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#up to be this hot and dry. I hATE it i HATE evil violence kill HGHGHHBJ... iMAGINE having central heating and air
alessiathepirate · 7 months
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Pre-Resident Evil 4
A GOOD ENOUGH MOVE: Jack Krauser x fem!reader
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Summary: Training with Jack Krauser can be quite the challenge - unless she finds a good enough move.
Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.
As much as I love Leon and Luis, I can't deny that this guy makes me feel things as well.
Warnings: violence (fighting, training, knives), slightly suggestive
•••
The sound of knife meeting knife was something she was already used to.
It didn't come as a surprise or as a shocking attack anymore - it has became a long awaited occurence. She could see it happening the moment she opened her eyes in the morning and she thought about a new move to dodge it as she ate breakfast.
She could calculate Krauser's moves pretty well by now, but that didn't mean that she could protect herself against him. Not when he was taller, stronger and heavier, making it easy for him to push her against the wall or kick her feet out and push her down to the ground.
She wasn't stronger than Jack Krauser even if she could think like him.
Once again, it wasn't hard for him to kick her knife out of her hand and with a simple shove push her against the wall. Her forehead was sticky from sweat and her shirt was stuck to her body like a second skin. God, this man can make the training tiring.
"This is pathetic - even from you." she wasn't at all surprised when the blade was pushed against her throat and she knew that with a simple move of his wrist, Krauser could easily kill her.
Just a simple slice and that's it. A wrong breath or a wrong move and she's dead.
Even if deep down she knew the man wasn't capable of killing her - that would ruin his reputation for a lifetime - he definitely had the skill to do so.
"You should be perfectly capable to perform a simple dodge. It's the easiest skill to learn. Even Kennedy knows it, yet you don't." his breathing was heavy, like a predator's who trapped his prey and was about to put it out of its misery. "I expected more from you. Much more."
She pressed her palms against the wall next to her body, not daring to touch the Major everyone hated around here - at least Leon did and that fact alone was enough to form a friendship with him - as if a simple touch could end her life. She avoided the eye contact - because deep down the part of herself what became completely ruined in this place believed his every word.
He leaned in, getting closer than he already was. This time his breath hit her temple.
"Still being shy, huh?" she could see the smirk forming on his face. "Can't even keep up with an eye contact."
He could mock her all he wanted, but deep down she knew the truth. Krauser prefered her like this - weak, shy, 'pathetic'. He had too much fun with her, he enjoyed tormenting her with his words too much to actually want her to change and become a cold blooded soldier.
"I'm sorry, Major." she apologized for something - even she herself didn't know what for.
His other hand touched her shoulder and pushed it back firmly. She felt her hearbeat quicken. Krauser, who probably had seen many people scared and anxious under his gaze, felt the difference in her presence.
"Rumor has it," he started pressing the blade a bit further into her skin. "I make you nervous." he finished, looking at her expression from so close she actually started to feel nervous.
Her mind started to run wild both from fear and a bit of arousal. Her lungs hurt from trying to keep her breathing steady, her mouth felt dry and her stomach fluttered.
"What do you say, girl scout? Do I make you nervous?"
His breath was hot on her skin and she was sure it made her sweat more. His hand what kept a firm hold on her shoulder traveled upwards. If she wouldn't have been through Hell in these past few weeks, which made her look like a person who had been dragged through Hell, she would've started to feel special and wanted.
Did he make her nervous?
He did for sure. He did everytime he trained her and made her do extra sets of excercises because of a 'pathetic' move or dodge. He made her nervous everytime he followed her with his gaze even when she had a few minutes of free time. He made it hard to breath everytime he dodged, touched and squeezed.
He very obviously made her nervous with his whole existence.
"I don't know, Major." she answered after pulling herself together and finding her best teasing tone. "What do you think?"
The smirk what followed her question was something wild mixed with a bit of danger. From what she could see from his face, she read satisfaction and excitement.
"What do I think?" she turned to look at him, cutting her own skin with the knife from the movement - she hissed, but kept her composure. "I think your pulse tells me everything I need to know." he moved his hand back to her shoulder. "I think you enjoy this training too much for your own good - I think it explains your pathetic moves."
He was close. Way too close. She felt the muscles in her thigh tighten and her heart started to flutter.
"I do enjoy your company, Major." she continued as the cogs in her mind worked with full force. "I might as well say what I feel."
His grip on her became even firmer if that was possible.
"Such a tease." the words came out as a whisper, as if Krauser would try to keep his real feelings from coming out, stopping them before they could touch the surface.
He leaned even closer, his breath brushed her cheek and then her lips. He was so close she started to wonder how kissing him would feel. Would it be rough? It couldn't possibly be on the softer side. Krauser wasn't kind to anyone and he most definitely wouldn't go soft on her. Still - would it be full of passion, would it be quick or would he take his time?
She closed her eyes as she almost felt his lips on hers-
Her eyes opened much quicker than she closed them as she pushed her head back into the wall. That's when she broke out. Her hands left the wall, ready to act. She kicked upwards with her right leg, her knee meeting with his stomach with such a force she didn't know she had it in herself. It was only a second long shock, but it was enough - she punched upwards with her free arm, the punch only barely hitting him in the jaw, but his natural instincts worked just fine - like she thought.
Krauser stepped back, letting go of her shoulder, but keeping the knife in place, what she managed to get with a firm twist from her previously trapped arm.
Dodge - he attacked back. Of course he would.
Change of positions. She got to Krauser's previous place and after a hard kick to his feet, she had him where she wanted him. Knife to the throat, back to the wall.
It was her time to smirk - even if she knew it wouldn't take long for him to get his composure back and easily overpower her once again.
She didn't care - a small win is still a win.
"Is this a good enough move, Major?" she asked - god she'll have an extra two if not three sets for this. "Is this what you expected me to do?"
She expected him to become angry, yet all she saw was a twisted kind of satisfaction.
"Such a quick learner."
It was the only praise she has ever gotten from him. Her cheeks reddened. Even if she knew a way to make him dance, he knew one to make her weak - and aroused.
It didn't take long until he had a hold on her wrist.
"I learned from the best, Major."
He tilted his head and she swallowed. He was interested and now she was most definitely prey in front of something wild and primal.
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cinnamontoasttaes · 3 years
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Till Death Do Us Part - myg
pairing: Yoongi x reader
genre: Assassin Au, eventual smut.
word count: 5.972k
warnings: blood, gore, lots of cursing, action, violence, sexual content.
summary: Assassins are not supposed to fall in love.
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author’s note: I don’t know what the fuck I just wrote but I hope you enjoy this. Let me know if it’s good enough for a second part. Have a lovely day my beautiful peeps.
                                                  ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Making a run for it, you jump off of the edge of the high-rise building. The chilly wind slapping you harshly in the face as you brace yourself for landing. Knees tucked in, arms spread out as the balls of your feet come in contact with the flat surface. 
It has been a week since you last saw him, a whole fucking week. Yet, you keep coming back here, but not intending to do what you should have done a long time ago. Instead, you were here searching for a Yoongi that didn't exist, one that would comfort you and tell you he didn’t mean what he said. 
                                   ——Flashback to that night——
“I Love you--”
Your eyes widen and a gasp escapes your lips, afraid of the words that had just come out of them. Searching his eyes, you pray he didn’t hear it. But eyes that were once clouded with euphoria were now overtaken with shock and disgust. 
You panic and push him off of your sweaty and naked body. Wincing at the sudden loss of his cock as cum oozes out of your pussy and trickles down your thighs. Not wanting to believe you just said that, you look up at the seahorse fairy lights on the ceiling wishing that they would come alive and carry you out to a galaxy far away.  
“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice raspy and low. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, so loud that you could hear the thumping rhythm in your ears going...LUB... DUB... LUB... DUB... LUB... DUB. 
“What did you just say?” he repeats, and your blood drains from your face as you stare at nothing but the dim light coming through the sheets. Biting onto your bottom lip, you realize that there was no escaping this, that you would eventually have to tell him. And just as you say the words in your head, he pulls the covers off of your face in one quick motion. Your eyes widen, quickly locking onto the seahorses again, not daring to look at him.
“W-what,” you stutter as tight knots take over your stomach.
“Look at me y/n,” he growls...but you didn’t want to... you didn’t want to face him just yet, afraid of being rejected by the one guy you said those words to.
“It just slipped out, I didn't mean it...just forget I ever said that,” you say, trying your best to keep your cool but hearing as your voice cracks at the end.   
                                            ---------------------------
But if only you knew what was going through his head at that moment, that he didn't just want to forget about it. That all he wanted was to hear you say those words over and over again. Just like that, with you underneath him, your beautiful brown eyes glazed over and your soft lips curled up into a smile, pulling him closer as he filled you up with his cum. 
Wanting to use this as an opportunity to tell you that you were everything he had ever wanted, to tell you he felt the same way. That all he desired was to hold your hand, to wake you up with kisses every morning, to hold you when your nightmares struck, and dry your tears when you cried. That he wanted to do all those things and more because ever since you stepped foot inside the agency. Your small body soaked with blood from head to toe, a big smile on your face as if you hadn't just finished killing someone with those small bare hands of yours. Since that day he hasn't been the same and he hated you for it. Hated you for making him feel such strange feelings he thought he would never feel. 
It was frustrating to think that you could be the one to warm up his icy heart. How? When not even his mother or his brothers, the people who cared for him the most made him feel the way you did. He wanted to tell you the truth, to tell you that all his life he has tried his best to ignore his feelings for you, convincing himself that he could never like an annoying girl like you. 
To apologize for always breaking your toys and making you cry as if it was his full-time job. To tell you he didn't hate you, but the boys who played with you, held your hand and made you things during art class. To tell you he never understood why your face lit up every time they gave you something, that even if it was ugly or falling apart, you cherished it deeply. 
You seemed so strange to him, like an alien from a different world, that knew something he didn’t. How could a person be so kind yet so evil at the same time? He would ask himself, always trying to figure you out. While secretly wanting to see your face light up like that for him. To tell you that that was the reason he stayed up all night the day before your 12th birthday, making you a clay ring that looked like a frog because you were always jumping around. And just as he pushed the ring into your hands the next day... it happened. Your big brown eyes widened like a beaming sun on a summer day. Burning through his corneas, but he couldn’t look away as it was the prettiest sight he has ever seen. Then you smiled at him, a smile that made him feel things he couldn’t quite explain. 
That what he meant to tell you when he threatened to kill you if you told anyone about the ring was that he hoped you liked it. To tell you how he almost struck a bow into Jackson's head that same day when he caught him kissing you under the same place where he had given you the ring. Upset that you didn't even push him away, upset that he wasn't old Yoongi who would have felt indifferent and done nothing just because he didn’t have feelings. But he wasn't that Yoongi anymore, but one who suddenly felt hurt and betrayed just at the thought of you being someone else’s. 
He wanted to be your first kiss... just like you were his first everything. 
But even though he felt this way for you and wanted to tell you all these things. The walls he has built from years of conditioning, brainwashing, toxic relationships, near-death experiences, depression, and other issues he swears his brain blocks out to protect him. Keep pushing you away, not allowing you to get too close. 
Even though he’s always his best when he’s with you. He hopes you can find a better man one day, one who knows how to love you and treat you the right way.
 Now there was only one way of ending this and that was to hurt you, like always.
                                -------------------------------------
“We both agreed that this was just a sex thing, nothing more. We are assassins for god's sake, we know nothing about love,”
A chill runs down your spine and you knew you should have stayed quiet, but your traitor of a heart betrays you once again, “You're wrong...because if that was true I wouldn’t be feeling this way for you….tell me you feel nothing for me!” you cry out, your face turning hot. 
“Y/N what the fuck are you talking about, you were just a way for me to pass time. Shit of all the women I’ve fucked I would have never thought that... you, someone who is as lifeless and cold-hearted as I would be the one to say those words to me-” He pauses but continues, “I hope you're not getting confused with the other stuff we have been doing in here because if you are I should’ve just stayed with Juna or-” 
Before he could even finish his sentence, you strike him on the side of the face, so hard his head turns. Your hand tingles as it falls back onto your lap. You don’t realize, but you’re sitting up now, the sheets that were once hiding your upper body now pooled around your thighs. Your chest heaving up and down as you feel your eyes water. Angry at yourself for catching feelings for him, angry that you allowed yourself to be blinded by the moments you’ve both shared, mistaking it for fucking love. 
“You're a real piece of shit you know that right, how dare you bring her up right after I-... after I-...you know what Yoongi just leave, go fuck her for all I care,” You shout, biting onto your quivering bottom lip as you look at him. 
His hand is covering his right cheek where you had slapped him, but you could see the red hand mark from the gaps between his fingers. His furrowed brows accentuate the pale ridged scar that runs down from the top of his left brow and stops right in the middle of his cheek. His cold eyes glaring at you intently as the corners of his mouth turn into a smirk.
“Don’t worry, that’s where I’ll be tonight because you can’t honestly think, that you have been the only one I’ve been fucking all this time,” he says, venom dripping from his voice and you feel like throwing up. 
Putting your trembling hands into fists, ready to lunge at him, you stop yourself, a low chuckle escaping your shaky lips. He wasn’t fucking worth it, you should have known better, you should have stopped yourself before it got this far. “I'll burn this place down tomorrow,” You push the words out, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat.
You remove the frog-inspired clay ring from your ring finger, the one he had made for you when you had just turned 12. And place it on the bed beside him, your finger suddenly feeling naked without it. Not giving him a second glance you get off the bed, the cold air hitting your naked body traitorously. You pick up your clothes that were scattered around the floor, get dressed, and before you know it you are out the door. The cold air greeting you like a fake friend as you push your way through the thick fog. 
You make your way down the building and once in the comfort of your car;  you rest your head against the steering wheel and let your tears fall.
  -—-Flashback Ends----
                                                                                                                                       With a sigh, you pull out the lighter from your pocket, twirling it around your fingers as you stare up at the house. 
Remembering when you both found it, on top of an abandoned skyscraper in Busan. The day you were both forced by the chairwomen of the academy to go on a mission together, as a punishment for almost killing each other again in Poison lab 101. Threatening us that if the mission wasn’t a success that she would send us both to the basement and no matter how cold of a killer you were, no one wanted to go down there. It surprised you that locking the both of you in the basement wasn’t their first option. 
In all honesty, they should just lock Yoongi in the basement because he’s always the one to start fucking problems with you. Ever since you came to the agency at 7 years old, he’s always been such a dick to you, for no fucking reason. But as the years went by and you guess that as the dick grew bigger, he turned into an even bigger dick than before. There isn’t a day that goes by when we are not trying to kill each other. 
Like how last week Namjoon, the boss in charge of the baddies (aka the 3rd years) made the both of you clean the first year's locker room…. was that a good idea? No. Because we came out of there drenched from head to toe after fucking Yoongi tried to drown you in the hot tub, so you tried to drown him first, and of course, we got punished. You fucking hated everything about him, hated how he always got first in exams/training and you always made second. Hated how he always ruined your uniform, hated that smug fucking look on his face. And fuck, you hated how his exes or little crushes were always on your ass, telling you to stay away from their man and shit. Like bitch, you can fucking have him.
The mission was fairly quick and easy, and you knew Namjoon had to have chosen it. Knowing us that if we had to work together for more than an hour, we would kill each other for sure. To stop that from happening, we separated our mission into separate tasks, Yoongi was to take out the bodyguards who were on the lookout for anything suspicious, surrounding the abandoned book shop like statues. Not knowing that there was a shadow creeping up behind them like a thief in the night. Your job was to kill their boss called Mo, a big old wrinkly guy who ran an illegal organ trafficking business, and who was processing a transaction from two corrupted cops, on top of the shop's semi-slanted rooftop. The shop was just a few buildings down and the abandoned house you were in aided as the perfect hideout. In less than two minutes you had sniped them one by one with your pink bedazzled sniper, watching them fall to the ground like flies with blown-up heads. 
Then the unexpected happened. Before you could set your gun down, you sensed a presence behind you, and just as you turned around you were pushed against the wall by no other than Yoongi. He had splotches of blood on his face, almost making him look like the wings of a ladybug. His eyes clouded with lust and something else you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. You froze, your heart beating fast, as you stared at him confused. And before you could push him away, he kisses you, and you could have sworn you heard fireworks going off behind you. Your eyes close at the softness of his lips, which pull you deeper than any tidal wave. The stench of blood tickling your nose as he wrapped his arms around you. Holding you tight as if you’ll suddenly vanish. You couldn’t explain what you were feeling, but it almost felt as if you were soaring through a sky full of stars. Just as you breathe him in, he pulls away, his face flushed as he touches his lips in shock. Taken aback by his actions, you hear him mutter an apology. But before he could walk away, you pull him back into you. That same afternoon he took your virginity away on that dusty floor, in that abandoned house on top of a skyscraper.
And now you wish you hadn't let him take that one thing away from you----
Cocking your head to the side, you stare at the house, suddenly in awe at its unique beauty. It was a small house, the kind of house you would see in the countryside or by the beach. With vibrant wisteria that cascaded over the flat rooftop and arched window. A few green vines growing out of the bricks here and there. The house we had turned into our escape house, the place where we would go that wasn't our own homes or the agency. The place where all we did was take our pain and anger out on each other by fucking. 
Until it got rather strange and we sort of started to do things as if we were friends. It wasn't the same friendship/relationship like the one you had with Haemi and Mina, but it was okay. We did things, like read together, argue about why blank manga was better than the anime, indulge in ramen, chips, and candy at 3 am without having anyone tell us not to, play Overwatch, shit our pants while playing Amnesia, and binge-watch anime and Disney movies whenever we had the time. 
All our years of hatred for nothing.
With a sigh, you walk to the wooden door and push it open just to take one last look inside before it all turns to dust. The horrible paintings you both had painted still hanging on the wall above the bed. The makeshift bookshelf in the corner of the room was now empty after you came and rescued all the graphic novels and books, not having the heart to burn them. You glance at the two broken bean bag chairs by the window, the ones he had refused to throw away after we popped them during drunk sex. Pushing those memories to the far back of your mind, your eyes land on the black iron bed we got from IKEA, which had to be the best thing in there. It was the place where you always found him sprawled out, snoring with spit and all as he waited for you to get back from your mission. And of course, the bed where you had mind-blowing orgasms. 
Your thumb rolls against the spark wheel of the lighter in one swift motion, pushing down onto the ignition button until a vibrant flame appears. You rest your thumb firmly on the button to keep the flame alive as you rummage through your coat pocket and pull out a white piece of paper. Still not daring to step foot inside, you lean against the door frame and light up a corner of the crumbled paper. Watching as the flames race toward one another, hurrying to consume every inch of the paper. But before that could happen, you fling both the lighter and the paper somewhere inside the room and close the door. 
Moving a few feet back, you grab onto the fire extinguisher you had stolen from the agency last night and wait. A few minutes pass and still nothing...no smoke, no house engulfed in flames. But when you close your eyes you see it, the fiery inferno. The beautiful petals of the wisteria falling to the ground and turning into nothing. You could hear things falling, shattering, and popping from inside, the fire becoming bigger. Dark gray smoke escapes through the crumbling door and shattered window. Embracing you in a death grip, poisoning you slowly until all you see is black. 
“No,” you scream and open your eyes to see the house was still intact, no fire ablaze. Positioning the fire extinguisher on your arm, your feet moving on their own as you push open the door. Your eyes widening when you see that one bean bag was on fire and traveling up the side of the arched window, smoke slowly filling the room. Pulling out the safety pin, you take a hold of the black hose and squeeze down on the lever, aiming at both the bean bag and window. Watching the angry flames die down until there's nothing left, but a disfigured piece of burnt-up nylon and a half black window frame. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and set the fire extinguisher down.
You just couldn’t do it.
Your phone vibrates in your back pocket, and you pull it out, almost dropping it when you see the time--- 8:43 AM. Along with 10 unread messages from both Mina and Haemi, 3 missed calls from your brother, and a notification from Uber Eats saying you had 8 dollars off your next order. 
“Ooh nice I can get a pizza or some---fuck this is not the time for that.. I’m late,” You freak out already seeing Namjoon, Kai, Sora, and Haemi’s dark ominous faces as they cut your eyeball into 8 equal pieces and eat it with some dipping sauce. Fuck, the more you think about it, the more you realize that that is something they would do. You grimace at the taught, wondering why you choose to traumatize yourself like that.
“You're not normal,” the little voice in your head finally shows up to clarify that you're indeed not sane.
 Closing the door behind you, your combat boots are heavy on your feet as you run across the rooftop. Making it to the edge, you look up at the sky seeing that it has now cleared up and turned into a soft blue. A bright yellow sun peeking out from behind a sea of fluffy white clouds. 
Swinging your right leg off the roof, you jump. Watching a distorted image of yourself in the dusty windows of the skyscraper as you free fall. Your hair is flying all over the place, slapping you in the face and getting into your mouth. Until it stays put in a Goku-like hairstyle when he turns into a Super Saiyan. A chuckle escapes your lips at that and you close your eyes, enjoying how the cool breeze feels like gentle kisses against your skin. And just as if it was a natural-born instinct, you swipe your finger against the rim of your heart-shaped Daith, activating your magnetic levitation shoes. Opening your eyes, you grin when you see you were just a few millimeters from the concrete ground. Silently thanking Haemi for being such a genius and making you these for your Bday. Landing successfully, you tap your finger against the rim of your Daith two times to turn it off. 
Wasting no time, you run across the desolate street to where you had parked Kai’s black motorcycle, putting on your helmet you hover over it, zooming out of this ghost town and into emerging traffic hoping to make it to the agency before 9:00 AM.
——
 9:05 AM
You slip through the doors of the main conference room that was always empty except for important days like this one. The room crowded to the point you couldn’t even see the long oval mahogany table in the middle. Chiming your way through you try your best not to bump into your colleagues, knowing how grumpy they usually were in the morning. Your eyes frantically searching for Haemi and Mina, but everyone was wearing the same fucking thing: a black hoodie and black jeans. As if we all had agreed to wear the same outfit today, the night before. A smile creeps onto your lips right as you catch sight of them standing near the front next to Boss. But before you could go any further, a hand grabs your arm and pulls you away.
“Why are you late? The meeting ends in like 5 minutes?... Didn’t I wake you up this morning and tell you to get here before me, Mina even told me she saw you leave around 6... what the fuck took you so long!” Kai scolded you quietly as he bombarded you with questions.
Damn, you spent 4 hours contemplating on burning that fucking house and in the end did nothing.
Kai pulled you to the far back of the room, stopping next to a small table filled with sweet pastries and four boxes of hot coffee. Made of course by the sweetest/deadliest grandmas in the world, aside from the chairwomen. They shouldn't even be in charge of the academy's bakery due to their obsession with poisoning people. 
But no one has died yet...so people like you who enjoy balancing their lives on a thin line instead of making their own coffee and sweets or going into the city to a normal bakery with normal owners who aren't psychopaths. Like some of your semi-sane classmates would do...still nothing could ever beat their rice pancakes topped with edible flowers and honey. In all seriousness, you would die for those. Your mouth waters just at the thought, your stomach begging you to give it something to eat. Reaching over the table, you grab a foam cup just for it to be slapped out of your hands within seconds.
You gasp and turn to your brother ready to kill him watching as he picks up the cup from the ground. Crushing it in his hands as quietly as he could, the squeaky sound making your eye twitch. He signals for you to stand by him and you roll your eyes as you walk two steps and lean on the wall beside him. 
“You know you can’t drink fucking coffee on the days we have missions...especially not today, do you want to be shitting yourself all day?” He questions, his bushy brows furrowed as he crosses his arms across his chest. You stay quiet, not knowing what to say. Of course, you didn't want to shit your pants, but why did he have to do your cup like that, you weren't even going to use it for coffee. You were just going to fill it up with rice pancakes because there weren't any plates or napkins.
  Kai suddenly sniffs your hoodie and you raise an eyebrow, looking at him weirdly. “Why do you smell like smoke?” 
You were about to fidget with your ring but then you realize it wasn't there, “I almost burned a house down,” you tell him blankly. 
He does a double-take, making sure he heard right, “Wait what...you did what, why?”
You shrug him off and before he could keep nagging you; he gets interrupted by Namjoon’s booming voice. Kai looks at you with the look of we’re going to finish this conversation at a later time.
“Ok, I'll see you all at the venue, be on time!” Namjoon shouts and everyone disperses, some leaving while the risk-takers stop by the table to grab a cup of coffee and sweets. 
Some of your friends came up to you and congratulated you and before you could ask them for what they would just leave. And then there was the fucking Juna’s of the class who stared at you with utter hatred, something that wasn’t new to you. But you flipped them off anyway, not understanding the fucking memo. 
“Kai, what are people congratulating me for, what did I do?” You ask as you turn to him, he shrugs and stays quiet, ignoring you. 
You catch sight of Haemi running towards you at full speed and you spread your arms apart, hitting Kai in the face as you do so. You hear him groan as Haemi melts into them. She wraps her arms around your waist and squeezes you tightly. Satisfied at the sound of your bones crushing, she loosens her grip. Her arms now on your shoulder blades as she looks at you quizzically, a frown making its way onto her lips.   
“Why were you late and why didn't you answer our messages... NamNam is fucking angry at you,” She says through clenched teeth as she turns to look at something in the distance, biting onto her lips her face flushes into a bright pink color. You didn't even have to follow her gaze to know that she was staring at Namjoon and fantasizing about her fake dirty relationship with him. You nudge at her arm and she turns to you, now with a mischievous grin.
“y/n my panties are all soaked because of him... oh did I tell you my dildo came in this morning and I named it after him...dude, I fucking squirted all over--” Kai clears his throat making it known that he was right next to us.
“Ay! go away if you don't want to listen, this is some very important info I’m catching y/n on,” Haemi says as she shoos him away with her hand, but he stays put against the wall.
You raise a brow at her, certainly not wanting to hear about how she squirted on her Namjoon dildo. All you wanted to know was why Namjoon was angry at you---
Ah shit, and then it dawns on you... that you missed the 6 am meeting.
“Omg y/n I’m going to kill you for not answering, oh and congrats--” Mina appears with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Kai puts his arm over her shoulders and whispers something in her ear. She looks at you for a split second and then nods. 
Before you could ask her why she was congratulating you, Namjoon’s voice rips through the air again. “Y/n and Yoongi, can you both come here now,” 
Your breath hitched in your throat as this could only mean one of two things. We were in trouble—which couldn't be right because we haven't seen or talked to each other for 4 weeks. Then it could only mean—- that he was going to assign us to work together in today’s mission.
“Well, I guess we'll see you at the venue,” Kai says. Haemi squeezes your shoulder and with a wink she lets you go. You watch them walk away, wanting to tell them not to leave you. 
With a sigh, you turn on your heel and walk towards Namjoon who is now sitting at the end of the oval table. His head is down, his fingers drumming loudly on top of his black manila folder. The room was empty now, as the voices from outside became less and less. 
Your eyes search the dim-lit room for Yoongi, but you don't see him and you feel a little better. Namjoon clears his throat and your eyes land back on him. Without looking at you, he signals you to stand by him. You do as he says, seeing a hooded Yoongi appear from the shadows and stand next to you. 
“Awe fuck,” you groan in your head.
“Why were the both of you late today when I clearly said to be here at 6 am before the meeting started,” He says, his voice strict and eerily low. 
You say nothing and neither does Yoongi. Namjoon stops drumming his fingers and leans back against the chair, resting his arm on either side. He moves robotically in slow technical movements until his face is facing forward, his eyes locking onto yours. With a gaze of a snake, waiting for you to say the wrong thing to snap. 
You open your mouth, but no words come out, unsure of what to say when it was your fault for forgetting about the meeting. 
“I was busy,” Yoongi announces in a rather bored tone.
Namjoon taps his finger again, now against the armchair, the taps sounding softer than the rigid ones on the table. 
“Hmm, what were you busy with… little brother? was it with the girl Jimin told me you had over...Keep messing around and I’ll tell father to teach you a lesson.” Namjoon snapped.
You feel a stinging pain in your heart, but you try your best to ignore it. Yoongi says nothing but shrugs.
“What’s your excuse,” He asks you now.
“I burned a house down,” You lied wanting to get a reaction out of him but got nothing. He just stood there, his face hidden by his black hoodie, unbothered. 
“Why?... instead of getting your ass here on time, you decide to do that. You know what if the both of you pull this shit again, to the basement it is,” 
A chill runs down your spine and you focus on the piece of paper that was stuck under the wheels of his chair.
“You both are getting married...with each other,” he exclaims. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards, almost as if he was about to smile, but he doesn't.
You choke on your spit and cough loudly, staring at Namjoon as if he has lost his mind. Ah, this was what they were congratulating you for, for this shit.
“You have to be fucking kidding,” Yoongi shouts, and you could hear the anger in his voice. 
“What? This is perfect... I've seen that you guys have stopped fighting for a while now, so this will be easy peasy,” 
You shake your head no, that he's got it all wrong.
“Anyway, remember the bride and the groom I made each of you study for these past few weeks...You guys are going to be them.”
“What! but isn't there already a groom and a bride?” you ask, thinking back to your notes, pretty sure that there was a bride and a groom already.
“Ah, about that… If you both would have come on time, we would have more time to discuss...But long story short, we killed them off because it was just going to complicate stuff. Plus, you both kinda look like them and with the power of makeup those old fucks won’t even know the difference,” 
Your mouth drops, taken back by the subtlety in his voice. Why the fuck would they kill them when the plan was to kill them at the wedding. The sound of a clap brings you out of your thoughts.
 Namjoon is now standing, Manila folder in hand as he looks inside it, humming an upbeat tune.
“I don’t want to fucking marry this asshole!” 
“I don’t want to fucking marry you either!” he fires back.
“Silence, it’s fucking fake you both are acting as if this was real... it’s not. By afternoon tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.” 
You look at the sparkly marble floor, pressing your lips into a tight line.
“Before you both leave to get dressed, I want to say a few things… you both know how each of them acted towards each other, I even made you both a list of the things I need to see happen at the wedding which will be in your rooms. You both can study your vows while they do your makeup or in the car… Yoongi as the boy you studied remember that he is possessive, he is crazy about his woman and all that toxic bullshit which I’m sure you’re good at….Oh and one last thing, the bride’s father is a creep and is going to come and check the morning of after you guys fake sex or you can-“
“No,” you both shout in unison, and Namjoon looks at you guys weirdly. 
“Chill I was just going to say to drip a bit of fake blood on the bed that will be in the room already. So that when he comes in with his wife to see you know what to do… well, take care of the rest,”
“Don’t disappoint...have fun, enjoy the 1-day honeymoon, and sorry I didn’t tell you both sooner.  I just didn’t want the both of you to kill each other before the wedding...now get the fuck out,” he said with a crooked smile, falling back onto the chair as he pointed at the door.
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smutsonian · 4 years
Text
your king ii
Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: No matter how much the king says you’re safe with him, you’ll never believe him. You won’t believe someone like him.
Warning/s: little angst, violence, asshole steve, some weird shit you’ll probably question, mentions of noncon, fires, not proofread so sorry for the headaches to come
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: so i made this thing a series? hopefully i come thru and complete this one kskskksks
chapter i
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He kept his promise and gave you a hot bath. Although, he didn’t stay for long. He watched you as you got into the steaming water and you saw how his jaw clenched as well as his fists before leaving you all on your own. 
You scrubbed every inch as hard as you could. The pain between your thighs was forgotten once your skin burned at the way you scrubbed your skin. You would’ve never stopped if it weren’t for the man who caught your attention.
“Are you planning on scrubbing your skin until you’re nothing but pieces of bones?” He snickered at you when you glared at him. He showed the huge robe on his hands to you before giving you a genuine smile. Something you didn't know you would get from any of the evil king’s men. 
“I ain’t here to hurt you, my lady. I just thought you would want something to dry yourself up with and keep you warm.” He tilted his head at you as you continued to glare at the unknown man. He shook his head as he grinned at you. “Or maybe you don’t want it? No worries. I can just go back and leave you be…” He turned around and started walking away.
“Wait!” You quickly went out of the tub before running towards the man, forgetting about your nudity and eyes widening when the man turned around with a smirk before it fell when he saw that you were in front of him.
“Hells!” He quickly raised the robe towards you to block your body away from his sight as he closed his eyes as well. You were shocked at how this man was acting compared to the king and his other men. You quickly snatched the robe from him and wrapped it around yourself before coughing awkwardly.
He opened one eye before looking at you and breathing out a sigh of relief. “You’re one of the king’s men, are you not?” You asked him, trying to sound fearless but knowing that it was no use. You could never fight anyone even if you wanted to.
He nodded before cracking up another smile. “Yes. Do I not look like one? Do I look like a king myself?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. You stopped laughing when you saw him looking at you with bright eyes. “No… You just act differently… More kind.” You mumbled while you looked at your toes on the ground.
“Well, I am flattered. My name is Sam, by the way.” He smiled at you when you looked back up at him. “I’m Y/N,” you whispered. “I know. Now, let’s go find you some more clothing.” He motioned for you to follow him and you did, instantly trusting the man named Sam. 
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Instead of the usual corsets, silk dresses, and thick fur, you were given a plain cotton top and a pair of breeches that were a little too loose for you.  You were also given a pair of old dusty boots. They could’ve given you your own clothes but they didn’t. Sam said that he was ordered to give you those clothes. You were sure that the king wanted you to know that you’re below him and he’s way above you. 
You stared out the window, glaring at the flag with the symbol of a shield with a star in the middle that was attached to one of the wagons. He killed everyone you knew. He killed your parents in front of you before he took you out to the snow and forced himself on you like you were nothing but a body to pleasure him. He made empty promises, assured you that you were safe with him but you felt nothing but fear and hatred. He’s a cruel man. Heartless. He killed your family and he’ll do the same to you. He’ll get tired of you eventually and you’ll meet the same faith as your family and friends.
Hatred. You’re filled with it. You tried to remember your mother’s words about hatred. Hate will bring nothing but war. It will bring nothing but pain. She always told you that you should never let your hatred grow because it will turn into something dangerous. She always reminded you that hatred will only bring bad fortune to everyone around you and yourself. You tried to remember her words. You tried to listen to it but you were blinded by hatred. You hate the man who killed your parents. The man who killed your people. The man who smiles at how he makes people suffer.
Your inner battle with yourself was cut short when the flag you’ve been glaring at ignited before it turned into crisps and ashes. The horse that was tied to the front of the wagon jumped and let out a fearful neigh. You gasped in shock before stepping away from the window. “What was that?” You whispered to yourself before jumping in the air when a knock came from the door. 
Sam’s head poked out at the gap between the door before smiling at you. “It doesn’t look too bad on you. In my opinion, I think it suits you.” He walks over to you before taking hold of your chin and tilting your head from left to right. “Your face is more prominent with your hair up. I can see why they named you the beauteous princess.”
“Beauteous? Who said that?” You look at him with a questioning look but he only grinned at you before shaking his head and telling you to follow him out the small chamber bedroom.
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King Steve entered the late king’s chamber with a frown as James did his best to keep up with the king. Steve sat down on the mattress that was covered with expensive furs. 
“What have you done?” James’ voice was filled with worry when he asked. “Did you hurt the woman?” He continued. “Did you burn—” He was cut off by the loud and booming voice of the king. “Nothing happened! That bitch is perfectly fine. Unharmed. Why do you care so much, James? She deserves to die for everything she’s done!” Steve stands up from the bed before walking towards his best mate. 
“She needs to die for what she’s done—” Steve repeats but James cuts him off.
“She hasn't done anything!” James exclaims. 
“Yet!” Steve bellows. “The gods do not lie, James. We need not to wait until the visions come true.” Steve’s voice becomes softer yet still broken.
“And the gods told you everything you know? Did they talk to you directly? You must not believe everything that the witch tells you. You can’t trust her!” James’ face scrunches in frustration as Steve shakes his head in disagreement.
“Wanda is known for her clever words. The witch is known for her counsel to work. She said that the dreams that I’ve been having are real. It means that it will happen, James.” Steve explains with passion.
“But she also said something about your dreams not being complete. You can’t just kill the princess because of some nightmare you keep having.” James points out. “But, hell! You killed her family! And for what?! For a series of dreams that keep you up at night?” James lets out a dry laugh which Steve didn’t find hilarious at all.
“I am still your king, James. You should treat me as such and show me respect if you don’t want to be among those who are lying dead in their own blood.” Steve gives James a pointed look before chuckling to himself.
“And we both know that those people are not her true family.” He snarks before walking over to the door. “Now, move along unless you want to burn with everything and everyone in this pitiful town. We’ll start burning everything down.” He gives him another dark look before leaving the chamber.
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Sam brought you to the same wagon you were watching from the window earlier. You were laid down on the wood while Sam was riding the horse. You stared at the empty thin pole that used to have the flag. You looked away from the pole and turned towards Sam. “Where is he?” You asked. He looked at you with a questioning look and you scoffed quietly before adding. “The man who murdered my people. Where is your king?” You say through gritted teeth.
Sam sighed before stopping the wagon and turning his full attention on you. “He told me to bring you to the castle. He’ll be with you tomorrow morning.” You don’t say anything so he says something else.
“He’s not the monster you think he is, you know…” Sam mumbles and you look at him with wide eyes, surprised with what he just said. 
“He just killed every single one of my family in front of me before taking me on the cold snow like a horny rabbit. If that’s not a work of a monster to you then I don’t know what is!” You hissed at him, controlling your anger by laying on your back again and closing your eyes. 
“He did what to you…?” Was the last thing you heard from Sam before the wagon started moving again, rocking you into a deep slumber.
The screams of a woman woke you up and the view that you found when you opened your eyes was new to you yet feels so familiar. Like you’ve been here before. 
It was a small wooden cabin. 
The screams of the woman continued as the cabin started to catch on fire. The screams of the woman were soon joined with cries of a baby. Your eyes widened and you tried to move to give help but you were frozen in place. It’s like you have no control over your body. 
The cries of the baby got louder while the woman’s screams started to falter and you felt your heart break as the feeling of sadness washes over you. 
You do your best to move, trying to wiggle your fingers on your toes and your hands. Forcing whatever it is that’s making you stuck away from your body. Your muscles started to come back to life and you’re able to move your hands and soon, all of your muscles. 
You stumbled and ran as fast as you can towards the burning cabin. The door opens and you see two figures, one was holding something in their arms. You ran faster towards the blazing fire as the two figures started to disappear. 
When you finally reached the cabin, you reached for the door, not feeling the hotness of the knob as you pushed the door open.
Flames and smoke blared out of the door, enveloping your form and swallowing you whole. The feeling of burn and pain that you should be feeling was absent but when you found two purple orbs staring back at you through the fire, a wave of pain clutches your heart and suddenly, you can no longer breathe.
Your eyes flew open and you started to cough for air. You covered your mouth with the sleeves of your cotton top and coughed into it until your breathing was back to normal. 
“You okay back there?” Sam’s voice catches you and you turn towards him who was looking back at you with a worried look. 
You nod your head once before looking back at the sleeves of your shirt. The edges were black and torn as if it was burned with fire. You took a deep breath before tearing the burnt part of your sleeves up and throwing out of the wagon.
 What was that just now?
What just happened?
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writteninsunshine · 3 years
Text
Heaven’s A Lie - Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters - NSFW
Title: Heaven’s A lie
Author: Reno
Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard
Setting: Baker Family Estate
Pairing: Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters
Characters: Lucas Baker, Ethan Winters, Mia Winters, Zoe Baker, Jack Baker
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Rating: M
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 1376
Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Fic Bingo fill #1
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Non-Con Kissing, Gore, Blood, Vomit, Sick Fic, Comfort From Whumper, Whump Fic Bingo, Trauma, Traumatic Experiences, Canon-Typical Violence, Mostly Canon Compliant
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Summary: The last thing that Ethan needed was Lucas’s comfort, but that didn’t mean he was going to deny him. He didn’t have it in him to fight right now.
AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!
So, I was looking for a good whump fic bingo I could use for Ethan, since that man can take a beating like no one else. I didn’t find one I liked, so I made one myself. Requests are open for it, and only three slots are taken out of twenty-five, so please give it a look? People on FFN can PM me for the link or search HimboHungry on Twitter. It’s under my pinned! Warning, it’s a NSFW twitter.
Here we go: https://twitter.com/HimboHungry/status/1391276875415269379
With that, here goes nothing!
Resident Evil Fic Masterlist
Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist
Heaven’s A Lie
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There was no fighting it, now. Fatigue crept into every fiber of his being, and his eyes could barely stay focused and open. Pain wracked his body, and there was a distinct collection of saliva in his mouth, leaving him nearly drooling as he gasped for air like a man drowning, lost at sea.
0Heaving shoulders and a lurch in his stomach had Ethan crumpling to the grass, hands and knees bracing him against the dewy turf. The humidity of the swamp around them didn’t help the sweat dripping from his face, broken pants bursting from his nose. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe out of that. With a painful heave, he gagged, coughed impossibly hard, and spilled the contents of his stomach all over the ground in front of him. It splashed against his arms, staining the sleeves of his shirt and hitting his face; he would have grimaced if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Nothing but acid left him, as he hadn’t eaten in God knew how long. Dehydration was going to set in soon and only make the pounding in his head that much worse. Blood pumped loud and harsh in his ears, his vision swam and he felt another dry heave coming on. 
For a moment, he begged any God listening to end this torture, but his ardent pleading fell on deaf ears. Nothing reached out to save him, and death was still lightyears away. How could he still be kicking after all of this? Every injury, every removal of his limbs. Jack had seen to it that he wouldn’t die, he thought, and that was the most shocking education he’d ever had.
Eyes watery and nose dripping over his lips after six more emissions, he staggered back to his feet. Swaying for a few seconds, he scrubbed at his face, smearing the tears and mucus up his cheeks, trying to regain control over himself. He had to get to the barn that Lucas was hiding away in, he had to save Mia, himself, and Zoe. That was his main focus, the only driving force to keep him going right now. A one-track mind helped in this situation, and he stumbled forward, the light peeking out from under the door a beacon showing him where to go next. Would this kill him? Maybe. The heaviness in his arms wasn’t helped by the gun in his hand, his arms nearly limp as he fought against the weakness in his knees.
Not paying attention to where he was going, lumbering ever forward, a sudden shout left him and he plummeted to the ground hard. No time to catch himself, the biting pain in his leg too much for him to handle on such short notice, his face hit the mud hard enough to bruise his cheek. With the wind knocked from his lungs, he lay there in agony for a long moment, eyes screwed shut as he tried to catch his breath.
Once he could wrap his mind around filling his lungs again, his eyelids lifted and fell sluggishly as he pushed himself up off the ground halfway, hips still glued down. Turning to look at his right leg, Ethan winced at the sight of barbed wire looped around his ankle, a thin, short leash of it tied to a stake in the ground. It looked like the kind screwed down, meant to keep a dog in the yard. That was him, now, wasn’t it? A dog trapped in a yard that wasn’t his, kept by someone intent on keeping him. Tears leaked down his face again, his nose a snot faucet, the fire in his face unable to compare to the tight grip ripping into his flesh.
Footsteps alerted him to a presence, and he grabbed the shotgun not far from his hands. They quivered as he looked up, expecting a molded to be coming for him in his hour of darkness. Forcing himself to sit up on his hip, he leveled the gun on Lucas, surprised to see the other man out of his control room.
“Aw, look at you, Ethan…” Lucas chuckled, his grin splitting his face nearly in half, “Caught like a coyote in a trap.” 
Ethan was hyper-aware of Lucas’ southern drawl, ‘cai-yote’ leaving his lips, and he clicked another bullet into the gun in his hands.
“Now, now, no need for that,” Sauntering over, Lucas pried the shotgun from Ethan’s hands with more ease than the injured man wanted to admit to, and he watched as Lucas set it aside. Apparently, he had more sense than to simply throw it, and Ethan recognized that all too well. Self-preservation, at best, but at least Ethan wasn’t going to get shot.
“Fuck off.” Ethan managed, his voice wavering, cracking as Lucas kneeled down to take Ethan’s chin in his filthy hands.
“You ain’t in any position to tell me what to do, now, are ya, Ethan?” Lucas shook his head with a happy chortle, leaning in quickly enough that Ethan was stunned, stuck in place.
Dry, cracked lips met his in a violent kiss, and he tasted blood, snot, salt, and bile as Lucas’ tongue strong-armed its way into his mouth. A disgusted grunt left him as Lucas plundered his mouth, taking from him what he wanted and leaving no room to struggle against his advances. Ethan was exhausted, in too much pain to fight him as Lucas tugged him forward by his armpits, straining the limited reach of the barbed wire lacerating his skin. Another cry of pain left him when Lucas bit into his lip hard enough to split his plump, chapped flesh, leaving a trail of blood down his chin.
“There you go, Ethan… Look so good like this.” Lucas was nearly purring in excitement, blood thrumming through his system, “Want to make you mine.” His whispers against Ethan’s lips almost left him bereft, but he was sure he was past that point, now.
“Wh-wh-what do you want, Lucas?” His tone wasn’t as rough, wasn’t as spiteful as he’d wanted, but Ethan had to take whatever he could get at this point. Spitting at him, Ethan glared as hard as he could with= his wet eyes and watery, almost stern frown. 
“Don’t go playing hard to get, now, Ethan. It’s unbecomin’. You’re dependent on me to get you outta this, ain’tcha? You oughta be nicer to me.” Lucas’s smarmy smile almost made Ethan sick again, he felt his stomach railing against his insides, bile rising in his throat.
Another rough kiss met his mouth, his blood mingling with Lucas’s saliva, staining both of their teeth pink. Suddenly, Ethan shoved at him, unsure when he cared not to give him his ire. God knew Lucas deserved it. Turning just enough to feel safe in this moment of weakness, a few dry heaves soon produced more stomach acid to slap on the ground, splattering more against his chest and arms.
“Can’t handle yourself no more?” Lucas asked, absently rubbing Ethan’s back as he spilled his stomach contents again, eyes red and puffy from tears and throat hoarse. Quivering, he leaned into Lucas’s touch, hating himself for wanting the comfort he provided. Elbows buckling, he did his best to fall to the side that his vomit wasn’t on, shocked to find Lucas scooting forward and sitting down cross legged.
Yanking Ethan into his lap, he held him close, wiping at his face and sweaty forehead.
“Pushin’ you too far, baby boy?” Lucas asked softly, his voice almost tender and eyes soft as he took in the sheer amount of pain in his face. Ethan nodded vaguely, eyelashes fluttering against his bruised cheekbones. Lucas was right. If he’d stayed away, he wouldn’t be suffering like this. On the other hand, Mia would have been, and he couldn’t find it in himself to give up on her. Eyes sunken in, he looked like he might pass out, and Lucas took pity on him. Reaching for the shotgun, he held it up above Ethan’s oblivious head, his eyes closed to the world, before slamming it down against his temple as hard as he could.
The world swam for a moment, Ethan’s vision hot and white for just a second before everything went dark.
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AN: Welp, I feel like this vaguely covers another part of the whump bingo, but I’m not going to count it because the theme is still being caught in a snare. At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed the ouchies. I had fun writing this! It’s partially a vent piece, as a lot has been happening lately and it’s driving me crazy not getting it out.
Prompt: Caught In A Snare
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wlntrsldler · 4 years
Text
Flawless (Bucky Barnes Imagine)
Prompt: Bucky and Y/N are friends with benefits. They found a new thing to play with in the bedroom. The Winter Soldier.
Song Inspiration: Flawless by The Neighbourhood
Warnings: SMUT!!!!!!! only 18+ please. don’t read if you’re uncomfortable w rough sex. 
MAIN MASTERLIST
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The whole arrangement had never been innocent, not even from the start. It was toxic. 
Y/N hated the way this new society aimlessly threw the word “toxic” around when none of them truly knew the real definition of the dirty word. Toxic wasn’t just running back to the guy you told your friends you’ve cut off. No, toxic wasn’t just that.
Toxic was reciting those trigger words, ten, little, poisonous words, that ignites a monster inside someone she had no business even being around. It was the feeling of absolute adrenaline that she felt when she heard the squeaks of his metal arm, the grunting coming from his pursed lips, and the evil twinkle in his eye. They knew this was dangerous. They were playing with fire that could leave them burned and their arrangement in ashes but they didn’t care. They didn’t care that his fingers might just press that much harder against the skin of her throat and -poof- she’d be a goner. They thought it was hot, living on the edge, knowing that their possible demise was just one step away, crossing the line from pleasure to death.
That’s toxic. 
Not the teeny-bopper definition of it. What Bucky and Y/N had, was toxic. 
But that never stopped them from doing it. 
The first time they tried it, Bucky was apprehensive. Bucky was never one to be experimental in the bedroom and he had spent a better part of his new life trying to detangle himself from the monster they created. So when Y/N’s soft whisper, so soft that he almost didn’t hear it- thank God for his super-soldier hearing- he blinked a few times trying to comprehend exactly what she wanted from him. 
“You want to what?” He asked through gritted teeth, his eyebrows were furrowed. “You want to recite my trigger words to see what it’s like to fuck while I’m the Winter Soldier?”
Truth be told, when Y/N first approached him with the proposition of being friends with benefits, he was overjoyed. There had been months of sexual tension building up between the two Avengers and Bucky hasn’t had anything but his own hand for years. A sexual release was nice. He knew he needed it. 
What he didn’t expect was for sweet, innocent, talks to insects she sees in the garden, Y/N, to be so goddamn kinky. The young agent was experimental, sometimes too experimental for Bucky’s old mind to keep up with. But this idea she has to fuck while he was in Winter Soldier mode was the most outrageous, yet somewhat enticing, idea she’d ever had. 
“I know, it’s a little extreme,” She sighed, already making her way out the door of his room. “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry.”
Bucky sat on his bed, dumbfounded for a second, weighing his decision. Any mentally stable man would know that the idea that he could quite possibly snap her in half like a Kit-Kat, should’ve been enough to shoot the entire possibility down. But Bucky was far from mentally stable and it was evident when he ran towards you as you placed your hand on the doorknob and kissed you like his life depended on it. 
He felt you smirk under the feeling of his tongue on your lips. You always win. God, it was so dangerous. What you were about to do were so fucking dangerous but the only thing that Bucky could think about was how absolutely wrecked you would look under him while he destroys you. 
Your hands traveled under his tight shirt, the one you bought him. He complained when he first opened the pack, stating that it was a size too small. You winked at him and said, “That’s the point, Sarge.” You sighed in adoration as the brief memory escaped your mind, your thoughts suddenly going in overdrive as you feel the pricking of his stubble against your neck. You clawed at his abdomen, feeling the sense of euphoria that only James Buchanan Barnes could ever deliver to you.
“You sure you wanna do this?” Buck breathed out in your ear, his lips finding your sweet spot underneath your earlobe. 
“Been dreamin’ about it,” You confessed, pulling his head back so you could look at him in the eye while saying your next words. “I wake up with my hand between my legs.”
Bucky groaned at your words, his lips finding yours again. His metal hand dips past your bodies and stops right at your clothed core. “So, so filthy.”
You started to push him back down on his bed. His metal hand drawing figure-eights, making it just that much more difficult to walk. He sensed your difficulty and hoisted you up to wrap your legs around his waist, where you felt his hardening bulge. 
“You know how to bring me back right?” Bucky asked, breathless, hair in disarray with the way you were tugging on it, helplessly. 
You merely nodded and looked at his face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. You were met with a smug-looking Bucky, nothing of the earlier feelings etched on his face. Instead, his eyes were dark, looking at you in a much harsher way than you’re used to and for a moment, you wondered if he was already activated in Winter Soldier mode. 
The first night prompted the start of many others like it. Yes, you loved having sex with Bucky and nothing could ever beat the way he pleasured you. The way he has you withering away underneath him and the way you wake up with a dry throat the following day. He would run you dry, his super-soldier stamina coming in handy, and you loved it. 
But sex with the Winter Soldier was something out of the deepest crevices of your dirty mind.
Something about the way it felt with the Winter Soldier was addictive. You found yourself craving it, most especially after a day of leading missions consisting of irresponsible new recruits. You were a born leader. You were bred to be the best of the best but sometimes it was nice to be dominated. And that’s exactly what the Winter Soldier did to you. 
He dominated you in every way possible. He would throw you around like you were a toy to him, fucking you senselessly until there was an imprint of where your body once was in his disheveled mattress. He fucked you like there was no tomorrow- the snapping of his hips, the bites he left on your tender neck, and the countless orgasms that he would bring out of you. You didn’t even know your body was capable of coming undone that many times. 
If anyone found out the way you two operated, they would kill you both with their bare hands. Not only did you put yourself in danger by triggering Bucky and then pressing yourself as close as humanly possible to him, you also endanger everyone in the compound every time you do. The Winter Soldier was dangerous, you knew that. But you always liked living on the side of danger. 
It had been a long day of trying not to shoot the newest recruits when they managed to blow your covers during your mission. They might as well have written, “I’m a spy!” on their forehead and it would’ve been less obvious. Nonetheless, you completed the mission, but it took way longer than you would’ve liked. 
Bucky knew what was coming next. He knew how you were feeling with just the way you ignored everyone in the compound when you arrived. The rest of the team, shot knowing looks at the new recruits who limped in behind you, white as a sheet, like the living crap was just kicked from them. You were never one to use violence against people who didn’t deserve it, and although those recruits did deserve to have their asses handed to them, you opted with a good ol’ fashion lecture. You learned it from Cap himself, being the one on the receiving end just a few years back. 
Bucky excused himself from the rest of the team and made his way to your room. He heard the water running and the sound of you muttering about how recruits get worse and worse every year. He laughed under his breath, undressing himself to join you inside the shower. 
“Y/N,” He murmured, his hand reaching over to slide your shower door open. “I’m coming to join you.”
You just replied with what seemed like an, “Okay.” 
Bucky knew it from the way your back was tense under the scalding hot water- which he still had no idea how you enjoy. Your wet hair was sticking against the nape of your neck and the sinful bubbles from your shampoo were cascading down the small of your back, stopping before the curve of your ass. He pressed up against you, rubbing his hard on against your flesh and his metal hand moved found your neck, slightly squeezing it. 
“Tough day?” He asked, lips teasing the skin on your jaw. He peppered kissed down your body, stopping at your collarbone to turn you around so you faced him. 
“Very.” You whispered, your soft fingers trailing down his arms and down to his abdomen. You traced the outline of his abs, biting your bottom lip when your eyes met the tip of his dick. 
“My friend wants to say hi,” Bucky chuckled, darkly. His voice was deeper than usual and his eyes were glued to yours. It always amazed you how he was able to use his words, dripping with seduction and lust, and still managed to look so utterly beautiful. “He hasn’t come out in a while.”
Your hand grazed down to his dick, slowly stroking it from the base until the tip. Bucky’s confident demeanor slowly subsided and he was panting, whimpering, under the mix of your touch and the sensation of the hot water on his skin. Your lips found his chest, leaving animalistic marks of your own. “I missed him too. Shall we bring him out tonight?”
The tip of his tongue poked out the side of his lips, slowly coating his dry lips with a layer of slickness. He looked down at your small hand, wrapped around his length and he let out a broken sigh at the sight. Bucky looked up at you, the facade of innocence enough to drive him over the edge. “Let’s.”
You smirked, slowly increasing the pace of your strokes. 
“Желание.” 
He shut his eyes, his face twisting in a mix of pleasure and pain. 
“Ржавый.”
You kissed down his body, your hand not leaving his hardened length. 
“Семнадцать.”
You were on your knees now, a hint of Bucky still resisting to fight the Winter Soldier because he wanted to see you on your knees before he gave up his control. 
“Рассвет.”
Your lips wrapped around his length, feeling him moan at the feeling from above you. 
“Печь.”
You looked at him under your eyelashes, the mascara you wore being nothing but a messy smudge under your eyes now.
“Девять.“
His hands grabbed your hair, softly. You could feel it was still Bucky you were with, with the way he caressed your head after tugging on it.
“Добросердечный.”
“Y/N,” Bucky moaned, his hips bucking up against your mouth despite how hard he tried not to. “Fuck, baby.”
“Возвращение на Родину.”
You heard the crunching of the metal plates on his arm, the sound of the vibration sending shivers down your spine.
“Один.”
You bobbed your head up and down, your other hand taking care of the parts you couldn’t take in.
“Товарный вагон.”
You felt his demeanor change. His body felt heavier. His hips snapped against your mouth, mercilessly. You felt the tears brimming your eyes, your jaw starting to numb with his force. You choked on his length as it hit the back of your throat, your gagging made him groan at the feeling. You gripped on his thighs, your fingers digging into his flesh. 
He continued to fuck your mouth, his metal hand grabbing a handful of hair with every rock of his hips. He took his flesh hand and slapped the side of your cheek, making you look at him. You could tell it was no longer Bucky. 
You felt the sticky liquid coating the inside of your mouth. You kept your lips on him until he physically pulled you off him. Once you were faced with him, you saw the empty look in his eye. He looked at you with nothing but lust, a complete 180 from how Bucky looked at you during these intimate moments. 
You licked your lips, still tasting him on the surface of your lips. “Welcome, soldat.”
The soldier followed you out the shower, his eyes trailing the every move of your body. He clenched his fist, wanting to wreck you as he watched you sway your hips. 
You looked over your shoulder, curling a finger towards him to signal him to come closer. “Come on, soldat. You know your mission.”
He nodded, his arms grabbing you towards him. You gasped when you felt his rough touch, his hips rolling against your back. You let out a small scream when his hand made his way down to your core, spreading the growing wetness around. His teeth nibbled at the exposed skin of your back. 
You stumbled back on the bed, allowing yourself to fall captive to the stare of the Winter Soldier. He was propped up on top of you, his forearms holding himself up. He stared at you for a moment, taking in your current state. You looked wrecked. Your lips were puffy and red, your jaw hanging because it was numb, and your eyes looked at him with absolute desperation. 
He laughed, his chest rumbling with the sound, “You look so pathetic like this.”
You breathed out, gently lifting your hips to meet his, hoping he’ll get the hint. He pushed down your hips, swiftly. His fingers dug into your hipbone. You knew you would be bruised but God, you did not care about that right now. You just wanted him. 
“So desperate for me,” He whispered, head dipping down to quickly peck you on the lips before making his way down to your breasts. He sucked on your left nipple, using a hand to play with the other. “Such a needy slut, aren’t you?”
“Only for you, Soldat.”
He let his metal hand make its way down to your aching core. You shivered at the sensation of his hands pleasuring you. He stuck in two fingers unexpectedly, causing you to nearly jump. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He quickly pumped them in and out of you, the sound of his fingers entering you mixing with the sounds that left your lips. He pulled his fingers out and tapped them on your bottom lip. You opened your eyes to look at him while you sucked on his coated fingers. 
He flashed you a devilish smile, loving the way your tongue swirled between his two digits as you licked them clean. Once he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, he replaced them with his lips. This kiss was sinful. 
Teeth clashing, hands grabbing at anything, everything, and moans being silenced by his hand wrapping around your throat. He silenced you with a simple pinch against your neck. He pushed his hips against yours, the feeling of his tip rubbing your clit nearly making you come undone. 
You pulled away, breathless, “Need you.”
He glared at you, taking his hand and wrapping it around his own member. He tapped his tip against your wetness, hissing at the pleasurable feeling. You allowed your legs to open wider for him but he simply just rubbed against your clit, not daring to put it inside. “You get me when I say you get me.”
He gripped both of your wrists in his metal hand, not allowing you to touch him. You groaned, wanting nothing else but to claw down the soldier’s muscular back. You couldn’t do anything else but arch your back off the bed, trying to get him closer to you. 
“No,” He snapped, tightening his grip on you. “Do you not listen to what I say?”
You immediately stopped. You gulped, watching his hand slowly move up and down his cock. The slickness of you and his pre-cum made the muscle slick and it shone under the light of your bedroom. You watched hungrily as he picked up the pace. You moaned, wanting it to be your walls to milk him. 
“Soldat,” You begged, your voice dripping in desire. “please. Let me.”
He simply smirked, pumping himself until his second release. He groaned, his hand squeezing his member softly and prompted his undoing. White strings of cum oozed out from his tip, landing on your chest. He let go of himself, dragging two fingers on your chest to collect his release. 
He was about to wipe it off when he heard you whimper. He cocked an eyebrow, letting go of your now bruised wrists. Your eyes were glued at the white substance staining his fingers. “Want it?”
You nodded, crawling over to him where he extended his two fingers. He watched as you moaned at his taste. It wasn’t long until he was hard again. He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to straighten up and kiss him once more.
His tongue was in your mouth, tasting himself and your own sweetness on your tongue. He palmed your ass, picking you up so you sat right on his lap. His member was poking your entrance, earning a gasp from you. He helped you roll your hips against his, his hands not finding a steady place for him to grip you. His metal hand smacked your ass until it was as bright as a cherry. You groaned upon seeing your reflection in your mirror. 
The print of his hand was so prominent, it looked so much like a tattoo. He pushed you off him, turning you around so your back was faced towards him. He faced you towards the same mirror, allowing you to watch him as he took you from the back. 
He pushed the small of your back down into the mattress, wanting your ass to be up in the air. Your face was smushed down the sheets, eyes darting to the mirror in front of you. He caught your eye from the mirror. He grabbed your face, forcing you to turn and look at him for a quick second. “Want you to see how good I fuck you. If you look away, I stop. Eyes on me the whole time. Understand?” 
You merely nodded, which was a mistake. He slapped your ass again, accompanied by a harsh tug of your hair. “Understand?”
“Yes, soldat.” You gulped. “Understood.”
He let go of your hair, letting your head fall with a thud. He spread your legs some more, pushing down on your back to maintain the perfect arch. He rubbed his tip against your entrance and finally, he entered you. 
“God, yes.” You moaned, shutting your eyes for a quick second. 
Slap.
“What the fuck did I say?”
“Eyes on you the w-whole time.” You managed to croak out. He continued to push into you, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. Along with his hips, he pulled you off him and pushed you back down with every thrust. He was throwing you around like you weighed nothing, your cries of absolute pleasure nearly drowning out the sound of skin slapping. 
You felt beads of sweat drip down your back. You watched him in the mirror as he disappeared inside you after every thrust. He was staring at you, lip caught between his teeth. He watched your face contort into pleasure when he hit that spot. He knew what he had to do next after that.
He flipped you over, pulling out of you for a quick second. He found that spot again, hitting it over and over again. He knew that once he hit that spot, you would be coming undone soon. And he loved to see you wither under him. 
He continued the same pace, his fingers finding their way down to your core. He rubbed your clit with his metal hand as he thrusted into you, a shrill scream emerging from your lips. He laughed in a sultry manner, increasing his pace. 
“Oh-oh-oh,” You moaned out, the rest of the English words suddenly leaving your mind. You forgot every other word you knew, opting to just make sounds to convey your pleasure. His metal hand was vibrating on your clit. The coolness of the metal felt so good against your hot skin. 
He continued to fuck you through your first release. Then through your second. And third. His metal hand not slowing down its vibrations and coolness. It was like it had a mind of its own. It played with you like it was loving the way your arousal coated it. You moaned, feeling the sensitivity of your core. 
“Soldat, I can’t.”
You knew he wanted to make you cum one more time. But your body was worn out, especially with the way he continued to hit that same spot with the snap of his hips. “You can and you will.”
The sternness in his voice was enough to motivate you. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, you knew he was close. He pulled out of you and sat down. He pulled you on his lap again, this time allowing you to sink down on his dick He turned you both to the side. “Watch us.”
You stared at the way he pulled you off his dick and you watched it as it disappeared into you. The mirror was starting to slowly fog, the room smelling like sex and arousal. You watched him, hair sticking to his forehead and eyebrows furrowed. “Soldat, I’m close.”
“Me too.”
He picked up the pace, breaking his trance from watching you on the mirror and allowed himself to close his eyes. His lips sucked on your nipples, another wave of pleasure making its way down your body. You moaned to release one last time and that did it for him. He spilled inside you, groaning and biting the skin of your shoulder as he filled you with his seed. 
He pulled you off him, watching as his cum oozed out of you. You were too tired to do anything but you knew you had to bring Bucky back before the soldier decided to go rogue. You leaned towards your dresser, wincing at the pain of your lower half. You retrieved the injection that Bruce created for Bucky. 
The soldier looked at you, chest rising up and down. He knew it was his time to go. You smiled softly at him before jamming the injection in his right thigh. He hissed at the feeling but soon his shoulders slumped down and his breathing pattern changed. 
Bucky smiled at you tiredly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Hopefully that made your day a little better.”
“Mhm,” you mumbled against his lips. “Much.”
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bluebellhairpin · 3 years
Text
No More
Fantasy AU!Levi Ackerman X Fem!Reader
Part One - No Feelin’ - Part Three - No Regrets 
A/N: SO I wrote a piece for a Discord Event and ummm I wrote a part two? instead of anything else I have backed up? In my drafts? And ask box? Oopsie? - Nemo
Summary: A year past, and word from you has been scarce to none. After leaving Levi high and dry last time, he’d been preparing for your return ever since. What he didn’t expect was to see you so suddenly - sitting atop the throne he was supposed to protect. 
Warnings: Violence. Language. Character Death. Blood (I feel I should emphasise this one, it’s... gorey. For me). Mentions of rape. Slight Misogyny. More of my bad poetry. MC says Zeke has a small pp. 
Listening to: ‘MORE’ by K/DA (slowed) - ‘When I go it’s for gold yeah, they cool but I’m cold. I don’t fit in the mold, I’m a rebel.’ 
Series Masterlist
Masterlist 
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There was something about the eerie silence that followed your first ‘visit’ that set Levi on edge. 
He remembered how quiet you were as his subordinate. How you stood back and watched when you could, but managed to surprise everyone when you had to get in and get dirty like all those others training to be a knight. He wondered what he could’ve done to change things, to have stopped you from becoming that monster he fought in the throne room. 
He knew there was nothing he could do about that now, but something about those last words you spoke to him - ‘find your advantage’ - they just stuck with him. 
He knew the sword he was given was special. That it had abilities that no human blacksmith could’ve given it. It gave him strength. Immunity. It could heal, rebuild, and it gave him the ability to endure. Yours was not like that.
The people the King put in charge of studying it said it was destructive. That everyone who tried to wield it in the past had suffered nothing but pain, and in trying to control the power it held they’d only succeeded in killing themselves. 
Levi knew that you were not like them. Not before. Not a year ago. He knew, not now either. 
“You’re very diligent in welcoming me back, Little Captain.” 
And how he hated it. 
He was left frozen in shock, watching you as you sat atop the throne - legs crossed, the fingers of one hand tangled in the hair of the old king’s body-less head, while the other held that damn sword. The crimson of his blood matched your tainted skin, dribbling down your arms to match your bright veins, and the color of your dreaded blade. 
It was like the color of corruption was red, and you were so soaked in it that it stained the floor. With that thought he could almost fool himself into thinking it wasn’t the king’s blood at all.
Except for the stench of it. It was like he was punched in the face with the reek.  
“Oh don’t look so surprised,” you said, tutting at him and waving the kings head in his direction, “I thought you would’ve been preparing for my return.” 
“You weren’t supposed to come back.” 
“Oh, but the king was sitting so nicely on his throne just then, I had to.” You said, letting the head drop to the floor. It rolled down the stairs, meeting it’s limp and pale counterpart. “Can you just imagine my joy when he was here to welcome me with a pretty little concubine between his legs. I couldn’t help myself!” 
“You’re insane!” he said, taking his sword in his hand and rushing up the stairs to be met with the tip of your sword at his throat.
“Ah ah,” you said, “You pledged your life to the crown, to serve and protect. I killed the old king, now the crown is mine.” 
He grit his teeth, cursing himself for not noticing. For not being fast enough. Then, and now. 
“Bow. To your new Queen.”
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Levi would never admit how easily he obeyed you.
Despite knowing he had the power to over-power you, he didn’t dare use it. 
The old King - Fritz - had not been laid to rest. As far as he knew you had him turned to garden mulch. Him and anyone who decided you weren’t fit to wear the crown. 
He had to say, the rebellion that broke out once your position was made public - from those that wanted you gone, and those who thought that meant they could break the law because you did - was silenced much quicker than he’d seen a rebellion be silenced in his whole life. 
You slaughtered those who stood at the castles gate, pushing those who wanted you gone with a heel to the back of their heads. They who rebelled against you had a choice - die like those who banged on the drawbridge, and have their blood and innards join the muck in the moat, or submit like the knights. 
Then you took to the streets and made those who deserved it pay back what they had taken. If they stole from a market stall, they returned with interest. If they decided to rape, their manhood was taken. If they decided to kill, they paid with their own lives in turn. 
So despite your aloof yet demanding nature, your lack of empathy, and love of - putting it lightly - a hunt, you made peace reign over the kingdom. That was something all the knights could admit.
“She’s kinda hot though.” His eyes snapped over to a newer knight, Flotch, who was muttering to Jean, who was in turn doing a very good job of ignoring him. “You know, if you take away the creepy eyes, and those nasty veins on her arms. I’d tap that.” 
He had to resist from groaning. Of course there’d be people lewding their new ruler - a murderous one no less - and one of such people had to be one of his subordinates. 
“Seriously though, look -”
“- Watch your tongue, young one.” A voice said, and Levi did a doubletake to find you behind Flotch with a clawed hand around his throat. “Diminish me to a piece of flesh like that again and I’ll brand your forehead with a big fat ‘M’.”
“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” he slurred, his own grip now ghosting over yours.
“‘Misogynist’.” you hissed, tightening your grip on his throat before withdrawing, leaving dripping red marks behind. He stood still for a few short moments, then doubled-over, clutching his neck and letting out garbled noises of pain. 
“Serves him right.” Jean said, stepping past Levi and over Flotch’s legs to follow you as you walked away. 
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“Something needs to be done about him.” you mused. 
“I agree. For once.” Levi said, stepping to his side to face you before mumbling an addition, “I bet his ass looks as hairy as an ape.” You barked out a laugh - loud, and as smooth as whiskey.
“That would account for the little monkey he’s hiding in his basement.” you said, leaning down to hush the comment in his ear. Levi could tell that there wasn’t an actual monkey, nor a basement, and a rushed glance down Zeke’s body also told him it wasn’t entirely true, however you had been everything but subtle about anything anymore. 
“Do you want war?” Zeke asked, covered eyes narrowing over at you. You tutted him, reminding Levi about the time you directed such an action at him - taunting with his failure of protecting the old king. 
“Would you go to war over a dick joke?” 
He wouldn’t. That Levi knew. No one was petty or childish enough to go to war with another whole-ass country just because it’s ruler said your dick was small. But Zeke was unpredictable. 
“I’d advise against it, personally.” you said, tapping your nails along the oak table, “It’s so mediocre. If I were to go to war with you I’d do something much more grand.” 
“Like what?” 
You smiled, wide and wicked, and Levi was reminded again of who you were. You’d beheaded the old king like he was just an unneeded piece of paper. You’d painted the castle moat red. Despite the good that was no doubt still there - somewhere - you were still very much evil. 
You were still corrupt. 
You raised a hand, performing a universal signal that meant to wait, and then a man came in. Huffing and sweaty, with eyes wide and broken. 
“Ze- you highne- Sir.” 
“- What?” Zeke asked, turning in his chair. Clearly unimpressed.
“Our capital. They… She attacked it!” Zeke turned back around, now looking much angrier.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s nothing major.” You said, waving him off as if he were just a child complaining about his socks not matching. “But your place of residence might have a few scorch marks now.” 
Zeke stood abruptly, drawing his sword, and causing a chain reaction. You mirrored him, drawing your own - abhit longer and glowing red in aggression. Levi drew his, as did the other guards, Erwin and Miche. And the two with Zeke drew theirs as well. 
There wasn’t a single person in the room that didn’t have a sword on them, and not even Levi could say he wasn’t on edge. But you? You just laughed, lowering your weapon.
“Okay, this is stupid. Let’s just -” 
“If you call burning my city ‘stupid’, then I’d love to know what you’d call me lathering your streets in your blood.” 
“Oh,” you cooed, “Looks like I struck a nerve. Or maybe you’re on your period?” 
“Quiet!” He yelled, pushing his sword closer to you. “Or do you want me to slice off your tongue.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
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He tried. 
And much like anyone else who crossed your path, he was lucky to have just left with his tail between his legs. However, him being Zeke, had to leave behind something to be remembered by. 
This particular time it was in the form of a huge gash, spanning across your shoulder and up your neck. 
Despite your all-powerful nature, the power your sword gave you was not one that could heal. It took what it was given, and it corrupted it. So even if all Zeke gave you was a scratch, the power of your sword meant it took that scratch, and made it into a cut. Oozing blood, and pulsating with a pain that made you wince with every heartbeat. 
You skulked away towards your chambers, a bottle of alcohol in your hand, and closed the door behind you. 
Levi knew that it could very well kill you. That’s what you were warned of. It would give the kingdom a chance to regain a sane ruler. It would be good if you died. 
‘From chaos to healing, is where to gain the sealing; 
Where they be kneeling, you’ll have no feeling.’ 
Those were the words you told him the first time you met. But later, after you started ruling and he became your own personal guard, you told him there was more. There were ruins. Books. A whole civilization even. Those two phrases were just a part of a whole. A whole that you knew. 
‘The one who stops the war, to try and reach the core;
Along the gentle shore, they will gain more.’
There was more to that sword than just corruption, and there was more to his sword than just healing. 
Leaning against the wall outside your room, he took his sword in his hands, watching as the symbols along it’s blade glowed up at him from the interaction. 
He could save you, but would it be worth it? 
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mrfandomgage · 3 years
Text
Ralsei: Do you have any stories?
Me: yeah, a few. As my name may apply, most are to things I enjoy
Ralsei: Oh? Can y-
Susie: Hey, we're back!
Lancer: I'm here too!
Me: Do you wish to hear a story?
Susie: A story? Can it at least have blood?
Kris: Susie, not everything needs blood. What does your story have?
Me: Death, violence, blood
Kris: ...
Susie: Yeah!
Ralsei: uh, how bad is it?
Me: I probably can't describe it as well as normal, but it's of my favorite creation. I'll tell the origins, the original story, and revisions.
Lancer: ...
Me: yes Lancer?
Lancer: Can I have some popcorn?
Me: yes
*One popcorn break later*
Me: thanks for the microwave Jevil. Is everyone ready for the story?
All, plus Jevil: Yeah!
Me: The origin of Night Terror. Originally, she was only meant to be a Roleplay character. A character to be nothing but a puppet, for evil actions and tom foolery. However, she needed a backstory, and concept. I took from dreams and nightmares, and my little understanding of Freddy Krueger as a "Dream Demon" to kill in people's sleep.
Me: Her original story was bad. "Oh whoah is me. I've been killed to an uncountable number, and now I'm a being of pure vengeance that killed everyone in the world". So instead of dropping this character like others, I gave the ideas flesh and bone. Instead of being uncountable, it's uncounted and exaggerated. Instead of nonsense violence, I gave the violence flesh, abuse, to a point that'd break bones for one off action. Instead of being the sole reason her world died, it died around her as she got used to killing. I left the blood on her slit throat to let others know, she's already dead.
Susie: that sounds cool and all, but are you going to tell a story?
Kris, Whispering: Susie! Rude!
Me: No, I find that fair. Now one last stage to let you know her life being alive. Her true name is Frisk. She was a girl who was very, tired, in her world. I designed it to beat her down, just so she'd be willing to kill anything. Of course, it was hard for her, she was naturally a pacifist. She is a dream, a soul of positive energy. In a world of nightmares, they hated the energy she put off. Her own parents murdered her as a baby, but all they knew is that she put off less energy, when she woke up. So they devised to keep her energy low. They'd give her old hard as coal beds to keep her restless, if she was happy with a day, they'd shout at her for any tiny mistake or fault even when it wasn't hers. Those parents hated her favorite things, like vibrant yellows, and gave her only greys and traditional purples for special occasions, not that they wouldn't make those purple items irritable. Best of all for the parents, all they knew was that if they had really wanted to beat down their little girl til she bled on the carpet, not fully knowing they already have, she would be in misery for weeks. They never gave her bruises, she never had evidence when waking up again. She was bullied at school for sleeping at her desk, and when it got physical, it was something her parents could taunt her for. She had a friend, but he'd demean everything she said of herself. She tried to hang herself once, but when she woke up, all she could do was cry. One day, one the rare occasion she was forced to be out on the schoolyard, kids were talking of a legend. The kids taunted Frisk, stating what she believed herself. "Nobody wants you, you should climb into Mount Ebott, so you'll never return". That day, she confided in her friend, of her "nightmares" and the thought of Mount Ebott may ending her for good. Her friend tried to sew doubt into her mind of this plan, in the end, only making her cry, and giving her more reason to see to it that she could die. In the dead of night, she only took a flashlight and her purple clothes up with her to that mountain. She entered a cave and found a deep hole. She stepped to it, stood with her back facing the drop, and plunged herself into the underground. It took her a while, but she woke up. She woke up. She woke up. She was upset, but her friend was right. She met a giggling flower. "Ah, another human. You seem different, but does that matter? Have fun in your grave!" Frisk smiled at the thought of dying. She walked the tunnels and carved out cave to find a floor of spikes. She tried to drop herself onto them, only for them to retract from underneath her. While getting up, she notice that only sets of retracting spikes are sharp, while the ones that were out were as dull as rocks. She marched on, growing tired, and falling asleep in the halls. When she woke, she was in an old used bed, it was remarkable compared to home. Getting out of bed, she left the room, and tried to leave the house. Approaching the downstairs door, she caught flame. Her nerves screamed from end to end in torent pain, her lungs prayed for oxygen only taking in the smoke and ash of her own body, blood and flesh. She tried and tried and burned to ash, she finally found the monster burning her flesh, admitted she wished to leave. Learning that the monster didn't want her to leave. The monster ran to the exit with Frisk hot on their tail. Screaming and crying, the monster attacked her, I shouldn't have to say, but she had died multiple times. She became exhausted, and moved without thought, with her only thoughts to be to improve her movements, before falling to the cold. The snow was biting her senses, even though she just got some sleep, she was exhausted. As if she was walking for days. A loud snap reminded Frisk of her bones. She dropped to her knees in the freezing snow, and drops thinking something broken. In the first time in a while, the girl had a real friend. The friend talked to her, he convinced her that she was ok, and knew a place where she could rest... sorry, my throats getting dry
Susie: Awww... It was just a little interesting
Kris: could be better if you extended it
Me: I literally don't have enough text space or patience to do that yet. Trust me, I've wanted to make this story whole for a while.
Lancer: Can she at least be a little more happy? I mean, she is a dream and-
Me: no, she's constantly weakened by negative influences, mainly her own thoughts after what her parents did to her. Her only friendly relationship with other humans is still one that undermines her own thoughts and feelings. Her only dream, her only hope, is to not be useless.
Ralsei: it's good... but I have a question. Why was she born a dream?
Me: Dreams and Nightmares used to share a universe, and even though they started to hate eachother doesn't mean they didn't mix. After a rift of magic, the worlds split, and Dreams became a recessive trait to Nightmares and vice versa. It became extremely unlikely, but there's still a chance in one in a billion.
Kris: Why are monsters separated from humans?
Me: the amount of magical power to create that rift was only created by the power of monsters. Humans feared if war were to break, they too could be thrown into oblivion. Seven mages forfeited their souls to bind monsters and whoever entered. Monsters realized that they couldn't break the spell, due to the power of the seven souls, even with their collective power... can I please stop talking?
Jevil: How does she come back after dying?
Susie: When does she murder people?
Me: After blending her soul, Susie. She comes back because dreams were extremely persistent, practically a bunch of immortals. Nightmares knew this when they shared a universe, but as I said, they had a few generations and forgot. The only thing that can truly kill a dream is when they have no dream for themselves.
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writingkitten · 4 years
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L!Joker x Reader: Dogs
Note: pure fluff, v short, and super inspired by a post I saw awhile back about the three (? I think three) Rottweilers being loyal to J and all that. Also I’ve been busy working on this other project that I kinda let this one have not-as-great quality, but it was cute so there. Double also, pls forgive formatting, both the shitty paragraph spacing and the lack of italics. Tumblr fucked up the format and I don’t feel like fixing it lmao
Warnings: like, swear words? And some graphic descriptions of violence? But that’s it, not too sinful
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In the dwindling hours of the day, dusk heavy on the horizon, you trudged home. Exhaustion plagued your body, the frigid air and harsh winds further driving your desire to get home. It wasn’t far from your work, only a few blocks, but it was on days like this that you cursed yourself for not taking a car. Even the thick mauve sweatshirt you wore couldn’t keep the cold away.
You had been out since 8am, almost 10 hours ago by now. Your throbbing head told you that cooking dinner tonight was a no-go, and so you’d stopped to pick up some warm comfort food. A treat for you, and a nice little surprise for J.
He’d been away all day yesterday, leaving before dawn and never returning. It did worry you a bit, but J had disappeared for much longer in the past, either running a scheme for days on end, or staying at his other hideout — an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city limits — to avoid leading whoever was after him this time back to you. Still, you worried, your mind racing with every bad thing that could’ve happened, like a kid whose mother was taking too long at the store. J knew this, though he continuously tried to convince you he would always come back. He knew your anxiety was far too engrained into your very being to not imagine the worst case scenario, but he still tried, if for no other reason than the hope that his constant reminder would dig itself deeper into your psyche than the anxiety.
But that had yet to happen, and so J had taken to other means of calming you. Keeping you informed was first and foremost. He’d call to tell you where he was, or text if he was in a rather boring meeting with mob bosses. He’d perfected the art of maintaining eye contact and taking part in the particulars of the conversation, while simultaneously writing a text with his phone under the table. Always a new phone, always a new number, but he had yours memorized, and you knew who it was when a message from an unknown number popped up.
That’s why, despite the apartment being empty when you left this morning, you knew he was there, waiting. It had only been about ten minutes since you’d left, so, by the time you headed home, he’d been there all day. Alone. You hoped he had caught up on his sleep, but you knew him better than that. You knew he was too bored sleeping alone, as wild of a concept as that seemed. No, instead you’d probably come home to see parts of makeshift weapons on the coffee table, or maybe the kitchen torn apart like a rabid raccoon had broken in.
At least he’d be home, you thought.
Finally standing in front of your door, you couldn’t unlock it fast enough, your feet aching, begging to be given some reprieve.
“J?” you called out as you entered.
You heard him say something, his voice too quiet to make out anything legible. Just as you were about to ask what he’d said, a massive black form sprinted towards you. Screaming, you dropped the bag of food on the floor, holding your hands out to stop whatever it was.
You eyes were screwed shut, but nothing happened. At least, not what you expected. Instead, you felt something prop itself on your shoulders. Hot breath hit your face, smelling of peanut butter. If that hadn’t given it away, the hassling sure as hell did.
Opening your eyes, you were met with the dark glassy eyes of a Rottweiler, standing on his hind legs, front paws gripping your shoulder.
J said something, this time louder, though you still didn’t hear him through your shock. The dog jumped down and ran back to the living room.
Ripping yourself from the frozen stance that you had been put you had been stuck in, you followed the Rottweiler.
On the floor sat J, his coat and blazer off, sleeves rolled up. There were strange stains on his pants. Peanut butter. Several dog toys lay around him, and two giant buckets of dry food and water sat in the corner. Most surprising, however, were the two other dogs that sat next to him.
J hadn’t looked up to greet you, busy filling some kongs full of peanut butter, seemingly the only treat he had for them.
“Uh, J?” you said, mouth agape at the sight.
“Hiya, doll,” he said, finally looking up at you, “I like that color on you.”
You had no idea what has happening, you didn’t know how to react. All you could really do was laugh.
“What the fuck is happening?” you asked.
“Uh, peanut butter time?” he said, as if it was obvious.
“J, why are there three massive dogs in our apartment?”
J sighed dramatically, “Well, I was just attending a little meeting with the Russian guy. And, wouldn’t you know, somehow he got locked up in their cages, and they just ripped off his limbs and ate him! Really fuckin’ weird cowinky-dink.”
Your eyes widened, “You fed him to his own dogs?”
J looked up at you in disbelief, “Didn’t ya listen to the story, doll?”
“Right, because you’re known for telling the truth.”
J growled, “...I’ll feed you to the dogs.”
“Ha,” you said, knowing full well that J would rather feed himself to the three than put your life on the line.
You left J on the floor as he passed out the stuffed kongs, taking the food out of the bag and setting it up on the table. Well, you were, until J turned around and watched you with an eyebrow raised.
“Uh, doll, I’m eating with them,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“...What.”
What the hell is happening?
“I’m building trust with these guys, I gotta show ‘em that not everyone is an abusive prick.”
You were silent for a moment, staring at J. Compassion was not a common experience to have with him, at least, not for other people. Towards you? He was very compassionate, even if he showed it in his own gruff way. But anyone else was lucky if they didn’t get the business end of J’s blade shoved through their throat.
Then again, that was still the case. He hated people, despised their selfishness and callousness, especially after experiencing that evil when he was still young and innocent. But animals? They were pure, only acting on nature with no societal influences. They were loyal as long as you were loyal to them, something that couldn’t be said for many people. That was one of the things he liked about you, your loyalty. You knew what he did, even if you didn’t know specifics. You knew he killed people, tortured them, destroyed the city and disrupted “society”. Yet you stood by him, loving him without question. Why you did, he’d never fully understand. But you did.
Instead of just bringing J his food, you brought your own, as well.
“I still wanna eat dinner with you,” you said, sitting down next to him.
“Aww,” J said, his voice mocking.
As soon as the containers were opened, the dogs abandoned their treats and sat around the two of you. Their eyes bored into you, pleading for a bite. Having all three of them up close now, you could see their bones, and thick scars that broke through their fur.
J tossed food at each of them, all three catching it mid-air.
“Good boys,” he said, reaching out to them and scratching around their face and neck.
“So, I assume they’re yours now?” you asked as you ate.
“Ours, bunny. They’re guard dogs, they’ll protect ya from, uh...bad guys.”
“Like you?” you asked with a smirk.
He grabbed his chest, feigning pain, “Shot to the heart, doll!”
———
After dinner — which J pretty much ate as much of as the rottys, giving them most of his food — you showered and got ready for bed, too tired to stay awake any longer. J stayed in the living room, working on a new idea, and, you had assumed, training the dogs. However, it seemed as though he was testing them now that you were home. Everywhere you went, you had three massive shadows following you. They stayed in the bathroom while you showered, laying next to the door, watching you. It felt as though they were ready to both protect you from an intruder, and come to your aid if you slipped and fell.
J couldn’t have trained them that much by now...right?
Once out, they practically escorted you to your bedroom. You got in bed, laying on your usual side. The three followed suit, taking up J’s space. One snuggled up by your feet, resting his head on your legs, staring up at you, while the other two did their best the lick your face. After the first few swipes, your face had practically been rewashed.
You laughed as they licked, “Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you, thank you! Sweet babies!”
“So, am I gonna have to actually sleep in the dog house, now?”
J stood in the doorway, watching you laugh and love on the dogs. He mouth twitched, a quick smirk gracing his features when he saw the look of pure happiness on your face. It wasn’t something he got to see often, most of the time your happiness being qualified by some cloud of negativity. Depression, anxiety, self-loathing...it was a welcomed sight to see your unhindered smile.
He said a quick command, something in Russian that you couldn’t understand, and the dogs jumped off the bed. It was only then that you noticed three massive dog beds lining the wall next to yours.
“They’re so sweet,” you said to J, watching them curl up, getting as close together as possible.
“Yeah,” he drawled, climbing into bed beside you, “that guy got what he fuckin’ deserved. He kept them hungry, beat them, locked in cages too small for ‘em...”
You could see the anger rising in J’s eyes, his jaw clenching with malice as he stewed in his thoughts.
You reached out and took his hand, “They’ll have a good life now, J. We’ll spoil them.”
J looked over to you, “You know, that one that was at your feet was actually a service dog. Saw it in the papers the Russian kept. He’s trained for depression and anxiety.”
You perked up, “Wait, so I can take him around with me?”
“I’d want you to take all three, in case someone wanted to mess with ya and I wasn’t around. Bu-t you can have him with you at work and all that.”
The thought of having a dog to stay by your side at all times — and two more to come home to — was already making the knowledge of J leaving again much more bearable. That night, you fell asleep wrapped in J’s arms, him squeezing you far too tight to his chest as always, feeling invincible with your boys by your side.
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chiseler · 3 years
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Ophelia By the Yard
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Cobwebbed passages and wax-encrusted candelabra, dungeons festooned with wrist manacles, an iron maiden in every niche, carpets of dry ice fog, dead twig forests, painted hilltop castles, secret doorways through fireplaces or behind beds (both portals of hot passion), crypts, gloomy servants, cracking thunder and flashes of lightning, inexplicably tinted light sources, candles impossibly casting their own shadows, rubber bats on wires, grand staircases, long dining tables, huge doors with prodigiously pendulous knockers to rival anything in Hollywood.
Here was the precise moment — and it was nothing if not inevitable — when the darkness of horror film, both visible and inherent, leapt from the gothic toy box now joined by a no less disconcerting array of color. The best, brightest, sweetest, and most dazzling red-blooded palette that journeyman Italian cinematographers could coax from those tired cameras. Color, both its commercial necessity as well as all it promised the eye, would hereafter re-imagine the genre’s possibilities, in Italy and, gradually, everywhere else. 
When color hit the Italian Gothic cycle, a truly new vision was born. In Hammer films and other UK horror productions, the cheapness of Eastmancolor made it possible for blood to be red. Indeed, very red. And, while we shouldn't underestimate the startling impact this had, it was a fairly literal use of the medium. In the Italian movies, and to a large extent in Roger Corman's Poe cycle, color was an unlikely vehicle to further dismantle realism rather than to assert it. Overrun with tinted lights and filters, none of which added to the film’s realistic qualities, the movies became delirious. In Corman's Masque of the Red Death, we learn of an experiment that uses color to drive a man insane; it seems that filmmakers like Corman and Mario Bava were attempting the very same trick on their audiences.
The application of candy-wrapper hues to a haunted castle flick like The Whip and the Body adds a pop art vibe at odds with the genre, and when you get to something like Kill, Baby...Kill! the Gothic trappings are barely able to mask a distinctly modern sensibility, so much so that Fellini could plunder its phantasmal elements for Toby Dammit, fitting them perfectly into his sixties Roman nightmare.
Blood and Black Lace brings the saturated lighting and Gothic fillips into the twentieth century -- a sign creaking in a gale is the first image, translated from Frankensteinland to the exterior of a contemporary fashion house. A literal faceless killer disposes of six women in diabolical ways. The sour-faced detective remains several deaths back on the killer’s trail because the movie knows its audience, knows that it has zero interest in detection, character, motivation — though it’s all inertly there as a pretext for sadism, set-pieces of partially-clad women being hacked up, dot the film like musical numbers or action sequences might appear in a different genre. 
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Since the 19th-century audience for literary Gothic Horror was comprised of far fewer men than women, would it be fair to ask whether Giallo’s advent might be an instrument of brutal violence, even revenge against “feminine” preoccupations? Consider 1964’s Danza Macabra, the film’s amorous vibes finding their ultimate source in that deathless screen goddess named Barbara Steele, whose marble white flesh photographs like some monument to classicism startled into unwanted Keatsian fever. Her presence practically demands that we ask ourselves: “Who is this wraith howling at a paper moon?” In other words, is it a coincidence that Steele’s “Elizabeth Blackwood” — a revenant temptress and undead sex symbol — hits screens the very same year as Giallo, which would transform Italian cinema into a decades-long death mill for women? 
The name “giallo”, meaning yellow, derives from the crime paperbacks issued by Italian publisher Mondadori. The eye-catching covers, featuring a circular illustration of some act of infamy embedded in a yellow panel, became utterly associated with the genre of literature. These books were likely to be by Edgar Wallace, the most popular author in the western world, or Agatha Christie: cardboard characters sliding through the most mechanical of plots; or classier local equivalents, like Francesco Mastriani or Carolina Invernizio. The founding principles laid down concerned the elaborate deceptions concealed by their authors, traps for the unwary reader, and the use of a distinctive design motif. The tendency of the characterisation to lapse into sub-comic-book cliché, the figures incapable of expressing or inspiring real sympathy, was, perhaps, an unintended side-effect of the focus on narrative sleight-of-hand.
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When Italian filmmakers sought to translate sensational literature to the screen, they looked to other filmic influences: American film noir, influenced by German expressionism and often made by German emigrés (Lang, Siodmak, Dieterle, Ulmer); and the popular krimi cycle being produced in West Germany, mostly based on Edgar Wallace's leaden "shockers." These deployed stock characters, bizarre methods of murder, deceptive plotting, and exuberant use of chiaroscuro, the stylistic palette of noir intensified by more fog, more shafts of light, more inky shadows. A certain amount of fun, but different from the coming bloodbath because Wallace, despite somewhat fascistic tendencies, is anodyne and anaemic by comparison. No open misogyny, a sadism sublimated in story, a touching faith in Scotland Yard and the class system. In the Giallo, Wallace's more sensational aspects are adopted but made to serve a sensibility quite alien to the stodgy Englander: people are generally rotten, the system stinks, and crime becomes a lurid spectator sport served up to a viewer both thrilled and appalled. 
The Giallo fetishizes murder. But then, it fetishizes everything in sight. Every object, every half-filled wine glass and pastel-colored telephone, is photographed with obsessive, product-shot enthusiasm. Here, it must be emphasized that design implicates the viewer as the Italian camera-eye gawps like some unabashed tourist. Knife, wallpaper, onyx pinky ring — each detail transforms into an object made eerily subject: a sentient and glowering fragment of our own conscience, staring back at us in the darkened theater and pronouncing ineluctable guilt. And yet, for the directors who rode most dexterously the Giallo wave, homicide was something one did to women. Indulging in equal-opportunity lechery was merely an excuse to find other, more violent outlets for their misogyny. Please enter into evidence the demented enthusiasm for woman-killing evinced by Dario Argento, Mario Bava, Lucio Fulci, et al. — whatever trifling token massacres of men one might exhume from their respective oeuvres are inconsequential. Argento’s defense, “I love women, so I would rather see a beautiful woman killed than an ugly man,” should not satisfy us, and hardly seems designed to (also bear in mind Poe’s assertion that the death of a beautiful young woman was the most poetic of all subjects).
Filmmakers like Argento have no interest in sex per se. Suffering seems inessential, but terror and death are key, photographed with the same clinical absorption and aesthetic gloss as Giallo-maestros habitually apply to their interior design. Here, it must be emphasized that design implicates the viewer as the Italian camera-eye gawps like some unabashed tourist. Knife, wallpaper, onyx pinky ring – each detail transforms into an object made eerily subject: a sentient and glowering fragment of our own conscience, staring back at us in the darkened theater and pronouncing ineluctable guilt. That’s one important subtlety often lost amid Giallo’s vast antisocial hemorrhage.
Like a river of blood, homophobia, in the literal meaning of fear rather than hatred, runs through the genre. Lesbians are sinister and gay men barely exist. As we try to work out what in hell the Giallo is really up to, little dabs of dime-store Freudianism seem sufficient.
The filmmakers’ misogyny could be suspect, a sign of compromised masculinity, so they need fictional avatars to cloak their own feverish woman-hating. The subterfuge is clumsy at best, the desultory deceit embarrassingly macho. Giallo’s visual force, powerful enough to divorce eye from mind, is another matter, leaving us demoralized and ethically destitute; our hearts beating with all the righteous indignation of three dead shrubs (and maybe a half-eaten sandwich).
The Giallo is founded on an unstated assumption: the modern world brings forth monsters. Jack the Ripper was an aberration in his day, but now there's a Jack around every corner, behind every piece of modular furniture, every diving helmet lamp. Previously, disturbing events arose from what Ambrose Bierce called The Suitable Surroundings, or what the mad architect in Fritz Lang's The Secret Beyond the Door termed, with sly and sinister euphemism, "propitious rooms." There's the glorious line in Withnail and I: "That's the sort of window faces appear at." But now, in the modern world, evil occurs in the nicest of places, and tonal consistency died in a welter of cheerful stage blood. One needn’t enter an especially Bad Place to meet one’s worst nightmare, or perhaps better to say: the whole bright world qualified as a properly bad place. Imagine the pages of an interior design magazine invaded by anonymous psychopaths intent on painting the gleaming walls red.
Though the victims are overwhelmingly female and their killers male (Argento typically photographed his own leather-gloved hands to stand in for his assassin’s), when the violence becomes over-the-top in its sexualized woman-hating (like the crotch-stabbing in What Have You Done to Solange?), it’s usually a clue that the movie’s murderer will turn out to be female: a simple case of projection. Only Lucio Fulci, the most twisted of the bunch, trained as a doctor and experienced as an art critic, not only assigns misogyny to a straight male killer (The New York Ripper) but plays the killer himself in A Cat in the Brain. Though, in another self-protecting twist of narrative, all psychological explanations in Gialli are bullshit, always. Criminology and clinical psychology are largely ignored, and Argento has a clear preference for outdated theories like the extra chromosome signaling psychopathy (Cat O’Nine Tails). Did anybody use phrenology, or Lombroso’s crackpot physiognomic theories, as plot device?
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A tradition of the Giallo is that the characters all tend to be dislikable, something Argento at least resisted in Cat O’ Nine Tails and Deep Red. With disposable characters, each of whom might be the killer and each of whose violent demise is served up as a set-piece, this distancing and contempt might just be a byproduct of the form rather than a principle or ethos, but it’s of some interest, perhaps mitigating the misogyny with a wash of misanthropy. A Unified Field Theory of Gialli would find a more deep-seated reason for the obnoxious characters as well as the stylized snuff and the glamorous presentation. What urge is being satisfied, and why here, now, like this?
Class war? Though prostitute-ripping is encouraged in the Giallo, most victims are wealthy, slashed to ribbons amid opulent interiors. Urbane characters who might previously have graced the sleek “white telephone” films of forties Italian cinema were briefly edged out by neo-realism’s concentration on the working class. Now these exquisite mannequins are trundled back onscreen to be ritually slaughtered for our viewing pleasure.
Victims must always be enviable: either beautiful and sexy or rich and swellegant, or all of the above, so the average moviegoer can rejoice in their dismemberment with a clear conscience. Mario Bava bloodily birthed the genre in Blood and Black Lace (1964), brutally offing fashion models in a variety of Sade-approved ways, the killer a literally faceless assassin into whom the (presumed male) audience could pour their own animosities without ever admitting it, with the female killer finally unmasked to provide exculpatory relief.
If narrative formulas absolve the straight male viewer, compositions have a way of ensnaring him. Beyond that omnivorous indulgence of sensation for its own lurid sake one finds in Giallo, there is a more gilded emphasis placed on Beauty (in the Catholic sense), and it is only the women who are mounted upon its pedestal. That these avatars of beauty are to be savored, ravaged, and brutalized — in that order — is what concerns us. But the sex and the suffering that captivates most sadists is never what registers; no, it is the instance of death, the terror that afflicts the dying woman’s face that resonates. Once again, physical interiors become a negative form of emotional interiority, rooms amplified for the sole purpose of grisly annihilations; a kind of heretical, strictly anti-Catholic transcendence through amoral delight in what otherwise falls under trivial headings, either “the visuals” or “color palette” – neither of which touch the essential nerve endings of Giallo.
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Swaddled inside an otherwise hyper-masculine castle lies a windowless chamber with feminine, if not psychotic, decor. Before he tortures and stabs her to death, “Lord Alan Cunningham” (fresh from his sojourn in the asylum) brings his first victim to this pageant of off-gassing plastic furniture, the single most obnoxious vision ever imposed on gothic environs. Risibly overblown ’70s chic rules The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave with nods to Edgar Allan Poe, as the modish Lord juggles sports cars and medieval persecution. Laughs escape the viewer’s throat in dry heaves when each new MacGuffin devours itself without warning. Take “Aunt Agatha” (easily two decades younger than her middle-aged nephews) suddenly rising from her motorized wheelchair, clobbered from behind seconds later, her body dragged into a cage where foxes promptly munch her entrails. Nothing comes of this. The phony paralysis, the aunt’s role in a half-dozen mysteries, which include a battalion of sexy maids in miniskirts and blonde Harpo Marx wigs – all gulped, swallowed.
About the only thing we know for certain is that “Aunt Agatha” is gorgeous. Though, in the end, she’s another casualty of the same nihilism that crashes Giallo aesthetics headlong into Poe country. That is into “Lord Alan” and his gaudy room crowded with designer goods to be catalogued in a horror vacui of visual intrusiveness – a trashy shrine to his late wife, the titular Evelyn. If lapses of good taste define The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave, they also reflect Giallo’s abiding obsession with real estate. After all, this Mod hypnagogia has to fill the eye somewhere. Why not bang in the middle of a castle? Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher features a wealthy aristocrat burying his twin sister alive, thereby entombing his own femininity.
Evelyn represents both Usher’s primary theme of the divided self and the obdurate refusal to learn from it. “Alan,” who emerges a moral hero in the end (after his shrink aids and abets his murder spree), remains just as ornery, alienated, and vainglorious as Giallo itself. We’re never told precisely what the film’s fetish objects are supposed to mean. And since the camera seizes upon each one with existential grimness, we’re left with a visual style that begs its own questions.
Function follows form into the abyss. One Ophelia after another dies to satisfy our cruel delectation, even as will-o’-the-wisp light, taken from the bogs and neglected cemeteries of Gothic Horror, finds itself transformed into a crimson-dripping stiletto.  Evelyn stands in for all Gialli, a genre which redefines film itself on the narrow front of visual impact: stainless steel cutlery and candy-colored light enact a sentient agenda as color becomes an instrument of hyperbolic misogyny that fills the eye and then some.  
As with certain other Italian genres, notably the peplum, smart characterization, solid performances and decent dialogue seem not only unnecessary to the Giallo but unwelcome (the spaghetti western, conversely, in which many of the same directors dabbled, seemed to demand a steady stream of good, cold-blooded wise-cracks). Argento, in pursuit of that “non-Cartesian” quality he admired in Poe, took this to extremes, stringing non-sequiturs together to form absurdist cut-ups, torching his stars’ credibility merely by forcing them to utter such nonsense. And this wasn’t enough: from Suspiria (1977) on, the psychological thriller (which the Giallo is a sub-genre of, only the psychology has to be deliberately nonsensical) was increasingly replaced by the supernatural. So that the laws of nature could be suspended along with the laws of coherent motivation.
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In Suspiria and its 1980 quasi-sequel Inferno, the traditional knifings are interspersed with more uncanny events, as when a stone eagle comes to life and somehow makes a seeing-eye dog kill his owner, and there are also grotesque incidents with no relation to story whatever: a shower of maggots, or an attack by voracious rats in Central Park. The Giallo’s quest for a solution, inspired as it was by the old-school whodunits, is all but abandoned, replaced by the search for the next sensational set-piece.
Argento’s villains are now witches, but, abandoning centuries of tradition, these witches show more interest in stabbing their fellow women with kitchen knives than with worshipping Satan or riding broomsticks. Regardless of who they’re meant to be, Argento’s characters must express his desires, enact the atrocities he dreams of. And inhabit places built for his aesthetic pleasure rather than their own. Following Bava’s cue, he saturates his rooms in light blasted through colored gels, making every scene a stained-glass icon, no naturalistic explanation offered for the lurid tinted hues. Just as no explanation is offered for the presence of a room full of coiled razor-wire in a ballet school, or for the behavior of the young woman who throws herself into its midst without looking.
Dario Argento’s true significance, at least with respect to Giallo, was perceiving in the nick of time the almost incandescent obviousness of its limitations; that Italian commercial cinema’s garish, polychromatic spin on the garden-variety psychological thriller – departing from its forebears mainly in the rampant senselessness of its “psychology” – had Dead End written all over it. It could never last. On the other hand, Giallo does take a fresh turn with Argento’s Inferno, thanks in no small measure to a woman screenwriter who sadly remains uncredited. Daria Nicolodi explains that “having fought so hard to see my humble but excellent work in Suspiria recognized (up until a few days before the première I didn’t know if I would see my name in the film credits), I didn’t want to live through that again, so I said, ‘Do as you please, in any case, the story will talk for me because I wrote it.’”
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Daria Nicolodi
Nicolodi’s conception humanizes (it would be tempting to say “feminizes”) Argento’s usual sanguinary exercises du style, while at the same time summoning legitimate psychology. This has nothing to do with strong characterization – indeed, the characters barely speak – and everything to do with the elemental power of water, fire, wind.… Inferno rescues Giallo by plunging it into seemingly endless visual interludes, a cinema that draws its strength from absence.
by The Chiselers
Daniel Riccuito, David Cairns, Tom Sutpen, and Richard Chetwynd
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Road to Hell || Morgan & Miriam
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems
SUMMARY: Morgan interrupts one hunt; Miriam proposes another
CONTAINS: discussions of violence
The woman babbling on about something to Miriam as the two of them sat at their little corner table was a witch. Miriam had known that the second the girl had walked into her store a few nights ago, just before closing. It was that time of year when she could actually go out into the main area of the store without worrying about sunlight and burning flesh, and she’d struck up a conversation with the woman, particularly about the runic tattoos along the girl’s skin. Miriam wasn’t daft; she knew that these sorts of designs were in with all sorts of people, not just practitioners of the magic arts. But the young woman had actually admitted to Miriam what she was. Spellcasters these days. They had no sense of self-preservation. So, Miriam had invited her out to dinner, a nice dinner for the young woman and a nicer dinner for Miriam afterwards. It wouldn’t be anything to be savored; Miriam refused to bring people home, not with Evelyn in her house. Still, it would suffice. Really, she was doing the girl a favor. Anyone stupid enough to out themselves to a mere stranger should be put out of their misery. She tried not to think about that too hard, about how that was technically how she’d met Morgan, and, if she’d truly managed to kill Morgan that night, she’d be down one… acquaintance. They likely weren’t friends. It wasn’t like they could be, not with the way that Morgan saw her.
“Is it not good?” The woman, Leigh, asked, looking at Miriam’s plate curiously.
Miriam forced a charming grin on her face. “Oh, it’s lovely, sweetness. I’m just a bit distracted. Would you like some more wine?” As long as she could keep the girl unaware, this would be easy. She could do this and be done with it for a few days, maybe even a week. Maybe the next one she wouldn’t kill, either, but just find them in the night, get her fill, and wipe their mind of the experience, leaving behind only the pain. Maybe so. But she’d committed to this form of hunting for the night. She took a bit of her steak, too done to provide her with any sort of nourishment, and poured both herself and Leigh a bit more wine. She wished she could feel its effects the way the younger woman did as she giggled and talked about her job, her family, her friends. Miriam would kill to be so innocent. Miriam would kill.
Morgan had plenty of experience balancing the cognitive dissonance of making holiday merry with normies while her world was falling apart. Thirty nine (almost forty, now) years with the curse had been good for that much. But this was the first year she’d had to do it without being able to get drunk. The UMWC English Department Christmas after party had enough tipsy middle aged women to get the dance floor at the bar moving, but no matter how hard or how long she danced, the world was still in pieces and she still, still soaked with blood and hurt, and she still needed a human sacrifice to accomplish the one single thing she actually had a clue about accomplishing. Morgan told her coworkers she’d get them vodka shots, teasing, “Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get as shitfaced as our students after finals,” as an excuse to separate from the pack.
But Morgan never made it to the counter, because she saw Miriam first. Even worse, she saw Miriam’s date. Those runic tattoos couldn’t have been and accident, and the alchemic circle on the top of her hand sure as hell wasn’t either. She was hanging on Miriam’s every look, oblivious and engaged in all the wrong ways. Morgan didn’t have long to think. What did she do? She didn’t have anyone to make a distraction for her while she ushered the would-be witch-feast out the bar. How was she supposed to do this by herself? There wasn’t time to panic, she needed to stay in control and do something now. What would Deirdre do if she had to make a distraction for this?
“HEY, BABY!” Morgan cried the words loudly, enough to make at least one person check over their shoulder.  She gave Miriam a big wave and ran over to their both, sliding in beside the vampire. “You should’ve said you were coming to meet me early, I would’ve had a round of your favorite waiting!” She planted a big, awful kiss on Miriam’s cheek and squeezed her hand, bringing it up on the table. “And, and, and!” She squealed excitedly. “I went to the jeweler and picked out your ring! It’s gonna be a surprise, obviously, but I think you’ll like it a lot.” She looked over at the girl sitting opposite, flashing a thin smile that she hoped said, get lost. “And who are you? No offense, but I was kind of hoping to have a more private meeting with my Mimsy,” she said.
The shrill sound of a familiar voice caused Miriam to tense up. No. No. No. She wished she’d gone to a more private place, perhaps a classier establishment, to do her hunting as she watched the zombie coming in hot towards them. “Morgan?” Leigh looked at Miriam with confusion, and Miriam gritted her teeth as Morgan slid in next to her. Of course, of course. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.” She really shouldn’t have. There was no way to save this, was there, Miriam wondered as she looked dejectedly at Leigh, who had shifted from confused to pissed off in a matter of moments.
“I’m no one,” Leigh muttered, grabbing her bag and shoving her belongings inside. “It was--” she looked at Miriam, and, if a voice that the vampire would not have heard had she been human, muttered, “Course she’s-- Fuck me, I guess.” Then, louder, to Morgan, “Sorry, I’ll let-- I’m just gonna go.” Leigh hurried out the door, leaving her food half-finished, before Miriam could so much as even try to explain her way out of this. Lovely. Miriam was so glad that she’d get to pay for not one but two uneaten meals. She shoved her plate away and downed her glass, the alcohol not doing shit when there wasn’t blood mixed in.
“What the fuck, Morgan?” Miriam snarled, pushing the zombie away and rubbing at her eyes. They were probably turning red, the anger and frustration and hunger causing the color to change from their normal shade of green. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to be mad for too long, though. She just felt tired. All she had wanted was a meal and then to simply go home, crawl in bed and close her eyes for a few hours. Maybe chat with Evelyn for a bit about nothing serious. “Do you think you were loud enough? I don’t think the other side of town heard you. Speak up a bit next time.” She almost poured herself another glass of wine, but instead she just grabbed Leigh’s. She could, at the very least, assure that it wasn’t wasted.
“What? I can speak up if you’re having trouble hearing me.” Morgan said playing dumb with a dry smirk. But she had succeeded in chasing the girl away and turning her off from further contact with Miriam. She didn’t have to make any more public fuss. “You know, maybe I just missed you. Maybe I was jealous! We have some seriously problematic differences, but you are nothing if not clear and consistent. Not everyone’s like that.” Deirdre, for example, came to mind. She played with the flatware and the napkins, rolling them back and forth with her palm against the table for the novelty of the sensation. “Maybe I just didn’t want some sweet idiot girl like I used to be get carried off to your secret lair.” She shrugged, grinning sidelong at Miriam. “It’s the department holiday party, over there--” she gestured to the dancing middle aged women. “You just caught me at the right time. I’m not trying to...I want better for you, but I’m not a stalker. We can take a twirl if it’ll save your night. Some of the ladies over there hate their lives and marriages enough to probably make a good snack.” She delivered all of this in a dry, even tone, unphased, even a little amused. “I mean, we could talk about murder and torture, but I’m trying to do a little better by you than that.”
“My hearing is just fine, sweetness, but thank you,” Miriam said with a smile that was more of a bearing of teeth. “You missed me? Aw, I’m touched, truly. Maybe give me a ring, though, next time? We can go out for drinks instead of you dropping in on my meal.” She sighed, though, and shot Morgan a sympathetic look. “Glad my consistencies can be counted on.” Really, Morgan was quite consistent as well, in her stubbornness that bordered on pigheadedness when it came to Miriam’s dietary habits. “I wasn’t going to carry her back to my ‘secret lair.’” She did air quotes with one hand. “Just to the woods. I don’t bring people home with me anymore. I have someone staying over.” Besides, her “secret lair” was her wine cellar, and there were only so many ways that blood stains could be explained away before it became far too suspicious. She glanced over at the gathering of people near the bar, frowning. She should feed, she should, but she was turned off from it, at this point. The mood was killed, and she had no desire to feed in front of Morgan, no desire to see the woman think even less of her. “I’ve lost my appetite, I’m afraid, but I do appreciate the offer.”
Morgan hummed, smiling, to hear Miriam’s nickname. Her expression was too sour and vacant for it to count as delight, but maybe someone might have made that mistake at a quick glance when she laughed. “Sometimes it takes your evil friend getting tortured and burned to ash for you to appreciate the important things in life. Or to decide, fuck it, I don’t care about anyone or anything so let’s just disappear and burn it to the ground. Or to finally get on that bucket list! Granted, I’m not usually into--” she screwed up her face, pretending to be scandalized, “Blood sacrifice, but the magic wants what the magic wants. Screw anything being easy for once, right?” She gave Miriam a wide, thin smile. “Come on! The night doesn’t have to be super ruined, right? I don’t  actually want you to starve or feel like I don’t care, you know? I might be a little...whatever, but if there’s a way that makes up your night that doesn’t involve witch torture, I’m at least interested.” Her smile twisted into a grin, conspiratorial. “Are you gonna tell me about this friend staying over? Is the same lady friend you were staying with before?”
For a moment, all Miriam could do was stare at Morgan in shock and blink. Then, she said, “I thought I was your evil friend.” She gave Morgan a smirk, one of the one’s she’d adopted in high school that said I’m Better, before she let it drop. “That’s quite a lot to unpack, Morgan. Really, more than a lot.” Blood sacrifices, really? See, this was what Miriam always thought of when she described bad magics, improper magics. Though, all magics were improper in the hands of human beings, but Miriam didn’t think she needed to try and drive that point home. Not while Morgan was like this. “Perhaps things should be easy, sometimes,” she said, slowly, putting down the glass without finishing it so that she could give Morgan most of her attention. She scanned Morgan’s face, checked her over for any signs of outer distress before she realized that, as one of the undead, Morgan wasn’t going to show scrapes or bruises. “Let’s make this easy, shall we? I’m really quite alright,” she could always feed later, “and I’m a bit more worried about you. I’m aware you don’t want me to starve, darling.” She knew that. Morgan just wanted her to find a better source of food. Miriam rolled her eyes. “It is the same person, yes. She needed me to check on her while she was sleepwalking, and now she’s staying with me amidst some repairs to her home. Nothing serious. I’m just helping her out.” And that was all there was to it. At least, that was all she would admit.
“You’re at least a little honest with yourself.” Morgan said, smiling fondly. “You wouldn’t hurt so much if you really thought what you were doing was the natural order of the world or some bullshit. And you know the people you hunt are people, and you don’t keep them in a five star containment cell for a few years. Maybe you’re a misguided torturer, but it’s coming from a real place. It’s not...banal. You’re better than that, Mim.” Morgan pursed her lips in a pout, teasing in sing-song, “Although, she did give really nice gifts. You’ve never gotten me anything pretty before, so maybe the jury’s out after all.”
She turned her face away as Miriam started giving her a once over. Her face, usually amused and unflappable, was wrinkling with concern. Morgan wasn’t sure she could bear someone with as few reasons to care right now as Miriam being concerned. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “For knowing that. My friend didn’t and I uh...I know we’re not about to suddenly become different people, but it’s important to me that you know I care. It’s the fucking worst, feeling like you’ve lost someone they’re judging you for how you are. I think you’re wrong and I think you know it too, but I still care even if I fuck it up every time we hang out. I want good things for you.” She swallowed thickly. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just uh...casually falling apart a little bit. I’ll figure it out. Although if you do have any tips for picking out a target who won’t be missed, I’m all ears.” She tried to smile sincerely, pull herself up by those proverbial bootstraps and keep trucking. “Tell me more about this friend. It sounds like y’all are getting pretty used to each other’s company. Maybe getting domestic, even?”
“Am I?” Miriam asked, a bit bemused. “I suppose I try to be, but I would have thought we wouldn’t agree, on that front.” She tried to tell herself, at least before, that this was her purpose. Witches must be dealt with. Now, she just told herself this was the only way to live. She’d love it if every witch on the goddamn planet stopped practicing magic at her behest, but she didn’t see it happening. So she’d just keep hunting. “Years? No, that’s far too long to keep someone about. Too much responsibility. Do I look like the kind of woman that has that much time?” She kept people for a few days, at most, and that was only if she was feeling extra malevolent. She was wracking her brain, though, trying to figure out exactly what was going on through Morgan’s head. She didn’t particularly like the path they were going down. “Well, damn. I suppose I’ll just scrap the jacket I’ve been working on then.”
Miriam couldn’t help the concern that she felt, the worry. She wasn’t used to it, either, which added to the discomfort of the situation. “Of course I know that, darling. You’ve made it clear. Every damn time you scold me, you try to find different options, which, though increasingly annoying,” and Miriam kept her tone light, teasing, “is considerate, so thank you.” She wrinkled up her nose. Morgan did have a habit of getting preachy and nosy when they hung out, and it almost always ended with one of them storming off the premises, but that was just who Morgan was. “I’m aware of all of that, truly. You don’t fuck it up. I suppose that the day you’re alright with my serial killer tendencies is the day I should really worry.” Though, she was really worrying now. Miriam… didn’t know how to be a friend, though, properly. It had been too long. “Casually falling apart is still falling apart, Morgan. Don’t fall apart if you don’t have the wherewithal to do it gracefully instead of casually.” What could she do to help with this? Could she do anything to help with this. Miriam had no experience with helping ex-witches through emotional crises. Nosy ex-witches were much easier to handle, and she rolled her eyes at Morgan’s words. “I don’t think I will tell you about this friend. I’m simply providing her with a place to stay for the time being while her… windows get repaired.” Though, really, Miriam was sure Evelyn’s windows had already been repaired. They just weren’t talking about her going home. “I wouldn’t say domestic. I don’t do domestic.”
“You could stand to be more honest, but you’re not full on, ‘humans are cattle, darling, this is putting them to good use,’” Morgan tried to mimic Lydia’s sophisticated cadence mockingly, but she could still hear in her memory just how poor a job when she was doing and felt miserable by the failed effort. “You know what you’re doing, you just don’t know you can be--more--” Morgan grimaced at herself, shaking her head. Aaaaand here I go again… “Thank you, for indulging me at least.”
At the mention of a jacket, Morgan whined, pouting. “There was a jacket? Don’t scrap the jacket. I want a pretty jacket!” Beneath her teasing, she was surprised that Miriam would go to such thoughtful lengths for her. Granted, she was a workaholic with nothing to do during the day and leatherwork was the only skillset Morgan was aware of her having that didn’t involve violence, so maybe it wasn’t so special after all. But Morgan couldn’t fully rationalize the thought away, that Miriam cared enough to try, and might be convinced to turn that care inward some day.
“Gracefully?” Morgan snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s been applied to me in my life, sorry. And uh, no worries about those tendencies. I appreciate your expertise, and I’m only half kidding about needing pointers for scrounging up the right human to sacrifice, but I’m not going to give you another reason to think that killing is all there is for you by asking you to do my dirty work with me.” She flashed a smile, offering to let that part of the conversation go. “Getting windows repaired, huh? Is that a euphemism from your day? I think the kids are calling it something else now. But if your gal pal won’t be sad, can I interest you in a dance?”
“Well, seeing as how I was human not too long ago, I’d be a bit hypocritical to perceive them as cattle,” Miriam said wryly, wondering just what kind of peoples it was that Morgan associated herself with, presently or in the past, that would think such things, especially when she felt so strongly about everything that Miriam did. “I do know what I’m doing, and I live with it. It’s simply the way things are, Morgan.” Miriam sighed, though, grateful that Morgan didn’t go further. “Of course, darling. I don’t mind.” Too much.
“Was. Past tense.” Miriam adopted a pout of her own, mocking Morgan’s. “So sorry, darling, it’s officially been scrapped, not even a thought in my mind, anymore.” Really, though, the jacket was done save for a bit of stitching, something that she’d planned on giving Morgan during the holidays, probably at the start of Yule. She still would, most likely, all kidding aside. It had been fun to make, something other than some of the orders she’d taken on recently, and she was proud of it. Though, Miriam was good at her work; most of the things she made were worthy of pride.
“Come now, Morgan. I’m sure you’ve done something gracefully. Your tenacity is breathtaking, truly.” Perhaps more annoying than graceful, but still. It was something. She frowned, still concerned for her… friend. They were friends. She thought of Morgan as a friend. She wanted to continue this, wanted to point out that her expertise wasn’t in human sacrifice at all, and that, if that was what Morgan was looking into, perhaps she should find a spellcaster who practiced something as nefarious as blood magic or necromancy or something. Those tended to be the experts in blood magic, not charming but occasionally homicidal vampires. But she let it end there. “Getting her windows repaired means that all of her windows shattered, darling, and she had to get them fixed.” She rolled her eyes, but stood up and motioned for Morgan to do the same. “I don’t think my friend will mind, no. I’m more worried about you, darling. Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?”
Morgan pouted back, harder, if that was possible. “But-- even just a cropped jacket? Do you want my measurements?” She had a sense that if this jacket already existed, Miriam would give it to her no matter what, and if it didn’t, it was just a whim that wasn’t necessarily worth pushing just now. Morgan’s lips quirked up with hope all the same.
She couldn’t help but notice how Miriam refused to take the bait when it came to discussing the practical points of violence. But then, Morgan was being coy as well, almost embarrassed about the severity of her need and her total lack of knowledge. Why couldn’t she just come out with it? Was it really just because she felt guilty that there was no one else left to ask? That she couldn’t keep her intentions straight with her between trying to find something better than her alleged purpose and leaning on her expertise? Morgan let it rest for now, grinning with a bitter edge at the mention of her ‘tenacity.’ That was about all she had going for her these days. Tenacity.
Morgan took Miriam’s offered hand and followed her to the dance floor. “My girlfriend isn't here and I don’t really care how she’d feel about me dancing with a friend right now. Besides, I’ll be good.” She teased a coy smile and locked their fingers together as the song changed to an upbeat remix of another Christmas song. When she danced, Morgan’s body almost remembered itself. Hair swinging, feet pounding, she buzzed with the tingle of her body vibrating against the world, pulsing I am here, I am here, I am here, damnit. I deserve to be here more than you, Constance. She stayed close to Miriam, gauging how she took to the music with interest, and flashing the occasional grin. The song changed to something slower, and Morgan leaned against the vampire for the sake of appearances. If she were alive, her body would be exhausted after how desperately she’d pushed it into motion. “Can I ask you how you do it?” She asked, half into her shoulder. “How you make it so you’re never caught or interrupted?”
“Not a chance,” Miriam said, her grin only mostly bite. She rolled her eyes at Morgan’s questions about measurements. As if she didn’t already have them. As if she hadn’t been doing this kind of thing long enough to be able to get Morgan’s measurements in the plenty of times they’d been around each other. “Sorry, darling. Opportunity's gone, now. You should have been nicer to me, you know. Maybe then you’d still get it.” As they walked out to the dancefloor, she stuck her tongue out childishly.
“Well, if you’ll be good, then I suppose we can dance.” Again, another thing that she should be worried about. Not being worried about her girlfriend was very much not a Morgan Beck kind of thing. Then again, they were only friends. Morgan seemed more concerned about Miriam’s love life or lack thereof than anything. So she resigned herself to dancing, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that they were both damn good at it. Morgan was right; graceful wasn’t a word that could be used to describe her movements, but they were wild and fun and on beat, and Miriam found herself getting lost in the music for however long she could. Miriam had taken dancing lessons as a child, but she’d learned to actually enjoy dancing in college. This reminded her of that.
As the song changed, she pretended to be a little out of breath for the sake of the people around them. She was surprised, though, at Morgan's questions, and she glanced down at the other woman. She wasn’t going to drop this, was she? Miriam swallowed. “You make them trust you,” she said, lowly, swaying them along with the song. “You smile, and you compliment them, and you let them compliment you. We’re at an advantage, darling, with our gender, our appearance. They rarely suspect danger lurking under pretty facades.” She moved them away from the crowd. “Then, you take them somewhere secluded, somewhere safe. And you do what you must. Then you get rid of them. Or you don’t, depending on what you want people to know.” Sometimes, you left them out where they’d be seen in broad daylight because you were young and dramatic, and you just wanted to be seen. A cry for help, Miriam’s mother had said hysterically, though she’d cleaned the blood from Miriam’s hands with a calmness that Miriam had never seen in the woman before. For all her parent’s faults (or maybe in addition to them), they had never abandoned their daughter, even when they probably should have.
Morgan shuffled in step with Miriam as some girl on a piano turned ‘All I Want For Christmas’ into a crying balad. She listened, keeping the rhythm to distract herself from the ghost chills crawling down her back. “That sounds cruel,” she mumbled. “Trust is…” Fragile. Precious. There had to be some people Morgan could stomach luring and betraying over the course of an hour or two, but even thinking about playing with them on purpose… Morgan watched Miriam as she led her away, looking as lovely as she had the night she’d tried to kill her. Morgan had imagined herself after the fact as some kind of exception. And maybe in the course of playing that kind of game, she had become one by accident. But the dance had still been choreographed from the start, no matter what they became later. “And that’s it?” She asked. “No one goes looking into their whereabouts and asks, hey, who was that femme fatale they were last seen with? Maybe she knows something?” Morgan shook her head, not nearly as surprised as she would have been in any other place. “This fucking town…” But apathy and idiocy wasn’t Miriam’s fault, just like it wouldn’t be Morgan’s. And she, at least, would be able to bundle up the body and haul it to the shed to be disposed of after she’d harvested her blood. “Thank you, for being honest with me,” she mumbled.
“Life is cruel, Morgan,” Miriam murmured softly. “Besides, there isn’t a spellcaster in this town that should trust me or anyone matching my description. You know this, darling.” Miriam Flemming was a terror, just as much as she had been more than twenty-five years ago. It wasn’t her fault that her prey made it so damn easy. She leaned down and whispered in Morgan’s ear, “That’s it. What did you expect? Drugging? Threatening? I’ll admit that I compel the ones I let live, though that’s quite rare, but murder is a far easier endeavor than they want you to believe.” The first few times had been difficult, but she’d rarely tried to hide what she was doing, in the beginning. She had been nothing but newfound rage and vengeance and a desire to make everyone else hurt as she’d been, worse, even. “The apathy in this town will blow your mind, sometimes, the way some people seem to not care. But, and it will do you well to remember this, pride is the real killer here.” Miriam laughed, low in the back of her throat, and shook her head. “Like I said, they know about me. They’ve been warned. Hell, Morgan, you warned quite a few of them. But they see me, and some of them are blinded by thoughts of ‘Surely not her’ or ‘I’ll be different.’” She shook her head. “Or they underestimate me. You would think, over the years, that that wouldn’t be the case anymore, but here we are.” She had made orphans, widows, and widowers, yet still she was underestimated. But she was still a boogieman, a monster under the bed. Likely, there was more spellcaster deaths credited to her name than there was actual blood on her hands. She didn’t mind that. “You’re welcome, darling, though I’m… Perhaps you should let me do whatever it is you plan on doing. I’d hate for you to get caught due to bad advice.”
“Not always,” Morgan said feebly. She remembered believing this with a lot more umph when she was alive, even as recently as three or four months ago. It sounded like a line she didn’t quite believe now. So much of her good, her hope, had been pulled from her fingers. Would there even be much of a new life for her on the other side of this? Finishing the ritual was her anchor now, but what would it leave her with? Morgan tried to recapture the image she’d had when she started this all. How strong, how powerful, how very close to peace. The closest she would ever get to have, living as what she was now. That much would still be true, wouldn’t it? Even if everything else in her world crumbled, she would still be the woman who had ended the curse, who had taken her power back from that cruel, evil little bitch.
Miriam’s points were comforting only in their practicality. At barely over five feet, Morgan had the unassuming thing down pat. She could rely on her brute strength to subdue some random asshole, whoever she picked out. It just felt so….deceitful. And were it not for the obvious, that this person would run and tell whatever authority they believed in about what had happened, they didn’t have to die. They just had to suffer. There were memory charms, but how was she gonna find someone to do that to cover up a casual maiming? Morgan hissed through her teeth. “I need to do this myself,” she said, slumping against Miriam’s side. “This is my magic family bullshit, and I don’t think you’d enjoy avenging a line of cursed witches.” Another breath, just try and make the tension release from her chest.. “I just need blood wrought from pain. And because it’s magic, of course it can’t be my own. It doesn’t count unless it’s live.” Her voice turned bitter. She couldn’t even fully save herself. She couldn’t even lend energy to the exorcist that was due to make contact in, what, a little more than a week? “But I meant it, when I said you’re more than a killer. I don’t want to treat you like one, Mim. You should do something better with your time.”
“Most always,” Miriam bit back, but there wasn’t much bite to it, not when Morgan didn’t seem to be fighting much to begin with. She sighed, rubbed at the lines forming between her eyes. Eyes that flashed red briefly before she blinked the color and the feeling that came with it away. Miriam frowned, unused to the feeling, but shook it away. “I know that it sucks, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I apologize for the pessimism, but…” There was no but. She apologized. That was it. That was enough. She disliked that it upset Morgan, but there was no taking the words back, and there was no getting rid of their honesty. “I apologize.” She hoped Morgan understood how rarely she offered those up.
“Do you need to do this yourself, or is it a pride thing?” Miriam deadpanned. This, a blood sacrifice, something that she wouldn’t have suffered through were Morgan still a living, breathing witch, wasn’t a task that had to be conducted alone. Miriam hunted alone because she had to cause the pain, the misery, the anguish. She had to feed off of it. It wasn’t the same. “I’m offering my assistance to you, not your family, dearest, and if you find me a witch worthy of such a task, I really don’t give a shit, as long as you let me have a meal, afterwards.” She clicked her fingernails together, thinking. “It’s very easy to get blood wrought from pain. Killing isn’t even necessary. I would know, you know. I don’t always kill.” She grinned, though, just for Morgan, and her fangs slipped out easier than normal. Her voice is low and muffled by them when she speaks. “I know I’m more than a killer, but, damn, I’m just so good at it.” Then, more seriously, “Morgan, I’m offering. I know you think I’m more than a killer. I’m just offering to help. I’d hate to see you get arrested.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Morgan mumbled, barely audible. She reached for Miriam’s hand and squeezed it carefully to show she meant it. There were more than enough reasons to believe the way she did, and as the days dragged on and the world shrank and shriveled up with winter, Morgan found she thought of it that way sometimes too. How much power could you exert by yourself in a world like this? What was the point when you couldn’t count on anything, anyone, to stay with you?
“If you mean ‘am I bitter that I have to face this death and magic problem as a neutered witch’ then yes, it’s a pride thing,” she said. “I don’t like having people do my dirty work for me. I’ve been on my own so many times, and when it comes to my deep, dangerous bullshit I feel better being the one to take care of it. And I...don’t really have much else going on for me. Definitely nothing else grounding me right now.” Morgan set her jaw, trying to to keep the prickle of tears at bay. It sounded awful out loud, but how else was she supposed to get this done except by giving this her heart and energy? How else was she supposed to come out of this free and cleansed (if that was even possib--no) if she didn’t put herself all the way in? “Does it have to be a spellcaster?” She knew that there were at least a few that made themselves into a menace. Jo the Alchemist was simply one she’d been able to find because her carnage crossed her path. She could find another, if she really tried, or maybe the fairest thing would be to pick someone at random, and hope they weren’t so traumatized from the experience they couldn’t have nice things after. It wasn’t the worst sort of deal. The pain caused by the bloodletting would at least go to Miriam’s survival, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They both needed just enough to get by. And she couldn’t argue that she would probably make a shit torturer and cover up criminal.
Morgan looked up at Miriam, sniffling and blinking back tears. “You don’t scare me with those,” she said, hovering her finger over her fangs. She poked the corner of her mouth gently, teasing, and gave a sad smile.“You’re not a thing, you that too, right? When I say you’re more, I don’t mean you’re a swiss army knife. You deserve to have good things, better things, and I don’t want to use you.” But she needed this. Stars above, she needed this to go right. “So are you sure? Really, really sure?”
“Yes, well, I rarely am.” Miriam Flemming didn’t apologize. She just didn’t. She wasn’t raised to apologize, not properly, not well. She wasn’t sorry that she was wrong. She was sorry that she was right, and sorry that her words came out cruel because of it. Miriam owned up to her cruelty, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy them. “But I’m apologizing for saying it, all the same.” She frowned a bit, looking Morgan over. “Then, perhaps, stop trying to solve problems as a neutered witch and start trying to solve them as a zombie. This isn’t me asking to do your dirty work. It’s just me offering assistance.” She swallowed. “And I don’t know what to tell you about grounding yourself. I’m not the one to offer that sort of advice, but.” She looked away. She wasn’t the kind to offer this sort of advice, not with her pastimes, not with her own marrow-deep need for revenge against a man that has long since been dead and buried.
“It doesn’t have to be a spellcaster,” Miriam said with gritted teeth. “But I would prefer it. For my own morality’s sake.” Though, maybe, her morals were skewed. But, if Morgan could find a shitty spellcaster, both of their needs were met. Morgan could get her blood, Miriam could get her blood, and they could both go about their merry way. This had worked fine with the Jo situation, Miriam had fed well for days off of that one. She sneered a bit as Morgan poked her fangs, but there wasn’t any meanness to it. She was more concerned with not making Morgan cry. She didn’t react well to tears. “Morgan, I’m quite aware that I’m a damn person. Granted, I can’t see myself in the mirror, so sometimes I wonder, but I know I’m not a thing.” She was more than a killer. She was just damn good at killing. “You’re not using me, I’m offering. And, yes, damn, I’m sure. I’m surer than sure.”
Morgan waited for whatever came after the ‘but’ of Miriam’s sentence but there was only silence. She didn’t know any better than Morgan. They were both just muddling along, trying their best, struggling against all of this muck, this pain, these ghosts tearing at their souls. She felt Miriam bristle, and shied away from her grasp reluctantly, an apology on her lips. Morgan swallowed it back and sniffled again, staring out into the night. This was the best plan she was ever going to get. There was no one else she could ask. There was no course in abduction and bloodletting she could cram for. She only had so many days before the exorcist she’d hired turned up ready to do the damage she’d asked for. Morgan couldn’t stomach having to fess up to needing more time, or to being gouged and mocked for needing that woman to do her work for her after the way they’d talked in the hotel. Playing the engagement in her head, the way the exorcist would laugh and sneer at once, Morgan cringed with humiliation. This had to be it; however heavy and cold it felt, this was her way out. “I don’t mean to upset,” she said. “I just needed to be sure. It’s important to me to be as fair with you as I can be.” She’d been enough of a magnet for collateral damage when she was alive. She didn’t want to hurt more people or bring whole classrooms and city blocks to their knees that cruel, evil little bitch. She couldn’t. But if this wasn’t going to give Miriam some kind of complex, then… “Okay. I’ll take a few days to pick someone out, spell caster or not, get in touch, and we’ll come up with a plan that minimizes risk to everyone. And when we’re done, I’ll end this.”
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pandastern · 4 years
Text
Gravity (Bakugo x OC)
Gravity (Bakugo x OC)
Part 5: Unforseen Simulation Joint (past)
Bakugou x Vigilante!OC
Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence
Word count: 2433
Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance, slow burn
When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.
Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected.
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Bakugou grit his teeth until they hurt. His crimson eyes bored into the back of the flame-haired girl walking a few feet in front of him. At this point, Artemis was pissing him off even more than that damn Deku! She’d really gotten the best of him the other day. Not that it was gonna happen again. He’d show her. He’d make her regret the day she ever stepped foot in UA.
A sudden hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his train of thought.
“Hey, man!” Kirishima said with a toothy grin. “If you keep staring like, you’re gonna get eye issues.”
“Tch… Shut up, shitty hair! I'm not staring,” Bakugou growled, shrugging off Kirishima’s hand. 
"Right. I mean, I get that you two don’t really get along and all, but maybe you shouldn’t try to start another fight one day after she, well… beat you?”
“She did not fucking beat me! I can take that cocky water hazard any day, any time!” Bakugou spat, whipping around with gleaming eyes.
Rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach, but Kirishima just laughed and held up his hands defensively. “Hey no need to blow up over something so small.”
“I'm not!” Bakugou growled and walked away.
Why was that shitty-haired dumbass even trying to come at him? Sure, his words were the truth, but Bakugou didn’t need it spelled out for him. And then there was Artemis, acting all high and mighty. How did no-one else but him notice that this girl was just so… unsettling? No matter what she was doing, her whole attitude rubbed him the wrong way.
“Why are you even so focused on her?” Kirishima’s voice interrupted his thoughts again.
Bakugou grunted. “I’m not focused on her! She’s pissing me off, is all. Acting like she’s better than everyone else, always running her fucking mouth like she’s the funniest person in the academy.”
“And you burned off half her hair. That’s pretty harsh, especially for a girl, you know? Maybe that’s why she went all Terminator on you.” Kirishima shrugged.
“I didn’t do that on purpose. It was an accident. We fought, I blasted without thinking, her hair went up in flames,” Bakugou snapped.
“Does she know that?”
“Why would I care? Now leave me alone before I blast your ass to kingdom come.”
“Okay, okay!” Kirishima raised his hands in defence and walked away, muttering to himself.
Bakugou turned away and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Kirishima needed to keep his nose out of things that didn’t concern him… though as much as he hated to admit it, he had a point. The whole class had seen Artemis beat him in that training circle. He’d given it his all and had failed nonetheless. Never in his life had anyone shown him up that badly.
Perhaps that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He’d gone over that fight in his head so many times,trying to find some way to justify his own failure, but he couldn’t. Artemis had been holding back in the beginning, but the moment he’d started to get the upper hand, she’d overpowered him like a tidal wave, mercilessly crushing him and everything else in her way. And despite him being infuriated by his own loss, he couldn't help but respect the fighting skill she’d displayed.
Inside the special training facility, the class was met by Thirteen, a rescue hero dressed in something that somewhat resembled an astronaut’s space suit. Judging by the excited mutters of her classmates, Artemis assumed that the hero was rather popular for their work.
“Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, or USJ for short, a facility created to simulate various natural disasters in order to train young heroes for rescue missions,” Thirteen said with arms outstretched.
Artemis followed Thirteen’s gesture with her eyes and let her gaze wander. The giant dome-shaped building was bigger than any training facility she’d ever seen. Not that she could compare this to anything she’d ever experienced. Most of the facilities she knew had been underground and certainly not for rescue work.
Thirteen started to explain the different zones of the USJ, each one modelled after a natural disaster heroes commonly had to fight their way through. Artemis was only half listening while her mind wandered. It made sense for the school that formed most of the top heroes of this day in age to prepare the young students for catastrophes. Her classmates seemed to be eagerly listening, and she could see the admiration in their eyes. It was so painfully obvious how innocent and naive they were. They knew heroes from TV and from what they were taught. Heroes were good, villains were evil. Everything was so cut and dry, so simple to understand.
She sighed and shook her head.
“Miss Moon?” Thirteen’s voice pulled her out of her trance. “Are you paying attention?”
Artemis flinched and muttered a curse under her breath. “Sorry.”
“That's all right. Now, as I was saying,” the rescue hero continued, “my quirk is called Dark Hole. While it allows me to save lives, it’s also a dangerous weapon. Many of you have powers that could easily kill someone should you ever lose control.”
Artemis clenched her jaw. She knew that oh so well. The sudden feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head mader her glance back. She caught the sight of Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at her before he turned his attention back to the teacher.
“Always remember that you should never use your powers for personal gain. Use them to save people. That is the true essence of being a hero,” Thirteen said to finish off.
Artemis had to scoff at that. Why was everything so painfully glorified? If that was really what they believed made a true hero in this world, then there was no such thing. Fame, money, power… It was all a corrupted system strapping people down. What a load of shit. That certainly wasn’t the world she remembered so vividly.
She looked around again, only for her eyes to be drawn to a big fountain in the middle of the dome. At first, Artemis couldn’t quite tell why it had caught her attention. Something about it just seemed… off.
Staring more intently, she noticed a subtle, almost invisible change in the air. A slight flicker, easily missed, like summer air shimmering on hot concrete.
How odd. Was the heating system having issues? Or maybe there was a gas leak.
She pulled away from the group and slowly made her way closer to the stairs, making sure to keep her eyes on the strange phenomenon so she didn’t lose it. Something about this just didn’t feel right. Thirteen and the class were still busy going over the program, so no one seemed to notice it.
The flickering started to pick up, slowly getting denser. Artemis could clearly see the distortion slowly spreading and growing.
“What is that?” she muttered to herself, narrowing her eyes.
A shadow fell across her as Aizawa joined her by her side. She glanced up at him. The look in his dark eyes told her she definitely wasn’t imagining it. The hairs on the back of her neck started to rise. 
Artemis shifted her attention back to the flickering air just as it started to contort and turn dark. For a few moments, it was just a small spot, no bigger than a fist, the black smoke pulsing slightly as if it had its own heartbeat. Then the spot started to grow, shooting out wispy tendrils of black and purple that spread out like the smoke of a forest fire until it was the size of a large doorway.
Aizawas hand shot out, grabbing Artemis by the shoulder and flinging her back at her classmates so roughly she would have hurt herself if Kirishima hadn't caught her.
“Hey! What-” Artemis managed to squeak before she heard Aizawa’s quickened heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Her stomach knotted. That wasn’t a good sign.
Her eyes returned to the dark cloud that now seemed to open up from within. It was a portal, Artemis thought with ice forming in her veins. A fucking portal.
Sure enough, she was able to make out the form of a pale hand slowly pushing through, followed by an arm, then a head. Again and again, similar apparitions formed in the black smoke and emerged into the open.
“Get back and stay together!” Aizawa barked in a sharp voice, positioning himself in front of his class and pulling up his goggles. “Thirteen, protect the students.”
“Hey, what’s that?” said Kirishima behind her. “Has the exercise already started? I thought we were supposed to rescue people.”
As more and more figures stepped out of the portal, Artemis’s quirk picked up the hearts of her classmates quickening around her. 
She pushed herself nimbly back on her feet, her own heart starting to pound. There was not one pro hero alive whose heart could possibly beat faster with adrenaline if the situation wasn’t serious. This wasn’t an exercise. This was for real.
“This isn’t a game. Those are real villains,” Aizawa growled. The scarf around his began to unwind on its own.
Holding out her arm, Artemis summoned all the water she could until a shimmering bow formed in her hand.
Aizawa glanced back at his fearful students. How the hell had anyone managed to breach their security? There had been an incident at the school earlier today where someone had tried to infiltrate the school grounds, but with the huge amount of media before their gates, the whole school had just assumed it had been an over-enthusiastic reporter. Now Aizawa had a feeling the commotion at UA had been used to find out where the students were headed.
 “Everyone,” Thirteen commanded, trying to usher them back to the entrance, “get to the exit right away. Do not engage the enemy.”
Kirishima and Bakugou began to complain. Even Midoriya seemed annoyed at the order. However, one stern look from Aizawa shut them up right away.
“Those are real villains,” shouted Aizawa again, stepping towards the stairs. “Get out of here while I hold them back.”
“But Mr Aizawa, you work best in stealth combat. They are too many of them! Even If you can cancel out some of their quirks…” Midoriya began with worry in his voice.
“He’s right. There’s a small army down there,” Artemis added sharply, bow and arrow already in her hands, ready to fight. There was no fear in her deep green eyes, only determination and defiance. 
“You can’t be a pro if you only have one trick up your sleeve,” Aizawa said, and with that, he leapt off the stairs, ready to fight for his students’ lives.
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nctzendreamz · 4 years
Text
HOMECOMING — PART ll
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Prologue / Part l / Part ll / Part lll
Summary: The year is 3030, and the divide between the rich and poor couldn’t be greater. Wildwood University is the most prestigious school in the entire world, but it isn’t only because of the impeccable flying cars that can be seen best during the fuchsia lit nights, or the dexterous education everyone receives. It has secrets. A lot of secrets—the biggest being that Taeyong is going to kill you.
Genre: Gang!AU, Futuristic!AU, Dystopian!AU
Warnings: Vivid descriptions of violence, foul language, drug use, and murder.
“You’re new.” Is the first thing that comes from your lips. You’re observing him—eyes trailing up and down his lanky build. He can’t tell whether you like what you see. It’s obvious you’re not easy to read. You have some form of a wall, and it’s up. “And you’ve met Mackenzie.” You eek, mouth forming into a straight line. She can’t hear you, as her headphones are placed in her ears and she seems to be meditating.
“She said you were nice.” Taeyong mentions.
“Oh, she wasn’t lying.” You chuckle. It’s a cute sound. “She can just get...how do I say—a little boy crazy? I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me she had flirted with you. How long have you been here by the way? I’ve missed a lot of class.”
“Today is my first day, actually. And yeah...I think she likes me already.”
“Let me guess—subtle touches, awful attempts to make you laugh?”
“Exactly.” He finds himself smiling from your easy-going nature. He’s not having to jump through the hoops he imagined, as you don’t see him being the new kid as a bad thing. You both are smiling at eachother, but the moment is interrupted when a rubber airplane hits you on the side of the head.
“Can you guys leave me alone for one second? God!” You yell, and Taeyong can see that it actually pissed you off.
“Johnny’s orders.” One of them says, laughing at your annoyance.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Taeyong asks innocently. Of course he knows the truth, but he needs to seem clueless. This will help build his case.
“Don’t even make me think about that.” You barf, holding your stomach and mouth at the same time. “My brother. The guy who escorted me to class as if I haven’t been doing this forever.”
“Maybe it’s because you haven’t been to class recently.” Now it’s his turn to eek, and he gets you to laugh. You think he’s funny.
To the naked eye, it would seem like Taeyong was fond of you. I mean, he was enjoying such stimulating conversation, but he hates you even more now. He seemingly doesn’t remember that Indigo is still in his system, even though it had slightly worn his silent demeanor away. The floating of the desk is kind of making him sick, but he can’t speak on it.
“I try to just focus on a certain something.”
Did you just read his mind? He knows such technology doesn’t exist, right?
“Fun fact, I threw up on my first day of school. Everyone thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen, but poor Mr. Eddie.” You’re relieving the memory; he can tell. The way your hand reaches for your chest, scratching a non existent rash tells him that this isn’t a memory you laugh at.
“Mr. Eddie? Is that our professor?”
“The professor.” You emphasize. “You should probably know this before class—
“Goodmorning class.” The voice comes from seemingly everywhere, but no one else looks creeped out, so Taeyong keeps his cool.
“Morning.” You all say in unison.
Suddenly, another door in the room reveals itself. A squeak of metal is making itself known, and everyone is either cringing, or covering their ears.
“Is he a fucking—
“Half man, half robot. A fucking robot. It’s crazy because we should be used to it right? I mean, it’s 3030 there are robot people everywhere.”
“It’s just the principle.” Taeyong decides, but in reality his chest is getting tight. He hadn’t even known about this. I mean, he had seen the little robots that could clean a little, and even project news on the wall if you paid a little extra, but this man is walking.
“Jeez Ed!” One of the players yells. “Late to the lecture, and loud. I think this means no homework.”
Is this how annoying the wealthy were allowed to be? Sweaty, presumably blonde jocks who just can’t be settled?
“You all are going to be very upset with me.” His voice is robotic for sure. Everyone begins to pop around, concerned for their professors well being. “But I’m going to have to cancel class. As you can hear, I need more oil.”
It’s like an explosion has taken off, because everyone minus you, Taeyong, and Mackenzie stand up immediately, fighting to get out of class first. It’s chaotic, and it’s making him anxious all over again. It’s not dramatic—it’s slight, but it feels like it can grow to make him actually explode.
“You three need a place to stay?” Mr. Eddie drys, clearly shocked at your presence.
“This is Taeyong.” You introduce. “And while we both know I would’ve been the first one out of here, someone has to show him around.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it Y/N.” Mackenzie speaks suddenly, taking her headphones out. “I’m sure you want to go see Kun anyway. He’s back, right?”
Kun? Who the hell was Kun?
“Kun?” Taeyong questions with a head tilt. “Is that your boyfriend?”
Your hand finds home on your earlobe, and it’s rubbing it softly. There is a smile on your face, but it’s extremely quiet and sad. Whoever Kun is to you, you love him—or at the least care about him. But at the same time, things aren’t peachy.
“No.” Is all you say, slapping your hand to your leg. “Enough about me though!” Your bright nature has returned, and it’s almost weird. He must be your ex, and where was he? Why did he leave and come back? “I have to show you around! I also need to meet your roommate and tell them if they try to hurt you it’ll be their head.”
That’s ironic, he thinks to himself. So badly does he want to laugh something evil because you’re so stupid and clueless, but he contains himself.
“What about me?” Mackenzie is pouting now, arms covering her chest. Does she really thinks that’ll work? I mean, it was quite pathetic.
“You know I love you, right?” Your tone is soft as you speak to her, hands on her shoulder. Your eyes must be as beautiful as he predicted, because her aggressive stance is loosening by the second.
“Of course I do.” She spills.
“Then I know you remember that you have a terrifying essay to write for literature, and that you don’t need to be out all day. Plus, weren’t you trying to go to the race tomorrow?”
“It was in my plans.”
“Then finish your essay tonight. Then, all the boys can see you looking good with the LED lights shining all over you...doesn’t that sound perfect?” You’re painting the picture with your hands, the both of you looking into space.
“You’re right!” She squeals, jumping up at the thought.” “You’ll be there too, right Lee?”
He looks at you for a quick moment, realizing he never told you his “name”. You seem to process it for a moment before looking at him for a response.
“I mean...I can’t make any promises. I’m not the going out type.”
“But I’ll be there. And when I’m somewhere, it matters.”
His ears were bleeding. He just knew it. “Right.” He whispers, trying his best to not sound awkward.
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He should have said no when you offered to show him around. His current feelings were nothing short of introverted, and the farther the two of you walked, the more hot he became.
“I’m sure you’re used to seeing stuff like this.”
Oddly, you don’t seem tired. You had practically shown him the entire East section of the campus, and even he—the cold blooded murderer needed some water.
“Oh yeah.” He says dryly. “You know how it is in Valhalla. There are things everywhere. Blazing lights, fresh air...”
“Exactly.” You smile.
He had to admit, your smile made him feel safe. He still needed to go through with his mission, but it’s nice to know you won’t be annoying him the whole time he’s getting you to trust him. You’re easy going, and he’s already in the friendzone. He just needs to get farther.
There’s a kid coming by fast on his hoverboard, but you’re too busy looking at your watch to even hear the skrting of the device. With a swiftness, Taeyong takes your elbow and back into his hands, and he moves you to the other side.
“Shit.” You breathe out, hand on your chest now. You’re ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’m not usually this clumsy—well that’s not true, but none the less I—
“It’s okay.” He chuckles, letting his hand slide from your shoulder all the way down to your hand. He squeezes it lightly, and the look in his eyes are swallowing you. “It happens to the best of us.”
And now the two of you are having a stare down. He can see how genuine you are. The way your eyes soften the more time that passes proves this, and Taeyong is mocking your actions. In the pit of his stomach he can feel something, and he reads it to be disgust. God, you seemed like a nice person, but wasn’t this a waste of time? To do all of this and make you think he actually cares?
“Right.” You finally speak, looking at the first tree that appeared in your vision. “Anyways, we should probably go to your room now. Have you been in it at all?”
This must be how you deal with problems—moving on without a second thought. You didn’t like to think about your feelings, but at the same time didn’t that mean you were in touch with your emotions?
“It was my first stop.” He admits. He had heard about the people whos only job was to move people in and out, all for free, but with the belongings he had in his bag, that obviously wasn’t an option for him.
It took his breath away, although everything at Wildwood did. Back in the day, college dorm rooms were tight-knit, with squeezed beds and insects crawling somewhere unless you went to a top school. His room consisted of two king sized beds, and they gave him the option to make it a water bed.
He had already spent his morning hiding everything, so you wanting to come inside was no big deal. As you two journey up the hologram escalator, he noticed you were looking into space even though you should be looking at all the scenery.
“Something on your mind?”
His voice is soft when he speaks to you, and he decides in this moment that he’ll keep it that way. It seems to make you more comfortable, and comfortable means you’ll start talking; trusting.
“Too many things.” You chuckle. Now your eyes are closed, and you seem to be soaking in the good weather as if it’s the only thing good from your day. “No need to burden you with it.”
“It’s not a burden. There’s nothing worse than having no one to go to.”
“Then tell me a little bit about you, newbie.” The two of you reach the top—another door that leads to his complex. Unfortunately, they do separate these things by gender even in 3030.
Taeyong is looking for a key to his room; stopping himself as he realizes he’s not in NEO anymore. All he needs is his thumb. “Nothing much to know.” He keeps it short. “I’m just a regular, rich guy.” His tone is sarcastic, but instead of being skeptical, you laugh.
“Are you always this funny?”
That was the first time other than Mackenzie that someone had appreciated his sarcastic humor. As deppresing as it sounded and was, there weren’t a lot of jokes to be made in NEO. I mean, he usually was completely intoxicated, not wanting to laugh unless he was taking someone’s life. He’s surprised such a sentence could form from him, especially in a place he was dreading so much.
“Nope, just around nice people like you.”
He hates every second of this. He was never one to be in the mood for love, only death, blood, and darkness. He had his fair share of steamy nights in the alley ways with the street whores, but he never cared about them. He never would care about anyone but his brothers, truthfully.
He can’t tell if you’re a mess because he’s not facing you. He’s focused on his print before the door clicks, and the two of you step in.
Whoever his roommate is, he’s here. The room that Taeyong walked into this morning was empty, but this room was now full of boxes and an outfit on the bed. You’re looking around just as he is, except he’s searching to make sure his belongings are still in place. They seem to be. The pathetic rich boys who went here weren’t capable of putting something back so perfectly, so he lets his guard down.
“Well, this is it.” He motions all around the room, appreciating his own effort to keep his side spotless.
“I always wondered what it would be like to live in a dorm.” You sigh.
“You don’t live in one?”
“My dad is kind of....the president of the university. And per his rules, his kids have to stay with him.”
So you still live with your parents? Not odd, but at the same time why would he be trying to keep you around. The buisness, he remembers. It was never specified what it was. Drugs had crossed Taeyong’s mind, but at the same time, so did paper, and loans. But now that he considered it, your father must have business with bad people, meaning others could be out to get you. I mean, he was. No no, Taeyong. That’s too much of a stretch, and even so, she does live at home, which means the mission isn’t compromised.
“At least he cares about you.”
“I guess.” You take a deep breath, and he can’t miss the way you hault.
“What’s wrong?”
“That scent...I know it.” Now you’re looking all around the room at his mates side, touching his things frantically.
“Y/N, who is it? Did they do something to you?”
The door opens—so cliché. On the other side is a built man sporting a tank top and sweatpants. His hair seems to be black—but it could also be blue. His face is serious as he walks in, but the minute he locks eyes with you, they soften. It was the same thing you had done to him not too long ago. His lips are trying to find the proper words say to you, but instead he just stands there. You’re frozen in place—hands locked on one of his clothing items.
Kun. This had to be Kun.
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paullahotes · 4 years
Text
Incalescent- Chapter Three
Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fem!OC
Summary: Em just wants to be loved and have a family for once in her life. But nothing has ever gone right in her life before so why should it now?
Word Count: 8k
Warnings: gross feelings, kinda NSFW in the beginning but not really, a bit of violence
A/N: Listen, I don’t think I’m a good writer so this could be terrible! Let me know what you guys think of it!
“What if someone sees us?” I whispered, looking around the dark woods nervously. I couldn’t pick up on anything but a few animals around us, no humans, vampires or wolves. Paul laughed lightly from above me. His hands cupped my face and made me look up at him as he backed me into a tree. His hands on my felt so right but something else felt wrong.
“Then they’ll get a hell of a show,” he whispered back, his teeth bared in a cocky grin. He leaned forward and his lips met my neck urgently, placing wet kisses up until he reached my earlobe to nip it roughly. 
“Paul, something doesn’t feel right,” I mumbled, trying to push him away as the pit in my stomach grew and the hair on my neck stood on end. Maybe it was being out in the open, though it was dark we were still in the woods where anyone could stumble upon us. 
“C’mon, you think I’ll let anyone see my girl vulnerable like this,” he whispered against my neck, leaving a kiss before grabbing the backs of my thighs and hoisting me up. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer without a second thought. 
His hands gripped onto my legs tightly, pulling me even closer as his lips met mine. There was a rustling of leaves around us, my hair lightly flew around my head. I was too caught up in kissing Paul to think of it as anything but the wind, nothing would ruin this moment. 
Before I could process what was happening a larger gust of wind whipped my and I was suddenly falling to the ground. I heard Paul yell out in anger from wherever he was but I couldn’t see him. My butt hit the ground harshly, I jumped up before I could feel the pain and took a deep breath to find out what was happening. 
My legs flew furiously underneath me as I ran through the woods trying to follow Paul’s scent. There were scraps of his shorts on the forest floor, he had phased which wasn’t good. That meant there was a huge threat, more than likely a vampire. Paul’s scent disappeared as I began to pick up on a familiar, sickly sweet smell. Flashes of curly red hair flew through my mind. It couldn’t be her, could it? Was she back to finally seek her revenge?
I came up to a clearing and saw Paul, blood coating his silver fur. He was laying on his side, whining quietly from pain. I couldn’t pick up on anyone in the clearing, there was no sound. There wasn’t even a rustle of leaves from wind or any animals nearby. Whatever, whoever, had done this to Paul had scared them off but seemed to be long gone. 
Crouching down next to Paul I examined his injuries. None of them seemed to serious but he was in enough pain that he couldn’t phase back yet.
“Paul, come on. You have to phase back so I know how hurt you are,” I pleaded with him, lightly petting the fur of his face. His eyes held tears that he was refusing to let go. He was shaking as I shushed him and ran my hand gently over his head.  Paul suddenly let out a loud whine, his eyes going wide with fear. 
Before I could react something was around my neck squeezing, my vision blurred as I kicked and flailed trying to get away. Air flooded my lungs and I fell to the ground again. I gasped for air, trying to gather myself. My vision came back completely just in time for me to see her, red hair flowing in the wind. She had her leg bent with her foot placed directly on Pauls back. She smiled sweetly at me, her head going to the side a little as I sat up.
“Long time no see,” her childlike voice cut through the silent clearing. I looked between her and Paul anxiously, she moved her foot slightly when my eyes landed on it.
“No,” I called out and she let out a childish giggle. She covered her mouth with one of her hands to pretend that she could barely control how happy she was to be here. 
“Oh, you don’t want him to die?” She asked her big eyes going wide to feign innocence, her bottom lip pouting. I shook my head, my voice was frozen in my throat from fear. She giggled again this time her eyes narrowed, something evil creeping into them. It felt like hours passed as she looked at me. She watched me cry, her eyes following every tear that trickled down my face and onto the forest floor. It almost seemed to please her to see how much pain I was in.
“I heard you killed your poor, innocent mother and now you’re too scared to save this boy that you seemed very comfortable with,” with that her foot came down harshly on Paul, wet, cracking filled the clearing. As I began to scream and scramble forward, Victoria left quickly.
I sat up in my bed with a start, my blankets were wrapped like a vice around my legs. Yanking them off and throwing them to the floor I got up from my bed, trying to catch my breath. It had been a while since I had a nightmare, especially one that wasn’t completely about my mom. The pit in my stomach was there, like it had been in my dream. I grabbed the phone from my nightstand and hit Pauls contact. He probably wouldn’t even pick up, probably on patrol.
“Em? It’s the middle of the night are you alright?” He didn’t even say hello, worry lacing his voice. I gasped in shock from him actually answering, my mouth going dry.
“I, uh, had a bad dream. I’m not sure why I thought to call you,” I pressed my free hand to my sweaty forehead, trying to process my dream and my decision to call Paul.
“I’m glad you did, is there anything I can do?” He sounded tired, like he had been out all night. He had told me recently that since the Cullen’s were back and they had were taking shifts keeping Bella safe at night, until Victoria could be caught.
“I don’t think so, you sound really tired and I don’t want you to miss out on some sleep because of me,” I mumbled the last part. I really wanted someone to be here with me. Though I didn’t miss my father all that much, this house still seemed so big from being all alone in it.
“Don’t even worry about it, I’m already on my way to see you,” before I could protest the line went dead. He was at my place within two minutes. I heard the back porch door sliding open as I walked down my stairs. When I got to the kitchen he was turned away from me, sliding the door shut. When he turned around he immediately took two long strides across my kitchen and wrapped me in his arms.
“Do you have bad dreams all the time?” Paul asked me, semi muffled by my hair. 
“Not all the time but with Victoria coming around and my dad being gone…” I let myself trail off, letting him put it together. Paul pulled out of the hug but kept his hands grasping my upper arms as he looked over my face.
“Do you want me or someone to start staying the night with you? Would that make you feel safer?” My instincts told me to turn him down, if my dad found out he would be furious. But I wanted Paul around, he made me feel a lot of things but the most important one was safe.
“I would like that but I don’t want it to interfere with anything you have to do with the pack,” he sighed, the corner of his mouth turning up into a small smile. He moved one of his hands to brush the hair out of my face before he responded. 
“It’s not a problem at all. If you need or want me around all you have to do is say the word and I will make it work,” his eyes were sincere as he spoke. I knew he was telling the truth but I hated the thought of being a burden. I’m sure I was always able to ask my dad for help but I never did, it never seemed like the right thing to do. 
“Thanks,” instead of fighting it, I just let it happen. My entire body relaxed after, though I hadn’t realized I was tense. 
“The pack is a family and we’ve all decided you’re part of it now. This is what a family does for each other. I know you’re not used to that because of everything with your dad but we would all like to show you what family really is, if you’ll let us,” Paul let me go now and pulled out one of the chairs at my island for me. I sat without question and watched while he walked around my kitchen, grabbing different ingredients and turning on the stove. 
“You know how to cook?” I asked, trying not to sound too skeptical. Paul just didn’t come off as someone who bothered to make anything more than toast. He turned his head away from the stove and smiled at me.
“Yeah, my dad isn’t the best cook so I had to teach myself if I didn’t want to die from food poisoning,” He joked, throwing some more of whatever he was cooking into the pan. The smells filling up my kitchen were delicious so I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. This made me picture younger Paul, barely able to see above the stove, trying to cook a meal for his father. The thought alone brought a small smile to my face.
When he was done we ate in silence. He sat next to me at the island, with his knee pressed against mine. He ate very quickly making it apparent to me that this meal was more for his benefit than mine. Paul was up getting seconds before I was even halfway through mine.
“You can really put away a ton of food,” I commented through a mouthful of food. He was shoving huge forkfuls into his mouth, seemingly unaware of the dangers of choking to death.
“One time, at a bonfire we had on the rez, I ate twenty-three hot dogs,” His chest puffed out with pride, a satisfied, toothy grin appearing on his face.
“Remind me to never challenge you to a food eating contest,” my voice probably sounded skeptical again, as I tried to calculate how anyone could eat that many hot dogs in one sitting. 
“You’re telling me, as someone who is half a vampire, you couldn’t beat someone at a food eating contest? I find that hard to believe, your vampire half has to be good for something,” he countered. We were both done eating now and he was starting to clean up. He shoved my hands away when I tried to grab the plates from him to clean. 
“It is good for something, all my senses are a hundred times better than a regular human. I love being able to run anywhere I want and not get tired from it. If I tried I’m sure I could outrun you,” I challenged, wagging my eyebrows at him. He walked over to my side of the counter and put his hands on either side of me, leaning down trying to look intimidating. 
“I’d love to see you try,” his face was so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath fan over my face, like it had in the dream. I tried to look everywhere except for his eyes, eye contact alone would have blush rushing to my cheeks giving away how I felt. Though, I’m sure he could hear that my heart was beating faster than before.
“Challenge accepted, I can’t wait to see you lose,” I said, hoping my fake confidence would make him think that that's why my heart was beating so fast and not the fact that I had dreamt about making out with him and that everything in me was screaming at me to kiss him. Paul was quiet so I looked up into his eyes and found him staring at my lips. He looked conflicted, like he wanted to kiss me but didn’t think it was the right time. I almost rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. Of course Paul didn’t want to kiss me, it was crazy for me to even think that. 
“Oh, I won’t lose,” Pauls voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He tore his eyes away from my lips and he pushed himself away from me. He held his hand out and I took it and let him lead me up the stairs to my room. “I’ll probably be gone when you wake up, I have patrol in a couple hours.”
“Thank you for staying,” I told him as I fixed the blankets on my bed. Paul stayed in the doorway, looking warily at the bed. “It’s a queen size bed, Paul. There’s enough room for both of us to sleep here without it being weird.”
“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” I nodded at him before he could say anymore. The closeness probably wouldn’t help me with my weird dreams about him but he didn’t know that and I wasn’t about to tell him. He helped me arrange my blankets and then plopped down on my bed looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“What was your dream about, if you don’t mind me asking?” Paul asked as I laid in the bed next to him. I pulled the blankets up under my chin and looked over at him as I tried to think of something to tell him that wasn’t totally a lie.
“Victoria came here and killed you,” I confessed. What I said seemed to surprise him, his eyebrows raised in shock as he took in what I said. 
“You don’t have to worry about that. Even though she’s gotten away from us so far I wouldn’t let her kill me,” Paul assured me as he clicked off the lamp beside him that I hadn’t realized I had even turned on earlier in the night.
“You don’t know how good she is at escaping. I can’t quite remember the story my dad told me about her but what I do remember from it is that her whole coven was slaughtered by the Volturi and somehow she got away. No one gets away from the Volturi,” I shuddered while thinking of my dads face when he told me the story after we had met her. He was a vampire and therefore pale to begin with but somehow he had become paler when he told me about her and her mate, James. I was still very young at the time and I had taken the story in as a scary story, something that keeps children up at night, jumping at shadows in their room.
“I know she seems very dangerous to you but we have a whole pack of wolves keeping an eye out for her. Plus, the Cullens are back in town doing their part looking out for her too, she won’t get passed us,” he assured me again. There were a lot of people looking out for her, thinking of that made me relax again and cuddle closer to my pillow. Before I could say any more my eyes started to feel heavy and I drifted off. 
The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was just coming up. The sky was still a dark blue but a red-orange hue hung on the horizon just behind the sea of trees outside my window. Paul was no longer next to me and I sighed, feeling disappointed. I knew he would be gone when I woke up, he had told me, but I couldn’t help but have hope that he would still around.
I laid in my bed for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do with my morning before school. The possibility of falling back to sleep wasn’t there, no traces of sleep were left in my eyes. I decided on a shower to start my morning, letting everything else just flow from there.
The smell of cinnamon filled the air, warmth spreading from my oven as cinnamon rolls baked. From where I sat at the kitchen island doing my homework, I could see the cinnamon filling start to bubble up telling me they were ready to come out. I had decided with my extra time I would make these for the pack, they looked like they had turned out better than expected as I pulled them out of the oven and set them to cool on the counter. 
It had been a couple days since my first dinner at Emily and Sam’s house and I had been invited back every single night since, though I wondered how much of that was because of Paul's insistence. My days at school were going by so fast they were a blur. People had started to ignore me like I had wanted from the beginning and I became old news which was fantastic. Though Edward still looked at me angrily, which made me wonder what I had done to him for him to look at me that way. Him, nor the other small vampire girl, seemed to know that I was like them so it couldn’t be that. 
My homework was done and the cinnamon rolls were cooling on the counter so I dashed upstairs to get dressed for school. Once I had thrown some clothes on and discarded my pajamas into my growing dirty clothes pile, I went back downstairs to cover the cinnamon rolls and grab my backpack. 
The walk to school was getting easier as spring started to come, though the rain still came every day it wasn’t as cold anymore. The sun was starting to disappear behind thick, grey clouds that threatened rain. The weather was starting to look like how I felt about being in school all day instead of spending time with pack. I knew I had to go to school to keep up with the image I was portraying but it’s not what I wanted. Last night, long before my bad dreams, Emily, Leah and I had baked a bunch of cupcakes for one of Emily’s nieces. We laughed so much when Leah dropped a whole bag of flour and covered the entire kitchen and herself. 
“She has to be something more,” I heard a familiar voice hiss out as I entered the school parking lot. The voice belonged to Edward, his whole body was tense as he looked at Bella and Alice. His eyes flicked over to me and I smiled trying to make it look like we made accidental eye contact and couldn’t hear him all the way across the parking lot. Alice and Bella were looking over at me now too so I averted my eyes.
“Maybe she isn’t, just because you can’t read her mind doesn’t mean she’s anything more,” I heard Alice explain to Edward in response to whatever he had been talking about before. I knew some vampires had special powers but I never heard of anything as big as being able to read minds.  
“You can’t read my mind either, remember? I’m just a human,” Bella said sounding a little on edge. I could feel all of their eyes on me as I crossed the parking lot, trying to make my way to my first class.
“It’s not just that and you know it. Alice can’t see her future either, that has to mean something,” Edward hissed at both of them. I almost stopped dead in my tracks when he said Alice could see the future. That was more powerful than reading minds. Both of them had the most powerful gifts I had ever even heard of let alone come in contact with. Before I could react to anything I felt a gush of wind and suddenly someone was beside me.
“I’m Alice!” she announced cheerfully. When I glanced her way I almost had to look down at her, she was even smaller than I had thought the first time I saw her. I could tell right away as I looked at her clothes that they were designer, something I hadn’t picked up on seeing her around school but it didn’t surprise me. The vampires I had come in contact with over the years either stole their clothes or had stolen the money to buy their clothes, leaving nothing subtle about them if you saw them. Maybe all vampires had an affinity for designer things. 
“Em,” I replied back to her quietly.I noticed now other students around us staring almost in disbelief. Some muttered about how the Cullens never interacted when they came here until two new girls showed up. 
“Short for Clementine right?” she asked, her eyes never leaving my face as she waited for a response. I blinked almost shaking my head, shocked. Maybe she could see my future and just wasn’t letting on to the others? Or she did some extensive digging to find out.
“Uh, yeah but how did you-”
“You should sit with us at lunch today!” she suggested ignoring the question. How did she know what my real name was? I hated it and made sure no one knew it. Before I could answer to her invite she was talking again. “I think we’ll become really good friends! It’ll be so much fun! We can go shopping and have sleepovers!”
“We just met!” I tried to reason but there seemed to be no stopping her. 
“I’ll see you at lunch and we can start getting to know each other better!” with that she was off, moving quickly, yet gracefully toward her next class. 
Just like every other day this week my morning went by quickly and I found myself already on my way toward the cafeteria with my packed lunch in hand. They were already sitting at my table waiting for me. When Alice spotted me she began to bounce in her seat and I heard Edward whisper to her to ‘take it easy’. Any hope that they would forget vanished as I trudged over to where they sat waiting. 
“You’re persistent,” I mumbled, taking my seat. The three of them sat across from me, no lunches in front of them and all eyes on me. 
“I never take no for an answer! Just ask my family!” she told me sounding gleeful. 
“We also know how the students here act when new girls show up,” Edward said uttering his first words to me. He wasn’t looking at me like he hated me anymore but his brow was furrowed in confusion as he looked at me. 
“Ah, yes. The welcoming committee that wanted to put me on the front page of the school paper,” I shuddered at the thought and began to open up my lunch. I was going to eat even if they weren’t. 
“In their defense, there isn’t much to report on in a town that’s this small,” Bella mumbled, her eyes darting to Edward. If this town only knew about vampires and werewolves that interacted with them every day then there’d be some news to report on. 
“I’ve never lived in a town this small before,” I confessed, taking a bite of carrot. The snap from it so loud I almost had to wince. None of them seemed to mind that I was eating. Each one of them seemed very intent on whatever it was they thought they were going to get from this meeting. The intense looks in each of their eyes made my stomach uneasy and want to push away my lunch.
“Where did you move here from?” Alice asked, practically leaning her whole body across the table with her hands clasped together. Another one of my father's rules was to not tell anyone where we came from so they couldn’t track us. He made a good point with that rule but what would be the harm in telling these vampires where we came from?
“We just came from Maine, actually. My father is a freelancer in pricing antiques, he can do it from anywhere in the country,” I explained to them through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. The three of them nodded, taking in what I said. My father himself would be considered an antique at his age, which made his job that much funnier.
“So your father packs your lunch?” Edward asked, gesturing toward the brown paper sack in front of me. Irritation flooded through me at the insinuation that I couldn’t pack my own lunch. I quickly pushed that thought away because he was probably just prying into my background to figure out if he was right and I was indeed not just a human.
“Oh, uh, actually my friend Emily packs my lunches for me. I don’t ask or expect her to but she always does it and refuses to let me tell her no,” I told them, internally kicking myself for even bringing up my involvement with the wolves. Bella blinked in surprise while Alice and Edward shared a knowing look. 
“Emily who?” Bella asked, cocking her head to the side and looking like she had just cracked a secret code.
“I, uhm, don’t actually know her last name. I’ve never asked…” I trailed off not knowing how to continue. Bella sat back seemingly satisfied with my answer while Alice and Edward shared another knowing look. 
“Is she the only friend you’ve since moving here?” Alice asked resting her head on her hand and leaning impossibly closer. She visibly breathed in deeply, her nose crinkling in disgust as she did so. Edward muttered something about ‘stinking like a dog’ too low for me to be able to hear if I had been a regular human, he probably thought it was safe to do so. 
“No, she’s not. There are a bunch of others who live out on the reservation. I usually see them most days but I see Paul every single day,” I felt my cheeks heat up as I thought of Paul. He was always around me, whether I was over at Emily’s or he was at mine checking on me during the night. The feelings I felt when I had first met him only seemed to amplify as the days went on. Just looking at him when he smiled at me could leave me breathless and confused. 
“He’s dangerous, they all are!” Bella exclaimed a little too loudly, Edward had to put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. She looked at him alarmed. Basing my opinion solely on her reaction to me knowing the pack she clearly knew they were wolves too. 
“I don’t see how…” I shook my head slightly, trying to make them think I didn’t know. Keeping secrets was second nature to me at this point, keeping them in the dark about my knowledge wouldn’t be hard. 
“You’ve been spending all your time around them and you haven’t noticed that they’re dangerous?” Edward scoffed, leaning back in his chair. His face was a mix of disbelief and anger. Alice looked the same as before, like she had found something out and Bella chewed her lip like she was worried. 
“What exactly do you want from me? This feels more like an interrogation than a friendly gesture,” I asserted crossing my arms across my chest. I looked at all three of them waiting for an answer.
“We’re just trying to get to know you!” Alice defended, the cheerfulness in her voice fading quickly as her eyes darted between me and the other two. She seemed genuine but Edward and Bella were looking at me accusingly, like I had done something wrong. 
“It doesn’t feel that way…” I mumbled feeling like a cornered animal. “You don’t even know me since I only moved here a week ago. You have no right to accuse my friends of being dangerous. I haven’t experienced anything close to them being dangerous, all I’ve experienced is a family that I’ve never had.”
“You don’t know them like we do,” Edward practically growled. His sudden hostility made me flinch and move my chair backwards a bit. 
“Look I couldn’t care less about how you think you know someone,” I said pushing my chair back and standing up, glaring at the three of them. “I really thought that this would just be a friendly get to know the new girl lunch but my initial thought was right. I should’ve taken into consideration the fact that everyone at this school thinks you’re some weird cult. Please leave me alone from now on.”
“Em, wait-” Alice called to me as I angrily grabbed the rest of my lunch and stormed off. I threw it out as I walked out the door of the cafeteria. My father had only been gone a couple of days and I felt like I was already screwing everything up, he wouldn’t be happy when he came back and heard about my interaction with the vampires in town. Without thinking I walked out of the cafeteria and made my way home, not bothering to think about the consequences. 
After the walk home, that felt shorter than ever, I threw my school stuff down and grabbed my cinnamon rolls. My mind was reeling at all the things that could happen with the Cullens. I could get attacked like my dad has been before if they found out I was a vampire in their territory. They could tear me apart in the process, ending my short, miserable life. My father would be so upset if they found out about us. If he ever found out about my involvement with the wolves he would kill all of them. I didn’t know the exact ins and out of the wolves but I imagined that my father, a 300 year old vampire, was strong enough to take on some oversized wolves all on his own and win. 
Before I knew it I had crossed the river and instead of being in front of Emily’s house I was in front of a house I had never been to before. I breathed in trying to pick out the scent. The air smelled just like Paul, his unique, cinnamon like scent filling my senses. I knocked lightly on the door, feeling timid because I had never been here before. As I was about to turn away and go to Emily’s the door opened, revealing an older man who looked like Paul.
“Can I help you?” He asked, sounding tired. His clothes were covered in grease. The name tag that was clipped to his shirt unreadable from how dirty it was. 
“Oh, uh, I’m Em, is Paul home?” I asked, clutching the cinnamon rolls tighter to my body. He blinked in surprise and flashed a quick smile.
“So we finally meet! I’m Paul’s father,” He held a hand out to me to shake and then moved out of the way, letting me in. “Paul got back a couple hours ago from patrol, he should be asleep in his room.”
“I’m really sorry to just drop in like this,” I mumbled as I made my way passed him and into the small house. The door clicked shut and he gestured for me to follow him.
“You’re welcome here anytime,” he assured me, his eyes sparkling as he looked at me. Everyone had been looking at me today like they knew something I didn’t and Paul's father was no exception. I smiled at him before making my way up the narrow staircase to Paul’s room. 
He was fast asleep, soft snores escaping his nose. I leaned against his door frame and quietly watched him for a minute. He was always so handsome but in this moment, with a little drool forming at the corner of his mouth, he looked cute. His face was carefree, no hints of impending vampire doom to be seen. I blushed when I realized how long I had been staring at him asleep, thinking about how cute he was. 
As the pink faded from my cheeks I decided that I would let him sleep. Maybe his father would like some cinnamon rolls, that way they wouldn’t go to waste. I quickly and quietly went back down the narrow staircase and found his dad in the kitchen, sitting at a table made only for two, reading a newspaper.
“I’ve decided that I am going to let him sleep,” I announced quietly, not wanting Paul’s extra keen hearing to pick up on my voice and wake him. His father lowered the paper and smiled at me, letting one side of the paper go to gesture to the chair across from him. 
“Why don’t you sit down and stay a while,” His father suggested, folding the paper up and tossing it to the side. “After all, we might as well get to know each other since you’re in Paul’s life now.”
“Sure,” I mumbled quietly, my brow almost furrowing at his tone when he mentioned me being in Paul’s life now. It sounded like he meant more than the fact that I was kind of friends with Paul for a little over a week now. I set the dish down in front of him and he inhaled as he took the lid off.
“Mmm-mmm, I haven’t had homemade cinnamon rolls in years,” He said, getting up to get plates and napkins. With a small plate in front of each of us he served me a cinnamon roll then himself. 
“Are you just too busy to make them?” I asked, genuinely curious. We both took bites before he wiped his mouth and began to answer my question.
“My ex wife used to bake for my son and I all the time before she suddenly left us,” There was a sadness in his eyes as he explained to me and I suddenly felt awful for asking.
“I didn’t know she left you guys, Paul hadn’t told me that yet,” My cheeks were hot with embarrassment and I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I should’ve known something was up when Paul was telling me he learned to cook because his dad was a bad one. He hadn’t mentioned his mother at all and that should’ve been a sign.
“Don’t be upset, you didn’t know. Paul never liked talking about it but I know it hurt him a lot and still does to this day,” When I did look up at him, there was a new type of sadness in his eyes. Not sadness for the wife who bailed on him but it seemed the sadness was for Paul. He started to speak again and I listened intently as he told me he regrets not being able to be there for his son more. When his wife had left and he decided to take Paul with him back to La Push he needed to work a lot of hours to provide for his son as best as he could, resulting in them not having the best emotional relationship. He said he knew that Paul understood and understands even more now but he wished they could have something more. 
“I know you’ve only known him a short while but he seems happier with you around,” his dad confessed, telling me something that I already felt myself. Though I had only known him for a short time, I knew that Paul was going to be something special in my life. The thought alone almost made me cringe from how foreign it felt. 
“He obviously does the same thing for me since I made these damn cinnamon rolls from scratch,” I laughed lightly, he seemed to think it was funny too and cracked a smile before taking the last bite of his cinnamon roll. There were a few creaks from above us, maybe it was Paul rolling around while he slept. 
“They were delicious, I’d love for you to bring more over whenever you feel like!” He told me as he took our plates and began washing them in the sink. As I sat there listening to the water run in the sink and splash around while he scrubbed the plates, it made me wonder. Did he know his son could phase into a wolf? Did he know about the huge coven of vampires that lived one town over? Did he know that he had just sat across from someone who was half a vampire?
“What’d I miss?” A groggy voice asked from the doorway to the kitchen. I looked over and saw Paul standing there in only sweatpants. They were hanging off his lips lower than what would be considered appropriate, my cheeks started to heat up violently and I had to look away. He hadn’t been shirtless when he was at my house earlier, something that I hadn’t even noticed at the time. 
“You almost missed out on these cinnamon rolls, son,” Paul’s dad informed him, pointing a freshly cleaned plate at the tray of them. 
“I should’ve eaten them all to prove to you that I could,” I teased as Paul sat across from me, taking huge bites of his cinnamon rolls. He smiled at me through a mouthful, a piece of food falling out of his mouth and making me giggle.
“Anymore nightmares?” Paul asked me quietly, his eyes darted over to his dad to indicate why he was whispering. I shook my head in response, he seemed satisfied and sat back in his chair. He winked at me and then looked over at his dad.
“Hey, Pop?” He called over to his dad. When his dad looked over he continued, “Did you ever think you’d have a vampire in your house?”
My eyes almost popped out of my head at his question to his dad. His dad laughed a little, shaking his head as put away some dishes.
“Does she even count as one? She’s only half,” Paul’s dad was done with the few dishes at this point and leaned on the counter facing us. He didn’t seem upset that it was brought up that I was a vampire. He even looked kind of happy.
“I’m still stronger and faster than even the most fit human,” I defended myself, now that I knew it wasn’t bad that this was brought up. “So yes, it does count.”
“I never thought any of this would happen, if we’re being honest. I grew up hearing the tribes legends but I never thought they were anything but a nice fairytale. Then one day Paul and I were outback, working in the yard and he just turned into a wolf. Damn near gave me a heart attack,” Pauls dad wasn’t looking at us now, his eyes elsewhere, seeing a memory that I was not present for. 
“Now look at me,” Paul said, spreading his arms out. “I grew over six inches because of it and I’m built like a God.”
“I thought the God’s were supposed to be gorgeous, other worldly looking beings and not some mediocre looking boy,” my tone was sarcastic, letting Paul and his dad know I was clearly joking. Paul’s dad had to wipe the tears from his eyes when he was done laughing. Paul was clutching at his chest, pretending to be wounded by what I had said. 
“Em, I thought you liked me,” he said, gasping for breath and pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. 
“What gave you that impression? I am a vampire after all maybe I’m playing you and you’re going to be just another victim,” I said, leaning back in my chair and shrugging my shoulders at him. 
“You’ve really met your match, son,” Paul’s dad commented, he was shaking his head with a smile on his face as he left the kitchen to give us some privacy. Their interaction gave me so much insight on what their relationship was like. I could already tell it was way better than anything my father and I had. This was a real family, two people who actually cared for each other and making it work. This wasn’t just two people who happened to be blood forcing it because one of them made a promise to a dying woman that they wouldn’t fully keep. 
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Paul suddenly asked, breaking me from my thoughts. It was good that he had changed the subject because I was ready to spiral just thinking about my father. Every thought of him and what I wished we could have been ripped a new hwole in my chest if I let it.
“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about. The Cullen’s invited me to sit with them today and then it turned into an interrogation. I have a feeling they know that I’m more than just some human but my dad made it clear that I was supposed to keep myself as hidden as possible and with the whole pack already knowing I don’t want my dad to find out that too many people knew,” I was rambling, a cold sweat covering my body. Paul leaned across the table and took my hand in his, squeezing to reassure me. 
“I know you don’t want your dad to find out and I know you know my opinion of the Cullen’s but I do think they would understand and not let your dad find out that they know,” Paul pulled me up by the hand he was holding and walked me outside.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as we walked slowly down the road. 
“To the beach,” He said, sounding proud. “I like to go there when I need time to think or when I need to sit down and really talk something through. My dad always took me as a kid when he thought I needed to talk. At the time I never talked but I kept up the habit as I got older and it makes me feel better every time. “
Paul and I continued to walk hand in hand down the road toward a beach I had yet to go to. The sun was now coming out and warming up the air around us. Going to the beach did sound like everything I needed right now. There were so many things on my mind, old and new. There were so many things I wanted to talk about with Paul but found myself not able to. Like my mother. I know I had mentioned killing her when we first met, he had yet to bring it up and I wasn’t about to volunteer information that could get all the new people in my life to hate me. 
When the beach came into view the sun was fully out. The sound of waves crashing along the shoreline started to soothe me before we were even fully on the beach. There were a few logs scattered here and there, Paul picked one and plopped down, pulling me with him. With my head resting on his shoulder and his arm around mine, pulling me closer to him I told him everything that happened with the Cullen’s and he assured me that they would be fine. He assumed they probably now knew what I was because Jacob had gone and seen Bella today and her boyfriend Edward could read minds and probably figured everything out. 
That thought didn’t make me feel better, the more people that knew meant the more in danger I was. I had no real idea what my father was capable of. I didn’t even really know him, something I hadn’t thought of before but since everything about my mom came out had me questioning everything I thought I had known. 
I was cozy up against Paul, my cheek now pressed against his chest and my arm around his torso. My dream was at the forefront of my mind again. I had never been to a town and met a guy that I liked, though I never had a real opportunity. The short time Paul and I had known each other I had developed strong emotions toward him. They were stronger and felt different from the emotions I had started to feel for Emily, Leah and anyone else in the pack. I didn’t know what they were and I was thinking it was beginning to swallow my nerves and just ask Paul about it. He had been exposed to people all his life and probably had insight on whatever this was. 
“Is something bothering you, Em?” Paul asked, before I could even say anything that had been on my mind. I pulled away from him and looked out over the water. The sun was now setting, the sky a beautiful mix of orange and the incoming dark blue.
“Nothings really bothering me but I have so many things on my mind that I don’t understand because I’ve never experienced them before. I’m unsure of what any of it means,” I slumped back against the log, feeling a tiny bit defeated now that I had started to put my thoughts out there. Paul’s hand went to my thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth trying to comfort me.
“Em, I know we haven't known each other long but you can tell me anything,” he sounded sincere when he spoke.
“This is going to sound crazy,” I began, feeling lightheaded. My words were suddenly all jumbled in my mouth and I didn’t know which ones to use next. Paul nodded slightly for me to continue. “I feel something for you. More than any emotions I’ve felt for anyone and they’re different from the ones I feel for Emily, Leah or really anyone. I’ve never felt them before and I don’t know what they mean. I feel safe with you, at home. Which is crazy because we just met and I probably shouldn’t be feeling at home with you yet-”
Before I could continue more of my rambling Paul leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I had seen stuff like this before in movies. The guy would do this to get the girl to stop rambling and it was supposed to be super romantic. I couldn’t lie, it did feel romantic. Even though my brain was trying to be logical and get me to stop kissing this guy I barely knew, my body wouldn’t let me stop. His lips against mine felt natural, good. His hand that was once on my thigh was now on my face, pulling me closer to him.
My mouth fell into a pout when Paul broke the kiss. His chest heaving as he looked over my face, waiting to see my reaction. My face felt hot, my whole body did. My thoughts were even more jumbled than before as I looked over his face. Now that I had felt them against mine, his lips looked so inviting. I wanted to lean forward and press mine to them again and not finish this conversation. 
“I’ll explain everything to you,” Paul told me. His hand was still on my cheek and I leaned into it happily. I trusted Paul so I knew he would tell me everything I needed to know. I knew he would take care of me. In that moment it dawned on me what my feelings were. I almost blinked in surprise at the thought but I pushed it away because it was far too soon to be in love.
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steve-needs-a-hug · 4 years
Text
“Home is where you really belong.”
Hey guys. So I’m seeing TRoS this Friday night, and I figured it’d be a good idea to share a little piece I wrote a couple months ago which is basically a possible TRoS ending. 
Brief summary: It starts off at the climax, with Rey having just defeated Kylo Ren in an epic battle. Things are about to take a dark turn but Rey has a change of heart. Poe lets off some steam he’d been keeping bottled up for a long time, and it ends happily with the trio and Chewie flying off safely in the Falcon. 
(It sounds benign, but I cried a lot after writing it because it got SO intense and emphasized a lot of the major themes that a lot of people seem to gloss over. It was a meaningful experience writing it, and I hope it’ll be a meaningful experience for you reading it.) *there is NO ship content except the Millennium Falcon lol*
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“Can you see them?” Poe called to Finn.
“Not yet!” Finn shouted. He squinted through the window of the ship, searching through the thick cloud cover and heavy rain. Suddenly he saw flashes of blue light, followed by a flash of fiery red.
“Uh, I think I found them,” Finn called back to Poe. Poe and Chewie quickly descended the Falcon, now looking for a safe place to land on the wet, stormy planet. Finn was on edge, anxious about Rey’s safety; he wished he’d never let her go alone. As soon as the Falcon was on solid ground, he opened the door and rushed out, but what he saw stopped him short.
Kylo Ren was on his knees, slashes and burns on his face and all over his body. Rey fought him relentlessly with all the anger and rage in her heart, and now she stood tall over him, her lightsaber drawn to his throat. There was something different about her. Her eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural light, and Finn could have sworn he heard a sinister whisper in the air.
Rey glowered down at her defeated enemy. He’d hurt so many people. She could avenge them, right then and there. Rey started to become aware of a blackness creeping over her heart…it felt like she was being swallowed up with wrath. She closed her eyes, and suddenly there was only one thought in her mind – “Do it.” 
She opened her eyes again, but they were clouded by a red haze. “Do it. Do it. Do it.” She heard a voice in the distance calling her name, but it sounded so muffled and far away. She looked down at Kylo Ren and all she could see were painful, bitter memories of torture, violence, destruction, and lies. She could end it now and deliver Kylo Ren the justice he deserved. She was the punisher. She was the avenger. He thought he could teach her, turn her, but now he was completely at her mercy. She felt as if raw power was coursing through her veins. Rey now distinctly heard an old, gnarled voice. “Do what must be done, Rey. Do not hesitate, show no mercy.” Her grip on the lightsaber tightened. She began to lift up her arm to strike, to land the finishing blow and end the evil deeds of Kylo Ren once and for all. Suddenly a face began to take shape in her mind…an old face…careworn, but kind…a familiar woman.
Rey saw Leia’s sad eyes, Leia’s warm smile. She remembered Leia’s arms around her as she cried on the Princess’s shoulder. She remembered Leia sitting alone, her mind far away, dwelling on people and places long gone. Rey glanced downward at Kylo Ren, red blood dripping down his face and matting in his thick dark hair. Her stomach lurched when she looked at his eyes, big and brown just like his mother’s. It was hard for Rey to even believe that Kylo Ren was related to the people Rey looked up to most. As soon as Rey saw the eyes, she couldn’t unsee them. She couldn’t unsee Leia Organa’s only child in this broken monster of a man. Rey’s head started swimming as it raced to a future mere minutes from coming to pass…Kylo Ren’s blood spilt all over the ground. Would she leave his body there? Would they have to take it with them and bury it somewhere? Rey saw herself facing Leia once she returned. Her son’s blood on Rey’s clothes. She knew she would never be able to look Leia in the eye again. Just one more soul-shattering trauma to add to the Princess’s already burdened heart.
Rey detracted her lightsaber, the fury and heat of moments earlier abruptly replaced with bone-chilling cold. She blinked several times as the haze dissipated and she turned around to see Finn and Poe standing a small distance away, staring at her, frozen. Rey suddenly turned around and took off running straight towards them; Finn jumped, nervous that some darkness possessed Rey and turned her against them, but as she approached he saw her eyes back to their normal hazel colour, her face full of emotion. She nearly smashed into him, her arms tightly wrapped around and hands gripping Finn’s body for dear life. Finn had no clue what just happened but he knew she needed him right now, so he held her close and didn’t move or speak until she finally pulled away with teary eyes.
Kylo Ren felt the darkness envelope Rey in that moment. It was so thick in the air that he felt as if it was choking him. He saw her eyes glow with an uncanny orange light. He felt not only her fury, but an ancient spirit of hate and revenge overtaking her. Kylo knew what was coming next and he had nothing left in him to fight. He began to long for the blade to hit. At least the pain would be over. 
But then she looked at him like he was a human being, retracted her lightsaber, and…ran away. He struggled to focus on who was waiting for her in the distance…the traitor, of course. And that pilot. Rey was hugging Finn so tightly that Kylo wondered if Finn would break a rib (even on the brink of death, Kylo’s dry humour is never absent). Poe Dameron watched his friends embrace for a while, but his attention shifted to Kylo’s distant, slumped over figure. Kylo pulled in a shaky breath, knowing what was coming as Poe strode over to him. Poe stopped only a few feet away from Kylo and stared hard at him for a solid minute.
Poe badly wanted to slap Kylo Ren across the face, but as he neared him and saw Kylo’s wounds, he decided to express his feelings in a way that didn’t involve getting Kylo’s dark red blood on his hand.
“Interesting,” Poe finally said. “Last time we met, I was the one bleeding with you looming over me. You ripped my mind apart like it was a game to you, and my friend told me you did the same thing to her. You nearly killed Finn. You work for people who obliterated an entire system of populated planets. But you know what? You know what, Kylo?” Poe spat. “That’s not the worst thing you’ve done. None of it is.” Poe paused, eyes boring into Kylo, who faced the ground.
“She put up a brave face for the others, but I saw her. I saw her sitting quiet, alone, and I know she was thinking about you.”
Poe suddenly lunged forward. “Where’s her husband?! Huh?!” Poe shouted at Kylo.
“Where is he?!”
Kylo’s jaw clenched as hot tears streamed down his face, causing the wounds to sting even more. Finn, hearing Poe’s raised voice, walked over to see the scene unfold. Finn watched Kylo’s eyes, witnessing the resentment, shame, defiance, and regret he was experiencing all at once. He had never been so vulnerable.
“It’s only because of her that we didn’t kill you,” Poe bitterly whispered. Kylo finally looked up from the ground to meet Poe’s eyes through a curtain of dark messy hair over his bloodied face, opening his mouth slowly.
“I wish you had,” he croaked, pain breaking his voice. Poe didn’t flinch. Kylo Ren shut his eyes tightly, starting to wobble from the effort of keeping himself up on his knees. His head started to swim as he felt a familiar figure approaching him slowly.
Chewbacca stood over Kylo Ren and emitted a low, quiet groan. He remembered when this broken man was a happy young boy, with loving parents at his side. As Kylo slipped into unconsciousness, Chewie stooped down and picked him up with his strong, furry arms. Poe turned and headed back towards Rey and Finn as they watched Chewbacca carry Kylo into the Falcon, themselves standing outside a little longer. They remained silent for a moment. Rey noticed Poe’s reddened face and glassy eyes.
“He’ll pay for what he’s done,” Rey said quietly.  “It’s over now.”
Poe turned to her, eyes now glowing fiercely. “Is it? Is it really?” Finn blinked rapidly; he’d never seen his usually easy-going friend this intense until today.
“The Galaxy was peaceful until Darth Vader and the Empire showed up,” Poe continued. “Just when we thought things were going to be okay again, then here came this guy. How do we know there’s not going to be another maniac trying to take over the Galaxy?”
Finn placed his hands on his hips confidently. “If there is, they’ll have us to deal with.”
Rey smiled, and Poe shook his head and chuckled sadly. Finn’s expression then turned more serious.
“I’m done running,” he said. “I’m ready to stand and fight, as long as I have you two by my side.”
Rey put her arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
“Where? Back to Jakku?” Finn joked, eliciting a laugh from Rey.
“Anywhere but there! No, my home…” Rey trailed off for a moment, pondering. Where’s home? Home is where you really belong. Then she finally knew the answer to the question she’d been asking all along.  “Wherever you guys are, that’s where home will be.”
Finn beamed, a huge grin on his face. Poe put his worries aside for the moment and smiled with his friends. Together they turned and walked back inside the Falcon. Kylo lay crumpled on a couch in the corner, his tattered black cape draped over him like a blanket. Chewie sat in the co-pilot’s chair, the sorrowful expression in his eyes lifting when he saw the young trio’s optimistic faces. Rey took a deep breath and plunked down beside him, gave him a loving pat on the back, and started preparing for takeoff. None of the people in that ship knew where life was going to take them or what the Force had in store for their future, but Rey, Finn, Poe, and Chewbacca knew that as long as they had each other, they were going to be all right.
                                                  THE END
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jay-and-dean · 5 years
Text
Captive Chapter 2 : Chains
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Gif not mine
_Dean x Reader_
Summary :
Dean Winchester is an enemy.
Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.
During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.
That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…
He is going to kill me, right ?
***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***
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Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.
Chapter Warnings : Violence, Swearing.
Words : 7k
Note : I put the gifs rebbloged by @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ (I took the liberty to tag you because of the gifs. Maybe it wasn’t at all what you were expecting, but there is my version of it).
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2. Chains
          I’m still shaking, holding Sam’s t-shirt like my life depends on it. I can’t see really clear because my right eye is full of blood, and the left is too swelled.
           I can’t believe Dean killed the Man of Letters. I’m so confused, everything is blurry and painful. When Sam left, he just told me to wait, like I had any other choice…
           The door opens and he comes back, carrying a mattress and a bag. He puts the mattress down next to me, making sure my leash is long enough for me to reach it.
“Here, you can sit there…” he says and squats in front of me.
I don’t dare moving, and I’m not sure I can stand. He looks at me for a second and sighs with a pained look.
“Okay, show me your face” he says lifting his hand and I flinch. “I’m not going to hurt you…”
He takes a first aid kit from the bag and shows me his hand slowly, like he was trying to tame me. When I don’t react, he starts to examine me. He winces himself when he touches my jaw.
“We’ll need you to answer some questions you know” he says, taking a needles to stitch a wound on my face.
           Sam is careful not to hurt me more, and I still cling to his shirt on my chest with the last strength I have.
“Okay, now, you have to show me the cuts on your chest” he frowns seeing the large amount of blood starting to dry on it.
I close my eyes and shake my head “no”. He sighs.
“I’m sorry, but if I don’t patch you there, well…”
I lift my bruised face and search his eyes. I know he’s right. I slowly take the shirt down and reveal my body to him : skin and scars, breasts and cuts.
“Shit” he says, seeing the deepness of the cuts above my breasts. “Enochian… Why ?”
I shrug.
“Okay this will need some stitches, there a bandage will be enough. I’m sorry, this is going to hurt a lot…”
 Dean’s Pov
             Cas is looking at me and I can feel the weight of his eyes on my face. I take a sip of whiskey.
“So… We know why Ketch wanted her dead so bad, but thanks to Mister trigger-happy here, we can’t ask him why he carved the thing’s body with enochian symbols” Bobby says pointing at me with his own glass.
“What you described is not precise enough, I need to see it clearly” Cas says with his husky worried voice.
“Well Sam doesn’t want us to enter the room, says she needs some rest and intimacy” I grunt and Bobby rolls his eyes with a loud sigh. “I know.”
“We need to know what she is…” I think out loud.
“So we know how to kill it” Bobby finishes.
I’m not sure that was what I meant… She looks so fragile, she almost died of fever last week, I’m not that sure she’s so hard to kill. What I need to know is the simple truth. Is it true that she didn’t shot Sammy ? That she tried to save him ? Why was Ketch so certain that she’ll manipulate us ? Why does she never tries to defend ? How could she murder so many trained killers all by herself ? Why is Sam so sure she deserves to be saved ? … Why did I pull the trigger ?
“She doesn’t know” Jack cuts the trail of my thoughts.
“I’m sorry ?”
“She doesn’t know what she is. She told me” he says.
“Be careful what she tells you Jack. She’s a master at fooling people” I grunt and he frowns.
           After a while Sam comes out of the dungeon with blood everywhere, and a tired look on his face.
“She needs a shower” he says.
“Come on Sam !”  Bobby shouts.
“If she doesn’t wash, the wounds will get infected again” Sam sighs, putting the soaked in blood t-shirt, cotton wools and dirty needles on the table.
“Well problem solved” I mutter and Sam looks at me coldly.
“Oh so you killed Ketch to save her, and now you’ll let her die of her injures… Don’t be that stupid !” Sam mocks and I get up to face him.
“Hey !”Cas speaks, touching my shoulder. “Guys… Please.”
I take my glass and drink it in one go.
“Sam, can you draw the symbol, please” he adds.
           Cas’ eyes widen and we still wait impatiently for him to talk.
“Why does…” he starts but gets up and leaves.
“Cas !” I shout, following him with Sam and Bobby right on my heels.
He enters the dungeon and she jumps, coiling on herself on the mattress. She’s so broken I feel a ache on my stomach.
“Y/n ? Is it… Is it your name ?” Cas says kindly, kneeling next to her.
She lifts her gaze and meet mine, like she was waiting for me to approve her to talk. I nod, not knowing what to do. Sam approaches her and sits next to her. She nods.
“Okay Y/n” Cas continues. “Can I see the symbol ? Please ?”
She looks at me again and my heart drops.
Sam takes her by the waist and open the first two buttons of the flannel he gave her.
“I’ll do the bandage again” he says to her.
She doesn’t move but I can see the rage in her eyes. She looks down and her nose starts to bleed. Then her eyes turn blue again, no one seems to notice because they’re looking at her cuts.
“It’s an archangel ward” Cas says.
“A what ?” Sam asks.
“Oh come on !” I yell. “I thought we bumped those mothers off ?”
Then her blue eyes reminds me of something and I take my gun in my hands out of reflex and pure fear.
“Did you know Micheal ?” I yell at her, threatening.
“Dean…” Sam says.
“Answer ! NOW ! I swear if I don’t hear your voice RIGHT NOW I’ll give Sam too much work patching you up !”
“No…” she whispers.
“Liar !” I put my gun on her forehead.
“Dean !” Sam says, pushing my gun but Bobby takes his.
“I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about !” she finally screams, showing everyone her blue eyes. Then she bursts into tears.
Sam takes her in his arms and puts a protective hand on her head.
“It’s not a symbol to ward against an archangel, it’s a symbol to hide something from an archangel… Ketch didn’t want an archangel to find her… Why ?” Cas thinks out loud.
           She clings to Sam and whispers something we don’t understand.
“What ?” I ask.
“She says there are more” Sam states, shooting me a black look. “Can you show us ?” he asks her.
She points at her hip and Sam pushes her jeans a little. The same symbol is there, tattooed.
 Reader’s Pov
             “Please, just eat something” Sam says but I don’t move. “Do you need some painkillers ?”
I can’t help but smile at the irony. What now, my torturers want to give me painkillers.
“Y/n… I don’t know who you are, but I know you are not the monster they say” Sam sighs, putting the bowl of cereal down.
“I tried to kill you” I murmur.
“We both know this was not what happened…”
“I stabbed you” I insist.
“Well I attacked you in the middle of the night, in your home. I would have stabbed me too” he smiles.
           I look at him amazed by the dimples that just appeared on his face. Literally no one have ever been so kind to me in my life, except maybe my mother but she died when I was three or four so I don’t really remember. I love this face and those warm, changing colors eyes.
“Sam” Dean’s voice interrupts us. “Jody on the phone.”
Sam gets up and leave. When I see Dean is not leaving, I shiver. He closes the door behind him and comes close to me.
“You may be fooling my brother, but you’re not fooling me” he says.
“Yeah...” I sigh.
“I never liked Ketch but we had a shared enemy : Evil. And you are just that” he adds and I nod. “Now Sam says we can learn some things from you, so I agree to keep you alive for now. But if you move just a little too fast, I end you.”
             The next few days Sam send a lot of time with me, not really in a row, but he checks on me often. He brings me towels and soap, water and even fresh closes. But I still don’t eat. I'm not so sure I want to live. I’m healing faster than he would, he says, still my entire body hurts.
           Judging by the fact that Sam sometimes comes straight after his shower, hair still wet and smelling soap, and by the fact the food he brings me is always hot or fresh. I’d say they keep me at home.
           What kind of home as a dungeon ? Maybe I'm in some kind of basement, maybe if I scream a lot, neighbors could hear me... Or maybe I'm in the middle of a dense forest.
Dean never came back but I can’t stop thinking about him… I know he is here, just behind that doors, being angry and hating me. Still, despite our history of violence, the threats and the pain, I have time to think about what I read and heard about him all those years ago. The best hunter in the world they say, the one that went to hell and purgatory, the one that saved the world… I remember burning the Supernatural books I’d read, three or four volumes, I can’t remember exactly, grumbling it was propaganda. Now I know Sam, Dean and their angel pet is not a legend.
And I’m afraid of Dean, as much as I am fascinated.
             The door opens and I slightly smile at the idea of seeing Sam. Boredom is killing me most of the time, and I truly like Sam, even if I’m still careful because he is a hunter.
           But it is not Sam, it’s him. Dean.
           His face his bruised and he has a large cut on his lips. It adds something even more warrior-like to his features that makes me swallow hard.
“Men of Letters really want to get you” he says sternly and I shiver.
“If they know you have me, they won’t stop until they got me, they’ll kill you if they have to…” I whisper shyly. “You should kill me or let me run.”
“Let them try… We won’t kill you today, let you run, never.”
He takes a chair and sits in front of me.
“You heal fast” he states and I wonder what a genuine smile must look like on this beautiful, forbidding face. “I need answers now… What are you ?”
“I don’t know.”
He grunts, leaning his elbows on his thighs.
“What do you know then ? Don’t lie.”
“I swore to kill every man of letters, and they swore to kill me” I say holding his gaze up.
“Why ?”
“Because I’m dangerous” I answer looking down.
“Not that much. Look at you…” he says sternly.
I would tell him I could have killed his warrior brother but I’m tired of playing villain, so I stay silent.
“Why do they call you Blue Death ?”
I lower my gaze and look at my hands. I used to hate that nickname, probably because I didn’t earned it, I was only a child… But When I rebelled, I used it to terrify those bastards, and started to claim it.
“I guess it comes from my eye color, when I… I don’t know.”
“They told me you painted the German Men of Letters headquarters door blue after you mowed down every soul in it…”
“I’ve got a reputation to maintain” I shrug, wincing when my body reminds me to stay still.
“I should give you up to them” he says and I shiver again.
“If you do that, give me a gun…”
“So you can kill as many of them as you can before they end you ?” he mocks.
“So I can kill myself before they take me” I states sternly.
He stares at me, thinking. There is something in those green eyes I can’t comprehend.
“Sam told me to bring you this” he says showing me a banana. “But as you never eat…” He opens it and eats it in three bites, half smiling sarcastically at me with his mouth full.
 Dean’s Pov
             When I come back from hunt, I don’t find Sam in the library or in the kitchen. He must be with her again… I hate that Sam spend so much time with her. I don’t know what’s worse : The fact that he could be in danger, the fact that their fucked up almost friendship is making me the villain, the fact that he doesn’t spend time with me anymore, doesn't even comes to hunt with me… What if he fell for her ? Like a freaking deranged version of the Beauty and the Beast. The idea makes me sick.
           When I open the dungeon’s door, I half expect to find them kissing or worse. But she’s alone, sitting on the mattress, wearing Sam’s flannel again, so small in it.
           The instant she sees I’m not Sam, she has a strange expression, and she wraps her arms around her knees.
           She’s dirty and bruised, but she’s not swollen anymore. She is beautiful. And for a very brief moment, I’m almost jealous of what Sam and her have, whatever the fuck it is, until it makes me nauseous. And I think about her blue eyes reflecting in the pupils of the hunters she murdered.
“Where is he ?” I say, suspicious.
“How could I know…” she groans. “I haven’t seen outside those four walls in… Oh no, wait, I can’t even count days because there are no windows” she says already annoying me.
“As long as you didn’t eat him, monster” I say with unnecessary hate in my tone and she looks almost hurt indeed, hiding her face by looking at the ground.
           I let a pause and sit on the chair, sighing.
“Someone forced my Baby…” I state, trying to talk to her about the Men of Letters last attempt to find her and intimidate me.
“Your what ?”
“My car.”
She raises her eyebrows and laugh.
“Aw poor baby… Someone damaged your car !” she mocks. “Must be awful ! As we are getting things off our chests : Someone kidnapped me and tortures me ! ASSHOLE !” she finally yells and I get up ready to punch her.
I stop inches away from her face, she has her forearms on defensive position before her head. I squat to look at her closely, she really looks afraid.
"I wanted to tell you it was the Men of Letters" I say winning back my cool. "After researches and investigation, we think it's the French... People cross oceans to kick your ass."
She looks at me through her arms, bright eyes piercing me.
             "What is it between you and the freak ?" I ask Sam in front of my plate.
He seems surprised, frowning.
"Don't call her that, we don't know anything about her..."
"Well we know she's a freak" I state.
"Don't you think it's a little easy ? That all story, Dean, I don't know..." he says, playing with his food. "Listen, I would like to investigate."
"Investigate on what ? Ketch already told us : She's a hunter killing monster that Men of Letters never managed to kill, we got her. Let's end this."
"Dean... Something's wrong. She didn't want to hurt me... Why would she run if she really wanted to end the Men of Letters ? She was so close to the goal, I mean, there are only three French men of letters left, no German, a handful of Italians ?"
I shrug, taking a large bite of food, Sam and his blurred lines. From another angle, he keeps saying she wasn't happy to hurt him...
"I don't know Sam, This is becoming dangerous. And despite what you think, I'm not a monster : I don't like having her locked up in here. We have to consider killing her..."
He stares at me with that serious look of his, with dimples appearing by the contraction of his face.
"Listen..." he says. "We investigate, this is a case. We, we discover the truth, interrogate the Men of Letters, and if their story is confirmed, I swear I'll be the one putting a bullet in her head... But something is odd."
"You investigate. This is your case, for me that one is solved" I sigh seeing his disappointed look. "I agree to keep her alive, you have one month, Sam. After that I end this."
"Okay... Okay."
           We eat in silence and I can see he wants to say something. I know him, he has a whole plan in his head, and he just tries to tread carefully with me.
"Shoot" I say taking a beer.
"What ?" he asks with that slightly high pitched voice he has when he tries to hide something.
"Come on Sam..."
He lets a pause and sits. I come in front of him, waiting, ready to hear something I'll probably hate, judging by his anxiety.
"I need to go to France" he says and I almost choke on my beer. "This is where it all started but, Dean... They'll come after her."
"Of course they will !"
"I need you to protect her" he states looking down.
"I'll stay in the bunker, but I won't treat her like my new favorite pet, Sam."
"Just, don't hurt her, and feed her. And Dean, please, don't kill her. Just don't."
 Reader's Pov
             Sam sits next to me, handing me a glass of water. He looks worried and I wonder what is causing this, maybe he just can't keep me anymore, maybe he's thinking about ending this wicked game.
"I have to leave for a few days" he finally says and my heart drops.
With him gone, what will happen to me ?
"Dean is staying to keep Men of Letters out of the bunker."
Bunker ?
"He is going to take care of you, just, please don't provoke him, okay ?"
I nod but I'm terrified. Trying to hide the tears filling my eyes, I look down. The large metal collar is biting my skin.
"You have to eat something, Y/n... Dean won't be as patient as I am, and I'll need you there when I come back to understand things..." he says low.
Then he gets up and smiles at me, putting clean clothes on a corner, next to a water bottle and a chocolate bar.
             No one came tonight. And time just slowed. Looking at the walls, I try to find a comfortable position, but everything hurts. I'm starving, I know I am, but I just don't feel like eating at all.
           It's been hours, long, silent, lonely hours thinking about those times they sentenced me, when I was a kid. This was their way of punishing me, when I didn't obey or when I was lazy, according to them, during the trainings : locking me up alone in the dark for hours, I never told them I could see in the dark ; I already knew I had to keep secrets. I remember crying a lot at first. I think I called my mother the first year, then I understood she will never rescue me. Later I understood she was gone and no one will rescue me, then I forgot about her I guess.
             The door opens, and Dean comes in. He looks at me and puts a plate beside me, he made me a sandwich.
"Do you need anything ?" he says stern.
"No" I answer with a hoarse voice due to not talking for so long.
"Okay" he says turning to leave.
But I panic. I can't. I just can't stay alone in the dark for hours, I'm going crazy.
"Dean !" I call and he looks surprised to hear his name from me. "Just... Can I have a glass of water ?"
"You have a whole bottle over there" he says.
"Oh..." I try to think about anything else to ask. "How is Sam ?"
"He's okay. Are you good ?"
"Pitchy..." I whisper, desperate by his coldness.
And he leaves.
           He comes not long after, looks at the untouched plate and sighs. He takes it and I just watch him move.
"If you die of hunger, my brother is killing me..." he says a little gentler.
"I'm not hungry."
"Of course you are, you're losing weight, look at you, it's like Sam's flannel is growing on you."
When he is about to leave I try my best to keep him a little longer.
"Why did he leave ?" I ask prudently.
"He wants to save you, he thinks you deserve it" he says, his eyes piercing through me like he was trying to understand why.
"I really don't..." I whisper sadly, tired and depressed.
"I know."
 Dean's Pov
             I can't sleep, I think about the girl chained in my dungeon, and it feels so weird. I read all I could about eyes turning blue, but I found nothing, except for angles but she's not that, or she couldn't bleed like that, besides, this is not angel-blue. I sigh.
           Sitting up I take my phone, and send a text to Sammy. He says he was right : something is odd. Cas and him are following the lead of one of the survivor Y/n left behind, maybe he'll tell them more.
           As I approach the dungeon, I hear something : sobs. She's crying like a little girl, I can hear physical pain but also despair in her passive voice. I hesitate, I should leave, not get involved, but this is unbearable.
           When I open the door, she turns her back on me, still lying on the mattress, and the sobs stop, held back. She didn't expect me to appear. I don't know what to say or what to do, she looks like an innocent young girl in pain, and all I can think is it's because of me.
"Y/n..." I try.
"Sorry" she mutters, surprising me.
I come closer and squat beside her. Her hair are greasy and her skin is darken by dirt, but she still looks cute somehow.
"You really should eat something..."
I hear a held back sob once more. Lowering my eyes, I notice blood stains on the mattress. Fresh ones, she's been bleeding again.
"What is all that blood, Y/n ?" I ask but she stays silent. "Are you hurt ?"
"Do you really care ?" she whispers. "Leave me and I'll tell Sam you were kind to me..."
"No, Y/n, this is a lot of blood."
I put a hand on her and she flinches. I feel an invisible punch inside my guts.
"I won't hurt you" I say but she doesn't move.
I pull at her shoulder to turn her body and her eyes keep looking the other way. The flannel is soaked in blood again, some stitches must have broke. This is not good.
"Shit, Y/n, why didn't you tell me ? Let me see" I say trying to open the shirt but she puts her hand on mine to stop me.
She's so cold, her soft shaking hand has nothing monstrous and I'm surprised by the way her touch makes me feel, like I needed to protect her. I shake this thought out of my head and bend a little more.
"I have to see this, Y/n..." I insist, trying to make her seat.
Just then I realize how weak she is, barely holding her head. How can this girl be so dangerous ?
           I open two buttons of the flannel, careful not to bare more skin than necessary. The wound is opened again, and bleeding. I sigh and take the first aid kit Sam left here.
           Proximity triggers an unknown sensation, if I didn't know better I would say it's desire. But she's a monster. My fingers graze her skin and visible Goosebumps appears on her cleavage, like static electricity had pass through our skin. She lifts her eyes, her face is so close to mine, I can see the chapping on her plumb lips. I bite mine.
           When I start cleaning the wound, I notice the dirt is creeping inside her flesh. Frowning I try to think, maybe if I bring her a larger bowl of water she could clean better. I look at the leash and think about how I could undo it without letting her go...
           Big tears are rolling down her face silently while I plant the needle in her flesh.
"Am I hurting you ?" I ask, worried a bit too much.
"No" she says sadly.
"If you would talk, this would be easier" I sigh.
"You wouldn't believe me... Or you wouldn't care" she whispers.
What does she mean ? Now I'm curious.
"Try me" I say with a soft smile.
She seems surprised and her tears stop rolling down her cheeks, her eyes roaming my face like she had discovered something incredible.
"You have a beautiful smile for a cold blooded killer" she says weakly.
             The next few times I come to check on her, I change the bandage and give her food she never touches. She's letting herself die, and I need to do something, anything to keep that from happening.
           Sitting in the kitchen I think hard, my beer in my hand, trying to convince myself Sam is the reason why I want her to survive so bad. There is something so different about her... I just wish she would talk to me, tell me what she fears I won't believe.
           My phone rings.
"Dean Winchester ?" a voice says with an accent I don't know so well.
"Who's asking ?"
"Listen, I think we should try to cooperate... See, you got something we want and maybe we can give you something you want too."
"Maybe you can go fuck yourself" I say sternly, no liking that man's snob tone.
"See, you have no utility of her, and we do. I really think you should consider our offer. Either you give us our property back, and get paid generously, or we take it before, or after, she killed you."
"So you don't want to kill her ?" I ask suspicious.
"Of course not, I mean, we can't say we haven't tried, but that was before you find a way to shut her up."
"You'll need to know how we did" I say to make him talk, having no idea what is actually working on her.
"Yes, of course. I knew you were a reasonable man, Mr Winchester, they say we can't negotiate with you, I think with the good price we can always negotiate... So tell me what do you want ? Spell books so powerful you could invade Heaven ? Money ? A Hellhound maybe..."
"All of that, and men, I want to command" I state.
"Everything you want" he says.
"You said she was your property, what is she ?" I try.
"Oh, you see, she's just a creation of ours that went bad. We need to do some improvement, and you seem to have what we need to keep her quiet."
I feel a cold shiver run my spine, and when blood taste appears in my mouth, I realize I was biting my cheek.
"Let's meet" I say.
"Let me some time to gather the things you asked, let's say a week ?" he says and I smile at the idea of Sam having time to come back.
"Call me in a week" I hang up.
           Shit, they are really desperate to get her back, this is insane. What did he mean "a creation" ? I stare at nothing, thinking about what those bastards may have done to her...
             "Hey, Y/n" I say coming close to her slowly.
When she turns she sees the gun in my hands and looks at me in the eyes with a pure expression of despair.
"No, no" I say. "I'm not going to kill you... if you don't try to kill me."
I take the collar in my hand and notice, it is biting her skin harshly.  She looks at me with a frown and the click of the collar makes her jumps.
"I take you to the bathroom and you shower. If you make any suspicious move, I shoot you, okay ?"
She nods and grab my arm, too weak to stay straight, even sitting down.
"After that, you promise me you'll eat something..." I add, trying to make her stand, but she almost falls.
I take her in my arms and carry her, she clings to me with her eyes closed, she must be so exhausted.
           When I pass the door, she looks around her, an astonished look on her face ; I never thought about how lost she was, not knowing what was behind these doors, as she was unconscious when we brought her there.
           "Okay, can you strip on your own ?" I ask and she nods, barely standing.
She looks around her and closes her eyes for a second, like this place was heaven to her. I point the shampoo and the soap and turn around, my gun in my hand.
           After a few minutes, the water runs and I hear her wince, probably at the contact of water on her wounds.
"You okay ?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. Worry makes me squeeze my gun tighter. A loud noise : I turn around : She fell. Kneeling on the floor, naked, she shakes and sobs.
           I put my gun down without even thinking and come to her, trying not to look at her damaged yet beautiful body. Her ribs are showing but I can tell she usually is a little curved and strong. I take the shampoo and pour a large amount on her head.
"There, let me, you can't fall more now... I'm not looking so tell me if you have shampoo in your eyes, okay ?"
           I really try not to look at her, but my hands are making me see things, I feel her hair around my fingers and I feel my hands on her neck, lingering an instant too long. It takes me a lot of strength not to brush her shoulders and back, not to go a little lower : on her back.
 Reader's Pov
             His hands clumsily wash my hair and if I wasn't on the verge of passing out, I would probably protest, tell him some smart-ass line, try to make him as uncomfortable as I am. The truth is I'm liking this way too much.
           Soap comes to my face and I close my eyes, not telling him because I don't want him to stop touching me right now. Just knowing he is this close behind me, that handsome warrior, his large hands roaming my neck...
"Okay... you wash your body, I'm getting a towel, tell me when you need me to rinse your hair."
I do, even if my hands are the heaviest thing. The shampoo smelled like Sam, but that soap... This is all Dean. I don't know how long I stay, on my knees on the shower, rubbing my skin, thinking about how I should just hate him, and not breathe deeply the smell of his soap.
"Dean..." I call weakly, exhausted by just washing myself.
"Yeah, don't move" he says.
           The water runs down my body and I try to lift my arms to rinse my hair, but a large, strong hand runs through the locks of my hair to help the water get rid of the shampoo. When it's over, Dean wraps a big towel around me, kneeling in front of me this time. His eyes falls on me now that I'm not naked anymore, his clothes are soaked.
"Sorry" I whisper, pointing at the t-shirt sticking on his chest.
"It's just water..."
           I'm on that towel, sitting on a chair, with Dean handing me a clean flannel.
"You can't wear those jeans again... Wait" he says getting out.
When he comes back I see his eyes looking at the gun he left right beside me, and see how he regrets taking such a risk, like he forgot for a second that we were enemies. But I can't move anyway, and I wouldn't survive out there for now...
           He hands me grey sweatpants. I put it on, with no underwear and watch it almost fall as it is clearly too big.
"There, I choose it because it as a cord" he says tightening it. "Now you eat."
           I sit on my mattress and he takes the collar with both hands, hesitating he says :
"You're not going to attack me right now are you ?"
I shake my head "no" and he adds "Okay, I'll put it back later... Eat now. Please."
           Maybe it is me surrendering to my pain, maybe it is that warm shower, maybe it is the way he asks... but I take a shy bite of the piece of bread, and he smiles. A radiant, yet discreet smile that makes my heart race a bit.
"Tell me now..." he says. "They say you are their creation. What does it mean ?"
My throat tighten and I have trouble swallowing. I don't know what it means, never knew.
"I don't know... I guess it is because of the training" I state.
"What training ?" he sits on the floor and the idea of him not leaving just yet is enough to make me talk.
"How do you think I can kill like a pro ?" I say looking down. "It's because I am... They, they made me."
"They trained you to kill ?"
I nod.
"Monsters ?"
I stay silent, thinking about Mary-Ann, about her terrified childish eyes when I stabbed her.
"Define monster" I say taking another bite to hide the horror in my head.
He thinks for a moment, his eyes piercing me.
"Creatures who kill because of their nature" he finally says, unsure.
"Not just monsters then..." I look into his eyes and see doubt and a hint of fear.
"Where do your powers come from ?"
"I don't know..." I repeat.
 Dean's Pov
             Y/n ate three little meals since that shower and she's already recovering, her wounds heal faster and her voice is clearer. I saw her eat the chocolate bar and she was standing alone during the next shower.
           Bobby visited, telling me he didn't like knowing me alone with the freak, and I realized I hated her to be called that. He didn't stay long, as I didn't asked him to stay, barely offered him a drink, because I didn't wanted to hear him try to convince me to kill her.
           I called Sam to tell him what she said, and ask him if it was consistent. It is. He still doesn't know what she is, but he knows for sure she has been captured and trained when she was a child. "Like a weapon" he says, they used her until she became out of control. It sounds like the Men of Letters indeed.
           The moment I'm about to check on her, someone knocks on the door. I think maybe Bobby forgot something but I come to face with the barrel of a gun.
"Mr Winchester" a man in a suit says.
He's not the man I had on the phone, not the same accent, not the same voice. He's tall and stronger than me.
"I think you have something that's ours" he says.
I take a step back and consider fighting back, but two more men follow him, just as strong and armed.
"I talked to someone on the phone" I try. "We had a deal."
"Yeah well Mr Martin thinks we can always negotiate, we think hunters are not worth so much effort. Where is the girl ?" he says.
As I don't answer he smiles, a psycho smile.
"Either you tell us where she is, and we let you go, or we have to search all the place and we burn it with you in it after having found her."
I sigh and go to the donjon's direction, thinking of a way to fight them.
           When I turn around to punch the man, another stops my fist and punches me hard three times, making me fall on my knees, he then takes me to drag me.
           They find the dungeon, and open it. Y/n is here, pure fear in her eyes, standing against the wall as the man keeps me still by the neck, cutting my hair supply. This is over, they win.
"Y/n, finally" the man says. "Gentlemen, be careful not to break the chains."
An idea suddenly crosses my mind and I take the key in my pocket, sending it to her.
           She opens the collar with snake speed and her eyes become blue.
"What have you done !" says the leader with the gun. "We're all dead !"
He shoots her but she moves too fast, not supernaturally fast, but like the fastest athlete. She takes leverage on his shoulder and jumps, taking his partner head between her leg. She groans in effort and I hear his neck break and she kicks the man behind her, smashing his knee. As he screams she kicks picks his gun and turns toward the man holding me. He lets go of me, pushing me toward her.
           She shoots toward me. When I open my eyes, the man behind me is falling on the floor, a bullet on his head. She turns and squats beside the man of the floor with the broken leg. I can see she's out of breath and her wounds are bleeding again.
"I don't know you" she says. "They've been recruiting..."
Then she puts a bullet in his head.
           She turns toward me with her bright blue eyes and I lift my hands. When I think I might be dead, she falls on her knees and puts the gun next to her. Just then I realize I wasn't breathing.
           We stay here for a while, panting. Her eyes lost their strange color and she's shaking again. She saved me, and sat back on that damn mattress.
             Everything is different now.
           When I bring her food, she's meditating, sitting on the floor. Her clean and messy hair falling on her flannel covered shoulders.
"You said you liked pastas" I state putting the plates on the floor.
"Thank you" she says with a sweet smile.
I sit on the mattress and start to eat, she's watching me, but I don't really dare looking at her.   
I didn't put her collar back, I chained her feet, thinking it would be more comfortable. I don't think it makes any sense anyway, I'm just keeping her there, waiting for my brother to prove she's an ally.
           When she turns to put her plate down, her arm brushes mine and my heart rushes. I have to face reality : I can't stop thinking about her. A part of me doesn't even know what she is and wants nothing to do with her, and a part of me has dreams about her. Dreams where I lay on that hard mattress with her, dreams where she lets me touch her and taste her...
           I have to stop it.
"Are you okay ?" she asks and I smile.
I noticed every time I smile, she looks enthralled, I don't know why. Maybe she is used to grumpy hunters and old librarians.
           But this time her eyes travel down, and I can see how they linger on my lips. Hers are soft again, no more chapping, just pink plumb lips.
           Before I have time to comprehend what is happening, I bend and put my lips on her, immediately feeling dizzy. She kisses me back, eagerly, her sweet lips caressing mine.
           It takes a movement from her to break the spell : She wraps her arms around my neck and that suddenly remembers me how dangerous she is.
           I break the kiss and get up, taking the plates with me like I was casually clearing the diner.
             "Mr Winchester ?" says the man on the phone. "I heard some of my colleagues tried to use force to deal with you ?"
"Yeah you heard right..."
"They never came back, I guess we can stop waiting for their return ?" he says and I smile for myself.
"Yeah."
"I see... So, about that deal..."
             The warehouse seems empty, and very dark, which is a good thing. Soon I see three men with suits and gun. I pull on the chain to make the girl covered by a bag walk.
"Mr Winchester !" the first man approaches. "Nice to meet you !"
"I'm letting you take her but I need to know... What will you do to her ?"
He smiles like a politician and looks at her.
"Well you know, a little rehabilitation if we can, if not, kill her I guess. Before she kills us all !" he laughs and the two other men smile wide.
"What is she ?"
"Aaaah, you're curious Mr Winchester." he looks annoyed.
"I don't know what you did to her but she's never giving up you know. I've seen what she's capable of..." I say with my jaw clenched. "I don't just mean her strength or the powers she has. I mean her will to destroy you... You think you can use her ? Control her ? You're an idiot."
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"Enough ! Give us the girl or the deal is broken !"
           At this moment Jody takes the bag off her head and shoots, covered by me. When only the leader is left, I tie him and Jody keeps his gun on his temple.
"Sammy ? You heard ?" I say getting my phone out of my pocket.
"Yeah" he answers. "Let me talk to him."
I bend on the whining man and Sam talks :
"Listen to me carefully. Where are the tapes ?"
"What tapes ?" the man says and I punch him hard.
"What tapes Sammy ?" I ask making Jody laugh slightly.
"I don't know !" the man of letters says.
I lift my arm again and he protests :
"Wait ! Wait ! Ketch ! Ketch has them ! I truly don't know where he hid it... You are making a huge mistakes..." he starts but Jody shoots him.
"What ? He wasn't going to tell us more."
***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***
@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx 
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matteredloyaltyaa · 4 years
Text
really LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES.
repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !
TAGGED. I stole it. TAGGING. Go for it. lol
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FULL NAME : Arthur M/organ NICKNAME : A handful. English, Cowboy/Cowpoke, Black Lung, etc. Common aliases are Tacitus Kilgore and Arthur Callahan. AGE : 36. BIRTHDAY : January 25th, 1836. ETHNIC GROUP : Caucasian. NATIONALITY : American. LANGUAGE / S : English, primarily. Knew a handful of Welsh thanks to his father, but it’s faded with disuse.  SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual, somewhat closeted.  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic, somewhat closeted. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, single-ship with @notanoutlaw in most. CLASS : Lower/working HOME TOWN / AREA : Arthur just mentions he was born “up north”, I headcanon around the Oregon area, possibly California due to his mother’s favorite flower, but it’s uncertain. Though, the place he laments the most about is New Austin, or “out west”.   CURRENT HOME : Transitory, he moves with the gang.  PROFESSION : Outlaw, occasional bounty hunter.
PHYSICAL. HAIR : Light brown, dark blonde in some lights. EYES : Unique eye colour, blue-grey-sorta hazel.  NOSE : Average, dimpled. Scarred from fighting and getting it broken a couple times.  FACE : Somewhat sharp features in the brow and cheekbones, square jaw.  LIPS : Full, can be dry/chapped.  COMPLEXION : Somewhat clear? Hard to tell. Dry, dirt spattered sometimes.  BLEMISHES : Uncertain. SCARS : A handful. Most notable are the one he has on his chin that is most visible with shorter facial hair, one across his nose, and the one left on his shoulder by the O’Driscolls in chapter 3.  TATTOOS : N/A HEIGHT : 6′0, possibly 6′1 WEIGHT : Uncertain, fluctuates.  BUILD : Stocky, broad shouldered and he can be fairly intimidating, especially when his weight is about average or above.  FEATURES : Look above? ALLERGIES : N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE : Right parted, about 3-5 in length. Though, for people who don’t know the system--fairly short, tufts out around his ears and may reach the back of his neck before he cuts it again. USUAL FACE LOOK : Expression wise, his kind of got a resting irritated face, sometimes bored. Rarely clean shaven unless he has to be, usually keeps a fair amount of stubble.  USUAL CLOTHING : I change him too much to say. Tends to keep his heavy navy blue winter jacket, jeans/ranch pants, some sort of button up shirt, and sometimes his tan leather jacket. Tends to keep his hat, however, unless he needs to go without. 
PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Arthur has a mild one of change. He’s adaptable but he’s very sentimental and nostalgic, he will miss “old ways” and previous places. There’s also losing his usefulness, disappointing those who depend on him (much as he will get defensive when it happens). Post-Guarma, he does develop a fear of drowning. It won’t keep him from swimming, but getting swept or held underwater may cause some panic. Post-game au, he does fear about getting sick again and actively avoids doctors.  ASPIRATION / S : Uncertain, just wants to get out of the mess he’s in and eventually just wants a calm existence somewhere. However, once he’s diagnosed with TB, his main goal is getting those who want/will listen to him out of the gang as it starts to fall down. POSITIVE TRAITS : Caring, compassionate (to people he knows, might not be clear on first impression), intelligent (much as he may say the opposite and isn’t exactly book smart), observational, brave, humorous (in certain situations and may be a cover sometimes), friendly (somewhat, changes as he ages), artistic, creative, loyal, etc. NEGATIVE TRAITS : Violent, murderer (doesn’t do it without reason but he knows he’s killed more than he certainly should), defensive, (passive) aggressive, sarcastic, depressive, self-deprecating, selfish, rude (sometimes intentional, sometimes not), conflicted, stubborn, reckless (sometimes, has mellowed out with age but it’s still there), self destructive (sometimes), money-driven (not always a flaw but he’s easily swayed by money). MBTI : ISFJ-T - Turbulent Defender  ZODIAC : Aquarius  TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic-Melancholic ANIMALS : I’m not going to take the quiz because the game is very heavy handed with the whitetail buck motif for high honor Arthur. lol VICE HABIT / S : Smoking, drinking, etc. FAITH : Non-religious. GHOSTS ? : Generally, the existence of ghosts isn’t something he completely writes off after he’s witnessed the few in the game, but he’s also hard pressed to admit to believing in them outright. AFTERLIFE ? : Not in any sort of defined sense. He’ll often say he doesn’t believe in one or it won’t be a nice one for him if there is, but he finds himself nervous about the subject once he gets sick.  REINCARNATION ? : He doesn’t know enough about it. ALIENS ? : Not really? Doesn’t really know he’s looking at a UFO when he sees it. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Don’t start. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Uncertain. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Uncertain. EDUCATION LEVEL : Does not have a formal education on even the basic levels (primary, high school, etc), however Hosea and Dutch have taught him to read and write and he’s learned a handful of things when it comes to survival and his lifestyle. However, he’s not exactly book smart or the “book learnin’ type”. 
FAMILY. FATHER : Lyle M/organ, deceased. MOTHER : Beatrice M/organ, deceased. SIBLINGS : No blood related, but considers John as one along with a couple other members of camp. EXTENDED FAMILY : He has a few uncles, aunts, and cousins, but he’s not in touch. Issac, his son, and his mother, Eliza, who are both deceased. Mary L/inton/Gillis, ex-fiance. (Cain Kennedy, lover - @notanoutlaw) NAME MEANING / S : Arthur - English, “noble, courageous”, Morgan - (and I’m going against what’s been said in fandom) - Celtic/Welsh surname, comes from Old Welsh name Morcant - “mor” as “sea” and “cant” as “circle”.    HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Uncertain in the game, but it’s been pointed out about King Arthur and also Morgan le Fay, which highlights his struggle with good vs evil themes in his character. 
FAVOURITES. BOOK : Uncertain, mostly non-fiction. MOVIE : -- 5 SONGS : -- DEITY : Doesn’t know enough to give a favorite. HOLIDAY : Christmas, in a way. Not quite for the religious context, but he enjoys the hunting and cooking the gang does to celebrate, singing and talking over fires. He remembers it vividly when he was younger, so it’s stuck with him. MONTH : April-May. SEASON : late spring, early summer. PLACE : He likes most places in wilderness, give him something with a view and he’s good. WEATHER : Sunny, average weather. Not too hot, not too cold. SOUND : Rain, birds, etc. SCENT / S : Again, rain, campfires, etc. TASTE / S : Prefers savory over sweet.   FEEL / S : Weightlessness in his limbs once he’s able to sit/lay down after a long day, fingers in his hair, etc. ANIMAL / S : Horses, dogs, cats, animals. NUMBER : He hasn’t given it much thought. COLOUR : Blues, greens, deeper colours.
EXTRA. TALENTS : Sharpshooting, Arthur’s got impeccable aim and speed when using guns, there’s also his drawing, he’s getting fairly good at tracking, etc. BAD AT : Admitting to mistakes, expressing himself emotionally, adhering to rules, anything overly scientific, etc. TURN ONS : Sense of humor, confidence or self-assurance, kindness and/or compassion, dark hair, etc. TURN OFFS : Hypocrisy (much as he suffers from that himself), cockiness (has a limit before confidence becomes a turn off), excessive or needless cruelty, etc. HOBBIES : Drawing, writing in his journal, hunting, wandering around/sight seeing, etc. TROPES : Anti-Hero/Anti-Villain,The Atoner, The Big Guy, Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Obfuscating Stupidity, etc. AESTHETIC TAGS : Horses, old west, deserts, nature, gun slinging, writing, drawing, photography, etc. 
FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : R/oger Clark, mainly in game icons so I haven’t found a need for one. ALT FC / S : -- OLDER FC / S : -- YOUNGER FC / S : -- VOICE CLAIM / S : R/oger Clark GENDERBENT FC / S :
MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : I actually REALLY enjoy the game’s story line, much as I feel the redemption through death is overplayed and not as deep as people make it out to be. I’d find a way to subvert that or some alternative, but idk. I like the game’s story. lol
Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Western-y. IDK? The game’s soundtrack is actually really good too so.  Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I love his development and progression as a character, and even with the trailers where he seemed no more than an angry outlaw there was a part of me that was still “hmm” about writing him. Ultimately, he’s grown to mean a lot to me and I really enjoy writing for him on this blog.  Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A4: As mentioned above, Arthur probably has one of the best character progressions I’ve seen in a while imo. Even in the beginning, I went in under the impression that I’d be playing as this outlaw so the violence and gruffness wasn’t too much of a surprise, much as I wasn’t too attached until later chapters in the game because of this. However, as I spent more time playing as him and reading his journal, seeing how he interacts with strangers and people he loves, he has some depth to him and some deep rooted flaws and insecurities that are played very well in the game. He’s probably one of the few character deaths I’ve cried over. lol Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have to be truthful, Arthur’s an asshole. lol I didn’t like and still don’t like him from Colter into Horseshoe in behavior and personality, much as it’s lessened from my first play of the game because I know what happens to him and how he grows. However, while he’s not blind to himself and how he acts, he doesn’t think for himself really. Even if he hates debt collecting, he does it for the gang and even tells Strauss he does it for pleasure at a point (sarcastic or not, considering they are talking about Thomas, a man trying to raise money for charity while suffering poverty himself on top of having TB), he does whatever Dutch tells him, among many other things. It’s not until later in the game that the theme of grasping redemption comes into play, and he starts to act and think for himself a little more once things start to spiral. As much as I love him with all my heart, Arthur’s got some deep flaws that are hard to ignore.   Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : HHHhh. I’d say we suffer from similar self-esteem issues, not just in body image but morality of character (much as his are way more complicated than mine jaksfha), we also have a similar sense of humor...Yeah, idk. I’m attached to him as a character and I can relate to him in certain ways, but it’s hard to pinpoint.  Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Idk, he’s pixels? Though, for the sake of a fun answer, I genuinely don’t know? We can be fairly similar in mannerisms and thought process (at points), but I have no idea if we’d actually get along if by some universe rip we were able to meet.  Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8: I don’t want to get specific, I interact with a lot of interesting characters. Anybody who’s put me out of a comfort zone or forced me to look at Arthur in the different way has definitely stood out. Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : The game itself is a good source, I enjoy putting up lets plays of it in the background sometimes if I’m struggling or just need something that isn’t music. I get more muse putting together blog playlists than playing them, but there’s that, too. Also generally plotting or talking about him can pull some to the forefront. Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : An hour or so, I think?
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