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captainjamster · 2 months

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Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

#READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE BABIES!!!!#price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #jams writings #cw: noncon #cw: dubcon

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johnny1note · 7 months

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why the wedding scene in The Sound of Music (1965) is perfect:

1. Julie is divinely beautiful with her subtle makeup and simple dress and the set is lit such that she literally looks like a glowing angel. Slay Queen.

2. The way it opens with the sisters helping her get ready, much like a bride's actual sisters would, because they really are like her family of origin! And the Mother Abbess giving her the blessing to go forth and joyfully embrace her true calling 😭

3. The organ introduction with all the stops out slaps and I would really love to incorporate it into something in my own church organ playing if it wasn't so recognizable.

4. The Mother Abbess shutting the gate behind Maria as she enters the church being the visual symbolism of her final break with her former life plan, but all of the nuns still being visible through the iron bars and smiling as a sign that they are still supporting her spiritually as she goes forward to join her new family

5. The counterpoint of the wedding march with "how do you solve a problem like Maria" also slaps and turns the comic deprecatory song of the first act into a solemn declaration of triumph. Genius.

6. Christopher Plummer's VERY subtle smile in his closeups is so perfect for the character.

7. The way the procession is filmed makes very effective use of the horizontal length of the church aisle (and you get to see all of the gorgeous Baroque side altars) and the symbolism of a long nave leading to the sanctuary in church architecture, you feel like you are really following Maria on her spiritual journey.

8. The way that there's like 2000 people at this wedding, it's great demonstration of how marriage (and worship in general) is a public social good as well as a private good.

9. Maria ascending the stairs to the choir like she's literally climbing to God!!!! Symbolizes how the sacrament of marriage is an elevated, holy state of being.

10. The key transposing upwards to a triumphant E-flat, mounting tension as we approach the climax of the scene, and the sisters' voices drop out too, as to suggest that words fail to capture the significance of what is about to take place.

11. Continuing tension mounting as the brass in the orchestration increases and everyone approaches the altar and kneels.

12. The final closeup starting on the bishop and panning upwards on the altarpiece; similarly to point 7, this is great use of the verticality of the space and how church architecture draws our eyes upwards on purpose to suggest that we are there to be elevated to God.

There are three symbols of Christian triumph on the altarpiece which, in context, suggest that the sacrament of marriage itself is a Christian triumph and something that leads us towards God, but these three symbols also specifically relate to the story of The Sound of Music:

a. the risen Christ [Georg 'rose' by resolving his grief, waking up to his children's emotional needs, as well as his own]

b. the coronation of the Virgin [Maria is 'crowned' by being married to Georg and fulfilling her true vocation]

c. Michael spearing Lucifer [foreshadowing Nazi Germany's eventual defeat in WWII? Or maybe just Sr. Berthe and Sr. Margaretta wrecking Col. Schneider's car]

Overall, 11/10. My only potential complaint would be that Richard Haydn (Uncle Max) genuflects with the wrong knee but I choose to forgive this.

#addendum: It closes with bells [the way it opened wow full circle!]#and the bells help release tension from the intense orchestral ending and almost suggest applause/cheering #and with the camera outside of the church as if it burst through the roof after panning up to the ceiling in the previous shot #it suggests that the joy and holiness of the marriage transcend all the beautiful symbolism of the church architecture etc that preceded it

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verstppism · 18 days

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Boy's Talk (About You) - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - take me anywhere but home

word count: 1957

masterpost.

synopsis everyone has their secrets, a group chat formed by charles leclerc, pierre gasly, alex albon, lando norris and george russell knows all of them. the 'kill the grid' chat has only one purpose: gossiping about other drivers' lives, romantic and social

or, a casual chat leads to charles confessing a crush on max, who's has been his rival since childhood

If Charles was still half asleep, the iMessage notifications coming from Max definitely woke him up. All the nervousness and anxiety from last night made sense: Max was leaving Brazil and his girlfriend to spend New Years in Monaco. But what were his intentions behind such a sudden decision? If Max really broke up with her, then he wouldn’t be texting the older one on a cold December morning. Or would he? Max Verstappen was a confusing person. One night, he says he’s not happy with his girlfriend, the other he goes on a private padel match with his ex-rival. Things seem to go well between them.

It’s when he posts a photo with his girlfriend after the race that tears everything apart. Still in his racing suit. Messy hair. Still sweating. Everything that belonged to Charles and to him only. In fact, Max was his. Who does she think she is? Charles only thought about how he could talk so casually about Kelly right before calling him “Charlie” and pushing him as far away from Lance as possible in the sprint podium. It was driving him insane — More than he already is. After eternal minutes discussing his own love life and its frustrations, Charles notices he left Max on read, he had accidentally opened the app and his conversation with the other one.

“charlie: good morningg “

“charlie: i am! are u okay? “

Charles was really at a loss at words, so he decided to pretend that he didn’t know where Max was nor that he was a few meters from the blonde’s house.

“maxiee: yeah “

“maxiee: just had a little change of plans and came back to monaco “

“charlie: oh really? “

“charlie: did anything happen or? “

“maxiee: can we talk about this in person? “

“maxiee: we can go to that café you mentioned in the padel match “

He… Remember. Their meeting (date?) was months ago, and he remembers it. Something he slightly mentioned once in a lifetime, and he recalls it in perfect detail. Charles wonders if Max remembers everything that pondered his mind. He asks himself if he recalls their discussions back in their karting days, or when they slowly started to use pet names for the first time. In the end, did Max realize that they were made for each other, even though they were predestined to fight for a whole life?

“charlie: of course! what time? “

“maxiee: im just getting ready, i’ll be there in a couple minutes “

“maxiee: nothing is too far here “

Charles giggles at the last message, like he always did when he exchanged messages with his beloved. After all, it was more of a date orchestrated by Max — he is good at setting up dates so subtly. Or maybe Charles just accepts every invite from the other. — and again, alone together. A more casual reunion this time: without any sport or anyone that could get in their way. It seemed like a dream, Charles hoped it wasn’t.

He didn’t even mind telling his friends of such an important event, just got up from his bed and quickly got ready. Casual clothing and sunglasses to go unnoticed. It wasn’t easy to go on a date in broad daylight in a city as small as Monte Carlo.

—————

It really didn't take long for them to meet. That little cafeteria was one of the secret gems of Monaco, hidden between beautiful historic buildings. As Charles arrived, he already could see Max, stirring coffee and sugar on the delicate little cup. He was looking down, his face with little to no emotion, more like hesitant of… something.

The doorbell ring filled the quiet place when the older entered the place getting the other's attention, which gave a soft and kinda sad smile to him. A smile that wasn't common as the post race ones or those shared in press conferences. ‘This is not the moment to overthink your relationship with him.’ Charles thought.

“I’m not late this time. '' Leclerc broke the awkward silence between them as he sat down. “Yeah… I mean, you live around here, no?” Max sounded somewhat different. Nervous? Sad? Reading his feelings through his face wasn’t Charles’ best ability. “So remember when I told you I would spend New Years in Brazil?”

“Of course! I was also about to ask you about it. Why did you come back home?” He said as he sat down. Home. Not the best wording at the moment, given that he’s actually Dutch and we are somewhere around near South France. It’s what they say: ‘home is where the heart is’. “Like… Did anything happen?”

“Yeah, uh…” Apprehensive. A worried tone filled his voice. “Me and Kelly had a little fight right after Christmas and I thought it would be better for us to part ways. She wasn’t very willing to but… Can I be honest? I was growing tired of being stuck with her.”

Stuck with her. Stuck. Max was tired. Max doesn't like her. At All. Charles felt like his chest was collapsing in the best way possible. How was he supposed to act normally and feel pity for them when butterflies filled his stomach?

“And you know, I only kept the relationship up because of her daughter…” Verstappen smiled while looking at the cup. The older’s intrusive thoughts were telling to adopt a child with that man. He was such a good dad after all! “And PR too. I think our love wasn't reciprocal… I was there for the kid and she was for the status of being a Formula One driver's girlfriend.”

“Oh Max… That's too bad. I’m so sorry for you” A pitiful look surged on Charles’ face, trying to show empathy and not that he was going insane over all of this. “I’m sure you and her will be able to meet again.” A shy smile appeared on the younger’s face when ocean and emerald eyes met. A comfortable silence surrounded them, only the ambient sound and smell of fresh coffee filled the empty café.

“Now that we are on the topic, it may sound rude but I need to get this off my chest. I doubt you two would still be together if you didn't win in 2021.” Still apprehensive, Charles felt safe to talk shit about Max’s ex-girlfriend. When he saw the other’s eyes glitter at the comment, he was sure: the blonde has been waiting forever to do this. “You doubt? I'm 100% sure! After we left RedBull’s party she started talking about marriage, mate. Can you believe that!?”

Minutes that felt like hours passed by. Charles and Max talked about many secrets they've kept for each other for the mere thought of “this is not something you usually tell your best friend, especially when he’s dating a person you don’t really like”. In fact, they would never get to these specific topics – mostly about relationships. Maybe both were scared of oversharing and confessing their true love, ruining it all for once. The older didn't know if delusional thoughts took over, but he felt things were getting intimate, at some point, their feet touched and so their legs proceeded to slightly intertwine.

They didn’t even bother to order food or anything. — and so the waiters did not ask them to. Perhaps it was an obvious date to whoever passed by. When leaving, Max only paid for this coffee cup that was now cold, half drunken and long forgotten on the table. Both got so deep in conversation they forgot the world keeps spinning, and the day goes by, like they always do. Like it always happens. If you didn’t know, you would guess that they were long-distance boyfriends meeting for the first time.

It was almost dusk when they left the café. The orange-ish colors in the sky implied the sun was setting, and so Max and Charles decided to walk home. Staying side by side on a very narrow sidewalk made their shoulders brush at all times.

As they got closer to Leclerc’s house, he noticed that Max started to tense up. Was he scared of something? Scared of leaving Charles? That reaction started to worry him but as soon as they got to the older’s doorstep he spoke up, point blank:

“I… Charlie, the true meaning behind this all-of-a-sudden meeting is that… You are the love of my life. I’m sorry for not noticing it earlier.” Max stuttered, a subtle way to let the other know it was hidden and buried deep inside with fear for years and years. Maybe even his whole life. It drove Charles insane. It’s like he was feeling every single emotion at the same time. He swore he was dying or something. The older man fought every desire to kiss him right here in the middle of an empty sideroad right in front of his house, but he knew it would appear in every headline in worldwide newspapers. “Charles ‘il predestinato’ Leclerc is found kissing Life-long rival Max Verstappen”. That is not the best way to be in the news, probably something that would end their careers or worse: their friendship. With no words left to say, Charles just hugged him tight as if he would disappear at any time. “Je t'aime moi aussi, mon amour” He said as one or two teardrops slid across his cheek.

Feeling something wet hit his shoulder, Max broke the hug but still kept their bodies suspiciously close. He held the other’s face with both big hands as their eyes met once again, but now with much more compassion. After all they’ve gone through, all their ups and downs brought them to this moment. What they’ve been waiting for.

“Wait wait wait.” Charles popped the little bubble they builded to protect themselves from the rest of the world. “Can we get inside first? I mean, it’s very romantic to kiss in the middle of the crosswalk I know but we’re kinda famous so yeah…” Max chuckled at the comment. “Of course we can, schatje”

He unlocked the door and let Verstappen enter as if nothing almost happened a few seconds ago. “Uh… So are-” He’s interrupted by the softest of lips crashing into his own, almost cornering him into a wall like a (ironically) raging bull. For the very first seconds they are both surprised by the feeling but locked in very quickly. This kiss felt like heaven, the way both mouths swayed together felt like they were pieces to a puzzle, just waiting for it to be finally found and placed together. It was definitely not what Charles thought it would be like but it was good nonetheless.

They only broke the kiss when there was no oxygen left in their bodies still, they stayed close, panting and hanging on by a thread of spit. Leclerc hid his face on his lover’s shoulder and started giggling, ending up with a lowkey confused Max.

“Why are you laughing?” He said, with a broad smile on his face. Charles’ laugh was contagious.

“This is so stupid. Why did we take so long to do this?”

It all came down to them snuggling together in Charles’ bed. The moonlight that invaded the room through a slightly opened window shines in their features, giving both an godly look. After a whole day spent with Max, Leclerc seemed to forget about his friends, who might’ve gone insane by his disappearance. So he was right: when checking his phone he’s welcomed with 86 missed calls, – all coming from 4 different people – and at least 300 messages coming from his group chat, Kill the Grid. Charles opens it, doesn’t read any of the past messages and starts typing.

“charlie: guys, youll never know what just happened '' Send it.

taglist: @mrsbrxkkxr , @nyxstice , @thedecalcomania-blog ,@sebastianize <3

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hydrus101 · 3 months

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I constantly think about what Arthur’s internal dialogue might’ve been around Oscar’s pledge, how conflicted and wary about it he might’ve been.

When John describes Oscar after his arm comes off and says he’s served his purpose, Arthur can’t even echo him like he usually does. Can’t even finish his sentence and say “he did serve his pur-“ because he chokes up near the end. He can’t say it. Can’t fathom it. Whether it’s from the guilt of his arm or the weight of his sobriety, the idea of being someone’s purpose weighs on him so heavily. Every time Oscar tried to tell him that he is, he shut it down. Quickly. Harshly. Like he didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider it.

Do you ever think of why? Was it his independence? That he simply balked at the concept of needing anyone else because his self-sufficiency streak was just that strong? Maybe his self-loathing just ran that deep? That he couldn’t conceptualize the idea of someone wanting to help him, not out of trickery or deception or necessity, but because they wanted to, after so long of being hunted? That they wanted to help a man like him? A murderer, on seven counts? Even after knowing what sins he’d committed?

Then, was it the religious aspect? Arthur just rejects faith of that sort at its base level (he was taught to know his saints; he doesn’t pray anymore) and that Oscar is, by trade, a priest, but I don’t think it’s just that. It goes deeper. It must.

Oscar viewed him as divine. His sign from God. The one who pulled him from bedrock. The man he chose, guided by a higher power, to follow into the ends of time and space (as far as he is mentally, physically, and spiritually able) and beyond. His purpose.

Do you think some part of Arthur was scared of that? Of someone seeing him as something good? Something worthy? To be elevated to that level of divinity, to be held equivocal to another man’s God? The being who’s almighty will (these things happen for a reason)(god has a plan)(do you want to see your wife and child again?) had planned and accounted and orchestrated for the death of his only daughter? Do you think that scares him? Do you think it makes him feel guilty? Do you think, in the spaces between running from hunters and pursuing goals and traveling through whatever realm he goes to next, he’ll stop and wonder if he’s cost another man his faith? I do. I do a lot, actually.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #no beta we die like men #I hope this makes sense so you understand me #Arthur is afraid of losing his humanity!! Oscar wants to make him divine!! he’s scared!!#fuck FUCK #sobs #oscar malevolent #hyde's heads

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icyblogs · 21 days

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flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough.

It is seldom worth the consequences.

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind.

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect.

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle.

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you.

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth.

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure.

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?”

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No.

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you.

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power.

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain.

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking.

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home.

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity.

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

—

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks. Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace.

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species.

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice.

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?”

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer.

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you.

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink.

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it.

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead.

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape.

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones.

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into?

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself.

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life.

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

“No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations.

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly.

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and.. Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm.

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment.

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work?

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting.

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door.

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation?

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron.

“Silly girl.”

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires.

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with.

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david-talks-sw · 2 years

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What Lucas says & what Filoni says...

... on Luke confronting Vader in Return of the Jedi:

George says: Yoda and Ben tell Luke that he needs to confront Vader. They hope he can save him, but if it comes to it, he needs to be ready to kill him because Vader likely won't stop trying to end Luke's life.

Dave says: Obi-Wan and Yoda tell him to destroy Vader, they don't show interest in saving him.

In Dave's defense, he admits he didn't talk to George about it (and does so again in this interview) and is only basing this off of what the Original Trilogy shows... then again, just as we're never shown Ben and Yoda tell Luke to give Vader a compassionate speech, they're also never shown telling Luke to destroy Vader, so...

... on Anakin's fall to the Dark Side:

George Lucas says: It was entirely on Anakin. He loveth too much, too possessively. Anakin's inability to let go of his attachment for Padmé, of his greed, of his need for power are what made him go from being a good man to a bad one.

Dave says: Anakin's inability to let go caused his downfall... but is his way of loving really that wrong or bad? Maybe the reason he fell is because the Jedi were so dispassionate that they didn't give him the support he needed.

... on the Jedi's compassion:

George Lucas says: All Jedi are compassionate. Period. They all know the difference between loving possessively and loving selflessly, it's standard Jedi philosophy.

Also, in general, he barely ever makes a distinction between the Jedi seen in the Prequels and those in the Original Trilogy except when talking about lightsaber fights.

Dave Filoni says: The Prequel Jedi should be compassionate but they're not because they've lost their way, except for Qui-Gon who is the only one that knows you can love someone without getting possessive.

... on the Jedi's involvement in the Clone War:

Lucas says: By being drafted/forced/used to join the war by the Senate/Palpatine, the Jedi lose their way and become corrupted. But the thing is, it's a conundrum. Sometimes you need to stand up for what is right and fight.

Filoni says: By joining the war, the corrupt Jedi lose their way. Their involvement in the war resulted in nothing but violence.

Worth noting that, in a couple of other quotes, Dave also acknowledges Palpatine is in the background, orchestrating a lot of this stuff and he acknowledges that the Jedi aren't particularly happy with their role in the War... but he never says that Palpatine and the Senate drafted them. Which, ultimately, shifts the blame for their involvement. As such, the message goes from - the Jedi being "victims who were forced to choose between letting everybody die or compromising on their morals" to - them being "arrogant morons who joined the war thinking they'd win and brought about their own destruction".

... on the state of the Republic, in the Prequels:

George says: During the Prequels, the Republic is dying and Palpatine is killing it by orchestrating a war and taking over the Senate. People like Padmé and the Jedi have faith it can be saved, if they can just get everyone to stop fighting and listen. When Palpatine becomes Emperor, that's when it dies: with thunderous applause.

Dave says: Once again, doesn't disagree with the facts... but says the Republic is pretty much already dead, it has already fallen and the Jedi and Padmé just don't see it because Sidious is deceiving them.

Dooku and Maul have the right idea, apparently:

Just a few differences here and there I think we all noticed, y'know?

Like, overall, I feel like Filoni gets the plot. Hell, something I didn't post here (because there's just so many examples it'd double the length of this post) is how similar his commentary on how the Force works is to George's.

So he gets the story and the themes and the lore, he acknowledges the intent... but then has an altered takeaway, one that doesn't hold the Jedi in the Prequels in very high regard. It feels like he doesn't miss an opportunity to take a stab at 'em in favor of Qui-Gon or Ahsoka.

My guess is that there's gotta be some bias against the Prequel Jedi, who, for many, come across as "holier than thou" and unlikeable. And if that's the case, Filoni would not be the only one who has this bias. It's a very popular read of the Prequels, just take a look at comment threads on Twitter, YouTube or Instagram.

youtube

For years after the OT, the Jedi were thought to be these wandering Knights of the Round Table who go on swashbuckling adventures like Luke, and were instead revealed to be diplomat space monks who sit in a circle.

Those who didn't like it could either add this to the list of reasons to hate the Prequels or try to see the Prequels through a prism that justified it the audience's new dislike for the Jedi and the midi-chlorians etc.

“[Jedi "measuring the Force" with midi-chlorians] is meant to be a plot point. The Jedi have their temple in a major metropolis, and care more about the inner political machinations than their own spiritual growth—they’re measuring things on science, and kidnapping children at the age of two to be Jedi—this dogmatic approach to spirituality is something Lucas wanted to highlight, because he’s saying the Jedi are flawed. This isn’t Good Guys versus Bad Guys—again, this is meant to be Vietnam in space, and we’re seeing the seeds of that highlighted here, to be explored later.” - Peter Holmstrom, cohost, The Rebel & the Rogue podcast

But the fact is, if you read everything George Lucas was saying... it's clear the Jedi weren't meant to be criticized by the Prequel's narrative. They - and Padmé and Bail and the concept of midi-chlorians - embody the themes George was trying to get across and Anakin and the Separatists embody the anti-theme.

Every principle that George believes in (being selfless, helping others, loving without getting attached, living on compassion, fighting for what is right, living in symbiosis with other living beings) is personified by the Jedi. If they were intentionally written as flawed and corrupt, it wouldn't make sense.

#note how I'm not saying Filoni's read is wrong so much as showing differences between what he says and what Lucas says...#a lot of people conflate Filoni and Lucas's interpretations of the Jedi and the Prequels as one and the same #and like... that's not necessarily accurate #Dave's one is much more popular for instance #and it makes sense to a larger audience than George's original message does #collection of quotes #George Lucas #Dave Filoni #Star Wars #Jedi Order #long post #Youtube

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waitingongravity · 2 months

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Alright, so. So there's PLENTY of unfinished business in the Abyssal Hunter storylines.

Let's look at what we know of already and what that could mean:

First off, the stuff that has already been established in previous events: There were three big leaders in the Church of the Deep: Quintus, Amaia, and some other dude who has only been referred to as Him. This Him is acquainted with Specter during her time as an experiment subject. We can pretty safely assume that much like Quintus and Amaia, He will be the one orchestrating the events of next uhhh... event. Besides that, we have Ulpianus and the Last Knight. Those two swam off into the sunset at the end of Stultifera Navis, and we can only assume that they are still hunting seaborn to this point. The curious thing with the Last Knight is that we got to see him plenty in IS3. We know he's a powerful piece of work, and that in true Don Quixote fashion he is unreasonable with. The real question for me is what the hell he's going to do in a world where Ishra-Mla hasn't taken over yet. Will he be more helpful? Proooobably not. Speaking of: ISHRA-MLA. I've seen a lot of speculation over whether Skalter is fully non-canon to the main timeline, or if she is merely an eventuality. Skadi's condition is not looking good, and we haven't really been presented with any possible solutions. Specter is fighting off infection and insanity through her seaborn blood, but Skadi's issue is seaborn in nature. That being said, I'd like to stay optimistic. Skadi's arc has been an upwards one, even if it's only slightly. I'd like to believe that the difference between IS3's timelines and the Canon is that Skadi had more time to grow stronger mentally and emotionally to resist the pull of Ishra-Mla. Or at least stall long enough to find a solution. Of course, this transformation is also affecting Specter and Gladiia. Much like oripathy, they may be doomed, but maybe there's hope for a comfortable life.

AEgir is a nation we know next to nothing about since they're all the way in the Water. An unknown settlement of AEgir was spotted right under the Stultifera, and we know Ulpianus preventing the Hunters' return to AEgir is one of the reasons why the fish apocalypse didn't happen. Whether that is just proximity to the ocean or something in AEgir itself, I think we'll be diving out of Iberia and into that AEgir colony. I doubt we'll go into AEgir proper, but that doesn't mean AEgir won't send its own people out. Okay, now for the operators relevant to all this: The obvious one is Andreana, our lonely cuttlefish. She is essentially a cheap walmart knock-off Abyssal Hunter, so many think that she'd be getting an Alter or some story focus as she goes full fledged (full scaled? Whatever.) While I see that as a possibility, a lot of Andreana's character is just NOT CARING about any of that. She outright rejects the opportunity from Kal'tsit to learn more, and wants to leave her mysterious past behind her. Honestly, I can respect it. My guess is that Andreana might get involved but stay out of it, unless someone (like her employer Incandescence who we've yet to see in-game) gives her a reason to care.

So who else do we have involved in this? Well, Deepcolor is pretty sus, and the only other AEgir operator besides Skalter. I'll be honest, I always thought she was up to no good. Do NOT trust her >:I. There's also the chance she's some loose AEgir agent or something that lost contact after the Great Silence. But I still don't trust. Here's the sleeper pick: Blue Poison! The curious thing about Anura, besides how cute they are, is that they were enslaved by AEgir and brought to Iberia in hopes that their toxins could be a new weapon against the seaborn. This puts Bloopy in an interesting position as both someone with a vested interest. Hell, she could truly be the secret weapon in the event.

With all this in mind, here's my idea for what the event could/should be. Ulpianus can be the new 6 star, whatever he's a loser I don't care about him. More importantly, BLOOPY ALTER as a limited unit. That's right, Andreana can keep her gun, we all know she loves that thing more than anything. Let Bloopy be the first 6 star Arts Defender or something! Or a new Fighter since we know she boxes. I dunno, just make her busted so I can feel vindicated in my love for her. and finally, 5 star... I dunno, some AEgir girl from the settlement under the Stultifera. Give me a manta ray girl! Flat friend. Or angler fish? Hmmmm. As far as the plot, I think it'll be a two-pronged threat. On one end, He and the rest of the Church of the Deep implement a final plan, either relying on the super advanced tech AEgir have, or simply being the culmination of the evolution which has been a running theme for these events. Under Tides saw the seaborn evolve to talk, Stultifera Navis saw them evolve to be incredibly powerful and adaptive. Who knows what we'll see next? As for the AEgir settlement's conflict, I think we could see a next step in the other relevant issue in Iberia: the persecution of the AEgir peoples and the role of the Inquisition in the fight against the sea. I doubt the settlement will be safe for long, so perhaps over the course of the story we will see them integrated into Iberia, and offer their own tech/abilities in exchange for a stronger frontline. Of course, all this is assuming that the settlement isn't just an long-abandoned ruin. I'd also like it if the Doctor actually got involved in this event. Kal'tsit is a given of course, but I think the Doctor's presence might be appropriate for the conclusion of this trilogy. Much how like Lone Trail concluded the story started by Mansfield and Dorothy's Vision, there might be big story turning points at the end of this. And given the forces involved? This wouldn't be surprising. Anyways this was a super disorganized ramble I typed mid-ttrpg session so I'm sure I missed a lot or messed stuff up. I'd love to hear any more speculations, this stuff is very fun to think about.

#arknights #abyssal hunters #specter #blue poison #andreana #gladiia #deepcolor #ulpianus #Grav shut up challenge grav shut up challenge #challenge failed

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dittanyinbloom · 1 year

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Fate Aligned

This is a bit strange for me to post here, but it is a second part to this George Weasley x fem!reader fic I made on an old account. Sebastian Sallow heavily influenced me with ideas for a part two. If you want to know why George and reader aren’t going to the Yule Ball with everyone else, read that one first! It’s cute! I promise!

George Weasley x fem! reader. Rated T for a brief make-out session and a few curse words here and there.

summary: You and George manage to lose a total of eighty house points on the night of the Yule Ball which you were not planning on attending because George gave all his money for dress robes to Fred so that at least one of them could go.

(also, the lockets mentioned in this are a little Easter egg for a SebastianxMCxOminis OT3 fic I may or may not be working on called Lover’s Lockets. It’ll probably come out in early summer, but the inspiration to write this first hit me like the Hogwarts Express)

.🍬✨🍬

The younger students that were not able to attend the ball had long since traveled home for the holidays. With everyone else draped in their best and headed for the Great Hall, you and George had the castle to yourselves. The possibilities were endless. Should you sneak into the faculty tower and see what the professors’ rooms looked like? Perhaps you would break into the Headmaster’s office and search for priceless Hogwarts artifacts. Maybe the librarian left the key for the Restricted Section at her desk while she was whisked away to the ball.

Of all the places they could go, George had chosen not only the most boring, most dangerous, but also the most unromantic of them all. Filch’s office was just off the Entrance Hall, which happened to also lead to the Great Hall. Only a couple sets of doors separated the two from being caught.

“Must this be done tonight?” You whispered from behind a giant Christmas tree that decorated the center of the Entrance Hall in front of the doors that lead outside. The Grey Lady was weeping at a statue perched on the upper tier, just a few feet from the door to the Reception Hall where you would find Filch’s office as well as a few stragglers taking a breather outside the Ball.

“They’re candies. We need to get them back and sell them before they go bad. This might be our only opportunity. When else is he going to be this distracted? He bought Ms. Norris a new collar. They’ll both be at the ball.”

“And we’ll both be in detention if your plan goes wrong, which they often do.”

“No, those are always Fred’s plans. Mine work like a charm,” and as he said the last words, he waved his wand and disappeared. The disillusionment charm was something you were becoming to be quite familiar with as of recently. Two boisterous redheads may or may not be the cause of it. You followed in suit, tugging your school robe over your hair and using the charm effortlessly. George smiles at how easily you complied before throwing on his own hood to cover his fiery hair and whispering, his voice low and thick as honey, “Good thinking.”

As soon as the Grey Lady wandered off, the two of you crept up the stairs and peeked through the giant set of wooden doors. The Reception Hall was startlingly empty. The faint sounds of orchestral music looked from beyond the Great Hall’s doors. The display of House Points seemed to have eyes on your back, judging you for your unapproved adventure. You tried not to dwell on the guilt, knowing Gryffindor’s house points would suffer greatly if you get caught.

“Look at that, not a soul in sight. Come on, then. Let’s not waste our luck.”

With the help of Alohomora, the two of you found yourselves in the tiny, dusty space Filch called his office. The walls were lined with cupboards. Knowing the twins had found the Maurader’s map in here their first year, you were sure more extravagant enchantments were stuck inside those drawers, collecting dust and begging to be used. Feeling safe now, you took off your charm and let George see your excitement. He matched your smile and immediately joined you at your side to start sifting through anything and everything.

“Ack!” You let out a squeak and jumped back from the second drawer.

George leaned over you and then laughed at the sight. “Dead rat? Probably lots of those. Ms. Norris does live here too, ya know.”

“Lovely.”

After a few more drawers, you found the familiar, warm brown briefcase the twins had been keeping their experimental treats in. “George, I’ve got them, now we can get the hell out of here.”

“Hold on, look at these!”

“George, really. We should take our winnings and go before someone-“ but the words die on your lips when George pulled the twisted chains of two lockers out of the drawer.

“Lumos,” he whispered to better show off the intricate floral pattern imprinted in the metal. “Think we should have a little reward for our venture, don’t you?”

“I agreed to help you find your treats, but stealing things that aren’t yours, Weasley-“

“Hush. You sound like a Ravenclaw. Always doing things by the book. Pft. Live a little, love.”

Completely derailed and flustered by his nickname for you, you didn’t have the mind to protest him further. Though looking back, you really wish you had. He untangled the lockets and bestowed one upon himself before inching closer to you.

“Be careful!” You whisper yelled. “What if it’s enchanted? Filch must have confiscated them for a reason!”

“Like he stole our taffies for no good reason?”

“He had reason. First years with ten-ton tongues were enough to justify them being taken.”

George flicked open the locket to study it. “Just a compass. Nothing evil about it.”

“Hmph. Well. Fine. I guess. . It would be nice to have a little souvenir.”

“See?“ He gently put the chain around your neck and took a step back, finally letting you breathe only to steal the air right back out of your lungs with his words, “So beautiful.”

The tiny office now felt unbearable. Earlier, you had confessed your feelings for him in not so many words. Whether or not he reciprocated, you weren’t sure. George hadn’t really had much time to respond or even take in your confession before your friends had come back. Since then, you had easily fallen into your usual pattern of playful pranking and chatter. It was easy to forget about your confession until his alluring compliment. The word had fallen off his lips almost breathlessly, a sultry whisper that had your mind alight and playing the moment over in your head.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful…

It was all you could think about. Your heart ticked nervously and your skin went warm. Did he really think you were beautiful, or was this just the typical Weasley charm the boys often used on girls, and even professors to get people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. You wouldn’t call the twins manipulative, they just... Okay, they could be quite manipulative, but never with malicious intent. Flirting as a way of buttering people up wasn’t exactly a bad thing. You surely didn’t complain when they used their charm on you.

But that was before you had confessed your feelings to George. If Fred had been the one to say it, the word would have rolled off your back like water without a second thought. George, however, was now in the know of the feelings you had been harboring. You almost felt betrayed in a way that he would whisper a sweet nothing like that so carelessly after knowing where your heart lies. Did he just not care? Had he forgotten in the moment? Or was it somehow possible that he returned your feelings and this flirting was now more meaningful than his usual antics?

“We should go,” you said rather stiffly, immediately hating how rude it came off. In your rush out of the office, you forgot how careful you two had to be going in and found yourself bursting into the Reception Hall without even trying to be quiet. “We should get this to safe keeping and then we can do something that’s actually fun.”

“And what might you have in mind?” Professor McGonagall called out from across the hall. She was standing with her husband who had traveled to the castle for the night to accompany her to the ball. His eyes were soft and kind, but he also had an all-knowing smile that was thrown your way. He patted Minerva on top of her hand that he had been holding and then excused himself back to the festivities, letting his wife deal with her troublesome students.

“I-uh.” The briefcase of candies in your hands suddenly felt hot and heavy.

George’s hand landed on your shoulders as he dipped down to whisper right by your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Piss off-,” you uttered back, elbowing him in the stomach rather ungraciously.

“I will take that.” And with the wave of her wand, McGonagall had the case of candies in her hands. “I would send the two of you back to the common room, but it sounds as though I shouldn’t trust you to stay there until the Yule Ball is over.”

“Professor, we-“

“Ten points from each of you for rummaging around Mr. Filch’s office. And since I think it best I keep an eye on you for the rest of the evening... “ She pointed her wand at you with a curt wave. The fabric of your clothes began to wiggle and tickle your skin, swishing all around and changing color until you ended up in a long ivory gown with golden embroidery. George’s clothes were next to change into an ivory button down with a deep red vest decorated in gold buttons, the same gold as your dress. One final silent wave of her wand, this stroke alarmingly familiar… it was Expelliarmus. Both of your wands floated into her open palm.

That night, George had been wearing his only school robe that was still long enough after his recent growth spurt. He couldn’t afford to lose it, in the most literal sense since the price of new robes had gone up greatly over the holiday season and all of his money had gone toward Fred's dress robes for the ball. The loss of that set was detrimental, even in exchange for these fancy clothes. “But, our robes. .”

“If you should wish to have your school robes and wands back before classes, I suggest you find me after the ball. Now, don’t dawdle. In you go.”

Jokingly matching your professor’s air of elegance, George spoke in as proper of a tone he could muster, “If you insist, Professor, but I must have a word with my partner first.”

“Do not make me come looking for you, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as McGonagall exited into the Great Hall, George’s serious face turned into a bright and mischievous grin, as if you hadn’t just been caught by your Head of House. He dipped into a regal bow and held out a hand to you

Voice still posh and dropping even lower, George kissed your hand and spoke, “It seems as though fate has aligned-“

“Why are you still talking like that?” You giggled.

“Because it’s fun. You must know what fun is, shall I remind you?” Then he was pulling you in close and twirling you in circles, humming along to the faint music coming from behind the grand doors.

“I think,” you managed out between laughs, “-this is exactly what McGonagall meant when she said not to dawdle.” With all you might, you dragged the boy to the doors where he planted his feet and refused to move another inch. “George, what are you doing now?”

“We can’t go in there, silly. I haven’t even asked you yet.”

Those pesky nerves were bubbling back. You tried to swallow them down. “You’re ridiculous. We’re here. McGonagall’s forced us into these clothes. You don’t have to ask at this point. We aren’t- it’s not like we’re going by choice, I mean-“

Ignoring your endearing mumbling, George gently took your chin to make your eyes meet his as he asked, “Will you do me the honors of being the only bloke you dance with at the Yule Ball?”

“As long as you promise to crash us into all the Slytherin couples with your atrocious leading.”

“That’s a given.” He held out his arm for you to hold onto before walking you into the Great Hall where you were very fashionably late.

Decorated from enchanted ceilings all the way down to sparkling floors, the Great Hall was completely transformed into a winter wonderland. The ceiling was cloudy with snowflakes trickling down, sadly designed to never fall. It was always astonishing how the magic encapsulated the exact look of the weather, but never the temperature. Perhaps the frigid cold of the snow would have been welcome tonight because the hall was surprisingly warm from all the bodies dancing about.

The four center tables had vanished in favor of a large dance floor. The platform professors sat at was being used as a stage for a live band that was currently playing a jovial waltz. The corners of the hall were filled with refreshment tables and smaller, more personal round tables for groups to have a break from the excitement.

You scanned the room for your friends but immediately regretted doing so when your eyes landed on Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. It seemed you had witnessed a rather intimate moment of Lee kissing Alicia’s knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her inner wrist, and then. . You quickly looked away, clearing your throat.

“You’ve got to be joking,” George muttered to himself. He was patting down his vest and dress pants. Turning his pockets inside out, he was presented with piles of sand. “It seems McGonagall transfigured away the dungbombs and fireworks as well.”

“Oh no,” you replied sarcastically, “How ever will we survive?”

“I suppose we will have to dance to pass the time,” George played along as he dragged you to the center of the hall. Once there, he adjusted the hold on your hand to one where your fingers were interlocking. While many other dance partners were doing the same, it still felt strikingly intimate, even more so when his other hand landed on your hip to draw you in close. You lightly placed your free one on his shoulder, mimicking a very cordial and proper stance.

You weren’t able to maintain your posture long, because George whizzed across the dance floor at an alarming speed. Your hand had slipped from the feather of a touch in his shoulder down to his bicep where you clung on for dear life. His hand was meant to stay on your hip had snaked to the small of your back, making it much easier to swing you to and fro. How he had managed to step on other couples’ toes but not your own was a mystery.

Actually, it was probably deliberate considering two of George’s victims had been a Slytherin boy from your year and a boy from Beauxbatons that had both previously asked you to accompany them. The true mystery was how George managed to find out who exactly you had turned down so that he could target them.

Then you were being pulled to him to avoid your backside slamming to the Durmstrang Headmaster. There had been no warning, so you stubbled into George ungracefully with your cheek pressing into his chest as you let out a string of bubbly, nervous laughter. The hand on the small of your back had drifted all the way to your opposite hip now, holding you up, but also holding you so tightly against him that you had nowhere to go. Not that you could step back even if you wanted to with your faulty feet.

“S’cuse us,” George slyly offered to the terrifying man as he brisked you off in another direction.

“Sorry!” You had to call to the man over your shoulder since George had you gone in a flash.

George mumbled only for you to hear, “No need to apologize to him. You never actually ran into him. I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe so, but we did give him a heart attack. And if you’re so aware of your actions, then why did you nearly just have me expelled?”

“All a ploy to get you closer to me.” His hand squeezed your hip for emphasis. “See? I can be quite romantic.”

“Falling into you is hardly romantic.”

“Oh, so you’re falling for me?”

“Did I not already make that obvious?” You had planned to play the words off as a joke, but George’s stiff reaction made it difficult. The tension only worsened when you found yourself at a standstill in the middle of the dance floor. George let go of your hip. You tried to escape your interlocked hands, but George tightened his grip, not letting you step too far away.

“We should talk about that,” George rarely sounded as serious as he did now, and the times when he had were never for good reason.

You winced at his tone. It was clear to you now that George didn’t feel the same. All the dancing and touching, it was all just in good fun. Nothing he ever did was meant to be analyzed. There was no reading between the lines. You were foolish to even try.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry to bring it up. I was only joking.” But the tightening feeling in your throat set in. It broke your heart to lie.

“You responded too quick to be joking, and besides, I-“

“Please, forget it. And forget what I said earlier,” Your voice diminished to nearly a whisper and you looked down at your feet lamely. “-I didn’t mean it, okay? Let’s just go back to having fun.”

George finally released your hand so that he could cup your face on both sides, forcing you to look back up at him. His brows softly pulled together. There was even a hint of a frown across his lips, a very foreign look on the prankster. “You’re an awful liar.”

“I’m not-“ you choked on your words, trying to hold back the sobs bubbling in your throat. “Just dance with me, George.”

“Ridiculous,” he huffed in disbelief. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to guide you toward the courtyard adjacent to the hall. You were still fighting the tears, refusing to let anyone see how much of a mess you truly were.

“You’re here! Brilliant!” Fred popped up just before the two of you made it out, placing both his hands on George’s shoulders to shake him in excitement. This in turn caused George to let you go, so you were thankful for Fred's intrusion. “Let me guess, you saw him run out to the courtyard too? Thinks he’s sneaky, that one. Well, he can’t escape all of us, eh?”

Fred and George did not disagree often, but this was one of those rare times George was putting his foot down. “This isn’t the time, mate.”

“This is the perfect time! What’s he gonna do to us with all these people as witnesses? Bagman doesn’t have the balls to pull something here.”

The name seemed to change George’s demeanor. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction. You knew of the antics Ludo Bagman pulled on the twins at the World Cup. This would be the perfect time to approach him, Fred wasn’t wrong. He just had absolute shite timing.

“Let’s go get his arse,” you proclaimed, jumping at the opportunity to avoid the awkward ‘I’m just not that into you’ conversation that George was no doubt planning to have with you out in that courtyard.

Fred’s grin spread across his face wildly. “Oh, how lucky Georgie is to have you. Angelina is livid I’m doing this. Knew I should have asked you as my date instead. And you clean up nicely too, I mean, look at you two.” And Fred did take a moment to give your dress a proper once over. His eyes landed on the locket around your neck and then flickered to the matching one his brother was sporting. “Now where in Merlin did you two nick those?”

Normally, George would jump at the opportunity to brag, but he was being oddly quiet. You spoke up in his place, “Filch’s office. McGonagall caught us stealing back your candies. She took those, but I don’t think she knew about these. . .”

Fred whistled lowly, clearly impressed, “You two have been busy. And I’ve just been here trying to dance like a babbling, bumbling, baboon!” His McGonagall impression was getting quite good.

You promptly followed Fred toward the courtyard. George seemed to drag his feet behind you. Eventually, you made it to the array of carriages the guests had arrived in that evening. A few groups of people were scattered about, chatting in the fresh air. Goosebumps instantly littered your arms and shoulders, but you welcomed the sensation. It was like jumping in a cold shower after that heated moment between you and George.

Fred wasted no time approaching his enemy with his arms raised in a faux welcoming stance. “I don’t believe my eyes! If it isn’t Ludo Bagman, old friend. How have you been?”

Bagman had been talking to an older, gruff-looking wizard you did not know. They both examined Fred quizzically, intrigued that a student would approach them in such a way. You moved to stand beside Fred, but George had stepped in first, crossing his arms and smiling at the two older wizards as if that alone was a threat. And it seemed to come across that way with how painfully obvious it was that his smile was forced.

George was quick to join in on Fred’s jovial greetings as well, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. When was our last chat? Remind me, Fred.”

“Oh, George, I do believe the last time we saw Ludo was during the Quidditch World Cup. You remember, don’t you?”

“Ah! Yes! I remember that night quite well. We won a pretty hefty bet, didn’t we, Fred?”

“That we did, George. That we did. Say, George, we still haven’t gotten the money from that, have we?”

“You would have been paid if you didn’t cheat,” Ludo sneered.

“We didn’t cheat,” George said through his teeth, immediately offended that he would even need to defend their honor against such a statement.

“You just want to keep the money for yourself,” Fred threw in offense.

Bagman’s eyes narrowed. “If the Weasley clan was known for their integrity, perhaps I would take you at your word. Now, quit wasting my time with this.” He looked to his companion and then nodded for the doors. They both turned to leave. Fred reached into his pocket for his wand, but you caught his wrist.

“Snape,” you whispered as the professor sauntered out into the courtyard.

“Bastard,” Fred murmured. You dropped his wrist, assuming he would put away his wand so as to not draw suspicion. Instead, Fred lifted his wrist and cast the disillusionment charm on himself. The motion was automatic at the mention of Snape. All you could hear was his hushed whisper. “What are you two doing? Let’s go before he questions us.”

George met your terrified eyes, looking rather pale himself. McGonagall had taken your wands. It seemed as though you were going to have to face Snape head-on.

“Fuck it,” George whispered as he grabbed you yet again, heaving you into the nearest carriage. You scrambled in with George following so close behind that he was nearly on top of you. The skirt of your dress had twisted and risen from all the movement. George planted himself on the bench next to you, mumbling apologies for nearly squashing you.

“How the hell are we-“

“Whisper!” George uttered. No wand, no ability to cast muffalo. The two of you would have to wait this out in silence. He pressed his ear to the side of the carriage and then looked very alarmed as he whispered, “Can hear him talking with Bagman and that other piece of muck.”

You tried smoothing down your skirt, but it was tangled horribly underneath you. Instead of offering to help or apologizing for the inconvenience, George merely followed the frantic movement of your hands. His eyes lingered over your exposed knee.

The sheer stupidity of your night was hitting you hard. Your jaw clenched in annoyance. If you hadn’t followed Fred to the courtyard, if you hadn’t made that stupid comment while dancing, if you hadn’t gone with George to Filch’s office, if you had never admitted you wanted to go to the bloody ball with him in the first place. .

“Lift yourself up,” he whispered, elbowing your arm.

You pouted in confusion, but gently lifted yourself up with both palms pressed into the bench of the carriage. George swiftly smoothed the fabric under you, meaning his hands had to skim over your backside and underneath you. Your breath caught in your throat at how nonchalant he acted. Once the underneath was straightened out, he pulled down the top to finally hid your exposed knee.

“Better?"

“You should warn a girl before grabbing her arse, Weasley.”

“I only did it so you’d stop fidgeting. Snape will know someone is in here if the cart is shaking.”

Any response you might have had died on your lips. Images of what sort of actions would make the carriage shake flashed across your mind. Your face felt uncomfortably hot, embarrassed that you couldn’t control the thoughts you were having about your best friend whilst sitting right next to him.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and sincere, only making you feel more guilty for your own track mind. “I really should tell you-“

“Save it,” you begged. Merlin, you couldn’t hear the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech while you were shamefully thinking of making the carriage rock. You would die of embarrassment if he turned you down at this very moment.

“I don’t want to save it,” he seethed. “Don’t know where you got the bloody impression that I’m going to turn you down but damn it, I said I would have been the first to ask you if I had the money for robes. I didn’t mean that in a platonic way. Thought that much was obvious.”

He sounded cross with you, but his words were a confession of sorts. You studied his features. His hands were opening and closing. He was biting the inside of his cheeks. His eyes couldn’t meet yours for more than half a second before darting to the floor of the carriage.

“You like me,” you whispered in awe.

George didn’t seem to notice you shift closer, too lost in his own demise. “Look, I know I’m a fucking idiot. You said you wanted a night of fun and dancing, the ball gets dropped into our lap perfectly, and I go and ruin it by getting you stuck in a carriage. I’ve been told my whole life I don’t know when to quit. It didn’t mean shite to me until now that it’s affecting you. I got us into this. I should have told Fred to bugger off, but he and I just feed off each other’s insanity and-“

Your hands guided his face toward you so your lips could feverishly crash into him. From the shock of your hold, George’s hands wrapped around your wrists almost like he might pull you off. His entire body shivered from the feeling of your lips over his. It was heated and messy right from the start because his mouth had been open from talking.

George melted into you, matching your fever and even raising the stakes by taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He was being gentle, playful even, but it still had your arse lifting off the bench and rolling onto your knee so you could lean in further to his pull. His hands moved in quick now that the opportunity arose. They trailed down your back, smoothing the dress over your backside much slower this time, deliberately stroking to get their fill before reaching the underneath of your thighs where his fingers shamelessly pressed into your soft flesh to pull you closer until you were dragged onto his lap.

You broke away to gasp with your hands landing on his shoulders to steady yourself. His mouth went for your exposed collarbone, kissing from one shoulder to the next and swiping the chain of your new locket out of the way to thoroughly get every inch of skin. You thought he would go for your neck next, but instead, his lips traveled down toward the exposing, sweetheart neckline of your dress.

The door to the carriage swung open on your right. Professor Snape glared at the two of you. George had not removed his hands from your waist, so you just smiled sheepishly at your potions professor from George’s lap.

“What on earth do you think you two are doing? Out. Now.”

Rather reluctantly despite the ridicule, George helped you off of him so the two of you could crawl out of the carriage. As soon as your feet were on solid ground, Snape was firing off punishments.

“Thirty points from each of you. A week’s detention with Hagrid tending to the Forbidden Forest should be enough to make you regret this awful choice you’ve made. Back to the Great Hall, now.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laughter threatening to burst out and double your detentions. Snape keenly watched the two of you drag your feet back to the ball. “Hands to yourself, Weasley,” he drones when George had tried to put his hand on the small of your back to guide you. Once the two of you were heading inside, Snape moved to the next carriage to end a different couple’s impromptu snog session.

“That was horrifying,” you grimaced at the thought of facing Snape in your next class.

“Was my kissing that bad?” George mused.

You playfully slapped his chest, “Sod off. You know what I meant. I’ll never be able to look Snape in the eye again.”

“I’m sure he’s witnessed worse. Hell, he probably is witnessing worse as we speak. The others were in their carriages far longer than we were.”

And yet George still managed to look like a complete mess. His lips were bright red, matching the flush he still wore on his cheeks. His hair was staticky and wild, not at all fitting for the ball you were walking back into. You waved him over, insisting, “Come ‘ere. You can’t go back there looking like this.”

A lazy smile plastered across George’s rosy cheeks. His eyes shamelessly studied your serious look of concentration as you tried to smooth down his wild locks. “Think people are gonna know what we did no matter how long you play with my hair.”

His fingers swiped over your collarbone, pressing harder on the red, sensitive spots that were definitely going to bruise later. A shiver ran down your back. You would have to remember to down a healing potion tonight that way you didn’t wake up and go about your day tomorrow, forgetting how scandalous you looked.

“Quit making them worse.” You smacked his hand away. “I can’t believe you did that while I’m stuck in this stupid dress with no robes to hide it. You’re devious.”

“You’re the one who started it,” George challenged.

“Must all your comebacks be childish?”

“You find them endearing,” he teased. “Merlin, can’t believe we could have been doing that ages ago. Do you think McGonagall would notice if we slipped back to the common room to make up for lost time?”

“I’m not taking any chances while she still has my wand. Besides, we hardly got to dance!” You took his hand and pulled him into the hall. “There are more Slytherins that need to be run into.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #Yule ball #my writings #harry potter main series #George is so fun to write for because I feel like tender more serious moments can happen and he is still in character #but with Fred I just can’t take him seriously #still love Freddie too though don’t get me wrong #George had just always had my heart

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venusandsaturnsrings · 1 year

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listen ik I have like 2 asks sent already but chubby darling is my beloved :(( so I shall feed you again.... since yk chub makes everything 10 times better <33

CHUBBY CRYBABY DARLING <3333

Always sobbing when incel childe teases her or when the slightest thing goes wrong :(( omg imagine her sobbing because the lingerie incel childe got her was a bit too tight :((( her pudge is more visible esp on her thighs where you can see the chub bulging out the top of her tights :((( she sobs whe she sees how big childe is down there bcs "it won't fit! it won't fit!" or hoe she sobs when taking it in :(((( all you have to do is sob that you want something and he'll have it at ur door that night </3 imagine him paying people to bully you just so you'll run to him for help (ofc even if he was the one that told then too they won't be unpunished) :(( he just thinks ur SO cute sobbing ur little heart out :((( he stands behind you everywhere you go like a guard dog since your so fragile:((

Honestly at this point childe can fuck off I wanna make out with chubby darling <33 opinion on me writing a bit of Doberman hybrid childe with chubby gf next!?!

UR SO REAL FOR THIS… i understand her. i sob over nothing as well and live to be coddled…

he’s just… so manipulative. gets hard seeing you cry so why wouldn’t he strive to make you cry more? he’s a porn addicted coomer that wants your tears as lube. setting up some of his online friends to hurl insults at you just to watch your lips tremble before the tears spill over, scooping you into his boney arms with a soft “c’mere, doll. what’s up?” as if he didn’t orchestrate this himself. inceltaru is just so mean like that! wants his sweet dolly girlfriend to cling onto him everywhere they go for comfort. wants her to depend on him with shaky knees and wet eyelashes. wants her to be his; mind, body, and soul. maybe it’s selfish but how can you blame him when you’re just so cute?

also definitely the type to have religiously measured his cock since his teen years. knows the length and girth down to the millimeter. he’s very aware it’s big and has no problem flaunting that but loves it most when your letting your warbled cries about how it’s not gonna fit :( he almost takes mercy on you but… stretching your cute cunny open is more important. it’ll hurt at first but he’s gonna make you feel good! so keep the tears rolling until you’re too cockdrunk to think!

#cw: incel #incel childe #oh my beloved inceltaru…#he’s everything i want :((#i am the crybaby gf he needs i’ll sob while sucking him off #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #chubby darling anon my beloved <3 #chubby reader #fem reader #afab reader #chit chats

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theamityelf · 2 months

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How would Hajime, Makoto, and Komaeda dynamic after Komaeda framing Makoto? And if the fun house motive still the same would Komaeda found out Makoto title? How would he react and their change in dynamic? How much it would change chapter 5 because I don't think he would risk a literal symbol of hope

Great questions all around.

I feel like when it's revealed that Nagito framed Makoto, and more broadly that Nagito orchestrated for the killing game to start, Makoto would be really horrified and hurt and looking for an explanation from Nagito, while Nagito is in that state he entered in the latter half of trial 1 where he falls really hard into his hope thing while his personal relationships are crumbling.

So Makoto is like, "Nagito...did you really frame me? Were you really trying to start the killing game?"

And Nagito is just like, "I had to be sure. What Monokuma said suggested you could be an important player in all this, despite being a mere Lucky Student. So I had to test you a little."

"What Monokuma said? You mean...?"

(Flashback to Monokuma saying "If you were just a lucky student..." or something of the sort, because for some reason I'm writing this like an actual Danganronpa game.)

Cut back to Nagito with a big smile, like, "And you performed wonderfully! Far better than I expected. The hope of the spotless outshone the hope of-"

"Nagito," Hajime finally interrupts, looking at him like he's never seen him before. "He's asking why you would do this. Why would you do that to him, to [first victim], to any of us?!"

"Ah...[first victim] really did get the short end of the stick in all this, didn't [they]? I do blame myself for that. Or, I suppose...I blame my luck. But none of that matters anymore!"

"You blame your luck?" Makoto repeats. "You mean-?"

"Getting to see all of you work together like this, to see the Ultimates all contribute and rise to the occasion!"

"Nagito, does that mean [first victim] wasn't the intended victim? Who did you mean for Teruteru to kill?"

(Because I think he still would have arranged for Teruteru to be the murderer, no matter who ends up dying. And also because I want Makoto to pick up on the assumed subtext of that case.)

"I wasn't in control of that part. Things just played out the way they were meant to."

And then Monokuma butts in, like "Now then! Time for the extra special, heart-pounding punishment!" or whatever that speech is, and the subject is dropped.

After that, Makoto and Hajime bond over their messy feelings about Nagito. When they find out Nagito has been tied up, Makoto is the first to bring up, "But he has to eat! And...go to the bathroom! We can't just dump him in a room and forget about him. Hajime?"

Hajime just looks conflicted. It's not like he wanted them to tie Nagito up, but dumping him in a room and forgetting about him sounds better than having to deal with what happened between them.

Mahiru is the one who says, "Makoto's right; it's wrong to just tie him up and leave him there without food." (Maybe to Kazuichi and Nekomaru, she adds, "And if you two are going to start acting like wild animals this early on, then you should run your decisions by the rest of us before acting on your own.")

And I don't want to steal Mahiru's moment of going to check on Nagito, so I think I'm going to have her suggest to Makoto that he bring Nagito some food, and Hajime tags along when Makoto goes because he feels he shouldn't have to go alone to see the guy who gleefully framed him for murder.

Nagito is super excited to see both of them, and Hajime is just as restrained as in canon, and Makoto is his own version of restrained, which contains a more imploring side than Hajime really has; he still want Nagito to just explain himself and agree to not cause trouble. Really, he wants to just untie him, because he doesn't like seeing him like this, but Hajime is like, "No, this is for the best," and also he doesn't want to cause more violence.

So he just makes a point of visiting Nagito from time to time, to make sure he's okay and not lonely. Chiaki goes with him, so it becomes this weird vibe where Makoto and Chiaki are having free time conversations and Nagito is just tied up and also there. Very much that scene in UDG where he's like, "Ahh, friendship. 😊"

After Nagito is untied, he's in a perpetual state of third-wheeling either Hinaegi, Hinanami, or Naenami. (Especially in investigations.) Actually, a perpetual state of either fourth-wheeling Hajime, Makoto, and Chiaki together, third-wheeling one of those pairings, or pairing himself with whichever one of them is alone at any given time. Like, he pretty explicitly favors their company.

Hajime and Makoto are the closest within that cluster, kind of inevitably, since Nagito is Nagito and Chiaki can't help being a little bit distant. Hajime feels this complex mix of concern that Makoto's willingness to engage with Nagito (or really anyone) is going to get him hurt and worry that he'll trust Makoto and be betrayed again. In a way, he is both scared for and of Makoto, and both of those things require trust.

As for the Chapter 4 stuff, Monokuma still gives them the information on the killing school life at rollercoaster time, before the fun house, so the group at large learns that Makoto was in a previous killing game then. I'll say Nagito finds out that Makoto is the Ultimate Hope from that book, and promptly his treatment of Makoto goes from "You're cool, you exceed my expectations, I believe in you," to "Actually you're amazing; everyone should learn from Makoto; we're so lucky to have him here, even if he's unlucky to be in another killing game."

Whenever he talks to Hajime, during that period of time between finding out about the killing school life and the Final Dead Room, there's a tone of, "You must feel so lucky that you traded up. You almost got stuck being friends with me, but now you're friends with the Ultimate Hope instead. I'm so happy for you! And Makoto made a good choice, too." And whenever he talks to Makoto during that time, there's a tone of, "I'm so lucky you wanted to talk to me! We can talk about anything you like! Ah, you're hungry. That's no good. If you want, I can probably get someone to kill me. That way, you can get out of here! No? Okay, I guess we'll just wait..."

Then after the Final Dead Room, he learns about the Remnants, and he gets super hostile to them and himself. Now, not only is Makoto amazing, but everyone around him is both unworthy of his company and a huge threat to his life.

(I wanted to keep those revelations separate, so that we can see every stage of his treatment of Makoto: the friendly but un-invested way he treats him when he's just another lucky student, the intrigued way he treats him when he might be more, the sycophantic way he treats him when he's the Ultimate Hope, and the fanatically devoted way he treats him when he's the Ultimate Hope among Remnants of Despair.)

His treatment of the others is about the same as in canon, except more wary. In canon, he has scorn for them, but he doesn't particularly have anything to lose to them. He wants the traitor to win, but it's more important that everyone else lose. Now, he has the Ultimate Hope here, and not only is the Ultimate Hope not allowed to die on his watch, but also his own sense of self, and his sense of his own use, has a tangible outlet. He doesn't have to weed anybody out in a last ditch effort to put his life to use.

I think his interactions with Makoto take on a desperately self-destructive edge at this point. Kind of a "You should insult me! Call me trash!" energy. And Makoto is able to diffuse the feverish rambling, but that just takes him down to a low energy, "You really shouldn't waste your valuable attention on someone like me."

But I like to think, with all these raw feelings flying around, Makoto is able to get some honest answers out of Nagito. He might have to go behind Hajime's back to have that conversation, but I think Nagito is so convinced of his own idea of hope that he might expect Makoto to be on his side about the others deserving to die, once he finds out that they're Remnants of Despair.

In fact, telling him might be a despair thing, too; kind of punishing himself by, in his view, making sure that Makoto hates him and wants him dead. That way, Makoto will agree to let Nagito help him win this game, as hope is meant to triumph over despair, and he can finally do something right with his life.

But of course, Makoto doesn't react the way he expects; he doesn't want anyone dead.

#danganronpa #makoto in sdr2 au #makoto naegi #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #chiaki nanami #komahinaegi #komaegi #hinaenami

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