. Papers and mugs of beer shook as the whole structure rattled. That was why they couldn’t just replace a Blaiddyd — even the crestless ones had surprising strength. And the ones with crests were beyond even that, monsters in human skin. Their experiments, Solon had told her, were showing real results now, but they weren’t going that well . Rufus’s strength bristled under his shirt-sleeves as the old nerve in him, one she’d have thought killed by drink and sex, reeled as it was struck. “I can, and so I must, or none will believe it of me!”

Everyone was silent until he sat back down, drained his beer and handed the tankard to a servant to have it filled again.

“His part in this measure may be great, but he must remember who has the crown’s authority if he is to receive the crown’s reward.” His cheeks were just the tiniest bit flush when he proclaimed that, the color fading slightly in the next moment.

“Ah, my lord…” said a secretary, who’d been standing by the door with a look of apprehension.”Prince Dimitri has been outside for some time now, demanding to see you. Again. Should I let him in?”

A few people made pitying noises. Rufus dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, preparing himself for what was to follow. He had been avoiding the prince’s efforts to speak to him seriously for some time now. Since the boy had gotten back up onto his feet, more or less. Cornelia had been politely helping him with that, citing the prince’s condition as a reason not to let them talk. ‘He’s been so traumatized after all, we don’t want to upset him further.’ That kind of thing.

“Very well, bring him in.” Rufus sighed. That story couldn’t go on forever, nice as it was for him not to deal with that child. His little brother’s son. 

There were probably people who hadn’t seen the prince properly since the tragedy, and they looked appalled when the drawn little figure entered the room — which was, in its own ways, comical. They had just casually tossed a young man to his death not a moment ago; now, one grave-looking boy was enough to tug at their heartstrings? He’s not even doing that badly anymore! He only trembled a little as he strode forward, as much anger as nerves. 

“Uncle, you must put a stop to this violence,” the prince proclaimed. Oh, yes. He needed to be handled, one way or another.

 ***

“You can’t do this!” “I know what I saw!” Those shouts, high and shattered with fury, had resounded from the walls behind Dedue for a long time, and more besides. Dimitri fought alone in a room where men too important to look at Dedue discussed whether Faerghus would end the retaliation against Duscur now or throw the full weight of the crown’s knights into it. Eventually, there came a wooden cracking noise like a tree collapsing and a great clatter from inside — metal, glass, wood tumbling down onto the stone. The regent’s council shouted in frustration and disgust, their words muffled until only tone remained.

The lady Cornelia had seen Dimitri out after that sound, with Dimitri clutching his left arm as a nasty bruise welled up through it, still shouting. She’d handed Dimitri over with a reminder not to get too worked up; if the arm continued to hurt, she’d have to check it for re-fracturing. 

“I understand you’re upset, Your Highness, but you will have to apologize for the table when you calm down, okay?” She’d said, patting him on the shoulder. She glanced at Dedue, cold and dismissive. Dedue glared back, but she tossed out her order without regard. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

 Dimitri hadn’t responded sensibly. He’d cried and he’d shouted, still carrying out his arguments. His apologies and shouts had given Dedue time to sit them both down on the steps, try and recover his own wits. He felt at once stunned and a gnawing cold misery: He should have known.

 Dimitri’s words had been barely coherent enough for Dedue to assemble what had gone on. They’d said Dimitri was confused. That he hadn’t seen what he said he’d seen — he hadn’t seen his father’s killers the way he thought he had. Not if he said they weren’t from Duscur. The king’s life must be paid for. So the war would not be postponed, would not be stopped, not if he could not produce names for the regent that showed the people of Duscur innocent. 

But he could not produce names. So all he could do was insist and shout and plead until he was like this, his voice worn to shreds, his arm aching, his whole being unfocused and unraveled. The blood would be spilled. That was all there was to it: what other price for a king was there?

“I don’t know who they were... Father, how can this be for you, when it has nothing to do with your killers?! How can you want innocent people to die?!” Dimitri muttered into the echoing expanse. The stairway stretched out before them, descending away from the formal council room into an open hall. The sounds of people were distant, muffled by stone walls. Dedue didn’t attempt to answer him yet. He wasn’t sure he could have. And so Dimitri went on. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right. I will. I’m....” He shut his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

This was the first time Dimitri had acknowledged him, and so Dedue had to finally try and find something to say. Everything in him was squeezed tense — his shoulders, his gut, his jaw were all tight, and it was hard to find a way around it.

“It is not your war,” he answered, eventually. A sigh parted his lips. Dedue could only stare upwards at the great, vaulted ceiling. He was not used to feeling small.

 “If I’d only been calmer, would they have believed me?” Dimitri asked, the fury of his voice inward. Dedue was not sure if he entirely believed Dimitri, either. He would have liked to, but Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how to trust his mind; in moments like these, when everything was so close to the surface, it seemed like a ship tossed on the waves. Everything that day had been so confused. Instead, he shrugged. His feet descended down another step, his long legs slipping from their fold. The floor was a great way down.

“Not if they would not think about you when you are...hurt,” is what he said, his voice deliberate, stiff, quiet. He couldn’t say what he was feeling; he didn’t want to. Just let it flatten like a plain until he could build something useful on it. “Perhaps once they have had a battle, they will be tired of it. It will stop.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all!” Dimitri answered. Obviously, but that wasn’t helpful, save spiritually. “If we could stop it before a true war breaks out, then it’d be OK!” He lifted himself back up to his feet, wincing from his arm. Dedue half-turned to watch the prince pace.”What if I ran away?”

“Where?” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“To the border, of course! My uncle might be in charge here, but I am the crown prince… And the common soldiers and knights agitate for my father’s sake. The fools,” Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, bitter words breaking through his clenched jaw. His footfalls bounced off the stone. “But surely, they’d listen?” 

The idea had allure; it shimmered between them as a gossamer dream, intangible as light, but just as real. 

“Perhaps…” Their eyes met and held one another, hope sparking for a moment; they’d pack in the dead of night. They’d hurry there, as swiftly as they could, carried on the wind; speak with passion and valor; be heard by people who must have been, in their own ways, simply trying to do what seemed just. 

Dedue tore his eyes away from it. It hurt more than he wanted it to.

“No, you should not.” It stung to say, but the truth had sunk in.

“Why not?” Dimitri’s voice lifted, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“You are not well enough to travel alone. We would be slow and caught together.” Dimitri was much recovered now, at least physically, but a country away was too far. Dimitri knew that and sagged with a shake of his head. 

“...If we were caught, you would certainly bear the brunt of consequences as if you’d kidnapped me,” he said, to Dedue’s surprise. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him . “I don’t want to imagine what would happen to you, or to everyone else as a result.”

“Hm. Second, even if you managed to move the soldiers and knights… If you cannot move their leaders, they will find more soldiers,” Faerghus was a rack of swords; Faerghus was a place where they said children of their high families learned to fight from the time they were born. The leaders themselves could fight best of all. So there would always be more until there was no one left. 

 “I hate this.” Dimitri’s gaze eventually broke, and he dropped himself back down onto the steps next to Dedue. It should have been a relief to hear — it prickled up against him instead, like a leg half-asleep. Tears weren’t dripping down Dimitri’s face, but they bubbled through as he spoke, his hands covering his face. When his hands dropped, slowly, they left red, scratchy trails. “I hate being so weak. People are going to die — not just soldiers, but fathers and mothers and —! Doesn’t anyone care?”

Part of Dedue was glad Dimitri cared, even if it meant watching him tearing himself to pieces like this. Part of Dedue felt Dimitri’s hands, only closing on air, grabbing him and pulling his heart, and he didn’t want that. He wanted nothing. Dedue’s teeth found his inner lip and bit down on it, unsure which part should win. It was a tiring battle. 

“You do,” he answered, unable to catch what feeling with which he meant it. The feeling in his voice wasn’t relieved, but he went on, “And I need this of you.” He reached out to grab Dimitri’s hands, take them back from the edge before they did more damage. 

“Of course,” Dimitri’s answer was more confused than confident. The hands in Dedue’s grip went slack, stopped resisting. They were limp and lost and defeated. Dedue let them retreat back to Dimitri’s lap. Dimitri had turned to watch Dedue’s face. His eyes looked clearer than they had since he’d gone in the other room — clear enough to see the way Dedue’s jaw was clenched tight and how Dedue hated it, clear enough to see the way his eyelids trembled with what he could not keep holding back. Things clicked, it seemed, and Dedue was surprised to hear Dimitri sniffle back a tear. “I’m sorry; it’s selfish of me to go on like this, when it’s so hard on you. But I refuse to surrender, and neither should you.”

“So what will you do? Will you continue to ask?” He tried to ignore the matter of himself, of how hard it was . He rested his hand on the stone, shutting his eyes and feeling its polished surface under his hand. His fingertips brushed over little pits and light flecks marring the darker shades. Dedue envied it — cold and quiet and stable; it hadn’t so much as warmed under him. It endured everything, and it felt nothing. It didn’t wonder if that place was home, even with nothing left for him but memories that toyed with comforting and hurting him. It didn’t have to remember. It didn’t clench itself, toes to teeth, when the memories of swords and fire still echoed, summoned by the flames burning miles away, summoned by the sound of knights, summoned by the knowledge that right behind him, at that moment, were men who would toss a world into that fire if it only satisfied their blood. It could simply not have those feelings when it couldn’t do anything about them. 

“If I can start by clearing the names of the people of Duscur…  Then there surely everyone will see sense. I know there are people who don’t want this — they can’t . But everyone is hurt and frightened. If they understand, then we can make peace and make things right!” He insisted, clenching his hands over the air. But he didn’t begin to scratch himself again. “I owe it to you, and everyone who died, and everyone who will die. I will… try to remember anything that could point to their true identities. I know it might not be heard at all. Fools. Fools.” Dimitri shook his head, his eyes tightening. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists, tremors running through them. Dedue pressed his hand harder onto the stone, trying to block out what was creeping in him like the first freeze. How hopeless it all was — someone who had actual courage, trying to plead for human lives with men like that.  “But I can’t stand for Faerghus’ justice to be used as nothing but a cudgel.”

And Dedue’s hand slipped off the step. His knuckles, so tense they could have burst through his skin, scraped against it. The tendons in his neck froze into place, wound like a clock whose springs went tighter and tighter, until finally — he snapped. 

“That is what it is,” he said, voice plain and simple, and finally dropping a weight. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Why was he saying this? It would be easier if he didn’t. His throat tightened like it might choke him. “They do not want your words to matter, and so, they will not work. What they wish for is battle. What happens next is of no consequence to them. 

“Perhaps some it is just.” He almost tossed the words at Dimitri, whose eyes were wide and staring, wounded at not being believed even by Dedue. Then they drew nearly to a close, softly, which was worse. He must have seen how misty Dedue looked. He felt like an avalanche, moving downhill — his words came with a building momentum, inexorable.“I cannot judge. I know that Duscur is like anywhere, maybe even here… There are good and bad people. Murderers. Children. But it is all the same to them. How could it ever stop?”

 He took a long breath, found it harder than he expected; it sputtered and broke before becoming deep enough. He was not yet crying — but he understood, he would. He couldn’t stop anymore; he’d broken at last, and now he could simply keep sliding down into his own depths. Part of him wanted to stop. To keep going on with the life he’d found worth living after the people who’d made his life before were gone, pretending he’d never felt like this. He shut his hands tight. They were shaking with bottled-up feeling.

“I truly...hate it. All of it. I hate knowing what Faerghus can do, will do, has done . I hate being looked at the same as if I had killed your father myself.” But going on as if it weren’t true wouldn’t make it untrue — still. He felt like as he pulled and pulled, it just went deeper. Feelings dark as night he hadn’t named , had put aside. It wasn’t hot — it was cold, so cold. It was drowning and freezing at once. He envied the stones, he really did: stones didn’t turn themselves over and see something they hated. “I hate the way I am spoken of… They way only I could not be let by your side when you were hurt, because of them… And —”  His eyes fell on Dimitri, then, and he understood. There was nothing that feeling did not touch. He recalled the way Dimitri’s feelings could drag his own out of him, and now — now that face, lips tense, eyebrows set gravely, and eyes red-rimmed and so, so sad for him — so uninjured by all Dedue had said, save that he didn’t believe. So undefended, like Dedue could plunge in a knife.

 “...I hate how ugly I am, to feel the way I do,” Dedue croaked, unable to look at that gods-cursed face a moment longer. He couldn’t change how he felt, not anymore, but he could stop. He could turn away; it would just have to be bolted up inside of him, turning his innards black with frostbite. 

“I think you’re right to be angry,” Dimitri answered, which made it all worse. “You’re right to hate all of this...What happened that day, what’s happened since, is monstrous, and nothing else. Even if no one else sees that right now, I…” His voice was shaking. Still somehow, Dedue was the one with the knife in him when Dimitri said, “feel like that, too. I don’t mean to say they compare, but… I think your fury just.”

“Dimitri, you do not understand.” He was unable to bolt it in if Dimitri kept dragging it out — stop, just stop. “It is still uglier than that… To hate all that I hate.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face briefly slackened, until it somehow — worse than anything — masked itself in a bland little smile, the smile of the Prince of Faerghus. Even if it collapsed almost instantly, it had been placed. The eyebrows drawn sadly together, the smile reaching his eyes not happily, but with soft self-deprecation. ”Me.”

“...I do not know if it is hate. I do not know the right word.” He knew just the right word in his own language, and said it aloud then — a word that meant something that ground you like wheat in a mill until you were bitter and tired.

 It hung there in the air, waiting for something, but all Dimitri could do was shake his head. He couldn’t translate that one, either. Before Dimitri could say anything, Dedue held up his hand. The feeling was awake, alive, trapped under his ribs and locked up in his lungs, his neck, his closed-off teeth. The borrowed tongue fell away from him, then he returned to his own. Dimitri would have to keep up, to guess over gaps in his knowledge of the language, as Dedue so often had to with him. He couldn’t say it any other way. 

“<I am… mad at you, sometimes. Something like that, anyway. I’m mad at who you are and what you mean.

“<You are the ‘prince’ of Faerghus. And this is so important that I’m unworthy of you to everyone . You bear their name! They kill for that name, for your father’s name, for that title I barely understand! Your good name is… so precious to them. But when the time comes…>” Turning this on Dimitri hurt. But that truth also hounded him — it leapt up his closed-off throat.  He hurried over the words, not looking to see if he was understood. Dimitri did not try to stop him — good enough. “<It’s all meaningless. It’s all useless . It’s cruel to ask you to carry this, but if you can’t, then no one will. I see that, now. It’s cruel that you’re the only one there is to ask.

“<And…Sometimes, I’m mad at you because I think…>”Dedue’s feelings crested, swelling up in his chest until they pounded against him, and came out the only way they could. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and dropped smoothly down. His voice was small and hoarse, a pained whisper. “<Why me, Dimitri? Why not save someone else?>” 

The bit of Dedue that pounded against his breastbone like a maddened, captured bird wanted Dimitri to not understand. Or more; say Dedue had no right to feel that way about his savior, or to say he did the best he could, or to say there was some reason for it to be him — some divine reason, some calculated reason, some reason less or more than that even the life of a stranger could be precious. Then Dedue could be truly mad at him, truly angry, then he could admire Dimitri a little less, care for him a little less, cut Faerghus into one great bloody clump and hate it all with a chill he’d hardly known was there until this moment, when he looked it in that hollow-eyed face. 

And when the hate had wrung out of him like tears, he really could turn his heart into stone.

But Dimitri didn’t say that. Not a word of it. Instead, he frowned, his eyes gone soft teardrop blue. He almost reached out a hand, but though it hovered in the space between them for a moment, it retreated to fall back onto his lap.

“I know that, for everyone I could not save then and cannot save now, there is neither excuse nor forgiveness. It would be mad, not to hate me after how much we’ve hurt you...There’s nothing ugly about it.” Dimitri stared at the hand he had almost reached out, his expression still somewhere far away from it. The silence stretched until he looked Dedue head-on again, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, small and hoarse,  “It’s OK.”

 Something thawed out inside him at those words, easing into the shelter they gave him.  It was OK. Nothing could make its way out of Dedue save tears. Silent, marked only by the faintest tremor that ran through him. It was OK. That black frost was still somewhere inside of him, and that was OK. Dimitri’s answer took him by the hand and warmed him, piece by piece, massaging his jaw until it let go, until his fingers and toes unclenched, until that feeling had surrendered him. All the things he’d gambled on Dimitri’s answer, all the things he’d considering throwing aside, all the rest of him came back to meet him, shocking as a spring flood — his heart, his hope, his life. 

His shoulders shook; his throat worked to make a breathless whine. Dimitri’s hand reached for him, and Dedue slumped into the touch wordlessly. Stone could never be warmed like this, not if it sat in the sun a million years.

“I won’t give up. I swear. I swear. I...I’m sorry you have to ask that. I’m so sorry.” Dimitri murmured, voice bare. And this, too, was a hurt stone couldn’t know. He had survived. They had survived, and this was all the reason that there was for it. Dimitri’s body heat was added to Dedue’s side as he, all the parts of the Prince of Faerghus that were simply Dimitri, leaned his head against Dedue’s shoulders. When Dedue didn’t shift away, a sob tore from him. He looked up through lashes only a little darker gold than the rest of him, blue summer skies streaked through with cloudy tears. He whispered something from the back of his throat. . “It really is a painful thing to wonder, isn’t it?”

 All Dedue could say for his understanding was in the way he leaned his own weight against Dimitri’s side. The smaller boy didn’t fold or crumple, but stayed, their figures leaned close to one another. His tears fell onto Dimitri’s hair as they slid down his face; Dimitri’s tears pooled against Dedue’s neck. It was regret and hurt in them, hate and frustration. They were surprisingly warm. The boys huddled on each other’s shoulder, there on the steps before the regent’s council chamber. When the adults exited, they would have to go around. The two of them wouldn’t be moved just yet. He didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to attempt to stop. For a long time, they simply wept for a world they could not change. They didn’t speak another word until all the tears had been wrung out from the bottom of Dedue’s heart, from Dimitri’s heart, from the burning plains of Duscur, miles and miles away.

#fire emblem #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers #Dimidue #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dedue molinaro #Rufus Blaiddyd #Cornelia Arnim #Who is by the way a lot of fun to write just sneering at everyone for the hell of it #Sometimes you have to make sense out of what the Agarthans wanted and wildly guess around it #Fanfic #My Writing #Learning to Read #Faerghus is a Rack of Swords