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soriseerakyra · 5 months

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Nice To Meet You -20-

TW: Mentions of death due to illness, implication of torture and kidnapping, murder. Slight gore.

Kristen believed that most American platitudes were made to keep the people docile. There was no other explanation that she could reasonably understand. People didn't like to be told that the world was against them. That the hand that was dealt to them when they were born would be the plight they kept when they died. That's why she couldn't help but roll her eyes whenever someone told her that hard work would pay off. For whom? And when?

The only thing that she truly believed in was the fact that time was money. And she had had little of either. Her earliest memories were of the rush that her mother was always in. A rush to wake her and her brothers up and get them off to school. A rush to get to work. A rush to prepare her father's dinner. And a rush for Kristen to go up sooner rather than later. The summer Kristen turned ten, she understood why her mother had always been in a rush, all the way up until she died—breast cancer.

It hadn't slowed her mother down—not that she was allowed to. Her father either hadn't known his wife was sick or hadn't cared. Kristen had a month to grieve before he gave her the look. A raised eyebrow and frown on his hard face. She hadn't realized it, but her brothers had been giving it to her too. And in the pit of her stomach, she realized she had rather quickly become a mother of three two weeks before her tenth birthday.

There was always so much to do, never enough time, and never enough help. Not that she could ask for it anyway. She did "woman's work now." Even though she didn't feel like a woman and that her work didn't feel any less important than what her father did.

When she did find herself at school, she could barely keep herself awake enough to pay attention. To do the bare minimum felt like pushing a boulder uphill. But her teachers passed her anyway, and after her third year of barely making it, she realized that it wasn't their sympathy for her situation that was keeping them from failing. They saw themselves in her. A person being ground to the bone burnt out before she would even graduate high school. She hadn't even been tossed into the meat grinder that was adult life yet. They couldn't bring themselves to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

It wasn't until she finished squeaking by in high school that she realized that she didn't have to be like her mother, her teachers, or, God forbid, her sorry excuse for a father. There was more out there. She could have more and be more.

Out of all the phrases, the one that she found the dumbest was the adage that money couldn't buy happiness. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to laugh. Since pulling herself from under her father's thumb and scrounging a living out in Gotham, she had seen more than enough to know that money was happiness. And she would do anything that it would take to get hers.

In Gotham, she had seen every end of the spectrum. Poor, wealthy, insane and poor, megalomaniacal and wealthy. And while being poor in Gotham wasn't something that she'd wish on her worst enemy, being wealthy in Gotham could get you anything.

Her time catering to her father and brothers had given her one skill she'd be ever grateful for, and that was to anticipate others' needs. To know what they wanted before they knew they wanted it. And in Gotham, she found that she had a ready-made clientele that had just been waiting for someone like her.

For those few in society who had always known wealth, always known luxury, and had never had so much as a brush with want, money made the world mundane.

And for the obscenely wealthy, combating the mundane is something they would throw an endless amount of money at.

And Kristen could do that. Find things, people, places, and activities that were out of the ordinary.

The problem with most procurers of the extraordinary was that they had morals. Some lines that they weren't willing to cross. Kristen was not bound by such things. She had experienced enough in her life to know that the true wants of human nature tended toward the dark side, and she knew exactly how to appease them.

She was lucky to find such a treasure in Gotham, and it was part of the reason that no matter how successful she got, she would never leave.

Still, she wasn't successful just because she had a niche product. She was a salesman at heart and a damn good one too. Better than her so-called bosses anyway. All of the clients that the firm had come on her ability to sell herself to the customer. Carlisle would have floundered without her—a pride that she tried hard to hide. Sure, she played at being a secretary, but this was her true passion. Where she truly shined.

Before the body hits the floor, it wavers for a second. Head slumping forward and dragging the body down to the ground with its momentum. A pool of dark liquid forms where the body lies. The pool of liquid lies stagnant for a moment before it seemingly starts to hiss. Then it begins to writhe as it changes color and bubbles up.

The crowd of onlookers looks back in fascination as the body begins its strange rotting process in front of them.

She can see them now. Their mouths pulled tight in anticipation, pupils blown with hunger, fists clenching as the implications of what was just shown to them. They are all ready to devour what she has to offer; she just has to name her price. But Kristen isn't a fool. She can bait a one-time customer easily, but she needs repeat clientele.

The screen behind her unfolds as the hum of a projector cuts through the air. Her captive audience looks up at the screen in front of them, and gasps ring out through the room.

"That's me!" someone screams out. She can't tell who; the lights of her little stage play aren't conducive to recognizing faces. But she'll have their identity soon enough.

"Oh, my God!" Another person screams out. "Clara's not even in the country!"

More and more murmurs of recognition ring through the crowd, a frenzy of chatter and excitement running through the attendees as their minds run rampant with possibilities.

The image flickers to an image of a man with fashionably cut brown hair. He's chatting happily with a woman at the bar with a cocktail in his hand. It's Geoffrey, a low-level account manager who was eager for promotion. And as such, he was willing to consent to anything that was asked of him, even if he was asked to sign a suspiciously long and overly complicated contract.

"As you can see, Geoffrey is alive and well." She starts smoothly. "Luckily for him, he'll never know the fate of his well."

Kristen looks down at the slowly dissolving body and steaming puddle. She kicks it lightly with her heel and gives a sly look to the audience.

"Other self."

As she finishes, she gets a bit of a chuckle from the audience, all of them primed and ready to hang on to whatever it is that has to sell them.

"Unless, of course," she walks to one of the captives on stage and removes a good. "I'm lying."

The same young man on the screen, laughing, is currently bent on stage with his hands tied behind his back. Wrists chafing against his rope tidings as he strains out a scream into the cloth gag of his mouth. He shakes as he tries to understand where he is, but some lights are blinding him. He can barely see the woman next to him, let alone the crowd that is in front of him.

"Who knows?" she croons as she watches the boy shake in front of her.

For a moment, the room is silent again as she presses the barrel of the gun to the back of the young man's head.

She can hear them all breathing. The young man next to her was whimpering with fear. Her captive audience huffed in anticipation like the animals they were, eager to see what color liquid came out of the poor boy's head. She quickly pulls the weapon away from the boy and holsters it on her ankle.

Both the boy and the crowd slump when she puts it away.

"But tonight, for the right price, someone in this room gets to find out who is the real one and who is fake."

Kristen can't wait for the clamoring.

She casts a sly gaze on the other four captives, who are all in various states of distress. "And of course, Geoffrey is only the opening act for tonight. We have a whole show planned."

She walks to the front of the stage, arms outstretched in invitation.

' This must be what it feels like to be a star'

It's all she can think of as her audience begins to yell their price. A shiver runs down her spine in ecstasy. The pleasure of knowing what she's accomplished tonight is almost enough to outweigh the yanking in her heart. She doesn't falter for a moment, though, not even when the yanking feels unbearable. If anything, she can only smile wider. If tonight is successful, even her boss will be pleased.

***

If you chewed on your lip anymore, you were sure that it would start bleeding. To say you were worried was too loose of a term.

What had you gotten them into?

At least out here, you could think. It was too much to be inside the manor. Everything felt oppressive -- heavy. Not that it wasn't beautiful; there was just a weight haunting the place. A grief that seemed to scream through the walls. And with your anxiety, you weren't really in a place to mentally deal with it.

Out here, though, in the garden, you've found a little bit of peace. Save for a few flowering patches of white blossoms, there was not nearly the same amount of weight out here as there was on the inside. The implication was there, of course. The hedges were cut to impersonal, perfect rectangles and ovals, and with the occasional tree offering shade, the garden itself was more like an oversized lawn than anything. And that was perfect for you right now. Later, maybe you would interrogate the owner over the lack of foliage or any kind of scheme for this patch of nature. But right now, as you find yourself perched on a stone bench, you are grateful for the lack of anything obtrusive. Because from Wayne Manor's gardens, you could see clearly across the city. And while you didn't have supervision, you could swear you could almost see your apartment building from here. Camille's brownstone too.

The thought causes you to bite the inside of your cheek in distress. So much has happened, almost too much.

When this was all over, how were you ever supposed to go back to normal? How was she? While you somehow find yourself at the center of whatever whacked scheme is occurring, you will never understand what Camille has gone through since being abducted. How was she? How was her baby? What were they doing to her? You hadn't had the heart to call her fiancé, Brian, back after the abduction. What could you say to someone who was likely grieving the loss of both his wife and child? The possible loss of them both was not something that you were ready to process, and you probably would never be.

You let your eyes run over the skyscrapers, taking in all that you could of the Gotham skyline. You never let your eyes wander too far, not toward the harbor, or at least in the direction of it. Even with this view of the city, you couldn't see that far out, but your heart knew what was in that direction, and it beat erratically with worry every time your gaze so much as drifted toward that direction.

It seemed like hours since they had left. And while you know that you shouldn't worry, especially since this is their job,

"Bruce and Jason are fine, you know."

"Ah!"

You jump.

A steadying hand grabs your arm and pulls you back toward the stone of the bench you were sitting on.

Kind blue eyes look at you with a slight apology as twitching lips try to quiet a laugh.

Bruce had left Dick Grayson in charge of both you and Damian before he left. A part of you felt slightly irritated at the notion of needing a babysitter, but you quickly realized that his presence was more for your comfort than your protection. The likelihood that someone would abduct you from Wayne Manor was slim. But you alone, with your thoughts, wouldn't have gone well, and you both knew. It's not like you would rely on Damian to reassure your rampaging mind. He's a child, and you wouldn't alleviate your trauma by forcing him to be around you. Besides, he was still very skittish around you, preferring to only make an appearance when you could bait him with sweet treats. Like baiting a stray kitten. And Alfred was kind, but every time you spoke to him, you realized there was a strange look in his eye. You weren't sure if calculating was the right word for it. Questioning perhaps? As if he was wondering just how long you would be around for. You imagined you wouldn't feel the breadth of his warmth until he determined whether you would be a permanent fixture of his employer's life or not. So yes, perhaps leaving Dick Grayson to accompany was the right move.

"Don't laugh," you say, hearing the slight whine in your voice as a frown pulls at your lips. This was at least the third time he's snuck up on you.

"Sorry," he says with a chuckle. "You were off in La-La land, I called your name like three times first."

You let out a sigh.

"I know it's nerve-wracking," he says quickly. "But they'll be back, at least by the time you wake up."

It's not the first time that he's said something like this tonight, and you get the feeling that he's trying to get you to go to sleep. So that when you wake up in the morning, everything will be alright. He's good. The most emotionally mature of the four you've met, although you aren't sure how much of a compliment that is. Neither Bruce nor Jason would know the meaning of "opening up" if it punched them in the face. And while you wouldn't judge Damien too harshly considering he was a child, you weren't too careful to admit that you would find him insufferable if you didn't want to pinch his cheeks so much. You were sure there was some sort of ache within Dick, too. No matter how much he smiled, there was always a little bit of hollowness in his eyes. An ache that you weren't sure stemmed from his nights of crime fighting, but you know wasn't exactly helped by it either.

"It's not like I'm worried about their capabilities, you know," you start after you begin to mull over the words you wanted to say. "It's the guilt that's getting me."

"Abooouut?" he questions playfully, his legs stretching out as he folds his arms behind his head and looks up at the stars.

For the first time throughout the night, you look at something other than the Gotham skyline.

"Oh wow," you say with a tinge of awe in your voice. You'd been so busy, wrapped in your head, that you hadn't considered your position. You are outside of the city for the first time since you moved cross-country. The lights of the city usually dull the night sky; all but the brightest of stars are lost to pollution. Here you can see the twinkling of the stars and the faint outlines of constellations. It brings a smile to your face. You used to love looking up at the sky with your family.

You cast a glance at the boy next to you; he doesn't press, but he still has a questioning look in his eye, waiting for you to answer the question.

"I voted yes to move here, you know?" You start with a huff. You can feel your toes curl anxiously in your shoes. "I voted that I should move here from San Francisco, and now all this has happened."

"That's not-,"

"Camille voted no. She didn't want to leave. She loved the city, the bay, and the people."

One of her favorite things had been to wake up early on a Saturday morning and drive. Whether it was going down to LA for a concert or finding a trail to go hiking in the redwoods, you had taken that away from her.

"And now, we moved here, and people from my company are terrorizing this place!"

Weight, it felt like so much of it was on your shoulders. And the thing that made you feel even worse was the fact that you couldn't even solve the problem if you tried. They say there's no use crying over spilled milk, but what else are you supposed to do when you can't even clean it up?

He doesn't say anything, and for a moment, your anxiety begins to gnaw at the back of your mind. 'Is he thinking I'm at fault too?'

The sting is unexpected, and it stuns you for a moment before heat begins to radiate from the center of your back. Then comes the pain.

Your shoulders snap back unexpectedly fast, almost as fast as the slap on the back you received from the young man sitting across from you.

Dick looks at you with comically large, sheepish eyes as he hides the offending hand behind his back.

"Y-you," you start with a gasping realization.

"I-it was supposed to be like a cheer-up thing," he squeaks out quickly. "I wasn't trying to hit you. I mean, I was, but not that hard."

Still, even with his panicked tone, he can't hide the slight playfulness of his tone or the twitching of the corner of his mouth that lets you know that he'd rather be laughing than apologizing.

It strikes something in you—something familiar. And your body reacts before you can understand what's happening.

The thumb and forefinger are primed in a well-practiced position. And perhaps because he didn't expect any real form of realization, he is left to the mercy of your type of grip on his cheek.

"I can't believe you just hit me," you say, pulling his cheek in irritation.

"Ow!"

"You can't just go around hitting people!"

"What do you mean? I do that all the time!"

The two of you share a look.

"Pbst-"

You laugh, both of you. And for a moment, it feels like you can forget your troubles. A moment of happiness in your grief.

"I was going to go for your ear," you admit.

"Like a grandma?" He questions with disbelief.

It gives way to another round of snickers.

As the bubbles of amusement die down in your chest, you feel your shoulders slack. A wave of tension that'd been keeping you awake, snapping.

Your companion shoots you a knowing look accompanied by a triumphant smirk. You'd only seen the like on your younger brother's faces whenever they thought they'd gotten the better of you. Whenever they'd thought they'd be able to get away with saying, "I told you so."

You slap his arm.

"Didn't we agree that hitting people is wrong?" he says with mock offense.

"Only when you do it," you correct. You roll your shoulder to prove a point, your flesh is still slightly sensitive.

"Ah."

The lull gives him enough time to recollect his thoughts. To return to the real reason why the two of you were out here.

"It sucks," he starts honestly. "To know that there is somebody you care about being hurt and you can't do anything about it."

You listen quietly, seeing the subtle ticks of his features as he tries to reconcile the emotions behind the advice he's giving you.

"But the only thing you should probably feel bad about is being a poor judge of character."

He can barely keep serious for more than a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, seriously, your boss didn't give you icky 'I-kidnap-people-for-fun' vibes?"

You force your lips into a pressed line to keep the small smile from pulling at your lips.

He throws up his hands in mock surrender.

"Bad guys are gonna do what they do. Something tells me that this would have happened whether you guys stayed or not. At least now you hear from us. And we might not be the sanest people either, but I still think we're pretty cool."

"Hey," you scold, an unserious frown coming to your lips. "I'm older than you, you know. I should be the one giving you rational adult advice. I used to be good at it too."

"I bet you were great at it," he says with an easy smile and a crinkle of his eyes. "And I'll ask you for some when I need to make a pound cake or something. But on this stuff, I've got you beat."

His words make sense—more than you would allow. And you want to let them into your mind and absolve yourself of the guilt. But there is always that little voice in the back of your head telling you the opposite.

You barely have time to process your feelings before you hear a rustle in the bushes.

"Oh shit," the exasperated tone of the young man next to you gives you a clue about what's going on.

And the dull colors of red and yellow running from one bush to another confirms it.

"Damian does this all the time, doesn't he?" you say with slight disbelief. He was like a cat, coming and going as he pleased.

"Yeah, I suggested putting a leash on him, but what do I know?"

He stands quickly, and you realize he intends to go and retrieve his brother. He gives you a look, one that urges you back inside, as he had asked many times earlier that night.

You smile at him, and he lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. It seems that in a short time, he's gotten good at reading you. He knows that you have no intention of going inside. But you decide to give him a little bit of peace, something that alludes to the fact that you'll get at least a little rest tonight.

"Make sure you bring him back before it's too late in the morning; I'm making biscuits."

He gives you a mock salute: "Yes, ma'am."

He's gone quickly after that, and you're alone in the garden again. Alone with your thoughts.

'Now I just have to wait for everyone to come home.'

Home...?

Oh, that's new.

#####

#bruce wayne x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #bruce imagine #batman #dc universe #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #batfam

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deathinfeathers · 1 year

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Guidelines

Introduction

Hello and welcome to my humble RP blog! You can call me Cinna (they/them Pronouns please), your friendly neighborhood autism creature who exclusively writes fucked up pieces of flaming garbage! I am in my mid twenties with a solid fifteen-ish years of writing experience under my belt. If spending the brunt of my mortal existence on tumblr has taught me anything it is the importance of curating your online experience to the best of your ability so we are very much private and selective in this neck of the woods! Before you engage with the characters you will find lurking on this blog, please make sure that you are not a child! All children will be corralled into the pit and made to fight to the death for my own, personal amusement! Thank you!

I am exceptionally mentally ill and will run and hide for weeks on end for literally no reason whatsoever! I am sorry I am hard to get a hold of OOC! Being perceived terrifies me but I love you all the same!

Content warnings

On this blog you may find mentions/implications (but no graphic depictions) of the following:

Child exploitation and grooming, CSA, SA, r*pe, suicide

You may find graphic depictions of the following:

Religous themes, systematic religous brainwashing, child soldiers, internalized misogyny, blood, gore, violence, abuse, fetishization of death and murder, cannibalism, torture, toxic and abusive relationships (work/romantic/familial), substance abuse, sexual themes and settings, sex as a coping mechanism, mental illness, PTSD, anxiety and panic attacks, stockholm syndrome, (fictional) hate speech, death, kidnapping, stalking, body horror, religious abuse and torture, cult-ish themes and settings, hard drug use, suicidal ideation, self harm

This blog is, in a big way, dedicated to the in-depth exploration of many uncomfortable topics. Keep this in mind before you follow.

Roleplay etiquette

This should go without saying but please refrain from godmodding/taking control over my character in our interactions, this includes auto hitting in violent/confrontational situations. No info-modding or meta-gaming, your character should not be able to glean information out of any internal dialog unless they can straight up read minds (in which case I would like to be made aware of this power beforehand). Remember that the muse and her values and behaviors are not a reflection of the writer. I do not agree with or condone 90% of the things that she says and does--her actions are not to be glorified or romanticized, Lute is absolutely meant to be viewed as a villain.

Interactions

Friends/mains will always take priority when it comes to threads--some of you may find this unfair but RP is a hobby and I reserve the right to engage with it In whatever way is most fun and fulfilling for myself. Don't let this discourage you from approaching if you have a plot in mind or sending in memes/starters. I'm happy to run with all sorts of stories and scenarios granted I'm given an idea to work off of. That being said, I am incredibly disorganized so threads have a tendency to slip through the cracks, don't be afraid to (politely) remind me of our interaction when this happens. I will reblog memes somewhat regularly but OOC plotting is my personal preference. I tend to struggle scrounging up enough motivation for threads with no clear direction. Lute is a character who shines the most when she is acting as an obstacle or an uplifting force to the people around her. She thrives poorly in slice-of-life type of scenarios, please keep this in mind.

Fight scenes

As a general rule, I won't write figh scenes with sinner muses. Lute isn't somebody that mortal souls are meant to be able to fight off—as the first lieutenant of the heavenly host she wouldn't be much of a threat if she sat around their power level. This isn't something I see myself budging on unless you have very solid reasoning for why you think your sinner could take her on. Same goes for the hellborn, lower class angels and humans. That being said, if your muse (sinner/human/anyone weaker than Lute) goes out of their way to taunt or harass her she will respond with violence. Keep this in mind before you go pushing her buttons.

Shipping

Ah, shipping, the magical thing which makes the rpc go 'round! Lute is not easy to ship with, like, at all! I wouldn't call her unshippable necessarily but you must be aware that she is an incredibly twisted and broken individual, ergo, any relationship she finds herself being a part of is at major risk of becoming unbalanced and/or toxic. I am very, very, veryveryvery picky with her romantic candidates as a result. Do not try to force ship with her, that is a surefire to be irrevocably crossed off as a potential partner. Lute has a tendency to develop crushes on a very specific type of people--do not take this as a sign that I'm trying to push a ship on you--it's just a character quirk that she has. Shipping will never take priority over the overarching plot of this blog. Again, Lute isn't a character who does well in domestic situations, tension, action and conflict is where it's at for her.

Smut

I will write smut on rare occasions, mostly on sindays. I exclusively write this type of content with longtime mutuals. Feel free to ask me for a link to my NSFW blog.

Drama

As a rule of thumb: don't. If there's a problematic individual you feel I should be made aware of, address the issue with me OOC. That's all I have to say on the matter. I like to keep my space as drama/discourse free as possible.

Blocking

Please hardblock me when you unfollow! I have a very poor memory so it's not unlikely that I might refollow if you fail to do this. If you happen to find yourself blocked by me, rest assured that it is very rarely a personal matter. Chances are I just don't see us vibing or you're somebody that i decided to unfollow for one reason or another. All the same, block evading is not cool if there's a legit reason behind it (and you will be made aware if there is). Please don't do that!

Thank you for reading my guidelines. This list will be expanded upon as I see fit!

#Guidelines

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wolffyluna · 3 months

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Homeland by RA Salvatore Liveblog

Help, I have fallen back into the Drizzt pit and can't get up.

Under a cut for child abuse and attempted sexual assault.

I'm copy-pasting this from discord. Ellipses differentiate liveblogs that were done at different times.

I'm rereading the first Drizzt novel. It was one of the book series I loved loved loved when I was young. I am simultaneously going:

oh my God, this world building. Your legal system cannot run on vibes, sir. The implied gender ratio is hilarious (drow nobles want lots of kids, but every son after the second is killed, so a family having four daughters and two sons is pretty normal. Oh, and it's implied that polyandry is a Status Symbol)

oof ow argh, man hands misery onto man! It deepens like a coastal shelf! 😭

I'm still at the beginning, but drizzt is being raised by his older sister, and she is heavily encouraged to physically abuse him. There's a point where she thinks "wow, what could this kid achieve if we weren't breaking his spirit. ... wait, that's a blasphemous thought, I should punish him for making me think that." And Drizzt is taught to believe that surface elves are the source of all of his problems, to the point that whenever he's whipped he "cries out for the death of a [surface elf]" These people all could have been fine if they lived in a reasonable society! 😭

The book is divided into parts, and at the beginning of each part there's a section of Drizzt monologing as if he's giving an interview

And in the one where he's talking about his childhood, he both talks about PTSD-flashbacks-in-so- many-words and also "presumably things happened before I was sixteen? I remember basically none of that though" which. Baby. Let me scoop you up into a hug even though you are a century(?) old dark elf who is presumably taller than me.

...

The only way the drow gender ratio doesn't fall flat is a) the implication that commoners don't do that, so maybe their gender ratios are less of a disaster and b) it looks like only the female heads of the family can take consorts/have children, so polyandry is a little more possible

Though this does, like, raise the question of "so, you are the daughter of a matron mother, and you fall pregnant. what do you do?"

...

It's legal for a drow house to attack another in secret. It is illegal to do it openly. The justification is that Lolth likes it that way (This is a logic that underpins a lot of the drow legal system) And it could be made sensible with just one small change: Every drow house wants to be able to attack another, but wants no other house to be able to attack them. So they created norms where you can't just attack people, if you did that the whole city would fall on you ...but if you can do it with plausible deniability...

...

I have now re-witnessed the beautiful, beautiful scene where a wizard panics* and casts fireball at his own feet

*he would say he was very tactical, I do not believe him

[Seriously, I have remembered this scene fondly for years. It's Such A Scene.]

...

Oh my God Masoj just encouraged someone to take the identity of someone he [the other guy] just killed. Masoj completely failed to mention that the dead guy was his brother.

...

DRIZZT QQ

His dad just tried and failed to kill him to try and maintain his innocence.

I have so many feelings about Zaknafein.

Just. The combination of "Zaknafein was a major role model to Drizzt and is a significant part of why Drizzt is good" and "Zaknafein is Not A Very Good Person." Man.

...

Lov Drizzt

He just nearly got murdered, but he doesn't care, because KITTY!

Drizzt is this xkcd comic

...

I remembered the sex pollen scene, but man did I not remember/parse how much it was a dub-to-non con sex pollen scene

...

Something that is also getting to me on this re-read: the amount that the men of the Do'Urden family 🐛 assist with their family members whipping them, or literally taking them as a sacrifice. Because resistance would only make it worse, and this way at least you have some control

There's a really telling passage where Briza is torturing Dinin for no real reason, and he's just like. okay. i'm not going to get in the way of this process. And he actively positions himself to make it easier.

...

Help, I'm combining my love of "what if popular but misapplied blorbo song, but correctly applied?" with the Legends of Drizzt series: Eat Your Young is a valid Malice/Zaknafein song

There is no capitalism, but there is a lot of zero sum resource fights, and a lot of the conflict between these chatacters is their children being used in those zero sum resource fights.

Zaknafein has a lot of conflict about whether it's better for his son to be eaten by drow society, or dead And there's a thing where both Zaknafein and Drizzt are/are meant to be sacrifices to Lolth, at Malice's hands

Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

And there's also the whole thing of-- Zaknafein and Malice's life is luxurious, but that's at a cost. There are no skeletons in the closet because they are displaying the skeletons openly as part of the decor

...

The Drizzt He destroyed his cage Yes YES The Drizzt is out

...

The thing about Homeland in particular is how it is simultaneously man hands on misery onto man, it deepens like a coastal shelf and how it is so much about it's opposite (it ascends like a volcano?) Drizzt could not be who is he is, could not be good, without Zaknafein.

But he's. Better than Zaknafein. Because of Zaknafein.

And there's the tragedy of the fact that if their roles were reversed, it would be Drizzt bring Zaknafein up into the light.

But. Well. Drizzt would still have to die down in the dark

...

...hmm.. I'm encountering a tempting bad idea: 50 books in a year is a doable challenge. There are 40 Drizzt books. Ergo, one could hypothetically read all the Drizzt books in one year.

#wolffy reads drizzt

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boredfangirl16 · 2 years

Text

Forced Confessions

Sept 2 of Alastember: Hurt/Comfort

TW: forced coming out

“Why were you following Thomas Lightwood on the night of the murder?” Asks the Inquisitor.

Alastair is bending under the weight of the Mortal Sword. It’s painful to hold even if he is speaking the truth. Let alone when he tries to answer a question like the one just presented to him without saying anything about his feelings for the other man.

“I wanted to protect him,” Alastair says in the steadiest voice he can muster. His chin is tilted upwards and all signs of pain in his face disappear. “Is it not our job to protect fellow shadowhunters?”

The audience to this interrogation includes not only the inquisitor and the consul, but Will Herondale, Tessa Gray, Gideon Lightwood, Sophie Collins, and Eugenia Lightwood. Before the Mortal Sword arrived, Leviathan attacked. The battle had ended less than a mere hour ago, but the people are on edge, so the questioning started as soon as possible. Thankfully because of this, it is an impromptu questioning and doesn’t warrant all of the esteemed members of the Clave. Not that he cares about the majority of them, only one persistent red head. He doesn’t know what he would say under this influence with Charles before him.

“A noble reason,” the Consul nods. “But I must inquire how you knew of his secret patrols or why you thought this night in particular he would be in danger?”

“I was on a walk late one Thursday night and saw him out and about by himself. After a few weeks I noticed there was a pattern to the days he went out and followed him each opportunity I could,” Alastair says dragging out each of his words. He hates the way the sword makes him speak. ”I had no clue that this night in particular he would be in danger. I’ve been following him for weeks.”

Eyebrows raise, but no one comments on how strange of a confession that was. He doesn’t dare to look at Thomas.

“And you didn’t inform his family or friends of his whereabouts? Or the Clave of his reckless behavior? Why?” The Inquisitor questions with a harsh voice.

“I am not on particularly good terms with his friends nor his family,” Alastair pushes out. It was the closest to lying that the sword would allow him. “I did not want the Clave to punish him for actions with noble intent.”

“You are not on good terms with his friends or family, yet you followed him for weeks. What compelled you to do such a thing?” The Inquisitor asks. He can answer that vaguely. It was worded in such a way that he just may be able to avoid certain answers. “What is your relationship to Thomas Lightwood?” Bloody hell.

Alastair has only a moment to hold back his words and he takes that time to look at Thomas. His face has gone sheet white. He knows the implications of that last question as much as Alastair himself does. The only thing he can do is save Thomas from any incrimination. Alastair’s fate was sealed the moment the question was asked, but Thomas’s doesn’t have to be.

“I have romantic feelings for Thomas Lightwood,” he says as he closes his eyes. The sword keeps pulling at him and words just flow from his mouth. “Our relationship is complicated given—.”

“That is enough, Alastair Carstairs,” says the consul, interrupting whatever damning thing he was about to say about their relationship. He still doesn’t open his eyes. “This questioning has moved onto unrelated matters. Based on the answers to the questions we have presented, I can conclude that both Thomas Lightwood and Alastair Carstairs are innocent in the crime of the London serial killings.”

The sword is heavy, but no longer pulls at him. It is a small relief, but given his confession it does little to ease the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. He may not have wanted to be anyone’s secret, but this is not the way he wanted this to go about. His choice was ripped away from him by that damned sword and there was not a thing he could do to stop it.

Alastair finally opens his eyes to see he faces of the onlookers to this trial. The consul looks just slightly remorseful, as if she actually feels bad about the whole thing. The Herondales look mildly surprised, but there is glint to Will’s eyes that tells Alastair he isn’t all that shocked. Eugenia’s eyes dart between the boys as if she could determine what is between them by look alone. Thomas’s parents have wide eyes and open mouths. Yet it is the inquisitor that truly frightens Alastair. If he wasn’t in attendance today, there might’ve been a small chance that his secret would have never let the people in this room. The look on Bridgestock’s face tells him that won’t be true.

“Are we excused?” Alastair asks. The sword still sitting in his hands like a rock anchoring him to this room.

“Yes,” the consul says. “You are both excused.”

She walks over to take the sword from his hands and Alastair darts out of the room the minute it is gone.

Before he is out of earshot he does hear the inquisitor say, “We can’t just let him go. He admitted under the sword that is one of those vile bohemians—.”

Alastair runs out of the institute. He runs down the streets. He doesn’t even bother to rune himself, so that mundane don’t see him. All he can do is hold in the tears that threaten to come at any moment. All that he did and sacrificed his childhood for, has been ruined. The Carstairs name wasn’t defiled by Elias’s drinking problem, but by Alastair’s own preferences. This world is cruel and unfair in ways that Alastair has been dealing with since he was nine years old. Yet each time that it hurts him, he is surprised all the same.

He darts into the Carstairs home and locks the door behind him. There is no one here, but him. His mother and Risa are in the silent city, which is a small blessing. They won’t be pestering him about the day’s trial. Cordelia has a husband and will be doing well at their new home. There is no reason she should visit him here.

So, he lets down all his walls and sobs. He falls against the door like a small child, curling into himself. Tears run down his face as his breathe hiccups at the extent of his pain. There is no one here to judge him for doing such a thing. No one to tell him that it isn’t manly to cry or feel anything other than anger. He screams. Again and again and again.

He does one good thing, one selfless thing and this is what he gets in return. All he wanted to do was save Thomas from his own idiotic actions. He just didn’t want him to die. Now look at him. He’s about to be outcasted to the fringes of society, even more so than he already was. Not only is he a Persian man, but of course he also has to be gay. It wasn’t like he already had enough setting him apart from others.

Yet what really hurts is that he didn’t get a choice. It was taken from him in an instant. The news will spread like wildfire and the entire London Enclave will know of his feelings for Thomas. What hell will the Thieves release upon him at that news? It is all so frustrating. It is all so impossible. Is it so much to ask that if he was to ever tell others, he would have wished to do it on his own time? That he wanted to sit down with his maman and Risa, explaining his feelings for someone he is forbidden to love. None of that could ever come to fruition.

His breathe stills for a moment as an ‘unless’ starts to creep into his mind.

Alastair looks up from his spot on the floor and at the clock on the wall. It’s been a good few hours since he arrived. It may be late, but the silent brothers don’t have strict hours of business. News won’t travel down there as fast as it does here. There is still a chance he could get to his maman and tell her himself. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the closest he’ll get to having a choice in the matter.

He looks down at his torn clothes. That won’t do.

As quick as he can Alastair changes into new pants, a white button up, and a decent waistcoat. It’s nothing flashy, but he no longer looks as if he was just attacked by demons. He runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to get it to clam down just a little. It’s still strange seeing it black after he dyed it for the past or so. He still isn’t quite sure if he likes it better or not, but he knows he can’t run forever. He can’t run from the color of his skin, and he can’t run from his taste in men. Better to confront the problem than let it fester for any longer.

He dashed down the stairs and the opens up the door, only to be confronted by one tall, handsome man. The handsome man that got him into his predicament. Not that it’s his fault.

“Alastair,” Thomas says in surprise. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?“ Alastair snaps. Thomas flinches and he regrets his words. “What happened isn’t your fault, but I think we should stay away from each other for the time being.”

“What? Why?”

Alastair tilts up his chin and rebuilds his walls as quick as they were torn down. His reputation may be shatters, but Thomas’s doesn’t have to be.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before word spreads of my affliction. If you stay close to me, you’ll be under as much suspicion as I am. I’m not going to let you throw away your life for someone as terrible as I am,” Alastair says. “It’s best I get on my way.”

“But—,” Thomas tries to say.

“No,” Alastair interrupts. “It isn’t possible, it won’t ever be.”

Thomas reaches for Alastair’s hands and holds them. “I am already under suspicion,” Thomas said rubbing circles with the pads of his fingers. Such a delicate touch for such a large man. “I do not care what they think. Dooset daaram, Alastair Esfandiyar Carstairs. I will not let you go.”

Alastair had no clue that Thomas spoke Persian, let alone that he knew how to say ‘I love you’ in the language. His system flooded with shock at the words. It had been many years since he had those words from anyone in Farsi.

“I didn’t know that you could speak Farsi,” Alastair points out stupidly.

“I can. I learned it with Lucie when she was doing it for Cordelia. I think I was secretly doing it for you the entire time without knowing it.” Thomas looks at him with love and warmth. “But I do and you don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know that I’m serious about this, about us.”

Alastair whispers, “There shouldn’t be an us.”

“But there is.”

Alastair meets Thomas’s eyes. “I need time to think, Thomas. I was just outed to the entire clave and I need time. I need to tell my maman and Risa before they hear it from anyone else.”

“Of course,” Thomas quickly. “I understand and I’m not trying to make you give me an answer now. I just don’t want you to push me away completely.”

Alastair knew that he should run away while he still can, before he’s completely fallen. It’s what would be best for Thomas. Alastair does not deserve love like his. Yet he cannot help but be intrigued by it. He’s pulled into his orbit against his will and kept there because there is nothing else. There is no one else that will love him like Thomas does. So he desperately grabs at frayed strings knowing he should let go. But he doesn’t.

He goes up onto his toes and pecks Thomas on the cheek. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Actually?”

“I promise.”

With that Alastair lets go of Thomas’s hands and starts towards one of the entrances to the Silent City. It’s name is quite fitting. A pin being dropped could be heard from here. The Silent Brothers stand at attention with their eyes and mouths sewn shut. It seems like a fate worse than death.

He arrives at the room he was told that his maman resides. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Fear overtakes his senses.

“Mr. Carstairs,” says Risa from behind him. She’s holding a tray of food with a grin on her face. “It’s been quite an exciting day for you, hasn’t it?”

“What have you heard?” He asks cautiously.

“Only that we’ll have a new son-in-law soon enough,” Risa chuckles. “But don’t worry, Sona doesn’t know quite yet. I was able to keep the news from her ears.”

Alastair looks down. “Do you care?”

He feels a hand on his cheek, lifting his face up. “Alastair Carstairs I have known you since you were the size of a bean, there is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. Now go tell your mother before she tries to escape again. She’s been quite antsy this time around.”

Alastair nods and opens the door. The room is almost completely bare with nothing but a cot, a bedside table, and chair. It’s rather dreary without any decorations or color. His mother lays in bed. Her eyes just barely cracked open. It’s evident she’s in pain, even if she is trying to hide it.

“Alastair?” She asks as she sits up against the bed frame. “Whatever are you doing here?”

He doesn’t know where to start. Should he just blurt the words out? Does he need to ease the news in? Will she be disappointed? What if it causes her more stress and hurts the baby? Alastair takes a deep breathe. She’ll hear either way, better it be from him. He can’t back out now.

“I was tried by the Mortal Sword today,” he says slowly. Sona raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t about anything I’ve done.” He assure her. “I was confirming that Thomas Lightwood isn’t the murderer that’s been roaming the streets of London.”

He pauses. This is more difficult than he thought it would be.

“Alright,” his maman says. She looks more confused than anything. “Did something happen during this trial? You seem bothered.”

Alastair closes his eyes, just like he did when the Mortal Sword was in his hands. “They asked me why I followed him around on his lunatic solo patrols at night. I couldn’t lie, the truth was ripped from my mouth.” He takes one last deep breathe. “I have romantic feelings for him.”

There’s silence. It’s like a black hole he’s getting sucked up in.

“Open your eyes, joon,” his maman says. Reluctantly he does.

His mother’s hands grips his shoulders. Her eyes bore into his soul.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m surprised and I’m not sure I completely understand,” she says. “But know this, you are my son. Nothing can ever change that. I know I haven’t always been the best mother, but I am so proud of you. And if this makes you happy, then who am I to object?”

Relief washes over Alastair. It’s like a pound of bricks has been lifted off his shoulders in an instant. His eyes well up with tears. Her acceptance is more than he could ever ask for. It’s more than he deserves, really.

“Thank you, maman,” he chokes out.

She smiles at him. “So you do not fancy women at all? Just men?” She asks hesitantly.

“Just men.”

His maman nods. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. “Is Thomas the first boy you’ve liked?”

“No,” Alastair reluctantly says. “I was seeing someone else a few months ago, but I broke it off with him. Thomas is a new development.”

“Who? Do I know him?”

“Charles Fairchild.”

Worry flashes across his mother’s face. “Isn’t he older than you? How long were you two… together?”

“We became friends when I was 14, but we didn’t begin a relationship until I was 16. I went to Paris for my travel year to be with him,” Alastairs says. “I thought it was love. I thought that what he could give me was what I deserved, that it was the best I could do. I was his dirty little secret until I couldn’t stand it another. He was so ashamed of who he was, he got engaged twice during the time we were together. I broke it off at Cordelia’s engagement party.”

His mother wraps her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, my son. You don’t deserve to be treated in such a way. You worth more than you will ever know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He leans into the embrace, burrowing his face into his mother’s shoulder. It feels nice to be held, to be taken care of. He would never admit it, but a few tears do escape his eyes. Then she lets go just enough, so that they can look at each other.

“Has Thomas been kind to you?”

“Much kinder than I deserve.”

“You deserve all the kindness in the world, joon. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. When do I get to meet him?”

“What?” Alastair asks shocked.

“Surely, you planned on introducing him to me. Just because this isn’t orthodox doesn’t mean your maman can’t judge the boy you bring home,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We aren’t officially together,” Alastair explains. “I didn’t want him to get in any trouble because of me. The entire Clave knows about my preferences by now. He may insist that he’s already under suspect and that it’s too late to save his reputation, but I don’t want to be the one to ruin is life.”

“Does it wish to be with you, even knowing all of this?”

“Yes. He’s quite persistent actually.”

“Then what are doing here talking to me?” His mother exclaims. “Go to Thomas, you silly boy. If you love someone, do not let them go.”

Alastair’s heart is filled with warmth. His maman’s words soothe over the pain of the past day. Her acceptance and her love fills Alastair with hope that he hasn’t felt since he was a small boy.

As he pulls away she whispers, “I am very proud of the man you’ve become.”

Alastair can only nod or else he knows that he would start sobbing. He always thought his mother’s love might be conditional, but now he knows that a mother’s love knows no bounds. The good one’s won’t care about the gender their child fancies or the mistakes they have made in their past.

For love isn’t pain and sacrifice, like he was once led to believe. It isn’t always easy, but it’s the most rewarding thing this world can offer.

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #sona carstairs #risa #thomas x alastair #thomastair #alastember #alastember 2022 #fanfiction #tlh #the last hours

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tobi-smp · 2 years

Note

if you got to make one major alteration to the dsmp story, what would it be?

it's simple right

the major themes tying exile, the butcher army, bedrock bros, the green festival, doomsday, and the disc war finale can be split into two ideas:

1: the nature of revenge, and more broadly if lashing out at people is the right thing to do even when it's justified (or feels justified).

2: the choice between people and ideals.

technoblade lashed out at pogtopia during the 16th, effectively cutting ties with every relationship he'd made since he joined the server. he tried to threaten them into following his ideals, promised to come back and destroy them if crossed his beliefs again, and then he left.

and then he went into retirement. and then he opened up to philza about the voices, and how they encourage his violence but that he’s Trying to become a better person now. [Link] and the implication this was trying to set is clear isn’t it? he had time to sit on what happened, and he chose to try to live a different way.

and then there’s the butcher army. to be frank, they were a bunch of scared teenagers and young adults faced with a Real Direct Threat in the form of dream. a serial killer, mass murderer, and abuser who was already dead set on destroying and controlling them but was having fun drawing it out for a Game. they weren’t wrong to be scared, they weren’t wrong to be paranoid, because the monster that they were afraid of was real. they did, however, Make A Mistake.

the narrative framing for the butcher army is not a favorable one, despite the fact that we can understand Why they were afraid of technoblade. they knew how powerful he was, they knew he was angry with them, and the last thing he’d done was threaten them. (and that’s not even to mention the red festival, the pit, things that they would’ve taken personally). but they were still choosing Murder in a bid for power.

power isn’t inherently moral or immoral. to make positive change you need power, to protect yourself you need power, to undo a corrupt system or power structure you need power. but having a Nobel Reason doesn’t inherently mean that the Ends justify the Means. and that’s what we’re supposed to take away from the butcher army. they were justified to take action but the action they took was the wrong one and they were going to pay the price for it.

this theme of revenge, of the ends justifying the means, is brought in to the narrative Directly from techno:

"The only thing that works in this world is that you treat others as they treat you. Those that have treated me with kindness, I will repay that kindness tenfold. And those that treat me with injustice! That use me, that hunt me down, and hurt my friends! I shall repay that injustice a thousand times over." [End quote]

in response to the butcher army techno chooses violence, chooses Revenge, again. which is a regression from where he was before. which makes sense, that change was tenuous and new. he was still obviously paranoid just like the butcher army was (with his stockpile of weapons, potions, gapples, and withers. prepared for the end of the world in his supposed life of peace). and in this decision we come to tommy.

tommy has, of course, been victimized by dream at this point. he's been abused and isolated and broken down. dream hasn't just been trying to hurt him, he's been trying to grind down his Fundamental Beliefs. through it all tommy's still been trying to hold on to the idea that things can be Fixed. that if he can get back his discs (the things that dream himself claimed gave him control over him and his friends [Link]) that he could have leverage over dream and Save everyone. Save himself. go back home to his friends.

but he's also fallen into a pattern of lashing out and snapping, pushing people away because he's afraid that they'll hurt him if he doesn't hurt them first. it's understandable considering the extreme abuse and stress he's under, and yet it's the seeds for something truly ugly to sprout.

when techno asks him to help him destroy l'manberg tommy says no. he says no because that's his Home, because he doesn't want to hurt tubbo, because his goal is to Get Back What He Had Before. which he certainly can't do if it's all burned to the ground.

but technoblade knows that tommy's been hurt, he doesn't know the details but he's aware that he was pushed out of his country by the very people that hurt techno (people that tommy thought he could trust) and in that he feels that tommy can understand betrayal the way that he does. he thinks he can make tommy understand Anger and Revenge the way that he does.

and so he lies. he tells tommy that he'll help him reach his goal (which to technoblade is only the discs, but to tommy is His Friends) and in return they'll just cause a little trouble together. but in the back end techno wants to nurture that element of violence that he knows is there in tommy (knows from the other side of the pit). he wants to acclimate tommy to the idea that revenge will make him happy, that revenge will fix everything.

throughout the bedrock bros arc there's this sense of growing tragedy. because there's this sense that these are people who could be exactly what the other needs, and yet there's this collision course for a fundamental difference between them. tommy brings techno out of his own head, he breathes Life into techno's little cottage and makes it feel lived in and cozy. tommy loves his friends Earnestly and Fiercely in a way that someone like techno (someone whose so sensitive to betrayal) would be grounded by and take comfort in.

likewise, techno is the stability that tommy desperately needed after exile, after he was taken apart by dream's abuse and before he was ready to even Understand what it was that'd happened to him. he was allowed to be Himself for the first time in a long time, he was allowed to feel Safe, he was allowed to Break Down with a gentle hand and gentle words to guide him.

and yet techno was lying to him, and yet techno was encouraging him to lash out, and yet techno was trying to convince him (although unknowingly) that dream had been right. that everyone tommy had thought had been his friends had hurt him and were bad people. but while dream had framed it as if tommy was the problem, as if nobody wanted him because there was something Wrong with him (sapping away his spirit), techno had tried to convince him that he should be Angry. that hurting them More than they'd hurt him would fix it.

This nearly comes to a head the day before the green festival, when techno finally feels as if he's in the position to come clean about all of it [Link]. and you can See that line of tension pulling tommy. tommy who kept himself alive with the hope that he could go home, tommy whose found himself again and felt Safe again with techno, tommy whose been walking that line between self hatred and self righteous anger since exile, tommy who at the core of it all just wants to be happy.

techno doesn't present l'manberg's destruction as a choice, it's going to happen whether tommy is there or not. but if tommy comes with him, if tommy Chooses Revenge, Chooses Violence, then he can have techno's friendship. then he can have his happiness.

tommy says yes. he says yes not because he really believes in it (he tries to make techno understand that l'manberg is Home just after saying it), but because he wants so desperately to believe that somebody cares about him. this is chekov's gun cocked.

and then we have the green festival. we have dream framing tommy to get his hands on the disc in tubbo's enderchest (to get his hands on tommy's freedom, on his friends, on his chance at normalcy) and tommy can't stand not to step in. techno follows him, techno stands up for him, because he has Faith in tommy.

tubbo doesn't understand. tubbo doesn't understand the value that dream put on the discs, he doesn't understand what happened in exile, he doesn't understand what's at stake. tommy tries to make him understand, he tries to tell him that they can still fix what's broken between them, and tubbo says that it's too late.

and tommy snaps.

this is when the green festival turns into a fight, this is when tommy chooses Anger over Hurt exactly like techno taught him to. and he's losing through most of it, but that doesn't matter because every ounce of frustration he's felt at being left behind comes pouring out of his mouth, and what lands is Ugly.

he knows the exact moment that he takes it too far. an entire crowd of people has stopped.

he's at a threshold. if he stands his ground, if he takes that step forward, he's going to cut off a relationship he's probably not getting back. he's going to hurt someone important to him irreparably.

and he can't do it. he doesn't Want to do it. because at the heart of everything he just wants to be happy with his friends again. he wants to go home. People are his home.

and this is what's often missed: this is the moment techno was presented with the Same choice.

do you choose revenge, do you choose anger, do you choose the satisfaction at lashing out over hurt, do you choose Ideology. or do you choose people, or do you choose relationships, or do you keep that bridge connected.

in canon techno chose the former, and this causes problems.

see, the narrative wants us to know that tommy made the Right choice. choosing revenge would've only made him unhappier, would've only made him worse, and he knew it.

across the board, the narrative of dream smp as a whole wants us to Know that revenge isn't the answer. that Violence isn't the answer. tommy choosing people saved him in the disc war finale, it's continued to save him from dream in the future. it's the precedent that was set with the butcher army, a lesson that quackity would fully learn with las nevadas.

Slime: "Is it worth it? I've been watching for a long time, one person lashes out and the other does, until they're both gone. From what I've seen, it feels like people don't stop taking that revenge. Is it ever worth it?"

Quackity: "No. No it's not." [End quote]

we Know that from a narrative standpoint tommy made the right choice, and yet what comes after doesn't support that.

techno chose revenge over connections, over people, and he won. he lost those connections and that choice was easy for him, he never Mourned them. he immediately replaced that void in his life with someone else, he'd successfully crushed everyone else to the point that he wouldn't be approached again until nearly a year later, and even then that person would fail and ultimately have to accept that trying to get that revenge against him wasn't worth it.

revenge, anger, violence. it all worked out for him, he got exactly what he wanted and the consequences of it didn't touch him. and that leaves something Strange in the atmosphere doesn't it?

because tommy still loves him. he wanted technoblade to choose him, and he still cares about him knowing that he didn't. because tommy never Stopped loving fiercely and completely. tommy never Stopped being loyal. and yet he was crushed. and yet doomsday was what it was.

in the aftermath of the green festival, in the lead in to doomsday, And in the aftermath of doomsday tommy understands that techno was hurt, Felt for the fact that techno was hurt, and yet couldn't understand what techno was doing to him. couldn't understand why someone who was supposed to care about him would do this. and the narrative doesn't know either.

their relationship has been in this murky area of never being able to move forward, and yet feeling like it's supposed to. because there's this elephant in the room beyond the threshold where their relationship lies.

and it's strange now, with him and tommy existing so Near to each other, as if there was supposed to be a reconciliation by this point that just never happened. this Gap.

my change?

techno chooses tommy.

he doesn't stop being angry, he doesn't Choose l'manberg. but that relationship he built with tommy, that Trust and Loyalty, he realizes that he wants that more than he wants revenge.

dream wages doomsday alone. it doesn't save l'manberg, it doesn't give them back what they've lost, but something is Different. when phil offers ranboo a home it's Different.

tommy visits techno before the disc war finale, and techno lets him in willingly. they don't really talk, not like they need to yet, but techno knows that wherever tommy's going now is going to be dangerous.

and dream, who chose Anger, who chose Blood, who chose Violence and Control and Ideology above Attachment, above People. he stands alone as people pour in to save two scared children. as Technoblade stands behind the relationship he chose.

That's the difference that unifies the themes the story is trying to tell us. That's the difference that gives tommy and techno's relationship somewhere to go, that gives Techno an in to build More relationships naturally, a place for him to Be a home for other people.

I can't tell you how long I have desperately wanted this, and seeing the way that characters have just kind of, Forgotten that their relationships with techno don't exist anymore so they can hang out with him in canon has just. made me understand this gutting of techno's character connections even less.

#dream smp #technoblade #tommyinnit #meta #long post #don't look at me #bedrock bros

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

To the Wolves

my (first) entry for the Deal With the Devil collab, because i couldn’t resist writing for Yakuza Getou <33

Getou Suguru x Female Reader

TW Extremely dubious consent, coercion, manipulation, threats, implied murder, smut, nsfw

“No. I- I won’t.”

Sitting comfortably on the old, worn couch in your cramped little apartment, Getou raises a single eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”

His voice is perfectly pleasant, the smile on his face a touch amused, but you’re not so naive as to believe that the question is anything but a generous offer for you to rethink your reply. A smart person would take it – since the day you’d first arrived home to find him waiting for you, Getou hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you. He had no need for guns or knives, never shouted or bullied you, his reputation more than enough to cow you into submission before he’d even opened his mouth.

Of course, once he had, the simple threats to your friends and family’s lives had made certain that you were more than amenable to his request.

A mutually beneficial arrangement, he’d called it, as if there hadn’t been tears silently streaming down your face, your whole body stiff with fear.

But that was the world he came from. Violence and ruthlessness, cruelty masquerading as kindness.

By all accounts, someone like you – a lowly admin assistant living a very boring, mundane life – should never have crossed paths with a man like Getou. The irony, of course, being that it was precisely because of your job that he’d been drawn to you in the first place.

“I-I said no,” you stammer. “I’m not doing it.”

Getou sighs, long, pale fingers idly fixing the cuff of his left sleeve. “I had no idea the lives of your loved ones meant so little to you.”

“Please, I-” you break off, biting your lip as your hands curl into useless fists at your side, “I can’t. Anything else, I’ll do anything, I swear it, just… please.”

Men like Getou aren’t the type to be swayed by pretty words or tearful pleas, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of interest that flickers in his eyes at the offer. Casually, he leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and regarding you with a smirk. “So you’ll bring me the list of witnesses then?”

The barely audible hitch in your breath is enough to make him chuckle.

“No? How about those surveillance tapes, hm?” Smoothly, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards you. “Careful, little one, first rule of negotiation is knowing when you have something to bargain with. Don’t promise me what you can’t give.”

“Getou–”

He raises a hand and you quickly fall silent. There’s only inches between you two now, Getou’s taller, broader frame looming over yours. He could kill you like this, you realise with panic – reach out and wrap his hands around your throat and snap your pretty little neck before you could so much as scream. The tailored line of his jacket hides the gun he has holstered at his side, but Getou knows you're aware of its presence, have been since the very first time he’d broken into your home and threatened you.

It’d take him only moments to draw the sidearm, even less for him to pull the trigger.

The walls of your apartment are thin, would your neighbours come if they heard gunfire? Would you, for that matter, if your roles were reversed?

Yet Getou makes no move for his gun, instead reaching for your chin, tilting it up with two curled fingers until you meet his gaze, “You understand, don’t you, that I make one phone call and that charming sister of yours and her fiance meet a very tragic, very untimely end?”

He pauses, waiting until you jerk a quick nod of assent before continuing. “You love them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with prioritising the ones you love over everybody else.” His voice is gentle, but the words make you shake, dread rising from the pit of your stomach as the pad of his thumb grazes over your bottom lip.

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something to that, but even as you try, you can’t summon the words. The by now familiar scent of his cologne tickles your nose and invades your throat, the warmth of his touch burning through your veins. Your own heart hammers like a drumbeat in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger, but you don’t run, you don’t even flinch.

Getou smiles kindly, and perhaps if you hadn’t seen first hand the aftermath of his handiwork you might be tempted to believe it. His spare hand reaches into his jacket, but instead of the gun you’re expecting, he pulls out his phone, the screen flickering to life with a swipe of his finger. “So tell me, before I make a call you and I both know you don’t want me to make, why you’ve suddenly decided that their lives aren’t worth your compliance?”

Nanami. Your boss’s face flashes to your mind, the odd, fleeting glances he’d sent your way over the past few weeks when he’d thought you weren’t paying attention. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, your cheeks unwittingly warming, but you just shake your head, “If I give you those files, you’ll kill them. You’ll hurt them.”

“Maybe,” he hums, “maybe not. It’s no less than those monkeys deserve, don’t you think?” He spits the word like it’s venom, the twitch in his jaw the only chink in his otherwise effortless composure. “You’re protecting them, even now.”

You make no attempt to defend yourself, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off, but Getou seems entirely unfazed, laughing coldly at your stricken expression.

“Your boss, the one with the perpetual stick up his ass; Nanami,” potent disdain drips from his tone at the name, “Always so morally righteous, sitting up on his high horse. You think he cares for you, that he’ll protect you when all of this comes out? And it will come out eventually,” he says, his smirk widening at the sudden pallor in your face. “At some point there’ll be one too many unfortunate coincidences, and the higher ups will realise that they have a mole in their ranks. Fingers will be pointed of course, but eventually even those idiots will figure it out.”

A knot tightens inside of your chest at his words, constricting until it feels like you can’t breathe. You’re shaking your head, eyes filling with tears, “N-no–”

“Oh, little one,” Getou murmurs, dark eyes drinking in every ounce of your distress. “Surely you realised that they have security cameras covering every inch of your floor? There was no reason to look before, but once they do…” he trails off, letting go of your chin in favour of brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek. “They’ll throw you to the wolves.”

His voice is soft and cruel, belied by the gentleness of his touch, but it does nothing to quell the rising sense of dread inside of you. You want to believe it’s a lie, another threat meant to scare you into submission, but some deeper part of you recognises the truth in his words.

Nanami, who’d told you once that there was innocence and there was guilt and very little in between. Nanami, whose office you’d bugged, whose trial only weeks ago you’d all but derailed with a few misplaced documents. You think back to the late nights shared in his office, bowls of ramen and case files scattered across the desk between you. You think of the rare smiles, his oddly dry sense of humour, the pleasant fluttering in your heart–

“You’ll rot in prison long before I do, and there is not a soul among that insipid bunch that would lift a finger to stop that from happening to you.”

A soft, strangled noise leaves your lips as you fight not to sob, and Getou sighs, the corners of his lips twitching downwards in contrived sympathy. “Say the word and I’ll walk away tonight. I’ll still have to kill your sister – I am a man of my word, you understand – but I promise it’ll be the last you see of me.”

He slides his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, taking your face in both of his hands as tears spill down long lashes. “And when they come for you, you can tell them I threatened you, show them what little proof you have – if you have any at all. Maybe it’ll even make a difference,” he says. “But I doubt it.”

Every word is like a knife, slicing away at the raw, bleeding, vulnerable parts of you.

“Please…” It’s weak and desperate, your voice cracked and broken. You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; your sister’s life, for Getou’s mercy, or maybe just for him to stop saying such awful things. He must take pity on you though, because he sighs once more, his right thumb sweeping across your wet cheek to brush away silvery tear tracks.

“I’m not a complete monster, you know. I protect what’s mine.”

And in one breath, everything screeches to a standstill and a trickle of very real fear creeps down your spine. There’s no mistaking his implication, not when he’s holding your face like that, his eyes dark and simmering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“W-what?”

Getou closes the gap between you two, a startled noise leaving your lips as his hips press flush up against you. “Don’t play stupid, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a warning, “It doesn’t suit you.”

One hand slips to your neck, the other curling almost possessively around your waist. There’s no room for you to move, to back away or free yourself. For a moment, neither of you speak, the heavy silence deafening between you.

Does he notice the way your pulse races under his fingertips as they circle your throat, how you’re shaking like a leaf beneath him? Does he want you afraid? A scared little bunny rabbit cowering from the gaping maw of the big, bad wolf?

Judging from the bulge of his semi-hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of your belly, he’s not entirely unaffected, and for the first time it’s not Getou’s gun or his threats that you’re most afraid of.

It’s the selfish, twisted want that glitters and glints in those pitiless depths. You’ve never felt so entirely at somebody else’s mercy as you do with Getou now, staring you down like he wants to lay you bare, claim you again and again for all the world to see. And you don’t understand. There’s a thousand and one questions running through your mind, your insides twisted up into knots.

You know what it is he’s asking of you – though asking feels like a generous word when he can so easily just take – but none of this makes sense, not when he was threatening your family’s lives only minutes ago.

As if he can sense the turmoil and confusion raging through you, he leans down, his lips ghosting over the outer shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll walk away right now.”

I am a man of my word.

His earlier statement rings through your head as you search his face for any sign of deception – you find none. But walking away means your sister dies. It means you’re left on your own to fend off the wolves when they find out what you’ve done.

Nanami might believe you. He might even defend you, but you’ve worked in the Prosecutor’s office long enough to know that duress isn’t the bulletproof defence people think it is, and for tangling with the likes of him…

You were screwed the moment he showed up in your living room, this- this is just the coup de grâce. The final damnation.

“Why me?”

Getou doesn’t answer, but when he draws you into a kiss, his lips moving torturously slow against yours, there’s an edge of… something there, lying hidden just beneath the surface. And it terrifies you, more than his words and his promises ever could.

But when your back’s to the wall, what choice do you really have?

It feels like defeat when he takes you by the hand and leads you into your bedroom, ignoring the uncertain glance you cast over your shoulder towards the living room. You don’t want any of this, but you can pretend that it’s just… business if he fucks you out there.

Not in the bed you sleep in.

It’d be easier, you think, if it was cold and impersonal. If you cried and it stung and the only sounds in the room were flesh hitting flesh, ragged breathing and an occasional rough grunt.

There’s nothing impersonal about the way he watches you strip out of your clothes at his command. His own join yours on the floor without much ceremony – his gun pointedly set just within reach atop your nightstand.

The first time you’d laid eyes on Getou Suguru, it was two months into your new job; a photograph pinned to a thick, heavy file Nanami had dropped on your desk. A surveillance picture, you’d gathered, snapped as the man was exiting some neon lit club downtown. And you remembered the smug smirk he’d had, staring directly down the lens of the camera like it was a challenge, but that wasn’t what had struck you most.

It was the flutter of interest that’d shot through your veins the moment before common sense kicked in. Tall and fit, with long, dark hair swept up in the wind, a sharp jaw and a handsome face, you remember thinking he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Now, standing naked before you, bright, colourful tattoos inked across his torso, accentuating the muscles that rise and fall with every measured breath, you can’t bear to look. It’s easier just to stare at the wooden floorboards, the corner of the shagged rug you’d bought at a thrift store when you first moved in. Easier to pretend Getou isn’t pulling you closer once more, pressing searing, open mouthed kisses along your neck, murmuring words that are lost to you entirely as his hands wander. You can feel it now, the heat of his body as he cages you in, his cock, thick and heavy and flushed nudging insistently up against your stomach.

You expect him to shove you to your knees, to force his cock down your throat in some archaic show of dominance before he claims your cunt, but he doesn’t.

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he whispers into your ear, teeth catching lightly on the sensitive lobe as you shiver. “Like you do when I’m not here, those pretty legs spread, fucking yourself on your fingers…”

The comment feels too familiar to be entirely offhanded, striking a chord of panic somewhere deep inside of you–

But it doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter now.

You allow him to kiss you again before climbing onto the mattress. Like a good girl, you fall back onto the pillows, let your legs ease apart, wrapping your lips around two fingers and sucking for a brief moment before gliding your hand down between your thighs.

His breath hitches, a soft curse sounding when saliva slicked digits spread your folds, the tip of your middle finger brushing lightly against your clit as you stroke your pussy. Your nipples harden and peak under the cool night air and you use your free hand to palm at your breast, pinching and teasing at the sensitive bud while one finger slips into the warmth of your cunt.

The mattress dips, Getou climbing onto the bed, settling himself back on his knees, your spread legs either side of him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

Your heart stutters, movements jerking as you brace for him to interfere, to touch you, but aside from nudging your thighs further apart to get a better view of your glistening cunt, he seems content simply to sit back and watch, his own hand lazily stroking at his cock.

Trying in vain to block him out, you squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the way your fingers feel between your legs, the pleasure–

(Not the shame, don’t think about that, don’t think about Getou watching you debase yourself for his enjoyment)

–that pools in your core as you rub the shining pearl of your clit. It’s a familiar dance, a routine you’d normally help along with a glass of wine and a few faithful toys, but you don’t exactly have that luxury here.

And even with the rigid tension in your shoulders, the unwanted presence of a man you’re terrified of impossible to ignore, you can’t help the quiet moan that slips past your lips, the way your hips stutter, grinding against the heel of your palm as your fingers hit that sweet, delightful spot inside of you.

Getou tenses at the sound, the last, fragile thread of his composure snapping–

He strikes fast. One moment you’re biting down on your bottom lip, your index and middle fingers knuckle deep in your dripping pussy, the next he’s braced atop you, one hand locked around your wrist, the other propping himself up. And as your eyes fly open with a startled cry, his lips crash against your once more – desperate and ravenous, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to taste you.

And you don’t fight it when he pulls your hand from your pussy and drags it to his crotch, his fingers entwining with yours as he wraps them around his heavy, throbbing cock and moans. It’s humiliating, the way he thrusts into your hand, tightening his grip so you’re forced to feel every shivery twitch of his dick while he sucks eagerly on your tongue.

This is the choice you’d made, the deal you struck. It’s too late to back out now, and even if you tried to…

“I want you,” he pants, his lips glistening with saliva, an almost manic look in those dark, pretty eyes, “to ride me.”

… you’re not so sure Getou would let you.

So you allow yourself to be manhandled, lifted and situated across his lap like a doll. Hands braced on his tattooed chest, you lift your hips just enough for him to guide his cock to your slick entrance before slowly sinking down onto his length.

Every inch hurts.

It doesn’t make it any less painful, the way Getou soothes you, his thumbs stroking gently at your waist as you whine and mewl, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he stuffs you full.

“Fuck– good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs.

You’re not sure if it’s shame, pleasure, or some sense of twisted pride at the praise that has your pussy clenching, fire racing through your veins when Getou experimentally rocks his hips upwards. And if your cheeks weren’t already burning, the lewd moan that escapes you when the head of his cock hits your g-spot would certainly do the trick.

Ever observant, he wastes no time capitalising on your slip, lifting you up just to drive you back down onto his length at the perfect angle. You shudder around him, keening out a cry that has him groaning in pleasure.

There’s no illusion of control here between you two.

You might be the one on top, but Getou’s grip’s too tight, guiding every roll of your hips against his, his own rising in time to fuck his cock deeper into your warm, velvety cunt. And somewhere distantly you recognise that this could be a thousand times worse. How easily he could change the narrative in a heartbeat, flip you over, force your face into the pillows and fuck you like a dog until you’re gasping for air. He could use you, hurt you, probably kill you without ever needing to touch the gun he’d left on your nightstand – and you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him.

But he doesn’t. Lying back against your pillows, dark hair falling from his half up-do, cheeks flushed from exertion, Getou’s attention is wholly fixed on you - on your face, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he hits somewhere deep inside of you that has you seeing stars, on your tits, the way they bounce every time you sink back down onto his cock.

His eyes are hooded, dark and intense, searching for every hint of pleasure he’s drawn from you. You gasp his name, fingers digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering so deliciously around him – and he loses that last little bit of his self control.

He jerks upright, one arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he braces himself with the other, and before you can so much as gasp his mouth is at your tits, hot tongue laving at soft, supple skin there.

“Suguru,” he growls, hips snapping feverishly against yours.

“Suguru,” you parrot, head lolling back as heat coils tighter in your core.

You’ll worry about the consequences later, when he pulls you boneless and sated into his arms and you feel his heart thumping at your back as he kisses you and tells you to sleep. When tomorrow you arrive at work and Nanami stares a beat too long as the love bites scattered across your throat, no doubt wondering why you won’t so much as look at him.

For now, you settle for pulling him closer, gasping as you chase that quaking, blissful end.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere getou suguru #yandere getou #yandere getou suguru x reader #yandere getou x reader #yandere jjk #tw: dubcon #tw: coercion #tw: threats #tw: implied murder #yandere #deal with the devil collab

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ruthlesslistener · 2 years

Note

While it is definitely nowhere near canon, what do you think of the idea (purely conceptionally, as an AU) of PK giving Hornet to Herrah to "fufill the bargain" with Hornet being a failed Vessel plucked from the Abuss?

It's a cute concept! But I don't think that I personally would ever be able to wrap my head around it, mostly because in canon, PK did not understand that the vessels were alive until it was too late. A huge core of the game is him foolishly assuming that Ghost and Hollow could not think, feel, or suffer because he himself could not understand the void that they were made of, and they didn't have the voices to tell him otherwise. Hence the justification for the baby pit in the first place- millions 'dead' don't exactly mean anything when they're just automatons, and anything that indicates life could just be a flaw in the vessel-making system. It's a waste, but there's technically nothing morally wrong with it...if said automatons weren't merely a lifeform that PK and WL couldn't wrap their heads around, as beings of light vs beings of dark. And when PK did realize that they were all children, he locked himself in the Dream Realm to die and built an elaborate gauntlet based on harsh self-punishment for daring to love the only child that survived, so we know for a fact that the knowledge that the vessels were children ruined him. That's the main tragedy of his character- that so many suffered because of his good intentions. He wanted to raise Hallownest to be an eternal civilization where all mortals could have their free will, and that failed. He tried to save the lives of millions under his care by creating something that could not suffer to trap the plague haunting them, but the vessel plan kept failing. And then, when he did create a 'perfect' vessel, he believes that he ruined them and made the deaths of Hallownest and their siblings worthless because he couldn't help but love them. His greatest flaw is love, which he used to justify his misdeeds.

So my take on him giving a failed vessel to Herrah would be that you would essentially need fanon!PK for it (aka a gratingly harsh, cold, cruel arrogant asshole), as him giving a failed vessel to Herrah implies that he knows the failed vessels were children with thoughts and feelings that he murdered for his own selfish gains, and just doesn't care. It might seem like mercy to some, giving one of those failures a chance at life, but in reality it speaks of a vast, unimaginable cruelty. Not to mention the fact that him just giving away a failure cements the fact that he thinks his children are just tools to be used (even WITH their minds- again, its heavily HEAVILY implied that the reason why PK and WL were okay with the vessel plan was bc they thought their children were nothing more than walking corpses), or, alternatively, he DOESN'T know that the failed vessels are capable of thought and is simply giving Herrah a braindead baby for her to play pretend with. Which in turn implies great distaste and disrespect for Herrah herself, of which there is no implications of in canon- remember that two of the most prestigious bugs of Hallownest were picked to be Dreamer, and that even though her kin destroyed his attempts at building a tramway to Deepnest, he still kept up trade with her after he sired her heir.

I think it could be interesting! But it's def. not for me personally.

#hollow knight #the pale king #hornet #hornet hk #herrah the beast #Like yeah I know that we see pk's personality thru the environment #So its subjective #But from what we can glean he genuinely didnt know that they suffered #Or he was too terrified of the thought to accept it #And that he regretted it deeply

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glitxhwayventeen · 2 years

Text

Heart Like Yours

Joshua: Chapter 5 (Stay With Me- Part 2)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

General Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst central, water, obsession implications, murder mentions, mental illness, mob violence mentions, pain (mental mostly tbh) mentions, death mentions, made up universe, Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Okay my friends, here she is. She’s a bit of a mess and doesn’t necessarily make a lot of sense, but she’s up. I’ve had a REALLY bad week but i figured everyone could use a bit of a distraction from their mundane lives. I also sit this chapter in two and decided to add a chapter because i couldn’t concentrate enough to put it all in one super long chapter so🤷🏻‍♀️ Let me know what you guys think

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold- Dialogue Italics- Thoughts Green- Creature Speaking

Tag List- @studioreader @imtotallydef

Heart Like Yours Masterlist

You found yourself surrounded by trees and Wilderness. You weren’t sure how far you had gone from the pack, but you didn’t think it was far enough to lead you so astray. You just wanted some much needed space from Joshua. You had felt like you were suffocating with him being around you. Yet you also had never felt so alone. He hurt you. Badly. You just wanted some space. You should’ve known better.

Because now you couldn’t recognize any familiar trees you knew you should’ve passed on your way up the mountain. Nothing smelt very familiar either. In fact it all smelt rather… sulfur or death like to you, which you found strange considering you were in the woods and not some Wiccan shop surrounded by vials and potion ingredients.

You had smelt plenty of weird shit in your long existence, yet you had never smelt the essence you now smelt roaming freely in the air. It was eye watering and yet so… intoxicating.

Usually, the forest was very welcoming towards you and you quite liked being outside. Normally, it felt like a second home to you and it was very warm and inviting. But something about the atmosphere around you just felt so very off. You couldn’t really explain it, it was more of a feeling or a pit you got in the middle of your stomach.

You felt so calm but still so lost. Everything was getting colder and damper and a rather mysterious fog began to emerge itself from the hallowed ground in the distance.

You also noticed that there weren’t any sprites around. Given that again, you were basically in the middle of everything that was supposed to be good and natural and would normally be considered their home, you found it rather peculiar that they weren’t there to greet you like they usually were...

But you figured it was best to just shove your worries aside before you found yourself running back to the man you were doing your best not to break down in front of.

You missed Joshua. You wished you could’ve just ran into his arms and bawled your eyes out instead of running away into the deep dark scary tree line. Seeing him just hurt. Him not wanting to mark you hurt worse than watching the people you grew up with get slaughtered in front of you.

Because for once you were supposed to have someone that would love you unconditionally and for wolves, marking their mates was the binding step, the final step. The step to show you that he would spend every second until his last dying breath loving you with everything he had.

Except that for some reason, he didn’t want to mark you.

You sighed deeply and looked to the twigs under your feet and realized that they made an odd hollowed sound you couldn’t quite place. Suddenly, you could hear a melody you hadn’t heard before.

‘Come to us so we can convey’

It came so softly, you almost weren’t sure it was real.

‘Sad you came yet glad you’ll stay’

Yet it was so reeling, you couldn’t help but follow it to it’s origin.

‘We can make your pain go away’

Little did you know, the origin would end up hurting you more than the man that was supposed to love you.

“Don’t worry Shua hyung, I’m sure she’ll be back soon. She just needed to cool off.” Seokmin did his best to comfort his older brother.

“Yeah Hyung, I’m sure she’s alright. Just because we haven’t found her, doesn’t mean something’s happened to her.” Channie did his best to coax a small smile from him, but only received a rigid frown of concern in return.

Joshua hung his head down in his hands. His attempt at explaining to you why he didn’t want to mark you had failed. You running off was a clear sign of that. And now they had looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you. It was getting dark and Joshua was getting worried. Hyunwoo was getting fussy and the boys were getting tired. You were still relatively new to the area and didn’t know much about where you were. You didn’t know about the dangers around you. He did. That’s why he was so worried for you.

They could still somewhat smell your trail, but just when they thought they had found you, your scent would leap to the other side of the mountain, almost as if your essence itself was toying with them.

Joshua could still feel you and the pull was still near them, but both were growing fainter by the second. He just had a feeling that something bad was happening to you. He couldn’t just sit idly by and let it happen. He had to do something. He couldn’t let anything happen to you. He couldn’t let his nightmare become a reality.

So he bolted up from his earlier sitting position and focused his thoughts solely on you, causing the pack to all turn to him in curiosity.

He tried to remember your voice and how much he loved to hear you hum a song from your childhood whilst you did some random chore that needed to be done. He tried to think about that lovely homey smell you gave off and how he’d do anything to be able to pull you in for a loving hug.

But mostly, he thought about the visions he had seen over the past few days of you dying and how much they terrified him, and he began hoping, rather praying, to be able to pick something of yours up that would lead them to you.

After several long seconds, his heart had seemed to find you as it picked up its speed and started thumping loudly, almost as if it was trying to leap out of his chest. He found you. And something was wrong. Very very wrong.

“She’s this way!”

The nap time lulls seemed to lead you to a relatively large lake. But you were positive it wasn’t the lake the boys had meant to take you to earlier. This one seemed much farther from the destined one that was spoken about to you before.

‘Safe with us you always are’

It had such beautiful glistening stones around it that seemed to shimmer brighter and brighter with every step closer you took.

‘Don’t worry dear’

The water looked as if it was a crisp shiney blue that almost resembled your human eye color. It was so surreal.

‘You’ve not strayed too far’

The fog had started to fall back to lay just at the end of the furthest area from your current spot on the opposite end of the small body of water.

The closer you got, the more you realized that the fairytale music sounded almost like an actual person was singing. But what human would be this far out? Who could possibly have that pretty of a voice?

‘We’re here for you’

It was a voice so clear and so angelic that it made you never want to shy away from it. A voice so sweet that you swore it could kick start world peace. It was a voice dipped in honey and thrown out to shine amongst the stars.

‘We are your friend’

You decided you wanted to get closer to it. You had to get closer to it.

Just a dip in wouldn’t hurt right? Just your feet? How bad could it really be? Waters clean. Waters safe. Waters healing.

At least- that’s what the song kept telling you…

‘We’re here for you till the very end’

“Shua hyung, how do you even know she’s out over here. You said it yourself, you were having trouble feeling her pull. Maybe it’s the lake fucking with you like it likes to do with some people.” Wonwoo suggested, doing his best to keep up with his brothers and their insanely frantic speeds.

“I just know okay! You guys can bitch and groan all you want but I’m bringing her home even if it kills me!” Josh snarled at the younger wolf, causing his features to retreat a bit even through their fast pace.

“Joshuji we get that you’re worried. But have you ever thought that maybe she just doesn’t want to be found or needs some space? I mean the heart feeling thing could’ve just meant she tripped over a rock. You don’t know.” Hannie tried to reason with his brother to no avail.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help his brother, he did. He just wasn’t sure it was a good idea for him to be all but smothering you when you were as upset with him as you were. Jeonghan had already had Mingyu and Seokming home. Poor Hyunwoo was upset his plan to get you and Shua back together had failed and he was also getting tired.

He figured it was best that one of the stronger boys took him back to the house to watch and protect him, Seokming went along because he wasn’t wanting to infuriate you. It all was for the best though, he wouldn’t be too good in a fight, he was more of a lover than a fighter. Thanks to them, Jeonghan could stay out with his love crazed brother all day.

Joshua stopped dead in his tracks to turn around and face his pack, causing a pile up of mean to hit his chest and fall to the floor, “No you guys don’t know! You don’t know what’s out there! And you don’t know how this feels! None of you do! She’s my mate. MY MATE! I know what I’m feeling is trouble. She needs me so I’m going to save her no matter what! She can hate me all she wants when she’s safe! No either shut up and follow me or go home because no one is stopping me! No one!”

The long winded dialogue sent Joshua’s chest to huff and puff and his nostrils to flare in order to regain some much needed air.

His pack just stared at him doe eyed. They’d never seen him so upset. They’d never seen him so determined or mad before. He had a glint behind his eyes that told them immediately, he would more than likely snap anyone who tired to stop Him’s neck without a second thought. He meant business.

With that, he turned back around and started his trot to you again, more determined than ever to get to you than ever.

As your delicate feet touched the water, a ripple began to wave throughout the pond starting from what seemed like the dead center of it. Out of instinct, you quickly pulled your foot back to land and got into a defensive stance, ready to protect yourself from any and all oncoming danger.

And sure enough, right before your very eyes a vibrant white, almost ghostly, figure with webbed features emerged from the water sitting on a rather large rock.

‘Hello there,’ the creature calmly spoke to you in the same mellifluous voice you had heard only moments ago.

You could feel your heart rate begin to race as the strange creature began looking at you with a tilted head, ‘Why have you withdrawn from our dwelling my darling?’

“O-Our dw- dwelling?” You gulped just loud enough for the serpent to hear you.

And almost as if on command, multiple other fish like beings began to pop themselves out through the waters surface to join the main one you had been communicating with on its rock.

‘Yes dear. We’re a family here. One must trust those who help them heal their own heart now yes?’ The seemingly angelic being now lulled to you as it started to put its body back into the water, causing your inner wolf to raise the hair on your neck.

The creature began to make its merry way to where you were on the land, causing you to flinch.

“S-stay back,” you stuttered as you slowly replaced back while never turning your body away from the creatures that be.

“I- I’m w-warning you. Stay- stay away from me!” You tried your best to sound stern, but something about them made you want to quiver back and curl into a ball.

It was truly the strangest thing…

‘Now now brave girl. No need to be frightened. No one will hurt you here,’ it spoke again, this time causing a rather painful strike of ache to hit your heart at its words.

No one will hurt you here. All anyone does is hurt others. It’s all a lie. Just a crushingly cruel lie.

“Leave me a-alone! Whatever you are, you’re not something I want to be around! I want to be left alone!” You attempted to sound more confident in a way that even had you yourself believing your words. But it was all just another lie.

“Just leave me be!”

‘Oh dear, you poor thing.’ The monster with a sugary sweet voice cooed as it waded its way to meet you on land, ‘Someone’s hurt you and broke your trust before, haven’t they?’

You looked down at your feet in shame for a moment, only for one moment, but it seemed it was enough to give the beast its answer.

‘I see. We’re sorry to hear that darling,’ the creature spoke in a sympathetically tone, ‘Did you love him? He must have really had you caring for him for a strong creature such as yourself to be so wounded.’

The bluntness of the kind beings question seemed to force an answer out of your mouth before it could communicate what was happening properly to your brain, “Y-Yes. I did. I still… I still do. He’s my soulmate.”

You had tried to stop yourself from responding, you really really did. But something about the floatatious creature made you want to tell the truth. It made you feel almost… safe.

‘It must have hurt you greatly when he did whatever it was to lose your faith in him my dear,’ It batted its almost tentacle eyelashes at you.

“It did.”

Some part of you knew you should be running around. Or attacking the mythical being. Or both. But you just could bring yourself to. It made you feel warm inside to talk to it. It was so soothing and caring, it’s voice made you feel as though you were wrapped safely in a blanket of trust.

‘It’s terrible when the ones who are supposed to love us break us isn’t it?’ It reasoned, seeking to somehow aid your tired heart.

You nodded your heart wearily, still subconsciously trying to make sense of it all.

‘Was it your first love?’

Your heart sank into your stomach, “He was supposed to be my only love…”

You felt defeated. Like all the life and love that had once existed within had been sucked out and you had no way of getting it back. You felt hopeless. You felt numb. You felt cold.

The creature waded itself closer, almost concreting itself right in front of you before it spoke again with sorrow lacing just voice, ‘That must’ve been a bitter betrayal dear. We can feel your pain. We can feel how cracked your sweet heart truly is. You’re hurting greatly.’

All you could manage to do was stare at its legend like eyes in awe as you took in it’s luring voice, “What would you say if we could make it all go away for you? If we could take away the pain and replace it with happiness?’

It reached its hand out to you, signaling that if you were to take it, it would help you. Something about it made it’s words believable. Something about it made it seem like it actually cared about you. Like it could actually take away your torn heart and repair it…

So you began to reach your hand out back to it, wanting more than anything for all your heartache to disappear. But just as you touched it’s watery warm hand, you heard a voice that made you run away in the first place.

“(Y/N)! Stop!”

Right when you turned your head to see Joshua and part of the pack pop their forms out of the woods, and before you could think to even respond to him, you felt yourself being dragged under the water.

(Updated 1/28)

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt au #joshua hong #joshua #svt joshua #hong jisoo #seventeen joshua #svt jisoo #seventeen jisoo

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ahloveisboo · 3 years

Text

point of view (m)

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: 18+, friends with benefits!au, smut (mentions of choking, mirrors, alcohol consumption, swearing, implicit condom use. always be safe, kids!)

wc: 1.6k

summary: you just can’t seem to quit soonyoung.

a/n: this soonyoung is system!soonyoung but you don’t need to read one to understand the other as these are just in the same timeline, happening simultaneously. (also, ALWAYS make sure you have discussed any kind of choking with your partner beforehand bc it needs to be consensual and not something to be taken lightly or done inexperienced)

"She's going to fucking kill me."

Soonyoung giggles against your neck, his hand under your skirt as you try very hard not to think of the repercussions of ditching your best friend and focus on his teeth scraping over your sensitive skin. "All the more reason to make this one worth it," Soonyoung notes, tilting his head to capture your lips.

You groan into his touch, as you have done many times before. It's not like you didn't try to fight it—you really did, because you're not the meaningless flirt type of person, but something about Kwon Soonyoung just keeps pulling you in, over and over and over again. The first time you blamed it on the alcohol, the second time on the way his hips swayed in time with yours, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, but there was no excuse for the third time (or fourth or fifth).

Soonyoung has you in a figurative chokehold and a part of you relished it. To be in someone else's mercy and not have to think for a few blissful moments. The buttons of his jeans are already popped, his shirt loosely hanging over the front where you pulled it free. His tongue tastes like Redbull, the sickeningly sweet tinge of it mixed with vodka evident as he laps into your mouth.

You suck on his bottom lip, gently letting your teeth graze along the skin until he hisses, licking his lips to ease the sting.

"We really should get back to the party," you say, unbuttoning your blouse as Soonyoung casts his hooded gaze downwards, where his hand still lingers on your thigh. "I don't want people getting the wrong idea."

"Oh, darling," Soonyoung's voice is low and sultry, his tongue thick in his mouth. "That ship has sailed a long time ago." He accentuates his words with another kiss. "I think people expect us to fuck at every party we go to by now."

"You're gross," you say, unable to bite back a smile. You allow your blouse to fall from your shoulders. "Now take off your shirt."

Soonyoung complies willingly, notably flinching when your cold palm comes up to rest against his chest. "You know I like it dirty, baby," he says in response to your first statement, and this time you laugh out loud. You swat at his chest, covering your mouth to hide your laughter as you dip your head back. There’s a goofy grin on his face as he watches you, your eyes squeezed shut and cheeks rising.

“We’re literally in a bathroom, please don’t talk about dirty right now,” you plead before he moves to grab your ass and lifts you to sit on the sink, pushing up your skirt with his thumbs.

“Still beats Mingyu’s bedroom closet,” he reminds you, hands roaming over your exposed skin as he re-attaches his lips to your throat. You move your hand to his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape. You hum at the memory, gently tugging at the locks to pull him away from you. “Yeah,” you muse, breath ghosting over Soonyoung’s lips as you move closer. “Why can’t everyone have a private beach house like Minghao?”

Your tongue flicks out to tease his upper lip, leaning back when he chases your mouth for more. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in this throat, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs in frustration. His gaze finds yours, temporarily robbing you of your breath. He’s so beautiful, even without the visible flush now painting his cheeks, but in this state - eyes hooded and throat adorned with angry red marks - he looks to die for.

Soonyoung must’ve thought the same thing because he inhales sharply, as if he suddenly realises something. Brushing a lock of hair out of your face, he smirks. “Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re so hot.” You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, something stirring in the pit of your stomach at his words. He brings you in for a kiss, deepening it with a determination that leaves your head spinning. With his hands on your ass, he pulls you against him, letting you feel how needy he is for you. “Do you-” he breathes between kisses, “do you want to watch?”

You still at the question, unsure of what he’s asking. “Hm?”

But Soonyoung is not looking at you, you realise. His eyes are trained on the mirror behind you, his fingers nimbly working to push your skirt up enough to get a full view of your ass in the reflection. Jeonghan’s bathroom isn’t necessarily big, but it’s big enough to have a double sink with a big mirror that’s lined with tiny light spots, perfect for putting on make-up or your daily skincare routine. You bite your lip, mulling over the implications of his question in your head. “You look so pretty when you cum,” Soonyoung continues, his tongue trailing over your exposed collarbones. “I want you to see how pretty you are when I fuck you.”

With a jerk of his hips, the last of your hesitation crumbles, and he almost misses the way you nod before letting yourself slip off the vanity top, pressing your bodies together impossibly close. Soonyoung winds his fingers in the strands of your hair, gently tugging at them as he breathes you in. At last, his hands fall to your hips, turning you around in one swift motion. The action causes you to topple forward, your hands seeking support on the cold marble top. For a second you pause, feeling Soonyoung’s cock brush against your ass from behind, his hands still firm on your hips as he waits for you to make the next move. You slowly raise your eyes, locking with his in the reflection and he smirks.

It’s exhilarating, the way Soonyoung never breaks eye contact—not when he moves to cup your breasts, playing with your hardening nipple as he sucks at the sweet spot behind your ear. Not when he finally pushes your skirt down and his jeans with it, a hand dipping into your panties to rub between your folds. Not when his fingers wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as he bucks into you, until you’re no longer able to indulge him; your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the muscles in your thighs tighten. A strangled moan forms in the back of his throat as you push your hips back to meet his and his knees almost buckle, making him collapse against your shoulder. The obnoxious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with Soonyoung’s heavy breathing and the rapid succession of his name spilling from your lips, increasing in pitch as you get closer to release.

"You're so fucking hot," he breathes, voice ragged when he speaks. "And so wet." He tilts your chin up with two fingers, using the ones holding onto your hip to give it a little pinch. Your eyes widen at the sudden pain and Soonyoung smiles as he soothingly rubs the skin. "Do you see?"

Your eyes reconnect in the mirror, the look he's giving you shooting straight to your core. You tip your head forward to catch his fingers in your mouth, licking around the digits slowly. Soonyoung almost climaxes right there and then, but his pride doesn't allow him to cum until you do.

You're close, though and it only takes a few extra flicks to your clit for you to come undone. Your jaw slacks in a final, drawn-out moan as you throw your head back, your back bumping into Soonyoung’s sweaty chest. He follows soon after, placing idle open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder to muffle his own sounds.

A moment passes, Soonyoung’s arm wrapped around your torso to keep you steady, both of you catching your breath. He lets out an airy laugh, his eyes locking with yours again over your shoulder. You reciprocate the sentiment, a chuckle escaping you before you allow his fingers to guide your head sideways enough for Soonyoung to plant a kiss to your mouth. This one is softer, laced with content and satisfaction. You curse Soonyoung for being so damn intoxicating and you know, no matter how hard you try, this will happen again next time and again the next time over.

Maybe you’re okay with it, though. You watch him with curiosity as he gets dressed, smoothing out the crinkles in your own blouse in the process. Something stirs inside your chest when he leans over to peck you on the lips. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile before pushing the bathroom door open, glancing at you over his shoulder. The previously muffled music washes over you in loud waves, and you allow Soonyoung to take your hand.

“Let’s see what stage of murderous your bestie has reached by now and if she needs any rescuing.”

You laugh at his comment, internally hoping you didn’t fuck up too much by leaving her to herself in a house full of people she hardly ever spoke to. The thought gets put on hold as you’re met with the sight of her pressed against Joshua—the Joshua Hong, who she’s been crushing on for months in secret—his hand in her hair and lips locked. You hear Mingyu and Seungcheol hooting loudly, but she seems unbothered by the ruckus they’re causing.

Soonyoung pushes through the crowd, grabbing a red cup with a mysterious content from the table as he passes his friends. He bumps into Joshua’s shoulder with a smug grin. “Do you guys ever breathe?” he yells over the music.

Joshua visibly tenses, your best friend pulling away from him with a look he can’t quite read. Her fist raises threateningly in his direction, and Joshua laughs heartily before stopping her.

“Soonyoung,” he says, patiently but a tone to his voice that implies he’s not joking around. “I’ll give you a headstart if you start running now.”

#kwon soonyoung #caratwritersclub #svtwritersnet #hoshi #soonyoung smut #soonyoung scenario #soonyoung fanfiction #soonyoung drabble #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagines #hoshi smut #hoshi imagine #hoshi drabble #hoshi scenario #hoshi x reader #seventeen #seventeen soonyoung #seventeen hoshi

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thesacramentoflove · 3 years

Text

(Good Omens) Beelzebub x GN Reader:

3k words - The reader runs into Beelzebub while chasing their daughter, and Beelzebub decides to follow them.

-----

Something stirred, deep within their heart - a feeling so pure, so unbridled…perhaps it was love? They couldn’t be certain, but the tiny wings of many a butterfly toiled to trace the lining of their stomach. They wanted to understand the feeling - that which had been hidden from them for millennia. To whom was it directed? What purpose did it serve? Nothing thus had sent them into such a state of confusion. This feeling…it shouldn’t have been possible. But, perhaps it too was a cog in the wheel of the Great Plan. After all, God often sacrificed sense for inanity.

No…it couldn’t be love.

But this…it seemed so innocent, and the implications…they didn’t bear considering. As a demon, a being avowedly void of the very capacity, well…they should've been immune. It should've been a far-flung fantasy, a tale only told as fiction. But seeing you here, a child hanging from your arm…Beelzebub could feel a spark of…something. It was something wrong, they were certain - positive, and therefore very, very wrong indeed. It was something that defied logic, that gave the demon pause and instilled a confusion deep within. Your meeting, albeit temporary, had hindered their plans to a great extent. They were supposed to be monitoring Crowley (a task annoying in and of itself), not…following some human. Not even an hour had passed since your paths had crossed, and yet they felt such intrigue.

The way you handled your child with care and compassion beyond anything they'd seen thus far, the elegance that shone through even the smallest of movements, that smile…

Beelzebub wasn’t sure which, of the aforementioned, they favoured most. It was a difficult choice, since their mind hadn't bothered to list all of the qualities they'd become privy to. It took neither genius nor seer to tell that you glowed. You glowed with beauty, with love, with…everything demons couldn’t hope to match. You were angelic, without a whisper of effort. You didn’t claim to be an angel, but if ever you did, the smell of humanity would betray you.

Humanity…that was your sole flaw, but your very essence. For Beelzebub to pursue it, to want to…

All of this, all of it…was the result of a single interaction - one that you probably didn’t even remember. You had quite literally crashed into them, while on your daughter's tail. In her defence, she was playing Tag…amid a rowdy throng of people. And in your defence, you had warned her. Several times, in fact. But a child so young is an angel in theory and a devil in practice, paying attention to little unless it interests them.

The memory of your bodies colliding was still fresh in Beelzebub's mind. They could almost…feel you, as though you were still there, still in their arms. It hurt that you weren't, and that you fled so quickly. They remembered the rushed apology, the eyes that avoided theirs, and the glimmers of panic and guilt that couldn’t be concealed. It all happened within a moment, and then you were gone. Beelzebub had put their actual job on hold, to track you down. That might've been an honour, for a demon. The reminder of your humanity was…painful. Your human vessel would eventually expire, falling victim to the curses of illness or age. For that reason, humans were lesser, they were expendable.

That's why, the war…

Beelzebub shivered at the thought, a string of new emotions tying up their heart. They felt…desperate, protective and scared. The threads of fate would not waver at the behest of a demon, but…did humanity, all of humanity, need to be slain…? What if a single human and their child…what if they survived? Would such a thing be questioned, or challenged? If there was a way to keep you, even at the expense of your freedom…

But…was it that same freedom, and all your human traits, that made you desirable? Would you hold that same calibre, if you surrendered your humanity? Would you become an angel and thrive in Heaven, or would some horrible secret rear its head at the time of judgement? Would you join the fallen…the demons? Would you join Beelzebub, and reign at their side, for all eternity? Or would you condemn them, as God already had? Beelzebub found themselves unwilling to entertain such thoughts. Of course you would still be you, angel or demon. And…something had drawn them to Earth, on this day. Something wanted you to meet, they were certain! And, well…demons had ill fortune, but…God would never be so cruel, right?

Something had called to Beelzebub, planted the thought of visiting Earth in their head, and watched it flourish. It had offered up Crowley as an excuse, used the lack of trust between demons to its advantage. Beelzebub had been played right into its hands. But from here, they walked the path blindly. There were no further directions, no sign saying 'THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO'. They weren't sure how to talk to humans, how to appear as a friend instead of a foe…

Everything was just so complicated. But there you were, playing with your daughter on the grass, and weaving flowers into crowns with the delicacy of a feather. The smile you wore was bright and beautiful, luring Beelzebub in like a moth to a flame. They just didn’t understand why. Why did your arms suddenly look so inviting, and your lips so soft? Why did time seem to still, why had the sun framed your head in such a way that it appeared God herself had descended from the heavens to bestow a halo atop your head?

Why were you so angelic, yet…so human?

God must have been testing Beelzebub. Again. Their heart was beginning to fracture under the weight of decisions. Mere decisions! It was ridiculous…Beelzebub was never so indecisive. This should've been a trifle, in comparison to all the decisions they had to make for the upkeep of Hell. But…how could they choose between advancing (which could result either in rejection - Beelzebub did not get rejected - or you and your child fleeing in palpable terror), or staying rooted in place (during which time you could either make your exit, or someone could 'pick you up' - was that the correct human term?). This choice was so difficult because…something, some flicker of what could only be described as goodness, begged them to leave you untainted, to simply walk away and never return.

It seemed to scream, "Do not sully the human incarnation of this angelic being."

Beelzebub knew that their approach alone would expose you to all kinds of…unpleasantries - even if they themselves had no intent to do you harm. Which they didn’t. And for that matter, they never would. Though, the words of a demon gave little reassurance, and it wasn’t like you could hear them.

They dared not dwell too long on the choices - human life was fleeting, and an hour's silent contemplation to them could be several years to you (unlikely, but they did lack very basic knowledge, so their fear-driven assumption could be excused). They didn’t want to wait…they wanted to call out, to cradle and protect. They wanted the trust of both yourself and your child, but…they still didn’t know why. A human would've laid the blame on love, but love was something demons didn’t understand. They had renounced that right at the moment of their fall. Demons couldn't…love, they couldn’t care for anything! No…it wasn’t love.

Though clearly, there were two exceptions: Crowley and Beelzebub. The latter briefly wondered if the former felt such intense emotions towards his angelic companion. Though, they had met far more than once, and Crowley hadn't made a habit of stalking Aziraphale. What Beelzebub was doing…that was stalking. And it was creepy. Their eyes were so focused, tracing every inch of your body. You wouldn’t know how to act if they just…appeared before you. No, that was definitely a bad idea - bad as in bad bad, like, really bad.

However, their hesitance left an opening for someone else - a wild animal, a vulture, someone who cared nothing for your heart, your mind or your child…someone who only wished to conquer your body. And as if to mock the demon, such a person did show up. Beelzebub was now certain this was a test, with their go-to option (murder) nowhere in sight. No…you seemed much too frail. You shouldn’t have to witness such a graphic display. Beelzebub watched for a moment, as a new form of anger took hold. That human was too close to you. Your smile had fallen, happiness abandoned and discomfort rising to its place. Beelzebub didn’t like that. Not at all.

But this was a test seemingly impossible to pass, and designed for failure. Though, if Beelzebub knew one thing, it…wasn't tests, or humane ways to deal with a given situation. What they knew was confrontation.

This wasn’t your fight, and Beelzebub was poised to prove that.

The stage was set, and they moved towards it, determined to do something…anything, to return your smile to you. This human could rot in the deepest pit of Hell, eternally isolated from both sunlight and warmth, from contact, and most importantly, from you. After today, this cretin would never bother you again, on pain of, well…pain. There wouldn’t be a murder…not yet. Your comfort was the priority, and Beelzebub had to remember that. It couldn’t be jeopardised.

They reached the scene within seconds, acting on the immediate instinct to shield you and your child. Panic and fright painted both your faces, tarnishing that beautiful innocence. That could not be excused. Beelzebub glared at your harasser, but this was a poor deterrent. They backed up a mere three paces, before sneering - acting high and mighty, as though they weren't in the presence of a Lord of Hell, a revered demon.

Still, they addressed you, venom dripping from their words. "I didn't know you had a…partner. When were you gonna tell me that, sweetheart?"

You did nothing to deny the accusation, instead vowing silence and looking between the two figures. You seemed weary, as you should, but you were thankful for the intervention. Without it, well…your imagination conjured some disturbing almost-realities. This new person, whether in or out of the binary, was…helping you. Though their presentation could lead you to believe they weren't interested in good deeds, they were…helping.

And then it hit you. The familiarity hadn't registered until now, as you couldn’t see their face, but…you knew them. Or, at the very least, you'd seen them, bumped into them. Great, now you were panicked, scared, and embarrassed, all in front of your child. You held her close, throughout this entire ordeal. A part of you wanted to run, but you had to somehow repay this stranger's kindness. And you had put them in a potentially dangerous situation, albeit without intent. You hoped this was kindness, and not simply obligation, civic duty or something to a similar effect. That was the impression they gave, but…ulterior motives seemed to be a curse of humanity. No-one was genuine anymore.

"They don't like you. So leave. Now, before I do something I can't take back." It was the first you'd heard of their voice, but you never knew you could find such comfort in a tone so exceedingly dull.

The human seemed to waver. "…Oh yeah? What, you gonna kill me or somethin'?"

"I might." A real and viable threat wove its way between those words. For all God's shit, Beelzebub was prepared to neither play nor gamble - not with you on the line.

And in the intermediate moments, the human acquired a sliver of common sense. Beelzebub was the threat, and the sooner they recognised this, the better.

They stepped back, sputtering out the pathetic excuse of "I, uh…I left my cat in the oven!"

Sheer horror led your child to cry, "Kitty?!"

"He means cake, angel." Though, your thoughts didn’t carry such surety: I really hope he means cake.

Beelzebub watched the human retreat, but kept an ear open for you. Nothing would distress you now - not with their protection. But they had to be absolutely certain. Their expression softened, senses still sharp, still looking out for you and any danger that might endeavour to betide you. They didn’t know how to speak with humans, nor how gentle it was possible to be.

But the effort could be made. "Are you…okay?"

Their question, though rather sudden and unexpected, was…calming. You could tell they cared. "Um…we're okay, yeah…thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but…I'm glad you did. Are you okay? That was a short exchange, but it was charged."

Yeah…you must've been an angel. "Yeah. 'M alright."

"That's good." You smiled. You smiled. "Thank you. Again. Oh, (C/n), what do you say to them?"

At the prompt, the little child at your side shouted, "Thank you for saving us!"

You giggled at their choice of words, while Beelzebub just stared, stunned. "I'm sorry about her, she's easily excited. Cute though, isn't she? She's usually the one protecting me. You showed her up…"

Your tone was so light, so warm, so full of…something - something special. It was greater than relief, or gratitude. Well, it seemed greater. Beelzebub couldn’t really be sure, but it zapped their confidence and made almost…made them weak. And weakness…that was dangerous. Well, it was supposed to be. Yet somehow…it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a thundering heart, a sudden and creeping heat, a soft, fluffy…something, that was so alien but at the same time, so nice.

When Beelzebub didn’t respond to your prompt, you coughed and said, "Well…is there anything I could do? To repay you, I mean…I have to repay your kindness. Um, would you like a coffee, or dinner, or…you could choose something? Sorry, I don't know what you like…"

"I like…" Beelzebub looked around, trying to find an answer in all that surrounded them. They were desperate to keep you talking, to keep your eyes on them, to make you stay. "…those."

You followed their finger, laughing as you did. "The ducks or the flowers?"

Their confusion was so strange and child-like, you couldn’t help the laughter. Still, you had never been one for judgements. You replied in earnest. "The ducks are the animals in the water, the small, fuzzy ones. Ah, see the one over there, flapping its wings? That's (C/n)'s favourite. We come here to feed them, on occasion. And flowers are those - you see them coming out of the ground? They're really sweet, and every flower has a different meaning, but no-one knows them all. It's like a secret language! (C/n) and I love that a lot…"

"You like them? Do you give them to other huma- other people?" They asked, now with a genuine curiosity.

You giggled. "I don't, not personally, unless it's a daisy from the park, which I'll give to (C/n). But…I don't really…have anyone else to give them to. It's usually a romantic gesture, and I don't…I'm not…with anyone."

You hadn't meant it to sound so much like an invitation.

"Oh. Good…Why not?" Beelzebub's tongue couldn’t decide on a narrative, torn between sympathy and a sort of cruel relief.

But in spite of this, your smile refused to fade. "Well…I'm perfectly capable of raising a child alone, and no-one ever really…made my heart soar, I suppose. My other half was…not one of God's nicer creations, I'll say that. I have a catalogue of words I could use, but…well, they would put a dampener on things."

Beelzebub nodded, noting that for later enquiries. "Are they dead?"

You laughed, both amused and taken aback. "No, no…to me, perhaps, but…no. Ah, if you're asking because of the past tense, I only used it because we aren't together anymore. We're, um…four years divorced. I just…focused on raising (C/n), rather than tending to my romantic needs. She is, and always will be, more important."

"What did you mean," Beelzebub started, furrowing their brows. "with the bit about your heart? The 'heart soar'? What…is that? How does it work?"

"Have you ever heard of 'Cloud Nine'?" You waited until they shook their head, to continue. "It's a feeling you get when you're around someone you love, where your heart starts to beat really fast, and you feel like you can fly to great heights. You feel weightless, like any sudden wind could take you into the air. Oh, it's such a magical feeling!...Have you never felt it before?"

As you spoke, Beelzebub's experience, their feelings, gained clarity. Things just…clicked. Had it been that easy all along? And had they known…? Had their heart simply pulled the veil over their mind? Could demons love? Part of them wanted to scream; love was sacred - the antithesis of hatred and the enemy of all evils. The very act, the very thought…were so unbefitting, so un-demon like. But this seemed beyond merely act or thought.

"That's how it feels." They stated, with faux confidence.

"So you have! Isn't it just wonderful?" You paused, then gasped rather loudly. "Oh my…I can't believe I forgot to tell you my name! I'm (Y/n), it's a pleasure to meet you!"

They took your hand, after a fierce internal debate. Their face, however, remained neutral. "Beelzebub, and likewise."

"Oh, you have a biblical name! Those are always so fascinating!" You gushed, taking them by surprise.

"You have a…name. A nice one." They stammered, new to both giving and receiving compliments.

You laughed again, a sound too sweet for their ears. "You don't get out much, do you? Um…would you like to get some food? Provided you can deal with (C/n), of course. We could…talk? Get to know each other…? You seem really nice, and I'd like to, um…"

Demons didn’t eat, but at this point, Beelzebub would do anything to stay at your side. Their acceptance came easily - too easily, by their standards. But they were beginning to reject those standards, at a hawk's pace, rather than a snail's. It might've been concerning, but…why should they care? Loving a human was bad, and demons thrived in the bad. Bad was good, in their books - or at least, the demonic equivalent. And 'good' wasn’t a descriptor that suited Beelzebub, but 'bad'…now that was. Surely then, a little greed couldn’t hurt. But it wasn’t material greed, no…it was far more personal, more intimate. They hungered for your affections, for your hand…for everything about you.

Their very nature justified this sin. Such beautiful, glorious sin. If Beelzebub could fall any further…they would do so with a glad and willing heart.

So this is love. They thought, as a smile crept to their lips. Forbidden love.

#beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub good omens #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #gender-neutral #single parent reader #lord beelzebub

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gins-potter · 3 years

Text

everything will be alright (with you by my side)

@halzekrhodestead sent me these requests literally a million years ago and i’m just now getting around to filling them. sorry about the wait and i hope you enjoy it! yes i know will didn’t do emergency medicine in nyc i just decided to retcon that

Will’s skin practically crawls at the sound of the elegant string music floating out of the ballroom at the top of the stairs. The music is nice enough he supposes, but Will’s never been able to hear violins and not be reminded of the vibrant, boisterous music his mother had filled their home with when he was a child. But maybe it’s not the music at all that sets his teeth on edge, but rather the people lining up to enter the gala, who shed their coats to reveal expensive tuxedos and glamorous dresses. Maybe it’s the glasses of champagne they accept as they step inside, the liquid surely the rarest of vintages and served in undoubtedly crystal flutes.

Beside them, in the tux he’s had since med school, and the tie Connor gave him before they even started dating, Will feels more than a little lackluster.

But, he rationalises to himself, he never did understand the point of hosting a charity event if you were going to blow tens of thousands of dollars just throwing the damn thing. But he knows the cause is important to his boyfriend, so in a surprisingly un-Will-like fashion, he resists the urge to make a comment about it, and instead pastes a pleasant smile on his face. Because after all, he’s not here to make waves; he’s here to be a buffer with a pretty face and make the night as painless as possible.

At least that’s the way Will remembers Connor phrasing it.

Speaking of, beside him Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath as they reach the top of the stairs and the wide double door entrance looms ahead. Pausing at the threshold, Connor slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb. “Thanks for being here?”

Will feels his lips twitch up into a genuine smile despite his surroundings, and says, “Yeah well, you promised you’d do that thing with your tongue that I like if I came, so…”

The words surprise a laugh out of Connor, and he shoots Will a grateful look, before squaring his shoulders, as if emboldened by the exchange and leading his boyfriend inside. Will sighs a little and accepts a glass of champagne, figuring he’s going to need it.

Into the lion’s den they go.

The night starts off well enough, all things considered.

Having been away from the whole scene for so long, Connor is almost immediately swarmed by artificially eager socialites who want all the details on what he’s been up to in recent years. Will watches his boyfriend’s face and knows him well enough to know when he needs to step in and gently shift the subject matter, or when Connor genuinely likes the other person and he can sip his exorbitantly priced champagne and let the conversation wash over him.

His southside accent sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other guest's polished speech but Will plays it to his favour, working the ‘blue-collar boy who put himself through med school’ angle that they lap up like some of their expensive wine. His father would spit if could see him, and Will hates himself a little bit for doing it, their condescending smiles stoking the embers of that anger. But all it takes is to see the gratefulness in Connor’s eyes to know it’s worth it, and he stamps out those embers enough that they don’t become a raging inferno. Besides, by the pressure of a hand on his lower back, Will can tell that Connor knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it well worth his time when they’re back in their apartment.

They even survive the, thankfully brief, exchange with Connor’s father, it being the first time they’ve met in the year that Will and Connor have been together. It’s polite, and it’s pleasant, and they smile for the benefit of the other guests milling around, but Will doesn’t miss the disapproving glint that enters Cornelius Rhodes’s eyes when Connor introduces him as his boyfriend. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either that Connor introduces him as ‘Will’, but Cornelius manages to call him ‘William’ - something even his own father never calls him - a grand total of six times in the space of their three minute conversation.

It makes Will wonder which is a bigger affront to Cornelius: that his son is dating a man, or that he’s dating someone who doesn’t come with a trust fund.

But despite it all they manage to survive the few minutes that the encounter lasts for until Cornelius gets pulled away by another guest and they can escape to the other side of the ballroom. It would have been ideal to avoid him completely, but as a main benefactor of the gala, Cornelius was well and truly in the spotlight, and people would surely talk if the two Rhodes men ignored each other all evening. That was certainly the reason, Connor mutters to Will as they hightail it out of there, that Cornelius had sought them out; it simply would not do for the Rhodes’ to be talked about for anything other than their roaring financial success.

But all in all the evening is going well. Connor works the crowd with Will at his side, charming smile firmly in place as he convinces many of the other guests to sign over large swathes of money to the National Alliance on Mental Illness. Connor chats to friends of his late mother, runs into old classmates from high school, and even gets dragged onto the dance floor by his sister. And despite his father’s looming presence, Will can tell his boyfriend is actually starting to enjoy himself.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to leave Connor in the hands of his sister and escape into a hallway off the ballroom when he overhears a young socialite complain to her friend about the darling little yacht her father refuses to buy her.

What’s a mere three million dollars after all?

He just needs to take a breath away from the music and the lights and the people. But he’s not there for more than a few minutes, when a figure appears at the other end of the hallway, striding towards him.

“Mr Rhodes,” Will says, once he recognises him in the dim lighting. He straightens, and pushes off the wall, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“William Halstead,” Cornelius says slowly, a dangerous smile on his face. Something about the way he says Will’s name has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and his suspicions are confirmed when Cornelius doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “William Halstead. Born to Pat and Shannon Halstead, a construction worker and kindergarten teacher from Canaryville. One brother named Jay who was first an Army Ranger and is now a detective with the Chicago Police Department. You went to college out of state, was involved in aid work in Sudan, before studying emergency medicine in New York. You came back to Chicago on a whim to visit your brother, were briefly accused of murder before later being cleared, and decided to move back permanently when you were offered a position at the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.”

The champagne flute in Will’s hand groans under his tightening grip, but he manages a guarded smile as he says, “I see you’ve looked me up.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than look you up,” Cornelius says ominously. “Which is why I know that despite your best efforts you were unable to secure a scholarship, and the two jobs you worked through medical school barely dented your student loans. So, let’s cut to the chase, William, how much will it take?”

Will blinks, and then laughs uncomfortably, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand what Cornelius is trying to imply. “I’m sorry, how much will what take?”

Cornelius exhales sharply, as if perturbed by having to explain himself. “How much money will it take to get you to walk away from my son and never look back?”

The words cut like a blade through Will’s chest and his next breath comes out strangled and ragged. “I don’t-”

Cornelius spreads his hands, cutting Will off with ease. “Look, I’m a reasonable man. And I can be very generous when I want to be. Those loans of yours could be taken care of with a single phone call.”

Will seethes at the arrogance of the man before him, and at both the idea of someone being able to clear eight years worth of accumulated debts with half a thought, and at the implication that there was a sum of money large enough to get Will to walk away from Connor.

When he doesn’t answer, Cornelius continues. “I know about you, William, I know your background, and I know that you and my son come from two very different worlds. And I know that when I pass on and my son inherits the empire two generations of Rhodes’ men have built, he’ll do so with someone of the correct social standing by his side. Someone,” he adds, eyeing Will with open disgust. “Who is able to provide a natural continuation of the Rhodes’ line.”

“So,” Will says, realising that he being a man and a poor kid from Canaryville are equal sins in Cornelius’ eyes. “It doesn’t matter to you that your son might be miserable as long as he marries someone you deem socially acceptable?”

Cornelius shrugs carelessly. “I’m sure Connor will be upset for a while, he always was a…. sensitive child.” His lips pull back, more a bearing of his teeth than a true smile. “But I’m also sure that he’ll get over it eventually, and come to realise that I’m right. Hell, he might even thank me for it one day.”

Will wants to tell him that there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than of that happening, but Cornelius has already continued talking.

“So, all that’s left to be settled is the price. Name it and it’s yours.”

Here, Will has to laugh. And not just an awkward or polite chuckle, but a real laugh, the first he’s uttered all night. He laughs, and laughs harder, when Cornelius’s expression becomes pinched.

“Oh, you really thought that because I was still standing here and listening, you were actually going to be able to pay me off?”

Cornelius tries to smile again, but it’s lacking it’s earlier swagger. “‘Pay off’ is such an ugly term, isn’t it? I prefer to think of this as a business deal. One that you would be very stupid to turn down. So be reasonable, William.”

But Will shrugs, grinning effortlessly. “No one has ever accused me of being all that smart. And reasonable? Me being reasonable is walking away from you right now instead of introducing you to the Canaryville version of a no.”

Will idly cracks the knuckles of his right hand, and feels a dark satisfaction when Cornelius’s gaze drops to the hand still hanging by his side. But he doesn’t curl that hand into a fist, doesn’t let himself draw back his elbow and let the punch fly, no matter how good it might feel in the moment. No, instead he just shoves both hands into his suit pockets, shoots Cornelius one more careless grin, and starts to stroll back down the hallway.

“You’re going to regret this, William.”

He almost turns back, but decides it’s not worth it. Besides, he really doesn’t think he is.

Connor is blessedly alone when Will steps back into the ballroom. He hands his glass, still half full, to a passing server with a nod of thanks and beelines for his boyfriend, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his temple when he gets there.

“Hey,” Connor says, leaning into him. “Where did you go?”

“Just out for a breather.” He pauses, then says, “Ran into your father, had an interesting conversation.”

Connor’s eyes darken and he starts to pull away. “What did he say?”

Will huffs a breath of a laugh and tightens his grip, preventing him from leaving. “Nothing. Well, nothing important anyway,” he allows when Connor clearly doesn’t buy it.

He’ll tell him eventually, it’s not the kind of thing he can keep from Connor. But later, when they’re in the privacy of their home, and there’s no chance of Connor ruining a charity gala named in his mother’s honour by punching his father in front of a couple hundred people.

“Will-”

He drops his head and nuzzles the side of Connor’s face for the briefest of moments. “Later,” he murmurs, before pressing another feather light kiss to his skin and drawing away again.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to pull away again, which is answer enough.

Will grins, his teeth flashing. “Dance with me?”

Connor seems surprised but nods and takes his hand, leading him out amongst the other swaying couples. Will is sure Cornelius is out there somewhere, watching them and seething at the sight but in that moment he doesn’t care. All that matters is Connor’s arm around his waist and his head on his shoulder, and the love they both feel for each other burning bright in their chests.

#mywriting #one chicago #chicago med #connor rhodes #will halstead #rhodestead

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rokhal · 3 years

Text

Revenge as a magical binding mechanism in ANGR?

Hwaet I got more speculation about the concept of revenge in ANGR, because Eli’s dialogue makes some very interesting implications.

Let’s skip forward to Issue 12, where Eli has already got to work on his back-up plan to kill Yegor Ivanov with Gabe, but nonetheless continues to badger Robbie about it.

“I’m telling you kid...as long as Yegor Ivanov is alive and I’m unavenged, you’ll never catch a break. You’ll be under constant attack at all times. If you kill him and avenge my death, you’ll bond with me forever -- becoming a satanic serial-killer for eternity, which you’re so desperately trying to avoid -- but if you don’t kill Ivanov, no one around you will be safe...ever.”

Apparently, one condition of Robbie and Eli’s “partnership” is that avenging the other’s death binds the avenger to the avenged. This is in direct contrast to the more typical pop culture role of revenge in magical contracts, where an act of revenge frees the avenger from a pre-existing debt to the dead.

What Eli is saying is, if Robbie serves Eli in this way, he would give Eli more power over him, not less. Robbie’s already stuck with Eli, but if he avenged Eli’s death he would be even more stuck, and it would be easier for Eli to erode Robbie’s self-control and use him for violence.

It’s always wise to be skeptical when a psychopath delivers exposition, but ANGR issues 11 and 12 are seriously crammed and Smith might not have had any better characters at hand to reveal this. Plus, this fits with Smith’s very obvious philosophy in ANGR that revenge is bad, and forgiveness, though difficult and dangerous, is good.

But, but! I’ve got more. Let’s go back in time to Issue 3. Right where Eli first introduces himself to Robbie.

“We’re kindred spirits, Robbie. We’re unstoppable, everlasting, eternal friends, you and I.”

“Eternal?”

“Well...not if you die again, we’re not.”

Yep, Robbie died in Issue 1.

“I was killed by a bunch of low-life bastards just like you were last night, and when I saw it happen, I brought you back.”

Robbie died and Eli was aware when it happened, before he resurrected Robbie as the Ghost Rider in Issue 1. And what’s the first thing the Ghost Rider does in Issue 2?

He drives right through a personnel carrier manned by the crew who’d just murdered Robbie.

“Hostile terminated...with casualties. Over.”

“My men have returned...most of them, anyway.”

We see Robbie and Eli perform this bastardized PIT maneuver again in Issue 7, when Eli talks Robbie into shaking down a fellow street-racer for money Robbie had lost, but Robbie seems to immediately regret their action when that happens. We can reasonably suspect that Eli is in control when he melts the Charger right through a car full of people and flings them all off an overpass before teleporting away.

The first thing Eli does when he possesses Robbie is avenge Robbie’s death.

And who wakes up in his own bed after a bad dream and goes to school like nothing happened, even after being resurrected and receiving unholy powers and becoming bound to Eli Morrow’s favorite car? Robbie.

Next issue:

“I couldn’t get away from you even if I tried.”

OMFG. This is hilarious. Eli has definitely tried. Eli fucked up so, so bad and he is now scrambling to fix it.

I argue this because there is no fucking way that playing evil Jiminny Cricket to his nephew who still controls his own body but now also can control Eli’s car and his ability to transform into a demonically powered spectral menace was Eli’s plan when he did whatever he did to himself that allowed him to linger in the mortal realm after his death. And he did do something. Evil ghosts that possess people and grant them horrifying powers don’t just happen. Eli sacrificed people to demons; it’s canon. It’s reasonable to suppose that he made the sacrifices so he could come back from the dead, perhaps by possessing someone else.

Being a voice in the back of Robbie’s head is probably not what Eli made all those sacrifices for unless Eli died before he could finish his resurrection spells.

So, following the implications of “in ANGR, revenge binds you to the person you avenge”:

ANGR begins when the spirit of Eli Morrow accidentally binds himself to Robbie Reyes by avenging Robbie’s death. Throughout the comic, Robbie is the primary driver of their shared body. While Eli occasionally wanders off and even acquires a secondary host, he is mostly stuck with this arrangement. To fix this, Eli attempts to trick Gabe into killing Yegor Ivanov and therefore binding himself to Eli in a subordinate role. Instead, Gabe expels Eli, who is drawn like a magnet back into Robbie’s body. (“I couldn’t get away from you even if I tried.”)

At last, Robbie does kill Yegor Ivanov, and his connection to Eli becomes more permanent, and according to Eli, more influential and harmful. Eli says that his personality and desires will bleed into Robbie on a subconscious level, refraining from violence will become unrewarding and miserable, and Robbie will inevitably succumb to his new predatory impulses.

“By killing Yegor Ivanov you’ve avenged me and bonded our souls eternally. ... You may have saved Gabe’s soul, but you’ve thrown any hope of getting rid of me right out the window. ... From now on you will live with the constant urge to extinguish life. It will consume you...and you will murder again.”

Robbie’s motives for killing Ivanov were correct. Yegor Ivanov, a boss in a Russian crime syndicate (Eastern European organized crime has a reputation for being willing to harm unconnected women and children) was holding a gun to Gabe’s head. This was absolutely a justifiable homicide. But the outcome of Robbie’s actions is misery and corruption. Robbie no more wants to bind himself to Eli than Eli meant to bind himself to Robbie, but it still happened.

Vengeance was a key theme in Ghost Rider (1990), but in ANGR, revenge appears to be a key part of the mysterious mechanism of how Robbie and Eli work. And remember, kids: revenge is bad for you.

#all-new ghost rider #meta #my meta #robbie reyes #eli morrow #felipe smith #ghost rider

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ectonurites · 3 years

Note

for the character headcannons ask game, jason and cass?

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT im putting this one under a cut because it got SUPER long bc i cant shut up ever

lets start w jason

A (realistic headcanon):

ok using the ‘realistic’ category here loosely but GOD i love the idea of Damian & Jason having interacted while Jason was staying with the League before getting dunked in the Lazarus Pit. like. this obviously would need to be set more in preboot and following the Lost Days & Batman Annual 25 version of Jason’s resurrection, but god the idea of it just makes me scream in a good way. Like... these are things Jason likely doesn’t remember very clearly once he’s brought back to life more fully by the pit because he was uh pretty catatonic, but Damian being a little kid and knowing about the boy that his mother keeps around the base, that she’s trying to help bring back to health. Damian not even knowing that’s his big brother, just that he’s a presence that shares his mother’s attention. Jason again being unresponsive but like, ok god you know that part of lost days where Talia shows the others observing him that he only fights back at those he perceives as genuine threats trying to hurt him,

Because Jason can perceive that she’s safe, she’s not actually trying to hurt him, he trusts her because she saved him? thinking about lil child Damian who is ya know already being trained in fighting stuff and like the idea of him trying to provoke Jason just to see what happens but Jason not fighting back because on some level be it his connection to Talia or even little baby Damian visually reminding him of Bruce, he knows that Damian is safe too 🥺

and then when Jason and Damian meet again in Gotham as Red Hood & Robin respectively, Jason not really remembering because there was so much going on back then for him, but Damian realizing that oh... that was Him

B (hilarious):

alright so if we are looking at comics currently, in modern stuff jason is what, like 22? hes old enough to drink in the US but still definitely early 20s so around my around my age, thats what im using as a basis here. if we adjust timeline and still consider his death having happened when he was 15, that puts it around 2013. and then coming back to like interacting with people about three years later if we still kinda base things off of the preboot timeframe (since we never got a super solid retelling of the timeline of death -> resurrection -> training -> tries to get revenge aside from knowing he went to the all-caste instead of the lost days version of the story) making him reenter the regular world and stuff around age 18 in 2016. meaning a solid three years of pop culture that he was entirely missing, and like im sorry but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to bother looking into what he missed, he’s kinda busy focusing on other stuff. lets take a quick look at some major things from those years. 2013 gave us ‘what does the fox say’ and ‘the harlem shake’ . 2014 had that time U2 just put a fuckin album on everyone’s phones, The Fault In Our Stars movie came out. 2015 introduced the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’ and the whole blue & black vs gold & white dress debate happened. imagine any of the other batkids (or even arguably roy during rhato stuff) bringing these things up and jason’s ensuing confusion. thank you for your time

C (heart-crushing):

so. there are two specific instances from rebirth era Jason i want to bring up here and much like a lot of these it’s less a headcanon and more of an inference based on observations, but i wanna take a sec to discuss Jason’s relationship with other people’s death. early in rebirth, Tim ‘dies’ from that whole thing in detective comics. he didn’t actually die, we as readers know, but in-universe they all very much so thought he was dead. frustratingly a lot of the batfam wasn’t really shown mourning him aside from in the Detective Comics Rebirth title itself (which just. when a major character dies even if its temporary- that should have a ripple effect) BUT an exception to that is in RHATO 2016, where we get this offhanded comment in Jason’s internal monologuing

similarly later when Roy, who like, had an incredibly close relationship w Jason that had just gotten mended before Heroes in Crisis, gets fuckin murdered in that whole thing... Jason doesn’t go to his funeral either. He leaves a dramatic voice mail and then visits the grave on his own later, choosing to instead keep working on the mission they’d started rather than going and taking the time to mourn properly.

Jason’s relationship with death is incredibly complicated, obviously. He has died, he has come back, and he now is willing to cross the line most other bats won’t and will kill people when he deems it necessary. I think thats something important though- he doesn’t just like... go around killing for fun (usually, some writers preboot made him a little murder happy but even then usually this still was vaguely followed) he kills people he thinks deserved it. Like, even looking back at the mess of Morrison’s Jason during Batman & Robin 2009, Jason was still trying to bring a sense of justice with who he was killing (”punishment that fits the crime”), it wasn’t killing for the sake of killing. He sees things in this kind of almost black and white ‘people who deserve it’ and ‘people who don’t’ way, and he has no problem dealing with death when it’s with the people he thinks deserve it.

but when someone who doesn’t in his mind ‘deserve it’ gets killed? i think he just goes into total avoidance mode. throws himself into other things he’s doing, tries not to dwell on it too much no matter how much he still thinks about it (this is especially evident in him consistently telling people “i’m fine!” after what happened to Roy, despite bringing Roy up literally like every few issues for a WHILE after he died and very clearly still struggling with it, Artemis is the only one who gets through to him on it a little bit)

but yeah, I just think that from Jason’s relatively unique situation of having been murdered, he knows what it’s like and he is perfectly fine wishing that on people he thinks are bad and deserve it, but it crushes him to imagine the people he loves and cares about having to experience something as painful as what he went through. not to mention the whole “I came back, why do I get a second chance at all this when they, who are a much better person than I am, probably won’t” mindset we get some implications of him having

D (canon is a coward and won’t)

hello DC i am once again insisting a batfam member is bisexual

CASS TIME

A (realistic headcanon):

ok so we know cass likes ballet. thats canon. however i think we also should in general explore cass experiencing other types of dance/performance as well, be it herself as a performer or even just watching. like... god imagine her & like my brain just automatically for group activities puts her with tim steph and duke but also for this in particular I feel would be a Jason embraced activity, but like them going to see a broadway show or some other professional theatre or something, and her just being enthralled by the reading of body language of the performers! like again by any point in current stuff cass does have like, the ability to speak fine (reading still hard tho) but even so I think like. okay im a theatre kid if that’s not obvious from the Everything About Me but one thing I always do after seeing a show is ya know spend dinner afterwards discussing it with whoever i saw it with.

I just think that like, bringing those people i just mentioned to the table to discuss seeing a show after would be so FASCINATING because cass would bring this whole perspective of critiquing their acting on a whole different level- not based on how well they delivered lines out loud, but by what their body language was saying as they moved on stage. like im very amused by the idea of cass getting a totally different picture in her mind about what a character’s motivations were because she was paying way more attention to what their physicality was saying vs the words that were written and how they were delivered. i think the debates her and the others would have would be EPIC there. jason defending the text as it was written adamantly and cass being like ‘ok yeah sure but thats not what they did’

B (hilarious):

cass having no concept of money because why would she bother? is SO funny to me. like it’s not that she couldn’t be reasonable if she wanted to, but like, she knows that the Waynes are well off so it’s not something she actually needs to be concerned about, so she just goes hog wild. takes steph out to fancy dinners and makes steph order for them since cass ya know doesn’t really read the menus, and steph’s like ‘jesus christ this costs-” “don’t worry about it” “but cass-” and she just holds up one of bruce’s credit cards and steph’s still like “but you don’t even know the range-” “it is fine”

bruce does not have the heart to tell her to stop

C (heart-crushing):

i mean this is pretty much canon but especially now after death metal where she’s remembering, not just being told by a guy using weird alternate timeline technology, that she used to be an adopted member of the Wayne family... like that hurts so bad. To look at these people who have ya know been kind to her, Bruce has still been a father-like figure to her (i mean literally from the moment they met in New 52 canon during the flashback in Batman & Robin Eternal, where he’s telling her that she’s not a monster just because of what people forced her to do.... that she’s a hero... that hug.... dad behavior), and they do to some extent treat her as family... But to then really know, to feel and remember that she was actually adopted! She was a part of their family. To look at how she’s been calling herself Orphan while working with them this whole time... that’s so heartbreaking! I have cried about this idea so much! I want so badly a conversation between her and Bruce now where he offers to officially adopt her again, I need it so bad and if it doesn’t happen at some point in the next year or two I will be so distraught.

D (canon is a coward and won’t)

i want an in-depth exploration of cass’ relationship to her own gender. being raised without language and you know with so much of her life being independent (remember: CASS RAN AWAY AROUND THE WORLD WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING ANY SPOKEN LANGUAGE) and outside of an organized society impressing too much of gender expectations on her, i feel like the way she experiences it would be very unique! like sure she’s so far been fine with being assigned ‘girl’ (ya know that comes with batgirl, and how people just automatically treated her based on how she looks) but in terms of gender expression and like her actual relationship with ‘traditional femininity’ etc like... because of how she was raised I just think she’d have a really different perspective on it that could be cool to explore, and I think she’d fall outside of the binary after she really thinks about how she identifies.

tldr on that: she/they nb cass is what i’m getting at here

#onwater #jason todd #cassandra cain #sam writes

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-11 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️ 6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

Restaurant

Just as I’d guessed, Fu Qiao came to the side of Stellis River to burn the paper cranes. According to him, what Zhou Nan liked the most were paper cranes, so he’d fold some each month, take them to the riverside, and burn them.

[Flashback]

MC: So they were folded for Zhou Nan. Then why did you come to the riverside to burn them?

Fu Qiao: I don’t really have any special way to explain it – it’s just that I feel like if it’s on the riverside, it’ll be easier for her to get it.

Fu Qiao: Wasn’t the Ghost Festival* of the past, when people would put out lanterns for lovers that had passed, done at the riverside too?

TL Note:

*Occurs on the 15th of the 7th lunar month – offerings are made to those who have passed.

[Flashback end]

MC: Looks like the relations between Fu Qiao and Zhou Nan really were good.

Zuo Ran: At least as of now, there are no obvious flaws.

Fu Qiao expressed that he wanted to be on his own for a while on the riverside, and for us, it was indeed difficult for us to trouble him. So Zuo Ran just brought me to eat first. We agreed with Fu Qiao that we’d visit him after eating dinner.

MC: Zhao Fei believes that the person who murdered Zhou Nan is Chen Hanzhang, but it seems like you’ve been paying a lot of attention to Fu Qiao, Lawyer Zuo.

The privacy of this restaurant was very good – Zuo Ran and I were in a private room, so it wasn’t inconvenient for us to talk about the case.

MC: What’s the basis for your reasoning?

Zuo Ran: I don’t have substantive evidence. From the start, asking for Fu Qiao’s information was also just routine inspection.

Zuo Ran: Although, after meeting Fu Qiao just now, I feel like he is more suspicious.

MC: Did Fu Qiao do something that did not fit within common sense just now?

Zuo Ran: From my point of view, him burning paper cranes monthly to commemorate Zhou Nan is exactly what doesn’t fit within common sense.

Zuo Ran: Do you still remember when Zhao Fei said that Fu Qiao didn’t know that Zhou Nan was a bar waitress, and he always thought that she was a bar singer?

Zuo Ran: If this is the truth, then the blow dealt to Fu Qiao from Zhou Nan’s death would not only be from losing his girlfriend.

MC: He lost his girlfriend, while knowing that his girlfriend had hidden something the whole time.

A job like a bar waitress…

Zuo Ran: I think that there probably isn’t anyone who is willing to share their love with others. At least, I would not allow other people to long for my lover.

MC: …

We were clearly talking about the case, but the atmosphere in the room became somewhat off.

Zuo Ran: Ahem ahem…

Zuo Ran: So, even if Fu Qiao had excellent relations with Zhou Nan before, he would not be indifferent after finding out that he had been lied to.

Zuo Ran: There’s even the possibility that the depth of his love from before would be as deep as the hurt he suffered after knowing about the truth.

Zuo Ran: Under these conditions, he still burns paper cranes for Zhou Nan each month…

Zuo Ran: I keep feeling like there is something odd about this.

MC: That’s true. But if we consider the situation outside of deep emotion…

MC: If he was involved in Zhou Nan’s death, it seems to make more sense for him to make offerings to his girlfriend every month out of guilt.

Zuo Ran: That’s right.

MC: It was already very hard to get material evidence from Chen Hanzhang. Now if Fu Qiao is involved, this case sure is intricate and complex.

Zuo Ran took a spoon, filled a bowl with soup, and placed it beside my hand.

Zuo Ran: Don’t stop moving your chopsticks as soon as you start talking about the case.

MC: Thank you. But my mind’s loaded with things to think about, and I kind of don’t have an appetite.

Zuo Ran: When you feel confused, you can try shaking off the conclusion you already have, jump out, and re-examine the entire case, to find a breakthrough point from the original place.

MC: Original place?

Zuo Ran: Right now, we have no way of obtaining more information about Chen Hanzhang…

Zuo Ran: We might as well try setting aside Zhao Fei and the police’s conclusions, then, based only on the premise that Zhou Nan’s death was because of intentional murder, we can think about characteristics the murderer might have.

MC: That’s true. Right now, we have no way of confirming whether Zhao Fei’s identification of Chen Hanzhang is tenable, and the police don’t acknowledge his conclusion…

MC: If we don’t jump out, our investigation will be a dead end, and we have no way of sorting through the information we have now.

Zuo Ran: Then the first point, who would have a motive to kill Zhou Nan?

MC: It’s obvious that this person must have had a direct conflict with Zhou Nan.

MC: Not only this, this conflict must be severe enough for it to be unresolvable without Zhou Nan’s death.

Zuo Ran: This is only one possibility. There is another possibility.

MC: Eh? Let me think…

Zuo Ran: You just said a “direct” conflict. What other kind is there?

What other person might have murdered Zhou Nan?

>Someone for whom Zhou Nan’s death had utilitarian value >An unexpected incident, a crime of passion (incorrect, scroll for right answer)

MC: An unexpected accident? The murderer originally did not want to kill Zhou Nan, but something unexpected occurred, resulting in Zhou Nan’s death?

Zuo Ran: This wouldn’t be able to be called a premeditated murder. Think again.

>Someone for whom Zhou Nan’s death had utilitarian value >An unexpected incident, a crime of passion

MC: It’s indirect value!

MC: Zhou Nan’s death might have no value to the murderer. But this might be a method for the murderer to achieve another objective!

Zuo Ran: That’s right.

Zuo Ran: Zhou Nan’s death might have been a sort of condition used to exchange for some other benefits.

MC: Though we’ve thought of this kind of possibility, I can’t think up of a detailed case for it to be tenable.

I understood the implication of what Zuo Ran said, but this was an empty space in my past case experience. So I had a very hard time in thinking about the possible practical applications for this situation.

Zuo Ran: Have you heard of “pledges of loyalty”*?

MC: Ah, I know about these!

During ancient times, if people wanted to escape to a group that set themselves against the imperial family**, they would sign a document of life and death and even kill an official from the imperial family to express their loyalty. Because, once they did this, there would basically be no possibility of them betraying the group – they would have cut off their opportunity to become an ordinary person again.

MC: So you mean, Lawyer Zuo, that Zhou Nan might not have any relation with the purported reasonings like “running into business transactions”.

MC: It’s just that she just happened to appear at that place at that time, so she became the sacrifice of some people who sought help from some group?

Zuo Ran: Yes. If it were a typical criminal case, I would very rarely consider this kind of situation.

Zuo Ran: But Zhou Nan’s case involves an illegal gang trafficking prohibited drugs – thus, the “pledge of loyalty” might have happened.

Zuo Ran: Plus, think about how Yan Wei said that the evidence the police have that points to Chen Hanzhang have all been avoided by her.

Zuo Ran: This indicates that Chen Hanzhang’s methods are very clean, and it’s very hard to catch any leverage against her.

MC: Under such situations, if what happened to Zhou Nan was as Zhao Fei guessed, Chen Hanzhang would not murder to silence her if she only ran into the transactions.

MC: After all, if Zhou Nan tattled, no one would believe her, and murdering would instead create additional trouble.

Zuo Ran: Thus, on the night of the incident, something even more complicated than we have imagined must have happened.

MC: Based on this, it’s even more necessary for us to inquire the boss of the bar, as I suggested before.

Especially under the precondition that Chen Hanzhang definitely wouldn’t take the initiative to confess.

Zuo Ran: Yes. A murder occurred and illegal drugs were found in the bar, yet the bar is still operating. This boss must also not be simple.

Zuo Ran: Aside from the murderer’s motive, the second point we must consider is the method of crime.

MC: The most direct method would be the injection of the illegal drugs. Plus… Zhou Nan might have been moved after death.

Zuo Ran: Your conclusion is correct. Then, what is your reasoning?

Zhou Nan might have been moved after death, because…

>External injury (incorrect answer, scroll down for correct one) >The location where her body was noticed

MC: There were external injuries on Zhou Nan’s body. Those scratches might have been created when she was being moved.

Zuo Ran: Based on the positions of the scratches and the degree of severity, it doesn’t seem to have resulted from moving the body.

Zuo Ran: Regardless if she were dragged, carried, slung over a shoulder, or things like that, it’s unlikely that there would only be a thin scratch on the outside of her wrist.

Zuo Ran: The probability is too low, think again.

>External injury >The location where her body was noticed

MC: Because her body was noticed at a booth between the first-floor dance pit and the stairs.

MC: Lots of people come and go at this place, so it probably isn’t where the incident occurred.

MC: In the file, the testimony of the person who reported the case indicated that the last time he saw Zhou Nan was when she went to the washroom after drinking a lot.

MC: It’s obvious that Zhou Nan was able to move, and she didn’t die from drinking.

MC: When the murderer acted against Zhou Nan, she could not have gone down without a fight. This was bound to attract the attention of other guests.

Zuo Ran: That’s right. So it’s more probable that Zhou Nan was injected with the illegal drugs in some hidden location…

Zuo Ran: After the drugs took effect, the murderer moved her.

MC: If we analyze it like this… I feel like the murderer seems more and more like Chen Hanzhang.

Zuo Ran: Think about the manpower around Chen Hanzhang. She could indeed have done this.

Zuo Ran: In contrast for Fu Qiao, with his physical fitness, I’m afraid that it’s very hard for him to move Zhou Nan without taking help from external force.

Zuo Ran: In addition, Chen Hanzhang is able to obtain high-purity illegal drugs, but Fu Qiao is probably unable to do this.

Zuo Ran: To sum it up, all clues point towards Chen Hanzhang.

MC: But we just analyzed it – if it’s just to silence her, Chen Hanzhang does not need to do this.

Zuo Ran: Thus, under the premise that we don’t exclude Chen Hanzhang from having committed the crime, I suggest adding Fu Qiao into the category for consideration.

Zuo Ran: Or, we can also find other, more direct suspects with conflicts of interest with Zhou Nan to replace Fu Qiao’s function in this.

MC: Then according to our inference of indirect benefit, Fu Qiao, or someone else with conflicts of interest, should have had contact with Chen Hanzhang after Zhou Nan’s death.

Zuo Ran: This just might involve the illegal drug trafficking case that the police has continuously been unable to find evidence for.

MC: Then when we see Fu Qiao in a moment, the first thing we need to ask him about must be to prove that he wasn’t on the scene, on the night of the crime.

MC: Only him saying that he’s never been to Xunye before doesn’t count for anything.

Zuo Ran and I spoke about the case as we finished off dinner. Looking at the time, it was almost time to go to Fu Qiao’s house.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you’re tired, so I’ll drive when we go to Fu Qiao’s place.

Zuo Ran: I’ll do it. To me, driving also counts as a sort of joy – I can relax with it.

MC: I almost forgot that Lawyer Zuo is a leisure driving expert.

Zuo Ran: What kind of title is this?

MC: It’s obviously admiration for your driving skills.

I stood up, took my purse, and walked towards the outside.

MC: Now that I think about it, driving in the wind really is a good way to relieve pressure…

MC: Ah!

Maybe because I sat for too long, but there was little strength in my legs as I walked. My feet tripped, and I fell forward.

Zuo Ran: Careful!

With quick eyes and hands, Zuo Ran caught me from behind. I hung in the crook of Zuo Ran’s arm, shaken from fright as I was, and let out a long breath.

MC: …

MC: (Falling on flat ground… it simply can’t get more embarrassing…)

Zuo Ran: Oh you, didn’t you notice that your shoelaces became untied?

MC: Ah?

I lowered my head to look at my shoelaces. They really were…

Before I could tie up the shoelaces, Zuo Ran had already set the briefcase he was holding aside, crouching down beside me.

Zuo Ran: This pair of shoes looks quite nice. The shoelaces must be decorative?

Zuo Ran: I see that there are zippers on the side.

MC: Mm… mhmm, yes.

His hand slid past the zipper outside my ankle. Although it was separated by the leather upper part of the shoe, I still felt a burst of numbness.

MC: …

Zuo Ran: No wonder it untied. If it were practical-function shoelaces, you would definitely tie it well, with how meticulous you are.

MC: Not really, sometimes my hands are pretty clumsy.

The dark brown hair reflected in my eyes. I heard my voice get quieter until it was nearly inaudible.

He… was this much taller than me…

Regardless if it were height, or typical demeanor…

And right now, as he lowered himself like this, it gave me a subtle sense of safety that I had never experienced.

As well as…

A feeling of being treasured, as if cupped in one’s palms.

Zuo Ran: I’m the one with clumsy hands. I always did my best to buy Velcro running shoes when I was little.

He was probably joking on purpose, just to ease my awkwardness.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you’re lying – I won’t believe you.

MC: The meals you make are so good, and even the carvings placed on the dishes are ones you make yourself, so how could your hands be clumsy.

Zuo Ran: They’re all some simple carvings – plus, that’s different from tying shoelaces.

I inexplicably felt like touching his hair. And I followed my thoughts, raising my hand. My fingertips accidentally brushed past his ear, its temperature scorching. Zuo Ran… his face must be red…

MC: Thank you. Regardless of how you appear in others’ eyes, I’ve always felt that you… are a very gentle person.

Kind to the point that under any situation, he would make the most comfortable surroundings for me.

MC: If Lawyer Zuo is also not skilled at tying shoelaces, then I don’t feel that I’m shameful.

Zuo Ran raised his head and looked towards me, with his calm and kind eyes that anyone could sink into.

Zuo Ran: Don’t worry when falling. It’s hard to avoid encountering all sorts of challenges and frustrations as one grows.

Zuo Ran: But… it must be where I can see.

MC: Eh?

Zuo Ran: In a place where I can reach in time. Even if the road is rugged and you fall, I can still protect you.

Zuo Ran: At least, give me time to reach out my hand.

This was a promise.

Zuo Ran’s solemn eyes told me that this promise might not just be because he was my partner. Aside from work, he could also become my most trustworthy person.

MC: Okay.

TL Notes:

*Original term “投名状” (tou ming zhuang). These were used to ensure strong bonds within the group while maintaining little relations with those outside. My translation here (”pledge of loyalty”) is a very loose one.

**I am not too certain about my translation here about exactly what the pledges of loyalty were;;

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #未定事件簿 #weiding shijian bu #zuo ran #tot translation #i rly like the analysis stuff #although i have to wonder #do actual lawyers have to do this much investigation

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wickedmilo · 3 years

Photo

DO BETTER | MILO & VIC

PLACE: A bar TIMING: A couple of weeks before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo confronts a familiar face, and Vic is forced to reconsider her values WRITING PARTNER: @natusvincere CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug abuse, alcohol, mentions of drug manipulation

Milo was having a good night. The club he was in had a respectable reputation compared to the ones he was more liable to frequent, and he was enjoying the unexpected change of pace. The atmosphere was more controlled somehow, far less chaotic than a room filled with unpredictable people using unpredictable substances. He had even enjoyed a handful of cocktails which was very much not his speed, and now, relatively buzzed, was flitting about the establishment, making friends where he could, talking people into buying rounds when they began to enjoy his company. It was a routine that worked seemingly regardless of where he was, he only wished people counted utilising his charisma as a genuine skill. As far as he was concerned, it was the only thing he was good at. Leaning back against the bar, carefully scanning the vicinity for anybody he had yet to talk to, it didn’t take him long to spot a woman sitting alone at a table beside a window. He watched her for a few minutes, intrigued by her apparent misery. It wouldn’t take a genius to read her body language and realise she was brooding, hugging a drink, lost in thought, and all but dead to the world. He considered approaching her, maybe offering her some company, but then she turned her head, and the floor seemed to fall out from underneath him.

He gripped at the counter, his knuckles turning white as he was thrust back into memories that made his chest tight with anxiety. Waking up alone, and undead, was unlike anything else he had been through. Even now he couldn’t find a way to handle the fear, and confusion that had accompanied his first day as a vampire. Which was why it was so difficult to stay focused, to stay in the present. He could see her in the alleyway at night, remember her face as she had pulled his victim out from under him. She had thrown down the body, berated him for being obvious. And when it became clear he didn’t know what was happening, this woman, the woman only a few yards away from him, had told him what he was. Maybe he should be grateful, although she had done nothing to ease his confusion, she had given him an explanation, attempted to save the person he had inevitably murdered. But she had been apathetic, and cold. Something that was equally as difficult for him to forget. Yes, this woman had offered him help, the absolute bare minimum, but she had also left him alone to watch somebody die. To watch somebody take their final breath knowing he was responsible. He had woken up to a world he wasn’t familiar with, one he hadn’t even known was anything more than fiction, and his lifeline had offered him next to nothing.

Blinking tears from his eyes, willing himself to stay grounded, the alcohol in his system helped as he pulled himself back, as he attempted to ignore the almost painful storm of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t know what to do. He should leave, maybe he should leave. Did he really want anything to do with her? But a small part of him was curious. She might know about the vampire who had taken his life, she might be able to give him a name, or a description, and shit, he was desperate. Not only that, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, she had helped him. For better or for worse, she had thrown him a few crumbs when he needed them most. There had to be some good in her. Pushing away from the bar, ignoring his shaking hands, he crossed the space between them with the air of somebody about to conduct an interview. His head was spinning, but he fought to feign some composure. “Remember me?”

Vic’s walk with Morgan had left a pit of self loathing in her stomach, and she’d been frequenting bars a lot more than normal ever since the endeavor. Drinking, an activity she barely ever had the chance to enjoy before, numbed the pain in a sickeningly sweet way. You could still remember what happened, you still knew you were a shitty person, but at least it didn’t feel like your insides were being ripped out because of it. She counted the grains of salt she’d poured out at her table, moving them back and forth methodically. Remember me? The voice shouldn’t have been talking to her, but still, she looked up.

She recognized him the moment she laid eyes on him, but the alcohol dulled the emotions that tried to sweep in. Still, she remembered the event clear as day, especially since it was a night she looked back on often. She was walking home after a shift at the silver bullet, only to be distracted by the sounds of someone being attacked in an alleyway. And, much to her chagrin, the smell of blood. Her stomach turned at the sight of what she saw when she arrived, and she practically threw the vampire off his victim. He seemed confused, and she’d assumed, at first, that he was drunk- a viable explanation for his sloppiness. When she was sure no one was around, she somehow convinced the man to stick around, assuring him that she’d help him home when really, she had already pinged their location to a hunter. This should have been a simple payday for her, in all honesty. But it wasn’t long before she realized the man’s confusion wasn’t due to drunkenness, but naivety, and for the first time in a while, she faltered. It seemed someone had turned this man and then left him to his own devices, and now he was roaming the streets of White Crest even more dangerous than others of his kind. Their kind. Somewhere in her explanation to him, a sense of empathy wiggled it’s way into her heart. She knew what it was like to have your world ripped out from under you, how confusing and devastating it was to suddenly desire the blood that her new brain forced her to lust after. And while she didn’t understand why, she sent another short text to the hunter before it was too late. ‘False Alarm’.

He would still be on his own, but at least now he knew what he was- if he developed the morality to avoid human blood, or even better, the wherewithal to leave town, then she mused she could avoid seeing him and facing the consequences of letting him go forever. If not, a hunter was always a text away. Devastatingly, his victim was too far gone to help. Maybe it could serve as a lesson to him. They were monsters, and the proof was right there in front of him. “Learn to control yourself so you don’t do this again”, had been all she offered before she left.

He should have left town. Or left well enough alone. But here he was again, approaching her as if they were old friends. Despite the alcohol, guilt gnawed at her stomach when she thought about how many people might have already died as a result of her letting him go. She needed to alert a hunter about him immediately, and fix her old mistakes. More guilt came when she thought about the implications from Morgan, and the idea of innocent vampires and how many she might have hurt. “Can’t say that I do”, she said, offering him a false smile and a head tilt. “But then, I don’t typically remember old fucks. Remind me- did you live in the outskirts? Or was it closer to the common?” Better get a location on him now, rather than have to search for it later. This could be one and done, if she played her cards right.

Ignoring the urge to join the woman in counting the salt grains on the table, Milo forced himself to hold her gaze. Of all the vampire related changes in his life, the desire to count had to be the most ridiculous. At first he had assumed Harsh was joking. That was until his roommate poured out a handful of rice and told him to look at it carefully. Alone in Harsh’s kitchen it hardly mattered, but he wasn’t about to let something as mundane as mathematics distract him now. So he laughed sharply, unable to quite process his company’s words. Did she honestly think he was a one night stand? Did she really have no recollection of finding him bloody, and terrified, curled up in an alleyway? She had to be lying, he needed her to be lying. The alternative was far too hurtful.

If she didn’t remember him then his pain was insignificant. The one person who bore witness to his stress, and his trauma, didn’t care enough to recollect it. “Yeah, that really isn’t how we know each other.” He muttered, unable to hold back. He felt too on edge, too uncomfortable to lean into a casual demeanour. Not to mention the thought of him taking a woman home was literally laughable. “You can’t be serious.” He eyed her for any hint she might not be telling him the truth, watching her in the hope of her body language or her facial expressions giving her away. “You know me. You have to know me.”

Vic went on pretending that she didn’t remember the man, and as a result, didn’t care about his presence next to her anymore than she would any other asshole in the bar trying to hit on her. Her finger rested gently on a single grain of salt, and she spun it around nonchalantly. Internally, a million thoughts were racing through her mind. She really knew

nothing about him other than that first night when he was nothing more than a monstrous infant. Perhaps a one and done would be wreckless- how could she take him down if she didn’t know the way to go about it? And then there was the issue of her conversation with Morgan, and the idea that what she did was no better than the vampires themselves- it was a ridiculous thought. As if there were innocent, peaceful vampires. But still, the words were there, growing and eating at her almost every second her mind was active. On top of all of that- there were plenty of reasons to feel guilty about the way she left him that night- for one, the amount of damage he must have done as an unsired vampire could have been insurmountable, and Vic herself was to blame for letting him live. But the next reason was much deeper, and one she shut away whenever it crept into her heart- what type of person was she to leave him alone to deal with it all on his own? Scared and confused and alone. She hated her sire, but what would have become of her without the training she’d received from her? What type of person would she have been if she helped a vampire?

She rolled her eyes, finally looking into his eyes reluctantly. “Oh, right”, she said, blank faced and monotone. She didn’t have the mental energy to put on the charm she usually did when gathering information about suspected vampires, especially not three drinks in. “The guy from the alley? I guess I didn’t recognize you without all the carnage.” She blinked, shaking her head. This was not the way to go about this, not if she wanted more information about him. She sat up a bit straighter, clearing her throat. “Why don’t you sit down-...I’d love to catch up. I don’t think I even caught your name that night.”

Not expecting the eye contact after his company had spent so long attempting to avoid it, Milo felt himself shrink under the woman’s gaze. His anger, and frustration at her supposedly being unable to remember him was quickly replaced by anxiety, and fear. She was a vampire. Not the one responsible for killing him, but a vampire all the same. For all he knew she was dangerous, and that terrified him. He was reminded of why he had been so nervous to approach her, but then she spoke again, deciding to admit she knew exactly who he was, and exactly how they had crossed paths with each other. Setting his jaw at the mention of carnage, it was becoming easier and easier to force down his guilt. He wasn’t the person to blame for what had taken place. His sire had turned him, left him alone. The blood wasn’t on his hands. He had been, and still was, the victim. If he kept reminding himself of that fact, maybe one day he might just believe it.

“You- you want to catch up?” The words seemed to echo in his ears, they were ridiculous given the situation. Why was she talking to him like an old friend? Why was she talking to him like this wasn’t serious? Like if his heart was still beating it wouldn’t be pounding uncomfortably in his chest? “We wouldn’t need to catch up if you hadn’t left me.” He said, surprising himself with his bravery. Every instinct in him was telling him to keep his mouth shut, to be well behaved, and amicable. But he was being honest, she had to know it was the truth. He didn’t know her, he had no way of knowing why she hadn’t decided to stick around, and maybe a part of him understood he hadn’t been her responsibility. She had pulled him away from the person unlucky enough to approach him, he supposed in a vain attempt to save their life, and she had told him he was a vampire. Without that knowledge to process, without that information to contextualise his new life, how many more people might he have hurt? How was it possible she had done so little for him, and so much at the very same time? He carefully pulled out the stool opposite her, as though if he moved too quickly she might pounce on him, and hesitantly climbed up onto it. He felt far more awkward sitting down than he had standing up. “Kind of hard to catch somebody’s name when you’re busy telling them to do better.”

Vic took a sip of her drink, never quite letting her eyes leave the vampire. He had a lot of nerve, sitting here with an accusatory tone after she’d let him live. She could have had a hunter there in mere moments, and the world would have been that much safer for it, too. “What, did you want me to invite you over for tea?”, she asked, her voice biting and sarcastic. It was a ridiculous thought. She had done plenty, but it was typical of a vampire to not understand simple humanity and integrity. She raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her. She suppressed an eye roll as he awkwardly sat down, almost as if he suspected her to attack him. As much as she would enjoy that, she would never- especially not in such a public venue. Leave it to the hunters to deal with the likes of him. “Well, I couldn’t exactly let you continue with that reckless behaviour, could I?” Her voice was nearly full charm at this point, and she was too distracted by alcohol and anger to notice how jarring the constant switch in her tone must have been. “And here I thought you’d have been appreciative, friend. Maybe you’re clouding what happened, in your mind. You did seem distracted that night, after all.” Vic shot the man a smirk, and then presented her hand for him to shake. “I’m Vic… Are you going to tell me your name? Or am I going to have to guess?”

Milo stayed quiet, not having an answer to the woman’s sarcastic, and obviously rhetorical question. As much as he wanted to bite back, he physically couldn’t, the words seemed to die in his throat. “It wasn’t reckless.” He countered finally, annoyed by the implication. “Reckless makes it sound like it was a choice. Somebody turned me against my will and left me to wake up alone.” Glaring at her, the sweet charismatic tone she had adopted only served to make him feel patronised, and small, but it took a surprisingly short amount of time for his demeanour to soften. She was almost right. To a degree he was grateful for the help she had offered him. “I’m not clouding anything. I know what happened.” He kept his voice firm, leaving no room for her to argue, or manipulate him into doubting himself. But his anger was gone. Suppressed, and carefully pushed to the back of his mind.

“Anybody would be distracted.” He added, pointedly glancing down at her outstretched hand before ignoring it entirely. “My name is Milo.” He swallowed his emotion, knowing if he wasn’t careful he might burn this particular bridge. It clearly wasn’t very strong, but the woman sitting opposite him was a link to the person who had taken his life. She either knew his attacker, or she didn’t, so preserving their connection was important. Right now, given their current dynamic, he doubted she would be willing to divulge the information. Maybe one day that might change. “Look…” He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I had no fucking idea- about any of it. I was scared, and alone, and feeling so many things I had no way of explaining. You could have done more, obviously. But you didn’t have to stop… I get that. So… do you want to start this again? I don’t be a dick to you, and you don’t be a dick to me?”

“But it was a choice for me to help you”, Vic bit back, losing her decorum for only a moment before she forced herself to maintain her more relaxed tone. She didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but it made her anger fiery and flammable in an outward way that she wasn’t used to. She’d been struggling to hold her anger in a lot more than she liked, recently.

Her gaze followed his to her hand, pulling it back slowly when he refused to take it. “Milo”. Milo, White Male. Under 6 feet tall. Not too chicken shit to approach someone in a bar. “Not a name you hear often- is it short for something?” She licked her lips as he continued, hating how much she related to those feelings of isolation and confusion. She wanted to tell him those feelings didn’t cease to exist just because you happened to catch a sire who wanted to parade you around like a prize instead of leaving you for dead. She wanted to tell him that knowing what kind of monster you were turned into from the start didn’t clear the clouds of self hatred that inched their way into your mind. She could have done less, too, but she stopped herself from saying as much.

Milo’s offer of civility was rather unexpected to Vic, and she felt herself sitting up straighter, analyzing his face for any sense of deception. “While I can’t control your perception of what constitutes a di-... one of those, I would love to start over, Milo.” What better way to learn more information about him, right? The quicker she knew, the easier it’d be to get a hunter on his trail. Morgan’s optimism about vampire’s civility be damned.

Milo let out a huff of breath, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Honestly, he was so relieved his company wasn’t being overly aggressive, or unpredictable, that his anxiety was rapidly draining away. Leaving him feeling tired, and irritable, but also maybe offering him a new perspective. Without anger clouding his judgement, without having the energy to pay attention to the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, the woman sitting opposite him became… just a woman. Somebody who had done what she could in the moment to help him, who was likely also battling her own demons. Shooting Vic a quizzical look when she began to question him on his name, he couldn’t imagine why the information was important but he shook his head. “Nope… it’s Milo for Milo. No middle name either, I guess my parents were hoping for a boring child.” They definitely didn’t get one, he thought to himself.

Watching Vic, an unexpected smile tugging at his lips as he realised she was carefully avoiding his choice of word, he was surprised when she accepted the suggestion. Their history was incredibly brief, but complicated, and undeniably tense. Maybe a fresh start would help him to understand her motivations, as well as bring him closer to the identity of his killer. And if not… maybe he would have another vampire in his life. Somebody like him. Somebody who could relate to what he was going through. “You don’t swear?” He asked, his eyes shining. “Or is this some kind of etiquette thing? Are you going to tell me you were an upper class 19th century Lady who still doesn’t put her elbows on the table, or like… ever show her ankles?”

“Milo for Milo, just like Vic for Vic”, Vic responded, her mouth twitching at the lie. “Nothing wrong with being boring”, she noted, sharing her genuine feelings. “Sometimes boring is safe- physically and emotionally.” She suppressed an eye roll at his smirk, sitting back in her chair defensively. “I swear plenty. Just not about such… uncouth things.” But then, at his assumption about her origin, a small smirk grew on her own lips, surprising herself by how amused she was with just how close he was, except for the century. “Well I’m not an animal”, she responded. So often her pristine posture had been met with strange eyes, especially as more and more time went by, but she would not stoop herself so low as to be like the ‘youth of today’ who chewed with their mouths open and leaned over tables like dogs.

Though she never directly confirmed or denied his assumption, she pressed on. “That’s enough about me, though. I’d much rather learn about you… are you still in contact with your family now that things are different? Were you close to them before?” What she was really asking was, is there anyone that would miss you, or enact revenge when you eventually went missing? Some sort of pit grew in her stomach suddenly at the thought though, making the walls feel like they were closing in. Milo hadn’t done anything wrong- he had been turned against his will like she was and then left alone. Was his trying to learn about her a testament to his humanity? Her next sentence came out much shakier than the last few had. “Have you always lived around White Crest?”

Milo raised his eyebrows at Vic, making it clear he didn’t believe her. But he chose not to pursue the topic, it didn’t exactly feel fair when she was under no obligation to talk to him. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away. “No shit boring is safe.” He agreed offering her a half-hearted shrug. If he had grown up to be the boring son his parents were hoping for, things would have turned out very differently. For him, as well as for them. A laugh escaping him when his company decided to insist she did swear on occasion, it didn’t take away from how amusing he found her hesitation. “Uncouth?” He grinned, unable to help himself. He almost hated the fact that he was beginning to enjoy her company. “A lot of things are uncouth, it doesn’t make them bad.” If her choice of language hadn’t been enough to give her away, her reaction to his teasing made him confident his assumption had been correct. “I didn’t say you were.” He countered, trying not to dwell on the things Dani had said to him implying all vampires were animals. Less than human, abominations. Surely this woman’s dedication to etiquette was proof of just how wrong Dani was.

His smile faltering suddenly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts only to be hit by questions he really, really didn’t want to answer. A few beats of silence passed before he was able to find his voice, the motivation to respond to such a barrage. “Why?” He demanded, an edge to his tone as he fought the urge to storm away. What right did she have to ask something so personal? Something so painful? Especially when he wasn’t prepared to face the emotion that followed the subject being raised. “I- it doesn’t matter.” He bit out, knowing his words were incredibly vague. In fact, they probably only made it easier for Vic to continue on her chosen path. He needed to say something final, something that closed this particular line of communication. “I didn’t come here to talk about my family.” That had to be enough, right? He needed that to be enough. “Born, raised, and died.” He added, hoping to distract her. “I’m guessing you aren’t from around here?”

“Some things should just not be spoken about in public”, Vic chided, further explaining her aversion to the word she’d refused to use earlier. “Not that they’re bad, they’re just… rude”. It wasn’t the right word to describe it, but it was the only one she could think of, so it was what she settled on. No, he didn’t say she was an animal, but she still wasn’t sure if the same was true for him. Varying opinions danced in her mind, and inwardly, all she wanted to do was to scold Morgan. If the woman hadn’t been so persistent lately, Vic wouldn’t have to question her morals so often now- it was so much easier to get her job done before.

At the break in his otherwise seemingly calm demeanor, Vic’s eyebrows raised, watching him with equal parts curiosity and expectancy. This sharp edge- this is what she expected from vampires. As brief as his flash of anger was, it was entirely interesting, and something she wanted to explore even more. In the very least, she now knew he had ties here- a whole lifetime of them. His words held an air of finality that she couldn’t press on if she wanted to get on his good side. Instead, she let the beats of silence continue between them, revelling in the discomfort they brought as she looked over him, judging. Despite her better judgement, she couldn’t resist commenting. “I’ve never met someone who tries to hide things that don’t matter”, she said matter of factly, her mouth growing into a small, playful grin. She was both amused and intrigued, but she’d leave it there, at least for now. He seemed intent on turning the conversation back to her, something that made her considerably uncomfortable when she was chatting with other vampires. “What gave it away?” she wondered. Not even 400 some odd years of traversing around the world could erase her accent completely, although most people tended to assume she was British, not Swedish. “I’ve lived in White Crest for about ten years, albeit as somewhat of a recluse”, she said honestly, possibly explaining why they had never met in such a small town.

“Well, that’s no fun.” Milo pouted, trying to imagine censoring himself, especially when he had been drinking. He couldn’t see very much to gain, but he also hadn’t lived Vic’s experiences. If it really was an important part of her past then of course she was going to hold onto that. It wasn’t his place to tell her she shouldn’t. “Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in surrender, realising the anxiety and fear that had plagued him were actually beginning to fade away. “I’ll stop being rude.” He half teased, despite intending to make good on his promise. Settling into the silence as his company seemed to observe him from where she was sitting, he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but no longer worried. She didn’t seem like a threat, not right in this moment, at least. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether she hadn’t helped him for personal reasons, valid reasons she couldn’t bring herself to explain. For a long time he had seen her as callous, and cold. Somebody who had given him the bare minimum without any sign of empathy or consideration. Had he been wrong?

A frown creasing his brow, his body tensed at her comment, and he tried to remind himself he wasn’t in danger. She was getting to know him, and she was being smart about it. That was all. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to imply, but he felt exposed, and vulnerable under her statement. He didn’t know how to combat the way she danced around his own statement. The one that was supposed to signal the end of the discussion. “I’m not hiding anything.” He said, his voice firm as he tried not to look as small as he felt. “Do you think I’m hiding something?” If he used her own questions against her, feigned a certain level of confidence, then maybe she would stop asking them. A smile tugging at his lips as she spoke again, he was grateful for the chance to move on. “I’ve never heard an accent like yours.” He admitted. He couldn’t place it even if he wanted to, and it made him curious to know where she had been born. Where she had been raised. “You’ve been here for ten years?” He asked, searching her expression, genuinely curious. “Why stay for so long?”

Vic, feeling done with this particular conversation, took a swig of her drink, hoping it signified the end of it. Thankfully, he seemed to concede, but she let out a small huff of annoyance despite herself. The silence that surrounded them now made her uncomfortable. It was too much of an opportunity for her mind to continue to swell with anxiety and guilt, and she shifted in her seat. “Do you come here often?”, she asked, hoping to break the silence.

Again, Milo’s response and body language sparked interest, and she tilted her head at his inquiry. “I think you’re working very hard to make me think you’re not hiding something”, she said, an amused smirk still playing comfortably on her lips. She was willing to drop this, at least for now, but she was incredibly intrigued at whatever Milo was keeping locked away. “Swedish”, she admitted honestly. For some reason, she didn’t have as much anxiety telling him as she thought she would. Either he was a monster like she thought and he’d die soon anyway, or he was harmless like Morgan implied, and her birthplace would serve no use to him. “But that was a long time ago.” If she were to answer his next question honestly, she would tell him that the intel had been so good here that she never had to leave. “Why leave so soon?”, she asked to counter him. “This life is a long one. Especially with our...affliction. Ten years is nothing, not in the scheme of things.”

Milo laughed, surprised by the question after a few beats of silence passed between them. It wasn’t a laugh reserved for his friends, but it was comfortable, and it came easy to him. “I go everywhere often.” He admitted. “I can’t remember the last time I ended the night sober.” Was that true? He realised the moment the words left his mouth that he was being entirely honest. For a brief moment he saw himself from the outside, the friend everybody watched, and worried about, but it didn’t take long to brush away his concern. He was fine. It would only be a problem if he felt like he couldn’t end the night sober, right? And at this moment in time not being sober was a choice. He was definitely choosing this life. His expression hardening as Vic tilted her head, everything about the way she was looking at him felt smug. She was either reading him like an open book, or she wanted him to believe she was capable of doing so. He couldn’t figure out which.

“Forgive me for being wary of strangers, this town kind of taught me that when it tore out my fucking throat.” He muttered. He didn’t enjoy the idea of her prying, and trying to gain information on him that he just wasn’t willing to give. Especially when he still didn’t know her. “You don’t consider yourself Swedish anymore?” He asked, distracted by her answer to his question. Did you grow out of a nationality? If you spent enough time in one country did that really mean you were willing to let another country go? “I…” He trailed off, trying to imagine ten years in the context of a person who had hundreds of years at their disposal. He was one of those people, but at the age of twenty two it was so difficult to shift his perspective. He supposed that would happen as time passed, as the people around him began to age, and die. He swallowed his emotion, annoyed for allowing his thoughts to wander. One of the only things he pointedly avoided thinking about was his new, and elongated lifespan. It was too overwhelming. Too terrifying to truly dissect. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that…” He admitted. “Still… it isn’t the most exciting place. Sometimes it feels like the only thing to do here is run from supernatural creatures.”

Vic hadn’t been ending many of her nights sober lately either. She felt like a child, in a way. Like the teenagers she read about in books who were too wrapped up in their feelings and hormones to care about what the rest of the world thought of them. It was easy to understand where Milo was coming from with wanting to keep hidden. She herself had only just started to let herself come out of the woodwork by allowing a genuine connection to be formed with Morgan, and it was pretty clearly a mistake by how that was turning out. The worst parts of her thought that all that friendship brought were moral questions and heartache. And it wasn’t often that the best parts of her shone through. “I didn’t say that. Just that I lived there a long time ago. I doubt I’d recognize the town I’m from if I were to venture back. Can you consider yourself a part of a place you no longer have any connection to?” She never intended to be genuine with Milo, but something about his gratitude and the way she kept finding herself relating to him was starting to break her down. She thought, momentarily, that this is the exact effect she always hoped to have on the people she was manipulating. It was jarring. For as much as she was attempting to appear equal parts charming and intimidating, there wasn’t much left inside besides vulnerability and a wish to connect to anyone on a humanistic level. It must have been desperation, she assured herself, that this feeling was rearing its ugly head with the type of person who mauled strangers on the side of the road. His comment made her smirk, though, and effectively shook her out of her thoughts. “Do you not find running from supernatural creatures exciting, Milo?”

“You implied.” Milo insisted. He tried to imagine White Crest in a few hundred years, what it might look like if he ever returned to it. Or maybe he would never leave, the idea was both comforting, and genuinely terrifying. Did he really want a permanent connection to the town that had taken his life? Then again, did he really want to navigate a world he wasn’t familiar with? White Crest could regrettably be a comfort. He wasn’t ready to let it go. “I don’t know…” He admitted in response to Vic’s question, offering her a shrug. “Maybe? I guess it depends on you…” It wasn’t the most decisive of answers, but if there was one thing he had learned through Harsh, Eilidh, and James, it was that every single person had an entirely different perspective. Different views on death, and murder, and the supernatural world, there really was no black and white. It was never going to be that simple.

Shooting Vic a look of disbelief when she decided to smirk at the mention of White Crest’s many dangers, it was all he could do not to scoff. How could anybody possibly find it exciting? He couldn’t seem to walk home anymore without running into a werewolf, or crossing paths with the occasional mime. “No.” He deadpanned. “Obviously not.” When he had been human, indulging in alcohol, and substances came with very clear, and predetermined risks. He knew what might happen, understood the danger he was flirting with. Now that he saw White Crest for what it was, that level of inebriation came with a myriad of risks he couldn’t possibly be aware of. And how did you prepare for that? How were you supposed to feel comfortable with that? Every single time he left the house he was rolling the dice. And even though he was getting used to the feeling, it didn’t mean he enjoyed any part of it. “Do you?”

Vic’s eyebrows raised once more, noting, with some unexpected pride, Milo’s raise in confidence from when they first started talking. “You presumed implication”, she responded, surprised by how much she was growing to enjoy the back and forth of their conversation. While he once seemed like an overzealous coward, something about his demeanor was growing on her, disturbingly so. Where at first she was desperate to sic a hunter on him, there was now a hesitation in the way her fingers danced through her contacts during the moments when her attention landed on her phone. She told herself she should wait on it- study him more to really see if he was dangerous. That was the only reason she was sparing him, right? “I think one day you’ll see that too many years away from a place, even one you once called home, can make it feel cold and strange. Home becomes a strange concept, in that way. Some people claim home is with the ones you love or with the ones that love you, but what if there is no one that fills that quota?” Though she held eye contact with Milo, her eyes had gotten distant for a moment, lost in the strangeness that the world had become for her. It took a table near them being cleaned up by the barback to shake her out of her thoughts, and only then did her eyes seem to snap back to Milo’s.

“Have you always known about the dangers here?”, she wondered. It was an interesting phenomenon, even back when she was a child, that people could so easily deny the existence of creatures who lived among them. Was it easier for them than facing the truth of the matter? “I find it inconvenient, if I’m being totally honest. On a good day, it’s something to pass the time. On a bad one, it’s a time waster. It’s incredibly frustrating to miss an appointment because a sentient tree decided to park itself on main street.” She rolled her eyes at the thought, still relishing the job she lost because of the incident. Another table was being cleaned beside them, and she let out a breath, noticing that they were just about the only two left in the bar. “It seems we’ve cleaned the place out, Milo.” She moved around the grains of salt on the table in front of them, effectively ruining her counting for good.

Narrowing his eyes, Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue. If he denied what Vic was saying, or tried to counter it, this particular disagreement might never end. There was no wrong answer because both of them were technically right. She had implied, but he had also presumed. “Home is where the heart is.” He surprised himself by echoing something he had heard his mother say many times over. He had never once in his life stopped to consider the meaning behind her words. Feeling a strange chill wash over him, he didn’t want to imagine White Crest without the people he loved in it. Without his parents, without his friends… without Rio. “I-” He broke off, unable to insist he would make new friends, and find new loved ones. That didn’t feel true, and the idea of replacing the people he cared about almost physically hurt him. “Anywhere can be home.” He said finally, opting to be vague, to avoid addressing what Vic was making very clear. One day he would be alone. One day he wouldn’t have anybody left. Watching Vic, observing the expression on her face that was remarkably open, all things considered, he felt a spark of sympathy accompany his fear. He could worry about it until it happened, but maybe for Vic she was already there. Who had she lost? Who did she miss?

A bitter smile tugging at his lips, he shook his head at her question, grateful for the change in subject. “I like to think if I had then I wouldn’t be sitting here.” He admitted. “I guess weird stuff used to happen, now that I’m more aware of it there’s no fucking way it wasn’t happening when I was human. I was just… oblivious, I guess. When you aren’t looking for things, sometimes you just don’t see them.” It made for some pretty decent protection, until it didn’t. Until it got him killed. A laugh escaping him, he was shocked to realise they were actually in agreement. “Yeah, no shit, it’s inconvenient.” He couldn’t seem to leave the house without running into a supernatural creature. Sometimes they needed help, sometimes they were just… there, and sometimes they wanted to kill him. There was no way to predict how an interaction might end, and how were you supposed to plan around that? Sitting up a little straighter, turning to scan the rest of the bar, Vic was right, and the quiet seemed to suddenly press in on him. He had been so lost in thought, so focused on their conversation, that he really hadn’t noticed the absence of a crowd. A familiar sense of anxiety creeping up on him now that they were alone together, he pushed himself off of his stool. Staring at the grains of salt as Vic ran her fingers through them, now that he was standing he hurried to awkwardly brush himself down. “It seems we have…” He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t nervous to be alone in her company, but no doubt she would realise what was happening. “I- I should probably go.”

Vic didn’t easily back down from an argument. She enjoyed arguing, in a way. Perhaps because it provided some break up to an otherwise monotonous social life, or maybe it was just that having control over a situation with another person felt deliciously powerful. It was only slightly disappointing that Milo eventually relented. It was interesting to watch him process what she’d been forced to centuries ago- that life being ripped from you was only really a portion of the tragedies that came with being a blood sucker. “Anywhere can be hell”, she countered, because it was important that he knew.

“Fair enough” she responded, a small smirk growing to rest on her lips. “I think most people are wilfully ignorant- yourself included, apparently. It’s easier for them to ignore the truth because the alternative is too terrifying for most people to face.” Still, it wasn’t her job to warn the average human about the dangers out there- just to protect them from the blood suckers when she could. She had gone through a stint, early on after she’d killed her sire, where she tried desperately to warn humans of all the dangers they were missing- the ones that sat right in front of them, ready to attack. It didn’t end well, and so she stopped trying rather abruptly. She stayed in her chair, calm and cool as Milo anxiously stood up, fiddling side to side like a nervous teenager. “You should”, she agreed, resting her chin on her hand. “Stay out of trouble, Milo.”

As she watched him scurry out of the bar, she genuinely hoped he would. Because it became clear rather quickly that Morgan was right: getting to know people before turning them in definitely made sending them to their death a lot harder.

#c:victoria #milo and victoria #milo and vic #alcohol tw #drug abuse tw #drug manipulation tw

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